Theon

By the time they arrived at Winterfell, he had lost all feeling in his injured fingers.

Theon's teeth were chattering as they arrived at the gates, clutching his hand to his chest while holding onto the reins of the elderly mare he rode with the other – the poor thing seemed like it might collapse at any moment. Theon had always been on the skinny side and it could barely hold his weight. Yara had helped wrap his hand in cloth and he'd changed the bandage when he woke up that morning, but blood was already starting to seep through the fabric. Days had passed since they'd left the Iron Islands and begun making their way inland, but his fingers still constantly ached.

I'll see the maester at Winterfell. Theon had silently repeated to himself every morn and night. He'll fix my hand, he'll know what to do…But deep down, as Theon laid awake each night on the cold ground, he feared that he was going to lose the one thing that made him special.

The gates opened for them and they rode into the courtyard, Yara by his side. Despite the ordeal she'd been through, she still carried herself with the strength and confidence befitting a queen, her head held high, her hands waving off any concerns that Theon raised.

Theon jumped from his horse before moving to help Yara down, but she only shot him an annoyed look and shoved him away, indicating she was perfectly capable of disembarking by herself. A steward came to greet them. "Your Grace, Prince Theon, the King and Queen will surely be happy to hear that you've returned – "

"We'll speak with them later." Theon said, wrapping an arm around his sister. "First, we need to see the maester."

They went up to the maester's room to wait, and Theon gingerly rubbed his hands before the fire. It hurt to even touch his bandage, but he welcomed the warmth. "You'll need to let him look at your mouth." He said to Yara, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't look at me like that. He needs to make sure you don't get an infection."

His sister scowled and leaned up against the bedframe. Even though she couldn't talk, her expressions always let Theon know how she was feeling and even if he couldn't catch on, Yara was more than happy to whack him upside the head and trace the words on his palm. Theon took her hits gladly. At least she acts like the same old Yara. He had been worried that what Euron had done to her would traumatize her, as he had once been traumatized after his own turmoil.

The door opened and Theon sprang to his feet. "Maester Wolkan." He recognized the older man from the Dreadfort. He was one of the only people there who hadn't been cruel to him.

The maester smiled slightly. "It's good to see you again – under better circumstances, thankfully." He nodded at Yara. "This must be your sister. Pleasure to meet you, Your Grace."

"You won't get much chatter from her." Theon said. "Our uncle saw fit to take her tongue. And he took something from me too." He held up his bandaged hand.

Wolkan instructed him to sit down at his desk and then retrieved his medical bag so he could examine Theon's hand. He winced as Wolkan unwrapped his fingers and the sight was worse than he had hoped. The three middle fingers on his right hand were hanging onto the knuckles by mere threads of sinew and muscles, gone pale from the lack of blood flow, while the lower halves of his severed appendages were stained with both fresh and dried blood. "It seems the blade cut almost straight through." Wolkan said. He touched one of the bloody stumps and Theon hissed from pain, instinctively pulling away.

"Sorry – it's painful to touch."

"I understand." The maester said, digging around his bag. Theon felt a lump rise in his throat when Wolkan retrieved a sharp knife. "I'll have to amputate these fingers at the knuckle. You'll have to change the bandage and wash the wounds every day to prevent infection."

"There's nothing you can do to save the fingers?"

Wolkan shook his head. "The damage is done, I'm afraid."

Theon gulped. "Do it then."

The maester set out his instruments and washed Theon's hand with water. He looked over his shoulder at Yara, who had now moved to stand by the window overlooking the courtyard. She tapped on the glass. Theon craned his neck to see that outside a couple of scullery maids were carrying a crate of vegetables to the kitchens. "A feast to celebrate the Queen of the Iron Islands?" Theon joked, but he was too upset over the state of his hand to sound jovial.

Wolkan got up to boil some water so he could sterilize the knife. "Have you not heard? His Grace is marrying the Targaryen queen tonight."

Theon had not heard, but he found he wasn't that surprised. Daenerys Targaryen is a beautiful woman. He thought. Who could blame Jon for wanting a marriage alliance? Seven hells, if I still had a cock, I'd probably want to marry her too. "Is that so?"

