Sex and Sansa have always had a difficult relationship.
She'd heard about it from a young age; from the day that she saw a pregnant cow come through the village, and then not long after her mother's stomach had grown round with Arya, she'd been curious about the changes. It had seemed silly to withhold this information from her. She was, after all, going to go through these changes herself one day, and then give whomever she married an heir to their lands.
Growing up, the fact that talking about it in court was considered an utmost taboo topic just made all the ladies want to giggle about it more. It was innocent then. They were young and fresh-faced and no one really knew what sex was like, but it was fun to imagine as Sansa and Jeyne would stare up and down the swole knights or handsome lords that came through Winterfell. And, of course, sex was meant to lead to a baby, which was all that Sansa wanted in the world as a young girl. She'd grown up tending to her siblings and she longed for a babe herself, to feel that sort of connection her mother had with all of her children. She wanted to be useful. She wanted to give her future husband strong, healthy boys who would grow into strong, healthy lords.
Whenever they discussed the idea that sex could be pleasurable, it had felt funny to Sansa. Intercourse was not meant to be enjoyable, it was meant to create a child. She supposed she could appreciate it if it was both, the pleasure a nice addition to the intended goal.
It was only the closer she got to her marriage to Joffery that she heard the whispers that often, for the women, sex hurt. That it was rough, and painful, and awful. She understood, in that way, why women clung to their children that were produced from it so desperately. To have nothing good come from nightly activities would just be too cruel a twist of fate, she decided.
When she thought of marrying Joffrey and realized how awful he was, she just reminded herself that she would love their children. She would teach them how to be kind, how to be just, how to be good. She would do all she could to not let their father taint them.
She hadn't even considered intercourse with Tyrion, not seriously. Sure, it had been a passing terror that first night they were wed, but once it became clear that Tyrion would not force that upon her, the thought vanished from her mind. She saw him like a brother or an uncle, and to think of children with him felt strange.
She was sure, after she married Ramsay, that all the ladies had been lying. As she went through the worst nights of her life, she could not imagine in any way, shape, or form that this was possible to be pleasant for the woman. It was only ever terrible and traumatizing and left her bloody in the mornings.
It was the first time that she had considered doing evil things if she were to become pregnant with his child.
She had been torn, biting her nails, praying for her moon blood but also not each time he'd lain with her. On one hand, if she was pregnant, there was a chance that he would not hurt her for the time until the child was born. Surely, someone would notice if she started appearing black and blue and then lost the babe not long after? He'd be punished, would he not? If she could stay pregnant, then she could remain safe.
On the other hand, she imagined she could have dealt with Joffrey's child. She had friends in King's Landing and it was not unpleasant there.
Somehow, she did not know if she had the mentality to allow Ramsay's child to grow inside of her if it had occurred. There had been dark ideas plaguing her mind, particularly at the one-quarter moon in which her moon blood was late, where she considered that any child that took root would be more devil than human and she could not rightly let it live.
She would have felt no guilt in killing a monster like that. It would have been borne of sheer evil, and she would have been merely a vessel, not a mother.
She knew she was asked for children now, but the yearning had lessened in years.
Her opinion on intercourse had shifted to a brighter thought than the black ones during the time she was married to Ramsay, after hearing from Jeyne that it could indeed be very pleasant for a woman, and assuring her that it would be okay.
Somehow, the idea of a man down there terrified her, and she was unsure she'd ever recover.
This is why she liked Meera's idea of adopting so very much. She could still mother a child, as she did ache to do, and she would never have to worry about that.
It was not as though she had not explored herself down there. A couple of moons after things had settled here in Winterfell, she'd locked her room and told everyone she was going to retire early and she had explored.
And she'd found enjoyment that she had never associated with that area before.
It seemed almost silly. She knew her body better than any man, so why should she bother even attempting, when there was the chance it could be so dissatisfying?
All of these previous opinions were being changed the more she was around Podrick, which was confusing and on some level, deeply distressing to her.
There were moments she seemed to forget her entire history and she would stare at him, wanting to uncover all of him, to feel his flesh upon her own, to touch him and to have him touch her…
In particular, a few nights after the snowball fight and a few before the marriage, she awoke in a warm sweat. She blinked on her furs, gasping, her body tingling.
As she closed her eyes and slid her fingers between her legs, she strived to recall her dream.
As she rubbed her legs together, the faint pieces began to gather at the forefront of her mind. It had been in the woods. She'd been lying on a cloak and she was in the midst of pleasure. She recalled every feeling, as though it had actually happened to her. It was lighting up her senses, like an electric spark, a tinder being set to flames.
Sansa bit her lip, trying to resist a moan, wanting to bask in this dream for as long as it would remain.
Just as she was dipping her fingers between her legs again, hoping to settle herself before she went to breakfast, a whisper of a voice from her dream weaved through her mind.
My Queen…
The adoring tone would have been recognizable anywhere. Though she could not see the figure and only recall the feelings of the dream, she knew undoubtedly that her partner had been Podrick.
It was enough to bring her over the edge.
