Thread: let no man steal your thyme || for xlilxmissx

For Stannis the last days at Castle Black were long. Even if his army was in tatters, it was large enough that moving it required a mind skilled at logistics and planning. Luckily his Hand, Davos Seaworth, was the right kind of man to assist him with the task as large as it was. While it was true that Selyse and Melisandre had never been keen on the idea of a man bearing Davos common blood was given a seat of prestigious power like that as the title of Hand to the King, Davos had more than proven himself to Stannis. He was perhaps the only man besides Jon Snow who had ever refused him as king And Stannis counted on that honesty. Packing up the large tent city and gathering supplies was difficult. The Nights Watch did not have much to spare but Jon gave them what he could. With Sansa travelling with them, Sannis knew he would not skimp and allow his sister to suffer any more than she needed to. Luckily Old Town was not far and Stannis was certain he would be able to talk the locals into bartering. They saw little in the way of coin but he still had some left in his coffers to spare. Along with seeing to his men, Stannis was quick to secure the betrothal. Both a septa and maester travelled with his host, though neither was adapted to the cold and stayed out of sight. Yet both were called to examine Sansa and both reports given carried good news Sansa was still a maid. His bride was untouched. Neither Tyrion Lannister nor Joffrey the Bastard had not touched her. It was a relief to know in some ways but the news also proved troublesome. Rather than let Shireen learn of the betrothal through rumor, Stannis told her himself. He could not tell if she was happy or not. She was close to Sansas age and just recently lost her mother, but there was little reaction other than a soft, obligatory congratulations and a curtsey. The morning of their departure, Stannis watched as Jon Snow embraced his sister a final time Perhaps the last time. Sansa kept the features on her face stoney and distant. Stannis believed that she learned that expression down in Kings Landing during her time as a hostage It would have been a grand tool, essential for her survival. At least there were no tears that he could see. A soldier helped her into the second carriage, Shireen in the first, and then shut the door behind her. There was a last check of the wagons and then, with Stannis at the head, the host began to march out of Castle Black and onto the Kings Road. By midday the sun was at its highest peak but the air was still freezing. Men shivered violently but pressed forward. Stannis could barely feel his fingertips in the gloves he wore and flexed them to try and relieve the dull ache of pain that the cold caused in his bones. He could see his breath puff out in a white cloud in front of his face every time he exhaled, the warm mist blowing back into his face providing the sweetest bit of relief before the icy air circled back round and hit him hard. They were only halfway to Old Town before the call was given to dismount and rest. No tents were pitched this was not where they would sleep but only where they would dine on a meal of salted pork and mealy bread. If the host pushed hard, they would reach Old Town by the time the sun set, though it would leave them little time to ready the tents. The men would endure, Stannis believed. The further south they marched, the warmer it would get. Winters grasp never quite reached the Crownlands and those lands near it At least when they reached Winterfell there would be a chance to really rest as soon as the Boltons were ousted. First he tended to Shireen, ensuring that her cider was warmed over a small fire so she would keep warm, as if the quilts were not enough. Then he went to Sansas carriage. The rapping of his knuckles against the door were quick before he called out, asking if she had all she needed.