"I'm sure His Grace would be happy for his old friends to attend."

Theon smiled wearily and shook his head. "I don't know if I'm welcome." He did not feel like celebrating tonight. Even though he'd killed Euron, any satisfaction he'd felt seemed to have waned. A wedding would just be another reminder to him that he'd never have a wife, never again feel what it was like to be inside a woman, never get to have a son that looked like him. He stared down at his right hand, lying limp on Wolkan's desk. "I can't even hold a bow and arrow." He mused aloud, for once not caring if he sounded weak.

Yara came to stand next to him again and she crossed her arms over her chest. "What?" Theon said. "It's true. How can I fight when I only have two fingers on my hand?" He needed all five of his fingers to hold his bow – a thumb and a pinky would do him little good.

Wolkan wiped down his tools and pulled out a chair to sit beside Theon. "You know, Jaime Lannister learned how to fight with his left hand."

Theon scoffed. "The Kingslayer? He's not nearly as good now, everyone knows that."

"And yet he's proven himself to be a valuable member of Their Graces' forces. If you could train your other hand to hold the bow, and then pull with your two fingers…"

But I'll never be as good as I once was. Theon thought bitterly. The maester's words were little consolation to him. I'm a broken man. What good am I to anyone now? He nodded down at his hand. "Are you going to get on with it?"

Maester Wolkan looked at him warily. "You don't want milk of the poppy?"

"No. Just do it. Please, just do it."

Wolkan sighed. "All right then. This will hurt…"

He brought down the knife and Theon bit his tongue so hard that the hot, metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

Daenerys

She pirouetted in front of the mirror, examining how her skirts fluttered with each movement. The seamstress had done an excellent job, especially considering she received only a day's notice. The gown was floor-length and made of ivory silk, with delicate gold detailing around the neck, shoulders and waist and small roses on the bodice crafted out of blue lace. Though cinched at the waist, the dress was loose enough on top so that it did not irritate her increasingly sensitive breasts.

Daenerys turned sideways and pressed a hand over her belly. She wasn't showing yet – her stomach wasn't as flat as it had been a few months ago, but still small – and yet there had been so many signs she'd missed. Her swelling breasts, her increased tiredness, her feeling lightheaded…She never put the pieces together because she had been so certain that she could never conceive a child.

Dany knew that their position was precarious, but she felt cautiously hopeful. Jon had told her once that she had made an impossible thing happen when she birthed her dragons, and it gave him hope she could make other impossible things happen. Jon had done an impossible thing when he came back from the dead, and now they had made another impossible thing happen together. Maybe, just maybe, this miracle would work out as well as the others…

She was startled by the sound of the door opening and she jumped, her hands falling back to her sides. Daenerys didn't want everyone to know about the baby yet, not when she was still so early on, and she didn't want people to say that she and Jon were only getting married because of her pregnancy. Luckily, it was only Ser Jorah. "Am I interrupting something, Your Grace?"

"Not at all, Ser Jorah. I actually wanted to have a word with you…"

He crossed the room to meet her and pulled out her crown, the only gift she had kept from Qarth, with its three-headed dragon made of silver and gold, the heads carved from jade, ivory, and onyx to match the colors of her beloved dragons. "I thought you might need this."

Daenerys smiled at him. "Put it on me."

Carefully, Jorah nestled the crown in her silver gold hair, which Missandei had painstakingly brushed and braided and fussed over with earlier. Daenerys smiled at her reflection. Perfect. She couldn't wait for Jon to see her.

"Will there be anything else, Your Grace?"

"Actually," Daenerys said. "Yes." She turned around to face Ser Jorah and took one of his hands. "My friend, I hope you know that I appreciate everything you have done for me."

"It was nothing, Your Grace…"

"Well it meant something to me. I feel blessed now to have Jon, and all my friends and advisors…but you, Ser Jorah, you've always been there. Back before I was the Mother of Dragons. Back when I was…well, a nobody. I hope you know how dearly I treasure you, my lord." She paused, biting her lip. "I've been told that traditionally the bride's father should escort her to the ceremony. But since I don't have one of those, I was wondering if you would. Escort me, I mean. It's silly, I know, but it would mean a lot to me."

