XXI

There had come to be a whole group of girls that worked and lived at Winterfell. Sansa would hire a female over a male applying any day, but truth be told, most of the women were the ones looking for work as it was. The men were all trying to rebuild their family houses, settle down, and celebrate the end of the war and the end of winter.

Still, there was a disproportionate number of girls whisking their skirts through the halls.

Often, Sansa enjoyed this. They were far better servants than men and half the time, though most were low in status, Sansa felt like they understood each other on an instinctive level.

Therefore, while at the end of days of her father and brother's rule the men had gathered in the great hall to drink to their finished duties, it had become common for a whole host of females to be seated in the wooden seats, sharing sweet mead and swapping daily stories.

"You should show them their place!" One Lord had once told Sansa. Sansa got the acute impression that their being there was messing with his 'male-bonding' time, leaving him unable to make rude japes about the size of a woman's tits that he fancied. How droll for him, Sansa thought bitterly.

"You're right," Sansa had said, blinking hard with faux shock, "Ladies? Those chairs over there are so dreadfully uncomfortable, and so far away from the fire. Would you like to come closer to me?"

Men should know by now not to invoke Sansa's sharp-witted anger in any which way.

Therefore, though Sansa was not formally a part of their possey, they were in ear-shot length away for Sansa to hear what they gossiped about.

Most nights, Sansa would say she enjoyed it. It thrilled her to hear that the fort life was returning to such normality that the girls could have time to giggle and tease one another about the farmer's son or the squire or give each other advice about what dresses to wear. Plus, Sansa had learned from the best. A good ruler always knew what was happening her halls, this was no exception. So, Sansa was very much aware that the girl who made the most flavorful bread was trying to catch the attention of one of the stable boys, that the girl who washed linens had previously been obsessed with a boy in the town outside until she discovered that he kissed with far too much saliva and that the style of what boys seemed to prefer was one pulled in tightly at the waist.

A man might tell Sansa it was all trivial things, not worth her time. Sansa disagreed. One never knew what may be important until it was.

Since the arrival of King Bran's guards, the girls had been talking about them non-stop. Sansa was pleased to hear that while there was some caution, most of the girls trusted them. Or, trusted Sansa enough to not feel fear. They recalled that the king of the 6 kingdoms was indeed a former Northerner, and on the whole, they still trusted Bran to a certain extent.

Plus, knights from afar was pretty much the subject of every courtly romance ballad.

"I heard from Dyra who heard from her sister that her best friend has never been so sexually satiated," One of the girls said, commanding the silence of the rest of the girls. Sansa was intrigued, though no more than usual.

"He slept with her, aye, after the Battle of Winterfell?" Another girl confirmed, eyes wide.

"He did! Of course, no one thought he was that much of a looker, but Casak is as beautiful as a god, and he's got something no bigger than a minnow between his legs," The girl pointed out.

"I second that!" One of the slightly older girls jumped in, "Not about Casak- though, how disappointing- but there's a girl in the town who used to live in King's Landing at the brothel, and she tells stories all the time of a dark-haired squire who amazed the house so much that no one would take his money!"

Sansa rolled her eyes; whores refusing coin? This was clearly just superstition.

"I've heard it too! From other girls he's entertained. I didn't put the pieces together until now, but he's the best lover any girl has had," The girl speaking patted her redding cheeks, "Do you think it's because he's...large?"

"Well, Drya says that's only part of it. He made her unravel three times in one night. Three! Most times, with my husband, I'll be lucky to get one."

"Oh, Gods," A girl near Sansa's age sighed with longing and lust, "He's only going to be here a little while longer. I wonder what my chances are?"

So, it was obvious they were talking about someone from the guard's group, though Sansa had mostly gleaned this herself. She tilted her head, going through the men who had arrived, wondering who it might be they were talking about?

"It will be hard to get him alone. He's a very busy man."

