Now we'll take a look at the most important events from S8 e4 for this story. Also, this will be the first story containing smut, since this will be another big part of this story.

The Last of the Starks

The morning after the battle brought a sombre mood to Winterfell. Sansa moved through the courtyard in a daze as the pyres of the fallen were lit, the acrid smoke filling the air along with cries of grief. She paused with tears in her eyes as Theon's body was committed to the flames, paying respects to the man who gave his life protecting Bran.

Later, needing solitude, Sansa retreated to the godswood. Her emotions roiled within her like a tumultuous storm as she struggled to process all that had happened. She could feel the unfamiliar magic simmering in her blood, dangerously volatile.

Hesitantly, she raised a trembling hand and focused her thoughts. At her mental urging, snowflakes began swirling through the still air, increasing to a blustering flurry around her. The power thrummed through Sansa's veins, entreating her to unleash it fully.

With effort, she reined it in, and the winds calmed. But exhilaration tingled within her. This was but a fraction of the magic's potential. She could defend and lead the North as no other.

Yet distrust warred with temptation. This power felt wild, untamed - she was its vessel, yet did she truly control it? Sansa remembered the terror in the eyes of those who had seen her emerge transformed. To master this gift, she must tread carefully, seeking counsel from the wise.

Above all, she must remain true to herself, and use the magic for good. With time and care, perhaps it could be harnessed to protect those she loved. Staring up at the weirwood's carved face, she prayed silently for the strength to wield this power wisely.

Lost in thought, Sansa did not hear the soft footfalls behind her in the snow. But she sensed a presence and turned to see Arya watching from the shadow of a sentinel tree, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Arya..." Sansa sighed, letting the half-formed ice sculpture in her palm dissolve away. "I did not hear you approach."

Her sister stepped forward, boots leaving fresh prints in the white drifts. "I wanted to see it for myself," Arya said quietly. Her gaze dropped to Sansa's hands. "Does it hurt you?"

Sansa flexed her fingers experimentally. "No, it doesn't hurt. But it is...difficult to control." She demonstrated again, conjuring a chunk of ice from nothing and moulding it into a rough wolf's head, before letting it crumble.

Arya watched intently as Sansa shaped chunks of conjured ice into rough forms, her grey eyes alight with fascination. As the last frozen wolf's head crumbled away, she met her sister's gaze.

"This power chose you for a reason," Arya said softly. "The North needs someone strong now to guide and protect it."

Sansa gave a sad smile, flexing her fingers where remnants of icy magic tingled. "I still have much to learn about controlling it. But I hope in time I can master this gift well enough to keep our people safe."

Seeing Sansa's uncertainty, Arya stepped forward and took her hands - one still chilled from the magic - between her own calloused ones. "You don't have to figure this out alone," she said earnestly. "I'll help you any way I can, I promise."

Sansa's eyes glistened with gratitude. For once, no rivalry or resentment lingered between them - only understanding.

"We should have been there for each other from the beginning," Sansa said thickly. "I'm sorry I was too blind to see it."

Arya shook her head. "The past doesn't matter now. We have to stand together." She squeezed Sansa's hands tighter. "I'll stand by you, no matter what comes."

Overcome with emotion, Sansa pulled her little sister into a fierce embrace. Arya hugged her back just as tightly. No matter what wild magic or destiny awaited, they would face it as a family. Together, the Stark sisters could weather any storm.

The crunching of snow under boots announced Jon's approach. Arya pulled back from Sansa's embrace as their brother entered the godswood, his bearded face creased with concern.

"There you both are," Jon said wearily. "I've been searching the castle." His dark eyes lingered on Sansa. "How are you faring, sister? I worried when you vanished after the funeral pyres."

Sansa managed a small smile despite her inner turmoil. "As well as can be expected. This power inside me is...a heavy burden. But one I must bear responsibly."

Jon stepped closer, scrutinizing her intently. "Does it cause you pain?"

"No, I feel quite myself. It is simply a matter of learning control." As if to demonstrate, Sansa twirled a flurry of snowflakes around her fingertips before letting them dissipate.

Jon blew out a breath, shaking his head in wonder. "I cannot pretend to understand any of this. But you don't have to confront it alone." He clasped her shoulder firmly. "However we can aid you, we will."

"There is something else you should know," Jon said, his expression turning grim. "Daenerys remains secluded in her chambers, mourning those she lost in the battle. She hardly speaks or eats. I confess, I'm at a loss for how to comfort her in her grief."

Sansa and Arya exchanged an uneasy glance at the mention of the Dragon Queen. While sympathetic to her pain, both sisters harboured doubts about Daenerys' mercurial nature and attachment to Jon.