As she wiped her fingers in a basin of water, she winced. She'd never dreamed of herself with another person before, never trusting anyone so intimately to allow them, even unrealistically, to help her with such issues. The idea of Podrick being there, however, had seemed as natural as anything else.
She expected to be a blushing mess at the grand table, but instead, as soon as Podrick arrived, she felt settled. As he leaned over to grasp a mug of ale, she watched as his shirt rippled as he moved, and she got a flash of his arms with not a stitch of cloth on it.
She sipped her morning drink, eyes narrowed, and smiled beneath the rim of the glass.
She prayed for similar dreams tonight.
XLII
Sansa was in complete peace.
The water was heated just above the temperature that most people would find uncomfortable, exactly where Sansa preferred it. The candles cast the room in a soft, dewy, and comforting sort of glow. There was a scent of lavender, vanilla, and bergamot that wafted up with the steam, settling over Sansa's freckled skin and leaving her feeling soft and her skin flawless. She had her favorite red in a decanter next to her, as well as a selection of fruits.
This indeed was sheer perfection.
Growing up, Sansa had always been deeply confused about why neither of her parents seemed to care much for the hot springs that ran underneath Winterfell. To be honest, from the way her mother discussed it, it seemed her father's parents did not prefer them either. She had been to the crumbing ruins once, and though it had been in deep disuse for years, it had been such a deeply relaxing memory that had remained with her all her years.
Now that she was the Queen, and the castle needed repairs most places after the battle anyway, Sansa felt not a hint of guilt to order the restoration of the Hot Spring Hall. And, even if it had been a selfish act, she was the Queen.
She deserved a few nights of utter relaxation and satisfying lounging.
She tilted her head, the only sound was the crinkling of the candle wicks and the wind howling outside. Beyond that, absolutely nothing.
She grinned, popping a grape in her mouth.
Was there a more perfect sound than silence?
Since her parents had been so lukewarm upon the usage of this room and didn't bring it up, most did not know it existed. Apart from her most trusted ladies and those who had overseen the construction, and Gawen since he was needed to know every inch of the castle to protect her, there were only a select few people that might come bothering her.
Meera was entertaining their guests for the night. As it was, it was only a few nights until Jeyne and Gawen's wedding, so there was much to be done. Besides, just as Sansa found relaxation here, she knew Meera relieved her stress by yelling at men.
The general consensus that was being told was that Sansa had a headache and a maseter had sent her to her room to spend the night catching up on rest. The unsaid words within that were unless Winterfell was literally on fire, no one was to dare attempt to disturb her. Any queries or issues should be swiftly handled by her team.
Sansa had the entire night to relax here.
She'd had the construction men build this iteration of the baths better than before. While the previous one had been an afterthought, a supposed 'well, perhaps we should take advantage of this naturally warm water' but not much general care to the room itself. Sure, the hot springs also heated the entire keep, but it had been a glorified maid's closet before, with a little well that if you sat in just right, it could nearly be comfortable.
Since Sansa could, and she did, she had taken her hand at drawing what she imagined a place like this deserved to look like.
She'd enjoyed doodling in her youth, but it had been a long time since she'd been allowed to do so. It was a foolish pastime, and unless she was embroidering a design over the sketches, not much of it was thought to be something a lady should know how to do.
Still, when she'd drawn this room to have a great big tub with seats on the inside and a set of steps leading into it, along with a smooth surface like the swimming pools she'd heard of in Dorne, and high ceilings with places to light candles all around, and a chaise lounge in the corner...the men had gotten the idea.
But oh my, this was so much better than what she'd envisioned it to be.
Sansa giggled, dunking her hair into the water, watching as it spread out around her like a halo. As she came up, she twisted and leaned over the edge, fingers reaching for the sliced apple.
Just as her fingers touched the edge of it, there was a sound of a door opening and slamming behind her.
Sansa shot below the water, at least up to her neck where her body would not be indecently seen, about to give whoever had interrupted her a piece of her mind. She hoped it was one of the girls; she was wearing a night robe in the baths, but the thin white material did little to hide her now that she was sopping wet.
She could not imagine that she would be more surprised in her life when she turned to find Podrick pressed up against the door, face as red as her hair, stammering and near-frantic.
"Sansa!" He said finally, after a long string of stuttered sounds. He turned, trying the door, but found it jammed, "I just...oh...gods, I'm so sorry!"
Sansa crossed her arms but tilted her head up at him.
"Podrick," She said evenly, a bit more relaxed now that she knew it was just him (though, it was never just Podrick, gods), "What are you doing here?"
"I...uhm...well," Podrick jiggled the door handle more aggressively but was still unable to budge it, even when he pushed his weight against it. He attempted for a few more moments, until he turned, covering his eyes firmly with a hand. The apples of his cheeks were still brightly colored. She could see a sheen of sweat appearing on his forehead, though if it were from the heat of the room or the mortification of this moment, Sansa was unsure, "I was instructed to come in here."
"Oh?"
"But I didn't know it was you...or this…" Podrick trailed off.
"I'm not sure I understand," Sansa furrowed her brows.
