Perhaps Sansa was getting ahead of herself. Perhaps she was placing all of her eggs in one basket and merrily skipping through the forest path, unaware that tragedy and heartbreak were coming just around the corner.
Or perhaps she had gone mad.
She knew most of her staff thought her so.
Her servants most certainly knew something was up.
She knew that as soon as she instructed the maids to start a particular task at hand, the whispers would spread quickly through Winterfell, and then, throughout the whole seven kingdoms.
Sansa did not care though.
She had stopped caring about what others thought long ago.
"The old nursery?" A maid sputtered, confused, "You want us to clean the…"
"Yes, the nursery," Sansa said, referring to the room that had held her and all of her siblings as young babes, as well as any other children under one-year-old passing through the castle.
There had been so much death recently.
Not a whole lot of new life.
"I did not know we were expecting a pregnant mother soon," The maid said, confused, "How soon should we expect her?"
"We are not, at least, not for a long while. But it is bad manners, don't you think, to not have a place prepared?" She asked.
The maid curtsied, "Of course, Your Grace. I apologize for such a foolish question."
"Clean it thoroughly," Sansa said, grasping her wrist before she left, "I want it to shine brighter than any other room in the castle."
"Yes, Queen Sansa," The maid said, bowing, and left.
Sure, her reasoning that having a place for babies to stay, if they hoped to be a well-connected kingdom, would put the rumors at rest for a short time.
But the rumor mill would not be stopped for long.
Sansa knew that by asking, seemingly out of the blue, for this room to be cleared out, it would invite questions if perhaps there were a royal child to be coming before the year was up.
And to that…though Sansa would not directly answer any question craftily pushed her way in the coming days. No need to make a fuss until there was something to fuss about, yes?
Still, she hoped.
She sincerely hoped that this room would not go unused for too long.
"Bold move, Sansa," Meera muttered at lunch, "You'll have the whole of Winterfell guessing who is pregnant by day's end."
"Perhaps this will bring some joy to them, then," Sansa said, trying to stifle a grin, "If I were a Lady…I would bet it would be for Jeyne."
Meera looked at where the Steward sat with Gawan, still shining with that newly-wed glow about them.
"Yes, perhaps," Meera agreed, "I just think that it could have been done quietly."
"That would have roused even more questions," Sansa said, raising an eyebrow, "Then they all would know for certain something was off. No, this is better. Besides, we should have a nursery anyway," She said, waving away Meera's concerns, "We should have rebuilt it right away. It feels long overdue. Perhaps that will encourage other mothers to come and stay with us for a bit, and not have to worry where their babe will rest."
Meera stifled a grin, "And give playmates to the future heir?" She asked, catching on quickly. That, of course, was why she was the Hand of the Queen.
Sansa shrugged, "I grew up with many siblings. It would be awfully lonely to have no one." She said, "So in that sense, I do hope that Jeyne and I's friendship will transcend down." She said, thoughtfully.
"What of when the rumors start turning that the nursery is for you?" Meera asked. Sansa scoffed.
"They already are, or will soon. I am an unwed Queen in a society ruled by men who are obsessed with bloodlines. There no doubt have been rumors of a child since I took the throne. It does not bother me."
Meera frowned, cutting her steak, "Perhaps it should."
"When you hear something for me to seriously worry about," Sansa decided after a second, "I will."
LVIILike every morning, Pod spent his first waking hours training out in the courtyard, so it was easy to find him.
She watched him only briefly, trying not to sweat at the thought of his muscles underneath his tunic, or how the way he panted when he drove his sword into the hay-filled dummy was not dissimilar to when he was above her.
You foolish woman, keep it together! She scolded herself. She'd always wondered how her mother, and so many other women, went on to have so many children- and gladly- but now she understood it. If Podrick were allowed to stay, the Lords of Winterfell would be begging her to stop getting pregnant, because she'd want to have Podrick as often as she could.
The thought caused her cheeks to blush, no doubt as scarlet as her hair.