When she looked at Ser Jorah again, she swore he had a tear in his eye. He extended his arm and she threaded hers through his. "It would be my honor, my queen."

The way to the godswood was illuminated with candles, along the path and in the trees. Daenerys tightened her hold on Ser Jorah's arm, her stomach fluttering. "Nervous, Your Grace?" He asked her.

Daenerys smiled. "No." The night she had married Khal Drogo she'd been nervous, terrified even, but tonight she felt only excitement. Wait until Jon sees me. She thought with delight. I daresay he may be the one fainting this time…

They entered the godswood. The heads of each Northern house had been invited to attend and they each bowed their heads respectfully to her as she passed. Lady Lyanna was smirking and gave Ser Jorah a nod of approval, which made him smile. She saw Lord Tyrion and Ser Davos, both looking happy for her, and Missandei was holding onto Grey Worm's arm. She was looking at Daenerys, but Grey Worm only had eyes for her. Varys nodded his head, the wildling Tormund was making eyes at Brienne of Tarth, the smith Gendry looked unsure of why he'd been invited and Sandor "the Hound" Clegane looked like he was ready for the reception afterwards. There was Samwell Tarly, with his wildling lover and their child, and an excited looking Arya Stark standing behind her brother Bran, who Daenerys swore looked a little less stoic than usual…

Under the heart tree, Sansa Stark stood front and center, the officiant for the ceremony since she was the Lady of Winterfell and head of House Stark. Daenerys was still not sure how her soon-to-be-goodsister felt about her, but she was glad the young woman had agreed to do it. Maybe we're not quite friends yet, but at least she doesn't hate me. Daenerys thought. She silently told herself that she would somehow befriend her, no matter how long it took.

Then, there he was. Jon, her Jon, looking dashing in a black surcoat trimmed with Targaryen red and Stark grey. He wore the simple crown of the Kings in the North. Her husband-to-be turned around and she saw a smile light up his face when violet eyes met grey.

Never did she ever think she would find someone like him. Someone who was good and kind and strong, brave and loyal and true. She loved him more and more with every day, if that was even possible. In just a few moments she would be his wife and they had this child growing in her womb, this life their love had made. Selfishly, Daenerys hoped for a little girl. I never had a mother to braid my hair or kiss my cheeks or tuck me into bed, but I could do that with my daughter. She thought. But she also knew that if she had a son – perhaps with Jon's dark curls and her violet eyes – she would love him to pieces, like she never got to do with the son she lost before birth. A boy like Jon would be wonderful too. She silently decided. Boy or girl, I hope it is like him…

They reached the heart tree now and Ser Jorah squeezed her arm gently. "Who comes?" Sansa Stark asked. "Who comes before the old gods this night?"

"Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen," Ser Jorah proclaimed. "The First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhonyar, and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"

Jon stepped forward. "I do. King Jon of Houses Stark and Targaryen, First of My Name, the…" He trailed off and looked at Missandei. She'd been up half the night last night brainstorming titles for Jon with Daenerys, but her intended had taken little interest in the discussion, and seemingly couldn't remember what they'd agreed on now.

Missandei cleared her throat. "King Jon Warborn of Houses Stark and Targaryen, the First of His Name, the Resurrected, King of the Andals, the Rhonyar, and the First Men, 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Friend of the Free Folk, Protector of the Realm, Lord Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Slayer of the Undead, and the White Wolf."

Jon balked at the rattling list. "Umm…yes. I claim her. Who gives her?"

"Ser Jorah of House Mormont, her loyal advisor."

Daenerys smiled at him. "And friend."

Jorah smiled too. "Yes. And friend. Queen Daenerys, will you take this man?"

"I take this man."

Ser Jorah kissed her on the cheek and Daenerys whispered her thanks to him, before letting go of him to take Jon's outstretched hand. Jorah moved to stand next to his cousin and Jon pulled Daenerys forward, so they were now standing face to face. "You look beautiful." He mouthed at her.

Daenerys grinned. "I love you." She mouthed back.