"I was supposed to have the night off tomorrow, but one of my men suggested it was tonight. I wasn't going to argue, I don't care really which night it was. I told my men I would be riding tonight, alone, just to clear my head. Not a moment later, Jeyne found me and she told me that one of my men had gotten hurt. She told me it was through here. She told me it was one of the armory storages!" His voice had taken a high pitch, growing more worried by the second. If Sansa was not piecing this together, she would have laughed at his adorable worriedness.
"Jeyne grabbed you?" Sansa repeated, tonguing the inside of her cheek, "Did she?"
"Yes, My Queen."
Sansa leaned back against the stone, harrumphing. She had a perfect idea of where this little scheme had brewed itself in Jeyne's mind.
Today, Sansa had been caught looking longingly at Jeyen and Gawen at dinner. They hadn't even been doing anything over-the-top adorable, they'd just been...existing. And yes, maybe her gaze had slid over to Podrick, just for a moment. Everyone wanted to be loved and wanted, didn't they?
When she'd returned her gaze, Jeyne had been looking at her with pity. Sansa had told her after dinner to stop that damned look in her eyes because Sansa needed no one's sad feelings directed for her. Besides, it was just a faraway, dangerous game she was playing with Podrick. She had no right to wish for that or expect it to happen.
Jeyne had found a way, however.
"I thought you were ill, m'lady? With a headache. I went to check on you, but Meera sent me away…"
Sansa's heart warmed to hear that, though she did feel bad that he'd believed it.
"Steam does fantastic things for head pains, though I do admit, I don't presently have one. It's mild enough not to worry most, but still to keep others away."
Podrick had half-turned, more toward the door, so that he did not have to cover his eyes. Still, he kept them screwed shut, as though staring upon Sansa would turn him to stone.
"Ah, right. The door seems to be...rather...erm," He tried it again, just for good measure, but it was still stuck in place.
"Quite conveniently, I'm sure," Sansa muttered dryly. Still, she was not going to pass up such a gifted opportunity, not when Jeyne had so nicely dropped it upon her plate.
She was still deciding if she were going to hug Jeyne or strangle her the next time she saw her.
"So, Ser Podrick," Sansa purred in a teasing tone, hoping he'd pick up on it, "Did anyone know about this supposed hurt Kingsguard member? Besides you, of course?"
Podrick blinked, tilting his head, "I guess...no, maybe just me."
"So, everyone naturally assumes you'll be out riding, or if you haven't, that you will be soon enough."
"Yes?"
"And, everyone thinks I'm in bed with a minor ailment. Moreover, only about ten people know the existence of this room, three of which are not presently here at Winterfell, one of which is me, and the others will have no reason to gather me unless we are in for another end-of-the-world event." Sansa continued.
Podrick's jaw hung open and so softly she nearly missed it, he cursed under his breath.
"Jeyne is crafty, isn't she?"
Sansa giggled, crossing the wide pool to lean over the edge. All of her indecent bits were covered by the stone ledge. She crossed her arms on the pool's edge, resting her cheek upon it. She knew that the bubbling would cover and distort the water, so she was comfortable like this.
"You can open your eyes. I'm covered," She said quietly. Podrick cautiously turned, as though unsure he believed her. He seemed to let out a sigh of relief, "Is it so awful that you would see me unclothed?" She asked, unable to stop herself.
"Sansa!" Podrick choked on his breath.
"Calm yourself, before you faint, Ser," Sansa instructed, feeling much bolder now that there was a locked door in front of them and no one the wiser in the castle, "The water is very relaxing."
He rolls his head to the ceiling, groaning, as though now just realizing who he is standing in front of. Though Sansa may appear quiet, she learned from the best.
"I'm not saying to disrobe," Sansa said innocently, "and I'll remain right like this, but you might as well dip your feet in. Why don't you grab the platter of food over there? We'll just...talk." As silly as it may seem, the idea of having Podrick to herself for a night, even innocently, makes her giddy with glee.
"Just my feet," Podrick agrees, pointing a finger and narrowing his eyes. He took off his sword and chest plates, set them by the door, which he gave one last traitorous glare upon. He went around the edge of the pool, grasped the metal serving tray. Sansa looked over her shoulder, just a bit, and grinned when she caught him staring at her back, and below the water's edge, his eyes a darker shade than usual.
He is not as virtuous all the time as he builds himself up to be. Somehow, the idea that there are these moments when he is as hungry as a wolf-like all the other men are but shows it rarely thrills her.
She wants to see more of that look about him.
He came back to the front, he took off his shoes and his socks. He rolled his pants up to about his ankles and sat gingerly on the edge, his large palms inches away from Sansa's bowed elbows. She smiled up at him, watching as he dipped his feet into the water.
"Hmm, this is quite nice," He agreed, a bit begrudgingly, and Sansa gave a bark of laughter.
"You act as though it was going to eat your toes off!"
"Not the water," He admitted, "More like you."
Sansa sputtered, pretending to be completely offended, "I am a Lady!" She said in complete faux horror.
"Yeah, one that's naked and calling to me like a siren," Podrick responded, a bit more relaxed. He groaned as he lays completely back on the stone, as he placed his hands on his chest.
