|| her hymn || {Tune & Red}

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lady vri

lady vri

mack daddy
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Dec 22, 2014
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Virginia
The snow crunched underneath her feet, the tiny silken slippers completely soaked through. How she survived the wilderness of the Neck and the North was impossible to answer, but Sansa Stark looked like a shadow of her former self. Her cheeks were thin from hunger and she had tiny cuts on her hands from pushing aside thorny branches which blocked the old trail she walked. It was so tiny on the map that she took with her that she was not even sure if it truly existed, but though it was overgrown, it led her straight towards the Wall.

She did not go to the Twins. Her mother and brother were rotting there. She did not go to Winterfell. That was where Bran and Rickon died… And the Boltons still held her childhood home. No. Only Jon could help her now and he was at Deepwood Motte. So she walked. She walked until there were blisters on her feet and her hair was crusty with mud and debris. She walked until she thought she would faint from exhaustion and then walked some more. She could not stop. She could not give up. Not after everything that had led to her escape. Joffrey’s torture, his beatings, forcing her to marry the Imp, and Littlefinger putting his hands on her…

Sansa stared up at the large fortress that rose high above her, covering her in its shadow. How… Where…? What was she to do now? A gust of wind swirled violently around her, whipping her messed hair up and making it dance wildly. When it calmed down, it landed on the back of a poor beggar’s coat, thin and threadbare. Her skin was tinted blue, her lips turning purple, when some men caught her eye. Normally she would have been wary and stayed away; there were many men on the roads with not so innocent intentions, men who were just as bad as Joffrey.

“Excuse me… Sers?”

Her fragile voice cracked in the freezing air and the men turned to look at her. She must have looked like a wild woman from beyond the Wall from the way they stared.

“Please… I’m looking f-for my brother. Can you h-help me find him?”

The men looked at each other then one approached, taking the thick fur cloak he had around his shoulders and putting it around her instead. “Aye lass… I can try. What’s his name?”

“Jon… Jon Snow.”
 
RE: ||her hymn || {Tune & Red}

The guards exchanged another long look, the name she'd given them bringing a great pause. Jon Snow's sister. The one they were here to retrieve. "You're Jon Snow's sister, then? The Stark girl?"

"Gods be good," the other whispered, eyes wide as he licked his lips. "She's... she's why we're here in the first place."

"How do we even know it's her?"

The other guard jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Dunno. All I know is we'd best take her to see the king, right bloody now." Oh, he could taste the glories now. A title, perhaps? Gods only knew. "Come along, lass. Let's get you inside and warmed up. You've a meeting with Stannis to attend to."

The Stark girl was taken into Deepwood, marched past a flurry of activity. There wasn't an idle man to be seen in the Motte. Guards with flaming heart sigils on their breast were mixed in with mountain men, those tribes of the hills who had been so loyal to the memory of Eddard Stark that they would fight and die for the one who would bring the old wolf vengeance. Some bore hastily re-painted shields and coats that had once borne the kraken, trophies of their recently won victory over the Ironborn under Asha Greyjoy that had held this place. Everywhere she looked, she'd see men shoring up defenses, hauling away the kraken's corpses. "Throw 'em in the lake," one man said to his fellow as he passed, the two of them carrying a particularly large dead man. "See how their drowned god likes the ice."

She was taken to an empty room, the hearth quickly filled with wood and set to burn. The cloak was left with her, and one quickly left to bring her a warm meal while the other sought the king. Her meal arrived first, a hot bowl of stew made with chunks of vegetable and fresh mutton, a well as a fine mulled wine. It was soon after that, though, that the one true king of Westeros arrived with his guard in tow.

Stannis strode through the door, still dressed in his armor of dark ringmail with burnished silver plate, the black stag of house Baratheon with its crown laid over a flaming heart etched onto his breastplate. The sword, Lightbringer, the blade that marked him as Azor Ahai, was belted at his hip, and the golden antler crown rested comfortably on his head. One thing was certain, Stannis Baratheon looked like a king... and now, the North would take notice of it.

