Chapter Text
The Whent's were magic, Mother had explained to her. She said that only the first born daughters held that magic, and that magic was death and the undead. She said that her own Mother, Minisa Tully, was able to see ghosts, breathe life and control into corpses, and speak to the Stranger. Mother could do the same. And on the day Sansa brought her a bat, once dead but now living at Sansa's breath, Sansa had that magic too.
Mother had brought her to Father's study that same day, dinner finished and nothing but shadows through the halls. She had brought Sansa to him, the bat dead once more in her hands, and stated, “I told you of the Whent Magicks. Now, you must fulfill that promise made.”
Father had stared at Mother for a long, long moment, before turning his grey eyes to Sansa. Mother had nudged between her shoulder blades in soft encouragement, “Go on, sweetling. Show him.”
Sansa had hesitated, a creeping fear up her spine, but did as she had done before. She had only copied what Mother had once explained to her, not knowing if it would work but was willing to try for the dead bat. So after looking back at her Mother for reassurance, Sansa did as she was told.
Leaning close to her cupped hands, mouth hovering a scant few inches over the dead animal, Sansa breathed out onto it's corpse.
A twitch. A blink. The wings flapped weakly, and when the bat looked up, it's eyes glowed red.
Father, who must have seen Mother do something similar before, only inhaled in response to his four year old daughter raising the dead. Then, he glanced back at Mother, “I do not break my promises.”
And that was the beginning.
In between sneaking lemoncakes with Jeyne, learning to sew, sing, and skip to a beat, Sansa was taught the Whent Magicks: Necromancy.
Mother had a small work room under the Sept her Father had built her. It was not until perhaps a few months after her new studies that Sansa had softly realised that of the Seven Gods, the two with the most candles under their small statues was The Mother, and The Stranger.
Inside the work room was counter tops against three-fourths of the walls, with a table in the middle. Shelves were filled with books, scrolls, and jars and boxes filled with ingredients and supplies. The first time she entered, staring at the dark room slowly being lit by candles, her Mother going around to one wick at a time, Sansa was sat on a stool and had a large, old book placed in front of her.
“Whents,” Mother began to lecture softly, coming to stand beside Sansa, “Even before they became a Noble house and was given Harrenhal, were always magic. This went back to the First Men. They had no house name during those times, but they were known by many of being Necromancers. The First Daughter’s mother had used ancient magic to make a deal with the Stranger. With Death. In return, he took her life and the First Daughter, along with the first daughters of her decedents, was always given a touch of death. That knowledge has been lost over time, but not within the family.” Mother tapped the book cover, “This was the first of our line's journal. Kept and cared for, knowledge learnt and added on by every first daughter. One spell, one piece of knowledge, or one journal entry is always added when a first daughter does something worth being written down.”
“What did you do, Mother?”
Mother leant her hip on the table, ran a hand down Sansa's hair, and said with a sad smile, “At twelve, I summoned skeletons of animals and people from the rivers near Riverrun. My Mother had just passed and the grief strengthened my power.”
Sansa blinked curiously, “Does bad emotions make magic stronger, Mother?”
She shook her head at Sansa's question, “Anything that we are feeling strongly, will fuel our power. But, that can mean a loss of control. And we don't want that.” And Mother lightly poked Sansa's nose with a playful smile, causing her to giggle and it lightened the heavy atmosphere.
Mother taught her arrays and spells. What every symbol meant, how to turn poetic words and phrases into curses. She had Sansa studying hymns and poems and chants. She had her drawing out ruins over and over until her wrist cramped and they all blurred together. Mother showed her dried herbs and their uses. How it could heal and how it could poison. All this was lessons that those with magic blood could learn. But Necromancy? That was strictly Whent territory, granted to them solely by the Stranger. And besides breathing magic into an animal so it was alive but not, Sansa was not taught proper Necromancy until she had all the foundations memorised first.
