L X I
Dear Sansa,
Can you tell I've made progress on my writing? I hate practicing it, but I am writing with nearly no mistakes lately. Ser Davos is very proud.
He says I should be proud too. Of myself.
I think once I would have been. I always wanted to be able to read and write.
Is it normal that I don't?
I don't know what I feel, but it's not pride. It's just a sort of weird uncomfortableness to know I have to get up and do it again tomorrow.
…Arya hasn't written.
I'm worried about her. I'm sure you are too. And I don't really know who else to talk to about it. I feel like I'm going out of my mind with worry. If she doesn't come back…
I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but being a Lord is a lot harder than anyone made it sound. Who knew the rich had so many problems?
I don't know what to do. I mean, I do. My advisors are patient with me, their bastard Lord, who came in not knowing how to do any proper court dances or which spoon to use. But I can tell it is wearing on them, just as it is wearing on me.
I don't mean to complain, really, I just feel lost.
I hope all is better with you,
Your Loyal Friend,
Gendry
Dear Gendry,
Your letter's spelling is impeccable! I'm proud of you too if that makes a difference, and Arya would be as well. As much as she rolls her eyes, she's always been skilled with a quill, so I think she'll appreciate it.
She'll return. We both know it. If there's one thing about my sister, it's that when she makes a promise, she keeps it. And she said she will be back. So I must believe that. Worrying otherwise does nothing.
I'm sorry to hear that you feel so untethered lately. I remember my first few months as Queen. It's a lonely time. And without good friends, it can be even worse.
If you can spare it, I'd like to welcome you here. I could use a familiar face and it seems you might need it too.
Bran just left, so Winterfell feels empty. And, it used to be very common for Lords and their entourages to come and go from other castles on tours. We were always visiting each other, and it did form strong bonds that made people less likely to set war on one another. I doubt you would attack Winterfell, but I miss that part of courtly life. Why not start it up again?
I won't be offended if you choose not to. You probably are very busy.
The offer is always open if you can't now but change your mind later.
Your sister,
Sansa
Dear Sansa,
How soon can I arrive?
Gendry
L X I I
Inviting Gendry spun an idea in Sansa's mind.
To the frustration of Meera, within one-quarter of the moon's rotation, Sansa had sent out hundreds of ravens all over the kingdoms, inviting people to come and visit.
She didn't see why it would not be a good time; she had ruling down better, she was loved by her people, no one was starving and the North was actually prospering, and she had the best secret of all…there was to be an heir.
She wasn't showing too badly. She'd only confirmed it with Meera and Jeyne, not even her maesters, to let them know not to worry. She knew that some women lost the babe early on, so Sansa was waiting to make sure this one stayed. Also, she was waiting for the right way to announce it, though the particulars of it were escaping her.
As the North was cold, it was easy enough to cover in long furs and heavy coats and no one was none the wiser that her stomach was swelling underneath.
So yes, why not have the people come?
At some point, the endless parade through different manors and homes would resume, so why should Sansa not make a strong stand and start this trend back up again?
As the letters came back in, she found herself booked through the rest of the year, and this pleased her to no end. It seemed people were responding to her as Queen and giving her respect.
She was expecting Gendry to arrive any day. He had almost fallen over himself, it seemed, to find an excuse to leave Storm's End for a bit. Plus, though Sansa had feigned overly confident in her letter, she was secretly terrified that Arya was lost somewhere too. So, it would be a comfort to have Gendry here with her. She would have loved to have Arya share in her pregnancy. For as many fights as they'd gone through when they were young, at the end of the day, they were sisters. They'd made their peace. Sansa loved Arya. She wished, more than anything, that Arya could be here.
Alas, that was foolish to imagine she'd just appear at Winterfell one day.
No, if she couldn't have Arya, she'd have the next best thing; Arya's lover.
Who, of course, she loved like a brother.
"Queen Sansa, there's someone at the gates!"
Sansa hustled up, grinning, excited to see Gendry again. It had been a long time since they'd last seen each other. It must have been at the conclave after the Mad Queen was killed. Yes, much too long it had been.
Instead, she was greeted by a different face at her gates. One that she thought perhaps she knew, but it was escaping her.
It was a young woman, nearly Sansa's age, give or take a few years up or down. She had a pointed chin, delicate features, and wispy brown hair. She held a toddler at her hip and her stomach was large with a second.
It wasn't until Sansa stared at the child's face that it came to her.
"Roslin Frey?" She asked.
Roslin smiled, "You seem surprised to see me? Did my raven not arrive?"
