Sansa's boring paperwork was interrupted by a guard whom she recognised as one of Daenerys' frequent companions. He spoke with a strong Essosi accent and rarely smiled. "Lady Sansa, there is a woman with a boy asking for you at the gates. They say they know you. My queen asks for your presence."
Tidying the papers on her desk to pretend she had been reading them for the past twenty minutes rather than thinking about going to bed tonight, Sansa inclined her head and stood, brushing down the front of her grey skirt. It had been her mother's, as most of the clothes she now wore had been. Ramsay had not emptied the wardrobes of Winterfell, thankfully. The smell of her mother reminded Sansa that this Winterfell, this Ramsay-less Winterfell, was home and she belonged here.
Sansa followed Torgo Nudho. Tyrion had informed Sansa that the guard's name meant 'grey worm' but Sansa struggled to call him that. Such a disparaging name reminded her of the names that Ramsay gave the men he did not like, so she called him Torgo Nudho, like Queen Daenerys did, and she felt as though she was not insulting him.
Torgo Nudho held the door back, straight-backed, to allow her to pass onto the ramparts of Winterfell. The cold wind hit Sansa in the face, making her eyes suddenly water. She paused for a moment, waiting for Torgo Nudho to catch up with her after closing the door. Looking down into the courtyard of Winterfell, she saw the queen and smiled. She was speaking with a short woman with dark hair and a young boy. Sansa furrowed her brow. Were these the people who had demanded her presence?
Sansa continued, reaching the stairs. She could hear some of the woman's speech. She was certainly not a noble. She sounded as though she had spent half her life living in a brothel or a slum. Swallowing, Sansa's mind whirred, wondering if this was some trick from Ramsay.
But then she started listening to what she was saying, as she came to the bottom of the stairs. She heard a name that she had not heard for months. Rickon. Rickon.
Sansa blinked rapidly, suddenly speeding up her steps. She was talking about Rickon - perhaps she knew where he was, that he was alive - or perhaps, perhaps, the boy beside the woman was Rickon.
Daenerys was shaking his hand. She was shaking the boy's hand and the boy was bowing his head and who was he? Who was he? Sansa was close now. She could see him more clearly now, could see his ginger hair. Robb had had ginger hair. Oh, Gods, she missed her brothers.
"Rickon," Sansa said aloud, willing to face the embarrassment if it was not him. He looked up; the woman looked up too. His blue eyes shone. He was the picture of their mother. There was almost none of their father in him. Tears welled in Sansa's throat. "Rickon, oh Rickon," she said and the tears were creeping into her voice.
"Sansa?" Rickon said and he stepped away from the woman. She saw him more clearly, saw that he was older. Oh, by the Seven, he was so much older than the baby that she had said goodbye to. "Sansa!" he suddenly cried, perhaps realising who it was he was looking at. "Sansa," he repeated and Sansa was glad that he was crying because soon she was too.
And then he was in her arms, her baby brother, in her arms. He was shorter than her, still, of course. It would be a few years before he was taller than her and she would see them all. Her hand was in his hair, holding him to her shoulder. Her brother. Her baby brother had returned to Winterfell. They would find Arya and Bran and Jon and they would be a family again. They would mourn for Robb and their parents and their goodsister but they would be a family. Theon would come back too. It would be just as it had been.
"I'll leave you," Queen Daenerys said, laying a small hand on Sansa's shoulder. Sansa nodded at her in thanks, feeling tears start to drip off her chin.
"Who is this, Rickon?" Sansa asked, nodding at the woman, though she did not let go of him. Rickon pulled away from her and Sansa brushed tears from his face.
"This is Osha," Rickon said, pushing away her soft hand and wiping his face with the heels of his palms. "She looked after me. She got us out of Winterfell, away from Theon."
Sansa's heart shifted slightly at the thought of Theon and what he did before he saved her. He did a terrible thing but he had come back to them, remembered that he was more Stark than Greyjoy. There was no point bringing it up now, though. They had only just been reunited and Sansa did not want to argue with her brother. "Where have you been?" she asked, glancing at Rickon and then at Osha.
"With the Umbers," Rickon said.
"A delegation came with us," Osha said and Sansa met her eyes when she widened them. "We were expecting to find Lord Bolton here."
Sansa understood immediately. The Umbers had not brought Rickon here to be reunited with his sister. They had brought him here to curry favour with Ramsay. Rage burned inside of Sansa. "Lord Umber is here?"
"He is, my lady," Osha said deferentially. Sansa set her jaw.
