━ in which; Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, receives a raven from across the sea, speaking of how her dear sister had come into contact with another race of people from the mysterious, rumoured magic of the sea on Arya's desire to answer the age o...
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Before long, upon the masses of Vikings within the camp had all arrived, wide awake and with bellies full of left over stew or plates of berries. Ragnar mounted the log, a brief but piercing clap of his hand upon his arm, the sound ushered in a loud silence and an armada of eyes upon him. Just like that, a movement of people made a circle around him. Sansa watched on as he stood amidst the conclave. He summoned them with such ease, it almost made her insecure of her own command over her lords.
"The terms of our stay have been agreed upon with the Saxons. We are to be delivered two thousand pounds of gold and silver, for the return of the prisoner and our continued peace, as well as my brother being baptised into their faith to secure our alliance." He explained with ease, walking up and down the tipped log with such casual, sure-footed steps that a cat would even be jealous. Sansa felt her heart drop to her stomach, it was somewhat easy to forget that the people around her were pirates. Pirates who lusted for little but wealth and would go as far to extort someone with the lives of their family placed at risk.
A wave of whispers begun amongst the conclave, pleased with the amount and the ease it would be given to them with. Almost no effort taken up and such great riches being rewarded. Blue eyes continued to take in the mood of the mob, a moment passed and they begun to change topics to the conditions. Her eyes froze upon Alva, speaking to a short man, her words were unintelligable, but her lips were easy enough to read. A single hostage is worth two thousand pounds of gold and silver? A prince, a royal hostage. Sansa took a breath. She would not let herself become the same, they would not discover her status. They would not extort her family, her kingdom, their wealth for her life.
It led her mind down a hall into two possible options, one, if she could play her cards right, they could take her home, sail to Lannisport, or even Flint's Finger. Tyrion would likely hear about her arrival and use whatever remained in the mines of his forefathers to pay for her safe return, as Sansa was almost certain Tywin was lying when he said the mines had run dry, for why would the Great Lion reveal such critical information to the realm. Tyrion's repayment and other conditions could be brokered between them after the fact. She would bat her eyelashes and beg him, for the realm, for any fondness he still held for her if it brought her back to the North. However, it would result in the vikings knowing how to get to her home, to return and raid the coasts of North and South alike, to terrorise and abuse those who remained and demand more.
The only other option was to remain and await a rescue, or to sail herself, without the aid of anyone who would risk the safety of Westeros. She blinked once more, and Sansa was back in the crowd, sitting upon a log, in the front row of Ragnar's conclave. The crowd began to roar in outrage, upon hearing the bear-like man's betrayal of their faith. A frown pulled at her lips, it was a cruel reaction, entirely warranted in a society used to religious exclusivism as faith was important to many, but he was doing his duty to his brother, to his people! Surely they would understand the value of his sacrifice. Sansa glanced to him, carefully taking in his stance and what the look of his posture meant in conjunction to the lines in his face.