At ten, Mother had taken her into the Stark Crypts. Sansa had been before with her siblings and Father. The boys tried to pull a prank once, scaring Bran and leading to Arya punching Jon. Sansa however, just stepped back in surprise but was not scared. Mother taught her to not be scared of the dead, to not fear ghost, as they couldn’t do anything to Sansa without her permission. The Stranger could not touch Sansa until it was her time, and her time was on Sansa's own decision and not a second before. That could not make her immortal, but it could make her harder to kill.
In the Stark Crypts, Mother had led her deep, deep, and deeper still, until the statues were crumbling and turning to dust. She stopped at one that may have been either a female or a male, with very long hair.
“This, was the first Sansa Stark. Her birth right to the North was taken by her Uncle, forced to marry him.” Her Mother had informed her, before she leant down, cupped Sansa's cheeks, and commanded firmly, “Do not ever let anyone take from you that which is yours, Sansa. Do you understand?”
Sansa nodded, “Yes, Mother.”
“Good.” Mother smiled in approval, the torch flame on the wall casting shadows across her face, “Now. Summon her ghost like I've taught you.”
Sansa came out of the Stark Crypts covered in dust and seeing ghosts fully for the first time since her lessons began.
The colours of the Whent daughters were black, red, and white. The darkness of death when the mind slips into the Stranger’s embrace, the blood of the living that flowed thickly through veins, and the white of the bones that connect both, when all rotted away leaving nothing but the skeleton behind. Mother wore it subtly, keeping to her Tully roots. Sansa did not need to, being young and indulged by her parents. She wore black dresses with white and red embroidery and black ribbons in her hair. She twirled in white dresses with red shawls and black lacing. Played with Jeyne in red dresses that gleamed like fresh blood, white pearl hairnets and a black lace choker. On formal occasions she wore her Father's colours, but there was always something black, her hair being red enough to make up for what lacked.
Father would take in her appearance each day, seeing the colours she adorned, and only complimented her, not voicing what other fathers may have. He understood. Robb thought her strange, Arya thought her weird. Sansa did not care, she liked how she dressed. Mother looked on with approval and pride.
Dead were controlled with sound. Be it a voice, a whistle, a song, a snap of the fingers. The call of the Stranger that which lured you into the eternal slumber, given to Whent daughters to borrow until they too followed that call. Sansa could raise the dead with a thought, but controlling was harder. Luckily, she had centuries upon centuries of Necromancers who had studied this subject and refined it to a sharp point.
Sansa, on top of learning the harp, learnt the flute, and how to whistle with her fingers. A harp for her lessons in being a Lady. A flute for her lessons in being a Whent's first daughter. She trilled on it, fingers calloused from sewing and harp playing stretching to reach the holes, and learnt how to play certain notes that commanded the dead to run, to jump, to crouch. She practiced with mice in her Mother's work room, Mother guiding her on when to prolong a note and when to change up the pace.
In the candlelight, their eyes turned from a deep blue to a vivid red.
Sansa had pride in her lineage, both paternal and maternal. However, she still enjoyed her songs, and still dreamt of marrying a gallant knight, a handsome lord. Her and Jeyne would trade daydreams over their sewing lessons, whispering and giggling with one another. Sansa had shown Jeyne her magic. Had brought her into a secluded part of the castle and demonstrated how she could make a dead rat come back to life and dance at her command.
At first, Jeyne was terrified, before Sansa managed to get her to come around and understand that it was not a bad thing. The girl still found the corpses gross, but was always invested in whatever ghostly gossip was happening around them.
Mother had been unhappy when she shared it with her dearest friend, but like how Father covered for Mother's strange habits at times, Sansa pointed out that Jeyne could do the same for her. She was still not completely mollified but backed down nonetheless. Mother had taken Jeyne aside, and what ever she had told the girl, had sent her back to Sansa was a serious expression. No amount of wheedling and begging would get answers from Jeyne's closed lips. However, she did join in on making potions and learning spells. Seemed Jeyne too had some magic within her.
Sansa had once asked about Arya. About how it must have been unfair that she did not have the Whent Magicks. Her Mother had given Sansa a soft and sad look, “Arya has your Father's magic, whatever that may be. It is far more instinctual than learnt like ours. Ours is finicky and delicate and demanding. Arya's will be more animalistic and raw. It requires a deeper understanding of our baser instincts that we as Whent's do not have. Arya will learn when the time is right for her.”
