[48] That Ended Brilliantly
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The meeting lasted for hours more. There was a lot to talk about, some agreements, some disagreements, and a toast at the very end.
Now, I walked leisurely beside Robb Stark, feeling the change in the camp’s atmosphere compared to my first arrival. The tension of strangers and suspicious glares had eased into polite nods and cautious greetings. People rose from their makeshift seats or paused in the midst of chores to glimpse at us as we passed.
It wasn’t as if they all knew about the alliance. As per my request, there was no official announcement for that, as I wanted to keep this low-key, but they still acted that way when seeing me walk beside their king. I didn’t want everyone to know about Viserion.
Considering we were inside a military camp and hundreds had already seen the dragon, that was a pointless worry. But still, better a few than everyone. Rumors will obviously spread, and I planned to ride the ghost stories until the end.
The combined smell of horses, boiled stew, and damp canvas filled the camp, reminding me of any other battlefield camp but somehow less hostile than I’d expected. Robb was a good military leader, that was for sure.
Robb’s voice was low as he gestured around. “We’ve done our best to keep everyone fed. Supplies are slim these days, but morale remains high. Could be better, but we’re managing.” He caught my eye and added, almost apologetically, “A war’s no simple affair—nor is feeding thousands of stomachs who can’t forage because we’re on the move.”
I nodded, stepping around a pot where a cook stirred something that smelled of onions and too much salt. “I’ve seen worse, believe me. If the Dothraki can survive in the wild with barely any preparation, there’s no way the King in the North will not. You’re doing fine, King Stark. The men looked at ease when I flew over earlier.”
He gave me a small, genuine smile. “I suppose they think a dragon overhead either means sure victory or a quick death. Not much they can do but soldier on, can they?”
“It helps that your presence has won Sansa’s freedom… Your Grace.” Catelyn Stark walked over to her from somewhere, and Sansa walked beside her. She didn’t seem comfortable saying those words, but despite her pride, she wanted to thank me for saving her daughter.
The mother-daughter vanished halfway through the meeting, and from the looks of it, Sansa had taken a bath. They must have exchanged stories. From the redness around Sansa’s eyes and the smile on her lips, she’d brawled her eyes out and accepted that she was free. She was back home…! Even if it wasn’t Winterfell, her family was right here.
“Brother,” Sansa came running, hugging Robb, while Lady Catelyn stared at me.
“The men see that as good faith on your part,” she said. “A Targaryen saving a Stark princess—perhaps old grudges can soften.”
“I do hope you believe in that statement of yours, Lady Stark,” I smiled. Sansa canceled the hug, exchanging words with Robb, but said nothing to me. I felt her warm presence nonetheless as she looked at me now and then. In the dim evening light, she looked relieved, for she was someone who had returned to a place of safety after a long nightmare. That quiet gratitude radiated from her as surely as any smile.
After a few more minutes, we finally arrived at a board, a well-tended tent roosted near the edge of the encampment. A pair of northern guards stood watch, stepping aside promptly when Robb nodded at them.
Robb lifted the flap and motioned me in, but Catelyn’s clear voice cut the air. “Your Grace, what about your dragon? Will it remain where it is?”
“Ah, don’t worry about her,” I answered by putting two fingers to my lips and whistling, a clear, rising note that echoed across the camp. The camp seemed to scream for a moment as a titan roared. Within moments, a familiar shadow darted through the sky.
Viserion swooped low, her golden scales flashing as she landed with a soft thump beside me. She let out a deep yawn, apparently unimpressed by the onlookers’ startled gasps, and settled on her belly just outside the tent’s entrance. I smiled, rubbing her head. An unspoken statement passed through us. No matter how foreign this land was, with her by my side, it was my territory. I couldn’t resist a faint smirk at the sight of more than a few soldiers gulping nervously.
“There’ll be no need for additional guards,” I looked at the two guarding the tent, making them hesitate. Robb just nodded at them, and they vanished.
The King in the North grinned, patting me on the shoulder. “That’s certainly one way to keep unwanted visitors away,” he said, nodding at me. I could see he was trying to form a friendship, and I didn’t hate it. I’d admit most of my greatness came from the System, but this man was a fine leader on his own. He’d make a good friend.
“That’s the idea,” I agreed. “No disrespect to the trust you have for your soldiers, but I’ve had a few assassination attempts in my life. If anyone here carries a grudge for old Targaryen deeds, they’ll think twice.”
Catelyn nodded, but her expression tightened. “I’d rather not scare the common folk, but do as you will, Your Grace. If it protects this… alliance from petty idiots, so be it.” She looked at Sansa and then her son. “Robb, come—there’s still the matter of distribution of rations we must finalize.”
Robb frowned a little. From what I've heard, they probably haven’t sorted out her crime of releasing Jamie Lannister yet. So it’s a little awkward between them. He was just about to nod, but then Sansa spoke up. “Mother… would it be alright if I stayed with Viserys a bit longer? We… we haven’t really had time to speak alone.”
I caught the momentary flicker in Robb’s eyes. Just like his mother, Robb wasn’t a fool. He could see that his sister felt more than just gratefulness toward me. But he didn’t say anything opposing it. I’d seen that healer girl in the camp earlier, the one he’d marry in the coming future, so he likely understood exactly what Sansa felt—he’d grown into a softer man.
