Sansa V

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The leaders of the new residents of Queenscrown trickled through the castle gates clad in a motley of grey and brown furs, leathers, and wool. Sansa counted a little over a score, while the rest lingered outside, awaiting instructions on their placement.

Despite Maester Fell and Sam's objections, Sansa had insisted on welcoming Mance. Though her black eye had yet to fade and her lip still bore the marks of Ramsay's cruelty, she refused to succumb to a week's rest as ordered. Enduring discomfort was not new to her, especially when compared to Ser Barristan's grievous injuries.

The Kingsguard had suffered multiple arrow wounds, his condition dire. Summer's intervention had been his salvation, and under the diligent care of Maester Fell and Sam, his wounds had been tended to and a poultice applied. It was a relief when he stirred from his slumber that morning, though his path to recovery remained fraught with pain. A few more days of the milk of the poppy were deemed necessary.

Sansa observed Mance closely. He was a slender man, neither tall nor short, with long brown hair that had faded to grey. Laughter lines crinkled at the corners of his mouth, adding character to his face. Despite the signs of age, Mance still kept a sharpness in his features, particularly in his shrewd brown eyes. Sansa couldn't help but wonder if he had been handsome in his youth, a thought that lingered in her mind as she studied him.

Robb stood by Sansa's side on her right, offering silent support, while Tormund positioned himself to her left. Sansa longed for Jon's presence; his familiarity with Mance, both in this life and the last, would have eased the tension. Yet Jon remained in King's Landing, embroiled in his mission to secure Shireen's freedom. In her previous life's encounters with the Free Folk, Mance had already passed, leaving Sansa reliant on Tormund's introductions.

"This is Jon Snow's wife, Lady Sansa," Tormund announced, gesturing towards Sansa. "Lady Sansa, meet Mance."

Mance regarded Sansa with a discerning gaze before surprising her by taking her hand and giving a genteel kiss on her knuckles. "Lady Sansa, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I must confess, I was sceptical when Jon spoke of your beauty. Yet, he spoke true; you are captivating," he complimented with a genuine smile.

Sansa felt a faint flush grace her cheeks at Mance's sincere words. Unlike the veiled jabs often exchanged by Cersei or Daenerys, Mance's compliment carried no ulterior motive. Though he tactfully refrained from mentioning her recent injuries—a kindness she appreciated—the authenticity of his praise was unmistakable.

"Thank you, Mance," Sansa replied before turning to introduce Mance to Robb. "Allow me to introduce my brother, Robb Stark."

Mance extended his hand, mirroring Robb's gesture. "A pleasure to meet you," he greeted warmly.

"Welcome to Queenscrown, Mance," Robb responded, clasping the offered hand in greeting.

"Come, I'll guide you to your temporary quarters," Sansa instructed, leading the way through the grand keep. "Once settled, you will assume the role of Lord Whitestark and oversee Queenscrown," she added, her tone resolute. "I've arranged for baths to be drawn for you and your companions."

Mance surveyed their surroundings with a furrowed brow. "Where's Ygritte?" he inquired, his concern clear.

"Ygritte is accompanying our Master of Ships, Theon Greyjoy, on an expedition across the lands of the Gift," Sansa explained. "She possesses invaluable knowledge of the terrain required for your people's settlement. Giants and cave dwellers undoubtedly have differing habitat needs. Together, they are meticulously mapping the area to ensure each group is allocated suitable land." She paused, her expression thoughtful. "I expect their return by tomorrow."

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