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.
There's an echo of snow shrikes above the trees.
Sansa glances up, pensively folding her hands inside her red vair-fur lined cape, as Winterfell's prince hollers joyfully and dangles from one of the low-hanging weirwoods. Both of his hands clutching on. Lemon-cake glaze smeared on his little, pink lips.
"Eddwyn, be careful!" Podrick shouts, dismounting from his horse. As ungracefully as possible, Sansa realises, lips twitching. Seven-and-a-half years. After this, it seems like the North agrees with him — Sansa's knighted husband becomes accustomed to the harsh weather and harsher lords, wearing boiled leather and capes and what resembles Ned Stark's padded linen skirts.
Ser Brienne has left. Jon and Arya, too. Bran no longer rules as a Lord of Winterfell and the North and its people rule themselves.
She misses how it was. But nothing can ever stay the same forever.
"It's only a branch, love," she says mindfully, watching as their son kicks the underside of another branch to hoist himself up further. Eddwyn's auburn-red hair glows in sun's mid-light. "The worst he can do is fall into the snow."
Podrick grumbles something low, moving in and kissing Sansa's cheek. He rarely fusses, but Sansa enjoys the attention.
"Yes, my Queen."
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GoT isn't mine. Requested by MaddieBonanaFana (AO3): "Something fluffy with podsa as rulers of the north with their own little lord (Eddwyn)." Oh I really liked this and I hope you guys do too! Thanks for reading! And any comments/thoughts would be deeply appreciated!