"You're comfortable like that?"
"Mhh, and there's no temptations from certain fire-haired nymphs," He replied in a dry tone, the most candid he's ever been, at least by her knowledge. It is quite surprising what a room to themselves can do for confidence, she muses. She knows she is acting very differently than if someone who would be horrified at their dalliance were to walk in on them. As it is, it's either going to be Jeyne or Gawen who will relieve her from her locked room in a few hours. Jeyne would be giddy, and Gawen may disapprove, but he'd never say it to her face.
"Is the temptation so terrible?" Sansa questioned honestly, starting to feel unsure of herself. Perhaps she was torturing him. Perhaps this was unwanted. She'd been on the other end of not wanting affections, so she couldn't imagine forcing this upon him.
Podrick must have heard the tone in her voice for he swallowed hard, "You think it's...gods, Sansa!" He choked out, "It's not because I don't want the temptation, it's because I'm afraid of what I'll do if I let myself."
Sansa blinked, "What would you do?" She waited for a reply but found none, so she started to trail a nail up and down his leg. Podrick sucked in hard.
"You might be scandalized to find out," He said, "They're certainly not..proper thoughts."
"Who said I'm not having such similar ideas?" Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps Sansa was too bold for her own good, but the words- this admission- was out before she could stop it.
Okay, this night was not going to be as innocent as she promised. Though, she wanted to blame Podrick. How was she honestly expected to keep it so modest when he was around her?
"You-." Podrick's words were somewhere between a laugh and a cough, "Really?"
"Is that so surprising?" Sansa asked, "When we have kissed, have you not felt...how I do?" She couldn't describe the fire that burned in her stomach in any words, they were failing her altogether currently. For one second, she imagined it was more her than him, and she felt stupid.
"I didn't want to ever assume," He said firmly, "Sansa, you are a Queen. I'm merely a knight. If I ever read the situation wrong I might...you could…" He sat up, staring at her face, "It's self-preservation, though I'll admit I'm not very good at it. And admittedly, I still think of myself as 'just Podrick'. The idea that you might fancy me in any way more than platonically feels...like a joke."
"It's no jest, I assure you," Sansa hurried to say, "And you're blind then. You're so much more than 'just Podrick'. I am a Queen, so believe me when I say I make the best choices. You are the best."
He gave a quiet laugh, but Sansa was not finished.
"You are kind, and trustworthy, and honest, and loyal. You treat me like a person- like a woman capable of leading, like someone who should be leading. I've never felt better about myself than when I'm with you. You're clever and you have a keen mind and I enjoy our talks. You care about the Kingdoms and for the people and, gods, you give so much of yourself." Sansa said, breathless, "And you do so without asking for much of anything. You're selfless. I had originally assumed Jeyne orchestrated this for me, but have you considered that she did it for you too? That perhaps, even fleetingly, if you want...me," She swallowed hard, her voice shaking, "You deserve something good too?"
Podrick leaned down, grasping underneath her chin with both hands and pulled her up to his lips, "How could you imagine I wouldn't want this?" He asked, kissing her deeply.
"You'll get wet, Ser," Sansa said, her hands at his shoulder and her soaking chemise dripping all over his clothes.
"Do I seem as though I care?" He questioned, pulling her closer against him, leaning down as though he was trying to devour all of her. Their kisses had been anywhere from chaste to heated before, but this was so much more. This was that sort of passion she'd heard bards write of, but never experienced. This was a need that was crawling through her veins, causing her fists to grip his shirt and pull him closer against her, her fingers to dampen the roots of his hair, and her throat to expel a little breathless moan.
It could have been moments or it could have been days they kissed, but it seemed like far too soon Podrick was pulling back. He was unable to detach them completely, but rested his chin against her shoulder, inhaling.
"You say I'm selfless, but that's not true. I'm entirely selfish about you," He said quietly, "And how I do want you when I know perhaps I shouldn't. And it might end in tragedy but I'll be damned if I don't allow myself to enjoy this now. I don't think I've ever wanted something as much as this."
Sansa understood that they would go no further, though she wouldn't have been opposed had he initiated it. Still, this felt like a step toward somewhere new.
She leaned back into the water, sipping her wine. She almost said 'me too', but the words fell from her tongue. For as fearless in some ways, as she was, everything about how she felt toward Podrick terrified her to no end.
"So," Sansa forced a cheerful smile upon her face after a moment, "How have your men enjoyed Winterfell so far?"
The next few hours were spent chatting in a friendly manner, with much food and wine between them. Though Sansa longed to feel him against her again, she knew that she shouldn't push it. Organically, it would happen.
By the time Jeyne let them out, she winked and said something about 'doors sticking during the colder seasons', which Sansa knew to not be untrue, but she doubted that was all that was keeping it closed for the last few hours. Gawen was behind as though he absolutely noticed how the front of Podrick's shirt was still sopping wet and his hair had dried at a strange angle from Sansa running her fingers through, he did not say anything but begrudgingly handed Jeyne a coin. Jeyne with her sly smile, however, looked like she'd just won a bet.
