R&R- My reviews have been synced to me.

Sansa spent the next week briefing the servants on what was expected in the castle, Podrick had many recommendations. She listened to him, seeing his eagerness to please. The squire had given up his training hours to mill around her division of the castle, he had gotten that used to being ordered about by a woman; Brienne, it only seemed logical for him to seek out another. But she was no Brienne of Tarth. She had no armour for him to clean, and no swords for him to sharpen. Her handmaidens would argue with him, telling him to reserve the Queen's chores for them. If she ever caught 'Agnes' bartering with Podrick, she would shoo her away.

"You miss her, don't you?" Sansa commented one afternoon.

"Your grace." He dipped his head courteously. "My mistress has been gone too long, my routine has gone awry. I apologise if I bother you, I just wish to serve someone who has the closest ties to her."

"I miss her too, it's a shame Arya didn't stick with her, they would have got on." Sansa scrutinised him, the manservant was benevolent, but at this moment looked on the verge of disagreeing with her. "Well there's nothing I can do now but wait for conformation."

"Could I fetch you some parchment to write down-"

-"You're a squire, Podrick, not a handmaiden, what will the other squires think?"

"They didn't like me to begin with anyway." He said with all honesty. "Your grace."

"If any of them do anything, send them to my husband- he needs more flesh to bruise." They shared a secret smile. She sobered, looking at the recently made bed, Podrick followed her eye. He probably thought she was going to comment on the lack of bedding and plenty of sleep, but odd dreams. "Where does Agnes go, when she isn't here, Pod?" She fought against the urge to gossip.

Podrick appeared not to have expected that question, in relation to the bed. "Agnes, your grace?" He stared blankly to the side of her. "I don't know much, she is able to navigate the castle in such a way, I never see her anywhere but here, and maybe in the courtyard, I don't even know if she has her own quarters, let alone sleeps."

Sansa felt something should be done. "Does she speak to anyone?"

Podrick was curious about the Queen's interest in the harmless maid. "I think she speaks to everyone; you, the other handmaidens, me... the King."

Her ears perked up. "When?"

"When he's in the courtyard, not for long mind you, I used to think she was your messenger, and she was passing things onto him." Podrick was an asset to her.

"Have you ever listened to her, when she with the King?"

Podrick looked uncomfortable, this irked her. "She...whispers."

She put her embroidery down on her lap. "How curious." Sansa believed Podrick had read her tone.

"But I wouldn't worry, his manner is the same as always, your grace."

She toyed with her needle, studying Podrick's feet, he was cagey. "Podrick, I'm going to ask you to do something for me."

"Anything, but I have a feeling I know..."

Sansa smiled, pulling a stitch through her cloth. "Follow her, befriend her- if you can, if she is ever with my king, stay with my King. I expect I won't see you for some time." Podrick bobbed his head. "Thank you, Pod." He left her, and immediately she missed him, he was nice company, her only company who seeks her out during the day, apart from her maids.

Sansa sat on her lounger reading one of her favourite fables, she heard the chink and clang of her husband along with the rustle of his leather, but he hardly made a noise with that mouth of his- it was like he held his breath when he came into the room. He had the air of untameable moodiness. She kept her eyes in her book as he dithered by the bed, another figure had followed him in, followed by another. The last person that had entered was assisting her husband with his armour. By the gods, he's actually allowing a squire to help him? When she finally looked up to register Podrick, she noticed the other person in the room was Agnes. A ha, well she did say follow her and stay with the King. Agnes was turning down the bed. It amused her to see Podrick watch her like a hawk all the while unclasping Jon. The Queen while downcast could see Jon reflectively staring at the handmaiden. What on earth...?- Had Podrick spoke to Jon of his mission?

"Your grace?"

"Agnes." Sansa looked up fully from her book, even though her eyes were already on her husband.

"Shall I help you with your night attire?" Her handmaiden was holding her chamber pot, as if expecting the queen to decline assistance with de-robing, and do another task.

Sansa was still in her day clothes, and Podrick was still present. How was this a good time to assist her out of her clothes? She coiled a red lock around her finger, studying everyone's reaction to this query. Jon was looking at the space between the bed and them, and Podrick was openly watching them. She hoped he would have the decency to advert his eyes if she did decide to- "Of course." She said absently, and the air in the room changed. Podrick ducked behind Jon, turning her King into a modesty screen. Her King had fleetingly looked at her to gauge her intention before settling on looking anywhere but at the two women.