That had eased some of Sansa's worries, nodding and turning back to the protection array she was practicing with pigs blood.
Mother had taught her, along with everything else, that the dead deserve their respect and kindness. Thank a corpse after use. If a spirit was resentful or upset, soothe it so it could pass on. They were given their power through sacrifice, and it could be taken away if misused. Learning when younger and making mistakes was forgiven. Not when you were a fully taught first daughter.
Lady was everything Sansa could have wanted in an animal companion. She still kept Red Knight, the bat from when she was four, around her. Red Knight was excellent for keeping watch at night when Jeyne and her were sneaking around to steal food. But Lady? Lady was soft and sweet and wonderful. It also let her feel that connection that she always wanted with her Father's side.
Lady did not shy away from her like most living animals did, the death around her sensed keenly. Humans were different. They knew something was wrong but humans were good at ignoring their instincts and thought nothing of the guileless child before them. It worked in Sansa's favour when she was in King's Landing.
The death was everywhere, stinking up the Red Keep like the waters stank up the city. Sansa did not like it. No amount of finery and flowers could take away how many people have died in this city. And died without any rest. So many ghosts ran amok, angry, insane, and weeping. Sansa wondered, if she had the freedom and necessary items, how long it would take to free the ghosts from their tethers and get them to move on into the afterlife.
Perhaps a large array around the entire city would work. But that would require a lo of blood, and a lot power that she does not have. If there was more Whent daughter’s beside her and her mother, perhaps they could have released them from their torment.
She tried not to focus on the dead though, focusing on how Lady's corpse was hidden in a trunk, waiting for the right moment for Sansa to return her soul to her body. She had raged and cried at how unfair it was that Lady was wrongly executed, but her words had fell onto deaf ears. Her Father saddened but following as the king ordered. Maybe she was cursed to only be around dead things. Death was something that was not a permanent concept to her like it was for most, so what she mourned was the loss of the warmth to Lady's body. The loss of a heartbeat under her ear when she hugged Lady. And only Jeyne and Father knew this, one giving her the comfort she needed, and the other providing the space so she could grieve without looking at Lady's killer in the face.
And the Lannisters. Sansa... knew she could not trust them anymore. She was so swept away with all their golden looks and brightness. She had always wanted to come South, and Mother had encouraged her interest. Granted, they both had wanted her to see the Riverland, back to their roots. Nonetheless, Sansa had wanted to make the most of it. She was overjoyed at being betrothed to the prince, but now...
Mother and her had known something was not right, with how many animal ghosts prowled after him, clawing at his legs, unseen and not felt. But King Robert was adamant about joining their families. Mother had said to Sansa long ago not to trust those surrounded by angry ghosts. And there were plenty around those in King's Landing.
She screamed. She begged and pled and fought, and still she watched her Father's head fall. It wasn't the death that had her fainting. It was the sight of Death, the Stranger, standing before him. It looked up at her, and she knew that only due to the gifts It had given her that she did not die, glancing upon Death’s face.
Waking up alone, Sansa felt fear grip her heart every morning. Arya was gone. Jeyne was taken to somewhere 'safe' according to Lord Baelish, and she was a prisoner. Robb was King of the North and they were at war. Father was dead
Sansa curled up on her bed, fear and anguish being all that filled her heart. Even Father's ghost could not completely soothe her emotions, hovering nearby, mournful but watchful of the enemies around her. In her room, under her covers, was the only place she could openly weep. Outside, surrounded by enemies, Sansa had to love a monster.
It was the humiliation that was the last straw. They tore her black dress and beat her with their swords as ghosts screamed around her ears, and a monster aimed an arrow at her. All she wore was black since her Father died, mourning and falling into the comfort of her magic, and she was mocked for her grief. Now however, Sansa was done.
When the Grand Maester came with his salve and wandering hands, Sansa had kicked him away and took the salve from him. He left with bumbling irritation, the door then locked and guarded behind him. Father helped her apply it, his cold rage making his ghostly form flicker and darken with power, made physical with his emotions.
