XXXVI

Three moons after Arya's departure, Winterfell was bustling with activity. Sansa stood on her balcony, eyes turned to the dip in the land, waiting with anxiety to see King Bran's flags on the horizon. More than that, she could not hide her growing excitement to see Podrick riding beside him, looking handsome and knightly on his horse, coming back to her. Just as he'd promised.

She could not spend all day at her windows, though, like a love-sick fool. Knowing that the procession would arrive before nightfall, Sansa firmly closed her doors behind her, deciding that she should check on the many different things that were happening.

There was the Welcome Meal to taste, the maid to check with to assure that the bedrooms would be prepared, the baths with salts and herbs that would be drawn, the stables that they had hay for the horses, the firewood stocked higher than usual for those that were unused to the chill of the North, the hallways swept clean...she had her fingers in everything happening and needed to make sure each was acceptable.

Yes, it was the King of the Six Kingdoms coming, but more than that...it was her brother Bran. She wanted him to feel at home and welcome more so than his now lofty title, not like he was a visiting dignitary but like he was relaxing somewhere comfortable.

She should find Meera and perhaps Jeyne and split the work into three. Give Jeyne the kitchens and the maids, have Meera yell at some men (one of her favorite past times) and have Sansa sign off on anything that seemed troubling.

She found Jeyne easy enough. She was already lingering near the kitchens, having been on the same wave-length as Sansa, and checking up on the Welcome Dinner. Sansa informed her of her now listed duties and asked where she might find her hand.

"Meera? Haven't seen her since we broke fast this morning," Jeyne realized, tapping her chin, "She's not in her rooms? No? Hmm," She crossed her arms, "I couldn't say."

"I'll look for her," Sansa said, "Perhaps she's already predicted some of her jobs, as you had."

But Meera was not in the stables, nor the courtyard, nor at the guard's station. Gawen, who was having his men shine the metal until it gleamed, was not much help either.

Sansa had a feeling she'd find Meera sometime during the day so she decided to continue with her own tasks. Task one; go and check on the bedrooms.

If it were any other visiting Lord, she would place them in their own wing with their men. This was Bran, though, who had a room from his childhood here. She had flopped back and forth what the right thing to do was. Did she give him a bigger room, befitting of his new title? Or did she allow him back into the room he'd taken residence in even after returning to Winterfell?

In the end, with the hope to eke out the Bran she'd once known more and more, she'd been unable to assign his old bedroom to anyone else. The rooms of her siblings lay dormant, and that was respected. The only bedroom she'd given up was her previous one, and currently, Meera lived there. She wasn't sure she could stomach her childhood bedroom being used by anyone else. She wondered if her father had the same reservations when he took over Winterfell, but then again, men were so much less nostalgic.

She'd had her ladies and workers clean Bran's room as well as start a fire, plus put new furs on the bed. Or she'd asked them to. She decided to check this first.

Opening the door, Sansa was surprised to find another figure already present.

"Oh! Meera!" She breathed in relief, "There you are. I-,"

She broke off, jaw hanging open.

Meera was a hearty, strong person. She showed emotion but rarely was it anything that would show her to be more vulnerable than she was. She was like Arya in that way, Sansa thought, and she knew the pair would have been friends, had they had the chance to properly meet.

So, to see Meera sitting on Bran's bed, crying softly, just about confused Sansa more than anything she'd seen in a great while.

"Oh, my Queen, I-," Meera said, standing and trying desperately to wipe her tears. Her face was blotchy and red, obvious that this hadn't been a small moment, but that she'd been overcome with these emotions for a bit now.

"Gods, are you okay?" Sansa asked, rushing over to her, "Did something happen? Are you hurt?"

"No, no," Meera sniffled, "I just had a moment of weakness. I'm fine. What did you need of me?" She tried to dismiss her previous state, but Sansa was not going to be so quick.

