Part II: lost


"You did what?" shouted Arya, her mouth hung open.

"I asked him to find me a husband?" reiterated the Queen, suddenly feeling small.

Arya rubbed the area between her brows and sighed deeply. "You're an idiot, Sansa. You're going to crush him. I hope for your sake that you're ready to face the consequences of what you just did."

"There will be no consequences," she said through gritted teeth. "I trust him to find me someone perfectly suitable."

"What about love?" retorted the shorter Stark. "You've always been going on and on about finding love, the perfect prince. You've been married off twice already, I thought you didn't want to marry again, and certainly not for some stupid idea of duty!"

"Look who's talking now," replied Sansa, her voice cold. "You were the one going on and on about a lady's duties to give an heir!"

Arya's composure faltered, and she was back to the emotionless assassin she was. "It's not the same."

"No, you're right," laughed Sansa humourlessly. "It's infinitely worse."

"How is it worse?" said Arya, suddenly sad and tired. "You haven't lost a child, Sansa. You have the chance to marry a man devoted to you, and to have children and raise them to be the kings and queens of our home."

Sansa felt guilty. Arya was right, at least she could have children unlike her barren sister. "Arya, I-I know. But he's a knight. Marrying a lord will be better for the north."

"The north has never been better than within your hands," nearly pleaded Arya, grabbing her sister's hands in hers. "You can be selfish for once, Sansa. You don't need to marry a lord."

"I've been selfish enough by taking him to bed every night," croaked Sansa, her voice breaking. "I see the way he looks at me, Arya. He loves me, and-and I can't do it to him anymore."

"Sansa, you can't see what I see, but you look at him the same way," whispered Arya, looking into her sister's beautiful blue eyes. Countless times, she had been envious of their brightness and their colour, reminding her of the sky. But now, they looked infinitely sadder than she had ever seen them.

"I've made up my mind."

"You say that I am stubborn, but look at you," groaned Arya, throwing her hands up in the air.

Sansa smiled softly at her sister's antics. She knew Arya was right, and yet…

"We're two birds of a feather, dear sister."


"I'm going to retire for the night," said Sansa, yawning softly into her hands. Podrick smiled at the endearing sight. "Would you please accompany me?"

"Of course, my Lady," he replied, promptly following her out of the library.

They walked through the halls, passing by the kitchens. The smell of the feast they held in honour of the victory at the battle of Winterfell still lingered in the air, and Sansa had trouble believing it was four years ago that all those events transpired. It felt like yesterday that Theon had come back north to pledge for her, and then die to protect her brother for Arya to kill the Night's King and save them all.

"What did you think of Lord Baryn?" he asked. "You seemed to be getting along with him."

Sansa thought for a moment, thinking back to the young man Podrick had presented to her during the feast. "Charming, certainly much better than the last three Lords. How did you come to know him?"

The knight nodded, smiling at her gibe. "He is quite the charming man. We drink at the same tavern sometimes. Bronn- I mean Lord Bronn presented him to me last time he visited the north. They've worked closely together a few times."

"I wonder why you haven't suggested the Lord of Highgarden as a spouse," she mused, eyeing him. "He's still unmarried, last I heard."

Podrick nearly went green with disgust. "Him? He's wretched, my Lady. He'd probably visited every whorehouse in the entirety of Westeros. I can't imagine how many illnesses he had subjected himself to. I would rather die than have you wed him."

"I reckon he's treated you well," she laughed.

He grumbled under his breath, recalling the endless occasions the Master of Coins had mocked him. "You have a strange conception of what well means, Sansa."

"Besides," she continued, ignoring his snide comment, "you've also visited a lot of them, Ser Payne."

Podrick reddened. "My Lady! Only once, I swear on my life, and I didn't even pay for it!"

"They must have liked you," she mused. "If you treated them as well as you treat me, no wonder they sang praise of your prowess."

"I've treated you infinitely better, Sansa," he replied, shy but smug.

"Then I better get on the roof and start singing as well," she laughed, her face hotter.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, their fingers sometimes brushing lightly, and Sansa felt the urge to grab his hand and feel its warmth against her skin. Before she could contemplate the thought further, they reached her chambers, and she hastily opened the door, peeking inside to see if any servants were lingering. "Come in?"

He looked at her, his eyes comical, and grinned apologetically. "I don't think that's wise, my Lady."

"Why is that?" she quirked a brow.

"You are looking for a husband, and I don't want your reputation tarnished before you wed. Lord Baryn would certainly not appreciate knowing that his friend is bedding the woman he's courting," he shrugged, using all the self-retrain he could muster to bow. "Goodnight, your Grace."

She bit her lip, leaning against the door. "Goodnight, Ser."

She shut it behind her, and leaned against it, a heavy sigh escaping her parted lips. She listened to his retreating steps, hoping that he may change his mind and turn back, but after a few moments, it was clear that he had made up his mind about their improper relationship. She could not blame him; men may be fools when in love, but there was only so much a heart could take. Besides, he was right. Lord Baryn was a great candidate, and Podrick vouched for his character. After all, she was the one who asked him to find her a spouse, and he was merely honouring his promise.

That night, she went to bed with the thought of her knight's frame atop her heated body, and her slick fingers caressing her folds.


