theladyofwinterfell | (no subject)

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geralt

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Being a queen is tiresome business, especially when all of her bannermen seem to want something different and are at one another's throats for one thing or another. Politicking is something she's good at, yes, but Sansa doesn't want to spend every waking hour doing it. Once she dismisses them all, however, she gives them a promise that she'll make a tour and visit every court individually to hear their concerns. This is a fine idea in theory but in practice will be an undertaking that will tap into every resource she has.

She has guards, of course, but she'd rejected the traditional hierarchy of seven sworn guards who take no wives and have no children and decided to just use trusted men from her garrison. She doesn't particularly want them to leave the castle, considering they're the best she has, so she'll have to hire someone from outside to accompany her instead. That will be risky, certainly, but she trusts her own judgment.

There'd been a rumor of a witcher who had drifted into her borders and she thinks he'll make a perfect bodyguard for such a long trip so she sends a messenger to go find him and bring him to court. She makes sure her message doesn't make it mandatory, only optional, and her messenger returns to say he'd found the man but he'd chosen to make a decision on his own. Very well. There's no sense in hurrying and she'll give him a fortnight to decide whether or not he'll turn up at court.

It's a cold day when someone announces a visitor to her and she hopes it is the man she'd sought, even if he doesn't agree to her proposal. She tells her servants to show him to the chamber she's been using to read correspondence in because it's far more casual than sitting on a throne to receive someone and leaves the door open for him to come in.

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Winterfell's like any other castle he's ridden into: fortified, stinking of stables and too many people, and full of armed soldiers who don't like or trust witchers. Those last are better trained than most, at least; they glare at him, but take Roach away to be cared for without much more than a few muttered curses.

Must be that their Queen's opinion holds sway here, and from her message, she's not one to discriminate against him and his kind.

He'd finished a local contract well before the fortnight deadline, but it was his curiosity more than anything else that had brought him here, to this place, following a man in a long robe to an open chamber door, beyond which sits the Northern Queen.

She's younger than he'd expected, and lovely, her hair like a vibrant sunset. The witcher enters her chamber and strides forward, then stands before her. He doesn't bow, but he does say, with respect, if not deference: "Your Majesty. Heard you had a contract for me."

"I do, actually. I need to make a tour of all my bannermans' castles and I don't want to leave my garrison short a man while I do it. I heard you were in my borders and thought a witcher might be a good guard for such an undertaking. I obviously have the gold to make it worth your while but as I am not one to compel anyone into my service, I gave you the choice in whether or not to appear."

Sansa tips her head a bit, looking at him. She supposes he looks like a witcher is supposed to look; she's never seen one in person before, only heard the stories.

"Although I suspect you would have ignored me even if I did compel you. That is a quality I admire in a person."

"And here I thought most royalty appreciated silent obedience over anything else." She's studying him; he takes it without reacting, only watching her steadily back with his yellow mutant's eyes.

Fair enough: he's taking her measure, she's allowed to take his. She doesn't seem scared of him, at least, or disdainful of his profession. That's a pleasant surprise. "Haven't been a bodyguard before. Not the usual kind of contract for me. You worried about running into some monsters along the trail, or just ruffians?"

"Bit of both, honestly. There's no telling what's in those old forests and I certainly don't want to find out and be unprepared for it. Besides, I imagine you can fight with the strength of ten men and I am a queen who likes efficiency."

Sansa leans in a bit, engaged in this conversation more than she's been engaged in anything lately.

"I've never met a witcher before. I was curious, I'll admit, so I was hoping you'd answer my summons and take the contract. There's not any of you left, are there?"

"Not many, no." And he's almost certainly the only one around these parts, although Winterfell's seat here in the cold, lonely northern lands feels almost familiar. It's not Kaer Morhen – nowhere in this country is – but there are a few similarities.

There's no fear or suspicion in the way she's looking at him, only curiosity. It's strange. He's not quite sure what to make of this savvy young Queen, even as he shrugs at her comments. "Maybe not ten men. But I can hold my own against quite a bit. How long do you expect to be traveling? Could cost you a pretty penny, hiring a witcher for the whole way."

"I have a big kingdom. It might be six months. I have the gold, don't worry. It will be lucrative for you to take the contract," Sansa assures him. "I'm willing to pay whatever your asking price is. I am well aware that I won't find anyone else of your caliber to take me on this particular journey."

Sansa laughs softly. "And perhaps if you could glower a bit at every lord we meet it will deter them from asking me to marry them? They're all trying to get my throne and I won't let them have it. I've had enough of marriage. Women never come out on top in a marriage. If I ever married again, it would be for love, and I don't believe love is...I believe love is so rare that one may never see it in their entire life."

Six whole months with coin assured, a job to do, food to eat, a fire or inn to sleep at – it's a tempting proposition. And how hard could the work really be? A few bandits, here and there. Maybe some ghouls, if they stray too far into the woods. "Hm."

Difficult to say whether that mostly grunted response is positive or otherwise, as he considers her. "Pretty inconvenient outlook for any of your lords who were hoping to be King Consort. But I've been told I have a pretty effective glower."

The witcher shakes his head, his white hair brushing over the shoulders of his armor. "Marriage isn't in the cards for witchers. Just as well; seen it ruin whole kingdoms."

The first time he'd met Ciri, before he realized who she was, that she was his destiny, she'd been running from an arranged marriage. She'd been all of, what. Twelve? "So you won't get any judgment from me on that call. Seems like a reasonable one to make. You don't seem to be having any problems ruling on your own."

