3 - Pheasant Eggs & Pant Legs

It was a somewhat dreary day, Winterfell had seen nothing but cloudy skies and snow since the definitive arrival of winter. But Sansa and Podrick, who had begun to accompany her on meandering walks around the castle, were making the best of it.

This afternoon they were sitting in the sill of an open window that led out into the courtyard, exchanging stories and rumors and catching snowflakes as they fell. Sansa extended her hand through the courtyard window and watched the tiny white snowflakes collect in the palm of her black glove. Podrick was leaning against the opposite end of the window, picking at a loose stitch in his his pant leg. Sansa had news for him, news that could be received any number of ways, but, knowing Podrick and his tender heart, she was reluctant to reveal it. She wanted to tell him, not just because of the ways it directly affected him, but also because he had become an indispensable confidant.

"You'll ruin your pants if you keep picking away at them," she said, avoiding the subject.

A grin spread across his face as he looked up at her. "You sound like Lady Brienne. Er, I mean—apologies, princess."

Sansa let the snow fall out of her hand and carefully straightened out her dress. "Speaking of your lady, there is news from the east about an illness that may have struck Lord Selwyn of Tarth. If the news is true, I fear we may be losing Lady Brienne soon."

Pod's head stirred with the news. He was rather used to being uprooted at this point, but Lady Brienne returning home meant a drastic shift in what had become a comfortable arrangement. What use did a land-owning lady have for a squire? He shifted uncomfortably where he sat. "My lady is under oath to you and your family. I doubt she would abandon the north until she was certain it was safe for you."

"It would hardly be abandonment. The northern crown would fully support her pursuit of her inheritance should she choose to. Gods know she's earned it. I owe Lady Brienne more than my life."

"If anyone deserves the land and title, she does." Podrick conceded. "She's the best master I've had by far—well, for fighting, at least, your husband was good for teaching…other things. But Lady Brienne is one of the fiercest warriors I've ever seen in action and she doesn't give up on me, which is something I cannot say about past instructors. I once had a master who told me I fought like a sopping dog."

"Sopping? He didn't mean sodding?"

"No, I mean dogs typically are good fighters, except for when they're sopping I guess, they just get a bit distracted and, I don't know, chilly?"

Sansa laughed. "You fight gallantly. You and your lady fought off six Bolton men at a moment's notice, don't think I'd forget."

He blushed at the compliment, half amazed that she had paid any attention to his fighting. In his nervousness, he hadn't noticed that the loose stitch he had been pulling at had finally broken, starting a noticeable rip down his thigh.

Sansa giggled. "What did I tell you?"

Podrick looked deeply embarrassed and tried pulling the

She stood up promptly. "Come, we can return to my chambers and I'll mend it for you."

"You will mend the pants of a squire?" Podrick repeated, part incredulous, part dumbfounded.

Sansa's eyes flashed with something—not quite anger, maybe mischievousness? "Questioning my intentions?" She set off walking, her mind made. "I happen to like sewing, I always have. It takes my mind off of things."

Left without argument, Podrick set off after her, following her around corners, down long halls, all the while clutching the side of his pants so they wouldn't rip the whole way and silently praying that no one would see them. He kept pace, but always trailed slightly behind, as he liked watching Sansa walk. She always seemed to glide from place to place, the stride of a person who had earned their pride. They were nearing the entrance to her chambers when a third party joined them.

"Ah, Podrick, there you are," came a voice from behind them. The pair turned to see an older knight standing above them. Pod recognized him, but after a while, all the names and titles seemed to blend together. The man was tall, spindly, had a wispy brown mustache to match a thin, graying beard.

Lord Wispstache bowed to Sansa and tossed out a quick "your highness" before diverting his attention back to the squire. "Now, Podrick, it seems the cooks are worried about running low on meat for tonight's affair, so they're sending out a group of men to gather last minute provisions. Your lady volunteered you for this afternoon's hunt. It's a cursory trip, we'll be back before the feast with time to spare." He smiled and patted his knees before offering Sansa a brisk bow and shoving off to wherever Wispstaches go when their messages have been successfully delivered.

"It seems this is where I leave you, then, your highness."

"Thank you for your company," Sansa nodded toward him, and entered her chambers. "And Pod—do get those pants fixed before an animal exposes you to the whole world."

Podrick was left with these words and the look that had flashed through her eyes, like the inklings of an idea were forming.

-.-.-

The Northern nobles were at this time flooding into Winterfell, all except for the blatant traitor houses had come top officially pledge their fealty to Jon Snow.

It was almost time for the feast, as the sun was well on its way to setting, coating the snowcapped castle with a hazy pink glaze. The hunting troupe that had been sent out—two blacksmiths, a few former night's watch men, some lesser nobles' sons who just liked hunting, and a squire, hardly the most important men—were turning in the fruits of their hunt to the kitchens.

These kitchens were ablaze with excitement, cooks yelling orders, scullery maids attending to them, spices, batters, and fine meats being flitted around the kitchen in every direction. And at the center of all the chaos, decorated like a shimmering Dornish chapel, howling like a wounded dog, was the Lady Alayna Cassel, a woman who by all accounts refused to go unseen.

"—I said fresh, these have been sitting out all day! You can't deny it, you know I have been in and out of this kitchen all day and I know what I've seen."

She didn't seem to be lying as all of the kitchen staff seemed used to and tired of her constant wailing.

"You all do not seem to realize what is at stake for my daughter, for my family. This feast needs to be perfect if House Cassel is to continue to exist." Lady Cassel insisted, stomping her feet and pulling at the long ribbons of jewelry that decorated her neck.

Podrick passed off the birds he had caught to a worn-looking scullery maid and watched as Lady Cassel continued to showboat.