“There are many ghosts here, Sansa.” Father reminded her, “And there is the Targaryen Crypts underneath us for you to use. You are not helpless.”
Sniffling though her tears, Sansa looked up, gazing at the locked trunk that held Lady. A tidal wave of strength flowed through her in that moment, and all previous fear and meekness disappeared. In the trunk there was a paper array tied to Lady's front paw, keeping her body fresh and not rotting away. With reddened eyes, Sansa got off her bed, red and white night robe long and trailing on the floor as she knelt before the trunk.
With a flick of a finger and a surge of magic, the trunk unlocked and revealed Lady's pristine body. Sansa had even cleaned the blood off her neck. Smoothing some fur down, stroking her ever so soft ears, Sansa decided that enough was enough. She did not know how she would get back to the North, and she still had to find Arya and Jeyne, but she could still get away from the Lannisters.
Sansa was Whent’s Daughter. Death flowed through her and she feared nothing. Her enemies would regret the day they touched her family.
But it required preparation.
Pulling a thin cloak out of another trunk, Sansa created a sack with some well placed ties and stitching. In there she stuffed clothes, hair ties, her hair brush, some memorablia she could not part with, her journal of notes since she was seven, and the small book of curses Mother had shoved in with her things. Slinging that over her shoulder, Sansa grabbed her flute – tucking it into the sash on her waist. The satchel of basic Necromancy herbs she had packed before leaving her home went over her shoulder as well.
After securing her hair into a tight braid and slinging a black cloak over her form, Sansa felt herself packed and ready to go. Changing her slippers to her boots, tucking them into her sack, Sansa went back over to Lady, and breathed.
The guard did not have time to scream by the time Lady was at his throat, a soft whistle of a flute being the last thing he heard.
It was her connection with death that had led her to the Targaryen Crypts without a misstep or wrong turn. Red Knight took care in letting her know when a guard was coming near, giving Sansa and Lady time to duck into some shadows, manipulating the darkness to cover them from sight. By the time Sansa was stepping into the crypts, the alarm bell was ringing.
The Targaryen Crypts was deep into the keep’s bowels, a hidden passage way being the only entrance after the main one had collapsed. It was strange, but stepping into a place with bones and corpse was the most settled she had felt since arriving. Outside, everyone pretended like sickness and death wasn't surrounding them. Here, there were no lies. Just ghosts.
However, ghosts could still cause a problem for Sansa, so she first found a place to make her home base. She had spotted a privy not too far from the crypts and with some sneaking, she should be alright in relieving herself during her stay with the dead. The place she had picked was inside of a massive dragon skull. It was Balerion the Dread's and Sansa knew this because his spirit lingered with his bones. He was not particularly happy with her inside his skull, drawing a protective array around him, and starting to sweep as much as the dirt out as possible. However, it's not like he could do much about it and Sansa would pat his bones ever now and then, consoling his pouting.
Wrapping the shadows around her just in case, Sansa curled up against Lady's body, and fell asleep with her Father keeping guard.
Though she certainly missed the luxuries that came with not being in hiding, Sansa didn't mind her time in the crypts. After being shown the secret passageways in between the walls by a young Targaryen princess who could not remember her own name, Sansa was soon moving about the keep, hearing secrets and keeping tabs on the politics. She was also able to sneak into the kitchens and laundry rooms during the night, cleaning her clothes and stealing some sheets here and there. From the kitchen she stole a broom after getting fed up with all the dust that constantly came into her skull.
She took pillows from empty guest rooms, as well as soaps to use when taking a quick bath in the laundry area. Those large tubs were put to good use in keeping Sansa as clean as possible when surrounded by bones.
Her home base was now a nest of blankets and thick quilts with pillows, both plain and decorative, and it did wonders in keeping her warm and comfy when she slept. Sansa was not surprised how easily she adjusted to sleeping in a crypt and becoming nocturnal. Dark and dying things crept about in the night and it was the best time for Sansa's magic, growing stronger and far more confident than if she stood in the sunlight.
She certainly missed it though. And it was quite boring after a time.