"Let's find you a room, Rickon, and you too, Osha. I promise you will have every comfort." Sansa knew which rooms were free, had looked over the plans of Winterfell just the previous day. There were two rooms, next to each other, looking over the mountains, which would suit Rickon and Osha just nicely.
"My lady," Osha said quietly as Rickon ran up the stairs onto Winterfell's ramparts. Sansa side-glanced at the woman who had kept Rickon safe. "Have you heard from Bran? He went above the wall when I took Rickon to the Umbers. He was with Hodor and the Reed children."
Sansa swallowed this news. She had no idea where Bran was, had not had any news of him at all until now. She shook her head, glancing at Rickon who was ahead of them, his head shooting from side to side as he took in Winterfell's walls again. "I have hope that he is alive."
Osha nodded but Sansa saw that she was not convinced. "It is dangerous above the Wall, my lady."
"Perhaps he will find our half-brother who is Lord Commander of the Night's Watch." Osha looked curiously at Sansa. "What is it?" Osha shook her head slightly. "Please tell me."
"My lady, we had heard that the Lord Commander was dead."
Sansa's heart fell into her stomach. She refused to believe that that was true. Surely she would not be denied a reunion with Jon, the chance to say that she was sorry for the way that she had copied her mother in their treatment of him.
She shook her head vehemently. "There must have been some mix up. Jon cannot be dead."
"As you say, my lady," Osha said dubiously.
XXX
Sansa spoke to Tyrion in their rooms that evening, before dinner. He had been outside of Winterfell all day, speaking with some of the villagers, taking food to starving people, showing the Northerners that the hand of the queen, and by extension the queen, truly cared for them. Sansa had been bubbling with excitement about Rickon coming home. She had been desperate for him to be there all day.
Daenerys had stripped the Umbers of their title and land when Lord Umber confessed to his actions. Upon Sansa's suggestion, the title and land were given to a distant relation, who they summoned immediately. The Smalljon was led out of Winterfell and given a purse but nothing more. He was asked to never return and Daenerys asked the rest of the delegation from the Last Hearth to spread the news of what the Smalljon had done and to faithfully represent the interests of their new lord.
It had been very well done, reminding Sansa of Daenerys' skills in dealing with nobles. When they finished, Daenerys stood first, followed by Sansa, and they all trailed out of the great hall. Sansa formally thanked Daenerys for helping her in this matter and then asked her where she might find the hand of the queen. Ignoring the funny look Daenerys gave her, Sansa listened to Daenerys explaining where Tyrion was and then left to find her brother and spend the afternoon with him and Osha.
And, now, finally, Tyrion had returned. And she could tell him about her day.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed in a long grey dress with gauzy material over the top and some gems dotted about. It had been in fashion over ten years ago, when her mother had had it made, and Sansa liked it enough to wear it now. Tyrion entered the room right in front of her and Sansa felt happiness bloom inside her when he smiled upon sight of her.
"My lady," Tyrion said, bowing his head. Sansa beamed.
"My lord, I've been wanting to speak with you all day."
Tyrion furrowed his brow and closed the door behind him. "What is it, Sansa?"
"My brother, Rickon, he arrived at Winterfell today!"
And Tyrion smiled as much as Sansa had hoped he would, his eyes lighting up as he did. Sansa loved that he cared as much for what happened with her family as she did. He was a good man. "I am very pleased, Sansa. I would love to meet him. He would have only been a babe the last time I saw him."
"That was also the last time I saw him, Tyrion," Sansa said, raising her eyebrows. She enjoyed the admonished look on Tyrion's face. "Now, are you changing for dinner? I am hungry."
Tyrion walked over to his chest of clothes, glancing back at her. "You can go down without me, Sansa."
Sansa shook her head. "I like going down to dinner with you." She met his eyes and smiled. Not even the lie about Jon's death could get Sansa down. She wasn't even going to tell Tyrion about it. Perhaps tomorrow she would and he could tell her that it was definitely wrong. But it wasn't worth bringing up now. "Did you have a nice day?" she asked him. "I was thinking that I would like to come with you next time."
Tyrion nodded as he slipped behind the screen. "I would love that, Sansa. As soon as Ramsay is dead, we could do a further trip too, to visit some more of your Northern underlings." Sansa could hear the joke in his voice and she laughed, hoping that he loved amusing her as much as she loved being amused by him.
"Yes, we should go to the Last Hearth." And Sansa explained all about the Umbers and their plot to bring Rickon to Ramsay. Tyrion stepped out from behind the screen, fully dressed but a grave look on his face. His necktie was askew. Sansa chuckled and approached him, kneeling down in front of him to fix his tie and make it straight.
