Chapter 149: The Dove's Domain
—
The stench hit Sansa Stark like a punch to the gut.
Flea Bottom's orphanage squatted between two crumbling tenements, its walls weeping with moisture that carried the reek of human misery. Children huddled in corners like frightened animals, their eyes too old for their gaunt faces. The matron, a skeletal woman whose dress had more patches than original fabric, wrung her hands as she approached.
"M'lady, we weren't expecting—"
"Clearly." Sansa's voice cut through the woman's stammering with unexpected steel. The lessons of survival had taught her many things, but none more valuable than the power of a well-placed word. "When did these children last eat a proper meal?"
The matron's eyes darted away. "Well… the crown's stipend... it doesn't always arrive regular-like, m'lady."
Another lie. Another theft. Nobody would dare to delay such a thing during the Reign of the Dragonking. Another child starved while someone grew fat on their suffering.
Sansa had spent too many years as a victim to tolerate watching others suffer the same fate. The helpless girl who'd watched her father die, who'd endured Joffrey's cruelties and Cersei's games—that girl had learned to grow clear eyes and sharp claws.
"Ser Wendel." She turned to the gold cloak captain who'd accompanied her, a grizzled veteran who'd initially balked at escorting the 'losing consort' into the city's bowels. "Secure this building. No one enters or leaves without my permission."
His hesitation lasted exactly as long as it took for her to fix him with the same look she'd seen her mother use on bannermen who forgot their place. "At once, Lady Stark."
The title rang with authority she'd never claimed before. Not King's Consort, not Sansa the bride, but Lady Stark of Winterfell. Lady Commander Brienne smiled from behind her.
"You're doing well, my Lady," Brinne said.
"Thank you." Sansa was learning, and she already knew power wasn't just dragonfire and fear. For Dragonfire hadn't existed for two centuries before. Sometimes, power was knowing when to be the warm hearth instead of the consuming flame.
Today, Sansa was here to make a statement. To leave a mark. Upon discussions with Lady Commander about her role, her wavering position beside the King, who barely allowed her attention, she and Brienne had devised a plan to make her important. By doing good for the city.
"You there." She pointed to another guard. "Ride to the Red Keep. Tell them Lady Stark requires three carts of grain, fresh water, and whatever medicines His Grace can spare. If anyone questions the order, remind them that the King's justice extends to all his subjects."
The transformation was immediate. Where moments before she'd been just another highborn lady playing at charity, now she commanded with the certainty of someone who'd learned that kindness without strength was just another form of weakness.
A small boy, perhaps six namedays old, tugged at her skirts with fingers that trembled from more than cold. "A-are you really gonna help us, m'lady?"
Sansa knelt, bringing herself to his level. His face was dirty, but his eyes held a spark of hope that nearly broke her heart. "What's your name?"
"Willem, m'lady."
"Well, Willem." She brushed matted hair from his forehead with gentle fingers. "I'm not just going to help. I'm going to make sure no child in this city goes hungry again. You have my word as a Stark, and… as the future Queen."
Winter is coming, but wolves protect their pack. As she rose, she caught sight of the matron trying to slip toward a back room. "Stop."
The woman froze.
"Lady Commander, please search that room," Sansa said. "I suspect we'll find where the crown's gold has truly been going."
The behemoth's grin was sharp as a blade. "With pleasure, m'lady."
Within the hour, the orphanage had transformed. Guards distributed food while a harried maester tended to the worst cases of malnutrition. The matron sat in chains, her private hoard of gold that should have fed children now gleaming accusingly in the sunlight.
Sansa stood in the courtyard, watching children eat their first real meal in gods knew how long. This wasn't the power of dragons or the politics of roses.
This was the strength of winter wolves, protecting those who couldn't protect themselves.
****
The disguise was simple—roughspun clothes, dirt beneath my fingernails, and a hood to hide my distinctive silver hair. Walking among my subjects as one of them had become a habit, a way to taste the true flavor of my kingdom without the sweetening of fear.
What I found in Flea Bottom stopped me cold.
A crowd had gathered around the old Baelor's Orphanage, but instead of the usual despair that clung to such places, there was... energy. Hope, even.
Gold cloaks maintained order while carts delivered supplies, and at the center of it all stood someone I hardly recognized. Sansa Stark commanded the square like a general marshaling troops.
"The grain goes to the kitchens—Marya, you'll oversee the cooking. Nothing fancy, but filling and hot." Her voice carried over the bustle with surprising authority. "Ser Wendel, have your men set up distribution points at every corner. No child walks away hungry."