"Arya Stark?" His black-blue eyes fixated on her. "You are Arya Stark, yes? Jon Snow's sister?" He approached her warily, as if expecting to be let down. Then, in the glow of the fire, he noticed it. "Red hair... I was told Arya Stark had brown," he spat. Hard eyes were turned on the guards who'd brought him the information, his teeth bared as he ground them lightly. "Leave us."
 
RE: ||her hymn || {Tune & Red}

They were looking for her? Sansa did not have time to question the guards as they whisked her away and took her into the keep. They were moving so quickly that it was hard to take her eyes off of the path in front of her less she stumble or trip, but every now and then she caught a glance. Stannis was preparing for war. Her home, the North, had not forgotten, and with her father and brothers all dead, of course they would turn to Stannis. While she had never met him, she heard stories. He reminded her of her father.

Once inside, she was given the warmth of a hearth and the even greater warmth of a good hot meal. Sansa sat down on a bench in front of the table and began to wolf the meal down. She had not eaten in days and her stomach cried out for relief. The redhead was keenly aware that she must have looked like a beast tearing into its prey with how quickly the stew disappeared into her mouth, but the bowl was left cleaned and at long last, her stomach settled down. A quick sip of the wine was all she could manage before the man who called himself king revealed himself.

Her certainly did look like a king. Sansa stood when the doors opened. The protocol for meeting a king, true or not, had been beaten into her. She was embarrassed by the sound the bench made as it scraped against the stone and her cheeks were flushed with crimson. Underneath her skirts, her knees trembled. Then, he called her by her sister’s name, Arya.

Stannis recognized immediately that she was not the long missing Arya and Sansa stiffened when she heard him growl and order to his men to make them leave. They left without a word. She was alone with Stannis Baratheon.

“Your Grace,” the food and wine had eased the ache in her throat and her voice was smoother now, almost like that of a songbird. “I apologize… I did not tell your men my name. The blame lies on me. I am not Arya Stark…” She inhaled sharply. “I am Sansa. Sansa Stark. I have come here to seek refuge and to reunite with my brother, Jon Snow… I was told he was with you.” But where was he? Even if he thought it was Arya he was going to meet, surely Jon would have come… A dark, uneasy feeling sat in the pit of her stomach.
 
RE: ||her hymn || {Tune & Red}

The look on his face darkened perceptibly, the lines on his face growing firmer. His teeth ground almost audibly behind the hard line of his mouth, the look in his eyes one of disappointment but also deep thought. She was not the one he sought... but she was a Stark. One of the last of the blood of Winterfell. The simple fact was that they may never get the young pup back from the Boltons. She may have already been killed, or worse. Jon Snow was a tenuous link at best. This one, though... she was fit to be wed. If Jon Snow would not pledge his loyalty and take his place in Winterfell, then he could wed her to any lord he wished and put Winterfell right into his pocket. The seat of northern power, taken for the Baratheons. Once the Boltons, who had been appointed the wardens of the North by whatever child-king usurper now sat on his throne at King's Landing, were given to Melisandre's fires... Winterfell would be brought back to its former glory under its rightful king.

These thoughts occurred to Stannis one after the other in rapid succession, eyes gazing past her and into the fire. He saw great things in that flame. The whispers of a glorious future yet to come. He had only to take the she-wolf under his wing. "Your brother is not here," he said finally, looking down at her with that stern, measuring gaze. "You have not heard? He is in charge of the Night's Watch, manning the wall. Now, your sister," he said with a pause in which he slowly nodded his head, "I'm afraid the Boltons have her. If she yet lives, I intend to send her to your half-brother myself." Arya was key in maintaining Jon Snow's loyalty, and securing that of the northern lords. Sansa, too, would be just another piece in place for his own benefit.

"You will stay here with my men and I. Once I've crushed the Boltons beneath my boot, I intend to legitimize Jon Snow and install him as the lord of Winterfell. You and your sister will be returned to him to do as you will." He patted the pommel of his sword, breathing a soft sigh from his nose. If things worked out that perfectly, he'd eat his crown. "For now, eat. Rest. I'll have one of Selyse's old handmaidens tend to you."
 
