Chapter III: Sansa I – Justice

Sansa Stark sat up straighter in her throne when the two guards led the man in. She stuck out her chin in a way that she knew drew attention to her crown, then took a good look at the man opposite her. Lord Glover had aged. There was more gray in his hair than she remembered. He wore simpler clothes as well, less fine furs, and wore no sword. Sansa had been clear in her instructions to the guards to confiscate it.

“Lord Glover,” she said in lieu of a greeting, beckoning him to come closer. He obeyed, and from the corners of her eyes Sansa saw the guards tense.

“Your Grace,” Glover replied, and knelt before her throne. Now that he was closer, Sansa realized that he didn’t so much look older, as diminished. His pride was gone. He could have put up a fight when she summoned him to Winterfell, he could have run, but instead, he had come. He knew he had lost, so he had given up.

“I trust you know why you are here,” Sansa told him, letting her fingers drum on the weirwood of her throne.

Lord Glover nodded.

“When my brother took the throne, you swore fealty to him, to House Stark, to us. Yet in our hour of need, you abandoned us. How can I trust you to keep your oaths ever again?”

To his credit, Glover didn’t reply. He simply lowered his head and stared at the floor. For a moment, Sansa looked at the faces of her court: men and women who watched her every step like hawks.

“In the end,” she continued, “I don’t think I can.”

Glover sighed in defeat.

“I should take your head, but I have decided to show mercy, since you came when I called for you – this time. You are hereby sentenced to a life in exile, and stripped of your titles. You will be escorted to White Harbor, where a ship will take you to Braavos. If you ever set foot in the North again, you will die.”

At this, Glover’s head shot up and he looked straight into her eyes. Sansa hoped he didn’t see any trace of weakness in her, or else she might live to regret her mercy.

Fin

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