Sansa turned to Jeyne, who shrugged, and Meera, who shook her head.
"It appears not."
"Oh, gods!" Roslin sighed, "I told Edmure that the raven he was using was close to death. I wouldn't be surprised if it's carrion somewhere between here and Riverrun now." She said, pouting, "I don't mean to impose-,"
"No! Of course, come in." Sansa said. She had sent letters to Edmure and Roslin. Or, well, Edmure. She honestly hadn't known that his wife had remained with him. It was a surprise to see the dainty girl, but they were kin now, so Sansa was pleased.
"I told Edmure that one of us should go. He wanted to come too, but things have been busy, as you can imagine. Riverrun has some rebuilding, but he assured me I would be safe and if I wanted to come, I should."
"We're glad you are here," Sansa said.
More than that, she was pleased that now the nursery had some use. Something to throw off the suspicions that were starting to arrive as Sansa made sure it was all tidied up. Roslin's son would be very comfortable there, and Sansa could just use her presence as her cover.
Roslin had no idea how perfect her timing was, to be frank.
"Let me get you settled in. Here, this way to the nursery." Sansa said, leading the way.
"You're too kind, Queen Sansa," Roslin said, blushing at the attention.
"You are family," Sansa said, "Your husband was my mother's brother. Actually," She said, smiling at the boy, "This would be my cousin, you realize?"
"I guess I hadn't," Roslin said, "It seems odd to think that way, you know? This is Edmure too, though we just call him Emmon, his second name. A bit confusing with two Edmures, you know."
"Forgive my apparent cluelessness and bluntness," Sansa said, after waving away the guards, leaving the pair in the nursery where Roslin soothed Emmon to nap, "But I was not aware you…remained with my uncle."
"I suppose I wasn't held to it. Our wedding was a trap, an evil plan, anyway," She said, and then frowned, wincing, "Sorry." She added quietly, "Your brother was a good man."
Sansa swallowed, trying not to think of Roslin's wedding where Robb was slain.
"Yes, he was."
"I hadn't thought much of it. Edmure was thrown in prison. We managed to conceive Emmon on our one wedding night. My mother called it a miracle it happened. I suppose it takes longer, as I'm usually told. And after all was said and done…" Roslin swallowed, "Raising a child without a father is difficult," She said, running her fingers through Emmon's soft hair, "And Edmure is a good man. A very good man. And he loves his son. I would have married someone else anyway, but I knew that Edmure would be kind and that my son could be a lord one day. It seemed foolish to turn my back on that."
"Do you…" Sansa sighed, "Love him?" She wasn't sure what prompted it. Perhaps the worry that now clouded her mind, thinking of how she'd be raising her child without a father. She'd been so sure of it, but now that Roslin was here, it settled uncomfortably in her bones.
"I love how he is with Emmon, and how he will be when this little one is born. I suppose that's better than I was raised to believe I'd get," Roslin said looking up, "Love takes a long time. That's what I've been told by everyone who I trust. So perhaps one day, when we're grown and old and gray, I'll be able to say yes. But not today."
There was a silence between them as Sansa hung onto this information. Marriages of convince where all but too common, and so few were of love. Roslin was not cruel or the first to feel this way, and in so many ways, she was lucky.
Her thoughts were jostled by Roslin, "I hope we can be friends, Queen Sansa," She said, twiddling her fingers, looking at the ground, "I don't know many girls my age, nor girls that have as much responsibility. You're a queen, so you have a great deal more, but-,"
"I would like to get to know you better as well," Sansa assured, "You are welcome here."
Just as Roslin was about to say something more, a guard knocked on the door.
"Queen Sansa; Lord Baratheon is here."
Sansa stood, "Excuse me, I must meet my other guest. I am…glad you are here, Roslin."
Even, though she didn't say it, the girl had put- for the first time- a seed of doubt in her mind.
She tried to shake it away as she hugged Gendry and helped him settle into his room, but the question wouldn't leave;
Was she crazy to think she could manage without Podrick or anyone?
I
Dear Sansa,
I've given much thought to your query. Much more thought than perhaps I should allow myself to, but I find myself musing in all the moments on the road when everything is settled; what name is befitting of a future king or queen?
I admit I've never given much thought to the philosophy of names and what they mean. I thought they were just given and that was it, nothing more. But now that I have started thinking, I can't stop.
Names have to do so much. And for someone born to a Queen of the North, they must do so much more. They have to be strong, powerful, befitting of a leader, and wise. All of that must fit within the name you give a babe that won't be leading anyone for years, but you must give people the thought that one day he might.