Sensing their hesitation, Jon sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "I know you have reservations about her. Believe me, I share some myself. But she just lost a close friend and much of her army defending the North. She deserves time to heal from that trauma before we press matters of the throne."

Sansa chose her words carefully. "You're right. For now, we should focus on rebuilding our own forces and fortifying the North. The political struggle can wait."

She met Jon's eyes sincerely. "When she's ready, tell Daenerys that we share in her sorrow for the lives lost, and are grateful for her sacrifices."

Jon nodded, looking relieved they would not oppose his request for patience. "Thank you. I know in time, when she sees the kind of ruler you are, Sansa, any doubts between you will be put to rest."

The two sisters exchanged a hopeful smile at that. Whatever the future held, the Starks would face it together with wisdom and compassion.

Jon shifted uneasily, glancing between his sisters with hesitation. "There is more you both must know...about me."

Sansa and Arya shared a look but remained silent, letting him gather his thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, Jon began haltingly. "I've learned that Eddard Stark was not my real father. My mother was...Lyanna Stark."

The sisters reacted with shock and confusion. Patiently, Jon explained all that Samwell Tarly had discovered - that Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen were secretly wed, and Jon their legitimate child, the heir to the Iron Throne.

"I'm not a Stark...I'm Aegon Targaryen," Jon finished heavily, awaiting their reactions.

Sansa spoke first, shaking her head. "You will always be our brother, no matter your birth name. Father raised you, and that makes you a Stark in my eyes."

Arya nodded firmly in agreement. "You're one of us, you always have been. Nothing changes that."

Jon exhaled heavily, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His sisters' immediate acceptance washed away the fears he had carried about this truth.

Yet, uncertainty still lingered in his dark eyes as he continued hesitantly. "I may have a claim to the Iron Throne now. As Rhaegar's last living son, by rights it could pass to me." He ran a hand through his hair in agitation. "I already pledged myself as an ally to Daenerys. But if this news got out..."

Sansa gave his hand a comforting squeeze, seeing his conflicted thoughts spiralling. "Let's not dwell on claims and lineages right now," she said gently. "You are still our brother, that is what matters."

Arya chimed in adamantly. "No throne could ever change who you are to us, Jon."

Jon managed a small, grateful smile at their unconditional support. "I pray you're right. I want no crown, only to guard the North and our family." He shook his head ruefully. "But I cannot see Daenerys reacting well if she knew my birthright could threaten hers."

"We will cross that bridge if we must," Sansa assured him. "For now, this truth stays between us. No matter what comes, you will always have your pack beside you."

Overcome with relief and gratitude, Jon pulled both of his sisters into a fierce, heartfelt embrace. No matter what truths had been revealed about his parentage and birthright, their bonds went so much deeper than mere lineage. They were his pack, and their unconditional love and support meant everything.

"I cannot thank you both enough," Jon said thickly as he finally released Sansa and Arya from the hug. "I feared how you might react, but you have given me nothing but acceptance."

Sansa smiled and stroked his bearded cheek fondly. "Nothing could make us turn against you. You are our brother, now and always."

Arya nodded staunchly in agreement. "Our father raised us all as Starks. That's what you are, no matter what any bloodline might say."

Jon felt his eyes grow moist at their words. He had expected anger or rejection, but found only understanding and reassurance.

Taking each of their hands in his, Jon said earnestly, "I vow to you both - I want no throne, only to guard the North and the family we have left. We Starks must stand united against whatever storms may come."

Sansa and Arya firmly returned the grip of his hands. "The pack survives," Sansa echoed solemnly. Together, they would face down any threats to their family and homeland - three direwolves, bound forever as one.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was filled with solemn revelry as the living celebrated their hard-won victory over the dead. Despite the feasting and ale, a pall hung over the gathering, so many brave souls now lost to the Army of the Night King.

Sansa sat uneasily in her place of honour, feeling the sidelong glances and hushed murmurs as word of her magical transformation spread. The tension between the Stark sisters and Daenerys was palpable as well, the Dragon Queen's violet eyes cold and wary whenever she looked their way.

"The rumours fly faster than the ravens," Arya muttered, glaring back at a group of whispering squires. "How can we convince people you are not to be feared if she continues looking at you like some threat to be eliminated?"

Sansa gave a subtle shake of her head. "Give it time. Deeds, not words, will show them the truth." Yet even as she spoke, she sensed the veiled hostility radiating from the Dragon Queen at the high table.

When Daenerys rose to speak, her voice was strained with barely concealed grief and fury. "We have won a great victory," she declared, "but at far too high a cost. I swear to you, the Night King's evil shall not rise again!"