"Meera, what's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

"Would you let me drop it if you found me crying like that?" Sansa questioned, and at Meera's wince, she continued, "So what sort of Queen would I be if I did not pay attention to the pain of my subjects, and more than that, one of my most trusted friends?"

Meera sank back onto Bran's bed, running her fingers through the fur with a pained look on her face.

"I guess it just came over me that I'd be seeing him tonight. It was easy to pretend like I was never going to have to again, that each day was just another day where he was gone and I could exist just knowing that." She whispered. Though a thousand questions were on the tip of Sansa's tongue, she stayed silent, watching Meera with encouraging eyes.

Meera turned to look at Sansa, her smile watery and her face wet from her tears, "I hate to have emotions overwhelm me like this, but I suppose I've been shoving them down for a very long time now. They were bound to resurface. I...I was quite in love with your brother, Sansa. And he dismissed me. And that hurt. It broke my heart. If I'm honest though, I never...got over him." She screwed her eyes shut, cheeks reddening as she revealed a deep secret, "And he's going to come back but it's not quite Bran and I thought I was past this infatuation, but Gods, I don't that's possible."

Sansa's first reaction was shock. Not shocked that Meera had held such tender affections for Bran, but the idea that Bran could elicit those feelings among anyone. To her, he'd always be perpetually young and wide-eyed, even if he now ran six kingdoms. And then, later, he'd been so stoic and unfeeling that to like him romantically seemed like adoring a piece of stone. To think of him liking anyone or anyone liking him in that passionate way was startling, and she momentarily had to dismiss the initial thought of a puppy-dog childlike crush. It was easy to see Arya as an adult woman since they were friends now and Arya was in no way shy about her womanliness, but Bran?

But either way, after she overcame that momentary surprise, she thought about her poor friend Meera. While it might be alien for her to imagine Meera liking him so, she was no stranger to unrequited feelings or disappointment in what you hoped for most. It was no light thing, nothing so easily ignored in favor of more sensible emotions.

The heart, a strange thing, wanted what it wanted with little convincing otherwise.

"Oh, Meera!" Sansa said, reaching for her, "I had no idea."

"I don't think he did either," Meera said with dark, pained laughter, "Or he did and it makes it worse."

The truth hung between them. Bran, as an almighty mage, could very likely have seen this. It made Sansa red with a fury that this is how he chose to leave things. She was angry at his treatment of Meera before, but she was engulfed now!

"Do you want me to slap him? He may be a king but he's still my idiot little brother. I'll gladly do it." Sansa offered, glad to see Meera choke back a laugh.

"No, oh, that will just make things worse! He's also in a wheelchair, so…"

"You think I'm above hurting him because he's lame? Quite the opposite. I'm sure he can't retaliate, then," She said, truly only half-joking, "But, honestly, how would you like me to proceed?" In moments like this, her own feelings were inconsequential. It was more what Meera wished.

Meera gazed upon Bran's room, biting her lip in careful thought.

"Proceed as though I have not told you this. It will do nothing good to act upon this," Meera said, "This is not about my feelings for Bran, and it's better if they go away anyway."

"If you are sure-,"

"I am," Meera quickly nodded, "Quite."

There was a pause when Sansa was about to speak until the door opened.

"My lady Queen, your brother's flags have been spotted on the horizo-Lady Reed? Are you alright?"

"She's fine, Archibald," Sansa interjected, "Just a stubbed toe. Please, gather my Queen's Guard to meet them."

As Archibald shut the door, Sansa turned to Meera. She was blushed slightly red.

"Are you ready, Meera?"

"I can't very well ignore him, can I?" Meera sighed, "Yes, let's go."

XXXVII

The entirety of Winterfell was in great spirits with Bran's arrival. There was the moment, of course, when the two parties examined each other with a sense of apprehension, standing strictly on their respective sides, eyeing the others up. Sansa spotted Tyrion, Ser Brienne, and Podrick in the mixture and it kept most of her wills to stop her from rushing up. Especially to Podrick, who she most fervently wanted to hold again.

