And now for Sansa. Hope you like. And thanks for sticking with me.

Grief melts away like snow in May, as if there were no such cold thing.
Who would have thought my shrivelled heart could have recovered greenness?
It was gone. Quite underground.
And now in age I bud again, after so many deaths I live and write;
I once more smell the dew and rain, and relish versing:
O my only Light, it cannot be, that I am he on whom thy tempests fell all night.

from The Flower by George Hervert

Sansa

§

Sansa woke in the night to a dark room, the wet chill of the sea clinging to her exposed skin. Still half asleep she turned to the hearth; it was barely burning, only faint embers lit the room. She knew even before turning to the spot beside her, that it would be empty, since Jaime usually stoked the fire before he went to bed. She couldn't know how long she'd slept, but it was late. There was that distant quiet that only existed late at night, when most of the world was asleep.

She slipped from bed, and shivered lightly before she put on her robe and slippers. Thinking Jaime might have fallen asleep in his solar, she made her way there. It was strangely quiet, she didn't encounter Rollam nor anyone else, though didn't think much of it, on account of the lateness of the hour.

Sansa didn't bother calling out for Jaime when she opened the door, since the room was dark and quiet, the hearth long since blown out. Instead, she made her way towards the great hall, and the other solar he sometimes used.

She was close to the main gate when she heard it, the commotion of a gathering of people, hushed whispers, the chinking of armour. She followed the sound, feeling suddenly on edge, which only increased when she caught sight of the crowd of men around an old entrance, gazes all focused on the gate and what lay beyond it.

That was when she saw Podrick. She couldn't see his face, but he was tense, all the men were. She'd almost reached them when he finally noticed her, and hastely closed the gap between them, effectively preventing her from advancing any further. He didn't want her to see, that much was clear.

He opened his mouth to explain no doubt, but Sansa didn't want to hear whatever he planned on saying, and pushed past him so she could see what had the men so riled. She knew without knowing, that Jaime was alone inside, dealing with whomever it was.

Podrick didn't try to stop her though, and the rest of the men stepped aside once they realized who she was. She could see Jaime beyond the gate, turned away from her, and facing a man large enough that could only be Ser Gregor. There was another person beside him, but she couldn't make them out, as they moved towards Jaime to give him something.

"Open the gate." Sansa said to the steward, who had the key in the lock, waiting for the moment to open it should they need to rush in.

"My lady, I don't think that—"

"I'm not asking you to think, only to obey and open the gate."

He hesitated, and though it looked like he wanted to, he didn't.

"Lady Sansa, it's not safe—" Podrick started to say from behind her, and that was when it happened. The sound of a crack stole all their gazes and Sansa used the distraction, and pressed her hand to the now abandoned lock, turned it and pushed it open, sliding in before they could stop her.

It wasn't until the Mountain looked up and his gaze locked on hers, that she realized the danger she'd put herself in. Her only thought had been to get to Jaime.

By his sheer size it was very clearly Gregor Clegane, but now that she was closer, she could see the dark grey ruddy skin, and the milky dead eyes staring at her. Whatever he was, he was no longer a man.

And then it stepped closer.

Jaime finally turned then, and she noticed the bundle in his arms. It was impossible not to understand what was happening, what it was, what it meant. Immediately reacting to the Mountain's sudden movement, Jaime came to stand with the baby in front of her. The thing that had once been Ser Gregor stilled.

"Give me the child Jaime," Sansa said to him, voice serious.

He didn't hesitate and did as she asked, both watchful of the Mountain, but it didn't move any further. Jaime kept himself between them, and reached for the pommel of his sword.

"Don't," Sansa hissed, and took a step back, eyes still trained on the creature before them.

Jaime didn't pull the blade out, but his hand remained locked on the hilt.

"I'm going to take her to a wet nurse," Sansa said evenly.

It was mostly for the Mountain, though she wasn't sure he understood, because he didn't react. Slowly, not turning her back, she made her way towards the gate, which opened as she reached it.

Jaime must have heard it, as he finally started to walk back too. Behind her, Sansa heard him cross the threshold by the sound of the gate locking closed.