Lady Sansa instructed for them to kneel for silent prayer and Daenerys folded her hands, staring up at the heart tree. She did not know much of the Stark gods and had very little experience with gods in general. She didn't know what to ask them, and decided to just speak from her heart. Old gods, She prayed silently. Protect Jon in the wars to come. Protect this child, who we already love so much. Give me guidance in the days to come, old gods, and the wisdom to know how to be the best wife and queen that I can…

After a few moments they rose again and Jon unfastened the cloak from her shoulders, which bore the Targaryen three-headed dragon. Even though they planned to rule under the Targaryen name, Daenerys had asked that they still perform the exchanging of the cloaks. She wanted to show the Northern lords that she respected their culture. Arya passed off the bride's cloak to Jon, which had the direwolf of the Starks. And I want to be a part of this family. Daenerys thought. She already liked Arya and considered her a sister, but she also wanted to dig deeper past Bran's contained façade, to bond with Sansa so maybe they could come to love each other. Jon fastened the new cloak around her shoulders.

She heard Lady Sansa's words, but she did not tear her eyes away from Jon. "This man and this woman have promised themselves before the old gods this night, joining themselves in holy matrimony, and now they are husband and wife. What the gods have joined together, may no man tear asunder."

Gendry

Due to the winter rationing, they didn't have a lot of food at the wedding feast: bread, chicken, cheese, onions, turnips. But the alcohol was flowing freely, wine and mead and beer. At their table, Ser Davos was teaching Beric Dondarrion a Flea Bottom drinking song that Gendry recognized. Tormund Giantsbane was on his fourth or fifth drinking horn and he tried to grab Lady Brienne for a dance, but she jumped up from the table, looking uncomfortable, saying she was going to bring some food to Jaime Lannister and Ser Bronn – though they were now staying in chambers instead of jail cells, they had not been invited to the wedding celebrations either. Tormund didn't seem affected by her refusal, however, and went to dance by himself, accidentally knocking into Jorah Mormont, who had been roped into dancing by his little cousin. "You do still know how to dance like a Northerner, don't you?" Lady Lyanna had said to him.

Gendry, meanwhile, was nursing the same cup of wine that had been poured for him hours ago. He had never been to a highborn wedding before and he felt incredibly out of place. He glanced over his shoulder to see King Jon and Queen Daenerys sitting in the spots of honor on the dais, staring into each other's eyes, the king pulling his new bride in close for a gentle kiss. Lady Sansa was having a conversation with Yohn Royce that it looked like she didn't want to be in, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Bran Stark had the same look of passive disinterest that he always seemed to have – the boy confused Gendry, really – and then he saw Arya, who was laughing out loud at something that Podrick Payne had said to her. She turned her head in his direction and Gendry looked away before their eyes could lock, taking a long gulp of his wine.

"What are you whinging about now, boy?"

Gendry glared at the Hound from over the rim of his cup. "I'm not whinging."

"Yes you fucking are." The Hound rolled his eyes and took another huge bite of chicken. "I've heard he has a magic cock, you know."

Gendry froze. "A magic what?"

"You heard me." The Hound snorted. "Worried that your precious wolf bitch is going to lose her maidenhead tonight, is that it?"

"Don't talk about her like that." Gendry said a little too snappily. He tried to ignore Clegane's words, but the mental image was already there: Arya kissing Podrick Payne. Arya taking her clothes off for Podrick Payne. Arya opening her legs for Podrick Payne… It's none of your business who she likes. Gendry told himself. She's a woman grown, she can fuck whoever she wants. Still, part of him wanted to march over there and punch the squire in the face. He looked back at the Hound. "And don't talk with your mouth open."

The Hound scowled at him and spit a chicken bone out on the table.

The band finished their bawdy drinking song and began again, this time with a smoother, softer melody. The handsome male singer closed his eyes as he began his song. "My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I'll lay you down. I'll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown…"

Gendry glanced back over in Arya's direction and watched as Podrick Payne – in an uncharacteristic display of boldness, probably inspired by some liquid courage – reached for Arya's hand. His lips moved and Gendry thought he asked her to dance. Arya looked uncertain at first, but then the squire dragged her to the floor and she laughed, blushing. Gendry could feel his face grow hot.