"A visit to the Last Hearth would indeed be well-advised," Tyrion said and Sansa looked into his eyes and nodded. It was funny that one was one colour and one was another. Sansa thought it made him look interesting. Finishing with his tie, Sansa grinned and stood up. "I do love it when you smile, you know, Sansa."
Tyrion's words were so earnest that Sansa wanted to kiss him. She swallowed and picked up her shawl from the bed. Biting her lip, she said, "Shall we go down?"
Tyrion took her hand, kissed it and didn't let go. They walked down to dinner, hand in hand, not caring that it might have looked awkward or uncomfortable. Sansa felt neither of those things, not around Tyrion.
XXX
Brienne awoke slowly. It was the first time in a while that she had not awoken with a start, with a shout as her nightmare rescinded. She had not dreamed at all last night, not that she could remember anyhow. She was glad to have had this dreamless sleep. She did not need to dream good things, because she got to wake up to Jaime every morning, but it was very nice to not dream horrible things.
Speaking of Jaime, Brienne looked over to him. He snored, ever so slightly. Brienne found it quite cute. It was peaceful, like the gentle lapping of waves on Tarth's shores. Like that sound, it reminded Brienne of home. Jaime was home now, literally locked in with her every day. Brienne wondered whether Queen Daenerys would let him be locked in with her in a room in Tarth.
Most women would have loved to have Jaime Lannister locked in a room with them for different reasons to Brienne. She loved it because he made her laugh and smile and he made her feel safe. Other women might have enjoyed the fact that they could lie with him as often as they liked. Brienne was very aware that Jaime was seen as a very attractive man by most of the population of Westeros. They were not wrong.
It was not that Brienne did not want to lie with Jaime. It was that it was a very scary prospect. Kissing him a few days ago had been a lot, had felt like quite a big step. It was a good step, a step in the right direction, if the right direction was a physical relationship.
That was what Brienne wanted. She thought that that was what Jaime wanted. He had told her that he loved her. He had told her that he wanted her to fight with no one else, though he was coming around to it, every time she left to spar. Brienne had seen this look in his eyes when she had returned only yesterday, sweaty and tired, a sort of dark-eyed look that had sent sparks flying in Brienne's body. She had had a tepid bath to cool herself down.
She had liked kissing him but she was scared that one time she would do it and remember the forced kisses, the humiliation, the fingers that men had put inside her. Bile rose in Brienne's throat at the memory.
It had been awful but it was over. It was over and Jaime had come to save her and he was saving her, every day. And she was so grateful. Every time he made her laugh or smile, she remembered what an excellent man he was, remembered what he had done for King's Landing. She looked over at him, pulling herself up onto one elbow. How he loved her was absurd. She could not believe that this man, this good and handsome and funny man loved her for who she was.
But that did seem to be the case. Brienne smiled as hope took flight in her stomach. It was a wonderful feeling, Jaime's love. She wished she could reciprocate all his goodness. She wondered if she would ever be able to make him feel as wonderful as he made her feel.
She had an idea of how she could try.
Biting her lip, she bent down and pressed a short kiss to Jaime's pouty lips, enjoying how soft and smooth they were. His stubble was more of a beard at this point. Nothing had been sent to their chambers for Jaime to shave, but Brienne didn't have a problem with that. She thought a beard made him look distinguished. The first time she had seen him - in fact, the first months she had known him - he had been bearded. The man she fell in love with had a beard.
She kissed him again, only softly, and then pulled away. Joy burst in her chest. She could kiss Jaime as much as she wanted to. She'd kissed him four more times when he finally moaned awake. "Brienne," he moaned, his eyes flickering open in confusion. Brienne suddenly ducked her face. Surely, no one wanted to wake up to her face.
Jaime's hand on her cheek made her look up again. "Good morning," he said before kissing her. Surprised, Brienne flinched away. She hated the look of hurt she saw in Jaime's eyes and shook herself.
"Sorry," she apologised and, just as Jaime opened his mouth to say something - probably to tell her not to apologise - she covered his mouth again in a kiss. He didn't push back and Brienne pulled away, frustrated. She wished Jaime could read her mind. It would be far simpler. "Kiss me back," she demanded and, chuckling, Jaime did as she asked.
When, a few minutes, hours or days later, they pulled away again, Brienne said, "I want you to be able to touch me whenever you want to."
Jaime smiled, his stupid beautiful Lannister face golden with happiness. "I don't care if I have to wait for you to say yes for the rest of my life. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to feel safe with me." Brienne didn't know what to say. She thought she was used to Jaime being soft and lovely with his words, after the past few weeks, but she wasn't. They still got her choked up. Just to prove that he was still snarky Jaime, he said, "and I quite like you telling me what to do."