"Meets with Queen Sansa quite often," Another agreed, obviously not realizing that Sansa was quietly picking up on every word they said. They probably thought her engrossed in some proceedings in front of her.

Sansa frowned. There was only one member of the guard that spent a great amount of time with her. Surely, they could be-

"All I know is that I've heard it japed that perhaps his last name should not be 'Payne', but should be 'Pleasure'!" This sent the girls sitting together into a fit of laughter, leaving Sansa shocked.

The first thing that rose up in her was indignation. About what, she was unsure. Was it because she disliked their implications that he was not handsome? That she was offended they were talking about him like that? Or was it some other reason Sansa could not quite grasp, something that made her feel warm and unsettled all at the same time.

XXII

When the group broke the fast the next morning, Sansa realized a quarter-way through that she was staring very obviously at Podrick. Podrick had been talking with one of the men the whole time, and it wasn't until he accidentally caught her eye that Sansa came to the conclusion that she'd been boring holes into his skull for quite some time.

She forced a smile, then looked away.

Gods above, she didn't want to look at one of her dearest friends differently, but the gossip from the girls yesterday was hard to shake.

In staring at him like a scared deer, Sansa had decided at least one thing. All those ladies had no clue what they were talking about. Ser Podrick was most definitely attractive.

Yes, maybe not conventionally. She would fire back that she could line up ten 'conventionally' attractive men and find something very wrong with each of them. But she wouldn't ever claim Podrick to be ugly. On the contrary, his warm chocolate eyes, his soft and slightly sleep-mussed hair, and his strong jaw had been very visually pleasing to Sansa for a long time. She would even venture to say that she found him handsome before the girls challenged that, but she hadn't realized. Hadn't realized how fast her heart leaped when he sent a smile her way or when they two of them exchanged dry jokes in her solar while working out parchment issues.

So, there was that decision.

On the second level, Sansa found her eyes straying from just his face. She was horrified to discover she was disappointed that the table covered him from the waist down, but her brain still found other ways to keep her interested. She stared at his large hands and careful fingers and wondered what sort of magic those worked. She found herself entranced by how his tongue flicked out to lick his lips, a very non-sexual motion that left her shaking and the areas between her thighs dampened, and she watched as his body twisted and wanted nothing more than to unwrap and discover what lay beneath.

Damn those women, she mentally cussed, damn them. Now, Sansa couldn't stop imagining Ser Podrick as a sexual partner. What she couldn't decide if it were worse or better was that she not only was imagining it, but some part of her deeply desired it.

"Queen Sansa! I must show you something in the kitchens," Jeyne said, grasping her hand.

Once outside the halls, Jeyne leads Sansa away from the kitchens.

"But-,"

"I had to get you out of there. I surely noticed that you were staring openly at that knight, and how your cheeks flushed. Mayhaps it is because I'm a girl, and men would be too thick to notice, but I doubt you'd want anyone else to make the same conclusions I had."

Were it any other friend, Sansa would have been furious for anyone saying such a thing. Now, she just raised an eyebrow.

"And that is?"

"You are thinking, what some may call, very unladylike thoughts about Ser Podrick," Jeyne answered firmly. Sansa could not even deny it.

She watched her friend's face for a sign of displeasure but found it blank.

"What do you think of it?" She asked softly, asking not as a queen, but as a friend. Jeyne mulled over her thoughts.

"I think that it's a precarious undergoing, should you choose to take it. However, I cannot deny that he is a good man, that at the end of the day, that is what I've always hoped for you. What I hope for anyone, but most of all, you deserve something unquestionably good."

Sansa gave a thin nod, "I will be sure to take that under consideration," She said, although a part of her heart was already pulling her one way. It was just a matter if she'd let it.

She ended up missing the time after the first meal her and Podrick often spent together. She could not avoid him all day, not without raising suspicion. As she had not decided which way to go, that wouldn't be good at all.

