Sera offers Conin a nod of respect as she approaches her Majesty's chambers.

"Good morn Ser Conin," Sera greets affably, "A quiet night?" she enquires.

Conin smiles slightly and nods, "Good morn Sera, aye a borin' night. Very borin'."

Sera smiles politely even as she thinks Conin seems amused at something in their greetings.

Alas, Sera has duties to attend to.

Conin stands aside from the door and Sera slips through to Her Majesty's solar. The fire has died to mere embers overnight so it seems her Majesty and Her Holiness were not up working or talking out here late into the night at least.

Sera is glad.

Both women need their rest, god or no god.

Sera strides purposefully across the room to reach the heavy wooden door to Her Majesty's chambers. She pauses a moment, strains her ears on the off chance she might hear some noise which might indicate the god and her Queen were still … busy . After a few moments of silence she decides it is likely safe to enter. She takes a deep breath and prepares to keep her eyes on the floor as she enters.

Since accepting the god's suit her Majesty has not been negligent in seeing to her duties as Her Holiness'... lover? Paramour? Mistress? Partner? Sera sighs inside her mind, things would be easier if they would give it a more formal title rather than everyone in Winterfell just calling it 'courting' with all the associated smiles, nudges and innuendo that makes it clear their relationship has gone well beyond any traditional courtship between two people who are unmarried.

Gods and Queens…a law unto themselves.

Sera reaches for the heavy iron handle on the bedchamber door but just as she is about to touch it the door itself shakes as though being rattled by an earth shake.

Sera whips her hand back and raises her head to stare in shock at it.

The heavy wooden door creaks and groans as it hums a dull, angry note for a moment longer, the iron fixings and handle rattling before it settles once more.

Sera stands in mute surprise, her eyes wide as she stares at the door. What in the name of the old gods is going on?

It must be Her Holiness Quake…it…it can be nothing else.

Sera raises her hand again as though to grasp the door's handle and just before she comes into contact with its cool metal the door once more hums and rattles testily as though it has been infected by a swarm of bumblebees.

Sera drops her hand and huffs. She had been begrudgingly prepared to be mortified at once again hearing her Queen moaning or making sounds of pleasure, at least this is a little more subtle. As far as warning her off goes…well, if that isn't the goddess telling her she wants to be left alone with the Queen, then Sera doesn't know what is.

Sera's mind catches up to the implications of the god and her Queen wanting privacy in the early morn and she cannot help her blush staining her cheeks.

Her eyes dart to the door and her mind skitters away from the ideas of what just might be happening behind there in the Queen's chambers right this very moment.

Sera whirls around and paces back to the centre of the Solar. There are no obviously loud cries or moans as she had heard previously so leaving completely seems…premature. She casts her eyes around in search of a distraction.

Yes, the fire. Sera will stoke the fire and have the solar warm. She races towards the dying embers and begins agitating them with a poker and feeding kindling from the basket off to the side.

Her eyes then travel around the room as her hands itch for something else to do. Her nose wrinkles as she sees that there is a thin layer of dust around the edges of the room. It must be from the mortar in the walls, in the heat of a well used and heated solar it can become crumbly and dry, shaking loose a horrendous amount of dust. Shaking loose…Sera cuts the thought off before it can go any further. Mortar dust on the floor needs to be cleaned, where it came from or how it was shook loose is none of her concern. Sera makes a note to add a thorough sweeping of the solar to her chores today once her Majesty is off on her business.

Speaking of her Majesty…Sera struggles to think of what to do next to occupy herself while waiting for the Queen to need her to get ready for the day. Something that may be some time yet if the god has her way.

She will send a message to the small council, Steward Bower and Seneschal Flint that her Majesty will be delayed this morning. It is becoming almost routine now that the court has to push back morning plans when the god returns and the Queen must see to her duty to her.

Then… then perhaps she will draw a bath in here. Her Majesty will once again likely want the soothing heat after a …vigorous morning with the god. This too is becoming routine. Sera scoffs at herself. What has her life become that she is developing a routine to deal with a Queen recently and thoroughly ravished by a god?

Whatever, she has something resembling a plan. It will take some time to heat so much water but her Majesty will appreciate it and it will keep Sera preoccupied with something productive. The god could do it with the wave of her hand but it is Sera's job and she will see to it. It's a nice distraction if nothing else.

Sera has just finished having the wooden tub set up and filled in the solar opposite a now roaring fire when Her Majesty's chamber door creaks open.

Sera turns quickly and bows to the god who is dressed in a rumpled silvery grey surcoat and pants, faint red embroidered leaves across the material.

"Good morn Holiness," Sera greets.

The god smiles widely, a mischievousness and happiness dancing in her eyes as she all but swaggers from the Queen's chambers.

"Sup Sera, thanks for letting us sleep in and sorry if I scared ya with the door thing," Her Holiness brashly comments.

Sera shakes her head quickly and casts her eyes down, hoping her blush does not give her away, "No apologies are required Your Holiness, and while a surprise, I do thank you for your…more discreet notice that her Majesty was having a later morning start today."

Daisy snorts at Sera's diplomatic reply but is prevented from further discourse as Sansa exits her chambers, coming to stand at the gods elbow. The lovers' hands are seemingly drawn like magnets. Their fingers glide together in a loose caress without conscious thought.

"Good morn Majesty," Sera acknowledges her monarch with a deep curtsy.

Sansa offers a small nod and the faintest upturn of her lips as she addresses Sera, "I must second Daisy's thanks Sera, I was most loath to be disturbed this morn and I thank you for diligently preparing the tub."

Sera nods again, secretly relieved that her Queen's voice is intact this morning. That will save on some blushes at least. "Tis nothin' your Majesty. I passed word to Steward Bower and Seneschal Flint that your day will be slightly delayed in commencing, so the small council is not expecting you presently and you can make ready at your leisure."

