Chapter Text
IV:
The morning of Robb’s birthday week began with a slight chill, but sun, and the organization of a full-day hunt for all the lords and their sons. This left the servants to continue for the first evening feast, where Robb was to say a few words in welcome to those who travelled to Winterfell to attend. Bran, with Gage’s help, was in charge of organizing and adapting the menu to whatever meat they caught that day for the rest of the week, and Robb had no concerns about how that would turn out.
He was more concerned about staying on his horse.
Theon had done his best to “reteach” Robb and Jon horseriding, but as both preferred public transit or their own cars, neither had any experience with the tall creatures and struggled with muscle memory in relearning to ride over the months. They were… capable, now, but nowhere near proficient, so a hunt was going to be amusing.
As it was, Ned seemed happy to lead the hunt with several of his old war buddies, men like the GreatJon Umber, Rickard Karstark, Roose Bolton, Galbart Glover, Medger Cerwyn, and Maege Mormont among others. Their children - the SmallJon, Harrion, Torrhen, and Eddard Karstark, Dominic Bolton and the Mormont girls - were clustered around Jon, Robb, and Theon, along with several other lord’s sons: Cley Cerwyn, Wylis and Wendel Manderly (Wylis’ daughters remained behind in Winterfell, being near Sansa’s age), Daryn Hornwood, Brandon Tallhart, Robin Flint, Owen Norrey, and Donnel Locke.
“Let’s hunt some fucking bears!” cried the GreatJon, his voice echoing across the field where they had all gathered outside the Hunter’s Gate.
“Or a stag!” chimed in someone else.
“Or a boar!”
Robb wanted to roll his eyes, shifting uneasily in his saddle. He caught Jon’s eyes and exaggerated a face, making the other boy turn away to hide a grin. He sat up, straightening his back and loudly mocked in a very stereotypical, upper-crust Downton Abbey voice, “By Jove -- look lively, chaps! We’re going a-hunting!”
It caught the attention of the lord’s heirs around them, causing many to look his way, all very, very confused by the changed accent and words.
Jon, trying hard not to snigger, added in a similar accent, “I say, old sport! Poppycock. A hunt, what now!”
“It’ll be a jolly good time,” continued Robb, with Theon looking heaven-ward next to him on his horse, clearly done with their antics. He should have been used to it by now, and both Jon and Robb ignored him to continue riffing off one another.
“As you say, my Lord, absolutely spiffing,” grinned Jon.
Ahead of them, Ned Stark signalled for the hunt to begin and began to lead the large group across a field and toward the Wolf’s Wood.
“Jolly good, chaps!” cried Robb. “It’s starting! Pip pip! Tally-ho!”
Utterly confused, the youngest of the group, Brandon Tallhart, looked at Robb and weakly echoed him, “Pip pip?” while Cley Cerwyn added, “Tally-ho?”
“Tally-ho!” shouted Robb again, throwing his arm forward in a point and then using up all the skills and talent he accumulated from Theon’s lessons to move his horse forward into a light walk.
As the group progressed, the heirs attempted to get Robb to join in conversation. For the most part, this was the first time many of them had all met or met when they were old enough to converse. But with Jon on one side of Robb and Theon on the other, they were forced to participate in the conversation set by the pseudo-Starks.
“I would like to state for the record that I am morally opposed to this,” began Robb.
“My Lord?” asked Torrhen.
“The hunt,” clarified Robb. “Like, why are we even doing it? The thrill of hunting down something that can’t defend itself? Where’s the fun in that? I feel like a Predator.”
“My Lord, we are the predators,” said a confused Daryn. “We have the swords and crossbows.”
“I said a Predator with a capital ‘P’,” said Robb, glancing at the Hornwood heir. “And if we want to make it a fair fight, we should give the animals we’re hunting swords.”
There was an awkward silence following that. Theon wondered if any of them were picturing a boar with a crossbow, or a stag with a sword, now. Because he was.
“This is animal cruelty,” Robb continued mulishly.
“It’s population control,” argued Jon, speaking up for the first time in a bit. Theon, on Robb’s other side, nodded emphatically, trying to salvage Robb’s plummeting reputation.
“The only animal I would condone this for as population control are raccoons.” Robb shuddered. “They’re menaces.”