She couldn't tear her gaze away though, transfixed as she was by the green eyes staring up at her. They were the exact same tone as Jaime's, her hair, the same shade of gold, though the whisps of her hair curled at the ends. There could be no doubt. She was his.

And Cersei's, her mind whispered traitorously.

Suddenly, Sansa felt like she couldn't breathe. She had to get away, she couldn't bear to hold her any longer. She felt Jaime approaching her, but she couldn't look at him either. Thankfully Podrick was there, so she hastely passed the child to him and dashed to her room needing to escape.

She only got as far as the ante chamber before Jaime caught up with her. Sansa stood by the hearth, staring into it, numbed in shock. He remained at the edge of the room, just beyond the closed door behind him.

"He's contained, until we decide what to do with him," He said after a moment, voice flat.

Sansa wasn't sure he expected her to say anything, but she couldn't speak. She couldn't move. Jaime took a step closer.

"I did not know," The words tore from his mouth, now pained, seeped in guilt.

Sansa wanted to laugh, as if that changed anything.

"It only happened once—"He paused. "It was one night."

The clarification stung, since she understood what it meant. Still, she didn't speak. She still hadn't even looked at him. He pressed on anyway.

"The night I returned to the capital after Tommen died."

Jaime hesitated, as if he wasn't sure he should say it. "I still believed I could save her."

He was trying to be honest, to tell her the whole truth, but she didn't need him to. She already knew. It was like a living thing in her mind.

"Jaime please—I don't need to hear. I can't. Just—go."

She fought the tears that wanted to overwhelm her, she wouldn't let them, not until she was finally alone.

"I'm sorry Sansa," He said, only moments before she heard the door close behind him.

Her legs finally gave out, and she crumbled to the floor.

§

Sansa had long since given up on the ideals sold in song, of love that was true, and eternal, of honourable knights and damselled princesses that lived happily in the end.

If love did exist, it only went as far as family; as for loyalty and devotion, one could count on such things only for as long as it was in the other person's best interest. Her own life experience had taught her as much, and it was not a lesson she would ever entirely forget.

This logic explained her husband's love for Cersei. They were blood so he'd loved her even when it had never been in his best interest.

Then Sansa thought, Jaime had loved Brienne too. He'd never said it of course, but Sansa had seen it in his eyes that secret night, first in the desperate way they searched the room for Brienne and then the heartbreak he tried to hide from her when they were alone.

As for herself, Sansa had never truly felt love for another aside from what she felt with her own family—she'd never loved Joffrey of course, she'd only been infatuated with the figment of him. Even married twice, there had never been any love.

Now that winter was here, and with it maybe the end of everything she knew, it seemed as if there was barely time for little else.

Would she die never knowing what it felt like?

That was why, when Jaime had mentioned the trip to Lannisport, she'd approached the escapade with a readiness to try, if not to fall in love, to at least give Jaime, and herself, a chance.

And it'd been… not bad. It was more than that in fact. Sansa had let herself go with the rhythm, the respite he'd meant it to be. Carefree, she enjoyed the sights and moment as she rarely did.

Sansa clung to his arm as they explored the market, deliberately seeking his opinion and conversing with Jaime in a way she also rarely did. And it was not uncomfortable nor awkward as she'd expected. Instead their chatter felt easy, and his arm in hers was comfortable, as if they'd always been that way.

By sheer necessity, the veneer of courtesy she protected herself with had long since slipped away. With their late night conversations, and busy days, Sansa simply didn't have the energy to expend in false platitudes. She knew him much better now, and it was likely Jaime knew her better than anyone else in return.

She watched Jaime bartering over the price of a bulk of furs and leathers with one of the vendors, a smirk turning his mouth as he charmed his way to a lower price, and realized she could grow to love him. The seeds were there already, the odds weren't impossible.

But Jaime had already loved two women. The first, Sansa's tormentor and the other, her protector. Was there room enough in his heart for a third?

And more importantly, was there enough of her own left to give?

"By the look on my lady wife's face, and your husband's I might add, I think we ought to settle at this price."