RE: ||her hymn || {Tune & Red}

Sansa kept good and quiet. The man’s mood had darkened, as evidenced by his scowl deepening, and she had learned long ago to never speak to men who looked like that. Heartbreaking lessons has revealed the truth to her: her mother was a liar. There were no fairytale endings. There were no brave knights. There were no kind sers to take a ladies hand and kiss it. The world was darker for Sansa than it had ever been before and she had no light to guide her until Stannis began to speak again after staring intensely into the flames leaping from the fire.

Jon was not here. He was commander of the Night’s Watch. She made a small sound of surprise. Her brother… No one had ever believed he would ever amount to anything because of his bastard blood. No matter how hard he tried, he would never achieve like his siblings would. And yet there he was… A commander. The Night’s Watch was the last place she wanted to see him but if that was where he shined, then after losing all of her other siblings… She would happy for him.

Arya was a different story. From what Stannis told her, she had been captured by the Boltons. The information both terrified and soothed Sansa at the same time. She had been so consumed with fear that her sister had been killed after the beheading of their father, that Cersei’s men had done something, that she escaped and starved… Or worse… At least now she knew that Arya escaped King’s Landing and all the terror that followed. But now she was with the Boltons. Whether it was a crueler fate, Sansa did not know, but Stannis said he would try to get her back…

He went on, claiming that he would legitimize her brother and make him Lord of Winterfell, but Sansa was already overwhelmed and caught little of what he said. She was barely standing, knees trembling. She was afraid that if she had to stand much longer she would faint. When Stannis told her to rest and that he would send someone to care for her, she managed a great feat on her shaking knees: a small curtsey.

“Thank you, Your Grace. You are very kind.”

Stannis took his leave and Sansa sat back on the bench with a sigh of painful relief. So much had happened… The door through which Stannis left opened again and a middle aged woman came through. She took one look at Sansa and immediately declared that the girl needed a bath. Sansa couldn’t agree more.

The old handmaiden, who Sansa learned was named Mae, took her to a small room, explaining that Stannis ordered this be given to Sansa as her chambers. It was smaller than the one she had in King’s Landing and still smaller than her old room in Winterfell, but the redhead nearly wept when she saw a warm bed and a tub being brought in. Mae and a few other women filled it with piping hot water then helped Sansa undress. The poor girl was so tired, she could not even bring her arms up to cover her breasts, nor the marks she still carried from her journey: bruises, cuts, and scrapes. She was put into the bath and allowed to soak before Mae began to scrub her down. It was rough or hard, despite all the grime that stuck to Sansa’s skin, just a soft, repetitive wiping that slowly but surely revealed the smooth, creamy alabaster skin underneath all the dirt. Mae poured buckets over Sansa’s head to wash her hair and combed it until every last leaf and speck of dirt was gone.

Once out of the tub, the pampering continued. Mae dressed her in a plain shift and told her that she would be provided some of the Queen’s old gowns. Sansa softly whispered that it was very kind of the Queen to give her those things, and Mae suddenly stopped.

“My Lady… Queen Selyse is dead. She has no use for them any more.”

Sansa did not speak again. Mae brushed her hair until it shined like copper in the candlelight and then pulled down the blankets and furs on the bed so that Sansa could rest. Left alone, the redhead sat on the bed for a moment, holding a very important possession, the only one she took from King’s Landing, in her lap. The doll that her father gave her… It was dirtied from her trek north, but it still reminded her of the kind heart of her father. Sansa crawled underneath the blankets and clutched the doll to her chest, closing her eyes and at last feeling some sense of peace wash over her.
 
RE: ||her hymn || {Tune & Red}

Stannis retired to his chambers, standing on a personal balcony that overlooked the courtyard of his new keep. Activity still bustled below, with plenty to do for every able bodied soul. A great many, however, were flocking to the lighting of the night fires. The night was dark and full of terrors, so said R'hllor and his adherents, and while he had no cause to doubt the strange god's power, he reckoned that there were few terrors in the Wolfswood aside from the creatures that gave it its namesake. There were no wights here, no gathering shadows, and any wildlings were under his control anyhow. Still, he could not argue... R'hllor was leading him to his destiny, his justice. His fingers closed about the pommel of his sword, caressing it idly as he watched.