Which was why she gave into a ghost name Tala and started to prank the Lannisters. A pile of bones in Cersei's bed, a rotting rat stuffed into Joffrey's mattress where he couldn't find it for a week straight. She stole things that were important, moved object about just enough for them to question whether they did that or not. They could not find who was doing it and it was driving them mad.
It was the most fun Sansa had in a long time.
Every night, before she began any other task, Sansa would try and summon Arya and Jeyne. It was a relief every time no ghost appeared.
Her Father also looked relieved, sighing without a breath. He had actually taught her how to sharpen the bones around her, making some excellent weapons to stab with just in case. With some stolen strips of leather and a belt, she fashioned herself a holster for her three bone blades of varying sizes. A couple of ghosts had taught her some beginning moves, guiding her on where to stab and how to escape.
It was a very productive few months.
Until enough was enough and Sansa was getting out of the city. A ghost, at Sansa command, had been on the search for her sister and friend. Arya was seen leaving under the guise of a boy. Jeyne however, was found tucked in a brothel, mistreated and terrified.
Sansa was furious.
Mother had once said taking a life was something a Necromancer generally should not do, as the ghost would follow after them. Of course, they could do the necessary ritual to get them to pass on, but still. However, Sansa was ready to kill Lord Baelish for placing her best friend in a brothel.
That was, until the night of Sansa's plan being put into action, that a trembling shriek rang through the air. Sansa was crouched on top of one of the walls, a rope in hand and ready to scale down the wall of the Red Keep and into the city proper.
Looking up sharply, Sansa stared past the walls and roofs, and into the land beyond the city. She knew those shrieks. And the haunting flute that followed it too. Mother had come for her.
Not knowing whether to laugh or to sob, overjoyed, Sansa took out her flute, and played a two simple elongated notes in response. A pause. One long, long note replied.
It seemed Mother was besieging King's Landing with the dead.
Hastily, Sansa tore a scrap of paper from her journal, and with her charcoal pencil, wrote out a short note: Arya not in city. Jeyne in brothel because of Lord Baelish. Getting Jeyne.'
Then, after handing it over to Red Knight to bring to her Mother, Sansa flung the roped over the wall and let herself down in slow increments. Her plan was to get Jeyne, summon the ghosts of the crypts, including the dragons, and tear down the Red Keep from within. And perhaps she will still do so, however Jeyne and getting to her Mother was now to first priority.
She might still summon the dragons to help though.
The ghost she had sent out to find Jeyne appeared with a snap of Sansa's fingers the second she was on the ground. Quietly, they ran through the streets. Lady had taken a different passage way out, seeing as she couldn't exactly climb down the wall. However, with the arrival of her Mother, Lady may go to her first. It was fine either way.
The brothel was lit, a warm red glow coming from the windows through the red curtains, and Sansa waved the ghost away. Making sure her hood was covering her hair, Sansa walked towards the brothel, shadows curling higher and higher with every step. The death of her Father's men happened here, on these stones, and their blood still soaked them, singing and screaming. She summoned them.
With a force of her magic, the door smashed into pieces. Screams were heard from within, and Sansa cast a gaze across the open rooms. Men and women, in various states of undress that would normally have her flushed and adverting her eyes. However, Sansa barely blinked, the deathly power settling over her like a shroud, and she loses any sensibilities in that moment.
“Please direct me to Lord Baelish.”
Silence. Then, a woman with red hair stands and points, “Down that hallway, Lady Sansa.”
The girl blinked, wondering how the woman knew her, and asked, “Do you know where a Jeyne Poole is as well?”
The woman paused in thought, before nodding. “I will get her for you, m'lady.” And the woman quickly abandoned the man she was with, running up a hidden set of stairs. Relieved that she would see her best friend soon, Sansa strode deeper into the building, the darkness and shadows flickering the candle flames, even blowing most out as she passed them by.
In her hand, she gripped her flute tight. It was a cherry red colour and had a tiny little flower charm hanging off of it with a white ribbon. A gift from Jeyne when Sansa had turned ten.
