15. Message Received

Sansa broke her fast alone in the Great Hall, nothing but the cracking of the fire behind her to keep her company. Her plate was filled with eggs and peppered bacon, apples and raspberries drizzled in honey, the sweet and savory smells wrapping her in comfort. Her stomach growled, alluding to hunger slowly settling in. True be told the meal was no different than usual. The atmosphere was no more inviting, yet Sansa found herself more eager than ever to indulge on this particular morning.

The more bites Sansa sampled, the more visitors from outside took their seats at a table. The room was no longer hers alone. There were a few lords here. A handful of squires there. Each looking forward to filling their empty bellies with the pleasures of the kitchens. Although she didn't know any well enough to invite into a conversation, some nodded towards Sansa, wishing her a decent morning. Happily enough, she continued to have the table to herself.

Her cup needed refilling by the time she sensed someone watching her. "Do you still eat food? Or does nutrition not impact you anymore?"

Sansa knew without looking that the corner of Arya's lip twitched in an almost grin for just a moment. It was on an insanely rare occasion that Arya shared meals with anyone, much less her sister. Sansa did not take it personally.

"You seem to be in good spirits this morning," Arya stated, taking a seat next to Sansa. "Septa Mordane wouldn't much care for the way you're indulging."

Shrugging, Sansa popped another raspberry in her mouth. The honey stuck to her fingers no matter how much she licked them. The sugar mixed well with the salt of her skin. "That old woman didn't much care for many things."

The two went silent after that. A comfortable silence Sansa thought at first. She continued to engage with simple pleasantries as more came to enjoy a morning meal. All Arya did during this time was take a sip of ale. Then another. And another. Arya was still watching her. It caused a churning in her stomach that had little to do with the food.

Sansa peaked out the corner of her eye. She stopped moving, all too aware she was being studied. "Do you have something to say? Your staring is more than a little off-putting."

Arya didn't say anything right away. She didn't need to when she knew the opposite would only irritate her sister more. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"What?" Sansa didn't quite understand the question but chuckled anyway. A bit too cold to be misplaced as real. "Should I not take pleasure in my bacon? Too soon for the pig?"

Arya didn't seem to find a joke appealing this time around; not even the corner of her lip twitched. "You, sitting here at the table, alone."

"Do I point out that you're sitting with me or are you going to get to the point you're trying to make?"

Like always, Arya showed little emotion of disgust, but that didn't stop her words from oozing with it. "Jon's gone. You're the Lady of Winterfell."

Sansa didn't know where this conversation was going but gathered from Arya's stone and hard stare it wasn't in a good direction. While the two had in no way been kindred spirits since reuniting, there was an unspoken truce between them. They didn't talk about how they teased and tormented each other when they were children. Nor did they request pity for the troubles they endured leading up to the present. It wasn't the perfect relationship but the best Sansa could ask for considering. It would be disheartening to shatter that so soon. She turned toward Arya as she explained, "I'm the last person who wanted Jon to leave, but he still went on his own accord. Someone needs to be in charge while he's gone."

"Someone like you?"

Someone like you. Sansa didn't miss the accusation.

Who else was there? Traditionally, Bran would have been the next logical person to hold the fort of Winterfell, being a male-born Stark, but he was… different. Did Arya want the chance? The girl who since she was a toddler renounced the idea of ruling anything other than the dirt under her shoes? Should it have been a different lord? A man of the Night's Watch? A wildling?

Sansa met her sister's hard gaze, refusing to feel guilty that she didn't hate where she sat. "Someone like me."

Arya said nothing more on the subject, but instead reached into a sleeve and pulled out a roll of parchment. She flung in on the table in front of Sansa. They watched it roll back and forth in silence until it moved no more. The seal was still intact. The seal was a dragon.

"You didn't open it."

"We both know it's not meant for me."

A simple statement true, but she almost wished Arya had opened it, preventing the caution and curiosity that was settling in her gut. Was the message from Jon with news of dragonglass? Or was Daenerys Targaryen letting Winterfell know the King in the North wasn't going to return? All sorts of similar scenarios ran through Sansa's head as she reached for the scroll, breaking the red seal with a nail. The paper was rough and scratchy in her fingers and itched to curl itself back up with each unrolling, refusing to give up its secrets. She saw writing - Jon's writing.