Hard eyes turned to the horizon, however. While the snows of the north obscured his vision, it could not be seen. A clear day, however, would have given him sight of his goal. Only one lone tower remained of Winterfell's might, a lonely spire visible far to the south and east. The Boltons and those loyal to them were massing there, daring Stannis to play his hand... and soon, he would. So very, very soon. He licked his lips in anticipation, his grip on Lightbringer's hilt only tightening at the thought. A storm of iron justice would soon take all those who swore fealty to usurpers and pretenders, and once the rightful king sat upon the Iron Throne, peace would rule the day at last.

His evening meal was brought to him, a lone serving for a lone man. Honey-glazed pork with a good bitter wine, and a selection of fresh fruits from beyond the Narrow Sea. Before the serving girl could leave, he caught her eye. "Tell Melisandre that her king summons her, once she has finished her rituals. I would have words with her."
 
RE: ||her hymn || {Tune & Red}

“Your Grace…” Melisandre strode into the king’s chambers without notice, her robes dragging on the floor behind her. She kept her back straight, head held high and her long, swan like neck bare and on display. The cut of her robes and gown was low, but the brilliant red fabric paired with her fiery hair drew all the attention away from her slight curves.

Stannis looked as if he had been brooding, and the Red Woman had a sneaking suspicion that it was because of their new arrival. She heard that Sansa Stark, believed to be missing or dead, had come to their doorstep to seek shelter. But that alone should not have put the king in this mood. He was anxious, pacing like a wild cat caught in a cage even though he stood still on the balcony. Melisandre approached him, looking straight into his eyes… Into his soul.

“You have seen R’hllor’s will.” She reached up with a small pale hand and touched his cheek. “Tell me what you saw. Tell me what the Lord of Light showed you when you met the she-wolf.”
 
RE: ||her hymn || {Tune & Red}

Stannis stood rigid, having long since finished his evening meal and returned to his place at the balcony like an especially grim falcon to its roost. His teeth worried at the inside of his lip while his mind dwelt on the future. Always to the future. He could never look back. The ends justified the means, and he would have his justice no matter the cost. It wasn't until he heard the familiar shuffling of skirts against stone that he turned back to the room to behold her. Melisandre, the Red Woman. A more staunch follower, R'hllor could not hope to have... and he could not ask for a more powerful ally in these trying times.

Her arrival was noted with a nod rather than any verbal greeting, his icy exterior melting only the slightest bit as she approached. In this cold land, she was life, she was warmth, she was light. Not only that, but with Selyse having long since devolved into little more than a gibbering nuisance, he had found physical comfort in her. A great deal of it, in fact. In the wake of his wife's death, he had only sought her all the more. Her hand graced his cheek, and that iron guard was lowered ever so slightly. She knew of that which he wished to speak of, and not having to bother with preamble to it was some small comfort.

"I have," he whispered, blue eyes like chips of cloudy sapphire watching her every move. "I have seen myself at the head of an army. An army of wolves, of stags, trampling over flayed corpses." His eyes sought hers then. "I saw the she-wolf in a burned hall, with a man at her side, offering the north to me." He put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly. "I have seen all of these things, burning so brightly... will they come to pass?"
 
RE: ||her hymn || {Tune & Red}

Melisandre stared up into the king’s eyes while he spoke. Azor Ahai reborn… A man who would lead this world out of darkness. The flames had shown her that. And when the king needed relief… When he needed to clear his mind, she was there to assist him. She was not his wife, but no act in service to the Lord of Light was considered a sin. If Stannis needed her flesh, then her flesh he would have. She would not question his reasons nor deny him.