Jaime's voice directed at her, tore her from her thoughts. He was smiling, still cheeky, but softer somehow. Sansa felt her face flush at the sudden attention, unsure what look she'd been expressing. She grinned back anyway, though more in response to Jaime's gentle teasing, then by her own embarrassment.

She couldn't help glancing over first at the woman bartering with Jaime, who was still smiling brightly, and then at the man in question, whose scowl had not faltered.

Playing on, Sansa answered, "I think that would be best."

To her surprise, the woman barked out a laugh, "Oh, don't mind him, mi' lady. He always looks that way. But I'll agree to the price nonetheless, for your sake. Think I' kept your husband long enough."

Jaime flashed Sansa an appreciative smirk, thanking her, as if she'd played her part beautifully, before turning back to the task at hand.

Later, as they wandered around the market finally alone, it was quiet at first, suddenly neither seemed to know what to say. So when the pendant caught her eye, she leaped at the chance to break the silence, and finally let him go, in case it was her touch that was making everything uncomfortable.

It had worked somewhat, the distance and her conversation with the vendor, though she hadn't intended for Jaime to actually buy her anything. She wanted to stop him, feeling guilty as she'd only used it as a distraction, but all words failed her when he spoke.

"Unlike most men, I don't need a reason to buy jewelry for my wife."

Sansa looked away, feeling the heat spread along her cheeks. Jaime truly had charming down to a form of art. She put on the necklace as he paid, not wanting him to feel awkward since he wouldn't be able to do it for her.

Jaime seemed to realize it when he finally looked over at her, and though the smirk faltered a little, the gentleness in his eyes did not.

Without giving it too much thought, Sansa reached out, and slipped her hand into his.

'For my wife.'

'Your husband.'

It was far from the first time Sansa had heard themselves be referred to in such terms of course, but something about them suddenly struck a chord. Even though they'd never actually consummated their marriage, they were partners, kindred even. Though their lives had not been the same, they had gone through similar experiences, and were alike in many small ways. And now, they worked together for a greater purpose.

There was meaning in their marriage now. It was no longer just an arrangement made to bind kingdoms, not just vows they'd taken. They might never be lovers, but in Sansa's mind, they had a bond that held greater weight.

So when Jaime took her to the spot that was just his, Sansa couldn't help see it for the gesture it was. As they sat in a comfortable silence to enjoy their meal, Sansa's mind spun on the notion, this place that was his, was theirs now. And while she was Lady of Casterly Rock, it had never truly felt like home. Impossible, when the very idea of all the other Lannisters walking through the same halls and rooms she did, still made her uneasy at times, though it had lessened some since they'd first arrived.

For the first time, this spot, the entire trip, she hadn't felt the ghosts of his family. It was just them, Sansa and Jaime, and it had been wonderful.

He was looking out at the sea when she looked over at him, and it felt as if she was seeing him for the first time. Jaime looked handsome, golden and happy, and she had a burning need to know what it felt like.

It would have been impossible to avoid even if she'd given herself a chance to think about it first. It wasn't until he started to kiss her back that she even realized she'd done it.

Her cheeks flushed in embarrasment, yet again, and she felt something twist in her stomach when she realized that though she'd taken his choice from him, she didn't regret the kiss itself. Nor would she take it back either, if given the chance.

So Sansa asked, not only because she wanted to do it again, but she wanted to do it right, and give him the choice she'd never been given.

The second kiss was unlike any she'd ever had, though she couldn't exactly say she had all that many to compare it to. It was not because it was sweet and gentle, though it was both. She hugged him trying to avoid his gaze, not wanting to see what was in it, and even less, him seeing what was in her own. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest, beating as hard as it was, the reason for the warm feeling awash in her suddenly clear.

Sansa loved him. And how stupid of her not to have realized it sooner, when now it seemed so clear.

§

She wasn't sure how long she stayed like that, in a heap in front the fire, but she felt dry to the bone, cried out and numb. After another long moment, she made herself get up, though only went as far as the chair and curled up in it. She stared absently into the hearth, wondering why it felt like she'd lost something.

"My lady?"