XLIII
Sansa had been extremely careful to make sure that Meera and Bran did not intersect with each other more than needed. If her brother realized anything about how Meera felt, he did not show it. Though he hardly showed any emotions, so it was hard to tell.
What hurt Sansa was the looks Meera gave when she thought no one saw. It was the sort of looks of a love lost, not the bubbling newness that she felt with Podrick. It was the sort of look that someone gave looking upon the body of a dead loved one or a grave, and for all purposes, it was like Bran was dead to her. Far out of reach, detached, and cold.
Sansa could not imagine what it would be like at this point to lose Podrick and Meera had spent years by Bran's side. It must have been an unimaginable soreness for her to be anywhere near Bran without wanting to cry or hit him, and both would have been more than acceptable. So, Sansa gave an extended effort to assure that Meera was not in the same room with him other than when they had to be. And, she was pretty sure that Meera recognized this and appreciated it, though she did not say out loud.
When things did come to a climax, it was not her fault when it happened, you see. Bran wasn't supposed to be in there. He was supposed to be meeting with Randin and far from the library. And Sansa was caught up in preparing for the wedding, which was barreling toward them with a terrifying fastness, and asked Meera to go and grab her the ledger from the last time there'd been a wedding at Winterfell (her mother and father's) to compare the prices and make sure it was within reason.
Sansa only noticed that Meera had been gone longer than that short trip should have taken, and she was unable to finish her report without that ledger, so she brushed herself off. She was in a huff about it until she caught sight of her brother's chair in the room and there was a sense of panic that gripped her.
"You sent me away!"
Sansa threw the doors open to see Meera shaking and pointing a finger at Bran, who was staring at her wide-eyed and speechless.
"You sent me away without so much of a thank you! You were cold and callous and cruel and you think I have something to say to you?" She spat, unaware that Sansa had appeared at all until Sansa touched her shoulder. She jumped, inhaling hard, trying to catch her breath.
"Bran. What are you doing here?" Sansa demanded.
"Randin and I finished early. I was looking for an old book. The guard who was carrying me left to prepare my room for the next meeting. I didn't think that…" He had fear on his face, another emotion that seemed strange to sit there. However, if Meera was yelling at Sansa, she'd be afraid to.
"Perhaps it's best you leave," She said in a commanding tone. She hoped Bran wasn't going to argue on this and would turn. Bran seemed ready to agree, but Meera sniffled, wiping her hand on her face.
"No, we're not done yet," Meera growled.
"Meera-,"
"I've been cordial for this entire time, Sansa, and he...has the audacity...to ask me why I…" Meera was having trouble getting her words out, "Why I tried to get up and leave immediately when he arrived. I'm done letting him get away with it!"
Sansa stood between the two, inhaling hard, "Maybe this isn't-,"
"I had to."
Bran's voice broke through whatever she was about to suggest. Meera whipped around, face red with anger.
"What?"
"I had to," Bran repeated, "I had to send you away like that."
"You didn't have to do anything. I stayed with you for years. I let my brother die for you. I started to lo-," Meera backed up against a bookshelf, "You broke my heart, Bran. You crushed it and I hate how you made me feel so worthless."
Sansa sat down at the table, realizing that she could do no more than make sure they didn't come to physical blows with each other. The last thing the North needed was another war with the South.
Bran looked deeply troubled. Sansa watched his brow furrow and his lips curl downward, his eyes flickering as he stared at his lap. She thought at first he was just going to turn away, let her yell, but he shook his head.
"You would have stayed if I hadn't."
Meera's anger was abated for a second, if only as she struggled with his words, "I don't understand."
"I saw the war. You would have stayed had I been anything but dismissive toward you. Had I even shown a hint of my affections, you wouldn't have left. You would have been involved in the fights."
"Affections...you...I…" Meera sputtered, "You let me believe I was the only one who felt that? Of course, I would have stayed! Why would you do that to us if there had even been a chance that we…?" Meera threw her hands out, hurt and furious and aching.
"Because you'd be dead," Bran raised his voice, almost snapping, enough to silence her completely, "Because you'd be...gone…" He said, softer.
Meera rubbed her arms, staring, waiting.
Bran inhaled hard, scowling, and blinked back what almost looked like tears, "I saw it all. And I saw so many times where you were slain in so many different ways. I selfishly used my powers to see it and every single time, there wasn't one outcome where you stayed at the battle and I didn't lose you completely. And there was only one path in which you left and did not return for the battle. The one where I…" He trailed off, unable to finish.
"You played with my future? With your magic? You took away my free will? Bran, I was asking you to give me a reason to stay. And you just..." She demanded, not as soothed as he seemingly had hoped she'd be, "I'm an adult! I can decide for myself! You left me feeling awful and I mourned for what we had for ages! Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you would have remained and I told myself it was better to lose your heart and perhaps see you in the future than never again because you'd be buried in the ground or burned as a walker," Bran said.
Sansa stared, almost uncomprehendingly at her brother. Just as she'd felt her shock worn off from the revelation a bit ago that someone had been, or still was in love with her brother, the idea that her brother loved someone back was even more so startling. It was almost unreal. She hadn't been aware Bran still felt any deep emotions such as love, but how he stared at her- and she at him- she was bowled over by the feelings that ran deep between them.
