Secrets That We Keep
written by Celtic Pixie

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"Your visions will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams, who looks inside, awakes."
― C.G. Jung

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Sansa awoke long after the sun crested over the mountains, casting a warm amber tinge over her face as vibrant rays of light streak in through the open window. Her eyes were still twitching behind closed lids, abandoned in a fictional world in which she didn't need to be concerned with rules or obligation; where she could simply be Sansa Stark, not Her Grace, not My Lady—just Sansa; a world in which her Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard Stark still lived, and her family was still together in Winterfell. Eventually, there would come a moment where she would always have to wake, and those dreams would always be just that.

She yawned, stretching her arms above her head until her fingers scarcely brushed the headboard. Something felt… off. While King's Landing was normally so warm, she was feeling quite cold. There was a strange absence of body heat she knew had been there the night before. Sansa's eyes fluttered open, expecting to see a second body sleeping besides her. But, there was nothing; empty. Yet while the space next to her lacked a body, resting on the pillow was a dark red gillyflower. Sansa bolted upright and reached for it. She brought the flower to her nose, taking in a whiff of the perfume smell.

Sansa swung her legs from the bed. She grabbed a robe draped precariously over the back of a chair and threw it over her shoulders. A small plate of breakfast had been left for her—milk and cream, honey, a few grapes, pieces of bacon, and a small loaf of bread. She snatched a piece of bacon but before she could slice into the bread, there arose a heavy uproar coming from somewhere outside her balcony. Jerking at her robe, Sansa strode out onto the terrace and looked out over the edge. Somewhere down below her was a group—the City Watch, also known as the gold cloaks. While the Kingsguard were sworn to obey the king, the City Watch were defenders over the city inside—including the Red Keep—and the enforcers of the law, sworn only to the Iron Throne.

From behind her came a knock on her door; "Enter!" She called out, and she quickly stepped away from the balcony, tugging tightly at her robe.

In walked a handmaiden dressed in a thin flowery gown. A handmaiden, or handmaid, was a woman in service of a noblewoman of higher status. The tasks of a handmaiden varied depending on their origin. The woman assigned to Sansa was fare in face, likely not much younger than herself, with bright green eyes and soft brown curls. Beneath each of her eyes were dozens of freckles.

"What is the hour?" Sansa would ask.

The handmaiden curtsied; "It is almost midday, your grace," the younger woman answered, then rose from her curtsy and set about her chores.

Midday! She was thinking; How could I allow myself to sleep for so long?!

Sansa would never have allowed such indulgence. She would have been awake long before now, going about her daily routine as normal. Her mental berating was brief. At that moment, it was Podrick's face that came to mind and a reasoning why she hadn't woken until now. Her thoughts took her to the aforementioned night—oh, the things he had done to her body; it produced a smile, however fleeting.

Sansa had looked away. Still clutched in her right hand was the gillyflower left on her pillow. She held it close enough to her chest and shut her eyes, eliciting a distant memory. The flower's scent had triggered something, something from her youth, of a moment where she was feeling the most vulnerable and someone had shown her a great kindness. She must have forgotten about that; then again, so many things had been.

However cordial she and Tyrion had been, the developing relationship had taken a crushing blow when news of Robb and Catelyn's death at the Red Wedding reached King's Landing, and Sansa. It had been an event orchestrated by Tyrion's father, Tywin Lannister. Sansa remained dejected for some time, hardly eating a meal despite encouragement from both Shae and Tyrion. Nightmares plagued her every night. Sansa would lay awake each and every night as of late, all the while thinking of her brother and mother, how Robb's body was desecrated, how her mother's throat was slit to the bone and her body discarded into the river like garbage.

Sansa excused herself from the table, telling Tyrion she was going to the Godswood for solitude since it was the only place she could be alone with no one bothering her. She wasn't going there for prayer, as she often did before, as Tyrion had suggested it might be good for her—she no longer prayed to the same gods as her mother had done, or to any god.

There was something… something she hadn't expected… waiting for her, a gift, of sorts. Laying precariously atop a rock by the sea was a light red gillyflower. Sansa stared, astonished. She looked around her, expecting someone to be standing in the bushes waiting for her to receive her gift. Well, she received it, but with no notice or idea of who left it for her. She brought it close to her nose and took a whiff, inhaling the flowery perfume scent.