"For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord. I'll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword…"

Podrick Payne's hands came to rest on Arya's hips awkwardly, and he stepped on her toes a few times as he tried to sway to the music. Gendry drained the rest of his cup and when he turned to look back around, the Hound was smiling at him knowingly. "What?" Gendry snapped. "I don't care who she dances with. It means nothing to me."

The Hound rolled his eyes again and stole a leg of chicken off Gendry's plate. "Right. You really look like you don't give a shit right now…"

"Gendry Waters?"

He jumped in his seat and turned around, finding Queen Daenerys standing before him, a warm smile on her face. "Care to dance this one with me?"

For a moment, Gendry's words escaped him. The queen had not spoken to him in days, not since the road to White Harbor at least – she hadn't even been the one to inform him of her wedding, that had all been Jon. Part of him wondered if this was some kind of trap. "Shouldn't you be dancing with your new husband, Your Grace?"

"Jon is with his sister." Sure enough, when Gendry looked he saw that Jon was now spinning Sansa around, prying a reluctant smile out of her. Daenerys extended her hand to him. "Dance with me, Gendry Waters. Your queen commands it."

With no other choice, Gendry got up and followed the queen out onto the floor, the Hound raising a chicken leg in salute to him as he went. Daenerys grabbed his hands and placed them in the proper positioning, taking his left in her right and placing the other on her lower back. Gendry felt himself blush. "Don't worry," The Mother of Dragons said to him. "I'll lead."

She takes command even on the dance floor. Gendry thought, unsurprised."Of course, Your Grace."

They swayed silently for a moment and Gendry stared over her shoulder, watching as Podrick accidentally stepped on Arya's foot yet again. Arya made a face and Podrick gave her what looked like an apology. "And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree…"

"What are you staring at so intently, Gendry Waters?"

Gendry looked away quickly and found Daenerys Targaryen smiling at him. "Nothing, Your Grace. And you don't have to call me 'Gendry Waters', you know – my father never acknowledged me. I have no last name."

"And you don't have to keep calling me 'Your Grace'. 'Daenerys' is quite sufficient."

"Sorry, Your – I mean, Daenerys."

The Mother of Dragons stared intently at him for a moment and Gendry wondered what he had done wrong this time. He was surprised when she finally said: "I feel I owe you an apology."

Gendry nearly dropped her hands and stood frozen in the middle of the floor. Around them the other couples continued to spin and sway. "What?"

"I owe you an apology." Daenerys repeated. "For how…unseemly I behaved on our passage to White Harbor. I don't trust easily, you see, not that that's any excuse for my behavior…"

"Oh, that? It was nothing – "

"No, no, no, I insist you let me apologize!"

Gendry flushed. "Very well, Your – Daenerys."

The Mother of Dragons giggled. "We're related, you and I." She told Gendry. "Did you know that?"

Gendry racked his mind, but came up empty. He knew very little about royal history, having received no formal education as a child. It occurred to him for the first time that he didn't even know the history of his father's family, and he felt ashamed as he shook his head. At least stupid Podrick Payne can read. He thought bitterly. "I did not."

"Aegon V's daughter Rhaelle married Ormund Baratheon. Her son was Steffon Baratheon, and his sons were Robert, Stannis, and Renly – your father and uncles. Rhaelle's brother Jaehaerys and sister Shaera were my grandparents. That makes us second cousins once removed, if I have my history correct. And Jon your third cousin." She looked over her shoulder and her violet eyes settled on Arya, who scrunched up her nose as Podrick Payne kissed her hand. "But don't worry, you're not related to her – different sides of the family."

"She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me…"

Gendry reluctantly tore his eyes away from Arya to look at Daenerys. Maybe this was why she wanted to talk to him. She wants to scold me because she doesn't think I'm fit for Arya. Well, she'll be excited to know that I don't have a chance with her anyway… "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'll wear a gown of golden leaves and bind my hair with grass…"

The Mother of Dragons seemed to know what he was thinking. "I'm not trying to trick you." She said. "I don't want you to feel uneasy with me, cousin. I've had a lot of time to think, and…I don't have much family left in this world. Nor do you, I believe?"