As cheers rang out, Sansa and Arya exchanged an uneasy look. The war for the dawn was over, but darker battles still lay ahead. Winter was only just beginning.

Feeling suffocated by the tense atmosphere in the hall, Arya slipped away into the dimly lit courtyard, seeking solitude. As she aimlessly wandered past the ringing of hammers from the forges, a familiar voice called out.

"Arya! I hoped I'd catch you alone out here." Gendry approached, his eyes alight with excitement. "Can you believe it? Me, a lord of Storm's End!"

Arya gave a thin smile. "It's remarkable. You've come a long way from Flea Bottom."

Gendry grinned and took her hand. "Now that the war is done, we can finally start a life together. Once I take my seat, you'll be Lady Arya of Storm's End!"

At that, Arya tensed, pulling her hand back. "Gendry, you know I've never wanted to be a lady. I'm not made for fancy dresses and manners." She sighed heavily. "There are more important matters ahead than marriage."

Gendry's excited smile faltered. "But I thought...after all this time, we would finally..." He trailed off at the conflicted look in Arya's eyes.

"My path is not as simple as settling down in some castle," Arya said firmly but gently. "I have duties to my family, and my own destiny to follow."

She touched his shoulder. "I care for you, truly. But marriage would not make me happy, not even with you."

Gendry's face fell, but after a moment he nodded reluctantly in acceptance. "I understand. I know nothing could ever tame you, Arya Stark." He managed a bittersweet smile. "Our paths may diverge, but I will always be your loyal friend."

Arya embraced him. She mourned for his dashed hopes, yet felt her own destiny calling her inexorably.

As the feast dragged on, Daenerys grew increasingly cool and withdrawn, her grief frosted over with bitterness. Jon did his best to keep her spirits up, but his attempts at comfort were met with chilly silence.

Finally, Daenerys rose abruptly from her chair. "If you'll excuse me, I'm still weary from the battle. I shall retire for the evening." Shooting a frigid glance at Sansa, she swept from the hall, the Dothraki in her wake.

Jon sighed, giving Sansa an apologetic look. "Forgive her, the wounds are still raw." He clasped Sansa's hand gently. "You should get some rest as well. The days ahead will not be easy." Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to her brow before following after Daenerys.

Sansa watched him go, disquieted. The Dragon Queen's hatred simmered below the surface, barely contained. She could not let Jon become caught in the middle if it erupted in violence. As the hall emptied out, Sansa steeled herself for the conflict ahead.

As the feast wore on, Sansa made her rounds amongst the tables, exchanging polite pleasantries with allies and bannermen. Yet despite the buzz of celebration around her, she felt increasingly lonely and forlorn.

Stopping a steward to exchange her empty cup for a fresh one, Sansa tasted the wine but felt no joy in it. Nevertheless, she continued onward through a sense of duty, ensuring the lords saw her strength.

At last she came to the table where the Lords of the Vale sat. "My lords, I want to extend my deepest condolences for those brave knights lost upon the battlefield," she said graciously.

Lord Royce bowed his head solemnly. "They died with honour defending the North. We shall not forget their sacrifice."

"Nor I," Sansa affirmed. She raised her cup. "To absent friends."

After they drank the solemn toast, Sansa met the gaze of each Vale lord in turn, wanting them to feel the depth of her gratitude. "You upheld your vows through the darkest of nights, when hope seemed lost. The Knights of the Vale proved invaluable; we could not have prevailed without your aid."

Lord Royce thumped a fist to his chest. "House Arryn and the Vale stand ready to ride north whenever Winterfell calls, my lady." The other lords echoed their steadfast allegiance.

Yet even as they spoke reassurances, Sansa felt a creeping loneliness again. These were dutiful alliances, but could she truly call them friends? They respected her title, yet knew little of the woman beneath.

Distracted, she idly swirled a finger over her wine goblet, crystals of ice blooming across the surface. The display of magic was subtle, but did not go unnoticed by the ever-watchful Vale lords.

With effort, Sansa gathered herself and stood tall, the picture of noble composure. "If you will excuse me, my lords. I should see to my other guests." Avoiding further questions, she moved on swiftly before the loneliness could show through the cracks in her courteous mask. There were still appearances to maintain, burdens to bear.

As Sansa turned to leave, a woman she did not recognize slid into the vacant seat beside her. She wore riding leathers and a ragged blue cloak bearing the moon and falcon of House Arryn. Her dark hair was cropped short, and she had a frank, open face that tugged at Sansa's memory.

"Lady Stark, I hope you don't mind me joining you uninvited," the woman said breezily. Her manner was friendly yet bold, unlike the simpering ladies Sansa was accustomed to.