Later that evening, Tyrion came to her quarters with a small tray of food—salted pork, some duck sausage, potatoes, and honey cakes. She seemed less morose than before. Sansa told him she had returned to the Keep and laid down for a few hours. A nap seemed to do her some good. She could no longer deny food when her stomach rumbled at the sight. They didn't speak. But when Tyrion pulled out a chair for her, she sat down with a gracious smile.

He watched her eat, thankful the poor girl wasn't starving herself. While Sansa was having her fill, Tyrion helped himself to a glass of wine. It was then that he noticed the red gillyflower sticking out of a glass vase with a blue hue; "Such a lovely flower," he said, and Sansa looked up, her gaze questioning and curious. Tyrion pointed a finger towards the vase sitting on the mantle. "Is there another admirer I should know about?"

She only looked at it briefly before fixing her eyes on her husband; "I assumed it was you who had left it there for me…" But Tyrion's frown, and shake of his head, confused Sansa.

If he hadn't left the flower, who had?

This gillyflower in her hand was the same tinge as the one left for her before.

Sansa knew now what she didn't know then—that it was Podrick who left her the gillyflower. Such a kind, gracious gesture at a time she needed the most kindness.

The handmaiden, complete with folding the sheets, now looked at Sansa; "Oh!" She exclaimed quite exuberantly, nearly startling the visiting queen. "Such a beautiful flower, your grace! It is called a gillyflower."

"A what?"

"A gillyflower. It grows along the eastern coast of King's Landing, by the Godswood." The handmaiden stepped away from the bed, approaching Sansa. "They grow in a wide variety of colors including pink, white, red, yellow, purple, and scarlet. And all colors have a different meaning."

"I was oblivious of this." Sansa inspected the flower, eyeing over each of its red pedals. "Different flowers bloom in the North, many of a different kind of beauty…" She admired the gillyflower for a short while before gesturing for the handmaiden to continue; there was a story here she was eager to learn.

"White symbolizes purity and luck, light red symbolizes admiration, pink symbolizes gratitude, yellow of disappointment or rejection, and purple of capriciousness…"

As the handmaiden spoke, Sansa couldn't help but feel a sense of childlike giddiness as if she were being told a spurring tale of adventure and fantasy.

She pointed at her flower, indicating its pedals; it shown in a reddish hue, unlike an average red—almost blood-like. "And…. What of this one? It is a much deeper, darker shade than you spoke of."

"Ah! This one, your grace… this one symbolizes love and affection." The handmaiden flashed a warm smile at Sansa. "It means you have an admirer! Someone loves you. A great prince or a lord, perhaps.."

Or a knight, Sansa thought, grinning; but only her heart would know.

The handmaiden dutifully returned to her chores. Sansa tugged at her robe a bit tighter then ambled herself to the small table where the tray of food still sat. She picked at it though maybe only slightly interested. She wasn't particularly hungry this morning.

A knock on her door disturbed her thoughts.

Sansa stepped forwards to grab it, but the handmaiden had gotten there first. Once she opened the door, they both saw that it was King Jon who stood there, dressed in royal garb befitting his title; except, there was a distinct lack of crown. It was too cumbersome when he didn't need it.

The handmaiden curtsied; "Your grace…"

Jon nodded and politely smiled at the young woman. He briefly caught sight of his cousin—thinking of her as such instead of a sister was still somewhat odd to him, since they grew up as siblings, but he was getting used to the idea more and more.

"Rheanya," he spoke, his voice soft, "I wonder if I might have a word with my cousin."

"Of course, your grace."

She curtsied once again, to both of them, before stepping outside to leave them. She wouldn't go far, Jon knew this; she would stay right outside the door until he had need of her.

Focusing on Sansa, Jon took a few steps closer; "I'm happy to see you again, cousin." He was smiling. He was glad this was a time in which they didn't worry about the threat of White Walkers, or of Cersei Lannister; a time in which Jon sat on the throne as the rightful heir, side-by-side with his queen. "Due to the nature of the occasion, I haven't been able to see much of you. And of course, my other duties keep me quite busy. I was hoping we could… talk… like old times…"

Old times. Right. Never mind the fact she was literally naked beneath that thin night robe of hers. Sansa found herself nodding in agreement, despite the fact she should be dressing for the day, which had already worked itself into the afternoon.

Jon closed further distance between them; "Being queen has suited you, I think. I-I apologize for not being at your coronation." He thought back to his own, how nervous and unprepared he felt, but at least he had Daenerys at his side to ease some discomfort.