What a task that must be.
So although there are many names from all over Westeros that are beautiful or handsome, I feel like I would be giving you poor advice if I told you anything but a Northern name.
That's what you must know it should be too, right?
And not just any Northern name, but one that invokes a sense of safety and a strong hand. And there are very few names that I think do that better than the name of your father. Perhaps you've already considered this. And if not, I think you should. Eddard was a man that was hard to dislike, even for the very brief time we crossed paths.
Of course, whatever you choose, it will be perfection. I don't think I- or anyone else- have any real stake in the choosing of names. It was always strange to me that the woman, who has done all the work, very rarely gets to choose what that child should be called and it is left to the father. All the glory, none of the pain.
I digress.
If this world were different, and if it needn't be a statement, though, there are some Southron names I find myself fond of;
Cerrick, Orryn, Vylaar or Jyck for a boy. Teora, Briony, or Perianne for a girl.
Of course, take all of this with a grain of salt, if you were to be in a position to be needing a name.
Yours faithfully and endlessly,
Podrick
L X I V
"-And because I'd gotten mad at Ser Davos, I sent him away from the party, not realizing that he could have warned me that I would have been bombarded with every bannermen from the Stormlands parading their daughters around, hoping one would catch my eye," Gendry groaned, regaling Sansa with the party that made him decide that he needed to escape and was so grateful that she'd opened her castle doors, "And I took a foolishly long time realizing what was happening. It wasn't until the third noble lady nearly flashed her top at me that something clicked and I went 'wait…I think they hope I'll pick a wife."
Sansa was laughing so hard she was nearly crying. She'd forgotten the sharp and dry wit of Gendry and was once again reminded why he and her sister made such a pair. They had the same fire in them, the same humor that she so missed right now.
"Oh, Gendry! I can't believe you didn't realize!"
"Yeah, yeah. Davos told me later that it's very common for this sort of thing to happen with unmarried lords, but since it was my first large party…" Gendry shuddered, "I still feel like whenever I look over my shoulder a daughter hardly old enough to be considered a woman will be trying to entrap me in some sordid position and force my hand. It's all so stupid."
"Entirely," Sansa agreed, nodding.
"I'm sure as a daughter of your father, who was Ned Stark, of course, you were never shoved in front of Lords and told to bat your eyes. I'm sure the men came and did the flirting with you."
"Can't say," Sansa shrugged, pouring a cup of tea, "I was betrothed to Joffery at such a young age that I skipped it all."
Gendry flinched, "Sorry."
Sansa looked up, pressing her lips together, and shrugged.
"At the time, it seemed like a perfect marriage. And too good to be true, almost. I don't think my father meant to send me to such danger. No one could really see Jeoffry for who he was. Except for his mother." She resisted the urge to spit on the ground, her hatred for Cersi indescribable. But, she told herself to not make rude passes at the dead. Not because she thought that Cersei would be back to haunt her, but she'd won, hadn't she? She was the one alive and that horrid woman was gone forever.
"Still," Gendry sighed, "I've heard…it's been tough for you."
Sansa stirred her tea. She wasn't saying that being passed from Jeoffory to Tyrion to Ramsay was easy or that in time the pain of all those separate moments had faded, but it also seemed foolish to think too much about the past. Especially when her future was so bright now.
And, once again, she'd come out on top of all of them. Including Tyrion.
"I won in the end, so," Sansa said as much, grinning over her teacup, "They were hardly even players."
"Shite. Wish I had that perspective on all the crazy people from my past," Gendry raised an eyebrow, "I commend you."
"So, the party," Sansa shifted, steering the conversation away, hoping it wasn't obvious how she hoped to hop away from talking of this, "Any ladies catch your attention?" She asked, half-teasingly, half-worried.
Gendry gave her a strange look, "Gods. You know I don't think I could love anyone but Arya. She ruined me. Ripped my heart out, and I still love her. Even more so now." Gendry ran his hands through his hair, "That's messed up, right? It's gotta be."
"Arya invokes the strangest feeling of love in all of us," Sansa said, thinking about her own complicated past with her sister, but how she would give anything for Arya to be here with her now.
"I don't care what they all say. If she never returns, I won't marry. I'll just refuse. It's not as though they have many other choices for Baratheon Lords. That was taken care of long ago." He said, "I mean, what will you do? I'm sure you've been bothered about an heir already."
As Sansa considered whether she should tell him the truth or say her backup plan, adoption, Gendry waved her away.