When did the frightened dove learn to soar?
A woman approached her, tears streaming down weathered cheeks. "Lady Stark, bless you. My little ones haven't eaten proper in a sennight."
"They'll eat today, and tomorrow, and every day after." Sansa's hand found the woman's shoulder. "The crown remembers its duty to all its people. Remember my words, my Husband's rule is going to be the greatest in history, not just in conquest but in seeing poor subjects satisfied."
The words were powerful. Here I was, planning to conquer continents, while she conquered hearts with bread and kindness. Margaery had done this part of the arc somewhere in the past, but ever since our venture to the Westerlands, this role fell on Sansa, and from the looks of it, she was thriving on it.
I could make them kneel, but she made them love. Different kinds of power, both necessary for an empire that would last.
I pushed through the crowd, letting my hood fall back. "That was quite a powerful message, my dear."
The reaction was immediate. Gasps, dropped bundles, people falling to their knees. The warmth in the air curdled into fear. Even Lady Commander lowered her head. All except Sansa, who met my gaze steadily, albeit with some surprise of her own.
"Your Grace." Her curtsey was perfect, but her eyes held something new. Not defiance exactly, but confidence. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Which makes your words even more impactful." I gestured for the crowd to rise, though most seemed frozen in place. "Don't let me interrupt. Please, continue."
She studied me for a moment, then turned back to her work as if the Dragon King's presence was merely another detail to manage. The audacity of it made me smile.
When the immediate crisis had been handled and the crowd began to disperse, I drew her aside. "Walk with me."
We moved through streets that grew quieter as word of my presence spread. Fear preceded us like a herald.
"I've been seeing you less lately, but it seems you've been busy," I observed.
"The city needed tending." No apology, no justification. Just fact. "Margaery focuses on the highborn meetings ever since her return, Arianne on... well, she's a guest, so she just relaxes. Someone should remember the smallfolk exist."
"And you've appointed yourself their champion?"
She stopped walking, turning to face me fully. "Would you prefer they starve quietly? Or should I return to embroidering and looking pretty while children die in the streets?"
The wolf shows her fangs at last.
"No." I laughed softly at her tone. "No, this is... exactly what was needed. It had been in my planbook initially, but I grew blind and overlooked it after returning from the Westerlands."
Her surprise was gratifying. "Your Grace?"
"I can burn cities, Sansa. I can make kings kneel and dragons dance. But stabilization is important. And you?" I gestured toward the orphanage. "You just did something I never could. You made them believe their king actually gives a damn."
"Don't you?"
The question was almost a notch more than literal. "Sansa Stark, I do care for my people. No, to be clear, I care about what I rule. The lands I own. And since these people belong to my land, I therefore care about them as well. Do not doubt that."
She smiled. "I know you do. That's why you've done so much to feed the poor, I didn't mean it as an offence. But even so, it's difficult to please the poor because some among the poor are corrupt. Corruption exists everywhere, I've seen it. I've faced the bad traits of humanity." Her voice dropped. "I've been powerless. Forgotten. Used." Blue eyes found mine. "I swore I'd never let another feel that way if I could prevent it."
In the show, she became Queen in the North through suffering. Here, she's becoming something more. A queen of hearts. There was a fine level to this, something if crossed, would have made cold Sansa a tyrant. Thankfully, it hadn't been crossed.
"Then let me make it official." The decision crystallized even as I spoke. "The state of well-being of King's Landing City, not just its smallfolk, is now your responsibility. Full backing of the crown's treasury. Show me what a wolf can build when winter comes for the forgotten."
Her intake of breath was sharp. "Your Grace, that's—"
"Necessary." I cut her off. "I'm leaving soon for Essos, I received Yara's letter not long ago, and they'd land soon. I want to be there when that happens, and I'll be gone for a good while. Could be months, maybe longer. When I return, I want to find a capital worthy of dragons. Can you do that?"
The smile that bloomed across her face transformed her from pretty to beautiful. "Yes."
****
The Small Council chamber hummed with barely suppressed tension. I lounged in my chair, watching the dance of politics play out before me like a particularly entertaining mummer's show.
Sansa stood at the far end of the table, parchments spread before her like battle plans. Gone was any trace of the timid girl who'd once flinched at raised voices. In her place stood a woman who'd found her purpose. The Lady Commander's guidance had done good for her.
"The proposal is comprehensive," she began, voice steady despite the weight of every eye upon her. "Seventeen orphanages throughout the city, each staffed with proper matrons, ones who've been thoroughly vetted. Food distribution centers in every district, with priority given to war widows and their children."