Meera beside her made no motion of her heartache toward Bran, instead stood firmly. Gawen was on Sansa's other side and the entirety of the castle had seemed to pour out behind Queen Sansa, waiting to see what she would do.

Bran and Sansa stood face to face, two of the remaining Stark wolves, very much different from the people they were at the start of it all.

But, in some ways, very much the same.

"My baby brother has finally come home," Sansa finally spoke a smile curling across her lips.

"Your baby brother is the King of the Six Kingdoms, Queen Sansa," Tyrion reminded with a snort.

"And yet, the fact has not changed," She said, taking the first steps to welcome him, "And I'm just glad he is back."

Sansa was done with the political subterfuge she often had to deal with. She could worry about all of that tomorrow. Tonight, she wanted nothing more than to hug one of her siblings.

And so she did.

After that, the tension broke like waves crashing against the shore. People who had elected to follow Bran into King's Landing greeted family members, old friends reunited, new relationships were formed. Sansa had Meera handle most of the pointing of locations, but Sansa took her brother.

Ser Brienne followed obediently, but Sansa could tell with each passing step she grew more and more relaxed. By the time they had reached Bran's old room, she was grinning ear to ear.

"My old space," Bran said, letting Brienne wheel him in, "You can't help but be nostalgic, can you?"

"Would you prefer to renounce your name and sleep away from the family halls?" Sansa questioned.

"No, this will do," He said, then after an awkward moment, "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. It's my job."

"As Queen?"

"As your sister," Sansa whispered, hoping the more she reminded him of this the better that glimmer of the old Bran would start to shine through.

This Bran, this new king Bran, only nodded, eyes fuzzing for a moment, "If you both would leave me. I wish to rest before dinner."

"Of course, your highness," Brienne said, bowing.

Once outside of Bran's door, Sansa turned and flung her arms around Ser Brienne. She looked at Brienne as a wise older sister, or sometimes perhaps even a replacement mother. It ached her to have her so far away, but she didn't trust anyone else to protect Bran.

"I am glad to be back too, Queen Sansa," Brienne said, sighing.

"It's just Sansa. I won't hear of it," Sansa commanded. Brienne only laughed.

"I suppose if I can ask people to call me Ser, I can accept this sentencing," Brienne said, embracing her for just a moment more before breaking away, "I need to go and check to make sure the other Kignsguard are settling in. It is truly good to see you again, Sansa."

Sansa smiled warmly, a giddiness in her stomach that could not be quelled.

If she were not a Queen, not someone with a mountain of things to attend to, she would have turned around and searched for Podrick immediately. As it was, she did have a thousand and one things to do before dinner, so despite how much it seemed her dress skirts were being tugged one way, she held her heart close and promised herself she would find him soon.

However, they did not get a chance alone until after the feast. All during the meal, Sansa tried not to glance at him at every moment, but it was difficult. For moons, they'd only communicated via letters, but she had clung to every word on the parchment. Now that her own affections were realized, it was growing harder for her to contain it. She was almost sure of his feelings toward her. He too was making a great effort to not catch her gaze whenever he had the chance.

All through dinner, Sansa's mind whirled with ideas of what she'd say to him. She felt like she had so many things to tell him, but now that they were nearly face-to-face, it all seemed to dissolve away.

And then, even after dinner, it's not as though she was able to catch him right after. She had to make sure that no one needed anything, and if they did they knew who to properly contact. She had to keep the tangled web of which servants were helping which floors and which guests so she could put those people in connection, and on the odd request, procure something strange. Mostly, it was for more furs. Most of the convoy with King Bran was not used to the winters, even without heavy snow, and were chilled in their rooms.

But, Sansa had predicted this. It still meant she was ferrying blankets for most of the night or asking the kitchens to brew more warm mead, or sending maids to stoke fires. In all, it was hours before she even had the chance to consider she was mildly frustrated about her lack of free time.
Then, she laughed. Free time? She was a Queen.