As Stannis revealed to her what visions R’hllor had shown him, a wide grin broke out over her face. She gently removed his hands from her shoulders, keeping just one in her grasp, and led him over to the fire. “Look into the flames.” She still held his hand, and squeezed it tightly. “The Lord of Light has shown you your victory. You will drive out the flayed men, you will claim the seat of the North. Winterfell will fly the banners of the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms.” Her hand slowly began to slide up his arm, until it rested on his shoulder, when Melisandre leaned in close and began to whisper into Stannis’ ear.

“The she-wolf is the key to your victory. Not just in the North, but to claim your kingdom. You will need her. The houses of the North will come to her. They will do as she commands.” Melisandre’s lips brushed against the king’s earlobe and her tongue flicked out for a taste. “She will offer the North to you… When you take her as your wife.”
 
RE: ||her hymn || {Tune & Red}

Stannis never worried that she would think him unreasonable in what he saw. The flames revealed all, and she knew this. She encouraged him not only to reveal, but to act. His closed mouth still worked silently once he'd finished speaking to her, waiting for a reaction. It was, as usual, a warm one. The king was led to the fire by his red woman, though even her beauty could not distract him from what he saw in those flames. The Lord of Light promised much, and Stannis Baratheon was no man to plunge headlong into a half-planned scheme based on what he saw in a hearth. What the flames did, however, was show him that it was possible... so long as he tread carefully.

"I'll have the bastard of Bolton flayed," he intoned grimly. "The north will come to me, come to Winterfell and swear fealty... and those who do not will pay the price." If they would not swear to their true king, then he had no use for them. Better to burn their keeps to the ground than suffer potential usurpers.

She whispered of the wolf pup's usefulness, and he did listen... for a time. "My wife?" He sounded confused, teeth bared as he turned to eye her. Even the lick of tongue was not so much to distract him from the absurdity. "I'll do no such thing. She'll rule with her brother, once I've seated him in Winterfell. Without their fool brother declaring himself king in the north, they'll return to the king's peace. My peace," he said, putting a finger to his breast. "They'll bring the loyal lords of the north to me, and together we'll sweep the south."
 
RE: ||her hymn || {Tune & Red}

His reaction did not surprise her. He turned his head and his body shifted; she let it. He was confused. Even R’hollr’s Azor Ahai reborn would have doubts from time to time. That was why the Lord of Light had sent her here: to guide him. He would lead the people out of the darkness slowly creeping in around them but first, she would lead him to realize his full potential, and part of that potential was tied to the she wolf.

“Jon Snow is dead.” She reached into her robes and pulled forth a frayed piece of parchment. “My contacts on the Wall sent me this just before I came to you. The last wolf of Winterfell was slain by his brothers of the Night’s Watch. He lies in a cold, shallow grave, rotting into the ice. He is no more.” She gave him the letter so that he could read it himself, stepping aside and moving closer to the fire. “There are only two left. One is far away… The other rests in your care.” Melisandre stuck her hand into the flames, letting them lick her skin. They did no damage, just warmed her skin and brought her closer to her Lord of Light.

“The she-wolf is young. She has many years ahead of her. R’hollr will give her many children.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Your children. Sons. Tangible sons that will grow to become men who will succeed you as King of the Seven Kingdoms.” Melisandre pulled her hand back from the flames and brushed past Stannis, idly walking over to the war table where a large map of Westeros was displayed with figures to represent the many armies. One in particular caught her eye; the head of a direwolf, purposely knocked over to symbolize the demise of Robb Stark. She picked it up and presented it to Stannis, holding it in the palm of her hand.

“Seize the she-wolf. R’hllor wills it. The blood of Azor Ahai and the First Men will become one. Your army of wolves and stags will sweep over the land and destroy all who oppose them, driving back the darkness. Stannis… This power stands before you…” She looked at the direwolf figurine. “You need only take it.”
 
The last Baratheon's mouth twisted into a line that was, at once, hard but confused. "Dead?" How? The fires had not shown him this. He snatched the parchment from her hands, unfurling it and reading in stony silence, her words lining up with what was on the page. Another plan, so easily brought to ruin. Jon Snow, at least, now knew the pain of dealing with usurpers, though it would do little good for either of them now. He breathed a long sigh, rubbing his temples. "The other is at Winterfell, a prisoner of the Boltons," he grumbled, staring into the fire. It showed nothing now, only chaos. In his silence, there was only the sound of teeth grinding steadily together, a look of agitation in his eyes.

