The Best is Yet to Be

By littlelights

Disclaimer: I am not making any money, blah, blah, blah.

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Chapter 4

Her lacings were too tight again.

The Lady of Winterfell took a moment to pause her pacing, and halfheartedly pulled at the back of her dress. The letter she'd just received from Brianne of Tarth – now Lady Giantsbane, was placed once again on the desk as Sansa arched her back to relieve the pressure of the intricate lacings wreaking down her spine. The weight of this child was proving to be heavier than her firstborn. Already she'd had to let out her dress a second time and add an additional lacing row to the back. There was still a week or so to go until she delivered, and now that the pre-labor pains appeared without warning, there was little comfort she could find anyway.

Walking naked beneath a cloak would have been preferable to wearing any sort of clothing at this point. While that measure would have scandalized the people, it was something her husband probably would have smiled to see in the privacy of their rooms. Those smiles of his were usually a prelude to something else they enjoyed behind closed doors. Where most southerners would have thought she and her husband were distant and rather cold, it was in both their natures to share most of their affections in private.

And the personal moments she shared with Jon in their rooms enflamed her blood. It was a combustible mixture of profane lust and the headiest love which felt more sacred as time passed. The smallest gestures consisted of grasping her hand under the table when they were seated together, or offering his arm as they toured the grounds. When she'd grown heavy with their second child, he'd begun to support her back with one of his strong arms, using the closeness to tuck her into his own warmth. When they were abed, he marveled at the changes the pregnancy brought to her body, caressing the skin above her womb with such awe and reverence that it made her heart sigh.

Still, they couldn't stay cocooned inside all the time now that winter had come. Jon was reluctant to leave her side these days. He'd moved his desk close to hers so they could work in tandem, reviewing ledgers and correspondence together for several hours at a time. They settled disputes seated side by side in the great hall, and took family meals with their siblings and Lady Olenna. She'd shooed him away this morning to help train the guards, anything to keep him active and out in the public eye where he could be a strong visual presence.

Although, it would have been useful to have him around right now when she couldn't quite reach her damnable laces.

A soft knock from the door and the voice of the Stewardess of Winterfell signaled a distraction from pain.

Sansa bid her stewardess to enter and greeted her with a warm smile. "Medda, I'm glad you're here. I find myself in need of your service."

"Whatever you need, your grace." The dark haired woman responded softly, making a quick to move to her queen's side. "I'm guessing it's the laces again."

Sansa turned her back to the stewardess. "Did my face give it away?" Sansa asked as she felt the other woman's nimble fingers untying the bottom strings of her dress.

"Never, your grace." Medda responded kindly. "The hand on your back told me everything I needed to know."

Ever perceptive, Medda was one of the few women she knew who could keep pace with her in wit and actions. She was a quick one, this stewardess.

"Sweet relief," Sansa said with a smile as she felt the fabric give way.

"It's not all that difficult." Medda supplied, her tone lulling and kind. "Any woman who's ever carried a child knows a tight dress is torture for an expectant mother." Quick fingers made subtle adjustments to the fabric, providing more relief. "You should have your maid put extra slack in your lacings. Your figure comes second to your child."

"My husband assisted with my laces this morning," Sansa said with a slight grin. She didn't have to imply what service Jon had provided before he'd helped her dress that morning.

"Oh?" The stewardess didn't sound all that surprised. "Well. I'm sure his grace was only trying to help."

"Yes, he was helpful." But Sansa didn't linger on the answer. Her eyes closed and her mind wandered to her husband's strong arms placing her delicately on her desk, using the act of helping her with her stockings as an excuse to get under her shift. She'd perched on the edge of the desk, panting and heaving from the pleasure his lips and tongue wrought on the sensitive lower regions of her body. Then he helped her dress before breaking their fast.

The kind voice of her attendant broke the silence. "Tomorrow, you may want to wait for your maid, your grace. I'm sure the king can find his talents suited elsewhere."