“What’s a raccoon?” asked Donnel.
“A trash panda,” clarified Jon, although nothing was clarified with that. “They’re adorable, though.”
“They’re evil,” protested Robb.
Brandon Tallhart quickly signed himself in the way of the Old Gods and shivered.
“They’re not evil - they’re part of the ecosystem --”
“Oh, my Gods, can you two please stop ?” groaned Theon, already done with them both and the morning sun was barely cresting the hills around them.
Jon and Robb glared at each other but snapped their mouths shut, letting the group around them steer their horses in a strange silence. After a few minutes, Robb tentatively ventured to the group in a deadpan voice, “So. Joffrey’s nameday tourney in Lannisport several months ago, eh? Such splendour, much fight. So wow.”
Jon coughed to hide a snigger - Theon had been educated on the Doge meme from Arya in the past and, for once, understood that reference. He swore loudly and broke away from the group. He did not want to be around that kind of stupidity and did not want to manage Robb or Jon when all they spoke was their world nonsense. At least Robb hadn’t said anything about the weather!
“What lovely weather we’re having today! So different from yesterday! It’s so… slate grey and yesterday it was more steel.”
Theon groaned again. He spoke too soon.
Sansa wasn’t just throwing Robb a kick-ass birthday party that introduced the many lords and ladies of the north to them, establishing their quirkiness. Given what Jon and Bran had explained of canon, Sansa also wanted to ensure that they had some kind of protection going forward in the event of Robert Baratheon naming Eddard Stark the Hand, or the Others bringing down the Wall, or the Boltons being uppity, or any other calamity that might befall them.
The obvious answer to those situations was money.
The North was a kingdom that was rich in natural goods but, due to its size, lacked a strong infrastructure to carry goods and products from east and west and vice versa. Jon had fanatically ranted about a Northern canal and then went into something about dragonroads, a Triarchy, and Littlefinger (although Sansa couldn’t quite make out how they were all connected, if at all), but it was enough for her to realize that they were a bit stymied.
There were other ways, though.
The first was Robb’s birthday - not only were the noble lords and ladies of the North partaking by staying in Winterfell and Wintertown, engaged in all manner of suitable noble activities; Sansa wanted to ensure that the everyday people looked positively toward the Starks. So, Robb’s birthday became more like a weeklong festival.
The point Sansa wanted to make was, in a single word: spectacle.
She organized booths that lined either side of the dirt road from Wintertown to Winterfell, with locals showing off any wares for purchase (like wooden spoons, whittled wolves and birds and whistles), as well as excess fabric from the seamstress, candles from the candlemaker, and then a much larger booth with casks of ale from the Wintertown inn, hot buns and sweetbread from the breadmaker, and a large roasted boar on a spit that Winterfell had generously donated in Bran’s name to the townspeople.
Jugglers and puppeteers performed on corners in Wintertown, and the bards whom Sansa kept on retainer but was not performing in Winterfell for the big reveal were at the Wintertown inn, pub, and brothel. They were all happily practicing and engaging the townsfolk and visitors to whatever song was asked of them, keeping all the extra coin flicked their way on top of Sansa’s generous pay allotment.
Robb was to supervise and judge a timed whittling contest on the second day; Theon had already signed up for, and was eager to participate, in the axe-throwing competition that Sansa planned to be like the axe-throwing companies that popped up in the last few years back in their world. There was log tossing and stone-throwing, which GreatJon Umber was already crowing he was going to win, and evening card games inside Winterfell for after-dinners, wherein Jon and Bran would teach people poker and Go Fish and Rummy. Arya was especially looking forward to the roast off near the end of the week, in which Robb would just have to sit and take it.
In a nearby cleared field, Sansa had a maypole erected; there were bales of hay with targets painted on them for people to try their hand at archery (always good to scout new talent), as well as an archery competition open to all (although Theon was already tapped by the Stark siblings to be the favourite to win).
Despite Ned’s own reluctance toward southerly traditions, the Stark siblings had organized a small-scale tournament with an emphasis on a melee (although not quite a traditional one, given that Sansa had a hand in it), a basic tilt, and a horse show, one that a Rhyswell was sure to win - or, perhaps, Dominic Bolton since he took more after his mother’s side of the family.