The she-wolf, marrying to the stag. Amusing, when one considered the fact that, in what felt like a bygone era now, Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark had been hoping to unify their houses with another marriage. Joffrey was an abomination, of course, but Sansa... Sansa still lived. He chewed on the inside of his lip, shocked that he even considered the idea.

"We must dissolve her marriage to the imp," he muttered thoughtfully. "I'm not sure how much weight it still holds... last I heard, they were both exiles, and from the looks of it he's not like to return anytime soon." He looked to Melisandre, the hesitation still clear in his eyes. His fingers curled around the direwolf she offered, squeezing gently. "Doubtless he's dead... it won't take much work to declare her widowed."
 
Reluctantly, Stannis was beginning to see the truth. The king has so many visions in his head, so many worries, that Melisandre was not concerned that it took him longer than she would have liked. A king had responsibilities. Duties. He had to consider his people. R’hollr had shown him the way and yet it fell to Stannis to make it work in this physical world of darkness. Not everything could be done by the Lord of Light. It would take a strong man, a strong leader to bring R’hollr’s message to Westeros. Stannis was that man.

“Her marriage is of little consequence.” She left him take the direwolf figuring. “They were not joined by the flames of R’hollr. Her marriage to the Imp was held before false gods and idols. However…” A majority of Westeros, nearly all of it, held onto the belief of their false gods, new and old. “It would still be wise to have a Septon examine her. If she is still a virgin, he can annul their marriage and appease the heretics long enough for you to marry the girl and begin to show them the truth.”

Melisandre approached her king and put her hands on his cheeks. “With her at your side you will have single handedly won the North. Then you will go on to destroy the flayers of men, R’hollr has shown me this!” She squeezed his face gently, her eyes widening with excitement. “Half of Westeros will be under your control! An army of stags and wolves prepared to sweep over the South and bring our Lord’s light to them all!”
 
Stannis was a man who bore his kingship on his shoulders like an iron weight, though he did it well. Better than any usurper could hope for. She dismissed the she-wolf's marriage out of hand, and he breathed a sigh. "One day, you'll remember just how much stock the people of Westeros put in R'hllor," he spat in exasperation. "You can take their idols away, but they will not give up their Seven." He was a flexible man when it came to faiths, but he was also terribly sensible. Let the people keep what gods they would... so long as R'hllor led him to victory, he would carry the fire.

"Besides, the imp's known to be a lecherous bastard," he said with what might have been some amusement. "If her maidenhead's intact, I'll eat my breastplate. But, we'll have a look, I suppose." After all, the dwarf likely had a tiny stub of a cock. Perhaps, he thought, the poor little freak couldn't even pierce it. It would be worth investigating.

Her hands squeezed his face, and the king looked up at her, feeling a touch ridiculous. He was not a man accustomed to having his cheeks squeezed. He could not, however, deny her truths. "There will be no stopping our combined forces," he agreed. Now for the awkwardness of informing the girl of the situation. "Leave her be for now. Once I have taken Winterfell, I will inform her."
 
“Don’t swear to things that you will not be able to fulfill. Your teeth would break on your breastplate.” Melisandre released Stannis from her hold and began to walk around the war table. “The Imp is lecherous, but he is not a monster as some claim. Their marriage was a sham, a trick. Not even he believed in it and he would not dare touch the girl if she did not wish it. The she-wolf is pure.”

It was sensible to wait until after Winterfell was taken. Likely she would not take the news of her half brother’s death very well; he was the entire reason she searched for Stannis in the first place. And the other girl… She chose not to tell Stannis the truth. He would find out soon enough and it would help strengthen his belief that he needed the she-wolf. Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell… Soon to be Sansa Baratheon, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

“I must go now,” the Red Woman whispered. “Sleep well my king… And look to the fires if your doubts still exist.”
 
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