Sansa flinched at the voice, though the tone was too light to be his. She looked over at Selyne, who was standing in the room, only a little closer than he'd been.

"Yes?" She said simply, unable to come up with anything more.

"I'm sorry to intrude my lady, I just wanted to let you know the hearth in your bedchambers has been relit, in case you wished to retire."

She flinched. Selyne meant the words in kindness, but Sansa couldn't imagine herself stepping inside, and lying in the bed she shared with him. Considering Sansa couldn't even think his name, it was not likely sleep would find her tonight in any case.

"Thank you Selyne, but I'm alright here."

Her voice came without inflection, and Sansa turned back to the fire, hoping she'd be left alone.

"I won't be far my lady, should you need anything."

Thankfully that was it, as she heard the soft click of the door closing shut.

The interruption, stilted as it was, managed to focus her thoughts. Sansa hugged her knees closer, remembering green eyes and Jaime's broken voice. She felt adrift, dislodged entirely from the new life she had only just begun to settle into. This child, Jaime's child, with Cersei—the remembrance forced a violent chill to surge up her back—changed everything. It was not that she hadn't already known this of course, she'd literally ran away from it, so it was only now that she had the chance to truly consider what it meant.

Would Jaime want to keep her?

But Sansa already knew the answer to that. She suspected she wouldn't even get a say in the matter either. Her gut churned bitterly, suddenly angry on top of everything else.

Was this how her mother had felt?

Sansa felt a grim smile twist her features. The irony, that of all the things to hold in common with her, it was this. A broken sob escaped her mouth, as the grief of loss compounded her pain. What Sansa would give to have her here now.

Thinking of her mother, reminded Sansa of her treatment of Jon. She'd never been openly cruel, but she'd never been kind either, and she'd always treated him with disdain. Sansa had been guilty of the same behaviour once, and had since come to regret it.

But it wasn't the same situation, was it? She'd been nothing to Jaime when it had happened, and he hadn't surprised Sansa with the child, instead the surprise had been on them both.

And her mother had never known who Jon's mother was. Would she have considered knowing worse? Would it have changed her reaction?

Then Sansa wondered, did it change her own? Would she do the same as her mother?

The babe was Cersei's, a woman who hurt her so badly, and yet Sansa knew that the child wasn't guilty of that. What did Sansa gain from holding ill-will to someone long gone and punishing another for their sins? Especially when all this time, all she had been trying to do was put the past behind her.

And then there was Jaime. The child was as much his, maybe more, since he'd be the one to raise her. And Sansa loved him, she could no longer deny it. She didn't want to punish him, nor drive a wedge between them. And she didn't want to make the same choice her mother had, forever hurt and angry over something that couldn't be changed.

Sansa had already made the choice to try, and so what did the child really change after all?

She had suffered so much, had lost much more, and yet, before all that pain, there'd been love in her heart—so much of it, innocent and naive, but true. She would not have survived without it, she knew that now. And it was still there. How had she ever doubted it? There was still so much left in her to give. She would grow to love the child too someday, Sansa would care for her as her mother had never cared for Jon, and make amends for the damage that had been done.

And if they never had a babe of their own, in some small way, perhaps she could still be a mother. She wanted that chance, and so much more.

With a sudden jerk Sansa stood, not knowing what she planned on saying, only knowing that she needed to see Jaime. Right now. They were partners, were they not? They would talk this through just as they did everything else.

The hall was deserted as she emerged from the room. With a strange sense of dejavu she made her way to his solar, a rush in her step, knowing she'd find him this time.

The door was ajar, but her nerves were too jumbled so Sansa didn't notice. She slipped in, and found Jaime as expected, reclined in his chair asleep, a basinette beside him. It was the figure looming over him, dagger aimed at his throat, that sucked the air from her lungs.

The sound caught the person's attention, but didn't wake Jaime, so he didn't move when the tip of the blade grazed his skin. Then, they turned towards her. And despite the years that had separated them, the shadow that hid part of her face, Sansa knew her. She would never not recognize her own flesh and blood.

And Arya, as usual, didn't give her a chance to react.

"No please don't!"