"But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass." Everyone else in the room clapped as the band finished their song, but Gendry and Daenerys remained planted in the middle of the floor unmoving, his hand still uncomfortably on her back as the band started up again, this time with "Oh, Lay My Sweet Lass Down in the Grass". Jon and Sansa had returned to the dais, and a drunken Tormund Giantsbane was now standing on the table yelling for the band to sing "The Last of the Giants", but all Gendry could notice was Arya still talking to Podrick Payne, telling him something which made him laugh…

Arya offered to be my family, He thought. And I was a stupid, bull-headed boy who refused her, and now she's smiling at Podrick Payne. On the outside, Gendry only shook his head. "My mother died when I was little. I had half-siblings, I suppose, but King Joffrey killed them all. I never got to know them, nor my father neither."

Daenerys Targaryen gave him what seemed to be a look of genuine sympathy. "I hope that we can trust one another from now on, Gendry Waters. I've had time to observe your character, and I know I was wrong about you. And Jon told me about how you ran back to Eastwatch, to alert Ser Davos that day – I am in your debt, ser. If there is anything I can do for you, anything at all, just ask."

It was a kind offer, but Gendry didn't like to accept handouts from highborns. "Thank you." He said. "I'll remember that."

Daenerys detangled herself from him and turned to return to her husband. Tormund was now singing "The Last of the Giants" at the top of his lungs, drowning out the annoyed looking musicians, and Brienne of Tarth walked back into the great hall only to immediately turn and leave again when she saw the sight. Daenerys Targaryen paused and looked at Gendry again. "Can I give you some unsolicited advice? Gods only know how much time we have left. I know you think she could never return your affections…but it's worth a shot. In my opinion, it looks like Lady Arya cares for you a great deal."

Gendry recoiled. "How did you…?"

The Mother of Dragons smiled at him. "I'm married to a former bastard, Gendry Waters. I know how they think."

Sansa

At the same time Gendry and Daenerys were having their conversation, Sansa was dancing a set with Jon, one of her arms around his neck as her eyes scanned the room. Everyone around her seemed to be having fun, drinking, dancing, laughing, talking, enjoying a night off from the thought of the war.

But as much as Sansa tried, she couldn't stop thinking about it. She'd only just gotten her family back and now there was a chance they would be taken from her again. How long would they even have, a few days? Perhaps a week at most. Sansa had sworn to herself when she returned to Winterfell that she would not let others control her fate, not anymore, and now she was back to that same desperation she'd worked so hard to escape…

"What are you thinking about, sister?" Jon asked her.

Sansa forced a smile. "How happy I am for you."

Her brother laughed. "You almost sounded like you meant it."

"I am happy for you!" She wanted to be, anyway. Jon seemed happy with his Dragon Queen, but Sansa hardly knew her new goodsister, and Yohn Royce was still talking in her ear constantly about the instability of Targaryens. It was exhausting. Under different circumstances she would've been ecstatic at Jon's wedding, and she would've helped her goodsister with her dress and her hair, and everything would've been perfect. But they were in the middle of a war and Sansa didn't know if any of them would even survive the next moonturn.

Jon was staring at her thoughtfully and she could tell from the look on his face that he was thinking very hard about something. "There's something I need to tell you."

Sansa's eyebrow shot up. "Oh?"

"It's not a bad thing. It's good. In fact, I think it's the greatest thing that's ever happened to me…"

"What is it?"

Jon sucked in a nervous breath. "Daenerys and I are going to have a baby."

Around them the musicians were continuing to play and the others were continuing to dance, but Sansa froze in place and stared at Jon, mouth agape. "A baby?"

"Yes." Jon couldn't contain his grin and Sansa didn't know the last time she'd seen him smile like that. "You're going to be an aunt."

An aunt.

Sansa opened her mouth, but no words came out at first. "That's…that's…"

"I know it's unexpected. We only found out yesterday, and I just told Arya – I wish you had been there to see her face when she heard! I thought she was going to explode from excitement. I haven't said anything to Bran, but I suspect he already knows. He seems to know quite a lot these days…"

Sansa cut him off. "Jon, a baby? Now?"