Sansa nodded. Yes, her maid could see to the laces. Jon was perfectly suited to rubbing her feet and pleasuring her again from a preferably softer position in their bed tomorrow.

"Thank you, Medda." Sansa said with a small sigh of relief when the final crush of pain retreated from her back.

"Of course, your grace."

As Sansa stretched again, she pushed aside the retreating discomfort of her back to focus to the day's tasks at hand. She sat down in her chair, wincing a bit as she pulled the ledger pages open. "What news do you have for me today?"

"The current stock of flour and food stuffs are keeping up with demand." The stewardess began. "There's noticeably less meat in the soup. We may wish to preserve what meat we have on a rotation basis, withholding meat three days a week, substituting dried fish as the shipments from White Harbor are consistent enough."

"Vegetable soups and fish stews for how long?"

"We have plenty of potatoes. Highgarden sent enough for another year. With what small crops we're growing in the glass gardens, we should be able to make a case to keep our meat for future use."

There was a slight pause as Sansa reviewed her tallies in the ledgers. "Fish isn't going to see us through to spring if winter lasts longer than two years."

"No, your grace, it's not." The stewardess agreed, crossing her hands in front of her. "We may need to trade and import food from further afield than White Harbor. Winter Town is growing. As food stocks give out elsewhere, we'll see more and more people arrive looking for help. It would be wise to send away for greater amount of supplies while the roads are still clear."

Sansa made notes in her ledger without comment, listening intently and nodding in agreement when it suited. "Speaking of clear roads, Ser Davos said he sent a cart off to Blackbird Hall this morning." Glancing up, Sansa noted how her stewardess declined to offer up any opinions on the subject right away.

"It was his decision to send the cart, your grace." Medda stated calmly, her face betraying no emotion. "It was his right as Hand of the King."

"He told the king and I that he sent one of the refugee women to Blackbird Hall as well. She somehow managed to lose her guest rights while in his presence. She was a Bole, her family pledged to Lord Ashton?"

"Lord Ashton and what's left of the Boles serve House Glover, your grace."

"Just like your family." Sansa pointed out.

"There are few left from House Forrester," Medda's words were almost blank, as if she was reciting history from the dustiest of books. "All those who marched with your brother King Robb died in battle or at the Red Wedding. What few remained went to fight with King Jon at the wall during the Long Night."

Sansa noted how the stewardess did not dwell on the fate of the women and children of the house who had been brutalized by Ironborn raiders. Regardless, the implications were clear. "There are few left from House Forrester."

"Precious few, my queen."

"Yet you've never felt the need to go home? Back to Ironrath or Deepwood Motte?"

"There's nothing left for me there, your grace." The stewardesses words brought an unbidden chill into the room. "You posed that question three years ago."

"Yes," Sansa acknowledged sadly. "Your family is gone."

Dipping her head, the other woman nodded. "Yes. My sons. My parents. My brothers and my sister. Their families."

Death made everything so final, Sansa thought. Nearly all the people who filled the life before she left for King's Landing had been killed or died before she married Ramsey. It had taken years to feel at ease and comfortable in Winterfell again after everything had changed so tumultuously. It had been people, as much as the stone and mortar to the keep itself, with had begun to make Winterfell a home once more. People like Medda, and Allyse the miller. Maester Wolken and Oona. Her maid Maia. All the faces and family which filled the walls had made this place come alive again with bursts of light and color, even in the dark of winter.

"Ser Davos said that sending the woman home to Blackbird hall to grieve and recover was the best course of action," Sansa pressed ahead. "Jon and I agreed.

"Ser Davos is a good man, your grace." Medda's quick mind seemed to have difficulty finding words. "He was generous when others would have been dismissive."