There was a knock at her door. Sansa yawned, straightening her back, prepared to delegate another task. She wondered if it was Lady Hightower. She had asked for three extra furs already, and still was shivering at the last request.

She opened the door to find Ser Podrick. He gave Sansa a wry smile. It took a moment for her brain to catch up.

"Pod," She whispered, eyebrows knitting.

"I hear that we ask requests through you, m'Lady," Podrick said, still wearing all his armor and his sword tucked at his side.

"Oh?" She asked, minor disappointment tinging her voice, "Yes, well, what is it that you- or someone else- is needing?"

"It's me," Podrick said, "That is, erm, I'm the one who's needing something…"

"Yes?" Sanas asked, mind whirling. Had she forgotten to put something in his room? Was he still hungry or thirsty?

Podrick licked his lips, looking around, "Where's Gawen?"

"On an errand for...that man, the one Bran brought with the beard," Sansa fished helplessly, her mind feeling sort of like mush, "Just, on a small mission."

"I'd better remain here until he gets back. Someone has to protect the Queen," Podrick said seriously, his face devoid of any japes.

"You needed something, though, you said?" Sansa asked, trying to figure it out.

"Yes, of course." Podrick said, his confidence turning shy as he bit his lip, shrugging, "I needed a moment alone with the Queen. If she isn't too busy, that is?"

"I don't see anyone else asking for my assistance right now," Sansa said, starting to understand his cheekiness.

"I'll try to make it short then," He said.

Mentally, she thought that she'd rather it be long, but she wasn't going to complain. Podrick, as a senior part of the Kingsguard, likely had places to be tonight as well. They were both stealing just a snippet of time, plucked from the universe, to be here together right now.

Sansa grasped onto his fingers, pulling him close. He reached for her, leaning more into her room than out into the hall. He tasted exactly as she recalled; like a mixture of sweet wine, the woods, and waves from a faraway beach.

She knew that this was precarious. Her room was tucked well into the castle, yes, but any of her maids or guards could walk by and see. Despite this knowledge pounding in the back of her brain, and about how improper this all was, Sansa could not seem to pull herself away for even a second.

It was Podrick who finally did, though it was obvious he did not wish to stop either. Sansa gave a soft, quiet smile, one of the gentlest she'd given in a long time to anyone. She touched her lips, her mind replaying the moment already over and over. She wanted to memorize his flushed cheeks and mussed hair and the light in his eyes, that beautiful light.

"Did you get what you needed?" Sansa asked.

"No," Podrick replied, his tone a low whisper, "However, we don't have time to remedy that now." As he spoke, Sansa heard the familiar footfall pattern of Gawen.

"Far be it from I to let any of King Bran's convoy feel unsatisfied," Sansa replied back, "We'll have to finish later."

Gawen turned the corner, wiping off his hands from the snow on his armor, "Ser Podrick! Your nose looks better."

Sansa had nearly forgotten the last time the pair had met they'd come to blows.

"And your lip as well," Podrick replied, raising an eyebrow, "I'll see you tomorrow, Queen Sansa."

Gawen watched him leave. He placed his hand on his sword, turning to Sansa.

"I pray to the spirits you know what you're doing," Was all he said.

"Of course I do," Sansa said primly, not willing to go back into her room until Podrick had completely vanished from sight. She bit her tongue to keep the truth from speaking, the one that she had no idea, but she was making it up as she went along.

Better for everyone to think Sansa knew what she was doing at all times.

She closed her door with an audible click of the wood locking. Once alone, she turned, collapsing onto her bed.

She fell asleep with an unbanishable smile on her lips.

XXXVIII

"And we can supply lumber if that's- Bran?" Sansa looked up to see Bran completely out of focus, staring out the windows of the solar with a blank look on his face. Currently, it was only the pair of them. She was pretty sure that Hallard and one of Bran's guards were both stationed outside right now, but there was no danger between the siblings inside.