She shook away these impure thoughts and stepped out into the lightly snowing morning, taking her hood down.
"Podrick;" She greeted. Podrick jumped and Sansa stepped out of the way just in time for him to swing his sword around.
"Great gods, Sansa! Don't sneak up on a man mid-practice. I could have killed you. Impaled you straight through," He said, wiping off a thin layer of sweat from his forehead.
"What a good thing you didn't," She said with a grin, "I apologize for startling you."
Podrick glanced at Sansa unsurely, and then at the sky, cupping his eyes to squint up.
"Has it been that long already? Are you coming to summon me for…lunch?" He asked, his voice turning to a low, needy growl.
Sansa was tempted to say 'yes, that's exactly it', but she swallowed that back. She told herself they still had plenty of time, but in reality, she knew that not to be true at all. Which is why this was so important.
"No, it's not that. I was looking for you for other reasons."
Podrick frowned, shoving his sword into the half-frozen ground, eyebrows knitting, "Oh?"
"I want you to train me." Sansa said all in one breath, "To fight."
"To fight?" He echoed, as though he wasn't hearing her right, "You have guards, don't you?"
"I do," Sansa nodded, "But during the Battle of Winterfell, I was with many terrified women and children and the knights and guards were up here, fighting. And I realized how utterly untrained I was." She said, "I need to protect my Kingdom. Hopefully never in another war, but from everything. And if I am with child," She swallowed, staring at Podrick, "With you gone…I need to protect them too."
Podrick's eyes softened, and then his face flashed, just briefly, with unbearable sorrow.
"Oh."
And his 'oh' said it all. As though he'd been ignoring the fact that he would be far gone, unable to help if anything were to happen to her.
"So protect us now," Sansa urged, "And teach me."
"Sansa, I'm due to leave within the quarter moon," Podrick sighed, his voice rough, "And that is hardly enough time to make you a good fighter, not even a fair fighter. Have you ever picked up a sword in your life?" He asked.
"No," Sansa tried not to wince, "I just want you to start. Gawen can take over after. Just, please."
"Wouldn't it make more sense for Gawen to start with you from the start?" Podrick questioned.
"Yes, possibly. But I wish it to be you. So that somewhere, you know that you gave me some tools to beat whatever comes after us. And I can feel as though you were still here."
Podrick inhaled slowly, swallowing thickly, "Gods, Sansa. I mean…of course," He said, reaching out, almost to place a strand of her hair behind her ear, but dropping his hand at the last moment, "You know there is nothing in this world I could deny you."
"Good," Sansa said, "Meet me in the catacombs in half an hour."
"You can't wear a dress, you know," Podrick said as she was leaving. Sansa turned, a quip of a grin gracing her face.
"I don't intend to."
LVIIIPodrick pushed Sansa up against the wall of the storage hall in the dungeon, knife at her throat, the dull side pressed to the underside of her chin, his other hand pressing her shoulder against the grain.
"Do you yield?" He rasped, breathing heavily, eyes flickering up and down. Sansa showed her palms, dropping her weapon, letting it clatter to the ground, grinning over her jutted posture.
"Podrick, I didn't think I was that much of an opponent," She teased, "Hardly enough to make you breathe so heavily."
Podrick, seeing her give in, took his knife and sheathed it carefully, but his palm still held her against the wall. He swallowed deeply, as though considering whether he should stand back and tell her to go again or at what point they both knew that this fight was derailing into a different kind of physical activity entirely.
"You knew what you were doing. I thought you looked gorgeous in a dress, but gods, Sansa," He whispered, rubbing his head and picking up a sweat on his fingers.
"I don't have the advantage of strength or skill, so I had to have my advantage elsewhere," Sansa said, "And it worked, didn't it?"
She thought it would feel stranger to put on men's clothing. That she might feel like Arya, and that this would bother her. But as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, her pants laced tightly, her shirt tucked in, and her hair braided and pinned meticulously so that it would not get in her way, she was shocked by how much she enjoyed this vestige of herself.