"Forgive me, have we met before?" Sansa asked, trying to place where she knew this intriguing woman from.

"No, my lady, but you may have heard of me. I'm Mya Stone - I lead Lord Royce's mule trains through the mountains to the Gates of the Moon." She grinned and helped herself to ale. "It's a pleasure to finally meet Ned Stark's daughter."

The name clicked into place for Sansa. "Of course - the king's guide. Your father..."

"Was Robert Baratheon, aye," Mya acknowledged easily. She showed no shame over her bastardy. Sansa found herself admiring the woman's confidence and carefree air.

"Well met, Mya," she said genuinely. "I hope we have more chances to talk, though propriety says I ought to mingle elsewhere."

Mya laughed. "Bugger propriety. Go where you please, my lady."

Smiling, Sansa realized she had found an unlikely friend. Mya's bold sincerity was a breath of fresh air in this den of false courtesies.

To her own surprise, Sansa decided to ignore courtesy and remain at the table, falling into easy dialogue with Mya Stone. After so much time cloaked in formalities, Mya's blunt and carefree nature was refreshing.

"How do you stand the Vale lords and all their preening?" Mya asked wryly, helping herself to more ale. "They cluck like a bunch of old hens, it seems to me."

Sansa laughed aloud, the first true laugh she'd had in some time. "I suppose they do fuss over their feathers. But they came when called, and fought bravely."

Mya waved a hand dismissively. "Brave enough with you to lead them, to be sure." She gave Sansa an appraising look. "You've got steel in you, I can tell. The knights respect you."

Sansa felt oddly flattered by the bastard girl's candour. "I try to serve my people as best I can. Though some days I feel like a Fraud, playing at being a leader."

"We all play our roles. But you were born for this, my lady," Mya said earnestly. "The Vale owes you its life and freedom. Don't let any man make you doubt it."

Bolstered by Mya's show of confidence, Sansa raised her goblet. "To speaking truths, not pretty lies." Mya clinked her tankard loudly and they both drank deeply.

As the night wore on, Sansa was surprised to find herself thoroughly enjoying Mya's company. The baseborn girl's playful irreverence was a delightful contrast to the false courtesies Sansa was accustomed to.

"Do you know, I think you're the first highborn lady who's ever deigned to have a real conversation with me?" Mya commented, refilling both their drinks. "The rest wouldn't spit on a bastard."

Sansa tilted her head thoughtfully. "Their loss, truly. Your companionship has been the brightest part of this feast."

Mya grinned. "Careful, flattery like that might go to my head." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Though between us, I think you're the brightest thing in this dreary old castle."

Sansa felt herself blushing, though not from the wine. She found she did not mind Mya's flirtatious compliments. The girl's rugged beauty and roguish charm were appealing in an unfamiliar way.

"You're quite bold with your words, Mya Stone," Sansa chided gently, still smiling.

Mya's bold caress sent a thrill through Sansa, though she was unsure how to respond. She found she did not want to pull away just yet.

"You speak so plainly, I confess you have me at a loss for words," Sansa admitted with a soft laugh. She nodded to their joined hands. "How is it you came to be here in Winterfell?"

Mya grinned, seemingly emboldened by Sansa's receptive reaction. "I came with the Knights of the Vale. Wanted to finally see more of Westeros beyond my mountains." She leaned back comfortably. "And I'm glad I did, or I'd have missed the chance to meet the famous Lady Stark."

Sansa smiled appreciatively. "Your company has been a bright spot during a dark time. I'm grateful for it."

Mya's bold compliments brought heat to Sansa's cheeks again. Yet she found she did not shy away from the growing warmth between them. After enduring so much betrayal and brutality, this blossoming affection felt comforting, even liberating.

"You speak sweetly to me, though we've only just met," Sansa said, a note of wonder in her voice. "I confess, I find your company quite...fetching."

It was Mya's turn to blush at the returned flattery, grinning ear to ear. "Is that so? Glad to hear I'm not wasting my breath." She gave Sansa's hand a light squeeze.

Sansa smiled, admiring the way the firelight played across Mya's strong, handsome features. The girl's rough-spun tunic and breeches only added to her roguish appeal.

"Not at all," Sansa assured her. "In truth, I'm quite taken with your fearless spirit...and your beauty, uncommon as it is." She reached out boldly to tuck a lock of Mya's hair behind her ear, fingertips brushing her cheek.

Mya leaned into the caress, eyes glinting. "Careful, my lady. A woman could get ideas, with such sweet talk." Yet her tone held more hope than warning.