It was after sun high that she came across him sparring with some of her own men in the courtyard. She should have kept moving, should have continued on her way. As it was, Sansa was unable to force her feet forward, no more able was she to tear her eyes away.

Ser Podrick moved like a wolf.

That was truly the first thing she thought.

He moved with powerful, calculated strides. He was comfortable in the slightly snowy dirt. She had not to doubt if he were with a partner, he'd be working with them, a well-practiced team. He wasn't making over-confident motions, not like she may expect a Lion to do- but was biding his time. His strength wasn't in his brute force or ability to terrorize his opponent, but instead, it was in his mind, his smaller form, and his perseverance.

"Ser Podrick is an excellent fighter," Randin commented, "Even I cannot argue with that."

"Indeed," Sansa said, her gaze watching as he ducked and attacked with ease, "He did fight in many wars. He was taught by some of the best." Still, she recalled the days he wondered if he'd ever be able to hold a sword without shaking. How far he'd come.

"War turns boys into men," Radin said sagely, something Sansa knew all too well, "It also turns girls into women, my queen," He added. For as many times as Radin may not agree with Sansa, she understood at that moment unspoken fealty. More than that, an acknowledgment of her strife, of the horrors she'd gone through. She may not have had to kill men in the fray of battle, but she'd fought many demons and came out on top every single time.

"Or, perhaps," Sansa said, thoughtful, "It merely allows us the opportunity to become what we were always meant to be."

"You always will have your father's blood," Randin said, which was near close to an agreement, "I meant to find you to discuss the armory's state when you have a moment."

"I'll meet with you in a few minutes," Sansa said, "At your solar." She did not want to admit she'd been on track to grab another book when she'd been very much distracted by Ser Podrick.

Randin bowed, leaving her there. Just for a moment.

Sansa allowed herself a single second longer to try to commit this second to memory; his heaving chest, his sweat-soaked skin, and a grin somewhere between joyed and feral.

Then, before she did something very stupid and not thought through at all, Sansa turned.

She completely missed Ser Podrick staring back up at her with the same expression in his eyes, just a moment after she started walking away.

XXIII

Dear Sansa,

I cannot be sure when this will reach you. Chances are that by the time you read this, I will have already departed.

I have decided to travel with Tormund and the other Wilding beyond the wall to help them rebuild their society. By the chance that I will die on this adventure, or maybe chose to never return, I wanted to remind you that I love you.

Your brother,

Jon

Jon,

Please, don't.

I have lost too many of my family already. I beg of you, it was hard enough to send you to the wall, but the idea I may never speak to you again is too much to bear. I understand your pain brother, I do. I just beg you to reconsider.

I don't want to be left alone.

Perhaps it's already too late. Perhaps you have already left.

There is so much I wish to tell you, so much I want to ask.

I had wanted to write to you, but put it off due to my own fears. I realize now that maybe I'll never get your answer.

I suppose this question may hit close to your heart, but I would be glad of whatever truthful response you can give.

How did you reconcile falling in love with someone you probably knew you shouldn't? Someone...not of our own kingdom? And, after all, was said and done, would you do it again?

Please do not leave me forever waiting, wishing for an answer.

If you know what's good for you Jon, you'll return. Lest I have to come out there and drag you past the wall myself.

Love,

Sansa

XXIV

"I cannot recall a time I felt so alone," Sansa sighed to Jeyne as she helped brush out her hair. She'd requested her friend today, feeling small and a little lost, "Even when I was at King's Landing, I knew that people loved me, that people were trying to stay with me or get me back. But now…" She looked at her hands, "Jon is leaving, possibly forever. Arya says she'll return, but how can we be sure? And Bran? Well, he has been gone a long time."

She caught Jeyne's eyes in the mirror, "Not that I don't adore you, however," She winced.

"I understand, m'lady," Jeyne whispered quietly, "You had thought that four of you had survived, and that was better than most. It doesn't feel like it, does it?"

Sansa did not answer, because it was an unspoken truth.