Sansa's smile becomes fractionally more pronounced, a previously unseen thing even to Sera, her personal servant. The Queen always maintains professional but cordial distance in her interactions, her mask firmly in place so she gives nothing away.

Truly, a Queen of Winter usually…but it seems the god has thoroughly melted the ice this morning. Another thing that Sera is becoming more accustomed to seeing in these most odd of mornings.

Sera marvels in the privacy of her own mind what heedy peaks a god must be able to achieve in bed that could lead to this languid and almost soft version of the Queen…well soft for her at any rate.

"My thanks," Her Majesty replies and turns her whole attention then to the god.

Sera busies herself with arranging drying cloths, soaps and hair combs along the wooden board that rests across the steaming tub.

From the corner of her eye Sera sees how the Queen and god become almost completely consumed with each other as their gazes lock.

Sera and the rest of the room may as well not exist to the couple.

They murmur quiet words which Sera assumes are goodbyes before the god leans up to steal a farewell kiss that has the Queen's cheeks dusting faintly pink and her eyes darting to Sera who appears to not have seen.

Daisy chuckles and departs almost reluctantly.

The Queen stands watching the door the god has exited through with a wistful eye, frozen in a moment.

Even if Sera was as uncouth as to whisper her recollection of seeing her Queen so enamoured and unguarded in this romantic moment to another, none would believe her. Not even the most fantastical of gossips in Winterfell would believe their Queen capable of such naked love and romance. Sera has the fleeting mournful thought that she wishes she could draw or paint so she could capture the image of her Queen in this most rare of vulnerable moments. The god would certainly be pleased and fascinated by the image of her usually cold and controlled lover standing in a gaping cloak over dishevelled night attire, staring vacantly at the door she had passed through like a love sick girl.

Sera, returning from her thoughts and feeling awkward at her Queen's continued vacant frozen gaze, she clears her throat softly, "Your Majesty, the water is still hot if you wish to avail of it. I will fetch your clothes for the day and aid you in doing your hair while you soak."

Sansa startles subtly but then her mask reasserts itself. All emotion leaves her face as though it had never been, cheeks flushed with warm emotion pale to marble, the softness in her eyes hardens,the subtle tilt of her lips firm into a tight line and her shoulders square into her usually regal bearing. With a faint shake of her head she refocuses on Sera.

"Yes, that sounds wonderful Sera,"

The Queen walks sedately across the solar towards the tub, Sera noticing the faintest hitch in her step as though she is tender from a good bedding.

A good ache from Sera's rare recollections.

Sera forces her mind away from such thoughts and refocuses on the Queen. She is barefoot and wears a heavy cloak which she removes to reveal she wears nought but her shift beneath.

Sera takes the cloak and folds it on a chest nearby to be taken back to the room and averts her eyes subtly as the Queen disrobes.

Sera offers a hand for the Queen to balance as she slowly lowers herself into the steaming tub, a faint hiss leaving between her Majesty's teeth before a satisfied sigh as the hot water forces her muscles to untense and soothes aches born of fatigue and cold.

Sera is gladdened that she has been able to provide the tub since it seems the Queen so desperately needs it this morn.

"Do you have a preference for your gown today, your Grace?" Sera asks.

Sansa's eyes are half lidded as she replies with a careless flick of her hands, "Mmm, perhaps the dark forest green one today…with the direwolf pins for the cloak."

Sera nods, "Of course your Grace."

Sera's surprise at the choice of gown is carefully contained. Since the Queen's retaking of Winterfell she has preferred dresses of blacks and greys with fine embroidery of a variety of colours and pale furs…to have her Queen express a desire to wear a different colour, and one even a little lighter speaks to her good mood. Sera has heard all the rumours about Her Majesty's choice of dress from the other servants and various ladies at court. That she is mourning her lost family, that she is doing penance for having murdered a husband she swore to before the old gods (no matter how justified), even that the Queen is choosing to wear darkest colours in order to seem more militaristic and serious since she is a female leading a nation in war time.

Whatever the reason, Sera is pleased that this rarely used gown will be given an airing today, the dark green being particularly flattering alongside the Queen's hair.

Sera lifts the discarded shift and cloak and bustles towards her Majesty's chamber door to retrieve the fresh green gown, do a quick tidy and stoke the fire before returning to aid Sansa in bathing and doing her hair.

Sera is just about to reach the bedchamber door when Sansa softly calls out, "Sera,"

Sera pauses and turns back to face her Queen who rather than looking at her when giving her directions or commands is uncharacteristically consumed by smelling a small cake of soap and staring fixedly at the tub bench.

"Yes, your Grace?"

Her Majesty clears her throat and in a controlled voice informs Sera that, "There is some minor damage to some furniture in my chambers. Would you see to it being fixed today while I am at my duties?"

Sera's brows scrunch in confusion as she observes the Queen. Beneath the rigid control Sera could swear she detects the faintest embarrassment and perhaps smugness(?) in the Queen's tone, yet why she would feel such things over damaged furniture Sera cannot even guess at.

Alas, hers is not to reason why, so she bows nonetheless and replies, "Of course your Grace. I will see to it."

Sera turns and enters the Queen's chambers.

She casts her eye across the table, the two chairs by the fire and then the writing desk; but sees no damage immediately apparent.

Perhaps it is one of the chests that is damaged? Sera discards the issue and resolves to inspect the furniture more thoroughly for the piece that needs repaired when the Queen goes about her day.

Sera places the shift to be washed by the door and begins the process of picking up the Queen's discarded clothing.

Sera pauses as she finds a pale grey court gown in the middle of the floor, scrunched up and obviously having been removed in haste.