"Bran," Sansa said more firmly, and when he did not respond, "Bran!" She said, shoving his shoulder.

He startled, blinking up at Sansa with a near-sheepish look on his face. It was just there for the briefest of moments, and she may have missed it if she wasn't so used to just seeing nothing that any change to his expression at all was significant.

"You know," Sansa said, pushing aside the work, "You were impossible to teach as a child too. Always wanting to have an adventure somewhere else. Mind wandering miles away. Now that you can see into the present, past, and future it's just…" She trailed off, chuckling.

"Mostly only the present," Bran corrected, settling his hand on his chin to rest, "Sometimes the past, rarely the future. Only in snips, and I don't often realize what it is until it's passed."

Sansa blinked. She had seen a great many things; dragons, the living dead, and her brother coming back to life. Still, she was having issues with the whole new identity of Bran and his magical powers.

"Seems like a full mind," She mumbled.

"In many ways," Bran agreed but did not seem bothered or happy by it. It was just a statement of being.

Sansa gnawed on her lip, trying to think of what to say next. She had never felt so at odds talking to her brother. It reminded her of the older days when she used to struggle to find things to talk about with Jon. How things had shifted, she considered. That is if she were able to talk to him anymore.

"I was looking for Arya." Bran admitted after a long moment, "It's hard to be here and not feel like she…"

"Should be here too?" Sansa supplied and then shook her head, "She'd never be happy. She'd be with Gendry if she were in the Kingdoms. Is she alive?"

"Far as I can tell. It's harder to see her so far out," Bran said, "And she often switches her course without any telling. Impossible to predict what she's doing next to find her location."

Sansa laughed out loud, "That's just her, though, isn't it?"

She nearly stumbled off her chair when Bran's lips moved and she realized he was grinning, "Quite. Jon is fine, by the way. He's arguably better off now than before. I know you wonder."

Sansa looked down, thinking of all the unanswered ravens she'd sent his direction, "I still miss him. I miss…" She broke off. She missed the Bran she remembered, but he was long gone. It was useless to wish for something so far from her reach.

But why shouldn't she say it? And certainly, wouldn't Bran already know?

"I miss you," She finally decided to settle on, staring at her brother with a soft look, "It seems like we never quite got our footing right with each other, but I can still miss the you that you were." She placed her hands in her lap, "Which, I do realize, you've been given great power. It's rather callous of me to wish away such things, but I suppose I cannot help it at times."

"These powers," Bran said slowly, "They have rather turned me away from emotions. It's something I struggle with, even now," He said after a long moment, "If emotions mix with these skills, it's easier for me to become a less than honorable king. And we've had too many of those."

"So you just don't feel at all?" Sansa finished, trying to figure him out.

"In a sense, I suppose yes."

She thought of all her emotions she'd been feeling lately. She thought of the loneliness of becoming Queen without any of her family near her, she thought of the heartache of Podrick so far away, she thought of the constant worry she held at all times. It would be so much easier to feel none of those things, to be able to rule without second-guessing. However, when she thought of her laughter with Meera and Jeyne, her joy at Podrick's letters, and her affections for Jon and Arya and still even Bran, she thought it would be an awful trade-off. She would gladly take those bitter notes for the sweet ones, she decided.

"I imagine that people find you intimidating to talk to," Sansa said, a question that had been itching in her mind, "Since you can just see everything going on. There's little room for secrets with you."

"It's been good in some ways. I can see anything, but not all the time. It would be exhausting to be searching every second of every day. It has made my men more honest," Bran said in agreement, his fingers tapping against the parchment, "But then there are moments…" he scowled, trying to reign in his thoughts, "People are people. They are not gifted with the same foresight as I am and people make mistakes or they have emotions and they do stupid things. I suppose it's inconsequential if this chef cheats on his wife or if that servant steals a silver serving spoon. It's an imperfect world so I guess...sometimes I just hope for the best, that goodness will prevail." He looked at Sansa with a curious expression, "Is that...unwise?"