"Precisely. I intend to keep my throne as my own. I don't need a man interfering with that. But if you'd like to take on the contract, I would be happy and grateful to have you. You'll find I'm not terribly fussy on the road so it should be a simple thing to do unless we run into something out of the ordinary."

And if they do, he's a witcher. If anyone's equipped to handle the strange and cryptic, it'll be him.

"They'll feast us at the castles naturally but I don't need any special treatment when we're traveling. I sit a horse fine and I've been through worse in my life than a little travel from here to there."

"Alright." His chin sinks to his chest, his arms crossing, as he ponders. There are a hell of a lot of pros to this contract, and not a lot of cons, aside from how he'll be tied up for half a year. But if he's making coin – and more than usual, from the sound of it – what's wrong with that.

He nods to himself, then looks back up at her. "Here's my offer. I'll give you my price. In exchange, I'll protect you along the path throughout your travels. But only you, mind. I can't spread myself thin, trying to take care of any retinue you'll have traveling along, too. They'll have to be able to fend for themselves. You won't need to provide me with a mount, armor, or weapons. I'll maintain all those myself, most of the way, but if any of your lords has a decent blacksmith or armorer, I'll want to make use of their services."

There's dry humor in his eyes, in the very faint quirk of his lips, more a shadow than smile, as he meets her gaze. "And I'll keep the suitors away. Do we have a deal?"

"We have a deal. I won't be bringing anyone with me. I need no retinue and in spite of popular belief, I know how to dress myself. You are free to avail yourself of Winterfell's armorer to repair anything you'd like before we set out. Any supplies you need, request them, and they shall be yours."

Honestly, Sansa is glad of it because it means she doesn't have to worry about her person while she travels all over the North and she won't be dragging half a hundred people with her in some sort of grand tour. This is for business, not pleasure, and she's far past the girl who fancied herself a fine southern princess.

"When you are ready to set out, I shall be ready to go. I don't know how much of my story you know but I am no longer a spoiled girl."

He can almost hear Eskel and Lambert teasing him, something about the White Wolf finding others of his own kind, but ignores the idle thought. "Then we'll go once I've had your armorer make a few repairs."

The witcher shakes his head at her. "Not a lot of time for gossip on the Path. I know what I need to know. And, not to put too fine a point on it, as long as you can pay me my coin, I don't really care. But for what it's worth – "

His golden gaze flickers over the simple stone chamber, the work she's doing, before returning to the Queen herself, who had spoken to him so frankly and with such certainty. "– I'd have to agree. You don't seem all that spoiled."

"Not any longer. Life is not a song or a story. It's difficult and sometimes you have to plow through it putting one step in front of the other until you get to the other side."

Sansa puts her hand on the table she uses for a desk in this chamber and finalizes that point.

"I'll get your gold and make the order for supplies. I will need some things even if it won't be many and you need your armor done. Tell the armorer you're first priority by my order and if you have trouble, send for me and I'll inform him myself. We can set out in two days."

"Fine by me." Once more, the witcher doesn't bow, though there's no disrespect in the way his steady yellow eyes study her. Instead, he nods to her. "Then I'll be on my way."

He doesn't expect her to require him over the next two days, but he'll be hanging around Winterfell, just in case. Besides, he'll need to keep a sharp eye on the armorer.

Their deal struck, Geralt turns and heads from the chamber, his armor and the dual swords on his back clinking with every step. There's a great deal to make ready, and not a lot of time in which to do so.

Sansa has her own preparations to make. She intends to travel light, only three dresses, and they'll fit in the saddlebag that her horse can carry. She has her crown as well but that is only to make the sort of statement that some of her bannermen require from time to time (The Glovers, after all, hadn't stood with the Starks against the Boltons and the North Remembers.)

There is also the matter of gold and she has a heavy purse of it that she entrusts to Geralt when she sees him near the stables.

"It's all there, as promised. Normally I would pay half up front and half afterward but I find no reason to distrust you. Besides, if you wanted to kill me, there's nothing I could do about it anyway. Such is the nature of what you are. I trust you, though, so there's no reason to withhold payment. I have some gold with me, as well, but not so much as to call attention to us. It is my intention to be as anonymous as possible on the roads so no one gets ideas."

"Pretty sure there's plenty you could do about it," the witcher drawls, reaching out to accept the heavy bag of coin. "Starting with not hiring me to begin with. You wouldn't be the first royal to drive a witcher from their castle grounds."

He adds a rune to the bag – a clever thing from a sorceress of his acquaintance, a small charm that simply negates the weight of a small object. The bag instantly feels lighter, and he adds it to Roach's saddle, then gives her a skeptical glance. "Dunno about anonymous, but we're pretty likely to call attention to ourselves. You are, at least. Not many women in the world with looks like yours."

"My face has caused a lot more trouble than I would like. If I had it to do over, I would choose to be a plain woman instead so that men wouldn't notice me nearly as much. I used to be...arrogant about being beautiful. I was proud of myself for something I had no influence over at all. Now I wish I was less beautiful and more clever."

Sansa thinks herself fairly clever but she's learned that the acquisition of knowledge never ends and whenever you think yourself done learning, you've only just begun to do it.

"All that said, thank you for the compliment. I'm hoping if I keep my hood on as much as I can, they won't see my hair and know me as the queen."

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