The coin generated in Wintertown by the people and those visiting went, firstly, back into the pockets of the people who were manning the booths. Sansa, who had made an initial deposit in helping establish and set up the booths, was only taking a small cut of the profit - and if the event proved successful, she was planning on increasing that cut for the next event, and the next, until she hit her personal cap. It was an excellent way to supplement the pin money Ned amusingly provided her with.
(He just never expected her to invest the money and become as entrepreneurial as she and the others were becoming; it’s not like Robb and Jon and Bran and Arya didn’t have their own personal ventures, either… what Ned Stark didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him! And no one was about to ‘fess up that Sansa and Arya had pooled their money to buy out the local brothel and had plans for it.)
But despite Robb’s oddities during the hunt on the first day, things seemed to be going… well. The lords and ladies of the North were tickled with the events, games, and al fresco dining that Bran and Gage had organized in Winterfell - especially as the weather held - and the mood was high as the week came to an end. The final feast was going to be the game changer, determining whether or not the quirkiness of the Starks could be excused and even desired to replicate.
The first change was the layout of the Great Hall -- while there was still a head table, overlooking the entire length of the room, there were several smaller tables spread out instead of long ones. Originally, the room held four long feasting tables for the guests, which Arya had amusingly named Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw to Theon, Beth, and Jeyne’s utter confusion. They had those tables removed and split into smaller ones, angled to leave the center of the hall open for dancing.
A raised dais on either end of the head table held four musicians each with their new instruments, carefully positioned to accentuate the acoustics of the room. They were placed just slightly out of slight, but high enough that they were just at head level of the average Northerner - or about chest height for an Umber. All the musicians were in the livery Sansa fashioned for them, a washed-out grey uniform with black buttons and silver buckles worth far more than anything most of them had owned. But now as musicians-in-residence, Sansa could spoil them and none were planning on leaving the comforts of having noble patronage.
While the Starks were not in the room to direct the guests to the feast, Sansa and painstakingly, along with Bran, instructed the servants. Those same servants helpfully guided the guests to their assigned seating - something new - where they exclaimed over the flower bouquet centrepieces of blue winter roses, white snowdrops, red winter berries, purple crocus, and pussy willows.
Linen napkins in the shape of folded pockets, with wooden spoons and metal two-tined forks and serrated knives tucked inside, were placed on two layers of plates. Goblets and mugs in pewter with matching pitchers of ale and carafes of wine lined either end of the tables, and fresh bread rolls overfilling wooden bowls made mouths water as guests entered.
There were excited murmurs by those as they stepped into the Great Hall, and even Ned and Catelyn were agog, taking in the significant changes made to their home. As they sat at the head table, Catelyn leaned over to her husband and murmured, “Ned, where are the children?”
“They said they wanted to make an entrance,” he replied, a bit wryly. He hadn’t quite approved, but when it came to Sansa and Arya, he tended to give in to his girls’ whims, and after seeing what Sansa had managed to do that past week for Robb’s nameday, he was more than game to allow her foibles.
Once everyone had made their way to their tables, and were breaking their bread, did the musicians on either side of the head table begin playing. The sounds were different from anything anyone had heard before - lutes and harps were the most common of instruments, but the stringy sounds, layered, caught the attention of those, making heads turn toward them.
The song played for a few beats, and then, opposite, the doors to the Great Hall opened, revealing the Stark siblings and their age-appropriate friends, paired off. Gasps rang through the room as their outfits were revealed, with several people rising from their seats and craning their necks to watch them stride down the middle of the empty floor between the tables, and from Robb’s arm, Sansa preened.
Sansa had kept to Winterfell colours, but deviated far from medieval tunics, leggings, and fur-lined shaggy coats, streamlining the fashion into the long-suffering Bridgerton -styled jackets and waistcoats that Robb bemoaned. Robb wore a white button-up shirt but a tailcoat of heavier brocade in Stark grey, stitched and lined with lighter and darker silver thread that gleamed in the candlelight, the tails flaring as he strode. His knee-high boots tucked into his trousers and a matching silver waistcoat complemented his outfit.
