Chapter 2
When the laughter subsided, Sansa and Daenerys settled into a comfortable silence. Sansa could see Daenerys sizing her up, could feel Daenerys's inner questioning about Sansa's motives.
"Your Grace, my activity last night is not the only reason I wanted to speak with you. I wanted to apologize for my outburst in your war council the other day. I still wish for the northern armies to be given more rest but it was wrong of me to be so disrespectful. Jon is right. The North honors its promises."
"Thank you, Lady Sansa. I appreciate and accept your apology."
"And if I may, I feel like you're not always getting the best advice from your council."
"In what way?" Daenerys asked, eyes narrowing. Sansa had to be careful.
"I admit I know next to nothing of military strategy. But I do know the North and its people. If you want more than a begrudged loyalty, then you have to inspire it, to earn it. You did so much during the battle and no one is helping you capitalize on that so the people can know you better, so they can acknowledge what you did. Right now, you're still an outsider, a foreigner. And I know I haven't made it easy. I've been selfish and wary. Trust doesn't come easy for me. But Jon trusts you, Lord Tyrion trusts you, would you be willing to do a little more to earn mine as well?"
"And how would you suggest I do that?"
"Come with me on my rounds overseeing the rebuilding of the keep, seeing to the smallfolk and their needs, perhaps order a portion of your armies to help with food distribution? It will help my people to see your people as more than a demonstration of fire and blood."
Daenerys sat quietly thinking about Sansa's words. It didn't look as if she had been angered and Sansa took that as a good sign.
"Jon won't like you going around him with these requests," Daenerys wondered aloud.
"Jon Snow will do whatever you tell him to, your Grace," Sansa answered firmly, a little anger creeping into her tone. It would look too false to follow with a smile, so Sansa smoothed her features and waited.
After a pause, during which Sansa wondered if she'd moved too far too fast, Daenerys answered, "I will think about your request and discuss it with my advisors. Is there anything else?"
"Thank you, your Grace," Sansa said, somewhat relieved Daenerys wasn't going to make her justify her request further and the smile she gave was an honest one. Now for the other difficult thing she had to do. Sansa had made up her mind about how to use Tyrion in her goal for the North's independence – she decided not to use him at all; she would protect him as much as she could by giving him deniability if it all went wrong.
"And yes, there is one more thing but I am hesitant to say."
"Please, Lady Sansa, tell me."
"Last night Lord Tyrion made me an offer of marriage and I refused it. I have much respect and affection for your Hand," Sansa added with a smirk, which was met with a small smile from Daenerys, "But I cannot give him what he desires and…"
"You would like me to keep him away from you while he comes to terms with your refusal?"
"Yes, exactly."
"Why did you refuse him?" Daenerys asked pointedly. Sansa could see that she was genuinely curious.
"Perhaps that is a subject best saved for another day?" Sansa offered with a small smirk.
"Fair enough, Lady Sansa, I will hold you to it. Consider your request regarding Lord Tyrion done," Daenerys answered, rising from her chair. Sansa rose, too, knowing she was being dismissed.
"Thank you, your Grace."
"I will have Missandei contact you soon about your other requests."
Sansa bowed her head and left the room.
*::::*
That night, at dinner in the Great Hall, Sansa tried and failed to maintain her usual stoicism. She observed how awkward Jon and Daenerys were next to each other. What is happening between them? What is happening to me?
Her curiosity over Jon and his queen was overcome by a sudden awareness of all the bodies in the Great Hall. The smells, the sounds, the jawlines, the lips. And these thoughts weren't confined to just the men. The curves and softness of the women in the room also caught her eye and she didn't know how she felt about that. Women had never attracted her before and instead of stifling these feelings, Sansa felt cautiously curious about them. She noticed the servants flirting with the men, the men grabbing what they could. She played a small game with herself, imagining which couples would be bedding tonight, how the clothing would be removed and whether it would be a fierce grappling or a gentle coupling. Like coming of age all over again, and all the extreme emotions that go with it, Sansa found her lusts hard to control. The night with Tyrion awakened her to the possibilities. Sansa glanced at Daenerys, remembering their humorous misunderstanding, and wondered again whether it was truly embarrassment she felt earlier or something more.
