dk65 (dk65) wrote,
dk65
dk65

Capturing a Lord

Written for a prompt on asoiafkinkmeme--Wilding born Sansa wants to be a Lady so badly that she steals the only Lord she can.

These characters belong to GRRM.

Although Sansa was a red-head, like her sister Ygritte, she was not a warrior like her. She had a lovely sweet voice; Mance often took her with him, when he travelled disguised as a bard, to the castles and holdfasts throughout the north, to sing with him. She could build traps for small animals and hunt for roots, shoots and herbs in the woods and forests. She could fetch water and firewood, and keep a snug and clean tent, and she was a good needlewoman. Although she was young, she had several suitors, not least because of her hair.

However, Sansa had a dream that she had never spoken of even to Ygritte—she wanted to marry a lord and live in a castle, like the ladies described by southron singers. She wanted a nice and cosy home, where she could invite her sister to spend the long winter.

However, Sansa knew she was not strong enough to carry off a big, strapping northern lord—it was more likely the lord would either carry her off or kill her. So she had to look for a lord she could carry off easily, and one who would not mind it too much and make a noise. She thought she’d found the right candidate when she went with Mance to Winterfell; Mance went to see Lord Stark; his brother, the First Ranger; King Robert and his knights—Sansa was looking for a lord small enough for her to steal. And she found one, in King Robert’s youngest brother-in-law.

There was little she could do in Winterfell—the place was alive with soldiers and knights, those of the king, the Lannisters and the Starks. She was glad to learn that the little lord was to visit the Wall with Lord Benjen Stark and Jon Snow, Lord Stark’s son. She and Mance followed Lord Benjen’s men all the way to the Wall. And then Sansa told Mance she felt too ill to join him in the lands north of the Wall; she promised she would return when she felt better.

She kept a careful lookout on the little lord she’d decided to steal; he kept close to the men of the Watch. But he did go off now and again, to examine the trees and the plants on the southron side of the Wall, and to cut bits off them—he carried a small book with him and wrote in it. She was able to follow him then; she noticed that he wandered about quite alone at those times. The two servants who had accompanied him did not guard his back; perhaps they felt he was safe this side of the Wall?

One day, she decided she had to take her chance—Mance and Ygritte would expect her back anytime soon. And she knew her sister would be wroth with her for not coming home with Mance. So she followed the little lord out that day, as he waddled about the wood, picking up berries and shoots. Eventually he grew weary of this, took off his cloak and sat down under a tree to eat his bread and meat, and drink his wine. She watched him, nibbling an apple all the while. He lay down on the cloak to nap without taking off his boots—she heard him snore. She waited a while, and then she crept up on him. She bundled him up in his own cloak, tied him hand and foot with the rope she’d wrapped around her waist and tossed him over her back, like a sack of potatoes. He’d had so much wine that he did not wake nor make a noise; just snored gently into her ear.

She had often accompanied Mance on his forays south of the Wall, to gather information, and she knew the route he had planned to use to get beyond the Wall to the free folk. She was on her way there, walking fast, when the little lord woke up, blinking and yawning. He was not pleased to find himself trussed up like a chicken going to market. He began asking questions.

“Why have you captured me?”

“I haven’t captured you—I’ve stolen you. I plan to marry you because I want to live snug and warm in a castle,” she said, looking into his mismatched eyes gravely.

He simply grunted. “Why in seven hells do you want to live in a castle?” he demanded.

“I’d like to live like a lady in the songs that your southron bards sing,” she began, “all ready for the long winter.”

He sniffed. “My father,” he said, “would never forgive you for stealing me.  And he would never let you enter his castle. He is not a nice man—he will vent his rage on the Starks. You had better let me go. It would be best for all concerned.”

They were silent for a while, as she trudged on towards the place Mance had shown her, where she could get across the Wall. She spoke, “Your father must be an old man, must he not? He will not live forever. We can always go back to your castle. You will be welcome amongst my people. I will look after you and care for you...you have nothing to fear.”

He fidgeted a little across her back. “Who are your people and what will I do amongst them?”

“We are the free folk...we live beyond the Wall. We do not kneel to kings or knights or septons. We have our own laws and we make our own choices. I have chosen you. You might be little, but you seem to be very clever. You read a lot and seem to know the roots and shoots and plants and trees in the wood. I have seen you gathering them and writing about them. I can tell you much and more of what is to be found in the woods. We could learn much from you—perhaps you can advise Mance on what we can do for the long winter that is to come. As for the Starks—Lord Stark is the King’s friend, is he not? I think he has little to fear from your father. I will take good care of you, my little lord, never fear.” And she smiled at him.

They had reached the point at which they could easily cross to the other side of the Wall as she spoke. She laid him down and untied his hands and feet, and took off his boots. And then she gently massaged his wrists and ankles, so that sensation returned to his feet and hands. He watched her warily all the while out of his mismatched eyes. She helped him put on his boots, took his hands in hers and crossed the Wall to the other side and freedom.
Tags: asoiaf, sansa stark, tyrion lannister, wildlings
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