The other men on the ground - Theon, Jon, and Bran - all wore similar designs, although Theon’s was more black with golden and yellow thread for House Greyjoy, with subtle Kraken motifs in the stitching; Bran wore darker colours to Robb’s to show his Stark heritage, although in a lighter fabric, but Jon’s outfit was a work of subtle art, black on black and the darkest of red stitching hidden in the folds of his tailcoat to hint at his Targaryen heritage if anyone knew to look for it.
For Sansa, Arya, Beth, and Jeyne, she had designed dresses Austen-esque, with empire waistlines and pastels for Beth and Jeyne and the richest jewel tones for herself and Arya (since no one in Westeros would care that jewels were for married women and pastels for debutantes).
Sansa’s deep blue - Tully blue - complemented her red hair and she wove winter roses into a braided crown, leaving only a few tresses kissing the back of her neck. Silver, opals, and diamonds glittered on the bodice of her dress, as well as the swirling design that raced up the elbow-length gloves she wore, and matched the droplet earrings and matching necklace she wore.
Arya was in grey, a colour that best suited her complexion, in a similar style that made her back straight and look older than her Westerosi age; Beth was in a pretty pink and Jeyne in a seafoam green, equally bejewelled and dazzling in borrowed necklaces and bracelets. Each step caught the candlelight and had the girls all mesmerizing those in the crowd.
As Robb had to open the feast before food could begin, he knew that he had to begin the tradition of the dance. This was exactly what Sansa had been keen on, and with only a minor grimace - as they had been practicing for months now - he gracefully spun Sansa out from his arm toward Theon, who caught her in a perfect hold, just as he traded off with Jeyne.
Beth and Jon, Arya and Bran were already in position, and with a quick nod from Sansa toward the musicians, they seamlessly switched into a familiar instrumental. It was rote, at this point, to begin synchronously as the musicians hit the notes. Robb bowed, Jeyne curtseyed, and then they began, each stepping to the side and gently swinging their arms.
Idly, Robb noted that the others were in near-perfect lockstep, and they all looked amazing , which was exactly what Sansa had intended. And with the open mouths of awe and surprise on those watching that Robb could spy, he felt energized and a small smile quirked on his lips.
Jeyne caught it as they completed a spin around each other, and sent him a tiny grin in response before they were stepping back-to-back, and then back to face one another. Nearby, Robb saw Theon and Sansa dancing, staring at each other as their right hands lifted and touched, even as they completed a circle.
As they moved out of Robb’s line of sight, he caught Jon’s eyes and jerked his head a bit in Sansa’s direction; Jon’s eyes followed and then he rolled them. Of course, Theon would be enamoured with the pottymouth woman from another world who didn’t give two shits about his attitude - and despite the age difference between them in this world, Sansa was mentally several years older than Theon, making the entire interaction between them more awkward.
The right hands fell and the left went up, and the circle went in the other direction. On his toes, Robb stepped forward and danced back, with Jeyne mimicking him and their hands barely twining and kissing before dropping. They circled one another again, back-to-back, and then faced one another.
Arya and Bran were grinning at one another at the next move, a fancy-looking pass with an overhead arm -- first, Bran helped Arya and then she helped him -- and then the couples were back to front, with Theon grinning down at Sansa from over her shoulder. Jeyne stifled a giggle and Robb rolled his eyes, as the two were in their line of sight. Despite Robb’s exasperation, he completed his move by sweeping his one foot out and dragging it as he spun slowly Jeyne back to face him before they linked hands behind each other’s backs.
The dance looked intricate, but once the moves were known and completed, Robb realized they were actually fairly simple; it was just ensuring that hands met and clasped at the right time without looking, while the footwork was a simple box step with only a few flourishes, most of which were done by Sansa, Theon, Bran, and Arya.
It was a dance meant for holding gazes and giving weight, especially toward the end when Jeyne placed her fingertips delicately on Robb’s shoulders. There was a scandalized gasp from someone near them, watching, as the closest anyone became while dancing in the south or north were reels and hands-on waists for lifts and spins - but this proto-waltz was far more intimate.
Robb spun Jeyne out and then brought her back in, once more back-to-front, as they moved in a circle, one hand holding hers low by her waist and the other clasped tight against her shoulder. Finally, the music wore down and he released her, stepping back into the opening position, and gave her a tiny bow as she curtseyed, ending where they began.