"Your grace?" Agnes was clearly surprised she had received consent, and awkwardly put down the chamber pot. Sansa arose like a goddess from the lounger with open arms. "Of course, your grace." It was like she had given the witch a boot up the backside. She saw Agnes gesture to the divider, but Sansa stood firm. You can do this.

"That's okay, let's do it here." Soon as she said it, she knew it would motivate herself to follow through. Face him, or face away? Jon was down to just his leather, Podrick was peeling off his outer shell of black and brown. Neither were looking, but it was obvious they weren't ignorant to what was about to unfold. "Let's be quick about it, I don't want gooseflesh, thank you." Sansa tried to look as dignified as possible, even though no one would see it, except the witch, whom looked proud.

"Right." Agnes flicked her Queen's hair over her shoulder and began unclasping at her waist, the outer robe was pulled open, to reveal her bodice. Sansa felt the cold immediately, but she felt at least two pairs of eyes burning into the flesh on her bare shoulders, as the robe was pulled back and away. Agnes circled to collect the gown that was hanging about her arms. She lost a bit of her calm, since Agnes wasn't shielding her, so she dipped her head to spare her blushes. She could feel Agnes hands making fast work on her laces on her back, she was peeling the loose bodice away, and the shift was coming with it. Sansa lost her nerve and turned her back to the men. Agnes had to waltz around to get to her back again. The witch gave all the garments a good shove downwards, and they toppled to the floor, she was now naked as the day she was born. The cold erected her nipples, and her hands automatically sort her breasts for comfort. Hopefully her maid was blocking the view of her pert derriere from the man she had married and his squire. "Are you sure you want your night garments tonight, your grace?"

This witch wasn't her advisor, she gave her a very condescending look. "Until they go out of fashion, I'll wear them." Agnes dipped politely, and disappeared behind the screen to retrieve the gown, deliberately leaving Sansa exposed for a couple of seconds, before her maid returned to pull the cotton dress over her head. Sansa was relieved to be covered once more. She turned to find Podrick had gone and Jon standing there in his skivvies. Agnes had the audacity to look- which earned her a scalding from her Queen. "You're done now, aren't you? Or do wish to gawk at my husband some more?"

Agnes smiled at her and left without a curtsey. She saw her husband make sure the maid was gone before passing a verdict. "I'd watch out for her, she's looking for dead woman's shoes." She had heard this expression before, and only now knew its meaning. The spare wife.

"She would be the cause." The witch probably wanted her dead. "She better keep her distance." Sansa uttered, remaining where she was. His armour had been dumped in the arm chair as if Podrick had left in a hurry.

Jon frowned and followed her gaze. "I...err- sent him away as soon as the bodice came-" He did a gesture, and realised he had admitted to watching, he coughed- "Never mind, eh?" He chucked himself keenly on the bed, the headboard rattled. Probably the only time she'll hear it. "Did I detect jealousy?"

Ha! He'd be lucky. Sansa gave a single bark, incredulous. "She's a witch!"

"Never thought you would say a thing like that. Little miss perfect." His hands leisurely interlocked behind his head.

She was certain it was just an excuse to flex, she could see every muscle bulging. She put her back to such a masculine display and sat in front of her vanity dresser. As she brushed her hair she could still see him in her mirror. "You do realise that girl isn't just a maid called Agnes, that's the red witch in disguise."

The flexing didn't stop, he naturally looked like that. The headboard rattled as he sat bolt upright. "Melisandre."

"Oh that's pretty." Finally hearing the name out loud from her husband's mouth, she continued to brush her hair staring at Jon who was looking a little worse for wear. "She helped me bathe the other day and appeared to me as herself." She heard a cuss, but ignored it. "She wants to help- with god knows what."

"That's what you meant by coming into the castle using sorcery?- She made herself look like a maid?- Are you sure that weren't just a maid?" His feet made their way to the floor. "I didn't know she had taken permanent residence here, it explains why 'Agnes' has been paying close attention to me."