"What does it say?" Arya questioned when her sister said nothing. She leaned forward, as if she wanted to see for herself, but thought better of it. Never act too eager.

Sansa let go of the scroll, and it instantly folded back into itself. She looked to Arya. "Call everyone to the hall. Now."

•••

A sea of faces sat before the three Stark children once the hall was overflowing with nobles and soldiers and freemen alike. All remnants of breakfast were long gone along with the appetites. Bran sat to the left of Sansa with his hands placed politely in front of him. He blinked and breathed, but never said anything. Arya stood off to the right, a hand on the hilt of her Needle. She gripped it tighter with every passing minute. Sansa sat in the middle, eyeing those in front of her as she let the news sink in.

Beric Dondarrion sat with his men on one side, passing unspoken messages with Thoros of Myr, tapping his half-filled cup with the tip of his fingers. He was calculating something. He would tilt his head and Thoros responded with a switch of his brow. But whatever they were planning was kept silent.

Sandor was there as she knew well he would be, but Sansa refused to look at him. Her gaze would jump right over his head and onto the next disheveled outlaw. If she didn't, she'd get a feeling in her gut again, but different from before. She wasn't curious anymore. She was… heartbroken? That wasn't exactly it. Distraught? Perhaps. Sad and scared. In the simplest, plainest terms, she was sad and scared. And the realization of that alone made her scared for a new reason. Through it all, she could feel his gaze on her. It was as if he was trying to catch her eye and knew she was ignoring him.

On the other side of the hall, the lords took a different approach than Beric, each vocal on their whys and hows and don'ts of the situation. Some spoke to each other, many yelled to the head table, none were getting a response in return.

Minutes passed and Sansa had had enough of this. She fingered the scroll in her hands, unfolding it, reading it over and over despite knowing exactly what it said and that it wasn't going to change, and rolling it back up again. "Quiet."

The hall did as they were bid.

"No one can be surprised that there are complications with Daenerys," she starts. And isn't she telling the truth? Isn't this why Jon went to Dragonstone in the first place? To be convincing? "Anyone would need proof about the tales we're telling. That was true for many of us. True for her. True for any chance that King's Landing, that Cersei will heed our warnings."

"But this? Is the boy mad?" This came from Robett Glover. The men from Deepwood Motte mumbled in agreement.

Arya spoke before Sansa could rebuttal. "That boy is your King, lest you forget that, my Lord. Remember who allowed you to keep that title."

The grown man shrunk into his seat, looking as if he wished to pull his cloak around his head and disappear. Stark or not, how embarrassing it must have felt, to have a girl throw back into his face the wrongs he had done and the forgiveness that was given by the very one he was questioning. Arya hadn't been there when he refused to aid the Starks against the Boltons, but that didn't seem to deter her from bringing it up.

"Jon has made his decision clear." Sansa slowly stood up, bringing everyone's attention back to her. "He will travel north, beyond the wall. He will capture a wight. And he will deliver it to Cersei in King's Landing."

Robert Glover didn't say anything. Neither did anyone else.

That was until Beric Dondarrion stood up, colliding his eyes with Sansa's. They were fierce but kind. Focused and ready. The calculations that he had been drawing together were about to come to light. "My lady, if I may, I would like to volunteer myself, and any willing in the Brotherhood, to aid in your brother's endeavors north. He will need all the help he can get."

Sansa forced an appreciative smile. "You're in luck, my lord. Jon specifically asked for you and your men to join him at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. You leave overmorrow."

Beric nods, agreeing. The rest of his men stand, each of them nodding in goodbye before making their way down the hall one by one.

