Oathkeeper

Chapter 83: In the South, Where Her Brother Rules

Fall 321 A.C.

Slowly but surely the air in Winterfell became more crisp, cool, infused even. Judging by that and the subtle yet distinctive earthy smell of fallen leaves, they knew Winter was coming.

They'd barely even inched into the autumn season before Sansa began counting the seconds that fell off the length of the day. The cold was where she and her family thrived, and they were in need of a little glory. Inevitably, she'd grow bored, or too distracted by her grumbling wife, or too tired to keep track, and give up. Winter would come when it was ready, and counting the days wouldn't make it come any sooner.

Plus, there were things to love about this season as well. One of her favorite newfound things about the transition into autumn was the way the sun would slightly position itself at a different angle. The way the wistful world would contrast the warmth of the sun with the impending cold felt like engaging in something forbidden. Tantalizing, and in the best way possible.

A crowd of knights, Lords, and Ladies had formed in the semi-dense fog of the Godswood. The Queen and the Hand stood off to the left, a few feet from the freshly forged burial ground with their eyes peeled on the Queensguard along with everyone else.

Ser Bael, Ser Bjorn, Ser Mathew and Ser Galvin stood exquisite, united and uniformed by their polished black armor. They lined up just beside Ser Tiberius, who was prepared to commence the ceremony.

"Today, we gather to say goodbye to our brother, Ser Craig Haning. Craig was a noble knight, who knelt, alongside myself and my brothers, and swore oaths before the Queen. Ser Craig Hanning died protecting your husbands, brothers, sons, friends, and most importantly, our Queens, from those traitorous bastards." Ser Tiberius started off strong despite appearing in need of a bucket to hurl in.

"Everyone in this realm owes him a debt . . . and we will work tirelessly to repay it. Starting with slaying Rickard Cerwyn and anyone standing behind him," Ser Tiberius continued, now rallying the crowd.

Lyanna leaned into Sansa's side and whispered, "Is he drunk?,"

"He'll be fine," Sansa snapped. She didn't want to have to admit that Lyanna was right to suggest that Ser Tiberius wasn't ready.

"Northerners do things the old way . . . and sure we have two Queens and yes one of them is a southerner . . . but aside . . . well- I've forgotten what I was going to say" Ser Tiberius slurred.

"Get him down from there," Lyanna whispered harshly to Ser Delaryn who stood on her right.

The knight charged forward, wrapping both arms around a stirring Ser Tiberius before calmly and quietly whisking the man away from the burial site. He was presumably dragged as far away from the crowd as possible but Lyanna took over before anyone had the chance to stir up any conversation about it.

"I apologize for Ser Tiberius' outburst, as you can see he is still quite . . . shaken. Thank you all for attending. Please leave a few kind words for Ser Craig before returning to your camps and awaiting the next word from the Queen patienly,"

The swarm migrated slowly and soon enough it looked less like a hive and more like a thick line that waited to sting the top late knight's tombstone with its sorrowful fingertips. Lyanna idly returned to the Queen's side with a gloating smirk on her face.

"You were right. He wasn't ready," Sansa rolled her eyes.

Every so often the two would fall into sync. Just now, they both tucked their hands away. Only Sansas remained sitting on her lap, hidden beneath her lengthy sleeves whereas Lyanna liked to rest her palms on the inner part of her arm, behind her back. Sansa's gaze fell down to Lyanna's height and stayed there for an uncomfortable amount of seconds.