"There is nothing to apologize for, your grace." Hearing it from her own lips felt natural, but saying it in front of Jon, addressing him in a formal title, did still feel somewhat odd.

"Sansa, please," he started, then, "behind these walls, I am simply Jon Snow and you are Sansa Stark. We are family; there is no need for formalities between us."

Despite the mere inch that separated them in height, it did not stop Jon from placing a gentle kiss on Sansa's cheek. He smiled once more. Only then, after a beat, did he notice the gillyflower she still clutched between her fingers.

Sansa was confused by the change in facial expression…until it dawned on her—

But it was Jon, not her, who spoke; "Who is he, dearest cousin? Who is this secret admirer of yours? A nobleman here in this castle perhaps? Someone I have yet to be introduced to…"

Sansa's heart galloped. "He is someone I have treasured dearly for a long time… though it has taken me equally as long to finally realize it…" Please don't ask me further questions, she was thinking. As much as she loved her cousin, the thought of keeping her romantic interest a secret was tantalizing.

"You are a woman grown, Sansa. I cannot tell you what you should and should not do. I only ask you to remain vigilant. I do not wish to see you harmed again by those who ought to love you."

"Always."

Podrick is not Joffrey, and he is not Ramsey; he will not harm me. Not now, not ever.

Jon nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer. "When will I be acquainted with this nobleman who has robbed your heart so?"

"In due time, Jon."

"Ah, I see." He chuckled; he, too, remembered the days as children when he would play knight to Sansa's princess and all she spoke of was the rescuing of damsels in distresses, and secret loves of princes and princess.

This sounded like one of her fairytales and he was more than happy to indulge her. Doing so meant he got to see a piece of her he thought she buried a long while ago.

Sansa briefly looked taken aback; "See what?"

"It is a secret romance. I understand more than most about those. Do not worry yourself, Sansa; I will not tell your secret."

He held a finger to his lips… and then slowly, very slowly, broke out into a fit of merriment. It took Sansa a bit longer to do so but soon enough, the cousins were in the midst of a laugh neither have shared together for such a long time. It felt good to be able to do so.

Eventually, as the cousins recovered from their fit of laughter, Jon added; "You know, sometimes I forget how it feels just to laugh again. To be happy. We've spent so long unhappy that it almost feels—"

"—strange?"

"Yes, strange."

Though born as Aegon Targaryen, he chose to keep his bastard name—Jon Snow—because that was the name he grew up with and that was the name everyone knew him as. After learning the fate of his half-brother, also named Aegon, he didn't feel right using his birth name. He had been raised alongside Eddard Stark's lawful children, his true parentage kept secret from everyone, including himself. He did not learn of this until it was Samwell Tarly who cornered him beneath Winterfell one night, as he was in the catacombs lighting candles in remembrance of his family and spilled the preverbal beans.

Jon didn't feel any different than he was before his true parentage was known to him, and subsequently the rest of the known world. The only thing that changed for him, now, was a crown and a throne. He was finding his new home in King's Landing to be ideal, but he still missed his family—Bran was here, of course, but Sansa remained in Winterfell and their only communication was through letters, no one had heard from Arya… Robb and Rickon, Gods rest their souls, and then there was Theon….

Theon wasn't a trueborn Stark… but he was close enough to a brother as his blood cousins had been to him. On a deeper level, Jon was missing Theon more than enough now. He had forgiven Theon for all of his transgressions, as it had been in his heart to do so after seeing Sansa warming up to him again. It burned a hole in him when he had to watch his cousin burn Theon's body and watch the depressing look befall her face.

Sighing, Jon reached for Sansa's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I do love you, Sansa. Do not forget that."

"I would never."

Jon kissed her knuckles. "Join the Dany and I for dinner tonight would you? It is your last night here. I wish to spend it with my dear cousin."

As it had done in the past, Podrick's face came to mind. My last night here… I ought to make it amount for something…

"I would be delighted to."

There was a moment's pause between them, before Sansa took visual note she was still only wrapped up in nothing but a silk robe. Clearing her throat, she asked, "Um, might I get myself dressed now?"

"Oh, of course." The maid was called back in. "I'll come for you later."

Sansa nodded as he left.

~.~.~.~.~

Tonight's meal was abundant in flavor and color, the likes of which Sansa hadn't seen in an age: salted pork, duck sausages, lamprey pie—a meat pie made from eel-like fish known as lampreys—sour cherries, lemon cakes—her favorite—and custard. Being away from King's Landing for so long had made her nearly forget the different ways in which the Southrons would dine when compared to those in the Northern regions.