She had wondered if Podrick would like it too, and it was very obvious he was enjoying it.
But he'd done his duty. He was nothing if not a man of honor. He said he'd start to train Sansa and he meant it. Though Sansa almost hoped he would give up his efforts earlier, she was also warmed by the idea that he cared about this as much as she did.
But a man was but moral. And every mortal man, when confronted with a woman that wants them, that is toying with them, has their limits.
Podrick kicked her knife away so he didn't tread on it, pressing against Sansa and folding her against the wall, pressing his forehead to the crown of her head.
"Of course it worked," He laughed, a low deep rumbling in his chest that radiated happiness in her ribcage and made her heart flutter, "The next time we train, you need to be in a dress that's a potato bag down to your ankles," He teased, and she could feel his hardness against her thighs.
"Seems mighty inconvenient to fight in," Sansa hummed, as though thinking it through.
"You know what's inconvenient?" Podrick asked, "Pants. On you." He grumbled, "Because if you were wearing a dress, I'd just-,"
He broke off.
Sansa met his gaze.
"You'd just…what?" She echoed; a challenge.
His kiss was swift and passionate and when he pulled back, she was needing for more.
"Gods, you know what, Sansa." He said, his hands politely staying on her waist.
"It's not that much more difficult," Sansa said, starting to unlace the waistband, "I'll prove it." She whispered.
"Sansa-," Podrick stuttered, eyes wide as she shimmied her pants off, her own fingers going for his laces.
"Do you…want to?" She realized after a moment that he hadn't moved.
"Do I want to? Of course, I do," Podrick's reply sounded like a wheeze.
"You know I want you too. All the time. You don't have to ask me." Sansa informed him.
"Are we safe down here?" Podrick asked, and she wasn't sure if he was ignoring her comment or trying to flounder for a reply.
"There's a reason we're training down here. No one usually descends all the way down. And if they do, we'll hear their echoing footsteps long before they arrive," Sansa said, leaning up to kiss Podrick as she stepped the rest of the way out of her pants, "Do you want to find some bags of flour too so you're more comfortable."
Podrick pushed Sansa back to the wall, hoisting her up to hold her.
"I'm fine right here," He said, a near devious grin on his lips, "If you are."
Sansa's eyebrows rose.
"I'm fine."
And then it was a challenge; Podrick kept Sansa off the ground while finding the right angle to move, and Sansa pushed herself off the wall to not grate up her back and maneuver to find the position that had her seeing stars. She'd thought about this scenario often; pushing him up in the halls and asking him to just take her. Sometimes his stupid smile at dinner, so genuine, would almost throw her over the edge of her mental sanity. She never thought she'd be the girl that was so needy, that found so much pleasure with this (because the chances that you were that lucky seemed astronomical), but maybe the universe was deciding she deserved a good break, you know? Sorry, your whole family is dead or abandoned you, but hey…the person you are having sex with is really, really good at it and it makes you angry that other women have to be with lame husbands and never feel the way you feel right now.
"Oh, Podrick," Sansa whimpered, fingernails digging into his back. His arm was wrapped around her still, keeping her upright, forcing such a delicious feeling whenever she jerked her hips to meet his thrusts.
By the time they finished, Sansa was sure she was never going to walk straight again and it would be so obvious that everyone would know she was laying with a man. As though she needed any more rumors circulating.
Podrick, though, seemed to be equally exhausted, and as soon as it was clear she was pleased, his body shuffled to the ground, setting Sansa down carefully.
"You planned that," Podrick accused, but from his tone, it was obvious he wasn't upset.
"No, but I'm glad it worked out like that," Sansa said, reaching for her pants, "We should do that again sometime." She added, almost conversationally.
Podrick pursed his lips, trying to keep from grinning.
"Yeah. Sure. I'm okay with that."
LIXWhen Sansa arrived to say goodbye to the King and his men, Meera merely glanced up and down at her all-black attire. Sansa saw the hint of a comment forming on her lips and waited, face impassive, but Meera decided to keep her words to herself.