Sera buries her blush at the implications of what circumstances under which such a hasty disrobing would occur under her confusion at why the pale grey gown and the direwolf cloak are haphazardly discarded at all. Her Majesty was not wearing these items yesterday… Sera knows because she helps the Queen dress every morning. The pale grey gown is almost white and a nightmare to keep clean. Sera had been secretly pleased that the Queen's taste for darker gowns recently has meant this one would rarely be worn but for some grand occasion. So why is it on the floor as though recently worn?

Did the god help the Queen change dresses or did the Queen change dress alone? Sera panics for a moment wondering if she had been unavailable yesterday when the Queen must have had need of her…but no, she is always diligent about her duties and is merely a single call for aid away.

Sera picks up the gown and cloak, they are relatively clean but for a small amount of dirt on the hem which can be dried by the fire and brushed off with a soft bristle brush.

Marching to one of the Queen's chests Sera opens it and finds the dress from yesterday that she had in fact aided the Queen into the previous morning. It is folded innocently on top of the chest's contents. Sera lifts it out and after running a critical eye across it and calculating how many days it has been worn she concludes that drying and brushing will not be enough and instead this gown will need a light wash alongside the shift.

Sera eyes the pale gown with scrunched brows as she tries to fathom why the Queen would have worn it. Why would the Queen put on such a fine and formal gown? There were no functions in the Great Hall last night. No visitors who needed impressed or intimidated. The Queen had not called for her to aid her in dressing in is no stain so terrible on yesterday's gown that would require the Queen to have quickly changed into this gown. Even if the Queen had needed to change…why this gown? There are many others better suited to the Queen's current tastes and needs…the pale grey gown is…impractical for daily wear.

The sudden thought that the Queen may have changed into the pale grey gown for a private meeting and time with the god occurs to Sera. Afterall, when the Queen had informed Sera her services were not required last night after the evening meal, she had still been wearing the dark gown which Sera aided her into that morning…so she must have changed into the pale grey one late in the evening…when only the god spends time with her… Sera stuffs the revelatory thought from her mind before her thoughts can dive down a rabbit whole of speculation which she desperately wants to avoid.

Sera sets the pale grey gown close to the fire to dry the hem and stokes the fire to a roaring heat. She decisively sets aside the mystery of the pale grey gown in preference of seeing to her duties. If Her Majesty had wished to dress in such a fine gown privately for the god…well, that is none of Sera's business and certainly nothing she will think too closely about.

She folds and places yesterday's gown by the door with the shift to take down to wash later and returns to the chests to retrieve the rarely worn dark green gown.

It is as Sera turns from the chest holding the green gown that she notices something which should have been obvious from the moment she entered the room.

The bed looks… off .

Sera stares in puzzlement.

The canopy and curtains are askew.

Sera steps back to get a better view and peers at the canopy which looks almost collapsed inwards.

What on earth happened?

Perhaps the fabric has torn or been moth eaten and it is just collapsing? That may explain the eskew shape of the canopy and the seeming odd angles of the four posts holding up the curtains.

Or did one of the rails break? Perhaps wood worms or rot? That will be a bugger to fix if it is rotten. If it is woodworms it will have to be treated or cut out quickly before the rest of the furniture is infected and damaged. Yet, Sera is sure she has been diligent in wiping the furniture down with vinegar and setting up chestnuts to attract woodworm away from the furniture and hanging rosemary and clove filled bags between the curtain's pleats to ward off all sorts of insects and pests.

Sera steps towards the bed, consternation rising in her chest that her diligent preventative measures must have failed to protect her Queen's furniture. It feels like a personal failing.

Her eyes narrow and her face contorts in confusion however as she closes in on the bed.

It is when she reaches the foot of the bed and stops staring up at the canopy and curtains that she finally sees the real culprit.

Sera's eyes dip to look into the imposing four poster bed and across the small sea of rumpled furs and blankets.

It is then she sees the damaged headboard.

Sera's breath catches in her chest and she is frozen in mute shock.

Her eyes grow huge and her mouth drops open in a silent exclamation of " oh !" at what she sees.

The headboard is marred by a large and obvious crack straight up its centre.

The headboard which is made of ironwood.

Ironwood!…the strongest wood in the known world.

Ironwood; the wood that is named for its famed strength as being as tough as metal, unbending and unbreaking. It is a material that is used to make quarterstaffs capable of clashing with swords. For it to break…that…how? What!?

Sera's mind seems to have shut down.

The Ironwood headboard is one of the few remaining items of furniture that survived the sacking of Winterfell. Its sturdy size and almost unbreakable material meant it was left unmolested.

Yet there it sits, cracked straight down the middle.

No wonder the canopy and curtains seemed to be sagging inward, the back two posts and canopy are affixed to the ironwood headboard…a headboard which has buckled along the deep crack that runs straight through its middle.

The force that would be needed to make such a sturdy lump of ironwood split and crack is mind boggling.

Sera knows her Holiness is powerful and dangerous but this…this…

Sera sucks in a harsh breath and her head snaps to the door of the solar as her mind races to the Queen.

The Queen who was in bed with the being who split Ironwood.

The Queen who seemed to be merely sore and a mite stiff.

Sera is always careful to not stare at Her Majesty's scars when she disrobes, the unkind reminders imprinted in her flesh of her time under the Lannisters and then the Boltons. Since becoming the lover of the god, Sera has been doubly circumspect since love bites and minor bruises of an intimate nature have become somewhat common for the Queen upon the morn after doing her duty with the god. The occasions upon which she has had to retrieve bruise balm from the Maester for her Queen do not escape her memory.

Yet now Sera desperately casts her mind back to the brief glimpse of Her Majesty's nude form she had this morning as she aided her into the tub.

