This Time, This Place
written by Celtic Pixie

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"The Cycle of True Love: First I see and think I love, then I say I know I love, today and forever more I decide to love."
― Michael Sweeney

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She returned to her quarters that evening with her cousin hanging off one arm. They chatted and laughed and enjoyed each other's company. But when it came time for her to bid him a goodnight, she gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and sent him on his way.

Now, it was just her; her and Rheanya.

The handmaiden curtsied low upon seeing Winterfell's queen, then immediately set about drawing up a bath for the woman. Sansa stood by, quietly, contemplating all that she had seen and done since her arrival. It was quickly dawning on her that this was her final night in the capital, which inevitably meant her final night in Podrick's company; she was hoping he would visit her chambers this evening. She could bid him a proper farewell. The more she thought on it, the more she hated herself for doing so.

Sansa wanted to be selfish for once. She wanted to stay. Maybe give up her crown. She could probably get herself adjusted to King's Landin—well, no, she couldn't. Once was enough. And… she couldn't abandon her people like that. She had fought long and hard enough. She wanted nothing more than to be selfish but that was the wishful thinking of a child. She had duties and responsibilities; she couldn't be selfish. Many were counting on her even if there was that part of her that wasn't looking forward to returning. There was little doubt in her mind she would pressured into marrying, producing heirs…

…She could practically hear Cersei Lannister's voice echoing, even now, long after the former queen was long dead, and her body reduced to ashes: You're a woman now. Do you have any idea what that means?

I am fit to bear children for the king..

A prospect that once delighted you—bringing little princes and princesses into the world… the greatest honor for a queen.

If the lords wanted an heir off her, she could always name someone? They probably wouldn't agree to that, though. They might insist that Sansa's heir be from the Stark bloodline. Well, if she could find Arya…

Arya was long gone. Only the Gods know where she went. And even if she did know where her sister was and by some means managed to persuade her to return to Winterfell, there was little to no chance of her acceding to Sansa's proposal. Arya was a resolutely independent woman, unconstrained by social outlooks such as courtly virtues. She would rather wander aimlessly through their world than tie herself down to the normal gender expectations of her sex. Sansa knew what happened between her sister and the Baratheon boy; trying to force Arya to conform was akin to kicking a wasps' nest.

Sansa caught herself thinking about Podrick again. When she returned to her home, he could come with her. There's a chance that, perhaps, he could…

No. She couldn't do that. She couldn't beg of him to leave behind this life, a life he fought so fiercely to build for himself. Surrender the Kingsguard?

Let me be selfish…

She cannot be… not like this. Royal Guard were sworn for life. They were regarded as the finest of knights in all the Seven Kingdoms. Podrick had certainly earned such an honorable title a thousand times over. Requesting of him to disinherit everything would be such a disgrace. As much as her heart would want her to, Sansa could not bring herself to be that selfish.

Rheanya checked the bath water temperature, flinging excess off her fingers, then walked over to where Sansa stood and proceeded to help her undress. Sansa had said naught in the interim, opting instead to reflect on her thoughts in reticence. She had been grateful that her handmaiden hadn't said anything either, choosing not to question why Sansa looked so melancholy after just returning from a dinner with the king and queen. Even if Rheanya had asked, Sansa wouldn't have told her.

She clambered into the tub and laid back, some of the bathwater sloshing over the edges. Her shoulders slouched, her entire body relaxing, becoming less rigid. It was not long until she drifted off…

The raised dead fell. The Night King was defeated. For Tyrion and Sansa, it meant relief. For so many others, it meant something different. It meant death. There would be plenty of survivors… but would be plenty of dead as well, and the task of gathering the bodies would be left for the living…

Sansa was shaken. Never once had she ever raised a weapon, much less used one. Still, clutched tightly in her right hand, was a dragonglass dagger. She had used on a few wights—there was Gilly and her son Sam, and of course Missandei; it was pure adrenaline that fueled her when she thrusted the blade into the backs of the wights attacking them.

Afterwards, after they were sure the dead were defeated, after those in hiding slowly crawled from whatever space they could find, it was Sansa and Tyrion who stood in front of them. Her hands were shaking, though she tried not to notice them.

And then… the door! It rattled!

Women were shrieking. Children were crying. Sansa tried to soothe them, tried giving them words of encouragement that the dead were defeated. Whoever – or whatever – was attempting to breach the door was friend, not foe. That is what she told herself as well; she didn't know for certain, but it was a decent thought of comfort, at least.

The door rattled again… and again… and again, bringing that much more ambiguous trepidation to their beating hearts. And then, it burst open, and for a moment, they were afraid…

It was Podrick! Beaten, battered, bloodied, and bruised, the young squire came bursting in through the door with sword in hand. Never before had Sansa been so utterly relieved of anything! He surveyed the survivors, looking them all in the eye, one by one. He breathed deeply, shaken to his core but thankful he survived. When at last he was looking upon Tyrion, his former lord, and Sansa, the woman he—

Sansa was in his arms before he could breathe again. His tired, weary arms wrapped around her, snugging her body close enough to him as possible. Though he stunk of death, dripped of blood—his own and others—she didn't seem to mind it. She seemed all too grateful to see him alive and breathing. She buried her face in his neck, taking in the musky scent, delighting in the throbbing of the vein beneath his skin. His pulse—the miracle of miracles that assured her he had lived through battle.