"This is lovely."

"Thank you, Lord Baryn," smiled Sansa, pouring a generous cup of tea for the young man seated in front of her.

Lord Baryn was one of the many northern Lords who had been lucky enough by the grace of the gods to survive the dead. His house had sent many men to aid them in the battle. Lord Baryn had not been one of them, for he had been escorting his late mother to the south, where her family resided. She succumbed to an unknown illness on their way back north, as he had informed her two meetings ago. He had been devoted to his mother, his love pouring out through his words when he spoke of her.

"You may call me Alton, your Grace," he said humbly.

"And you may call me Lady Stark," she smiled, selfishly holding on to her name.

He smiled back, biting his tongue at the oddity of her title.

"Tell me, Alton," she started, taking a seat in front of him. "How important is your name to you?"

He raised a brow at the odd question, and Sansa surveyed him. He was a very handsome man, oddly northern despite spending most of his life in the south with his mother. Until recent years, he had accompanied her for long periods of times to the south. She had a very fragile health, and the cold did not suit her.

He had dark brown hair, and hazel eyes, and his skin was tanned. He shaved his face every day, from what she could tell, and there was no hint of a shadow on his full cheeks. She thought it made him look childlike, but she was at least thankful that he was taller than her, for she was tired of constantly looking down at people.

"A name is just a name, Lady Stark," he shrugged, sipping at the unsweetened tea. He grimaced and grabbed a cube of sugar, gently adding it into the drink and stirring it slowly. At least he had manners, she thought.

"I have to disagree with you," she countered, nonetheless polite. "Would your brother have sent men to aid us in the battle had Winterfell not been ruled by a Stark?"

He thought for a moment, before nodding slowly. "You are right, My Lady."

"Lady Stark," she corrected him, a flash of her knight's face passing through her mind.

"Lady Stark," he reiterated. "When the Boltons had Winterfell, he refused to bend the knee. The north knows that the true rulers are the Starks."

"Then a name is important, Alton," she smiled, her hands carefully placed on the edge of the table.

"Only when we want it to be," he replied. "The Baryn name-it's important to my brother, like it was to my father. But I am the fourth in line to rule our house. It matters as little to me as it would to any peasant."

"I highly doubt that," she smiled at him. "A peasant would not have had the chance to be seated with me, being considered to wed the Queen in the north."

"If that ever came to happen, I assume that you would want me to relinquish my name," he said, more as an affirmation than as a question.

"No," she calmly replied, nearly spelling out the word. "I have had my name taken away from me too many times to subject anyone else to it. You would keep the name, I just want the children to be Starks."

He nodded understandingly, and Sansa felt happy to be discussing this sensitive matter with a rational young man. Any other would have lashed out, defending their names and titles.

"It's unusual for a woman to keep her name, and for the line to continue through the mother," he commented. "Are you certain that the other Lords would respect your wishes, Lady Stark?"

"They don't have a choice," she smiled back, gleeful.

"My father would be rolling in his grave right now," he laughed. "He put so much importance into the Baryn name."

Before she could reply, the door to the terrace opened, and Podrick came barging in, holding an envelope in his hand.

"My Lady," he interrupted, nearly out of breath. "I apologize for barging in, but you received a letter. I would not have interrupted you if it weren't from Lord Baratheon."

"Ah," she replied, surprised. "Thank you Pod."

She stood up and approached him, grabbing the letter and undoing the seal. She read the words carefully, huddled with her knight, and Lord Baryn watched the whole exchange with a critical eye.

"Gods," she groaned out in the most unladylike manner. "He's visiting, and he's asking me not to tell Arya."

Podrick laughed, his arm brushing Sansa's, and Alton quirked a brow at the contact. He noticed that those two were much closer than any normal knight and his Queen, and if he chose to believe the few gossips he heard since he'd been staying at the castle, the Queen had chosen him as her nightly consort. But she seemed to be a little too proper for such activities. However, watching them interact with each other every passing day, perhaps there was some truth in what he had heard.

"I should be going, My Lady," he tried again, alerting them. They looked at him, guilty at being caught in their own little world.

"It's Lady Stark," insisted Sansa, once again. "Thank you for sitting with me today."

"It's been my absolute pleasure," he replied, walking up to her.

He grabbed her small gloved hand in his, and gently placed his lips on the back, looking up into her eyes expectedly. But despite her soft smile, he saw nothing but the coldness in her piercing blue eyes. They did not soften the way they had every time she spoke to Ser Payne, and her smile was not as sincere -it did not reach her eyes. He did not fail to notice the way Podrick went rigid next to her, standing upright and looking not at him, but over his head, refusing to acknowledge the contact.

He stood up, and cleared his throat, suddenly feeling nauseous; the Queen's heart was already taken, that much he knew. There was no use in trying to win her heart before they wed. His mother always spoke to him about the importance of love, having been forced to wed his late father. He was thankful that he was not the heir to their name, for the same expectations did not fall upon his shoulders. Sometimes, he even guiltily thanked the gods that his father was not alive to force him into a loveless marriage, and Alton was not the one who was going to embark in one.

He left them standing there, feeling lighter, and smiled brightly, inwardly wishing them the best, but not without hearing the knight whisper the Queen's name as he turned the corner.