The song ended and another began, and Jon took her arm to lead her back to the dais. Sansa picked up her cup of wine where she'd left it and drained it in one long gulp. "It's not like we were planning it." Jon explained. "But Sansa, we're adding a new member to the pack. It's a miracle, let's just be happy for one moment…"

"I am happy for you, but I…" She trailed off. Under different circumstances the prospect of being an aunt would have thrilled her, and she would've hugged Jon and kissed him and told him what a wonderful father he would be. But the Night King is marching down here to kill us all and we will all probably be dead this time next week. She thought cynically. Chances are this baby will never be born. Gods Jon, you lovable idiot, why couldn't you have spared yourself the heartache? "I don't want you to get hurt, is all."

"Don't think like that."

"Why shouldn't I?" Sansa said, and she immediately regretted the way she snapped at him. "I've already lost my parents and two of my brothers. I don't want to lose any more family members."

Their conversation effectively ended when her new goodsister walked over, Daenerys wrapping her arms around Jon from behind. Beaming, her brother turned around to pull his new wife in for a deep kiss. While he was distracted, Sansa slipped away undetected and stole a flagon of wine from a passing serving girl.

Tonight seemed like a good night to get incredibly drunk.

She woke hours later to someone gently prodding her shoulder and whispering her name. "Lady Sansa?"

She opened her bleary eyes and blinked, feeling a crick in her neck and hair plastered to her face. The feast seemed to be ending, with only a few drunken stragglers remaining and several others passed out in the great hall. Tyrion Lannister was standing before her, looking concerned. "My lord?"

"You've had quite a lot to drink. Come on, let me escort you to your room."

The Hand of the Queen helped her stand up and Sansa immediately felt a throbbing pain in her head. She'd never been drunk before – a little tipsy, yes, but never like this. "You haven't been drinking?" Once the words came out of her mouth she immediately regretted asking such a question. He probably thinks I think he's a drunk now. Oh gods, I'm an idiot…

"I've had a lot on my mind." Tyrion said vaguely. "I needed a clear head." The castle was much quieter now as together they walked down the hall and up the stairs towards Sansa's chambers, Sansa having to lean on Tyrion for support.

Her throat felt so dry she could barely speak. "The queen is pregnant." When she glanced at Tyrion, he did not seem surprised by this news.

"Yes, she told me. Ordinarily this would be wonderful news, to be having an heir, but…well Lady Sansa, you know this is a dangerous time."

"Yes," She sighed. "Yes it is indeed."

They reached her darkened chambers now and Tyrion helped her onto the bed, before going to light a candle. He muttered something about how it was too damn cold in the North and she should have a fire lit. Sansa was so drunk the room seemed to be spinning. All she wanted to do was sleep. She started to undo the laces on her dress and when Tyrion turned back around, his eyes widened.

"What are you doing?"

"Undressing, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"Here?"

"Well, this is my room."

Was Tyrion Lannister actually blushing? He turned around to stare at the wall, not looking back at her the whole time Sansa stripped down to her smallclothes. She reached into one of her drawers and retrieved a nightgown, slipping it over her head and then pulling her messy hair out of her face with a ribbon. He doesn't want to watch me change. She realized. It was an odd thought, considering this man had once been her husband. On their wedding night he'd seen her in her shift, but then he'd made her stop and passed out drunk on the sofa. He was my husband once and he's never slept beside me. He was my husband once and I've never even kissed him…

"You can look now." She said, her voice hoarse.

Tyrion turned back around but still kept his gaze politely averted. "Well, now that you've found your bed, I probably should get going…"

He moved to leave but Sansa called out for him without even realizing it at first. "Wait." She paused, trying to think of something else to say as Tyrion stared at her expectantly. "Could you…help me into bed?"

Without complaint, Tyrion Lannister tucked her into bed as if she were a small child and Sansa pulled her knees to her chest, watching as the man who she had once condemned as a depraved monster fluffed her pillow.

