The morning after her third wedding, Sansa woke up happy. She woke up sore and delightfully so. She woke up without pain, without fear. She woke up to safety and certainty. It was an indescribable feeling.
Some would say that it was the way that any woman expected to wake up after their wedding. Sansa supposed that that was true, but, for her, this was exceptional; this was not what she had come to expect and it was earth-shaking. It was what her father had promised her, a marriage that she deserved, with a good and honest man.
Sansa's eyes traced her husband's face, the imperfect, rather misshapen face of the man who she loved, more completely than she had ever loved another human being. It was impossible to think that she had gone so long not knowing his love. If she could turn back time, she would never have left King's Landing. She would have fled the continent with him, met Daenerys with him. They could have saved each other so much pain, if they'd only been willing to feel something for the other.
Smiling, she reached across to touch Tyrion's skin. She could feel his cheek bones beneath the soft pads of her fingers. It didn't take long of this, of her touching the skin of his face and moving down to his neck and collarbone, until he woke up, his eyes fluttering open slowly. She watched the emotions that cycled through his eyes, watched the way he was confused and then excited - his pupils dilated in a way that told Sansa that she was beautiful - and then, finally, his eyes turned to her with love, with the memory of their wedding, the beautiful ceremony, the wonderful feast and the night of touches and gasps and love.
"Good morning," he said finally. Sansa smiled earnestly, bringing her hand to his cheek and cupping it.
"Good morning, husband," she whispered before kissing him. "Did you sleep well?" She pulled away and didn't let him answer the question before leaning forward and kissing him again.
"Very well," he responded when she let him. "How could I not, with the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms in my bed?" Sansa grinned and pressed her body closer to his. "Keep doing that, Sansa, and we won't leave this bed all day."
Sansa bit her lip and leaned forward, kissing him slowly, languorously. "Why would I want to leave your bed, husband?"
Tyrion smirked and he pushed his body towards her so that she could feel every inch of him. "I suppose you're right, wife."
XXX
Later in the day, the sun was at its crest, shining irritatingly into Sansa's eyes. She stood and wandered to the window, pulling a loose gown around her, feeling Tyrion's eyes following her. She glanced into the courtyard, pleased when she found Brienne sparring with Jaime. Jaime's arrival at their wedding last night had been most welcome, a great surprise for Tyrion and Sansa had done her best to make it even better, dancing with the man who she would have to grow to like. He had made her laugh last night, a lot. For all of their faults, the Lannisters made her laugh.
"Come and look, Tyrion," Sansa summoned, perching herself on the window seat. Her bare legs were visible but she was fairly certain that nobody was watching, all too concerned with Jaime and Brienne's sparring.
"Am I coming to look at your legs?" Tyrion asked, waddling over. "Or is it just the rest of Winterfell that gets that privilege?" Sansa tapped his head as he shuffled over to her, sitting on the other side of the window seat, in only his trousers.
"No, it's Jaime and Brienne, sparring."
Tyrion snorted, his eyes finding what Sansa was watching. She watched him appreciate the sight. "She definitely tops him," he commented lightly.
Sansa's eyes widened, turning to her husband. "Don't be so crass, Tyrion."
"Don't be such a prude, wife," Tyrion countered with a wink. "I'm sure he loves it."
Sansa wrinkled her nose, her eyes back on Brienne soundly beating her husband. "You're talking about your brother."
"In our family, sex is a very open thing." Wide-eyed, Sansa's eyes found her husband again and he snorted. "Sorry, you have to laugh about it."
"About your siblings fucking, yes, of course," Sansa commented with a snort.
"I like hearing you say the word fucking," Tyrion said, amused. Sansa gave him an unamused look. "I wanted to talk to you, my love."
Sansa quirked an eyebrow. "Your soft tone makes me nervous."
Tyrion looked affronted. "Do I usually speak harshly to you?"
Sansa grinned at him. "You usually call me wife, not my love. I imagine that's what Brienne calls Jaime." Tyrion snorted. "So, what's wrong?"
Tyrion sighed. "Lord Baelish." Sansa stiffened immediately, remembering the way he had left her, remembering the kiss, the murder of her aunt. The sudden rush of memories made her throat dry.
"What about him?"
"Are you nervous about confronting him?"
"He can't sell me in marriage again. I have nothing to be nervous about."