There were no obviously new bruises…and the Queen was walking and happy. Minor stiffness…nothing truly out of the ordinary.

Sera's eyes snap back to the bed and she hesitantly creeps forward to examine it.

She checks the other posts and sees no damage to them.

Then she casts off the furs and blankets to check the bed frame, ignoring the musky scents and intimate dampness therein. The cracked headboard alone is proof enough of the energetic activities in this bed last night.

Sera sees no signs of blood and the bed frame is whole. The rope lattice of the base will need some serious tightening, but again…nothing really unusual since the Queen accepted the god's suit.

Carefully, Sera stands on the very edge of the bed so she can reach up and touch the crack in the headboard…it is deeper than it looks. Running straight through the four inch thick piece of Ironwood. 'Minor damage' the Queen had said…what a fucking understatement.

Sera swallows around a suddenly dry throat and whispers, "By the old gods and the new!"

Sera feels her own breath coming in short pants.

The Queen must be mad.

Truly, utterly mad.

There is doing your duty and then there is…this.

To willingly get into bed with something which can casually break ironwood…the Queen is the bravest or maddest woman she knows.

She must have a spine of solid iron…to go not only willingly, but …by the small smiles Sera has caught in these private chambers…happily to do a duty that could see a person broken as easily and surely as this headboard.

Sera's eyes squint as she looks at the headboard. For the god to crack the headboard that would mean it was the Queen who was…

Sera cuts off the thought before it can reach the logical conclusion. For the headboard to be cracked it has to have been the god reaching a peak, the god being…taken by the Queen.

Sera swallows around her dry throat.

She clenches her hands to mute the subtle shakes she feels in them.

She backs away from the bed to retrieve the gown for her Queen and return to aid her bath.

Sera pauses every step back to the solar, casting another hesitant and shocked look at the broken headboard each time. Her mind is still reeling and disbelieving of what she has seen and concluded from it.

Sera had thought herself beyond being shocked by these morning after duties in the Queen's chambers, but alas it seems the god and the Queen are set upon providing newer and grander surprises and mortifying revelations each morning.

It is as Sera almost reaches the solar door that she freezes as a thought strikes her: The Queen had asked her to have her furniture fixed!

Sera's eyes widen and she stares at the bed...well shit!

A stream of curses roll through her mind and a groan escapes from deep in her throat.

Bollocks!How is she supposed to get that fixed without the entirety of Winterfell hearing the god and the Queen's love making is so vigorous that they broke an Ironwood bed for fuck's sake!

Sera huffs…that, that is a problem she will deal with after the Queen is bathed and off to deal with her small council.

Sera takes a deep and steadying breath to calm herself and allow her face to return to professional indifference before stepping back into the solar.

Sera marches back into the solar and towards the Queen who seems to need aid in doing her hair.

If the Queen is faintly blushing as she meets Sera's speculative gaze or whether it is the hot water of the tub pinking her skin….who is to say for sure?

Sera surreptitiously glances at her Queen's shoulders, arms and back as she works but sees no new concerning marks or bruises bar the mountingly common love bites of her god. When it comes time for the Queen to step out of the bath Sera casts her eye across her Queen's form and is gladdened to see no evidence she had missed some dire injury.

It seems it was only the bed which suffered such damage.


Sera has been putting off the task of dealing with the bed. Half because she dreads the gossip and awkward questions such a task will unleash and half because she has been trying to puzzle out how exactly to go about the issue in the most discreet manner possible.

Winterfell had been abuzz with a perverse, smugly patriotic pride since the first morning after the Queen had been overheard screaming her pleasure as the god thoroughly raked her ashes . Sera had dodged innuendo laden questions for days, ignored knowing looks and pretended to be deaf at the rabid gossip which swept the occupants of Winterfell. What sort of fever and idiotic northern national pride would the revelation that the Queen tupped the god so well she broke an ironwood headboard cause? Sera groans internally at the mere thought of it.

Sera focused on her duties. She had the tub emptied, dropped off the gown and shift to be washed, brushed the hem of the light grey gown she had placed to dry by the chamber fire, stripped the bed and set out new sheets for later use.

Nosey servants will undoubtedly have to be traipsing into the Queen's private chambers to fix the bed, but they have no need to see their rumpled sheets and Sera intends to give them no more ammunition to gossip about….because that is one thing Sera is sure of. No matter how discreet she is or how tightly servants are bound to oaths of discretion, this gossip will get out.

Sera drops off the sheets to be laundered and makes her way to Steward Bower's office. If he isn't there then he is out doing some work for her Majesty or organising one of the hundred jobs that are his responsibility around Winterfell.

Sera really hopes the man is in his office, she cannot spare the time to hunt him down and undoubtedly someone would notice her frantic search. The privacy of his office also offers a far better environment for discussing this very private and delicate matter.

As Sera approaches Steward Bower's office she breathes a sigh of relief at hearing the low hum of voices conversing.

The Steward's door is open and Bower sits behind a desk with almost as much paperwork as Her Majesty's.

He is discussing ongoing repairs and something about the allocation of rooms for the influx of people who are taking refuge in Winterfell.

Bower glances up and meets Sera's eye as she lingers outside his office. He offers a fractional nod as recognition of her presence before refocusing on the men before him.

Their conversation continues in low murmurs for another few minutes before the Steward is seemingly satisfied that they are all on the same page and the men troop out of his office to carry out their tasks.

Bower stands from his desk and gestures for Sera to enter, "You needed something Sera?"

Sera bows as she enters his office and then her eyes dart to his open door and the hard seat before his desk that she wishes to take.

Sera usually likes Bower's rather unusual open door policy as it makes the man approachable in a way that Stewards in many other grand keeps are not. Bower himself has exasperatedly commented more than once that he has so much to do and so many people tripping in and out of his office that he had actually considered, in jest, just removing the door altogether.