Sansa was momentarily shocked, "You're asking me?"

"I would like you to hear your thoughts upon it, yes."

Sansa thought about it. It was no different in her position too. There were big, great issues that sometimes made the day-to-day things seem like a trifle. And there were some people she knew that if she let them, they'd take the worse option. And yet…

"No one can truly grow if you're always watching over their shoulder. They need to be motivated by more than the fear of being caught. They need to truly want to be better people. I think it's a compassionate move, honest."

Bran nodded, humming, but gave no other sort of answer.

"How often do you...look into me?" Sansa questioned, unable to stop herself. She'd been throwing that question back all day, for months, actually. Ever since he mentioned looking at Arya or Jon.

"Less than the others. Jon and Arya are beyond what we know to be safe," Bran said, assuring her slightly, "And frankly...there are certain things I'd just rather not see," He added, face growing slightly pink.

"What do you-,"

"I give the same courtesy of privacy to Ser Podrick."

It was Sansa's time to turn as red as her hair. She looked down sharply, breath heaving and hitching. She wasn't sure how to respond to this, or what Bran would think. Podrick was, in many ways, betraying his trust by associating on such a personal level with Sansa. He'd be a fool to let it slide. And still…

"He is a good man. I know that he is deeply loyal to both of us, in different ways," Bran said, and she could have sworn she saw a hint of 'and thank the Gods for that' on his face for just a second, "And there isn't much else. I suppose I could call him out for his disloyalty, but," Bran shifted, and for a second his whole mask dropped off his face and Sansa saw a look of uncomfortable awkwardness and a wry smile, "As I said, there are things that no one...not even a king, needs to witness of their family."

"I'm gratified to hear you're not looking into my intimate encounters," Sansa said, unsure how else to answer. Bran raised an eyebrow, such a comical and human look that it really shocked her.

"Yes, you and me both."

XXXIX

The winter snow was a comfort to Sansa. She used to long for the summer's of King's Landing, but having survived the equivalent of hellfire there, she now wanted nothing more than to exist upon a white landscape for the rest of her days.

She did not chill like she once did and found herself at ease and perfectly comfortable outside. Even when others shivered, Sansa enjoyed walks in the frost. She liked to see her breath in front of her, she liked the look of snowflakes on her eyelashes, she liked the crunch it made under her boots.

Bran did too.

You could take a Stark out of the winter, but you could never take the thirst for it out of them.

She could tell, even as someone wheeled him out in passing between the halls, that he yearned for it in the same way.

So she took it upon herself to give him his homeland back.

It was a small convoy, only Bran, Podrick, Gawen, Aedlayne, Jeyne, and Sansa. Ser Brienne was feeling a tad under the weather, so she was taking a day off in bed, though she nearly had to be restrained down. Meera was doing other things, though it was for the best. If Bran noted her absence, he did not say much in the way of it.

When Sansa told him what they'd been doing that day, he'd been a bit confused.

"Walking in the winter? Sansa, you may have forgotten, but I'm-,"

"In a chair? Hardly. However, I know you miss it, Bran. The summers in King's Landing are scorching, even I recall that." Sansa said in her no-nonsense tone, "So you'll dress warmly."

"Even as a King and you're still bossing me around."

"It is a sister thing," Sansa said, kissing his cheeks.

She dressed in some of her thickest furs and met the group outside the gates. She had Jeyne arrange a picnic for all of them, some warm soups and bread straight from the oven, plus some mead to keep all of their insides warm. She thought Bran would like this.

As she passed, she caught Podrick's eye and blushed, looking down. What was it about him that turned her into a simpering girl with a child-like crush? She felt hardly one and ten again, back when she thought only of Joffrey and what their beautiful children may look like. She may be older now, but the same fuzzy feelings rubbed along her insides, making her lose her thought for a moment.

It was dangerous to have him around, she thought with a small smile. She might walk off a cliff if she were too preoccupied with him.