"It doesn't matter now," Meera said, as though commenting on Sansa's realization, "Because I am Hand of the Queen and you are King of a different kingdom. And I will not leave my post."
Bran gave a deep nod, "I know."
Perhaps Meera expected him to fight, and his quiet and broken acceptance seemed to cause her stony battle-face to break. She slumped down, as though exhausted, head resting against the bookshelves.
"We could have had something great, Bran," She whispered, "If you'd let us."
"It would have been fleeting. Days at most."
"And this is better?" She questioned, "To know we are two ships passing in the night?"
Sansa looked at Bran. It seemed that at first, he'd been prepared to defend his choice until the very end, but as he stared at Meera with such a feeling of longing, it seemed he was not so resolute anymore.
"I have to believe so."
It was the biggest lie Sansa had ever heard her brother tell.
XLIV
"Oh! Sansa, this is far too much!" Jeyne spun around as Sansa sat her down in the chair, as she called over her maids, as she told them what to do. Sansa brushed back a strand of Jeyne's beautiful chestnut hair, smiling.
"Jeyne, you are my very best friend and this is your wedding day. It is not too much." Sansa said firmly.
"That can't be true, my Queen," Jeyne laughed nervously.
Sansa, without a pause, laughed, "Why would you imagine it isn't? Now, stop talking, or else my maids won't be able to do your makeup!"
Jeyne nearly argued, but then again, who could deny a demand from their Queen?
As Sansa sat and watched with a bright smile on her face, she realized she had told the truth, and not just for Jeyne's benefit. Jeyne truly was her oldest and most valuable friend. She was the best of mates when they were growing up together in Winterfell, and they had told each other everything. Jeyne knew the most embarrassing stories of Sansa from her youth and recalled her from the age when her hair was too frazzled, her teeth were just a bit too big for her face, and her ears were just unseemly.
When she'd gone to King's Landing, she'd thought foolishly for a time that she would never find a better friend than Margaery, but the older she got, the more she realized she'd been played.
Yes, there were likely some moments in between where the Tyrell daughter did have a genuine friendship with Sansa, but everything was a game to that girl. A step on the ladder. It was impossible to tell where a truth began and a ploy ended. It cast doubt on every moment they'd shared, ever secret Sansa let her in on.
And then there had been Shae. That relationship had been more of an older sister/younger sister. Once again, Sansa did not doubt that Shae cared for her, but that relationship too had so many moving parts that Sansa looked back on their moments with a hint of bitterness.
The only other person that Sansa considered might come close to a friend as close as Jeyne was Arya, but that was a newer friendship. Plus, they were sisters, so it was different.
Sansa could see, as the years passed, her and Meera becoming extremely close, but they were both being professional, or as much as they could right now. Things were so fraught, so tenuous between everyone that they didn't have time to leisurely explore a friendship. Their jobs came first. Plus, through time and trial, Meera would either prove true or not.
So yes, Jeyne was the only friend that Sansa had that she felt unselfishly tied to. There was no subterfuge with her. There was not an imbalance, not even as Sansa was the Queen because Jeyne knew her worst secrets, one that no one else knew.
She wanted Jeyne to be radiant today. She wanted everyone's eyes to look toward Jeyne and Gawen and ignore Sansa, like she was a background ornament, if at all possible. So, whenever one of her maids tried to come over to dress Sansa, she declined.
She went to a spare room and did her own hair and makeup. She hardly put any color on her face at all, just a hint of color to her lips. She brushed her hair and put no braids in it, and let it curl slightly, instead of the religious oils she used to straighten it. She dressed by herself in her very plainest frock, something that she'd worn when she was masquerading as a commoner.
If someone had never seen the Queen, they may very well imagine Sansa was just another guest at the wedding. It was exactly how Sansa hoped to be today.
The vows itself, though a bit chilly, were quick. Jeyne did look like a goddess with her hair pulled into elaborate braids and the snow catching on her eyelashes. Gawen was smiling more than Sansa had ever seen him grin; he was usually so stoic around her, but today he was goofy, and unrestrained, and joyous. It gave Sansa a glimpse of what Jeyne must see in him.
And oh, he looked at Jeyne like she hung the moon.
Sansa loved that for her best friend. She deserves nothing less.
The party after was what everyone was really looking forward to. It was in the Great Hall. The last time that there had been so many different groups that were all meshed together had been after the Battle of Winterfell. Sansa had been so sullen then; she'd kept hoping Theon would walk through the doors. She fancied the idea that maybe she'd kiss him when he came through, though she hadn't found the courage to tell herself it should be on the lips.
But he never came.
When Arya told her, it was all she could do not to scream or cry.
There were no such sad feelings today, though a gentle ache did ring out in her chest. She had to think Theon was at peace and she was so much more than she'd been before.
The co-mingling of Bran's people and Sansa's had been a slow process, like a glacier moving across the fields. In the weeks they'd been there, it had started to be more and more casual, but tonight it seemed all barriers were completely broken down.