"This is why I fear to let Ser Podrick in," Sansa murmured, "He'll leave, like everyone else. He must, as he's bound to my brother. I will be left feeling more alone than I began."

Jeyne paused, setting the brush down, "Is that so? If you never had him, you'd be caught up with the same emotions. Is it not better to have him in the small moments you can, instead of wondering but never having him at all?"

Sansa was quiet. She did not have a reply for that.

She just wanted people to stop leaving.

Jeyne finished with her hair, today settling it in an old, but a familiar, braided pattern. As the pair exited Sansa's room, there seemed to be a great commotion coming from the Great Hall.

Inside was a gathered group of Sansa's bannermen. They were all talking over each other, each raising their voices louder to be heard.

"My Queen!" Randin said, motioning her over, "Gawen Glover came in with a split lip and bloody knuckles."

"He did?" Sansa frowned. He'd been one of the men who had applied to be part of her guard. She'd had good hope for him, "What happened?" In her head, she imagined it was a brawl between brothers, perhaps.

"He will not say. We are unsure if it's one of our own or…" Randin trailed off. Sansa nodded swiftly. She knew what the Master of Arms was not saying.

"Jeyne, would you please escort Gawen to the kitchens to clear him off? No use stirring the pot by having him sit out in the open," Sansa decided swiftly.

"And you?" Jeyne asked.

"I will get to the bottom of it," Sansa said simply.

Once Gawen had been escorted out, Sansa told the men and her advisors gathered that she would come to the bottom of this, and to have them go on about their day. It was a minor scrape, at best, and hardly something to throw such a fit over.

She walked to Ser Podrick's room first. If it were one of his men, who had probably gotten into a scuffle over a game of cards or maybe just the tedious peace some kept despite her direct orders, he'd surely be able to figure it out. If it was, it was out of Sansa's hands. If it were one of her own men, she'd have to sternly talk to them. There could be no room for stupid male ego at this point.

She knocked thrice on Podrick's door.

"Ser Podrick?" Sansa cleared her throat, "I just came from the hall, where Gawen seemed to be a little bloody, and he-,"

The door swung open. Sansa had about to finish up by asking if he'd heard anything about it but paused mid-sentence.

Podrick was dressed in just a light shirt and a pair of trousers, his usual armor strewn about the room. He was pressing a cool rag to his face, and even before he dropped his fingers, she could see the bruises blooming at his eyes and his broken nose. A light trickle of dried blood dropped from his nostrils.

Sansa gaped for a second, unbelieving that Podrick Payne, of all people, got involved in a fight. Maybe he was breaking it up, she thought. Maybe Gawen had been drunk and Podrick had been in the wrong place. Maybe-

"So, he told you," Podrick said wincing.

"He didn't...I hadn't…" Sansa stuttered, "He said nothing. I wasn't even sure if it was one of your men or mine. I had come to see if you knew anything…" She trailed off, unsure.

Podrick invited her in. After a second, she accepted. It was Sansa who closed the door behind them, though, firmly pressing the latch in.

"What happened?" If ever there was a time for Sansa to use her queenly commanding voice, this was it.

Podrick sat on his bed, wringing out the cloth before dabbing at his nose.

"I acted...foolishly," He admitted after a second, "I threw the first throw."

Sansa blinked, her brain trying to process it, "Podrick, I-,"

"I'm sorry to have done so, m'Queen."

Sansa wasn't even upset by the title, she just stared at Podrick imploringly.

"I imagine you don't hit people without good reason," She said after a second, her voice dry.

"He...Gawen made an inappropriate comment about my closeness to you while I was sussing him out. He apparently did not take kindly to the fact a Southerner was choosing your guard."

"How dare he?" Sansa spat, furious, "Who is he to question how I choose my men?"

"I did not want people to think that you were being...inappropriate with me, Sansa," Podrick said simply, "Thought I don't usually condone hitting, it was a matter of honor."