Due in part to the arctic climate of the North, agriculture is more challenging to cultivate than it is in the southron parts of Westeros, and the Northern lords are significantly less wealthy than their southron counterparts. Because of these factors, food in the North was predominantly centered on meats—fish, fowl, etc.—and the occasional root vegetables, certain hardy fruits, nuts, and maybe some berries. Their meals were not on the same level or magnitude as the nobles in the Westerlands, or King's Landing.

In the southern territories, where agriculture is much easier, fruits and vegetables are a much bigger element in the regional cuisines. Food was generally prepared in various ways, depending on the house, but usually fairly elaborate: cream, sugar, and pastries were patterned into whimsical shapes. King's Landing was much more sumptuous, enjoying the exotic fruits—blackberries, crabapples, lemons, plums, cherries, etc.—yet still offered a flavoring of meats and fish, particularly shellfish. Diversity was easily more prominent; meals were often served in multiple courses and were often made with exotic ingredients.

Sansa's stomach growled at such a lavish selection. She didn't know where to start. She looked to where Jon sat, and Daenerys right next to him—both in deep conversation. Asking for their opinion seemed like a moot point. Someone, she assumed one of the castle servants, walked up and suggested the lamprey pie. Sansa gazed it, as if sizing it up first, before she latched onto the idea. The servant served her a slice, and she helped herself to some sour cherries and a couple lemon cakes. She nodded her thanks to the servant who bowed gracefully and took a step back.

She picked at her lamprey pie. It was flavorful enough, but she was sidetracked. Too much so, perhaps, to truly get a taste for it.

Just as her thoughts drifted to home, a new diversion entered. One she hadn't even realized until it was Daenerys that called for him: Ser Podrick! And suddenly, Sansa was aware just how fast her chest was pounding. He waltzed in, bringing with him a decanter of red wine. The moment the pair saw each other, she could swear she had forgotten how to breathe. Had the room dropped a few degrees? She felt chilled, like something had crawled up her spine. And Podrick… as try as he might to not look at her-there were definitely glances.

Subtly clearing her throat, Sansa returned to staring at her food, putting herself in the mindset that this was somehow much more appeasing than knowing Podrick was standing just a few feet from her. He poured a small amount of Arbor red into Daenerys' chalice as she held out towards him – thank you, she added – and he did the same for Jon. By the time he reached to where Sansa was sitting, she had to forcefully bite her bottom lip and avoid his eye contact. Jon and Daenerys had no clue… nor would they.

Podrick queried; "Some wine, your grace?" And it was the tone in his voice that had her knees nearly shaking beneath the table. She quietly thanked the Gods for the thick pleaded dress she wore.

There held a pregnant pause between them, in which she could swear her body temperature had risen a few degrees. Her cheeks felted heated as blood pulsed beneath flesh.

She remembered the gillyflower found on her pillow this morning, notably the coloring. Dark red; to articulate the profound sentiment of love and affection. She knew it had been Podrick who left her the flower…just as she was so sure in her heart that it had been the same man—then just a young teenager, like herself—whose light red gillyflower had been left for her those years ago.

Sansa didn't quite catch herself in time, however, when they made the briefest of eye contact and he offered up a momentarily virtuous smile.

Suddenly remembering her manners, she held out her chalice and merrily accepted the wine; "Thank you…Ser Podrick," and immediately took to sipping the alcohol as she subsequently removed her eyes from his face.

She thoroughly enjoyed the taste of it as the liquid dripped down the back of her throat. As a child growing up, her father would rarely allow her more than one or two sips at feast. She grew more accustomed to wine once she was in King's Landing where there was more of it to go around.

The grapes for wine making never grow further than the Riverlands, and they're often small and tart, though make drinkable wine; however, not the best of quality, either. Those wines come from the warmer fields of the Reach, in particular from the island of the Arbor where many wines are produced yet the best of which is arguably the Arbor gold—rich and fruity in its flavor. Ale is also fairly common in the south whereas "black beer"—likely another name for lager—was more common in the North. The black beer produced in White Harbor was in particular high quality, some people paying almost as much for it as imported wines.

Sansa didn't care for the black beer from White Harbor; wine was much more delectable to her tastes. As a girl, she was only permitted a single cup at feasts, but she had since allowed herself to indulge more.

Tonight, she might be needing quite a few more… depending how things went.

