R&R

Sansa tugged at her needle and pulled a thread through her muslin. The green stitch tightened into place, and that was a vine completed, now for the next. She looked at her efforts of a good hour, it was neat and pretty. Her jaw contracted and she ground her teeth. Useless...you can't win a war with embroidery. Sansa gently threaded the needle back into the fabric- checking it was secure. Very nice...But- She hurled her hoop across the chamber. "And stay there!" Luckily her handmaiden had been dispatched with an errand, so she hadn't seen this lapse in grace.

She heard clanging and sheering of steel outside her window, and the Queen knew at least one of them might be him. She had an unfamiliar tingle in her stomach. She wasn't going to look, she only imagined how the training must have been going. Jon was skilled, from what she had been told, whenever she saw him training in the past he always looked angry, and hot-headed, as if he was actually killing. Even inanimate objects quaked in his presence. Good, I suppose. As a child she found his method a little sloppy compared to her brother, Robb, though that could have been down to the taunting. But the method worked, most challengers would go down in the dirt, and Jon would continue to hammer their shields, until they screamed at him. I yield, I yield! She suddenly saw a memory of Ramsay lying cut open from nape to privates in the mud, the guts and grass mingled. Sansa hadn't realised she had been smiling until-

"-You are glowing, your grace."

She steered towards her handmaiden who had returned with linens and hoops. It dawned on her the morbidity of her thoughts, she was awful and vile- perhaps she should pick up a sword? She composed herself. "Thank you...It must have been that delicious breakfast, very large and fulfilling." The girl approached her with the supplies. Realising the enormity of her task she had set herself, Sansa felt herself grimace. "Thank you, just set all the hoops at the corners, I'll do the sigils later." Sansa requested, hoping to be left alone with her thoughts again.

"Yes, your grace." The girl perched on a stool as she did her bidding, she was quick. "Anything else your grace?"

Sansa shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and surveyed her room. "Erm, nothing comes to mind." She rubbed her head-push me off the highest tower. She blinked. "I shall not be doing much today." She wrapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. "What a day." She sighed, gazing at her husband's nightshirt hanging up.

The handmaiden was staring, as if something was about to burst out of mouth. "Your grace?"

"Hm." Sansa had a strange inkling she was going to say something that would annoy her.

"Would you like some camomile tea for your sickness?"

There was a pregnant pause, filled with distant clanging of swords. Surely the girl didn't think that. She had a new image of her own blood and guts- and a screaming baby burning inside her mind. She wasn't sure if she could go through with an explanation of the impossibility of that to this girl. The gossip in court would go from no consummation, a void marriage, to Sansa of House Stark being barren. "No, little dove." She heard herself, and felt sick. "I mean-"

The girl was on the verge of dismissing herself.

"-Tell Podrick to extend my well wishes to our new guests. Oh...and could you send me... Ser Seaworth... tell him it's urgent."

The girl gave her a funny grimace followed by a sloppy curtsey, and the Queen was left alone with her thoughts. It wasn't healthy being by oneself, she needed something, she couldn't drag poor Ghost into the chambers, away from his master so she could brush his coat. That would be cruel for something so wild. Perhaps she should have befriended her handmaiden? Next time she'll ask her name. She envied the girl's innocence, the girl was older than her and was probably happy and untouched. Sansa was 17, and she had to act twice her age, and she felt as such. How did she survive? In such a dangerous court, named a traitor- then kingslayer, then she was wardeness of the north with an abusive husband. She should save her thoughts for Davos. As she waited, she noted the clanging outside had stopped. Tavern break possibly?

She heard a funny sort of rubbing on the door, and realised it was Davos trying to knock with his wrong hand. "Come in!" No sooner had he entered, she asked. "Tell me about the new men."

"Your grace, they seem trustworthy." Davos was being careful, and she wondered why, she was on his side!

"And?"

"They've plead their case."

"No they haven't...why are you being vague with me?" She was sure the King's advisor was shrugging."Tarlys have an allegiance to the Tyrells of Highgarden." The corner of her lip twitched as Davos looked at her suspiciously. "Yes, I know things...I'm not stupid... all the time."

"News travels fast, so you knew they were Tarlys."

Sansa huffed. "You do realise I live here, servants come and go and they talk to me, once I knew they were here-." The chair creaked as she rose. "I was mystified they would come straight here, not all of them mind you- their bannermen are still with the Tyrells." Before Davos could respond, she continued. "-Though I am fond of Maergery Tyrell, her family have been jumping back and forth between camps, it has made me think, do they really have a true loyalty to anybody else but their own?"

"Are you talking about the Tyrells or the Tarlys?"

Sansa had gotten lost. "Both." She said indignantly. "I think they have the same agenda. Like Lannisters really, but nicer." She crashed back into her chair. "It looks like we have another party who finds our union a little iffy...Who can blame them." Careful.

Davos raised a hand. "Now that you have vented, can I ask...who did you have spying on our meeting?" He clasped his hands in front of him."Was it Podrick?"

No, she thought Podrick was a Lannister spy. She had serious trust issues. "I'm tired, very tired, Ser, you have your job." And I have mine, whatever it may be. Sansa's voice had gone to its usual volume. "I'm bored, and completely irrelevant, and it's my own fault- for not preparing myself for adulthood. I used to have my head stuck in those fairytales." She pointed at her hope chest at the foot of the bed, her books were in there. "-I lived by them, and now I'm living in a nightmare." She waved her hand into the air. "I'm not a Queen, I'm not a wife, I'm not a wardeness, I'm not an advisor, I'm just a damn name, did I not ride into battle alongside Jon to take back Winterfell?..." She finished by resting her head on her knuckles. "And it was me whom was spying, hardly a spy if I'm using the information for the same side." She heard Davos use her handmaiden's stool, it squeaked as he perched on it.