Podrick held her tight to him. She began to sob, salty tears mixing in with blood; both new and old. She didn't care.

The handmaiden woke her, fearing she would drown otherwise; "Your grace! Your grace!" This startled her, but she bolted upright, "You should not fall asleep in the bath, your grace." She was dismissed with a wave of Sansa's hand.

"I am quite well, Rheanya," she insisted; it was just a dream. "Do not worry yourself." She sat forwards a bit more, bringing her knees tight to her chest before standing. She welcomed the handmaiden's assistance in stepping out of the tub, and gladly took the towel offered to her. "Leave me for the night. I wish to dress for bed and read a little before I depart tomorrow."

Nodding, Rheanya had gone.

Sansa ambled closer to her bed and dropped her towel. As she reached for her nightgown, there came a racket from the doorway; had her handmaiden not shut the door proper? She immediately reached for her towel to conceal herself.

Someone had knocked. And then again. Before Sansa could tell the person on the other side to wait until she was decent, the door creaked open. She had a curse ready… until it was Podrick who stepped inside…

Seeing Sansa in such a state of undress, he turned a marvelous shade of red; "I do not wish to disturb you. I only wish to—" She interrupted; her voice saddened.

"—to come say farewell," she finished, and Podrick nodded.

He shut the door behind him… and bolted it.

Sansa took a step backwards, shaking her head. "We… we shouldn't. I, I will not wake tomorrow knowing this will be goodbye…" Her words contradicted her wishes; while she wanted this, more than anything, she kept telling herself they couldn't be selfish.

"Then we should make our final night count," he added, and soon he was crossing the room until he stood in front of her, "don't you think so?"

Before she could blink, or breathe, and before her next heartbeat, Podrick had taken her into his arms. Whatever it was in her that fueled her logic had all but disbanded.

No, she thought, we cannot be selfish as I wanted…

But she was. They were. Podrick and Sansa proceeded to make love, once more, and it was glorious. And afterwards, as they lay within each other's arms, staring into each other's arms, he kept thinking how he wished for a life in which they could be selfish. As mentioned prior, Sansa had another life waiting for her in Winterfell. Just as Podrick had one here in King's Landing. He would want so badly to be with her, standing next to her through her life… but then logic would argue otherwise.

Sometimes loving someone meant letting them go, no matter how much it would bring pain and sorrow to the other person.

If she asked it of me, he thought, I would go with her…

They fell asleep soon after, letting their dreams take them to a place they wouldn't have to worry about duty or obligation to each other. They could be selfish, for once in their lives, and not allow others to dictate where to go, what to do, how to act. Just them. Only them.

Podrick wished to grant himself one last moment with her so he could be there as she woke. Consequences be damned.

~.~.~.~.~

Everyone was waiting on the docks to bid their farewells – first, there was Gendry; a formerly unacknowledged bastard son of King Robert Baratheon, legitimized by Queen Daenerys, and inherited all titles formally held by his father prior to ascension to the throne.

Next, there was Bronn of the Blackwater; Lord of Highgarden, Lord Paramount of the Reach, and founder of his house. He was sarcastic, held a blackened sense of humor, and pragmatic, amoral philosophy for life. When approached once to be Master of Coin, he quite nearly accepted… before it was Jaime, the King's Hand, who laughed at the prospect; Bronn, unfortunately, agreed with him.

And finally, there was Sansa.

Daenerys shared her gratitude and farewells with her… and then it was Jon's turn. The cousins took a bit longer, revealing in their shared bond. He didn't worry about when he would hear from her again because he knew she would be writing him when she arrived home; she promised she would. Once Jon and Dany had their time saying their farewells, it was Jaime and Brienne. The animosity between the Lannister and Sansa had been strong, especially after everything they had been through, but she learned to accept him… more so after he ventured north to fulfill his vow to fight for the living.

Kingslayer—a man without honor, sworn sword to his king, Aerys Targaryen, until he drove his sword into that king's back, betraying every vow he ever took. The story was almost as legendary as the act itself. It followed Jaime like a shadow; every step he took, every move he makes—it haunted him like a bad dream he could not wake from. Except, he was awake, and he was living it. But if being awake was like living a lie than he must be living more of a truth when asleep, when he could turn away from being judged. Brienne was able to see through him once, into the man no one knew him as; he told her the hard truth about the Mad King, the story no one in the Seven Kingdoms knew.

Sansa spoke up; she'd been silent, up until now; "You're right. We can't trust him." Daenerys, and every other lord or lady sitting in that room now all looked to the Lady of Winterfell. "He attacked my father in the streets, he tried to destroy our house and my family- " she indicated towards Daenerys- "-the same as he did yours."