She kept glancing up from her plate, shooting the sporadic look at Jon and Daenerys, seeing if they were paying attention, then stole a look at the handsome knight standing to the right of the dragon queen. He remained as stoic as ever, though she swore she could nearly see the crease of a smile on his mouth.

Podrick had woken just shy of dawn, as was his normality.

In just a few moments, he would be rolling himself from bed, dressing in his Kingsguard attire, and grooming himself for the day.

Not yet.

Looking at Sansa—the way she slept, the way her hair pillowed under her head, the steady sound of her breathing…

So entranced with her beauty, Podrick leaned over and pressed his lips to her brow. This sudden yet gentle movement had woken her. He hadn't meant to. But when she was opened her eyes and she was staring at him, he couldn't help but be in love with her more. He took the perfect opportunity to capture her voluptuous lips. She responded, in kind. Her hand palmed the side of his face, her fingers gently stroking his skin.

Podrick was silent, allowing his breathing, and hers, to be the only sounds in the room, until it was her head that lolled into the crook of his neck, and it was his flesh she was kissing, and—oh! That spot, right there… where his jugular met with his left collar bone.

He was groaning.

The back of his hand caressed her shoulder blade, and then her shoulder, and her arm, until his entire hand was palming her breast. Now it was Sansa's turn to groan. And groan she did.

Her kisses traversed his collar bone, and then laterally up, up, and up his neck, past his jawline, until their mouths took possession of each other.

They locked themselves in a firey passion for what seemed like a good while, until Podrick moved away from making love to her mouth – Sansa whined for the sudden absence of his hot breath against hers – and inched his way down her body at every angle; her long neck, her collar bone, her breasts – his tongue lapping at each of her nipples – and further, further down until—Oh by the Seven! Sansa squirmed; Podrick's mouth had found her clit, moist and damp and wanting with pleasure.

His tongue flickered out, slurping from the wet cavern between her legs. She hissed. Her hands rested on his shoulders. They gave him a tight squeeze the more his tongue pleasured her. Her body was shaking. Podrick's tongue flickered upwards again, causing such an eruption of jubilation from Brienne's mouth. She… she was getting close. Her body was arching.

"Oh, oh, oh, P-Podrick… I—"

And then she did, and she had pushed her hands hard against his shoulders as he milked her, until she was spent, and slowly coming down from her ecstasy.

He crawled over her, eased her thighs apart with his right knee, and pushed between them. The tip of him only teased at her entrance, tugging a peppered cry from her throat. Sansa's hips bucked to meet him. Her hands cupped his arse, giving it a tight squeeze. When he moved, he moved fast, thrusting hard, deep, and without hesitation.

Podrick wiggled his body until he pushed a hand between them. Sansa was crying his name when his fingers found her clit again, and then smoothed over the nub amid her folds.

He stared at her face, mapped her sapphire eyes, drank in the visionary goddess laying beneath him. She was panting hard, her chest heaving, as was his. His fingers moved quickly, teasing her relentlessly, as his cock throbbing and ached and pumped inside her of again, and again, and again… each thrust faster and more desperate than the one before it.

Podrick's hand eventually slipped from her clit – Sansa moaned, "Please, Podrick, please… "; he smiled, delighted to be hearing his name said like that. His thrusting was more diligent, more charitable, and she drank it up. His hand looped under her knee. And his stump under the other. Both legs coiled around his waist, her ankles crossing over the other. Podrick resumed kissing her. His cock twitched—he was close. She could feel herself coming undone. Again.

When she did, it was his name on her lips that she was screaming.

His thrusting gradually slowed—once, twice, and then—Oh! A primitive roar bubbled in his throat, erupting from his mouth as he came, spilling into her with such force and passion and desire.

It took time for them to come down from their high. Podrick stared at her; she was smiling at him.

The event, which only transpired this morning, took hold in memory for Sansa. She caught herself unintentionally thinking about it. Doing so caused her to desire him again. In every which way possible. But, she tempered her unnatural thoughts and focused on her meal, which had gone untouched since her mind drifted.

Jon glanced over. "Sansa, you've barely touched your food," he noted, which had gotten Daenerys' attention as well.

"Shall I have something else brought?"

Sansa shook her head; "Oh, no, it's fine. I'm just… distracted."

"What else has gotten your attention?"

"Oh…" Her eyes briefly drifted longways, until she just barely had visibility of Podrick. "It's nothing…" There, in the corner of her mouth, was a smirk much too well hidden.

They don't need to know