Sansa's brush stalled in her red locks and she twisted. "Considering what they have heard, everyone has been paying close attention to you, you're a dead man walking."

He arose from the bed with speed, and her brush clattered to the floor. Whoops. Her hands had lost grip due to the anxiety that spread across her whole body.

"Sorry...I didn't mean you're dead-" She tried as she stooped to pick up her implement, and when she levelled, he was close behind her stool. Sansa could see his lean torso in the mirror. It was a familiar sight, she saw it every morning and night. For some reason her grip tightened on the brush as if it were a weapon, though it could be simply so she didn't drop it again. "Jon." She spoke to the stomach in the reflection, it moved, so she knew he could breathe. A dead man didn't need air. His arm came into view and he snared her brush from her mitts. "Jon." The Queen half expected to be struck with it, but instead he took it upon himself to brush her hair. He placed his fingers on the top of her head as he swept through her hair, to hold it firm. The bristles were soothing on her scalp, and he brushed her hair behind the ear. She always enjoyed someone else doing her hair, and it was a unique experience having a man do it. You could say it was overwhelming for her senses; the touch and tug, and those hands at work, she could smell him as well. The intoxicating aroma of... Her eyes were starting to droop. "You're making my hair stand on end." Sansa commented, then corrected. "I meant...static." Not wanting to mention how relaxed she was.

"Maybe that's enough." His hands threaded through her hair, before he drawled- "Fancy returning the favour?"

It was her own mind that made it sound like a drawl, he merely said it normally. But the eyes. "Are you asking a Queen to do a chore?" She sniped with falsity, her lips curling.

"I'll pay you a groat?"

She tried to stifle a laugh."Since when did men have their hair brushed anyway?" She had already accepted the task at hand, one look at the ruffled hair and she just wanted to play with it. Sansa shifted across with mock indignation so he could share her vanity seat. "If I have to, it is a mess." She lied.

"Right." Jon held out the brush, and just as her hand went for it, he lobbed it onto the bed.

"Oh how enchanting." She said sardonically.

"Do it on the bed, I can't perch on that thing." And he swaggered across the room to get into position. His Queen watched with trepidation as he got into a lounging position on his side. Smooth. She silently obliged and slowly joined him on the bed- not sure whether to lounge herself, or sit with her legs over the side of the bed, like riding side saddle. The sheets rustled and the bed creaked as she sought an adequate position, he watched her consumed with interest. Her decision would indicate her mood, and since she settled on 'the escapable legs off the bed position' and behind him, Jon probably knew she would do the task and the task alone.

The brushing...It was no easy assignment, it required two hands, and a lot of nerve. It wasn't knotted, just curly, she separated it into bunches so she could grip each section and brush without snagging and drawing noise from him. But he didn't make a sound, all she heard was the cruucjhk from the brush, and her own murmurs of labour. After a section had had a couple of successful brush throughs, she would stroke it down, toy with its softness, soft enough to put your face in. But she wouldn't. When her hands skirted his forehead, to brush the bangs behind his ears, he rolled around to face her. This was probably to help her out, but she found it difficult, because now she felt like she was being watched. He probed, and it was subduing, she ceased all noise and lip biting, she must have looked stoic as she began his parting. It didn't look right for him to have a parting, so she started to smooth it back, forgetting herself and using her hands. The curls were between her fingers, his scent dispensed into the air. Sansa believed an enchantment had been cast, so she stopped. "Done." She announced, and wriggled off the bed to retrieve her book.

"Can I do yours again?"

She heard it, and she honestly didn't mind. But why would a King stoop himself to being a handmaiden? "Of course you can, I suppose I could read at the same time." She had her sights set on the lounger, but she could read in bed. She clambered into the bed, and realised she would have to sit away from the headboard so he could get to her mane. "You'll get bored, it doesn't knot."

"You like knots?"

"I'm just saying there won't be a challenge." Sansa crossed her legs and placed her book there.

"But uninterrupted smoothness is hypnotic." He commented, and she couldn't agree more.