"You want me to apologize? I won't!" Jaime sucked in a breath; he could probably hang for his words, probably deserved it, among other things, but he continued on; "We were at war. Everything I did for my house and my family. I'd do it all again." Swallowing a tiny lump into his belly, he took a step; the Unsullied standing at Jon's side gripped hard his weapon, as a few people inched to move against the Lannister cunt, and Jaime tried not to imagine his head rolling onto the floor as Grey Worm lobbed it off his shoulders. "Your grace, milady—I won't ask for forgiveness because I can't. I can't give you what you seek—because the man you abhor so much no longer exists."

He was right in the assumption; that man no longer existed. Now, Sansa had come to regard him as something else. Maybe not quite a friend but they were somewhat cordial to each other these days.

Brienne attempted a bow, but Sansa wasn't having it.

Brienne exhaled slowly, releasing the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding; avoiding the gazes and the suspicious looks from the others as she pushed herself to stand, cross the room, and put herself between Jaime and Daenerys's piercing glare; she disputed, "You don't know me well, your Grace, but I know Ser Jaime. He is a man of honor. I was his captor once. But when we were both taken prison and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jaime defended me—and lost his hand because of it." Her gaze shifted from the dragon queen to Sansa, and she was sure her heart was pounding enough to start singing. "Without him, milady, you would not be alive. He armed me, armored me, and sent me to find you and bring you home… because he had sworn an oath to your mother…"

Bran had remained silent for the better part of this gathering; but he had been watching, and he'd been reading them like a book, and he had been studying the way Jaime and Brienne acted, taking note of the heightened awareness. "The things we do for love." It was emotional, to the fact, and managed to instill a silence unlike the one broken only by the crackle of fire.

And suddenly, every last person in that room had all been looking at the young lord; including Brienne, whose blood had run hot in her veins and whose breathing had sharpened in her chest. His words had pushed a dagger through her heart; her mind called back a moment between them, before this moment, as he informed her of Jaime's lone arrival, though not being too direct. Brienne realized that Bran had known the entire time, and he knew she would stand for Jaime, and vouch for him as she was doing now.

Daenerys took a minute, once she had come back into herself, and then her glare was on Jaime; "The only fact of the matter is that you are standing here because of the small mercies we have granted you." Small mercies—it wasn't something Jaime deserved; Sansa knew this, Daenerys knew this. The dragon queen wanted him dead the moment she learned of him crossing into Winterfell. There was only one reason Jaime Lannister was still breathing—and that reason was standing in front of him.

Sansa had no cause in the world to doubt the woman's courage or loyalty. Watching Brienne speaking on Ser Jaime's behalf had filled her soul with joy. It definitely wasn't a matter of question; she knew how Brienne felt towards the Kingslayer. "Lady Brienne, I trust you with my life. If you trust him with yours…then we should let him stay…"

Sansa disconnected from their embrace.. and then looked somewhere off in the distance, past Brienne, for someone else. She desperately wanted him to be here, to at least see her off, but she would never let him go if he had been here. Maybe it was for the best…

Sansa was reluctant to leave but she knew Podrick had been right—they couldn't be selfish, not when there were others counting on them.

As much as it pained her heart, Sansa stepped into that carriage and sat back as the horsemaster spurred them on and away from King's Landing. She had waited, and watched out the opened window, as if she thought Podrick would appear at the last moment, waving her off, wishing her the best of luck… and she would know his love had gone with her…

When the carriage traveled a far enough distance from the capital, and Sansa resigned herself to the fact she wouldn't be seeing Podrick, her body slunk back into the seat. She took the moment to wipe away her tears. Regardless of how heartbroken, she knew they would always have those nights together… wrapped up in each other's arms, their naked bodies entwined—

Sansa was fighting back tears just thinking about it, thinking about what they once had, and understanding what could not be. The more she shifted, the more she tried distancing her mind—it hadn't worked. She was thinking of him. Why hadn't he been there to see her off?

After adjusting her dress, she reached into her bodice where a special letter had been kept. The seal of the Lady Commander on the back and her name written on the front. Sansa broken the seal and unfolded the letter.

Dearest Sansa…

There has been no other in my life who has brought me as much happiness as you have. You have shown me a kind of love I have never known before. All the encouragement you have given me through the years we have known each other, but more so in these last few days, have been the best I could have hoped for. I was shy, and nervous, and hesitant when I asked you to dance with me but all I knew was how much I wanted you in my arms. We were strangers once, scarcely making eye contact, but I have loved you even then.

You have successfully brought a joy and warmth to my heart. I felt… alive. Being apart from you now is the most unnatural feeling. The distance is great but know that my heart travels with you. Knowing I cannot touch you or kiss you or love you as you should be. I don't know how reassuring reading that will be, but I want you to know that I will always love you. You have no idea how you have changed my life for the better.

I know that one day, maybe not too long from now, our lives will be changing once more. Perhaps in another one neither of us will expect. Take solace in knowing I will be thinking of you for the rest of my days. You have my heart… now and always…

I love you, truly love you, and I'll be seeing you…

All my love,

Podrick….