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leupagus · 1 month

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I firmly believe Stannis is the Westerosi equivalent of the dad who hates cats, doesn't want to get a cat, makes a big deal about not liking the cat, and ends up being the cat's absolute favorite (except instead of a cat it's a huge fuckoff direwolf with boundary issues)

The door to the workroom opened and Ghost bounded inside, snuffling at Stannis's hands. Lady Stark, following behind, narrowed her eyes at him as she closed the door.

"You fed him something recently, didn't you?" she said. Ghost, finding nothing, gave a disapproving huff and flopped down by the fireplace.

He had, but that was besides the point. "What are the Knights of the Vale doing here?"

"Just don't give him chicken, we had a terrible problem with the henhouses when they were puppies," she said absently, and circled round to sit at her chair on the far side of the work table. "I brought them here for you."

Stannis, still standing, paused. "For me?"

"Yes, for you. I can't bend the knee, Your Grace. Not yet. But I'm not entirely useless."

"Of all the adjectives I've thought to describe you with, 'useless' has never been one of them."

She smiled at that and looked down at the papers strewn across the table. "Littlefinger — Lord Baelish," she corrected, "had plans for the North. Marrying my Aunt Lysa and becoming Lord Protector of the Vale wasn't enough for him; he wanted more."

"How much more?" Stannis asked as he took his seat again. He was already well able to guess the answer.

"Everything," she answered, a distant look in her eye that Stannis did not like. "He wanted to marry me off to the Boltons. I think the plan was for you you to come sweeping down from the Wall and either take Winterfell or kill out enough of the Bolton forces to weaken them. At which point Littlefinger could come riding to my rescue with the Knights of the Vale. He'd have a ward at the Vale who looked to him for approval, and a new Lady of Winterfell who'd be grateful to him for saving her from monsters twice over." She nodded at his moue of distaste. "Yes, well, he always did consider me one of his cyvasse pieces, to be moved around the board as needed."

Stannis had avoided Baelish at King's Landing, insofar as he could while both of them served on Robert's Small Council. But he well remembered how Baelish spoke of women, how effortlessly he used them and used them up. What damage had he inflicted on a young, friendless girl while he'd had her in his custody? No wonder Lady Stark had fled from him at the first chance of escape.

If that's what had truly happened. The story from the Riverlands was that Baelish had been killed by his own men, and there was no reason to doubt it — such a treacherous man would have succumbed to treachery sooner or later. But Lady Stark had proven herself capable of surprising things, these past months.

It didn't bear thinking of too closely. He cleared his throat. "The Vale, the North — if Baelish wanted the Iron Throne, he'd have needed more than two kingdoms at his command."

"The Riverlands probably would have been next," said Lady Stark with a frown. She pawed through the papers and pulled out a book. "I've been going through the maester accounts, such as they are, from the time my father left Winterfell until now," she said, flipping through it. "There are gaps, obviously, but Maester Wolkan's been keeping remarkably faithful records. Including copies of every raven scroll." She passed the book over to him, tapping at a particular passage. "This was sent to Roose Bolton from the Twins, only a few days before we began the siege."

"'The Blackfish traitor has stolen Riverrun from us. In the name of fellowship among the new Lord Paramounts and the victors over House Stark, we ask for your aid in catching this damned fish and roasting him on a spit.'" Stannis set the book back on the table with the peculiar urge to wipe his hands clean. "Walder Frey was always a craven. Wanting everyone else to fight his battles for him."

"He didn't even have the courage to murder my brother himself," said Lady Stark, taking back the book and closing it with a snap. "Though I've been told it was his son who murdered my mother. A great warrior family, clearly. Plus he doesn't know it's 'Lords Paramount' and not 'Lord Paramounts.'"

Stannis had seen flares of temper from Lady Stark before (on any number of occasions), but the icy rage in her voice gave him pause. Not for the first time, he considered how very merciful she had been with him, in the end. A man responsible for his own brother's murder, when she herself had lost her brother to the very basest of treachery — what might she have done to him, if he'd been anyone other than the rightful king?

Even as he wondered, he knew that his titles had not been what had stayed her hand in judgement. The Starks had never been particularly pragmatic, mostly to disastrous ends, and for all her intelligence Sansa seemed to have inherited a fair helping of the Tully pig-headedness on top of the Stark romanticism. King Stannis would have had no better luck against her judgement than Lord Stannis or Ser Stannis or even Goodman Stannis; it had been for some other reason she had spared him. He wondered when the bill would come due, and if it would ever be in his capacity to pay it.

Lady Stark had continued on. "I haven't found any record of a message sent back to the Twins, but I doubt the Boltons sent one. Lord Bolton were never much for rousing himself for anyone else's interests, even before he betrayed my family. I sent a raven to House Mallister of Seaguard; he sided with Robb during the war, and the Mallisters have always been loyal to House Tully." This time she handed over a scroll, flattened out but still curling slightly at each end.

It was only a bit longer than Walder Frey's, and about as useful. Blackfish holds fast; they have supplies within to last two years or more, and the siege set by the Freys will not last half a season. Brynden has not called the banners of the Riverlands, for Lord Tully is still hostage to the Freys. But if Lady Stark should call, Mallister will answer.

"'If Lady Stark should call,'" he repeated wryly.

"Lord Mallister bounced my mother on his knee when she was a babe, Your Grace," she said, equally wry. "All the oaths of fealty in the world can't replace the bonds of family and friendship between the northern Houses, even those not in the North itself."

"So I am beginning to understand," he said, handing the scroll back. "So the Twins are undefended at present."