Sansa's heart fluttered as she let her hand linger on Mya's cheek, the baseborn girl leaning into her touch. For the first time in ages, she felt a spark of excitement about venturing beyond the confines of duty and grief.

"It grows late, I should retire," Sansa murmured reluctantly, though she made no move to withdraw her hand.

Mya smiled and turned her head to press a soft kiss to Sansa's palm. "Allow me to escort you safely to your chambers, then...unless you'd rather I didn't?" She posed it casually, but her eyes were full of hope.

Sansa's pulse quickened, but she found herself nodding. "I would welcome your company." She stood, still holding Mya's hand.

Together they made their way from the Great Hall, Mya playfully claiming her role as escort allowed her to grasp Sansa's arm. Sansa laughed softly, a blush warming her cheeks.

Sansa's heart was racing as she gazed up at Mya in the dimly-lit hallway. The air between them seemed to hum with possibility as the space closed between their bodies.

Before Sansa could even process what was happening, Mya leaned in, her calloused hand coming up to cradle Sansa's cheek. Their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss that nevertheless sent sparks shooting down Sansa's spine.

After a stunned moment, Sansa found herself leaning into the kiss, her hands coming to rest lightly on Mya's waist. The baseborn girl's lips were slightly chapped but so warm, kissing her with a heartfelt passion that melted away Sansa's hesitation.

At last, they gently broke apart, both flushing and slightly breathless. Mya's eyes shone as she gazed at Sansa. "Forgive me, my lady. I couldn't resist after our talk..."

Sansa's assurance emboldened Mya, who leaned in eagerly for another kiss. Sansa met her lips in kind, savouring the heady bliss. This time, Mya's kiss grew more insistent, her rough hands coming up to cradle Sansa's face as their mouths moved together urgently.

Sansa found herself melting into the kiss, her back coming to rest against the hard wood of the door as she drew Mya tighter against her. She marvelled at how natural it felt to be kissing this bold, unlikely girl. It awakened longings and passions Sansa had thought beaten out of her by torment.

At last their lips parted, both women breathless. Mya's eyes were dark with desire as she gazed at Sansa. "You are exquisite," she rasped, thumb stroking Sansa's kiss-swollen bottom lip.

Sansa trembled under the tender touch. "As are you," she admitted, clutching at Mya's tunic to keep her close. After a moment's hesitation, she took Mya's hand and guided it purposefully to her breast.

Caught up in the exhilaration of the moment, Sansa took Mya's hand and eagerly pulled her into the privacy of her chambers. Mya laughed softly as she allowed herself to be led, her eyes dancing with delight.

As Sansa shut the heavy door behind them, cutting off the din of the feast, she felt joy and nervous energy tingling through her veins. After enduring such trauma and hardship, discovering this unexpected passion with Mya felt like a triumph. A reclamation of life and possibility.

Mya seemed to sense her thoughts, coming up behind Sansa to wrap strong arms around her waist. "Never thought I'd end up here with the Lady of Winterfell herself," she murmured against Sansa's neck.

As Mya's lips found hers again, Sansa marvelled at the exhilarating new sensations coursing through her body. She had never imagined she could feel such unexpected pleasure with another woman, yet Mya's confident caresses left her tingling from head to toe.

When Mya's calloused hands slipped beneath her bodice to cup her breasts, Sansa gasped, arching into the touch. Her body felt alive in a way she had not known since her youth in Winterfell, before horrors and heartbreak had hardened her.

As Mya slid Sansa's gown from her shoulders, her eyes fell upon the criss-crossing scars that marred the pale flesh of her back and shoulders. Marks left by cruelty that should have broken Sansa's spirit, yet somehow only honed her strength. Mya's throat tightened with emotion.

"So beautiful," Mya murmured, lips brushing tenderly over a jagged scar on Sansa's shoulder.

Sansa shuddered, unused to such gentle reverence for her imperfections. When she turned to face Mya, laying herself bare, there was only awed desire in the girl's eyes.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mya Stone," Sansa said with a tremulous smile, drawing her in for a heated kiss.

She then eagerly helped Mya out of her own tunic, drinking in the sight of her bared torso. Sturdy muscles rippled under scarred olive skin, small breasts bound in a wrapping of linen. Sansa found her rugged beauty intoxicating.

"Truly resplendent," Sansa praised, hands skimming appreciatively over Mya's strong back and shoulders.

Mya grinned, though her cheeks flushed at the admiration. Then she was guiding Sansa down onto the furs, worshipping every inch of her body with work-roughened hands and warm lips until Sansa was dizzy with blissful sensation.

Here, together, their scars and imperfections did not matter. They had found acceptance, tenderness and passion in each other's arms.