"You're so nice to me. My lord, why are you so nice to me?"

He laughed off her question. "My lady, you are very drunk…"

Before he could try to leave again, Sansa bolted upright in bed. "My lord…I want to apologize to you. For how I treated you when we were married."

Tyrion stared at her and looked thrown by her statement. There was very little that seemed to surprise him, but this had. "You don't owe me an apology."

"But I was so cruel to you – "

"You were a child. A poor, scared child, forced into a marriage you did not want, and yet…" He hesitated.

Sansa leaned forward and kicked the blankets off, undoing all of the work Tyrion had just done. "And yet?"

His voice was so low she had to strain to her it. "And yet I wanted you."

This surprised Sansa. "You could've consummated the marriage, you could've…" She trailed off. All the other men she knew had been takers. Joffrey with his threats to slip into her bed and rape her in the night. Ramsay who had not only threatened to do horrible things to her, but actually had done horrible things to her. Just the thought of his cruel face made her skin prickle and she crossed her arms over her chest, like a shield from the rest of the world. Even Littlefinger, who she once thought she could trust, had kissed her and made it clear that he lusted for her. Back when she married Tyrion she thought there was no one in the world who could be a worse husband. And he was the only one who respected me. Sansa thought. The only one who respected my right to say 'no'…It was ironic, but she wasn't laughing.

Tyrion Lannister looked away and turned his body, as if to go. "You don't owe me anything, Lady Sansa. Just because I treated you with basic human decency, that doesn't mean you're in my debt…"

Her head spinning, Sansa grabbed him by the collar of his jerkin to pull him closer to her. "I wish you had taken my maidenhead." She confessed. "I know we weren't in love, but…" Tears blurred her vision now, so much she could barely see. "You were never cruel. You would've treated me gently, and if we consummated then Lord Baelish wouldn't have been able to…" Her voice broke and she gulped, in an effort to hold back her tears. "Maybe we could have fallen in love. Maybe we could've been happy."

Tyrion met her eyes. "Maybe we could have."

All she'd ever wanted as a girl was to find love. And now here she was, twenty years old, once divorced and once widowed, crying drunkenly in the darkness of her bedroom because of how lonely she felt. Jon had his Dragon Queen and his child on the way, and even Arya seemed to have admirers aplenty…Maybe Tyrion had been her one chance at true love. Maybe she had squandered it.

She burst into tears.

Tyrion looked confused, and unsure of how to comfort her. "Lady Sansa…are you…are you all…?"

"No," She choked out. "I'm not all right…I'm…I'm ruined."

"You're not ruined."

"Yes I am! What if I…what if I can't feel anything anymore? What if Joffrey, and Ramsay…what if they took something from me that I can't ever get back?"

She was still crying as Tyrion closed the distance between them and wrapped her into a hug. "You're not ruined." He said quietly, but firmly. "You're kind, and intelligent, and brave, and beautiful. You will be happy again someday, Lady Sansa, I promise you."

Sansa sniffled, her tears beginning to subside. "Thank you, Lord Tyrion."

She pulled back just enough so that they could look into one another's eyes, neither speaking. Her heart was pounding in her ears and for a moment the world seemed to stop spinning. Sansa wasn't sure if she leaned in first, or if he did, but their lips met.

The kiss was slow and tentative at first, but then stronger and more desperate. Tyrion seemed unsure at first but then he began to kiss her back, a hand moving to cradle the back of her head. It occurred to Sansa that she didn't know what she was supposed to do now – she'd had a chaste kiss from Joffrey back when she still thought of him as the perfect prince, and Ramsay had never kissed her when he did what he did. Awkwardly she tried to grant her tongue entry into his mouth, in an effort to deepen the kiss…

Immediately, Tyrion jumped backwards.

Sansa opened her eyes. "Did I…did I do something wrong?"

Tyrion couldn't look at her now. He looked disgusted. With me? She wondered. Maybe he couldn't love her now, maybe no one could…

"I won't have you." The Hand of the Queen said. "Not like this."

"My lord – "

"Goodnight, Lady Sansa." Then he promptly fled from the room and shut the door, leaving her alone in the dark.