"Pheasant eggs? Are you trying to poison my Beth? Are you aware of how difficult it is to impress suitors while swollen red patches slowly consume your body?" The lady seemed to be speaking to no one in particular, but one brave soul offered a response.

"All due respect, m'lady, but Lady Beth does not have to eat every dish at the feast," came from a cook who didn't even take their eyes off the cauldron of stew they were stirring.

Lady Alayna then emitted a screech so high-pitch Pod swore he could hear a wolf responding in the distance.

She flew over to where the stew chef sat and in one swift swipe of her arm, knocked the cauldron off the fire and a pot of flour in. The kitchen fire burst upon the pot's impact, magnifying the fire into an inferno which began consuming other food items as it began working its way around the kitchen.

Pod then realized two things: first, that Lady Alayna could, in fact, emit an even higher-pitched screech, and second, that he knew the one person who may be able to stop her.

-.-.-

"I noticed you have been spending a good bit of your time with that Payne squire." Sansa sat patiently in the tub as Lady Beth massaged soaps out of her hair.

"He's an old friend. He was assigned to Tyrion Lannister while I was in King's Landing. He's..." Sansa grasped for the best words to describe Pod. "...heartbreakingly loyal."

"I think he's a sweet boy. And rather handsome."

"Really?" Sansa looked up at Lady Beth in slight incredulity as she had always been somewhat of a snob for title and never wanted to associate with someone of an inappropriate station. Sansa could not blame her, as she had acted much the same way before she witnessed the emptiness of titles.

"For a squire." There it was.

All of a sudden, there was a knock on the door. Before Lady Beth or Sansa could respond, it was promptly swung open by a frazzled-looking Podrick Payne. His eyes fell on the bathtub in the middle of the room and his immediacy froze into a tangible awkwardness.

"I am here to summon Lady Cassel to the kitchens, but I can see now that she is busy, so it should not be a problem. Don't worry yourself, Lady Cassel, good day."

"What is going on in the kitchens?"

"Well, your mother arrived and she may have been a little overzealous in her requests which may have upset the chefs and...and, um, the kitchen's on fire."

"Fire?" Beth asked in disbelief.

"FIRE!" Replied a screaming person who happened to be running past the room.

"Good gods, this is just like her. I'll take care of it. Hopefully I'll calm her down long enough for the housemaids to put out the fire." She turned to face Sansa for a second on her way out the door. "I'm incredibly sorry about the delay in your bath, Lady Sansa, I assure you I'll finish it when I get back."

"No need, I can finish it myself."

With that, Lady Cassel excused herself and ran off through the halls in search of her chaos-inspiring mother.

Pod too turned and had one foot into the hall when he heard his name.

"Podrick?" He turned around to see Sansa staring straight at him. "I need you. To clean my back."

His face must have revealed his surprise because she sighed and explained further. "I'd do it myself, but I have a…a wound back there that I need to make sure is well-cleaned."

Podrick shifted slightly where he stood in the doorway. "It really isn't proper, not to mention far beyond my skill set."

"Bathing is far beyond your skill set?"

"Rather, bathing others is."

"Are you saying you want to join me in here?"

"What I'm saying is, if someone saw me…"

"Well, then you'd better close the door." Sansa stated, growing impatient.

Podrick did as he does best and complied with orders. After carefully checking for onlookers and shutting the door, he dropped down onto his knees beside the tub and she handed him the cloth Lady Cassel had abandoned. As he took it from her, she grabbed his hand and looked him in the eyes. "Don't be nervous." Then she leaned forward and her hair followed suit, exposing her naked back. "You're just a squire attending to his lady."

He dipped the cloth in the soapy water and his eyes fell on the wound in question. Sure enough, there was a dark pink gash that ran diagonally across her back from her shoulder blade to her waist. It was mostly healed, but nasty nonetheless.

She could feel his eyes on her back. "A wedding present from my late husband."

He began going over the scar with the cloth and she slightly winced in pain. "It hurts to clean a wound," Podrick offered thoughtfully. "I've attended to many men—and Brienne—after battle and had every obscenity in the world screamed at me. If you think that cursing may help, feel free to. There's really nothing I haven't heard at this point."

"I think I'll pass, but thank you."

"I was in a skirmish a while back where Lady Brienne and I ran into Stannis Baratheon and a few of his men. We managed to off Stannis then and there, but not before one of his soldiers nearly sliced my arm open," He pulled up his sleeve to show her the thick band of scar tissue that ran across his arm.

"That's awful," Sansa's fingers traced it up his arm until their eyes met. She then turned to face him, her wet hair covering her chest. His eyes darted away instinctually nonetheless.

She placed her hand on his face and felt her heart's pace quicken as his eyes finally met hers. She liked his eyes, they felt warm on her, they made her feel safe.

"Thank you," she leaned across the tub's ledge and kissed him. Podrick was startled, but not to the point of pulling away. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her back, first her lower lip, then her upper lip, and then alternated accordingly. Her hand wrapped around the back of his neck to pull him in closer as she used the other to balance in the tub.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he broke it off. "What are you doing?"

Softly panting, she replied, "I'm not sure."

He stood up quickly, as if he wanted to leave the situation, but continued staring down on Sansa in the tub, as if the opposite was true. Sansa didn't look up at him, and instead stared straight ahead, just as confused as he seemed to be.

"I can take it from here," she said, pulling the washcloth from his fingers.

"Yes, your highness," Podrick nodded matter-of-factly. He finally moved away from her, stealing one last glance on his way out the door.

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A/N: So so sorry this took so long I've been crazy busy. I'll try to post more this upcoming week so look out! x