"That was an inappropriate question. Sorry. Forget I'm not among the immoral ilk that doesn't have boundaries. Forget I'm a Lord that has to…say the right things and ask the right questions and gods, it's irritating."
"I grew up my whole life practicing to talk just so, and I still find it aggravating," Sansa assured.
She took a sip of her tea, and as the taste hit the back of her throat, she was suddenly assaulted by a violent turn in her stomach. She hardly managed to apologize to Gendry as she shoved over the tiny table to sprint to the window. As it was, she was grateful she managed to get the latch open a moment before she couldn't hold it any longer. She grasped the rough stone, sighing in relief at the cool wind as her day's breakfast exited her body, and then some.
She turned back to Gendry, wiping her lips and thoroughly embarrassed.
"I'm so sorry you had to see that. That was completely inappropriate. The tea, it must have-," She started, croaking out an excuse, but Gendry was staring at her, eyebrows furrowed.
"Sansa…" He said, laughing a bit, "How far along do you reckon you are?"
Sansa came to sit, forcing her hand to stop shaking as she poured some water from a kraft and sipped it slowly.
"Bad tea. I have no idea what you must think you know." She said, ever the perfect liar.
Except…
"Oh, fuck it. All you high borns are so odd. It's so hard to tell if someone is with a child; I got in trouble for asking someone else the other day. Turns out they just partake in food. A lot of it. And then a different lady had a baby and I had no idea she was even expecting! She just wore huge robes the whole time and I was none the wiser!" Gendry groaned, "But I grew up in Flea Bottom and saw more women pregnant than I ever wanted to, so don't…don't do that. I know when I'm sure. And you are most certainly expecting."
At Sansa's pinched expression, Gendry's face paled.
"You did…know, right? I'm not…giving you unknown knowledge?"
"No, Gendry," Sansa muttered, sour that someone had figured it out before she decided people ought to know, "I knew."
"Oh! Well, this is good! I mean, you'll have your heir and wait-," Gendry scratched his head, "You're not wedded. How did this happen?"
"By the spirit of the seven," Sansa said dryly. In reality, she was hoping that would convince some people.
"I know how babies come to be about," Gendry snorted, "Most," He added, "But that thing that came out of that Fire Demon lady wasn't a baby, so, I don't think that counts." Gendry rubbed his chin, "Who in court here is most likely?" He murmured to himself.
Sansa looked down, face red, wondering how much she could get away without telling him. Just as she had told herself that she could shoo him away, as Gendry knew as far as he needed to, he made a choked sound.
"Oh, don't tell me."
"Tell you what?" Sansa asked.
"It's Podrick. Oh, fuck, gods!" Gendry bent in two, unable to stop from laughing, "Oh, it is! It is!" He seemed ready to have a heart attack.
"I don't get what's so funny!" Sansa snapped.
"I thought I was making trouble for myself. But you…who I thought was so wise…you've made a huge mess of things, huh?" He wiped his eyes, "Oh, well, it's good to know we're both making poor choices."
"We planned it," Sansa found herself muttering. Gendry burst out laughing again.
"That's even worse. Oh, well," He patted Sansa's shoulder, "Now I know you're just like me. And that makes you the best person, besides Arya, that I know. So…" He sobered himself, "Whatever you need from me, you have it. I am happy for you…and him. Really."
Sansa sighed, "Thanks, Gendry."
"So, how far?"
"A few months. I don't think I should show yet." Sansa caressed her stomach, "My mother didn't show with Robb until he was almost birthed, so," Sansa shrugged, "I have time to tell everyone."
"Yeah, but…you should do it sooner rather than later," Gendry said in all seriousness, "Because If I guessed…I can't be the only one. Others will whisper. And once the whispers start, you know they are often unable to be stopped. Better for you to get out in front and tell everyone, right?" He prompted.
"Maybe," Sansa sighed, hating that he was most likely right, "But not today."
Today, it was still just her's and Podrick's secret.
Once she told, it would never be again, and she almost wished that this intimacy between the tiny family of three, separated by land and leaders, could last forever.
L X V
Sansa didn't see much of Gendry after that. Of course, she saw him; he was a guest in her keep, so it was easy to spot him at dinners and meals and sometimes in the training at the center of Winterfell, but Sansa was beginning to think that he was ignoring her.
Which, after the promises he made, seemed very out of character and extremely rude.
Not that she needed him, she told herself. But it was nice to have someone else know, someone that wasn't controlled by the birth of this new future king or queen. As a Lord, the birth of the next heir to Winterfell of course did matter to Gendry, but not in the way it mattered to Meera or Jeyne. It was a different sort of matter, one that would only become really important once that child was old enough to start decreeing things or making allegiances with other kingdoms.