"Most will think it's mourning her brother leaving," Jeyne said, noting the look in Meera's eyes.
"Yes, I suppose," Meera agreed, "You two have gotten close again during the stay."
Sansa tried to feel out how Meera felt about this. She hadn't seen much of them together since the big fall-out of him admitting that he purposely was cruel to her, and as strong as Meera was, Sansa knew that her hand had genuinely loved her brother.
As far as Sansa could tell, love like that didn't go away. It might be buried, slightly, by finding new love. Like Jeyne; she'd always love her first husband. Sansa doubted anyone could replace that. She hoped no one was asking her to. Sansa just didn't think feelings were things you shook off like flakes of snow from a cloak.
But Meera was a master of keeping her emotions hidden so far beneath that Sansa could not figure them out. Sansa sometimes wondered if Meera had that same trouble…that in repressing such tortuous feelings, she was hiding the truth from herself.
In another life, another time, another place…Sansa liked the idea of the two of them together. Just as she mourned the loss of her siblings living what their lives could have been, Sansa took a moment to mourn for Meera and the path forward that was erased like a hand wiping over a footprint in fresh snow.
"How do the people feel about this…relationship?" Sansa asked.
"Most are settled," Meera nodded, glad to be asked something pertaining to her job, "No one wishes for war again. They take this as a token of good tidings. That perhaps a sovereign North with a king on the Iron Throne is possible. Alas, it's hard to tell. Everyone is still just trying to rebuild that sometimes matters like these are so secondary."
Meera's gaze affixed on Sansa.
"Do you think you're with child?" She asked outright, bluntly. Sansa took her nature in stride, knowing this is how she often was.
"I think it's too early to tell." Jeyne giggled, responding before Sansa could say anything, "But I do hope. It would make me so pleased to have little Starklings running around. To make friends with my children."
"Jeyne! Is there something that you wish to tell us?" Sansa gaped, but Jeyne blushed.
"I was speaking of futures. No, not yet, though," She smiled, "We hope soon."
"I don't think I ever will," Meera said, "Other than perhaps squiring a child. Babes are loud, squalling, and overall unpleasant. But…" She said, noticing the way Sansa lifted her eyebrows, "Yours will be none of those things, I'm sure."
"Of course, it will, Meera. It's a baby," Sansa said, smiling, "And that's the wonder of it. I suppose I know not to ask you to watch him until he can speak," She teased.
They made their way to the gates of Winterfell. Sansa hadn't seen Podrick since yesterday afternoon and her stomach was rolling, twisting itself impossibly. She saw a glimpse of him hanging back, watching her pass.
While with anyone else, she would have made some excuse, like forgetting a gift to give to Bran on his departure, but her Hand and Steward knew.
"Don't dally too long," Meera warned, "Or your presence will be missed. Both." She said.
"I know," Sansa said, giving a sad, bittersweet smile.
Podrick leaned in to kiss her as she met up, but pulled back all too soon.
"Meera isn't wrong," He whispered, "We have far shorter time than I wish at this moment."
"Oh, is that so?" Sansa raised her eyebrow.
"No, not for that. Though," Podrick paused, "I mean, if we had the time, I wouldn't say no. But I just want to exist at this last moment. I don't know when I'll…" He swallowed thickly. Though Sansa had known it, somewhere deep in her heart, she had ignored it.
But Podrick was far braver than she was to say it out loud. Or nearly to completion, enough for Sansa to fill in the rest of the thought.
There was a fair chance they may never meet again.
Not just because he was pledged to her brother, far away, but because she had duties here. And so many accidental deaths befell even the richest of lords or ladies. There were no guarantees that the second he stepped out that door that a dire wolf didn't tear their banners and bannermen to bits.
Life was all so fleeting.
And suddenly, Sansa-with all the feelings in the world- did not want to let Podrick leave.
