When Dany meets Jon Part 13
[EDITORIAL NOTE: Welcome back, folks. And to you new subs, welcome. I hope you all enjoyed your summer. As I said the other day, this is going to be another twelve-part run, with at least on part coming out every week. I figure I’ll probably finish in October/November. A couple people have asked/complained about the way I tag. I think it’s pretty obvious why I’m doing it if you’ve been following this story at all, so I’m not going to come out and explain my logic. If it bugs you, block me. For the rest of you, enjoy and thanks for reading.]
“Don’t you see, Varys?” Littlefinger said, “They can’t kill me. Think, my friend. How would it look? Rhaeger’s son, the Stark daughter who betrayed her house by marrying a Lannister and then a Bolton, killing the first man outside of either family to learn the true parentage of the King of the North. They can’t kill me, Varys. The frail alliance they’ve put together would crumble. Look at them. They know it.”
Lord Varys turned to Sansa and Jon then looked back Littlefinger and smirked. “From where I’m standing, the Starks seem quite confident of their footing in this particular situation.”
It was strange to Sansa, seeing Littlefinger feebly pleading for his life like this. There was a time when the man’s mere presence, his confidence, his intellect, the air of danger about him, would’ve sent shots of heat through Sansa’s body so powerful she once feared she might die from them. Now Sansa felt the same way when she saw him as she did when she saw an ailing, ownerless dog.
This was who he was truly, she realized. The confidence, the intellect, the danger, they were part of a facade, very thinly veiled and barely covering this gangling creature underneath.
Jon stepped forward, peering at Littlefinger as if at any moment he might snap the man’s neck. “Have you nothing else to say for yourself, my lord? No defense of your actions?”
“Is there any that you would accept, Your Grace? My only defense is common sense. Be smart, Jon. I am of far better use to you alive than dead.”
“I doubt that, Lord Baelish,” Sansa said. She turned to leave. As far as Sansa was concerned Jon needn’t bother beheading Littlefinger. She was perfectly content letting him rot away in this dreary cell atop Winterfell’s far tower. No windows, no lives nearby for him to manipulate and cast asunder.
Sansa was sure such a fate was worse than death for someone like Littlefinger.
As she walked down the steps and entered the bailey, Lord Varys and Jon caught up to her. Arya called out to Jon, and he excused himself so he could go greet her.
Lord Varys said, “Begging your pardon, Lady Sansa, but Queen Daenerys requested you come see her after we called upon Lord Baelish.”
Seven Hells, what did she want now? Sansa gave Lord Varys her most practiced smile, the one she’d perfected for Joffrey and Cersei and all the lords and ladies in King’s Landing. “Thank you, my lord. I will go to her at once. Excuse me.”
Sansa turned on her heel and headed for the Lord’s Chamber, the same Lord’s Chamber Jon had told the dragon queen was to remain unoccupied out of respect for Sansa’s parents.
Not but two days after that did Sansa catch that damned, bloody blond nymph and her lady-in-waiting Missandei walking about the room, covered in furs and talking about redecorating after she and Jon were wedded.
The very thought of her bedding Jon…
It was not that Sansa did not think the queen a good person. She was goodnatured and congenial and beautiful. She got on with Arya and Bran and Meera like they’d known each other all their lives. She treated Jon the way he deserved to be treated. But Sansa could not help hating the wench with every breath she took.
Queen Daenerys and Missandei were giggling and saying something about Jon when Sansa entered the Lord’s Chamber. She wanted to vomit. “You wish to speak with me, Your Grace?”
The queen looked to her lady-in-waiting. “Leave us.”
Missandei curtsied. She was quite graceful, and intelligent. Under advisement from her ex-husband, Sansa had engaged Missandei in conversation during a feast in the Great Hall. It was a discussion for the ages. Missandei had seen much of the world, and her experiences with men were not unlike Sansa’s in many ways. It seemed, in Missandei, Sansa had found a kindred spirit. With so much turmoil in the world, she was thankful for that.
As Missandei closed the door, Queen Daenerys said, “You still don’t like me, do you?”
“No, Your Grace, I mean…I do…like you…you’re a nice person…I just…”
Queen Daenerys rose from her chair, the chair Sansa and her mother often sat in and knitted. She strode over to Sansa, took her hands. “It’s all right. You don’t have to.”
She was such a curious thing, small and delicate, yet ardent at the same time. Sansa could never quite gain her footing around the queen. It didn’t help matters that the only other woman who had ever made Sansa so uncomfortable had also been a queen.
Sansa sighed. “I am trying, Your Grace. With everything that’s happened to my family…and now Lord Baelish, it’s–”
“Difficult to accept new people coming into your and Jon’s lives,” Daenerys said. “I, of all people, understand.” She looked Sansa square in the eyes. “We will get there, you and I. We must, for Jon.”
The door swung open. “Mhysa, Lady Sansa,” Grey Worm shouted. “Come!”
Maester Samwell was waiting in the hall for them.
“What is it?” Sansa asked him as they ran.
“Jon and Arya and the Greyjoys.”
The fight had ranged all over Yara and Theon’s quarters. Chairs were overturned. The small dining table was in several pieces strewn across the floor. There were bits of torn bed sheets, stained with spatters of blood, everywhere. When Sansa and the queen came in, Jon was choking Theon from behind, and Yara and Arya were circling each other with their knives. All four had bloodied noses or lips or bruised eyes or cuts on their torso or arms.
The queen and Samwell and Grey worm were taken aback, but Sansa was hardly surprised. Jon and Arya had wanted a go at Theon the moment they had laid eyes on him again. For days it was all they could talk about, that and Robb.
Queen Daenerys said, “Jon, let. Him. Go.”
And Sansa said, “Arya, stop it.”
Jon whispered to Theon, “This who you are now? A ball-less twat so weak your sister has to do your fighting for you?”
Theon said, “You’re one to talk!”
Jon threw him at Yara.
The Starks and the Greyjoys moved to opposing sides of the space, Sansa and the queen between them. Arya said, “This isn’t over.” And then she and Jon walked out wiping their faces.