Around them, people burst into applause, and Jeyne and Robb shared a breathless smile, pleased that all their hard work had paid off with Sansa as their slave driver. The others around them - Jon and Beth, Arya and Bran, and especially a pleased-as-punch Sansa and Theon with a cat that caught the canary grin - were equally flushed and pleased, with Sansa’s eyes sparkling as she took in the positive reception.
Robb held out his hand and escorted Jeyne toward the main table where he and his siblings - even Jon - would sit for his birthday. After the men escorted the ladies to their seats, they took theirs, and that was the signal for the feast to begin. Servants brought out platters of food, with each table receiving choice cuts that Robb sent down to them (although everyone had the opportunity to taste everything) -- and everything was a Bran and Gage creation.
There were loud exclaims of delight as people ate, and others wowed at displays of layered pastries, honey-glazed meat, or pleasantly plated side dishes. That, in addition to the gentle music playing, plus the ale and wine, lent a jovial atmosphere to the Hall.
Sansa had instructed the musicians to play traditional Northern reels in between the sheets she and Jon had created for them, giving a nice balance between the familiar and the new. It got people up and moving, dancing off the food they ate, and continued the festive feelings throughout the night.
But the crowning achievement was when Wylla Manderly came up to Sansa, part-way through the evening. “Lady Sansa!”
“Lady Wylla?” the redhead asked, turning to face her from where she was speaking to Jon and Cley Cerwyn.
The Manderly granddaughter gave a curtsey to both men with Sansa and then turned back to her. “That… that dance you performed earlier when you entered. What was that? I have never seen such a dance in the north before! Is it Southern?”
Sansa shared a quick, triumphant glance with Jon. “No, not at all. I choreographed it. I made it up.”
“She did,” confirmed Jon, making a face at her. “And made us learn the steps for the past several moons. Absolute beast, she was.”
Sansa whacked Jon on the chest and he mimicked staggering backward, making her grin. “Stop that.”
“But oooow , Sansa!”
Wylla watched with wide eyes. “Lady Sansa,” she began again, breathlessly, “Can you show me the steps? The dance was…”
“Something else,” finished Cley for her, nodding along fervently. Although as a young man, Sansa was sure he was more interested in a dance that was socially acceptable for him to touch and stand that close to an unmarried woman.
Sansa’s lips curled into a pleased smile. “Oh, Wylla - Cley. Absolutely. Are you free tomorrow morning?” She turned to Jon. “And Jon, dear, you’ll be there with the others, won’t you?”
Jon stifled a groan; more dancing! but he nodded. “Aye, Sansa,” he said, as that was the only acceptable response, anyway.
“Perfect,” she practically purred, a gleam in her blue eyes. She turned to Wylla and Cley. “You won't regret it, I promise.”
Jon turned to them as well and stage-whispered, “You’ll totally regret it when your feet are stepped on.”
Sansa had her turn to stifle her sigh as Wylla giggled and Cley gave Jon a rather tight, if unsure, smile in response. But it didn’t matter - Cley and Wylla were interested in the Bridgerton-inspired dance; and the next morning, mostly hungover, there were many, many others of the younger lords and ladies who came to attend Robb’s nameday feast, all eager to learn the dance and take it back with them to their castles.
It was exactly what Sansa wanted, and by the furtive glances Robb, Jon, Arya, Bran, and even Theon, Beth, and Jeyne all shared, they knew how monumentous that morning was, especially when Alys Karstark turned to Sansa and asked, “Do you have any other dances, my lady?”
Sansa laughed. “Oh, Alys, babe! Do I have any other dances? Ha!” She hooked her arm through Alys’ and batted her eyelashes at the shorter, dark-haired girl. “Prepare to have your mind blown .”
Alys’ returning smile was a bit confused at the modern turn of phrases, but it was all joy by the time Sansa had demonstrated at least three other routines, all enthusiastically joined in by their guests. By the time they broke for lunch, Sansa turned to her pseudo-siblings and gave them two thumbs up.
Step one of her plan had been successfully pulled off - and was about to take a life of its own.
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