He sighed, pressing his forehead to hers, and she got the sense that this was the exact confusing mixture of emotions that he was feeling too.
How do you fit everything in to say goodbye to someone who meant so much?
"Do you think it worked?"
That was the only thing Sansa could murmur.
Podrick placed a hand against her stomach, though there was nothing there yet to feel.
"I…gods, I want it. More than I think I wanted to be a knight." He admitted, "That's foolish, isn't it? Hoping so desperately for a child I'll never meet."
Sansa couldn't find the words to speak, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth to keep from crying.
"I do. Yes. I think it worked. I have to. Because if there isn't, I might make a jape that I'll just have to come back," He began.
"Yes, what a thought that would be," Sansa agreed, finding a smile.
"But…" Podrick whispered softly, "That isn't what would happen. So I have to convince myself that you are because the alternative is something I don't want to think about."
Sansa frowned, unsure of his meaning. At her expression, he tilted his head.
"That you need an heir. So you'd…find someone else. It's better if when I get word that you are with child, I tell myself it's me so I don't have to think you found someone else to warm your bed and give you what I could-,"
Sansa shushed him, pressing her hand against his lip.
"Oh, Podrick," She whispered, shaking her head, "There won't be."
"But-,"
"There won't," She said, smiling, unsure how he couldn't know "Because I don't want anyone else. And the Small Council knows that if it is not with you, I will adopt. I am very uninterested in anyone else siring the heir to the North."
A smile broke out over Podrick's face.
"That makes me fare gladder than it should. What a mess we've wound ourselves up in."
Before Sansa could say anything else, he pulled away.
"It's time?" Sansa guessed.
"Yes. I would like to say we'll meet again someday, but…"
"You are far too honorable to lie." Sansa finished, "If…if it is…if we do…" She reached for him before he left, "I will pick a strong northern name. But if you had a choice…I'm curious. What would it be?"
Podrick looked startled. "I hadn't considered. I did not think I'd be asked. I'm not sure," He admitted, "I will think about that. Give you a reason to write. I'm sure every lord and lady will be crawling with out of the trees with name suggestions, so it won't be any more suspicious than someone else's." He added with a chuckle.
"I'll wait for that letter," She said, "You go first. Then I, later."
The moments after Podrick left, in which she had only her own thoughts in the empty hallway, were like fire on her skin. And it took everything to force herself to walk out to say her goodbyes.
Sansa stood, feet planted in the snow, watching Podrick leave, until he was just a speck in the distance. And then, she stood a good while longer, as though foolishly hoping he'd come riding back over the ridge.
LXAs the first moon after Podrick's departure reared its head, Jeyne and Meera were so careful around Sansa that it was as though she was made of glass.
"If it did not take hold, perhaps the gods do not will it so," Sansa said, trying to convince herself, for their sake, "And many children need a mother. I will be blessed either way."
But then, her moonblood did not arrive that month.
Not to throw themselves to celebration yet, for Meera reminded Sansa that in times of high worry or strange moons, sometimes a women's blood skipped, and would appear belatedly.
"Of course," Sansa readily agreed, "It is hardly worth celebrating if only the smallest of rejoices that my stomach will not try to kill me from the inside this moon."
And some part of Sansa was absolutely sure that she'd wake up the next moon, bed brimming with blood, and she prepared herself for this disappointment. She would be ready, unlike the first time, after the wedding, when she'd put all her secret hopes that she would have gotten with child.
Sansa was an adult. She was pragmatic. She was not going to be upset when the inevitable happened…that she bled her stomach out.
Because, what were the chances? That everything in the universe could come together so perfectly that they'd convince a child in that first moon, and only moon, of trying? Sansa had heard many tales of ladies that tried and tried and tried for years to have a child, to no avail. So why did Sansa even imagine for a second she was lucky enough to have it work?
But then…her moonblood did not come the second month.
Or the third.
Or the fourth.
And by the fourth month, when there was a slight curve to her stomach, she knew that a miracle had happened and the North would have its heir.