Ser Brienne was in a corner, swapping war stories with a group of knights from both Bran's and Sansa's guard. None of them were disparaging her for being a woman, but more so it seemed they were all hanging on her every word, offering her ale and stunned gasps.
Tyrion was surrounded by girls, as he always was, and from across the way, he winked at Sansa. She shook her head, rolling her eyes. She was glad to see him less despondent too; he'd had a rough time just as much as anyone else.
Sam had met up with some friends he'd made in Winterfell the last time he was here, particularly a group of mothers who had watched Little Sam when both he and Gilly were away. He was gleefully describing his son's changes and milestones, and Sansa heard him mention he and Gilly were trying for another child.
Bran was in the corner with Meera. It did not seem as Meera was inches away from kicking him out of his chair and breaking it into a million pieces. They were just...talking. They were tilted toward each other, though not by too much, but enough for Sansa's heart to hurt for the pair of them just a bit.
If Meera would ever consider going or if there was a way for them to rewind time...oh, Sansa wished it for them.
Everyone deserves true, passionate love.
As if on cue, someone tapped her shoulder.
"You look stunning," Podrick breathed, "I like to see your freckles," He added, almost taking a hand up to trace her cheeks, but recalled they were in public.
"If that's the case, I have done a disservice to Jeyne," Sansa said, frowning, "I wanted her to be a goddess and me to be just Sansa for this night."
"Jeyne looks beautiful, that is true," Podrick said, "But Sansa, you'd be kidding to think I'd ever find you unattractive. Even wearing what I'm pretty sure is a potato sack," He said, eyeing her plain brown dress with mischievous mirth to his tone, "You still are enchanting."
"For shame," Sansa tutted, "It's a flour sack, ser. There's a difference."
"Of course, my bad," Podrick laughed, "Honey Wine?" He offered his glass to her. Sansa drank the familiar wedding drink, smiling. The last time there had been a wedding at Winterfell had been...well, probably her mother and father. She'd been to other weddings, of course, but part of her was glad that it was these two that held that honor, and not her. She'd feel the stress of making it perfect if that was so.
It was nice to just enjoy the party. She hoped Jeyne enjoyed it. It seemed she was. Sansa had danced the night, allowing many men (and a few women) to ask to be her partner, but she did feel more settled, even just standing next to Podrick. The night was growing long and she was exhausted from the day.
"You look tired, Sansa," Podrick said, "You've been up since the crack of dawn."
"That's when I wake every day," Sansa said.
"Yes, but you've also been dancing with every available living human in this room," Podrick said, meaning he'd noticed, "I'm sure no one will even notice if you slip out at this point."
"I will wait until Jeyne and Gawen retire. That would be in bad form if I didn't," Sansa said resolutely.
"Then, at least, sit," Podrick said, motioning to a chair, "I'll keep bringing you honey wine and you can be a stubborn Stark."
And he did just that. Sansa talked with a few other old friends a bit, though she did realize she kept waiting for Jeyne and Gawen to decide it was time to turn in. She did not want to cut their fun at all, but she was more sleepy than she'd thought.
By the time that Gawen said it was time for them to go, followed by many off-colored and inappropriate jokes from some of the men surrounding them, Sansa almost sighed in relief out loud. Podrick had slipped away some time ago and she figured she'd lost him in the crowd. Though one part of her kept looking for him and did want to tell him she was turning in, the other- the more exhausted part- knew he'd understand if she exited without saying goodnight. Plus, Podrick may have slipped her one too many glasses of wine. She was starting to feel a bit fuzzy...she'd never been properly drunk, but she imagined this may be close to what it felt like.
She tried to slip out the back, unnoticed, but Bran's squeaky chair caused her to pause. She turned to see her brother rolling up to her.
"Bran, can this wait until morning? I'm rather bushed." She said, stifling a yawn.
"Actually, I have an offering for you," Bran said. Sansa raised an eyebrow, curious, "Since your most trusted guard is off tonight, enjoying his newly wedded status, I figure it's only fair you have someone of equal trust in front of your door."
"Oh, I figure that Hallad will be fine to take tonight," Sansa said, but realized she had not thought of this detail until Bran brought it up.
"What about Podrick? Gods knows he wouldn't say no to that request. In fact, he's already agreed."
"Bran-," Sansa said, a thousand emotions and feelings about this, but mostly just confusion.
"Have a good night, Sansa," Bran said, turning around, finishing the conversation, "A very good night."
Sansa, far too wine woozy and tired to consider how strange that phrasing had been (as well have come to the conclusion that Bran was a strange person now), just narrowed her eyes.
If the wheels were already set in motion for Podrick to guard her door tonight, Sansa was surely not going to try to mess with it.
XLV
The door was slightly cracked when Sansa arrived back in her halls. She expected Podrick to be firmly stationed outside her door, so she was more than a bit surprised to find he wasn't.
She pushed the wood aside to step into a warm, cozy room.
"Podrick, what are you doing?" Sansa asked, her brows knitting in confusion.
"Making your bedroom comfortable, my Queen," Podrick said, as though it was obvious, "I know you probably prefer the cold, but it is quite chilly tonight."