Today however, Sera finds the open door makes her feel exposed and anxious considering the delicate matter she wishes to discuss with him. Afterall, anyone could walk up to the door or pass in the corridor and eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Excuse me Steward Bower, would you mind if I closed the door. Mayhap, our topic of discussion is a mite sensitive?" Sera requests.

Bower leans across his desk as though to examine her expression in the dim daylight from the one small window. His eyes narrow in thought before he replies.

"That kind of conversation is it? Well, if you think it wise and you are comfortable that your honour will not be impugned you may close the door. If'n not we may call for a chaperone?"

Sera nods and allows her half smile to show as she dryly responds, "I trust in your honour Steward, and I think that, while brief, our conversation will be…delicate enough that you will be pleased to have ensured privacy and secrecy even from a chaperone."

Sera appreciates Bowers offer of a chaperone. As a woman in her late twenties she is considered an old maid already by some and while she may be no maiden in reality, her youthful indiscretions were discrete enough that her honour has never been questioned. Sera appreciates his candour and the respect his offer of a chaperone offers, even if Sera believes it unnecessary as well as unwise considering her desire to limit the number of ears who hear of what she wishes to speak.

"Very well," Bower agrees with a suddenly more concerned expression at her preoccupation with discretion. Sera closes the heavy door. Its hinges squeak painfully from disuse.

She swiftly returns and takes the seat opposite the Steward's desk, "How can I help you Sera? Does the Queen require assistance or is this something of a more personal nature?"

Sera wants to chuckle at his oblique reference to a matter of a 'personal nature.' Such a polite euphemism for asking if Sera is about to quit her job because, like so many others in the North, she is to be wed or perhaps she is with child outside of wedlock and must resign her position for fear of bringing shame on the Royal household.

It seems that with a war of legendary proportions on their doorstep every eligible person is wedding and bedding. Not a small number of young women are birthing bastards left and right too. Between the god Daisy's lack of care about bastardy, dismissiveness of marriage as a prerequisite for intimacy and the certainty of mass casualties from the oncoming war ahead, it seems the fear of death is causing a boom in marriages and new babes.

Sera is uninterested for the moment in either prospect and prefers to focus on her job. If'n she can make the Queen's life even a little easier, then she has played her part and that is far more important than some frivolous romance born of fear or a gasping grasp at a hint of immortality through babes.

Sera decides cutting to the chase is the best option, "The Queen requires some of her furniture repaired. I was hoping you might be able to arrange for some servants with carpentry experience who could see to it today. I will be on hand to grant them entry in the absence of Lords of the Bedchamber being far down her Majesty's list of priorities, the Royal Guard and the Order have been guarding the Queen's chambers so there will be someone to chaperone as they work."

Bower seems taken off guard at the matter she brings to him, and even a little relieved that the topic is seemingly something so mundane as furniture repair rather than her announcement of her impending marriage or birthing a bastard which may have required he find some other servant who would be acceptable to the Queen to take up her duties. In fact, Bower seems somewhat confused at the need for privacy for such a mundane topic of discussion. He leans back in his chair, his tired eyes examining Sera as he considers her request, "There is plenty of furniture from the unused rooms and towers we have been clearing out, as well as a few nicer pieces that Wright from Wintertown has recently returned from being repaired. I am sure we can swap whatever furniture in the Queen's chambers that are damaged for something serviceable and have the damaged things sent to Wright for repair. Although, I thought we had inventoried the best pieces that survived the Bolton's ravaging and her Majesty had been given only the sturdiest pieces?"

Sera clears her throat, "Swapping the piece is…not exactly feasible Steward. The piece to be fixed isn't a chair or a desk but rather…well…"

Sera trails off as she struggles to say the damning words that make her cheeks burn and her eyes dart away from Bower in mortification.

Bower seems to be growing impatient, "Spit it out woman, is it the fireplace? What is it?"

Sera huffs before blurting out, "The bed! Her Majesty's bed has been damaged and she commanded that I see to its repair."

Sera gasps in a breath even as Bower reels back in shock, he blinks slowly as though trying to compute her words, "The bed…as in, her Majesty's four poster…"

Sera merely nods, her eyes fixed on a point a few inches above Bower's right shoulder, her cheeks stained deeply with red. She feels as though her face is aflame.

Bower seems to be struggling with the same mental issues that she did at the idea of the imposing piece of furniture being damaged.

"One of the posts or the curtain rail has bowed or broken from rot mayhap?" he grasps to rationalise.

Sera just shakes her head miserably in the negative.

Bower's face is now a mask of confusion as he tries to fathom what damage could have befallen such a bed.

'Please don't make me have to say it,' Sera chants inside her mind as she curses Bower for being oblivious.

Bower stares at her, a faint blush rising in his cheeks as a thought occurs to him, "Uh, um, the rope lattice, it has worn out then? We have fine rope in storage, I can have a few yards sent up for you to replace…"

Sera shakes her head again to cut him off. If only it was merely frayed or worn out rope, such a thing would have been bad enough and implied the robust use of the bed but Sera could have fixed that discreetly herself.

Girding herself and straightening her spine Sera decides she must speak plainly before this conversation meanders anymore, "Her Majesty's bed needs a new headboard. There is a rather large crack running the length of the Ironwood which has compromised the two attached posts holding up the curtains and canopy."

Bower sits in silence at this description for a moment, his eyes unfocus as he tries to visualise the imposing piece of furniture fit for royalty. Sansa had demanded the bed moved into her chambers and her old one, the one she was forced to share with the Bolton bastard, burned. Understandable.

The Steward's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, he gapes helplessly and all moisture flees his mouth as he finally comprehends what Sera has so calmly stated.