"Yes, I suppose, both to the brusher and the... brushee." The brush swept through, and the hypnosis began. Maybe it was an enchantment, perhaps she should stop? She was scared of magic, and not being in control, but at that moment it didn't feel like she cared. No doubt if there was some unknown force at work- it was taking away her anxiety and wooing her. Sansa realized she had stopped reading, she had been on the same page for 10 minutes. When she got back into the story, she found the princess in the story was also brushing her hair. She shut the book and dropped it on the night stand. "I think I could write better." She settled back, to just savour the tugging.

"Why don't you?" Jon said after a moment of quiet.

Sansa had been speaking to herself, it wasn't a suggestion. "Oh, that's a silly notion, me write stories, what for?"

"Well people will write stories on us in books, why don't you write a book?"

Sansa scoffed. "I'll let the historians, archivers, and minstrels write about us. "She toyed with the hem of her nighty, dwelling on their story. "They can make it sound more epic." She was going to say with less tragedy- but their whole life was a tragedy. "With propaganda and ferocious beasts." It occurred to her she might have insulted their union. "Not that we haven't good stories to tell, it's just-"

"-It just isn't finished." Jon retorted, settling the brush down into her lap. "You can keep a journal, or write a story that isn't about us, a work of fiction?"

She turned to him, not quite believing what he was asking. "It sounds like something I would enjoy, it just has never crossed my mind, a woman writing a book, a Queen writing a book." She emphasized 'Queen' in her dulcet tone.

"You know what I enjoy?"

Jon appeared playful, and it scared the seven hells out of her. Don't ask, don't ask. "Training!" She said after a pregnant pause. "-You should write a book on training." She leapt from the bed, her brush fell to the floor, and she manoeuvred to the desk. "It could be another project for us...between winning the war, and..." Defending the realms of men? "Rebuilding Winterfell."

"I won't have time for writing a book, there are things that need my attention." That odd tone still lingered, and she thought she had managed to squash all reminders of carnal pursuits. "Another project for us?..." Damn she did say another earlier, and they didn't even have a single project yet. He shuffled on his knees on the bed in her direction. "Come here." It was very jovial, like he was talking to the wolf. So completely harmless.

Sansa crossed the void she had created and stood before him, smiling politely. "Writing a book is a good idea, and I have many in my head...A tale of two sisters, a beauty and a beast, a man that cooked men in pies." She heard Jon chuckle while his fingers danced dangerously close to the hem of her nighty. Keep talking- distract. "Great suggestion, thank you by the way- it'll give me something to do." He was definitely burning a hole through her nighty, just staring at it and daring himself to lift it. Move back to the desk. "I better write that down before I forget." She retreated back to the desk.

"Women have good memories, you'll remember it, I'll remind you."

"I'll need adequate sleep in order to..." When she looked back he was on all fours, as if he was about to bark at her. He's a Stark alright. How was this acceptable?-Stark on Stark, dear me, it's so Targerya- She straightened. "Makes sense."

"What does, love?"

Sansa studied him, and he simply gave a grimacy smile.

"Don't you have council meeting tomorrow?" She was trying desperately to be polite as possible, she couldn't openly say no to whatever was on his mind. "I mean early tomorrow?"

Jon settled on his knees, and tore his eyes away from her. "Yeah..." Before crawling into bed with his tail tucked between his legs. "I suppose you're right."

That might have been a small victory, but she felt awful, and she got the feeling he wasn't in accordance with her. He knew what she was doing. She saw old Jon's smile, the solitary one.

When she climbed into bed, she felt a massive gap, bigger than the one she normally made herself. Jon was first to blow out the candle this night, and attempt to sleep. And he succeeded. She lay awake, listening to him breathe, it rattled and became very slow. The large pauses gave her seconds of fear, as if he was inches from death. Sansa looked and saw the slow rise and fall of his chest cavity, he was on his side, facing away from her. Further proof he didn't like her tonight. Her hand reached out to graze his shoulder blade, it appeared to glow blue in the moonlight, she shifted the blanket downwards to see further scaring on his back. Her mouth quivered, it was if she was about to cry, she was sad- that's for sure. Sad that she couldn't be comfortable, sad Jon wasn't happy, sad the pain and suffering he endured getting those scars. She felt herself moving forward, she curled herself towards his back, and tentatively kissed one of his scars. Her King stirred and she quickly reset her position, and pretended to be asleep, before realising it was just a hypnic jerk.