"The cost—" Mace Tyrell began.
"Is detailed here." She slid a parchment across the table. "Initial investment of thirty thousand gold dragons, with an operating cost of five thousand per moon. Well within our means given recent acquisitions."
She even learned to make robbery sound polite. I'm so proud.
Margaery leaned forward, silk whispering against skin in a calculated display of curves. "Lady Sansa, your compassion is admirable, truly. But perhaps we should consider more... practical investments? The Iron Queen's navy requires further expansion, and securing loyalty of certain houses—"
"Requires gold, yes." Sansa's interruption was smooth as silk. "Dead children, however, secure nothing but resentment. Or perhaps Lady Margaery believes hungry subjects make loyal ones?"
The rose wilts before the winter wind.
The rose's eyes flickered to me, but I just sipped my wine. "...I merely suggest we consider all options," Margaery's smile was twisted. "Sentiment is a luxury kingdoms can rarely afford."
"Sentiment?" Sansa's laugh was sharp. "This isn't sentiment, Lady Margaery. This is mathematics. Every gold dragon spent feeding a child today saves ten spent suppressing riots tomorrow. Unless you'd prefer to explain to His Grace why King's Landing burns while he's away?"
Arianne watched the exchange with undisguised glee, occasionally making small approving noises that only served to sharpen Margaery's glare.
"Ladies." I finally intervened, though part of me wanted to let them continue. "Both perspectives have merit. Sansa, your proposal?"
She straightened, steel in her spine. "I know you've granted me control of the entire city and not just these orphans, but I think this is the first step toward long-term stability. And I'm not asking for charity, Your Grace. I'm proposing an investment in stability. Loyal subjects are made in childhood. Feed them, educate them, show them their king values their lives, and in ten years you'll have a generation that would die for the throne rather than riot against it."
She learned from Cersei after all, just the opposite lesson than intended.
"And the immediate benefits?"
"Crime reduction. Disease prevention. A workforce that's actually capable of work." She met my gaze steadily. "And when you return from your conquests, a capital that showcases the Dragon King's benevolence rather than his absence."
The silence that followed could have choked a giant.
"Double it."
Margaery's cup hit the table with a sharp crack. "Your Grace?"
"Sixty thousand initial investment. Ten thousand per moon operating costs." I rose, moving to stand behind Sansa's chair. "Lady Stark has identified a weakness in our kingdom's foundation. We'll address it properly."
"But the naval expansion—"
"Can wait." I cut Margaery off with a gesture. "The ships defend against external threats, they are used for conquest. Lady Stark defends against internal ones. Both are necessary, but only one is immediate. Plus, our naval strength isn't our ships… it's our Dragons."
The shift in the room's dynamics was palpable. Sansa was no longer just another consort competing for attention. She was a minister with a mandate and the backing to enforce it.
"Lord Mace." I turned to the perpetually confused Tyrell patriarch. "See that Lady Stark has access to whatever funds she requires. And given your daughter sits on this same table, I'll assume you'd treat Sansa like a daughter too. Any delays will be... poorly received."
"Of course, Your Grace." He bobbed his head like a nervous pigeon.
"Additionally," I continued, enjoying the way Margaery's knuckles whitened as she gripped her cup, "Lady Stark will have authority to commandeer any crown resources necessary for her work. Guards, builders, even septons or Red Priests if she needs them."
"Thank you, Your Grace." Sansa's voice remained steady, but I caught the tremor of emotion beneath. "I won't disappoint you."
"I know." I placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension there. "Show them what Northern honor looks like when given Southern gold."
As the council dispersed, everyone walking out, only Arianne and Margaery lingered, her perfect mask finally cracking. "You're making a mistake. I've spent time with those orphans and beggars before, they are pitiful, I can't deny that, but… Your Grace, throwing gold at beggars won't have any—"
"Won't have any what?" I turned on her, letting a bit of the dragon show. "Won't buy their love? You're right. It won't buy it—it'll earn it. Something you might consider trying."
She left in a rustle of silk and wounded pride.
Arianne approached, mischief dancing in her eyes. "That was delicious. Though you know she'll make Sansa's life difficult while we're gone."
"Good." I watched Sansa through the window, already marshaling her forces in the courtyard below. "Wolves grow stronger in adversity."
"And if she fails?"
I smiled. "Then she was never the wolf I thought she was. But something tells me King's Landing is about to learn why winter is coming."
The game had a new player, one I'd been waiting for long to awaken, and she'd just claimed her territory.
**
**
**