"Well, I think you'll find you're a lot better after that, has a weight been lifted?- Do you feel better?" Davos sounded patronizing, but she believed he was genuinely asking if she was well. Sansa turned her head from her position on her hand. Davos tipped his head to study her. "You seem like a Queen to me."

"I'm a brat, Ser, don't confuse the two." She didn't feel like laughing today, but Davos was in the mood- he chortled, he wasn't the only one- she could hear someone quietly sniggering in the hall, the door was ajar. With some very good precision, she picked up a cushion from her odd angle, and aimed it right at the door and it closed. SLAM.

Davos was amiable about it. "You've done that before."

"I haven't done that since I was 8, I'm surprised it reached so far." She clutched at her shoulder, she had wretched it. "Never has it reached the door, let alone closed it efficiently."

"You have longer arms than when you were 8, your grace."

"I meant I was always out of condition, I'm not agile like Arya...my younger sister." She added in case he didn't know. And he nodded and gestured as if he did. But of course."Though athletics aren't a woman's pursuits, I was always good at walking, didn't like riding, but I became good at that regardless."

"Then go riding, your grace." He adjusted himself on the stool. "Never really liked it myself, a horse is too high off the ground." Davos could see her clutching her arm, it felt like he should do something, he wasn't sure what. "I didn't have a head for heights, but I got used to it, I had trouble boarding ships and climbing on horses, in the early days." He smiled. "And it's been ages since those early days." His eyes went to the window, he appeared pensive, thinking about something sombre, at least that was what she could read. He then suddenly inclined forward on his stool, and his voice got quiet. "Practice makes perfect, I know this sounds daft, but when your shoulder is better, throw more cushions- throw them as hard as you can 'til it aches." He held a grave expression, in complete contrast to the one that started.

"Then I'll be strong?" Now that was funny. "I can see myself doing windmills with a cushion in each hand."

The old gent had laughter in his eyes. "Whatever agrees with you, pet. But make sure no one sees you."

Sansa picked up another cushion, she toyed with is tassels. "It sounds like your training me up for a fight." She with hushed tones, as if it was some sort of secret. The cushion held a lot of weight, she could image the strength she would have if she did it every day for week. "Who's my opponent?"

The door clunked, and Jon rustled in, the rustling was caused through the leather he had decked himself in. He looked from one person to the other. Both Sansa and Davos were sitting close, leant towards one another, and neither of them had addressed him. "What were you doing?" That wasn't an innocent question he had posed. "I thought it was a bit quiet." He closed the door behind him, and Davos leapt from the stool.

"Your grace."

Sansa knew from Jon's expression that he didn't want Davos to excuse himself. She feared for him. "Your grace, our advisor was just-"

Jon straightened his mouth. "Hm...our advisor?"

She didn't like that. "Yes, our." She stood up quickly enough for the cushion to fall. "I am Queen."

"I thought you were a brat?"

The air left the room, and she probably with it. Her face was numb. Bastard. He thought she was a brat- wait- "You were spying, outside..." It was supposed to be an exclamation but it came out low, and angry.

"A lot better than you." He tried to counter that rage, but he wasn't on the attack. Sansa could trace mirth in his features, it made her angrier. "I couldn't hear the last part, you were talking in whispers, I got a little worried..." Jon's eyes roved to his trusted advisor. "Should I be worried?"

Sansa snorted- but a delicate one at that. "Tactics, for winning a war, if you must know." Perhaps he'll laugh. She was starting to believe Davos had been referring to Jon, when it came to strength training against something. Self- defence maybe? "Beating our enemies."

"The white walkers?- Now you believe."

Sansa hadn't thought about those creatures she had never seen, to her they were as real as the heroes in her books. And there were no heroes. "When the time comes." She sat back down, hearing her own words ringing in her head. But she wouldn't stand a chance, she couldn't even win an argument. "If it's going to get as bad as you claim, we would have to armour up every woman and child as well as the men." Sansa tensed up when Jon made an approach, he'd have to forgo any affection- Sansa was never in the mood, nor ready for such advances. Luckily Jon settled on the hope chest at the foot of the bed.

She waited on baited breath for him to say something to bring her down a peg or two, Davos didn't help, he was watching as if he knew everything she had said was wrong. "So you don't trust the Tarlys..." Her king sighed.

Jon was out of her main line of sight, and she refused to turn to the King fully. "One of them is friendly enough, but I still don't know them. I'm sure the Tyrells do. I just don't want you putting faith in other people's men. Robb did that with the Boltons, and we all know what happened-"

"-Yes, I know, and I heard what you said." He didn't sound pleased, perhaps he knew everything and more- but regardless he most likely didn't want his wife to overrule him. She prepared for some kind of ridicule, he slid over on the chest so he was only a foot away from her chair. "But it isn't your call." She felt the heat from his hand through the glove, as he set it on her forearm. "They'll be on my side when the dead break through the wall."

Saying things like that made him sound very Targaryen. She turned. Seven Hells, his face was close. "If you don't mind, I'll eat up here tonight...your grace." She was playing with fire, and the only way to survive is to be cold. She managed to excuse her arm from his hand by pretending she was writing at her desk. She recalled Cersei used to write to pretend she was busy, when she didn't fancy talking.

"Don't be like that." She could hear old Jon in that brief moment, but the scratching of her quill must have got to him. The air became charged."Fine, stay up here!" He rumbled and her chair vibrated as he stood, she blinked as she felt a surge of air- she thought she was about to be struck, but it was merely the motion of him heading to the door. "Davos, come!" That was usually the style and address he reserved for 'Ghost.' Davos relented and shuffled through the door, just before it was closed, she heard him quickly add with a seethe."If you want to eat, you have to come down for it- no food will enter this room."