"That's because Ser Davos is an excellent judge of character." Sansa pointed out. "I don't know if it's from his former life as a smuggler or just a talent he's always had, but he sees right into the heart of a person or a problem and always finds a way to solve it. I trust him. Jon trusts him. There are few people I trust as well as him in this world. He's proven himself time and time again. But I can't help but notice how distant you are with him. And with others in general."

When Medda said nothing, Sansa pushed forward. "He thinks he overstepped his boundaries by sending the woman away. He feels he's slighted you and your authority over guests to our keep and to Winter Town. I would never advocate you take anyone into your confidence without your consent, but the two of you need to talk and make decisions together should the need arise, and trust each other's judgement when to take the lead and where to defer to each other's positions."

Medda nodded stiffly. "Yes, your grace."

Sansa studied her stewardess for a long moment, taking in her statuesque form and deferred stance. "You and I took charge of Winterfell with what few people were here during the Long Night. It required more of us than either of us thought we were able to give. But we survived. We endured, and we did so by working together. And now we're learning to live when before the very real possibility of death was a daily companion. It's a change, and it should be a blessing. I will never ask you what happened when the Ironborn raided your village. Never."

"Thank you."

"But don't let it stop you from embracing what we're building here. You're one of the reasons why Winterfell has sprung back to life. I can't imagine this place without you now. So, please see Ser Davos and sort this out. There may be a need to send others away to other places as Winter progresses, and it's better you're both prepared now than later."

"I will see him before dinner is served, your grace." Sansa was mollified by the small inflection of the stewardesses' dark head, and her respectful response. "What else do you require?"

The two fell into a more comfortable routine of ledger surveys and house hold accounts, and later spoke of improvements made to outbuildings and the mill. By the time their business was completed, Medda quickly excused herself and left the solar. It was a polite, but rushed exit, one which left Sansa pensive. It wasn't unusual for the two of them to visit and chat about the comings and goings of families and events through the seven kingdoms.

Today had been different. Not precisely difficult, but disheartening. The upheaval of war was over. The Long Night had been defeated. But the years had left scars on bodies as well as minds. But it took longer to rebuild a person sometimes than it was to lift stone into place and rebuild a keep. Longer still for a woman to pick up the pieces of a life when there was little left to live for.

It had been more than duty and honor which had saved her life. It had been family and love which had salvaged what had been left of her soul and helped her rebuild again.

So, what would it take for the Stewardess of Winterfell to move beyond the past? Something made Sansa think there was something stranger and wordless at work. An element of change that was present and invisible. What it was, she didn't quite know.

Suddenly finding herself in a maudlin mood, Sansa stroked her burgeoning womb thoughtfully before rising to don her cloak. It was the urge to see her husband, to reassure herself he was alive, which caused her feet to move faster through the corridor. She looked forward to standing above the tiltyard, watching Jon train the new guards from the very perch her parents had stood so many years ago. When she watched him move, he was heat and strength of will brought to life.

As she took in the scene below, Sansa picked out faces in the crowd as well as those walking through the yard. Spotting Ser Davos conferring with two soldiers near the far gate. Approaching them was Medda's telltale hair and cloaked figure making headway through the space. The stewardess, her serviceable cloak stopped just shy of the Hand of the King. The soldiers were excused, shuffling about their duties. Although unable to hear the conversation, the exchanged seemed convivial enough, with Ser Davos nodding and his mouth breaking into a kind smile.

The two parted quickly, and the nagging little pain in Sansa's heart lessened. Bless Medda and her efficiency. Sansa smiled faintly. When she looked down at her husband, she saw him looked up at her with one of his soft smiles of appreciation. The small shot of desire racing through her body had Sansa grinning like an idiot before she managed to stifle the reaction.

No matter. The whole yard had seen it. Good natured chuckles and respectful smiles filled the faces of those in the yard. Not wanting to be the subject of further gossip, Sansa turned on heel, and glided back toward her solar, resolving to finish the day's work in time for supper.

Afterward, Sansa vowed, she shed her damnable dress for the rest of the evening.

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