Sansa turned back to her goblet and reached for it, looking again toward the people before her. Tyrion was laughing and talking with his brother and Brienne. His laughter appeared forced and she saw the sadness in his eyes. Before she could look away, he looked at her, their eyes meeting in knowledge of what they had shared the night before. He looked expectant, like he wished to ask something of her. Blood rushed to her face and heat pooled low in her belly. The desire she felt for him to bring about her body's release was overwhelming and Sansa struggled against the temptation. Physical need is a powerful one. She brought the goblet to her lips and looked away, giving a near imperceptible shake of her head before taking a sip of her wine. His queen would try to use him against her somehow. It was better to keep him away as he was a distraction she didn't need. Then again, she found the Dragon Queen distracting as well.
*::::*
The next day Daenerys found herself in her solar, very impatient, and arguing with a pacing Tyrion Lannister.
"You heard me, Lord Tyrion. Now calm yourself. From now on, I will treat with Lady Stark directly. You will continue to liaison with Jon Snow and his men on my behalf and you will approach her only after I've given permission for you to do so."
Tyrion let out a deep breath. "Your Grace, I have only your best interest in mind. I know Lady Sansa, I know how her mind works, she has learned from the best. You cannot trust her."
"But you trust her enough to bed her and make her an offer of marriage? Something I did not give you permission to do."
Daenerys gave him a steely glare. The look of shock on his face was worth this whole argument. To see him properly shamed, to cower before her. She wanted to hug Sansa for giving her this.
"She told you?" he asked timidly. He shook his head as if refusing to believe it.
"Yes, she did. Yesterday morning, in fact. Oh, I had already known about your dalliance, something you failed to acknowledge yourself when I requested your presence that morning, but she came to me on her own and was very forthcoming with the rest. It is by her request that you are to stay away from her."
"What else did she say?"
Daenerys could see his mind working it out, trying to understand Sansa's play.
"She obviously wants to gain my trust. I already know her ambition. She has made it plain since the beginning. The North. I do appreciate her directness. She is coming at me in a full assault of womanly friendship and I will meet her on the battlefield. And you will stay out of it."
"What do you plan to do?"
"That is not your concern. You may leave now, Lord Tyrion. I'm sure you can find more important things to do."
Tyrion looked as if he wanted to argue the point but instead he bowed and said, "Your Grace," and then left the room.
Missandei stepped forward and placed a hand on Daenerys's arm.
"He's right, you know. You cannot trust her. She has openly disliked you from the start and this change in her seems too sudden. What do you plan to do?"
"She wants me to delay the attack on King's Landing. To give her northmen more time to rest. And I am tempted to give it to her now that she has asked more politely. But more importantly, she is giving me the opportunity to familiarize myself with her people. My people. They have never looked at me as they do her or Jon. If they see Sansa friendly to me, they will follow her lead. She is backing herself into kneeling, Missandei. I will be gracious and generous, her people will see me for the benevolent ruler I promise to be. I will not be duplicitous. If she betrays me, Jon will have no choice but to punish her disobedience."
"And if she doesn't betray you?"
"Then hopefully I have a new friend. A powerful friend. I admit the possibility of a true friendship with Lady Stark sounds too good to be true but I want it. She is Jon's sister. If I can win her loyalty…"
"It will bring him back to you," Missandei nodded. Daenerys had confided only part of her friction with Jon. She had been unable to bring up the true issue of his parentage.
"It's more than that. Sansa Stark is the North. I win her and I won't need Jon."
Daenerys tried not to think of how weak that last phrase sounded. She meant it in terms of support from the northern lords but it came out as the spurned woman she was.