Bran, despite his hesitancy to the day, seemed to brighten once they were outside. While Sansa did the lion's share of talking to start, it wasn't long before Bran was adding in his own stories to fill the silence; talking about how he explored these parts as a child. He reminisced about the days he wanted to be a knight and how he would run around with sticks, waiting for Rickon to be old enough to play with him.

His voice faltered for a second at the mention of their youngest brother, until he was warmly talking about Rickon and the games they used to play with their toy horses.

Sansa took them to a hill that looked out across the frozen tundra. While others may find the vast expanse of white snow to be dull, Sansa found nothing more beautiful in the world. The way that the sun-dappled and dazzled the white sheet, making it glimmer, was more precious to her than a thousand stones. And it seemed so effortless, so untouched. That it could turn into anything, be anything. The fact that no one had walked through this way made it feel frozen in time, as though it could exist like this forever or change the next day.

Podrick helped Bran onto the blanket as Gawen pulled out the food. Aedlayne helped everyone settle themselves. Soon, everyone was eating and enjoying themselves. The cold hardly touched Sansa's cheeks, for she was warm by the good meal and the company she had.

As everyone finished, Sansa stood and walked to the side of the hill, sighing in contempt. There were not nearly enough of these days around anymore; days when she was free to enjoy this moment with her brother and her friends and Podrick, whatever he was considered to be. More than a friend, some small part of her reminded her.

She was in love with him, if she got the courage to tell him.

The sound of something being thrown piqued her senses, moments before something landed solidly on the back of her head. She spun, touching her crown but only came back with fluffy snow.

She looked behind her, where a pile of packed snow lay cracked in half.
She leaned down to touch it when another ball nearly hit her head, had she not been crouching.

She stood abruptly, and heard Aedlayne giggling. She had every sense to reprimand the young foolish girl, until she realized why her maid was laughing.

It was Bran who had a snow-ball in his hand.

"Bran!" She cried, "What are you, five?"

"Perhaps," he said, grinning more openly than she could recall in years, and threw a third one at her. She managed to dodge this, knowing it was coming.

She huffed, leaning down and balling a fist of snow.

"You wouldn't attack me, a cripple, would you?" Bran asked, frowning.

"Considering you began it…" Sansa teased, "Podrick," She said, her smile reaching her voice, "You might want to protect your King."

"Huh?" Podrick asked, confused, until Sansa threw a snowball right at his chest. He stared at her, uncomprehending.

"You've never had a snowball fight, have you?" Sansa surmised.

"No?"

"Well, it's quite like a regular play-fight. But with snow." Sansa said, balling another round of ammunition.

"How do you win?" Podrick questioned.

Gawen was standing, and shrugged, "The first one who has to go inside because their fingers are cold, I suppose," He said, coming to stand by Sansa. Jeyne stood by Bran.

"Jeyne! You betray me!" Sansa teased.

"It's not a fair fight otherwise. Not with Bran who can hardly move- no offense- and Podrick who's never played." She packed snow in her hands too, "Plus, then I get to do this."

She threw with all her might and her snowball hit her intended right in the face.

That's all it really took for snowballs to begin to fly with a fury. Bran was a sneaky little one despite his appearance, managing to trip Gawen twice and Sansa once. Sansa was not as skilled at throwing, which she let Gawen mostly do, but was quite good at packing it together. Podrick soon enough caught on, and it was soon hard to tell where the snow was flying from.

In the end, as they walked back to Winterfell, all were laughing and gasping for air. They were soaked the bone and looked as though they had rolled down a hill, but their happiness was infectious.

At the doors, Sansa hugged Bran, "That was fun."

"Yes, it's been a while since I've heard that word," He said with a thoughtful tone, "I'll see you at dinner, then. Podrick?"

Podrick straightened, ready to attend to his lord.

"Have one of your men assist me. You need to change too."

Podrick gave a short laugh, the coldest of any of them, shivering in his spot.