But his mother didn’t share his reluctance. Lady Catelyn’s face hardened as she shot her daughter a look. “Firstly, you should refer to him as per his title. He’s a King with the backing of three Kingdoms. And secondly, no. You—”
Sansa gave a short whine. “Mother~, please.”
“Mother,” Robb said, “they won’t be meeting for a long while after this. He’ll be leaving tomorrow morning. Let her express her gratitude at least.”
“...” Catelyn inhaled, pressing her lips together until they thinned. “Fine,” she conceded after a tight pause. “But be quick about it, Sansa. If you aren’t back soon, I’ll come to get you back myself.”
She threw me a final warning glance, then turned and left with Robb at her side. Sansa exhaled slowly, relief washing over her face. She looked at me with a small, grateful smile. “Shall we, then?” she asked, gesturing for us to enter.
I smiled and pulled back the tent flap, allowing her inside.
****
The interior was dimly lit with a single lamp dangling from the center pole and the floor layered with thick rugs. A low cot stood near the corner, neatly made but unremarkable. I supposed this was my “guest” bed. Still, it was better than most soldier tents—someone had gone through the trouble of setting up a table with a basin of water, a small pitcher of wine, and a loaf of dark bread.
I set aside my sword belt by a simple wooden trunk, then turned to find Sansa hovering a step behind me as if uncertain of her place. I let out a soft laugh. “No way, you first followed me inside and now act awkward. Couldn’t leave my side, Wolf Princess?”
“What? No.” She wrinkled her nose in mock annoyance. “Stop teasing me. You—” She paused, a pink flush crossing her cheeks. “You know I’m just… I’m… oh, argh, you’re such a flirty mess. It won’t end well as a King, you know? Even if you win the throne, what if you become like Robert Baratheon? He was fat and from eating all day and sleeping with prostitutes.”
Her reaction made me chuckle. “Sounds like you’re jealous I’d do this to others.”
“No? You’re crazy.”
“So says the silly girl who clung to my arms, pushing her body into my hold, the entire dragon ride here.” I slanted her a teasing look. “Didn’t I hear a small squeal of delight when Viserion swooped low over the river?”
“That was terror,” she insisted, a little too quickly. She frowned in annoyance and folded her arms. “I thought I’d fall off! You were taking advantage of me with your hands.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, smirking. “Sure I did.”
She tried to glare, but it ended in a faint, sheepish grin. Sansa was cute. Innocent, unlike both Arianne Martell and Margaery Tyrell. I sat down on the edge of the bed, and Sansa remained standing, twisting the fabric of her gown at the hips. Her tension lingered in the air, so I patted the mattress beside me. “What are you waiting for? Sit?” I offered softly.
She moved as though to comply, but at the last moment, I seized her wrist and tugged her gently onto my lap. She let out a breathy gasp, her face going nearly scarlet. I slid my arms around her waist, settling her neatly. “That’s better,” I murmured, pressing my cheek briefly against her shoulder. A faint trace of lavender—her soap or her perfume—lingered there.
Her body trembled slightly as she tried to collect herself. “You’re… quite forward,” she mumbled, her tone half-indignant and half-embarrassed. “I didn’t think you were like this when you were fighting the Hound.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you secretly like the variety of talents I have?” Her stammering fluster served as an answer enough. “I have a lot more talents that we can explore together if you want…”
She averted her gaze. “My desire to be a Queen died long ago in King’s Landing, Ser. You have better luck with someone else. I simply—” She paused, the playful tone vanishing as she just exhaled. “I’m just grateful to be home, you know? With my family… and… and you. I suppose.” She looked back into my eyes, and I stared.
The words caught me by surprise, a comfortable warmth spreading through me. Such a fine girl. Pity to think she’d have been ruined into an emotionless stone if I hadn’t saved her. “Well,” I said, leaning in just enough that our eyes nearly met, “I’ll be leaving tomorrow, so I guess your happiness will be halved?”
In that quiet moment, her breath hitched, “No? Half is too much, more like one-fourth or maybe a bit more,” she giggled, and our faces drew close with sweet and uncertain tension. I closed my eyes, and she did the same. Our lips parted.
Right at that moment, the wind flapped. A sudden commotion tore the moment apart. The tent flaps flew open, and Catelyn Stark stormed inside, eyes blazing with maternal fury. “I knew this would happen!” she hissed.
Sansa jolted upright from my lap, nearly tripping over her skirts, while I cleared my throat. “Uh, hello, Lady Stark.”
“You dirty child,” she snapped, ignoring my words and rounding on Sansa, “what do you think you’re doing in a man’s arms before marriage?! Have you no sense? No dignity?”
“M-Mother!” Sansa stammered, her face pale now instead of pink. “It’s not—”
Catelyn silenced her with a glare. “I’ve heard enough. You’re coming with me, and we’re going to have a talk about your behavior.”
Her grip on Sansa’s arm was firm, and though Sansa attempted a final protest, Catelyn swept her toward the exit. The older woman paused just long enough to fix me with a disapproving glower. Then they were gone, the tent flaps falling closed behind them.
I sat there, taking on the faint trace of lavender that remained in the air. I glanced ruefully at the bed—our near moment replaced by a wave of awkwardness.
“Well,” I murmured to the silence, sighing, “that ended brilliantly.”
A tired chuckle escaped me. My eyes drifted to the canvas roof, and I decided I’d had enough drama for one day. So I kicked off my boots, let myself sprawl across the thin mattress, and closed my eyes.
Within minutes, exhaustion claimed me, and I slipped into a much-needed sleep.
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