"Most likely — Lord Frey is still there, but the bulk of his army will be at Riverrun." She leaned forward. "I've spoken with Lord Royce; he swears to me that Lord Arryn will bend the knee if you lead the Knights of the Vale and your own army and take the Twins. From there, you'll be able to break the Frey's siege at Riverrun — you'll have both the Vale and the Riverlands in a matter of months."

It was a fine strategy, but Stannis couldn't help but feel vaguely offended by it. "Do you mean to tell me that because you refuse to bend the knee, or promise any of your own army to my cause, you've delivered the Knights of the Vale and a promise of House Arryn's fealty as a...consolation prize?"

Lady Stark shrugged. "I suppose so," she admitted. "But a prize, nonetheless. I've only known Lord Royce since I was a guest at the Eyrie, but he seems an honorable man."

"He's an able commander, which is more to the point," Stannis contradicted absently, frowning down at the desk as he mulled it over. Two thousand men was no very great sum — but the Knights of the Vale were one of the best cavalry forces in the kingdoms, for all that they rarely strayed outside their mountains. With the Knights, Stannis's army could divide and take each half of the Twins in a pincer. It would be over nearly before it began.

"Of course, how foolish of me to consider such petty things as honor," grumbled Lady Stark.

Stannis ignored that. "Which leaves the Iron Islands to deal with. Has Lord Greyjoy sent any word?" Even the honorific stuck in his craw. Balon Greyjoy, the only other "king" to survive the war. Stannis had regretted the man's existence ever since the Greyjoy Rebellion.

Lady Stark shook her head. "Nothing. We've beaten back the last of the Ironborn holdouts, but I doubt they'll begrudge us that. My father always said the iron price never spent well. And they rightly blame the Boltons for whatever might have happened to Theon."

Which was still a mystery, so far as Stannis could tell. Theon Greyjoy had not been found among the dead at Winterfell, nor at the Dreadfort. If he'd escaped, there'd been no sightings reported. "No doubt you'll wish to execute him yourself, if he's found, but it would be better—"

"Execute Theon?" she said, her brow furrowing. "I — no. I don't wish that."

He leaned back in his seat. "You surprise me, my lady. I wouldn't have thought you squeamish after all this time." Perhaps that was his answer: she'd spared himself and Lady Brienne not out of principle but cowardice. In a way, it might be a relief: or at least it would be easier to understand.

She looked away. "Father did always say that whoever passes the sentence should swing the sword."

"That's not an answer. Your kindness does you credit, my lady, but if you show too much your people won't fear you. Which means they won't follow you, when the time comes." He'd said the same thing to her brother, more than a year ago when they'd argued over the fate of the wildlings and the drawbacks of mercy. The Lord Commander hadn't heeded the advice; was it a Stark family failing?

It must be, for Lady Stark sighed in frustration and said, "I don't want to be feared, Your Grace. And though you've failed to notice, I'm in no need of anyone following me anywhere. I'm staying—" She broke off and shook her head. "This always happens," she muttered, an odd smile tugging at her mouth.

He frowned. "What always happens?"

"This," she said, gesturing vaguely at the distance between them. "We can't go five minutes without arguing about something."

"That's not true." She sighed again and he reconsidered. "Perhaps if you didn't contradict everything I said."

"Perhaps if you had sisters, growing up," she countered. "My mother always said Arya and I were more trouble than all five of the boys put together." Her expression darkened and Stannis followed her thoughts — Theon had been one of those five boys. Raised alongside the rest of them, within these very walls.

"I thought you would want him dead," he admitted. "More than anyone else in the North."

She got to her feet and went over to the window, resting her arms on the sill as she looked out onto the courtyard. Stannis rose and joined her: down below were a dozen carts piled high with hay. All around them men and women were busy unloading the bales and stacking them up in a corner, where more workers took them away in a brisk line deeper into the Keep. Each cart was in the courtyard only a few minutes; when it was empty, the driver mounted up again and drove slowly out through the great gates, replaced by another cart yet more heavily laden. Supplies from the Northern Houses, to lay in for the oncoming winter.

"I don't want Theon dead," said Lady Stark after a long while observing in silence. He glanced over to her, but she was still looking down at the carts. "I don't want anyone dead, Stannis — there's been so much death. And more coming, if what Jon told you about the White Walkers is true."

She'd never called him by his name before; indeed she didn't seem aware she'd done it. "I believed him," he replied. "I still do. Your brother didn't seem the sort to make up stories."

"He always was honest to a fault," she said, turning to look at him at last. Her blue eyes were bright — tears, unshed. "I wish he'd come with you."

So did he, he realized. Not for his skill in battle or his perception or bravery: but only so his sister would not look so devastated at his loss. "He took an oath to the Night's Watch," he said, cursing at himself for his clumsy words even as he did so.

"I know that," she huffed. "Five minutes without arguing, is that really so difficult?"

"Evidently," he conceded, and she laughed. A watery sound, and she pressed the heels of her hand to her eyes quickly as she turned back toward the table, but laughter nonetheless.

#got: bitches get stuff done #game of thrones motherfuckers #I do love sansa accidentally endearing herself to stannis via being a bitch and also a fellow grammar pedant #what's that meme?#'whatever souls are made of yours and mine are the same stuff (derogatory)'#that's the vibe I get from these two assholes #anyway for reference this is post-regaining-winterfell #and post-stannis-and-brienne-being-dumb-and-sansa-yelling-at-them-a-lot #it's way after most everything else I've posted but I just finished this scene and was very proud of it #so as ever: you're welcome/I'm sorry

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