"The…the Ironwood headboard is cracked?" Bower asks, his voice becoming uncharacteristically high and wispy on the last word.

Sera nods, "Deeply. It has compromised the canopy and posts. It must be replaced."

Bower seems to be in shock. His usually calm voice reaches an almost manic squeak as he asks, "But…it's ironwood!…how? What could…?"

His voice is edging on hysteria. If they had the time and the issue was not so serious Sera may have allowed herself to be amused at seeing the usually unflappable man so discombobulated.

Sera scowls and her patience runs thin as she dryly retorts, "I imagine sharing one's bed with a god means even ironwood is vulnerable when doing one's duty. "

Bower colours blood red from the crown of his thinly haired head, all the way down his face and throat.

He tries to swallow around his dry throat once, twice, and finally succeeds on the third attempt.

To his credit, the man rallies quickly as he refocuses on his duties. He clears his throat with a hoarse cough into his fisted hand as he reasserts his usually stern voice and persona, "The Queen…she did not make her morning small council meeting as usual…is this why? Need we send for the Maester? The sisters Edla and Eda to clean chambers and sheets?"

Bower is leaning across the table now in faintly restrained panic at the thought of their Queen injured.

Sera shakes her head vigorously, "Her Majesty merely overslept…an understandable endeavour considering. She had a hot bath and left for her small council meeting shortly before I arrived here. I expect you will be receiving a summons to meet with her soon to discuss your usual matters. Other than some small stiffness which is not unusual from such duties the Queen seemed well, this I swear. I had the sheets sent for laundry this morning myself and they were free of blood."

Bower sighs a gusty breath of relief, as he settles back in his seat.

"Good, good, that is…good." Bower murmurs, almost seemingly reassuring himself.

Sera waits for the man to recompose himself and refocus, his trembling hand shuffling papers on his desk as he frowns, "An ironwood headboard…to think…and the Queen…Not an easy thing to repair. The best we could do would be to have it replaced while the Ironwood is mended in some manner. The replacement would have to be made to measure, mayhap Wright from Wintertown would be the best man for the job to see it done discreetly and quickly…we have any number of men with experience working wood in Winterfell but ones we can trust to be discrete and do the job quickly to a high standard? Especially with Ironwood…tricky."

Sera remains quiet, allowing Bower to talk through the problem aloud.

"Hmm, yes, yes, there are two young men. A recently qualified apprentice and the young lad apprenticed to him. I shall send a message to Wintertown for Wright to make all haste here to see to this matter and I will send for the others I have in mind. Who is on rotation for protecting the Royal suites and corridors today?"

Sera grimaces, "Walter Wheeler is guarding the royal suites, but Wagstaff is also on roster for walking the route too."

Bower sighs deeply, "So, bugger all chance of keeping this discrete with Wagstaff on rota. There's no malice in the eager sod but he wouldn't know discretion if it bit him in the rear."

Sera gave a half shrug, "Considering the tools and the fact a new headboard will have to be carried in while the old one will have to be carried out I doubt this could have been kept completely quiet Steward Bower. There are few enough men who can work with Ironwood so while Wright would be the best bet within a 3 day ride of here at least to have it fixed eventually, with his convenient expertise comes the fact the locals of Wintertown will see him coming and going and gossip will ensue."

Bower nods in agreement, running his hand tiredly down his face, "Speculation is one thing, hell it may even be a good thing for a few of those lug headed and crass fellows who question our Queen yet to see the risks her duties require. Yet, discretion in respect of her dignity is still warranted as much as possible."

Sera nods, "I'll do what I can and I know Walter will do all he can to ensure no sour words are spread about the Queen or the god. The smug innuendo, gossip and odd national pride at our Queen being capable of such a feat however are another matter entirely."

Bower lets a dry chuckle loose, "Aye, true. If'n we can contain it to just that smug pride and the vagueness of gossip then we will have done well. So long as details do not leak. I'll give it to the Order though, their men are loyal…scarily so. I wouldn't want to anger Walter, not after seeing him wave around those horse picks of his, I think whatever is said on the matter we can direct it to be less scandalous and more…mysterious and awe inspiring perhaps."

Bower begins scribbling on paper, most likely a note to have sent to Wright.

"I'll make arrangements, hopefully the men will be with you before the midday meal. I trust you can discreetly inform Walter of the expected visitors to the Royal suite?" Bower states.

Sera nods, a slight weight lifting from her shoulders, "Aye Steward Bower. I will see to it."

With a final nod and a dismissive wave of his hand Sera departs. She intends to sweep the chamber of dust and speak with Walter before the servants and Wright appear.


Sera is sweeping in Her Majesty's solar when the expected knock comes at the door and Walter shows in the three men who have been tasked with fixing this debacle. The first is the broad shouldered, gruff Master Carpenter of Wintertown: Wright Woodson. Wright wore his ubiquitous leather apron and his usual glowering face. The younger Master Carpenter Rickald Wainwright follows to Wright's side. He is in his late twenties, with weather beaten skin and hands which are calloused but not yet fully hardened to his craft. The final young man, or perhaps boy is a better description, follows behind his Master's steps. The boy of perhaps fifteen years is athletically built despite being caught in that mid way point between teen and adulthood. His features are strong but obscured by a layer of dirt, wood dust and varnish. He wears a fur and leather hat pulled down over his head against all polite protocols to remove headwear when indoors.

Walter, attired in his Order cloak, with his wolf and weirwood pin proudly on display and a pair of horse picks at his waist nods to Sera, "Wright Woodson, Rickald Wainwright and his apprentice Gerion Hill. Sera is the Queen's personal servant. They are here to fix the furniture for her Majesty."