She can't help but flicker her eyes to Sandor now. He was still concentrating on her. The stoic man is one of the last to exit and Sansa felt as he did so on purpose. Whatever feelings he might have had to go unshared. Which is the only way anyone would expect, though some sort of hesitation on the matter would have soothed her. Sansa wondered, hoped, that she was having as much success concealing her feelings as she watched Sandor go. It truly surprised her that when she read Jon's request for the Brotherhood to join him on his quest the first thought she had was that Sandor would be going with them. His presence in Winterfell was so normal for her now. Normal and oddly comforting. But now he was going to leave. He was going to leave her. And that fact alone made her sad and scared. Distraught. Maybe even a little heartbroken.

•••

Night had all but fallen by the time Sansa could return to her chambers, finally finishing signing off the weapons list and counting food storages and readying the Brotherhood for their soon-to-be departure. The castle has been in high energy after the news broke out. Some were still on edge about the idea, but others were in high spirits just by the fact Jon was still alive. They romanticized the Dragon Queen with her silver hair and winged pets. The sheer idea of her impossible existence was only slightly overshadowed by the knowledge that Jon was going back beyond the wall. The younger squires and noblemen beamed at the idea. Everyone could hear them whispering how terribly exciting and dangerous it must be, yet wagered they'd make a better companion to venture with than the old has-beens of the Brotherhood. None volunteer their sword though.

Sansa on the other hand was exhausted and found little to enjoy about the excitement. She worried and wondered about Jon and this trek north of the wall. There were men left and right who needed her thoughts and consent of propositions. And behind every corner she swore she saw a large man lurking around for her, waiting for a moment to steal a word. Had it only been this morning she sat peacefully with her breakfast? It couldn't be. Her cloak felt too heavy. Her shoes - too snug. Her body - too tired. Managing Winterfell was in her blood, so was it supposed to be this draining? Did Ned Stark feel this way every night after he left his men at late hours of the dark, still yet to kiss his children goodnight and slip in next to his wife? No wonder he was so often reserved. Taking care of his home had taken every waking moment of his life; there was little energy for much else.

The relief of seeing her bed floated through Sansa so much that she didn't care about much else once she crossed the threshold. That included closing the room door. It didn't quite reach its latch when she lazily pushed it back, but the notion didn't bother her. What were the chances that someone would come looking for her now? Here? She imagined that if anyone would, it would be Litterfinger and that picture alone almost made her turn back around to lock the door herself. To hear the safety of the lack intact. Almost. But the new sight of a large tub already set out for her made her stumble and melt. It sat just feet from the fire and the water rippled with every vibration that the castle sent off from its many occupants. The steam from the water rose into the air and mixed pleasurably with the smoke of the fire. The heat circled her and begged her to join in. She caved instantly.

Let someone see her.

The water conformed to the nooks and bends of her snow-kissed skin, reaching just under her nipples, teasing them to soften like the rest of her limbs. It searched her body for all her secrets and desires and washed them away, or maybe sealed and cemented them in to consider them on a day that she could better deal with them. She'd need more than just a bath to sort through all the thoughts she'd had in the past few years, but less the last several days, but at the moment she wouldn't dare complain. Here at least she could be alone with the thoughts she didn't want to pester with and ignore them in an unladylike fashion, pretending that there wasn't a single thought in her mind. The more she tried to empty her subconscious, the deeper she sunk into the water. It passed the whole of her breasts and kissed her neck. She moaned in the pleasure of relaxing her body and vowed that if the world would let her, she'd never get out.

As the exhaustion slowly crept out of her, Sansa thought about what exactly was causing her so much distress. Yes, Jon and his request were troubling and the thought of Daenerys Targaryen left a bitter taste in her mouth, but there was more to it. There was more to it and she knew it.

The entire day her thoughts wandered back to Sandor. Whether she liked it or not, he would be leaving with the Brotherhood to go beyond the wall to fight the frigid temperatures and the monsters that lived there. She would be staying in Winterfell because that's where she belonged. He belonged wherever he wanted to be but did that have to mean so far north? He wasn't tied down to the Brotherhood, not as he was as Joffrey's sword shield. The men within the group said no vows. They were based more on a similar value to protect the realm but at any moment one could leave for a different path. Sandor didn't much care for the realm anyhow.