As they shed their clothes, Sansa was struck by how different their bodies were. Where she was soft and pale, Mya was tanned and sturdy. Her curves contrasted with Mya's lean, hard muscles.

Sansa sighed happily as Mya's work-roughened hands gently kneaded her soft teats. She hadn't felt such tenderness since she was a girl in Winterfell. Mya's thumbs grazed her stiff nipples, sending bolts of pleasure through her belly.

"Oh gods, that feels wonderful," Sansa moaned. She grinned shyly at Mya. "No one's touched me there since..." Her words trailed off, but Mya understood.

"We'll take things slow," Mya promised, brushing a kiss over Sansa's brow. Her own small teats pressed against Sansa as their bodies entwined beneath the furs.

Sansa took Mya's small, firm teats into her mouth one at a time, laving them with her tongue and sucking until the hardness peaked them. Mya groaned and threaded her fingers through Sansa's hair, wordlessly begging for more.

"Gods, your mouth feels so good on me," Mya rasped, grinding her hips against Sansa's thigh.

Encouraged, Sansa slid a hand down between Mya's strong legs, finding coarse curls and slick wetness awaiting. Mya cried out as Sansa's fingers circled the swollen nub there, working it until Mya was bucking urgently.

Sansa thrilled at how eagerly Mya reacted to her intimate caresses. She slid two slender fingers deep into Mya's slick cunny, eliciting a string of delightfully crude curses from the usually bold girl's lips.

"Oh fuck yes, like that," Mya groaned, grinding down on Sansa's penetrating fingers. Sansa could feel Mya's inner walls clutching hungrily around the digits as she stroked that spongy sweet spot inside.

Mya's hands gripped Sansa's shoulders, short nails digging in. "I'm close...keep fucking me just like that," she pleaded breathlessly.

Sansa increased her pace, curling and pumping her fingers. She watched Mya's face contort in ecstasy until finally her back arched sharply, cunt spasming as she cried out her climax.

Sansa gently eased her fingers free, bringing them to her lips to lick Mya's tangy arousal. The taste and scent were intoxicating. She had never pleasured another woman like this before, but she wanted nothing more now than to make Mya come undone over and over again.

Mya kissed Sansa hungrily, savouring the taste of her own slick arousal on the lady's lips and tongue. "Now I'm going to make you feel just as good, sweet lady," Mya promised in a lust-roughened voice.

She guided Sansa onto her back, spreading her pale thighs wide to expose the glistening pink folds of her cunt, crowned by fiery curls. Sansa's scent was intoxicating. Mya settled between her legs, wasting no time in swiping her tongue firmly through Sansa's sodden slit.

Sansa writhed and whimpered as Mya's hot mouth lavished her aching cunt. Her clit throbbed under the insistent sucking and licking. Mya's thick fingers thrust and curled inside Sansa's gripping quim, stoking the pressure building in her core.

"Your cunny tastes so sweet, my lady. I could feast on it all night," Mya rasped, before sealing her lips around Sansa's swollen nub again. She added a third finger, stretching Sansa's slick hole deliciously.

Sansa was lost in bliss, mewling and grinding against Mya's face and pumping fingers. The obscene squelching noises as Mya finger-fucked her only heightened her arousal.

"Don't stop, I'm so close," Sansa panted, feeling her peak approaching. A few more deep thrusts and skilful flicks of Mya's tongue finally sent her hurtling over the edge. She wailed Mya's name to the ceiling as her cunt spasmed hard, drenching Mya's hand and chin with honey.

As the pulses of pleasure ebbed, Mya crawled up to kiss Sansa deeply, sharing the musky taste of her release. Sansa clung to her, body still trembling from the force of her climax.

"That was incredible," Sansa gasped. She knew this was just the first of many passionate nights with her wild, captivating lover.

Sansa nestled blissfully in Mya's arms, head still spinning from the unbelievable pleasure they'd shared. She marvelled at how natural it had felt to set aside her worries and surrender fully to passion in Mya's embrace.

"That was...indescribable," Sansa sighed, trailing her fingers idly over Mya's breast. "I can scarcely believe what we just did, yet nothing has ever felt more right."

Mya smiled, pressing a kiss to Sansa's tousled hair. "Never thought I'd end up naked and entwined with the Lady of Winterfell herself. But I'm not complaining," she added with a grin.

Sansa laughed, a lightness in her chest she hadn't felt in ages. "Nor I with a bold and beautiful mule handler from the Vale." She lifted her head to kiss Mya tenderly. "But I am deeply grateful for this gift we've found in each other."

Their bare legs tangled comfortably beneath the furs as they exchanged lazy, lingering kisses. Sansa marvelled at the feeling of Mya's strong, sturdy body against her own soft curves. She wanted to spend hours learning every inch of her wild lover.