"He should not have been making such accusations in the first place!" Sansa hissed, "Well, I know who I will not have guarding me, of all the-,"

"On the country," Podrick interrupted, "His loyalty to you is unwavering. It takes a brave man to address such things, and without fear. I was the one who lashed out, I was the one who acted rashly. I know that he cares for you, and the success of the North, deeply. However, as far as I can tell, he means to not usurp or attempt to marry you. I would entirely suggest that if you are looking for a man to be your number-one guard, look no further."

"But I," Sansa floundered, "He hit you."

"I think I deserve it," Podrick gave a short laugh, "I should not have done that."

Sansa played with the rings on her fingers, "I'm surprised you hit someone, over me." Podrick was rarely violent, even in battle, if he didn't have to.

"As I said, it was foolish. It was something I had thought of, and I should have kept it so." Podrick said, "But there are few things that make me more furious than I can control. When someone insults Ser Brienne, and when someone insults you."

"Still." Sansa rasped.

She came to stand by Podrick, pulling him up to stand. She took the cloth from his hand, setting it beside the bowl.

"My Queen?"

"You'll get more bruises if you continue to call me that. It's probably treason," she murmured, half-teasing.

"The sweetest of temptations, I should say," Podrick replied, looking none too sorry about it.

Sansa leaned up, unsure of what she was doing until she placed her hands on his cheeks. She rose on the tips of her toes to press her lips softly to his. Podrick only took a moment of surprise before he had grasped her, leaning down and kissing her back. His kiss was equally as tender, but still warm and genuine. It wasn't the crass making-out that Joffrey had always insisted upon, his tongue only traced the outside of her lips. It did leave her wanting someone more than she'd ever wanted any man before.

Podrick pulled back first. Sansa wished she were bolder, more selfish. She wished that Podrick had pulled her down onto the bed. She wished many things.

"Sansa?" He asked, staring at her with a mixture of awe and surprise.

"Bravery always deserves a reward. I often feel that I am spoiled by your honor and loyalty to me, despite it all."

"You deserve more than I can give you," Podrick muttered softly, "But not for lack of want."

Sansa, despite the circumstances, gave a soft smile, "I'll take whatever you can give."

XXV

In the remaining days that Podrick and his caravan had left at Winterfell, Sansa managed to sneak but a handful of kisses from him. It was usually in an empty hallway, in an alcove against the wall, always too short and too reserved for what Sansa knew she was feeling and she hoped he was too. He was always a gentleman; his hands stayed firmly in safe places- on her waist, on her cheeks, wrapped around her neck. Sansa wondered if he was respecting her space by not reaching for her arse, or if that's not the sort of man he was in the first place.

As far as Sansa knew, no one had ever seen them.

It was not that Sansa was naive to think that no one did when everyone actually did, it was that she was keeping her ears and little birds busy more than ever. So far, nothing. And this would certainly be all the gossip she'd hear for days if it were true.

With each passing day, Sansa's affections grew more, but also did her sadness.

"I'll write you every day," Podrick promised quietly. Sansa thought he would, but it wouldn't be the same, now would it? Not when she had no fear that he was kissing other ladies in halls or that Bran would suddenly retract his permission. And Bran! Did he know about the two of them? Did he immediately know everything, or did he have to search for memory or event specifically? The so-called 'rules' of being a three-eyed-raven were a little confusing to Sansa, not that this was any changed from before he became King.

All her anxieties she told herself she'd simply have to put to rest. Sansa did not like to fly her own parade flags, but Podrick was tied to a Queen. There wasn't anyone in the land that had that sort of clout. If he betrayed her for a common palace lady, it would be his loss.

Still, a deeper part of Sansa knew Podrick to be one of the truest knights in the land. She reminded herself she had nothing to fear concerning straying loyalties.