The hall was dark by the time she stopped in front of Lord Baelish's door. Raising the flute to her lips, she blew one long, long note. It's eerie trill resounded against the walls, and the ghosts swarmed forward.
Blowing open the door, the man had barely anytime to react before the ghosts converged around him, grabbing and clawing at Lord Baelish until he was pulled onto his desk, paper work and quills falling to the ground. Forced to spread onto his back, Sansa stepped forward, lowering both her flute and hood.
“Hello, Lord Baelish.”
The man gaped, “L-Lady Sansa! Wha-”
“You usually have more thought out sentences, Lord Baelish,” Sansa asked with a false innocence that soon melted away as she leant close over his face, “What's the matter? Corpse got your tongue?”
He tried to call out for guards or help or anyone, Sansa did not care to know. However, Jory had reached forward and jammed his hand into Lord Baelish's mouth and ripped out his tongue.
The gore did nothing to unsettle her, having seen many a fresh corpse in her training. The man screamed, muffled and choking on his blood as Sansa spoke coldly, “You have started this war. You were the cause of my Father and his people's death. My sister is missing. And my dearest friend was forced into a brothel, because of you. You have damaged my family irreparably. I am not a killer, Lord Baelish. But I will be for them.”
Drawing one of her bone knives, Sansa quickly slit his throat, soon silencing his cries.
The quiet seemed to echo once the sound was removed, leaving room for the shrieks of the dead as they started to advance upon King's Landing. Sansa knew they would not harm the smallfolk. Mother would never allow that. But the guards and lords were free game.
Without a backwards glance, Sansa left the office, using one of the many tapestries to clean her blade. At the front door, a scared Jeyne stood, waiting and cloaked. Most of the main rooms were cleared out, Sansa not caring where anyone went because her dearest Jeyne was standing before her.
Teary eyed, Sansa ran to her, arms flung around Jeyne's trembling shoulder and pulling the girl close. Her friend wept in her shoulder and Sansa knew that the girl had not been untouched. “I should've come sooner, Jeyne!” Sansa cried out. “I'm so sorry I took too long!”
The grip on her waist tightened. A forgiveness, Sansa hoped. “You're here.” Jeyne whimpered, “I knew you would come and now you’re here, so take me home, Sansa.”
The red head drew back enough to tug her sleeves over her hands, wiping the tears off Jeyne's face, “Yes. Lets go home, Jeyne dearest.”
The brunette sniffled and nodded. Then grabbed her, “Wait. Some of the others wish to come.” And here, Jeyne nodded to the other brothel workers. Sansa surveyed them before replying shortly, “If they so wish to come, then they best hurry.”
Then, Sansa tugged Jeyne out and into the streets.
They ran through the city, no one bothering to stop them as it was late and most were preoccupied with the corpses haunting their streets. Anyone who happened to stagger close was met with the barrier that was the ghostly guard, her Father leading them on.
When they got the gates, Sansa saw that they were raising the bridge, cutting off their exit and stopping the army of the dead. Coming to a stop, Sansa narrowed her eyes and drew her flute. With a deep inhale, Sansa drew from her strongest emotions in that moment, drew from the shadows, and drew from the aura of death that blanketed the city, and released.
The music, haunting and dark, echoed throughout the city, far louder than any normal instrument would be. The music played and for one long moment, nothing occurred. And then, rumbling. Snarling, roaring, Balerion the Dread crashed from below the Red Keep behind her, rising high in the air in all his skeletal, magical might. He roared, loud and clear for miles and miles to hear, with fellow cries responding as the past dragons rose once more.
And this time, they were Sansa's to command.
The gates and guards did not stand a chance.
Her Mother sat upon a horse, it dead and eyes glowing red. By her side, Lady sat. There was no one else. It was only Catelyn Stark, Tully, Whent, there to rescue Sansa and Jeyne, with an army at her command. The moment she spotted Sansa and Jeyne running to her, she leapt off the horse and raced towards them.
Both girls sobbing openly in relief, they crashed into Mother's arms, feeling safety for the first time in months. Behind them, the dead continued on, with the dragons above shattering the stone of the Red Keep.