After their passionate encounter, a contented silence fell between Sansa and Mya as they lay entwined. But eventually Mya stirred, a hesitance in her voice.

"It grows late, my lady. I should let you rest," she murmured, making as if to slide from the bed.

Sansa's arms tightened around her. "Stay," she implored softly.

Mya paused, searching Sansa's eyes in the dimness. "Are you certain that's proper? I wouldn't wish to compromise your honour."

Sansa silenced her doubts with a tender kiss. "You've shown me more care and gentleness tonight than I've known in years. Damn propriety - I would have you stay."

Mya needed no further convincing, settling back into Sansa's embrace. She stroked Sansa's hair soothingly. "Then wild horses couldn't drag me from this bed tonight."

Sansa nestled against Mya's chest with a contented sigh, their bare legs tangling once more beneath the furs. She felt safer and more cherished than she had since girlhood.

Mya pressed a kiss to her brow. "Sleep well, my lady. I'll be here when you wake."

Sansa smiled drowsily, already drifting off. Mya's reassuring presence and the steady beat of her heart lulled Sansa into the first untroubled sleep she'd had in ages.

Jaime approached Brienne's chamber door with hesitation, his golden hand raised to knock. Their charged encounter on the battlements and him knighting her still weighed heavily on his mind. Taking a bracing breath, he rapped his knuckles against the weathered wood.

"Enter," came Brienne's strong voice from within.

Jaime pushed inside to find her seated at a humble table, polishing Oathkeeper's gleaming Valyrian steel. She stood abruptly at the sight of him.

"Ser Jaime," she greeted with forced composure. "To what do I owe the honour?"

Jaime rubbed his bearded jaw, choosing his words carefully. "I wished to speak with you. About what was said earlier."

Brienne fixed her gaze on the sword. "There is no need. I spoke out of turn."

"No, my lady. Your words were just." Jaime moved closer, his voice gentle. "You sought to remind me of the man I aspire to be. Not the Kingslayer. You saw honour in me when no other would."

Emotion flickered in Brienne's eyes when they finally lifted to meet his.

"Why have you come, Ser?" She asked thickly.

Jaime reached out to graze her freckled cheek with his good hand. "Because I cannot bear to lose your good regard. It is truly all that keeps me from faltering again into disgrace."

Brienne trembled beneath his touch. "Ser Jaime..."

Brienne froze for a heartbeat as Jaime's lips claimed hers with unexpected passion. Then she was grasping his shoulders and returning the kiss ardently, as if her life depended on it. Oathkeeper fell unheeded to the stones.

Jaime's hand tangled in her pale hair as their mouths moved urgently together. He had crossed a line from which there could be no going back, but he no longer cared. Being with Brienne like this felt more right than anything else since a very long time.

At last, they broke apart, both flushed and breathing hard. Brienne searched his face wordlessly. Jaime caressed her cheek, his heart swelling.

"Forgive me, my lady. But I cannot leave this world without showing you what you mean to me," he rasped.

Brienne's eyes filled with realization. She drew him close again. "Then stay with me tonight, Jaime. I would know your heart before..." Her voice hitched.

Jaime silenced her with another searing kiss. If these were to be his last hours in this life, he knew how he wished to spend them - giving himself wholly to the woman who had restored his honour. With her, even a Kingslayer could be redeemed.

Brienne's hands trembled as she unlaced Jaime's jerkin and helped peel it off, exposing his broad, scarred chest. Jaime made swift work of the fastenings on Brienne's tunic, his gaze heating at the sight of her small but shapely teats bound in linen.

Jaime gazed reverently at Brienne's naked form, taking in her muscular yet womanly frame. Though she blinked shyly under his admiring scrutiny, he made sure to tell her she was beautiful and strong. Her cheeks flushed at his words.

"And you are still golden and beautiful," Brienne replied with sincerity.

Jaime drew her close, thrilled at the feeling of her bare skin against his. He knew Brienne had never lain with a man before. He was determined to go slowly, wanting their coupling to be good for her.

Jaime lavished Brienne's naked body with open-mouthed kisses, sucking her hard pink nipples as she mewled. His fingers stroked through her thatch of blonde curls before dipping into the slick folds of her cunt.

Brienne gasped and tensed slightly as he eased a finger inside her tight quim. "Just relax, let me make you feel good," Jaime murmured.

Jaime's fingers pumped slowly in and out of Brienne's slick cunt as she moaned and arched into his hand. Her wetness coated his fingers as he stroked her tight channel. When she was bucking desperately against him, he added a second finger to stretch and fill her even more.