Sansa's tone sounded false, even to her own ears. "Sansa," Tyrion said and Sansa held her hand up. She couldn't bear the pity in her husband's eyes or tone. She moved her head so that she couldn't see him, focused only on Brienne pulling Jaime up from the ground. "You know that I will always protect you, don't you?"
"Of course," Sansa snapped. Tyrion's hand on her cheek forced her to turn to him. He looked at her gravely. "Tyrion, we must be the only couple on the continent who are discussing politics the day after their wedding." They both knew that it was more than politics but Tyrion did not say anything, which Sansa was grateful for. "Come on, let's go back to bed. Brienne and Jaime are disappearing and I'd hate to be outdone by them."
Tyrion snorted, standing. "Only my brother would get turned on by a woman beating him." Sansa gave Tyrion a disgusted look as she too stood and headed over to the bed. "You must be the only woman in Westeros who finds me more attractive than him, you know."
Sansa laughed, raising her brows. "Let me prove how much I do."
XXX
Jon stared at the sky, the black stripe zooming underneath the clouds sending jolts of happiness through his entire body. At first, it had been mixed with nerves. After all, he had only just got Rickon back in his life and now he was soaring through the sky, on the back of a dragon. But, as he watched, he realised that he trusted the queen and knew that her hands would be tight around Rickon and that she knew what she was doing.
She did know what she was doing. The news that Daenerys Targaryen had landed in Westeros was spreading fast, though it had only been a rumour before Jon arrived at Winterfell. He had been surprised to find it true. The dragon queen was a name spoken in hushed whispers over the continent and only seeing her had made him understand why.
She was short and pretty, the sort of woman that men would call a whore or a wife, would dismiss as a simple woman, if it had not been for the hardness in her eyes, for the way her voice was when she commanded men, for the way that men followed her word to the letter. She was beautiful but it was the power that she held, that radiated from her body that made her magnificent, that made men want to follow her. Many men, many Northern men, spoke of the lack of previous reigning queens, until they met her, until they understood the way she was, the person she had become, despite the hardships that life had dealt her. She was magnificent and Jon could not honestly say that there was anybody better equipped to be ruler of Westeros.
And, on top of all of that, she was kind. Beneath the power that she exuded, there was a soft kindness that made her offer a dragon ride to a broken, mourning little boy, a goodness that made her invite a dwarf, a banished nobleman and a bastard to her small council, a forgiveness that had her show goodness to the man who killed her father, to the wife of her enemy, to a woman who was ready to kill her for threatening the man she loved. Lord Tyrion, Ser Jorah, Jon himself, Jaime Lannister, Sansa, Brienne, they could all speak to the kindness.
And the slaves that she had freed, well, the kindness she showed there was only matched by the power that she had control of, that had given her the ability to free them. She was surrounded by clever and strong men, yes, but, even without them, Jon knew that she would not have been nothing, could never have been nothing.
The black stripe in the sky was approaching, getting larger by the second, until Jon could see Daenerys and Rickon distinctly, both smiling, both windswept and flushed from the cold. Jon could only smile. His heart beat faster as they landed. He remembered the man who watched Daenerys with such passion and lust, a man that men claimed had shared Daenerys' bedchambers for months. The thought made him grow cold, reminded him of his place and his relationship with the queen. He was a bastard and even a bastard who served as her advisor was not allowed to harbour such feelings for the queen, was not allowed to feel such warmth in her presence, especially when she was already with another.
Rickon came running towards Jon, shouting about the dragon, while Daenerys watched, a fond look in her eyes, which watched Jon and Rickon, even while she spoke with her dragon, her child. Jon scooped Rickon up into his arms, a task that was becoming harder by the day, as he grew and strengthened.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said with a smile to his brother. Rickon nodded eagerly and then wriggled until Jon set him down.
"I have to go and tell Shaggydog," he said, panting from the exertion of being so excited. Jon grinned and let his brother run off. "See you later, Jon, Dany," he called as he dashed away.
"Dany," Jon repeated, eyebrows raised as he approached the dragon queen. She ducked her head, returning to the dragon that she was stroking. Jon put his hand next to hers, meeting her eyes.
"He couldn't pronounce Daenerys," she said with a shrug. "It's a difficult name." Jon hummed with a nod. She looked up. "You could call me Dany, too, if you'd like, when we're - only when we're alone."
