Chapter 1
“I’m not used to writing letters to a lady” 20th Day of the 11th Month, 303 Sansa, Maester Samwell promised me that he would carry this baggage to you when he departs for Winterfell in the morning. The ground is full of mud and slosh and that’ll make the journey harder than it should be. I hope he reaches you before the fourth day of the twelfth month. I found it necessary to convince him but you need not fear I used my usual methods of persuasion. Your fat friend was easy to bribe: some men never find the right woman, I’d say Maester Samwell has never found the wrong honeycake. It was the last one from the food parcel you sent me. As you know by now, we have been campaigning rough for a month ever since the wildlings ambushed and broke the supply line. Half of them we killed, but the other half tucked their tails and rode off on our own bloody horses with three months' provision of grain and wine. And the buggering filthy savages stole the pig fat, Others take them. The timing could not have been worse. We had slaughtered all the livestock not two days before. Ramsay had driven out some of his own animals from the castle’s gate, they mixed with ours and within a week, the cows couldn’t stand proper. Some of the