The men troop into the solar, their eyes roaming subtly around the room while the young Gerion's head seems to be on a swivel as he cannot help but gaze in wonder at the royal Solar. The sanctuary of his Queen. The furniture is all of the highest quality Gerion has seen: dark Northern woods and tasteful carvings…but understated. The walls are bare and there are little to no decorations. A desk overflowing with papers, a pair of chairs by the fire, a table, richly decorated clothes chests, a water basin and a few other pieces of furniture populate the room. It all embodies the Queen's regency. It is understated elegance without wasteful expense. Where other monarchs would have sought elaborate tapestries, rich fabrics and pretty baubles, Queen Sansa Stark's chambers speak of a monarch who is more concerned with her people's needs than her own comfort or indulgence in luxury.

Sera offers the men a faint smile, "Thank you for coming."

Rickald bows his head while catching his young apprentice with a strong hand on his shoulder and prompting him to bow too, "It is an honour to help her Majesty however we can."

Wright, the older and surlier man offers a faint nod, his leather apron sagging under the weight of the tools within, "Well, Seneschal Flint and Steward Bower has been sending a lot of work my way, reckon it would be rude to turn Bower down when he says it's important. Helps his askin' sounded a lot like an order to get my bum up here without delay. So, what's the problem eh? The Queen's floors buckling? What?"

Sera casts her eyes across the men even as she pulls the iron key to the Queen's bedchamber from her dress pocket. Walter moves to stand at her shoulder and they both fix the three woodworkers with steely stares.

"Before we proceed gentlemen, we must ask that you swear oaths that nothing you see here today will ever be spoken of. You are here to fix furniture. The particulars of the job beyond that are no-one else's business. What people may speculate as they see you come and go with materials is one thing, but you will not be adding to any rumours to confirm or deny, do you understand?"

Rickald and his apprentice nod immediately. The man is obviously eager for the work and Sera knows he has realised that completing whatever this job is with discretion will stand him in good stead for more work. "I swear by the old gods and the new nothing we see here will be spoken of. These are the Queen's private chambers afterall."

Rickald nudges the young apprentice who eagerly seconds his Master's words, "I swear too. I wouldn't never break the Queen's trust!" His chest puffs out in youthful pride and Sera offers the teen a soft smile.

Wright watches Sera and Walter with a steely gaze. The man has survived the changing of the ruler of Winterfell more than once. Being in his mid 40s he has seen how dangerous getting caught up in noble affairs can be, even just fixing their blasted furniture. It was why he undersold his skill when the Bolton's took over, being a clumsy woodworker who made uncomfortable chairs or wobbly tables for the small folk drew less attention than admitting he was a master craftsman who could carve, inlay, and work with exotic materials.

Wright scratches his head and weighs Sera and Walter, "What could possibly be so sensitive that it needs an oath eh? Hmm, I can think of but one thing…" Wright leaves the sentence dangling heavy with implication as he cocks an inquirying brow at Sera and Walter.

Walter's hands move unconsciously to his horse picks at his waist as he stares down the Master carpenter.

Sera tenses at the idea Wright has guessed what this is all about.

Wright eyes them both and snorts, "Like that is it? Fine. I so swear. I'll not say a damned thing. By the old gods, the new and Ser Johnson too. Had her at my workshop and while I would never cross her, I am intrigued now what it is I have to fix."

Sera settles, "Come on then."

She turns and unlocks the chamber door, showing the small party inside, "The damage is to the headboard. You may retrieve any materials you need but the bed must be stabilised by tonight. Walter and I will remain with you at all times while you are in these rooms."

The small group follows Sera as she marches towards the bed, sounds of harshly sucked in breaths echoing between them at the revelation it is the bed that is damaged.

The group stands at the foot of the stripped bed and all stare at the cracked headboard.

Sera, having seen it all before projects disinterest. Gerion, bless his youth, just stares in fascination at the crack while a blush races across his cheeks, obvious despite his ruddy and stained complexion.

Rickald's mouth hangs open and his eyes track from the damaged headboard to the sagging canopy and leaning posts.

Wright is the one who reacts the most.

He immediately walks to the head of the bed and his huge hand runs reverently across the headboard, reaching for the deep crack.

He releases an impressed whistle from between his teeth, "Cracked all the way through. The headboard was anchoring the posts and the canopy. Difficult to damage and more difficult to fix since it's Ironwood." The shock and awe is heavy in his words.

Rickald squeaks, "Ironwood?"

Wright nods and hums, "Aye, a fine piece too, thick. It'll take all four of us men to get it down and we'll need a cart to get it to my workshop. It'll be a bitch to carry down the stairs. Might want to put some sheets over it, keep the rabble from gawping."

Sera sighs at the confirmation of her and Bower's suspicions, "So it can't be fixed here?"

Wright snorts, "Impossible. It'll take all my skill and at least a couple of weeks to stabilise it. I'll have to make hardened steel staple pins and maybe put a spine board on the back to secure the split…driving anything into ironwood is...you don't want to know how hard that is. It may even be better just to finish the split, level the two halves, add a frame to make up the loss and reconnect the pieces with biscuit joints, or a tongue and groove. Hell, maybe even just finishing the split and makin' a pair o'shields of it would be easier. I won't know the best way to fix it till I get it down and in me worksop, but I suppose it holds sentimental value for Her Majesty so making shields or any fix too crude would be right out. Headboard like that is bound to have been in these rooms for generations. I'm probably the last person within a hundred miles who knows how to work Ironwood."

Rickald seems to have recovered from his shock and found his voice enough to demand an answer to the question circling in his mind, "It's Ironwood! How is this even possible?"

Sera and Wright share a look but don't comment.

Gerion pipes up in his youthfully deep voice which is so at odds with his appearance, "What's Ironwood?