Remembering her demands, Brienne flushed. Jaime grinned, met her eyes and then kissed her again, his hand in her hair. If she had to, she would tell him that he could do this every day of their lives. That sense of control did make her feel secure. And Jaime had done that. Yet again, this man had helped her to feel like herself.
XXX
"So, you and the little fellow are together, my lady?" Osha commented, watching Tyrion and Rickon playing with the snow outside. They stood together on the ramparts, looking down. The fresh coating of snow that morning meant that Rickon had excitedly knocked on Sansa's door that morning. Sansa had thought that Rickon's disturbance would annoy Tyrion, who enjoyed his sleep, but Tyrion had proved her wrong and had offered to build a snowman with Rickon - provided Sansa's brother did the parts that Tyrion could not reach.
Sansa had struggled to not kiss him, just as she had felt last night.
"We're not together," Sansa stammered, flushing at the thought. Hopefully, Osha would blame Sansa's blush on the cold rather than the thought of being with Tyrion.
"But you spend every night together?" Sansa nodded. She was unashamed of needing Tyrion's help to see her through the nights and it worked well for both of them. "That's all it takes for us wildlings."
Sansa swallowed. "What do you mean?"
Osha shrugged. "Once a woman moves into a man's tent, they're together, like marrying them like you do here. Unless you're a spearwife. Then a man has to steal a woman."
Sansa's eyes widened. "Steal them?"
Osha nodded as though she were not speaking about the theft of a woman, a human being. "The spear wives won't marry no man who isn't strong enough to steal them. The man has to break into the woman's tent and best her in a fight before she'll lie with him."
Sansa chuckled. It was so unlike their culture, the wildling culture. She found it quite freeing, though she was unsure she wanted to live in it herself. "Were you ever stolen?" Sansa asked curiously.
Osha snorted. "Men tried. I was never interested." Sansa hummed. "You should talk to the little man."
Blinking, Sansa said, "about what?"
Osha gave her a look that made Sansa feel like a child. She nodded down at Tyrion and Rickon. "About the fact that you look at him like he put the moon in the sky and he looks at you like you built the Wall."
Sansa laughed at Osha's comparisons but Osha did not laugh. Sobering, Sansa looked at Tyrion again, wide-eyed. Perhaps she could speak to him. Perhaps it wasn't the oddest idea.
Perhaps she could make them both happy.
XXX
Dinner dragged on that evening. Sansa had spent all day thinking of how she would tell Tyrion how she felt. She thought all day on how she felt, of these feelings that had surprised her, of the desperate urge to kiss him all the time.
When the queen finally rose, allowing them to leave too, Sansa exhaled in relief. She had thought they would never leave and the urge to tell Tyrion was biting her skin. A few times, she had nearly leaned across the queen to tell him and likely be mocked by the whole of Winterfell. She had restrained herself thankfully. This was a private matter and she didn't want to remember it as an embarrassment.
She also didn't want to be rejected. She didn't want anything to hold Tyrion back from saying yes.
Sansa's hands shook all the way to their chambers. "Sansa, what is the matter?" Tyrion asked exasperatedly. "You've been acting oddly all day. Is this about Ramsay?"
Sansa had actually hardly thought about Ramsay all day. She shook her head and passed the guards who stood outside their chambers. Tyrion followed her in. "Has something happened? Something with Rickon? Or about Jon?"
Sansa had shared her worries about Jon with Tyrion that morning and he had allayed her worries with common sense - surely Winterfell would have heard of the death of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Sansa knew he was right. She'd hardly thought on it since.
"No, Tyrion," Sansa sighed. She bit her lip. "Will you sit down?" she said, sitting down on the bed herself and patting the space next to her. Tyrion furrowed his brow at her, halfway through untying his necktie, but came to sit by her without protest.
Sansa took over untying his tie. "Do you know about the wildling concept of stealing spearwives?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too intense when she said it. She didn't look him in the eyes, couldn't.
"Yes," Tyrion said warily. "Have you been talking to Osha?" Sansa nodded. "I thought you looked in deep conversation earlier. Are you worried about something?"
Sansa chuckled, releasing Tyrion's tie. She shook her head and finally looked at Tyrion. "No, Tyrion. I'm not worried. I've not been worried for awhile. Not about this anyway."
"About what?" Tyrion said and he genuinely sound as though he had no clue what she was talking about.
Giggling, Sansa said, "this," and kissed him.