Sansa closed the door behind her, stepping fully into the room. She realized that he'd set up her room for her arrival, more than Gawen or her maids ever did for her nights. He'd stoked the fire, locked the windows down, found and placed a spare fur by the end of her bed, had a kraft of what looked like water (oh, thank the gods) with a cup near her bed, he'd put her night robe near her chair…
"You're perfect," Sansa half groaned, realizing a second too late she'd said it out loud. Podrick blushed a bit and shrugged.
"Just because you're pretending not to be a Queen today doesn't mean you cease being one," He mumbled, face blushing. He stood back, surveying his work, "Is there anything else you need tonight? Before I take up my post?"
"Yes," Sansa said before she could truly think about it. That damn wine was messing with her filter, though she was not angry with it. She wished she had been so bold before, and all she did know is after that faint haunt of memory, she was more inclined to seize what she truly wanted, propriety ignored.
Podrick frowned, as though trying to figure out what he missed until Sansa met him by her bed. He tried to move away, but she grasped his wrists, moving backward until she was sitting on the edge of her bed and her legs were between his legs. She gnawed her bottom lip, waiting for him to catch on until she recalled what he'd spoken about at the baths.
"I want you...you, Pod," She breathed out quietly, running her fingers down his wrists and to the center of his palms. Gingerly, she brought them to the back laces of her dress, leaving them there.
For a second, Podrick didn't move. He just stared, and Sansa wondered if she was speaking Wilding to him.
"Are you sure, Sansa?" He asked with a sense of utter confusion.
"Completely," Sansa said, scooting back on the bed, watching as he folded over her. With a sense of boldness, she leaned up to peck him on the lips, but as soon as their lips touched, he was kissing her with a sense of urgency.
"If this is what you want…" Podrick breathed against her neck, still holding himself above her, standing more than joining her on the bed.
"Podrick, please…" She paused, about a thousand different phrases bursting into her mind such as 'please take my shirt off' or 'please take your shirt off' and perhaps 'please show me what those girls were gossiping about', but she could not voice any of those. So, she just kissed him and repeated, "Please."
He seemed sure of her request now and crawled over her, his legs bracketing in her thighs. As he kissed her, his hands moved up her skirt, pushing them around her waist and exposing her smallclothes to the open air and his hands. The way he kissed her made her whole body tingle and her stomach clench. She arched up against him, clawing and trying to pull him down, unsure completely what she was doing, but hoped her instincts were not steering her wrong.
She thought she had done something bad for a second, when Podrick pulled away, breathing hard.
"You've only been with...him," He avoided Ramsay's name, and though he did not say it, the fact it had been most unpleasant didn't need to be said. He understood it, "So if I do something that doesn't feel good, you have to let me know. Promise, Sansa?"
Sansa managed a nod, nervous and excited all at once for what was coming.
"Equally," Podrick said, hands getting closer to the inside of her thighs, "If something does feel good, please also let me know." It took a moment- as she took in his rouged cheeks and grin- that he was being cheeky. She laughed a bit and the fact that he was smiling and grinning made this entire thing feel so much more comfortable.
When he pulled her smallclothes down, Sansa tried not to sharply intake. Logically, she knew these had to come off for her to continue with her night. Podrick rubbed soft circles on her leg, comforting her.
When he moved his head between her legs, however, Sansa was very much confused.
"What are you-,"
"Do you trust me?" He asked.
Sansa didn't have to think and gave a vigorous nod.
"Then, trust me," He said leaning back up to kiss her quickly. Sansa flopped her head back on the furs, unsure what this was going to be.
She caught on immediately.
By the time he had finished, she understood why the girls were so enchanted with him. They'd hardly done anything and felt more satisfied with him than she ever had with Ramsay, or gods, even getting herself off.
"Did you like that?"
"What kind of a question is that," Sansa scoffed, "I doubt you've ever gotten any complaints about what you just did."
Podrick gave a little shrug and a quick smirk, and she knew he was right. It was incredibly attractive to see him so haughty about something since he so rarely was.
"Perhaps, but you're the only experience I care about hearing," He said after a moment, returning to the Podrick she knew best.
"I certainly am quite pleased," She said. She leaned up to kiss him again and this time his hands did go for her ties. They both disrobed quickly, and it seemed like just a blink and no time in between before they were moving against each other.
He held her gingerly, like a fine piece of ceramic, moving inside of her with precision and care she appreciated. Ramsay had always been rough. She did not mind this more gentle event, especially when she was able to catch a glimpse of the way he was looking at her.
She would be too drunk to remember it was about the way that Gawen had looked at Jeyne tonight.
But, at that moment, that's all that mattered to her. The experience itself was dreamy, but there was something more addictive about how it felt to be held so intimately by someone else who, she was more than sure, loved her in a way she'd never really been loved before. And, what a thrill, to feel the same way back toward someone, even if both sides were unspoken.
By the time Sansa had slipped off to sleep and Podrick had taken his post outside her door, albeit a couple of hours after Bran had dismissed him, she was completely satisfied and equally bursting with a deep, lasting affection for Podrick.