"But the trade-off, your Grace. Cersei is fortifying her defenses as we speak."
"I know. But I'm willing to give this some time to develop if it will result in a more loyal, stronger northern army. Perhaps she is right, men need to rest. Rhaegal could also use the extra time to heal."
"Yes, your Grace. How much additional time will you give them?"
"Three weeks. I'll let you know if my decision changes. That means four weeks from now until we leave this place, instead of the planned one."
"Shall I also inform Lady Stark of your decision? Or do you wish to talk to her yourself?"
Daenerys mulled this over. She was tempted to see the satisfied gleam in Sansa's eyes herself. Those blue, piercing eyes. There was a strength in her that she admired. The North chose Jon as their king but it very well could have been Sansa. It was why Sansa was so reluctant to be subservient – she was an equal in all but title. But she'd seen something in their conversation yesterday, a respect for Daenerys that had been given begrudgingly, if only for a moment, and it pleased her to earn that respect from the icy Lady of Winterfell. But she didn't want Sansa to know this. She had to be cautious. Daenerys shook her head.
"No, you go tell her, and tell her I will announce it in the next meeting with my war council later today. Also, tell her I'll be ready on the morrow to join her on her rounds. Depending on how it goes, I may decide to send the majority of my armies to White Harbor to await orders. They are stressing the food stores here and it would be a sign of good faith to Lady Sansa if I relieved those stresses."
"And will you be meeting with Jon Snow later this afternoon?"
The excitement she felt at meeting with Sansa tomorrow deflated. Jon. His looks of disgust directed at her were a result of his upbringing, she knew, but that didn't make them cut any less. He still wanted her and he hated himself for it. And there was nothing she could do to help him move past it.
"No. I have no private meetings planned for Jon Snow for the foreseeable future. My focus is on Lady Sansa."
"Yes, your Grace. And… if I may ask, what are your thoughts on Lord Tyrion?"
Daenerys's face darkened. "I will need time to think on that, Missandei. Now, I will see you later. Be sure to note exactly how Lady Sansa reacts to my decision."
After Missandei left the room, Daenerys went to the chair by the fire and sat down, thinking about Tyrion Lannister. Her Hand proposed marriage to a highborn lady of one of the most formidable houses in Westeros, without her permission. It meant he loved her. He likely confided things to her. Things he shouldn't have shared. After all of his prior mistakes, she was leaning more and more towards relieving him of his position as her Hand. Her hand, she thought, looking down at her hands with a smile. If she didn't know better she would've sworn that Sansa Stark had imagined them on her body. The thought of seducing her wasn't unpleasant but she pushed it away and Daenerys laughed to herself at the impossibility of it. Lady Sansa of House Stark would never.
She thought again of how Sansa looked last night in the Great Hall. She was normally so reserved, so cold. Last night she'd seen the sheen of sweat on her brow, the shallow breathing. Sansa looked on edge and she kept looking at everyone. Even towards me. Daenerys also saw the rejection Sansa gave Tyrion. How his face fell and she took a twisted pleasure in his disappointment. She wasn't the only one being denied a warm bed by a Stark, even if her Stark was also a Targaryen. Daenerys's anger returned as she wondered when Jon would tell his family. All of her begging couldn't convince him not to. She wondered if Sansa would acknowledge it at all before stabbing her in the back.
A/N: Even though I don't really consider this fic a season 8 fix-it, I just wanted to put it out there that there will be no Mad Queen in this story and D&D (and by extension GRRM) can go suck eggs. Okay? Okay.
Also, this is going to be a mostly slow-burn angsty Sansa/Daenerys tale. Lots of reluctant attraction and flirtation. That may not be everyone's cup of tea but romantic angst is so much more fun for me. There's just something deliciously sad from seeing characters too afraid to act or be thwarted by bad timing and circumstances. Just hints for you all that this may not wrap up in a happy bow. Angst lovers will still have fun with it, though.