"Please Jaime, I need you inside," Brienne finally gasped out.

But Jaime just smiled and withdrew his fingers. "Not yet. I want to taste you first," he said roughly, beginning to kiss down her trembling body.

Jaime settled between Brienne's spread thighs, enthralled by the sight of her slick pink cunt, glistening with arousal just for him. When he dragged his tongue firmly along her slit, Brienne cried out and knotted her hands almost painfully in his hair.

"Oh fuck, yes! Just like that," she exclaimed. Jaime grinned wickedly before sealing his lips around her swollen clit and sucking forcefully.

Brienne's thighs clamped around Jaime's head as he feasted on her tangy juices. He thrust two fingers into her tight sheath, crooking them just so while his tongue continued lashing her throbbing nub.

"Jaime, I'm so close," Brienne keened, grinding unashamedly against his mouth. He could feel her inner walls starting to flutter around his pumping fingers.

Jaime doubled his efforts, licking and fingering her relentlessly until finally Brienne went taut as a bowstring, wailing his name to the ceiling. He didn't stop until her orgasm crested and her cunt spasmed wildly around his fingers.

Brienne clung to Jaime, trembling through the aftershocks of her intense climax. She could taste her own slick musk on his lips and tongue as he kissed her deeply.

"That was incredible, but I need to feel you inside me now," she pleaded breathlessly.

Jaime groaned at her words. "Are you certain you're ready?"

Brienne answered by grasping his throbbing cock and guiding it to her slick entrance. They both moaned as his tip slipped between her soaked folds.

Jaime pushed slowly forward, easing inch by inch into Brienne's incredible, tight heat. She tensed and cried out at the sharp pinch of pain as her maidenhead tore.

He held himself still, caressing her face. "The worst is over, relax for me now," he soothed.

Brienne's slender hips rocked tentatively, urging Jaime to move within her. He began a slow, gentle rhythm, sliding his rigid length in and out of her tight, slick channel.

"How does it feel, my lady?" Jaime rasped, caressing her flushed cheek.

"So full...don't stop," Brienne gasped, wrapping her long legs around his waist.

Jaime increased his pace incrementally, groaning as her supple cunt gripped him like a silken vice. Brienne clung to his shoulders, breath coming sharp and fast.

"Harder now, Jaime...please," she pleaded, tilting her hips to take him deeper.

Jaime complied, driving into her with longer strokes, yet careful not to hurt her. Brienne felt like paradise around his cock. Her breathy cries spurred him on as he took her with passion tempered by tenderness.

Jaime could feel Brienne's inner walls starting to grip and spasm around his driving cock. Her breaths were coming in desperate mewls and gasps as he plunged into her again and again.

"Come for me, Brienne," he rasped hotly in her ear. "I want to feel that tight cunt cum all over my cock."

His explicit words pushed her over the edge. Brienne arched sharply beneath him, nails raking down his back as she cried out. Her slick pussy clenched and rippled wildly along his shaft as her climax crashed over her.

Jaime captured her cries with his lips, kissing her roughly as her cunt spasmed around him. The sensation sent him hurtling into his own intense orgasm. He grunted harshly as he spilled deep inside her, filling her with pulse after pulse of hot seed.

They clung together, slick with sweat and utterly spent. Jaime stroked Brienne's hair softly as her inner muscles continued to milk every last drop from his cock. He had never felt so close to another living soul since a very long time.

In the afterglow, Jaime quickly drifted off to sleep, one arm draped heavily over Brienne's waist. But Brienne lay awake for some time, keenly aware of Jaime's warm body pressed along hers. Her thoughts raced as she processed all that had transpired between them.

This was not at all how she had envisioned her first time with a man. Never could she have imagined it being with Jaime Lannister himself - the Kingslayer. Yet it had felt so right, so utterly perfect.

Brienne trembled slightly, overcome with emotion she could not name. Fear, wonder, longing all warred within her. She had crossed a threshold from which there was no return. Everything was different now.

Jaime murmured drowsily and drew her nearer in his sleep. Brienne shivered at the feeling of his beard rough against her shoulder, his breath warm on her skin. Her uneasiness gradually gave way to comfort and contentment.

Whatever this meant for them, they would face it together come morning's light. For now, Brienne allowed her eyes to slip closed, lulled by Jaime's steady heartbeat against her back. She soon joined him in slumber, their legs intertwined beneath the furs.

So, this was my take on the parts of S8 e4 that I deemed important for this story, with a twist.

I have not yet decided what roles Jaime and Brienne will have in this story and what their endgame will be. The only thing that is certain, is that there will be no Jaime going back to Cersei.

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