Rickald turns to his young apprentice to explain, "It's the hardest wood in the world. Comes from the Wolf's wood and Haunted forest almost exclusively. It is as hard as iron and makes the finest shields known to man…but it's hard to work with cause it's so tough. Another two years of your apprenticeship and I would have introduced it to you but I admit I have little experience with it myself, nor did my own master. Bloody tough stuff to work with and expensive."

Gerion's eyes swing back to the dark wood headboard in awe, "How'd it break then?"

Wright snorts, "Well, the Queen accepted the suit of a god so I think that explains it."

Sera and Walter remain quiet at the speculation. Poor Gerion squints at the bed as though trying to fathom any action in the bed which could result in such horrific damage to ironwood. His blush returns and he casts his eyes to the floor, a smug smile repressed at the edges of his lips.

Rickald's face too is scrunched in thought as he stares at the bed and the cracked headboard, confusion evident in every squinting wrinkle around his eyes.

His gaze ping pongs from the stripped bed to the cracked headboard and he almost speaks to himself as he whispers, "But…to break the headboard. That is the god's power,….that would mean it was the Queen who was-"

Walter clears his throat harshly, "I would advise that you cease such speculation right there lest you wish to lose your tongue."

Rickald's scalding blush transforms to milk paleness at Walter's growled threats.

Wright snorts and a chuckle escapes him. A wry smile twisting his lips, "Bloody Queen has balls of steel getting into bed with a god. Makes you proud to be Northern."

Sera resists the desire to groan and slap her hand across her face in exasperation. Bloody prideful Northerners, sometimes she just despairs for her own people. She is beginning to understand why Her Holiness just punches so many men in the face.

Gerion's eyes swivel between everyone as he struggles to untangle the weight and meaning of everything being said. Sure, this is not gossip to be bandied about but nor is it anything shameful. Gerion himself thinks it just makes the Queen even more bloody brilliant. He feels oddly and smugly proud that she is his Queen for a whole new reason.

Wright slaps Rickald on his shoulder, "Come on lad, you have mastered basic woods but you've never worked with Ironwood on this scale. Be of some use in getting this thing down and putting up a replacement to tide it over and I'll let you and your apprentice come down to Wintertown and learn how to work the Ironwood as I fix it."

Rickald blinks in surprise, coming out of his shock enough to stammer, "T-that would be appreciated Master Wright, an honour in fact."

Gerion beams at the rare opportunity. To work with a Master of Wright's calibre, a carpenter who understands the secrets of such a rare and expensive wood is a great honour indeed.

"You can requisition any materials you need from Winterfell and a cart has been made ready for your use on Steward Bowers's orders. Can the bed be made usable by this evening?"

Wright nods, "Aye. We'll get this brute of a thing down, use it as a template to cut a replacement. Not hard that. We'll even have some time to do some quick and dirty carving to make it fit for the Queen. Even when the Ironwoods back up the replacement can be repurposed for another bed or made into a decorative footboard."

Rickald nods, "Aye, that sounds doable. It isn't complicated making a replacement from softer wood and getting it up, although time is limited, what would we carve?"

Wright snorts, "Why a direwolf of course, t'is the Queen's bed and it takes a right fierce beast to be in there with a god I reckon!"

Walter growls under his breath and glares but Wright seems unaffected as he guffaws while Rickald chokes on his own breath at the bawdy jest. Poor Gerion just ducks his head to hide his blush and Sera sighs in exhaustion. Fucking Northerners ! Sera truly understands the exasperation with which Her Holiness says it now right before she punches someone in the face. Maybe she should learn how to throw a punch?


Hours later the dark wooden headboard with a rudimentary Direwolf head carved proudly in its centre has replaced the cracked ironwood headboard. The canopy and posts have been re-afixed and Sera has remade the bed with fresh sheets. In all, it is a good job.

The removal of the Ironwood headboard had been a clumsy affair. The size, thickness and weight of the thrice cursed lump of wood had made it an arduous task to get it down all the steps and onto a cart to be squirrelled away into Wright's workshop.

Even with Wright, Walter, Rickald and Gerion the headboard had been awkward and heavy to move, so Walter had enlisted a few other Order members' aid.

They had joked it was good weight training.

The headboard had been covered by sheets and old curtains tied around it tightly, yet Sera was under no illusion that everyone in Winterfell did not have some idea of what it was they were lugging out down from the same floor as the royal suits.

Ser Wagstaff, seeing them struggle with the beast of burden had aided them when he came across them on his patrol of the Royal floor.

Sera had wanted to send him away but they needed his help.

Help that, at the evening meal, Sera saw come to cost them some of the little discretion they had managed as Waggstaff, the bumbling idiot, had confirmed at least part of the rumours.

When the evening meal was being served Aedra, the cunning viper had hung around Wagggstaff like a fly on horse shite. She picked her target well.

An innocuous, but well calculated comment about all the commotion of moving furniture from unused rooms while refilling Waggstaff's wine had the foppish knight absently inform her, "Oh no, the broken headboard was from Her Majesty's rooms."

Walter had unceremoniously stuffed a chunk of bread into the idiot's mouth to shut him up as every single man of the Order and Royal Guard simultaneously offered him poisonous glares which he seemed blissfully ignorant of.

Before anyone could offer comment or rebuttal Aedra was off and running. The implication of the confirmation that it was the Queen's bed that the carpenters had been feverishly fixing all day was undoubtedly spread at the speed of galloping horses all around Winterfell and across the North.

The scandalous, and no doubt bawdy, theories of how the Queen's bed broke will undoubtedly be the talk of the nation for months, if not years.

The fact the Queen walked with the faintest stiffness and shifted with barely perceptible discomfort on her seat when she sat for the evening meal certainly didn't help the rumours.