Sansa longed for the freedom of a young girl, someone who could sneak in and out of storerooms with her lover, and no one would be none the wiser. While Sansa wasn't completely sure she would have done anything more with Podrick than the kisses they currently shared, the fact that they didn't have the opportunity to explore that frustrated her. She wanted to be able to decisively choose to take things further or not on her own terms, not because someone was coming around the wall and would see them.

On one hand, she was a Queen. Why sneak around?

But on the other…

Well, she knew well enough to be careful with this. At least for now.

He seemed to be packing up to leave all too soon. Sansa's stomach churned like she'd had bad wine all night, leaving her tossing and turning. She nearly forced herself to his room many times but kept herself in bed. By morning, she was almost sure she regretted it.

Sansa helped the party load up the carriage and mount the horses. She carried a box from her study, out to the gates.

"Go on, ride a little up the road. I will catch up. I am just having some parting words with Queen Sansa and about future visits," Ser Podrick told his men evenly. Sansa too dismissed Randin and Gawen back to the gates.

They could not kiss on this open field, but Sansa saw in his eyes that he wished he could. She felt that. All that could be done was that Podrick reached out, taking a hand in his softly, squeezing it gently.

Even though it was chilly, and the air that hit their cheeks was chilly, she knew the gathering redness on his face was not due to the cold. For Sansa had long ago gotten acclimated to the feeling of the air here, but she too was blushing furiously.

Podrick gave a soft, quiet smile. It said everything Sansa was feeling; the excitement of this new venture, the unsureness of how it would work later, the nervousness when you liked someone, the longing and how neither wanted Podrick to leave…

Sansa's fingers brushed over the box. She half-expected to feel guilty for feeling such things with Theon right in her fingers, but instead, she felt free. She knew Theon would want her to be happy.

And, in a sense, she was starting to be. Still, it reminded her of one of the reasons she'd pulled Podrick by himself.

"I have a favor to ask," Sansa whispered, looking down at the box. Tears gathered in her throat, "This is...it's...Theon."

"Sansa," Podrick gave a soft sigh. They'd spent a night discussing Theon and the night before that battle, and while perhaps Sansa had never admitted anything outright, she got the impression Podrick understood.

It was not a sigh of disappointment, it was a sigh of someone wishing that he could ease her hurt.

"I told Yara I'd sent back half his ashes. His armor too. It's fair." She pressed the box against her chest, as though Theon could feel her warmth for him somewhere in the great beyond, "And I haven't wanted to send it out with just the daily salesman walking through. This is...it's…"

She pressed her lips together.

"Sansa," Podrick stopped her, "Of course I'll make sure his bones return to her."

"I know it wouldn't matter to him, but he's in there, and I just," Sansa didn't want to let go. She wanted to steal it back away, damn the consequences with Lady Yara.

"Sansa, I will take care of Theon." Podrick spoke firmly, but also tenderly. She could feel all the unsaid things in his tone, the acceptance about whatever dying feelings she had for the ginger-haired prince, and for how he understood Sansa's grief. It was the kindest tone Sansa had ever heard, so reassuring, so absolute.

"Thank you." There was so much more that Sansa wished to say, but found herself unable to.

There was a quiet moment when the only sound was the winds whipping over the moors.

"I will miss you," Sansa whispered, almost leaning forward, but stopping herself, "Deeply. Sincerely."

"As will I," Podrick agreed, "But, I promise, I will be back."

Sansa felt herself smiling despite this was the day she watched him leave, "I don't think you can go about proclaiming such promises, Ser. I'm not sure it's up to you."

"I swear to it," Podrick said, "If I could swear on my sword right now to you, m'Queen, on this promise without eliciting some questions we may not want to answer, I would."

"Podrick," Sansa almost whined, as she'd hate to get her hopes up to never see him again.

"Sansa, listen to me. I will do whatever it takes to return."

"And if you die?" Sansa couldn't help but ask. All her life she'd only seen death. So many people left her for the next, leaving her behind, hurting.

"Then I will assuredly return as a ghost," Podrick didn't pause, "And haunt the halls of Winterfell forever."