Her eyes were bright and wide, from the rush of flying a dragon, probably, but maybe from something else too. Perhaps she liked spending time with him as much as he liked being with her. Rather than answer her, he leaned forward impulsively, crashing their lips together in a sudden, passionate embrace. She stiffened at first but then she leaned into it and she swung her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Jon's heart raced. He never wanted to stop.
But stop they did, after a few moments, weeks, years. He pulled away, panting, and pushed their foreheads together. "Sorry," he said breathlessly. "You're my queen- I shouldn't have-"
Dany shook her head, smiling. Her teeth were perfect, her lips full and attractive. "Don't apologise," she said before claiming his lips for her own again.
XXX
Fleabottom was a welcome sight as Gendry stumbled back, after a long day of work in the forge. All of his muscles protested. His home was not too far away, a room that he shared with a few other apprentices in a house that he shared with many. Still, it was a good place to hide. Nobody knew that he was here, which was exactly what Ser Davos had wanted when he had saved him from death.
Rather than head to the house immediately, however, Gendry turned, pushing through a door into the tavern that he preferred, where he could eat in peace, but also receive whatever news was coming in from all over Westeros. He was waiting. He'd always been waiting. For what, he didn't know, but he still waited. One day, it would come.
He sat down with a bowl of stew and bread. The money that he earned at the forge meant that he could purchase a stew of which he knew the contents, rather than a bowl o' brown, which was the cheaper and more worrying alternative. He dug into his rabbit stew and perked his ears up to listen and try to learn.
There was no news for a while and it was not until he had finished his bowl that he saw movement, excited movement, at the bar. Walking slowly as he returned the bowl and cutlery to the bar, he listened and pieced together the story.
A ghost walked at the Twins, the ancestral home of the Freys. A ghost walked and it killed. The Freys, every one of them, were dead. The Freys who were despised by some and respected by others for their awful role in the Red Wedding, the murder of the Starks.
Gendry's heart began to race. He heard a small voice in the back of his mind, one he heard often. He heard it swear to kill every enemy of her family, to kill every person who caused them harm.
Over the years, he had wondered whether she was alive and a small part of him had known that she was, even while the rest of him mourned her absence. Part of her lived in him, her smile perhaps, or her stubbornness. Whatever it was, it reminded him of her every day, reminded him how much he missed her, and, this, for the first time in years, was proof that she lived.
Gendry grinned. Arya Stark was alive.
XXX
"Jon," Sansa started, striding into Jon's chambers. Jon did not look surprised to see her. "I want to discuss Winterfell with you."
Jon nodded, cocking his head to the side. "You want to lead here."
Sansa was not shocked by her brother's understanding of why she had come to see him. He, like her, had surely been thinking of this with some frequency. They rode out to the Vale the next day and, despite her reservations, Sansa was riding too. She knew that she held a power over Baelish and it was important to her to face him, to face her fears, else they would one day consume her.
"Rickon cannot," Sansa said.
Jon's nod was severe. "I'm not sure that he is - right in the head." Sansa swallowed and agreed. "You've earned it, Sansa. You married into this place, even when it was stolen from us. You should have something, as a compensation, as a -"
Sansa interrupted him, "And Bran?"
Jon sighed. "If he's alive, which I hope he is, then we will decide what to do when he returns."
"Then, we are agreed?" she asked, an eyebrow quirked. She had hoped it would be this simple. She knew that she and Tyrion were the right people to do this, to lead the North through the Winter. Jon inclined his head. "You will speak with Daenerys." It was a statement more than a question but Jon agreed anyhow.
"You will be Lady of Winterfell and Lord Tyrion will rule at your side." Sansa smiled. "Will you rule as Lady Stark or Lady Lannister?" His tone was curious and slightly teasing. Sansa's smile turned into a scowl.
"Lady Stark. No Northerner would accept a Lannister as their lady."
"And, yet, that is what they will be doing."
Sansa met his eyes and smiled. She, like Brienne, had no shame in being a Lannister. They would create a new generation of Lannisters, who were not evil tyrants like Cersei and who did not fuck each other.
"Thank you, Jon," Sansa said sincerely. Half of Jon's mouth twitched upwards.
XXX