"Of course, your highness." He turned to Sansa, "My Q-Sansa…" He said.

Sansa thought of Podrick in the snow, in her homeland's snow, his black hair standing out across the forest and smiled. She would keep that picture in her head for ages.

XL

The castle had heard about their daily adventures by the time Sansa changed and re-did her hair and came down to dinner. There was a lightness in everyone, a sense of childlike glee that these halls had not had for quite some time. Sansa recalled hating snow-fights as a child. She wished she had enjoyed them more in the time they had existed.

She hoped the children that would grow up in these halls would find just as much mischievousness as Bran got up to.

Dinner was a jolly affair, mostly with people sharing childhood stories. It was strange to hear some of the grizzled old men talk about the games they played in their youth, but everyone came from somewhere. It was enjoyable too, to recall that no one began evil or good. They simply were...innocent, until things happened upon them.

As the meal winded down, people remained in the hall, drinking and coalescing around the fire. Sansa was pulled away to sign off on this or that and by the time she returned, Podrick was surrounded by a group of girls.

She tried to keep her feelings in check, though it was hard when every girl there was staring at Podrick like they wished they were alone with him right now.

"Oh, Ser Podrick, another, won't you?" One of the girls breathed as though he'd taken away all of her air.

"It's getting late-,"

"Please! You must grace us with another," Another more aggressive girl pleaded.

Podrick licked his lips. It was such a small gesture, but Sansa stumbled over a chair leg. Gods, everything he did made her feel funny. It was ridiculous! However, that gesture was so...Podrick, so cute, that she couldn't help but be charmed by it. It was not a confident movement, but one that showed his slight anxiety and unsureness. Despite how obviously popular he was with all of the girls, he sure as heck wasn't seeing it within himself.

If only he knew how many girls fawned over him…

Or better he not, Sansa thought selfishly. He might find fancy with one of them and she felt very bad about that. The idea of Podrick with someone else practically choked her, such a present and unrelenting idea that she felt small and helpless.

She should not be so obsessive over a boy, no matter how kind or how gentle or soft he was. No matter that he looked at her with such tenderness or that when he spoke to her, it was clear he cared.

"I suppose I could...one more…" She heard Podrick agree, "Uhm, a preference?"

"A favorite of yours," The first girl said, setting her arms on the table and holding her head in her palms. She leaned forward in anticipation.

Podrick began to sing.

Sansa was stopped dead.

She'd heard from a few people that Podrick had a fair voice, one he gifted rarely, but until hearing it now...she could never have imagined...it was heavenly.

She was completely enraptured by the tone of it. The slight quiver as he sang, the emotion behind it, the crispness as he vocalized. It was not just Sansa that he had under his spell; every girl (and most men) paused what they were doing to listen.

She was just so taken in by his voice and every hitch and rise to it that it took her a moment to realize that there were words to it. She blinked, turning her head.

She knew this song; Jenny of Oldstones. She had not heard it in many years. It was one that an old maid liked to sing to her and Arya when they were very young, but since that maid died, she hadn't heard it sung. It had been something sad and melancholy to her then, but hearing Podrick sing it pulled out new emotions she couldn't comprehend. They flashed by her; longing, love, wanting, apology, heartfeltness, loneliness, togetherness...it was incredible that he was able to sing all of that.

"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave…"

Podrick's eyes flashed to meet hers, for just a second. She had thought that he hadn't realized she was there, but now she realized he had been extremely cognizant of her presence the entire time.

He breathed in, his last line much quieter than any of the rest of it, and more spoken than sung, "And he never wanted to leave."

If anyone noticed his flub, they didn't notice. Though, as he blinked at Sansa, not dropping his held gaze immediately, she felt as though she understood it. It had been purposeful, hopeful. Hopeful that she may hear and understand.

Understand that, despite all these girls that were squealing and pulling his attention away again, leaving Sansa close to tears of joy or sorrow (she couldn't be sure), that song had been for her.

Just for her.