Cupping water in her hands, Sansa remembered all the times as a child when she was refused her way. Her mother might have found the request unwanting or her father deemed her too young. She'd pout, crossing her arms and stomping her feet, and saying it wasn't fair. Her requests were stupid and trivial but felt huge and worthwhile at the moment. They felt then as hers did now but she refused to pout no matter how much she wondered if it would work. What could she do, demand that Sandor be the only one to remain at Winterfell? By what rights did she have? That she didn't want to lose one of the few people she could confide in? The castle would laugh and Sandor along with them. No, he needed to go.

She let the water slip through her pruning fingers, realizing that during her reflection the tub had run cold. Her night was drawing to a close and she was grateful. Sleep couldn't hit her soon enough along with the sweet nothingness that came with it. She kept her body in the large wooden basin but reached as far as she could to a robe draped across her bed. The cold air was going to reach her the moment she stepped out and she wasn't quite ready for that. Unable to stretch as far as she needed sitting down, Sansa prepared for the worst and hastily lifted her body to grasp the robe, pressing it close to her chest. Her nipples hardened as the cool air attacked her and goosebumps raised all over her body. A single foot stepped out of the tub when she heard creaking from just outside her door. It was still holding ajar, something that the girl had all but forgotten during her time of bliss.

When her innocence was still intact, being caught indecent would have caused her to blush and tremble and hide as she was supposed to. Only whore's allowed themselves to be seen naked by someone other than their spouse. Or that's at least how she was taught. But that didn't matter in the end. At least whore's got paid for their trouble and Sansa's innocence was long gone. Shame and modesty were abstract concepts to her now. So when she turned her gaze to the coming of the sound and saw Sandor's face, his scarred side half hidden by the silhouette of the door, she didn't blush and hide. She kept his gaze. How horrified her mother would be.

It only lasted a couple of seconds, enough to let him know that he had been caught by her but felt like an eternity nonetheless. How long had he been watching her? Humorous that she felt more self-conscious that she spent her time thinking about him more than the fact he caught her fresh out of the bath. She wondered what he was thinking as he studied her. He said nothing, didn't walk away, didn't break eye contact. Even his breathing was mute as if he feared any sound would scare her off. Or maybe he was scared. The scene had caught both of them off guard and even a man like Sandor could be rendered uncomfortable. Through it all his eyes never flickered below her face, but she knew well enough that he'd seen more of her than ever before. The thought warmed her chest and made her heart race.

Ramsey Bolton was the only man dead or alive that undressed her, made her bare all, and nothing more excited her than someone else taking his place. Even if it was to say that he wasn't the only one to have seen her body for what it was. Littlefinger would happily assist. Tyrion might not deny her. A list of others within the walls would take a turn if they knew they would get to keep their manhood at the end. Men did those types of things. But she didn't want just any man. She needed someone who would see her for more than her body or title or as a late-night undertaking. The man before her had never expressed his interest in so many words but knew he would take his chances if the prospect breached.

Perhaps that was the reason Sansa said nothing. She wanted to see how the events would unfold in her chambers in the dead of night. As their seconds of silent contemplation ended, she continued to step out of the tub. A pool of water started forming beneath her feet, swallowing her toes. The cold no longer imposed on her, the realization that she was being spied on was enough to keep her temperature high, but unfolded her robe all the same. She dared not look up at him as she wrapped and tied the cloth around her naked body. Bashfulness threatened to seep into her mind and stall her show, but she was in too far. The pounding of her heart threatened to alert everyone in Winterfell that but the choice was made and there was no going back now.

Once fully clothed, she forced herself to face him. She needed to know what his reaction was, but she was a mere second too late. His footsteps were receding down the hallway, heavy and echoing against the stone. Should she call after him? Make him turn back around? The sheer idea modified her. Would he even turn back if she did? The remaining water in the tub shifted with every stomp but lessened as he got farther and farther away. Before long, her heart began to beat normally again. The excitement was over. It was only once the water stilled indefinitely that she shuffled her feet to her bed, expecting embarrassment to settle in at her actions as she readied herself for bed. None came.