For right now, Gendry had no more gain in this babe than any other Lord, not that Sansa was rushing to tell them.
It was the principal of it, she decided.
To come and be so kind and then to vanish from her solar and presence all at once.
The old Sansa would have meekly accepted it. She would have figured she wasn't a person worth spending time with. She would have taken it as a hint and quietly sighed and pouted until something changed.
The Sansa of today was not so passive.
"Why are you ignoring me?" She asked Gendry after supper one day, catching him before he slipped away.
Gendry blinked in surprise, "Ignoring you?"
"Yes. I can't fathom why, though. So tell me. Have I offended you in some way?"
Gendry shook his head, "Ignore…gods, oh, sorry, Sansa. I guess sometimes I get really into something and I just…forget I'm still a Lord with responsibilities." He said with a laugh.
"Oh." Sansa frowned, "What are you…occupied with?"
"Well, Podrick heard through someone of someone that I was here and sent me a letter. He explained how, previously, he'd been teaching you to fight."
"Yes, I requested it," Sansa said, beaming proudly.
"So I heard too. And, well, I figured that I know how to fight, but I don't know how to teach someone to fight. But I still can gift you something. I wanted it to be a surprise…come on," He said, grabbing her wrist and tugging her down to the forge. Which, she was surprised she hadn't considered he'd still spend time here. Having hobbies was of course something that most people partook in, but for some reason, Sansa had imagined he may have given it up.
"Here," Gendry said, handing her a half-completed sword, "I'm making you your own. As a gift under the…circumstances," He said, eyes flickering to her stomach, which was only slightly rounded, and easy to hide.
"To what? Stab people who have anything bad to say when I announce it?" She asked with a snort.
"That would be very entertaining, actually," Gendry said, as though he was seriously considering that as a viable option, "I guess I just wanted an excuse to make a sword again. The occasion and the gift aren't congruent, but I don't think that matters."
"No, I suppose not." Sansa agreed, eyes knit. She was drawn to the sword, and a thrill rose up her spine knowing it was hers, "When will you be done?"
"A few more days. Patience," Gendry teased, "Though apparently, no Stark woman is good at that."
"I can be very patient. I'm just direct." Sansa objected.
"For as much as you two didn't get along, by the gods you're almost the same person sometimes," Gendry muttered, referring to her sister, clearly, "Now, if you want to get any good practice with it before you're too large to waddle between the great hall and your room, let me get back to it."
Sansa waited with excitement another quarter moon for her sword. She expected Gendry to just drop it off in her quarters when he was done, but instead, she was asked to join Gendry in some of the sparring arenas. She was mildly surprised to see Ser Davos waiting, wearing loose clothes and chest armor.
"Ser Davos?" She tilted her head.
"I told you I don't know how to teach someone, but I realized I knew someone who did." Gendry said, "And he's a very good teacher."
"From what I hear, we have no time to lose," Ser Davos said, "Due to a…" He smiled softly, but Sansa saw his eyes flicker down to her stomach, "Rapidly approaching date."
Sansa scowled, spinning, sure she was near spitting fire, "Gendry!" She hissed.
"You have no need to fear," Ser Davos said, stepping between them, as though he imagined her first act with her new sword might be to kill the current Lord of the Stormlands, "I have no reason to gossip or say before you do. And it's important to know this, going in. If he didn't tell me, I'd be rather miffed." He said, "Now..take this sword, and show me your stance."
Sansa picked up the sword Gendry made for her, fingers clasping around the hilt and standing straight.
Davos examined her for a moment before giving a slow nod, "Whoever was your last instructor, it seems you have some skills to show for it."
Clearly, Gendry hadn't told Davos all of her secrets. Good.
"However, your hand placement…if you just," Davos came and gently rearranged her grip, "Don't want any broken wrists."
"No, of course not," Sansa agreed.
"When I'm out of range, drive the sword into the ground as hard as you can. So I know where we're starting with."
"Do you think that you'll make a warrior out of me?" Sansa asked, almost dryly. She knew she wasn't Arya. She knew she was far behind starting, as her brothers had begun fake playing with swords from the age of five on.
"Anyone can learn anything," Davos assured, "You just have to take a moment to start. You've already done the hardest part."
And though Sansa was a queen, who surely should not feel like a child seeking approval, something about Davos' words made her smile. In many ways, he reminded her of her father. And, in some moments, she almost felt like Ned had nudged him here to give her the means to protect herself, as though he was still watching from wherever that great beyond was.