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Chapter Text

The heat from the large funeral pyre was the only thing that made being outside the heated walls of Winterfell bearable even during the scant hours of daylight. The wind was frigid and strong enough that it had drifted piles of snow against the outside castle walls nearly to the top of the gates. It was only the daily traffic in and out of the East Gate that kept the pathway clear enough to use that particular gate. The Hunter’s Gate and the North Gate were impossible to use now with the snow and ice covering them and the only reason the South Gate remained semi-useable was that it was regularly cleared for safety purposes.

Sansa Stark flexed her fingers inside of her cloak to keep them from freezing even from her position in front of the pyre. After weeks and months, the smell of burning bodies was familiar to her and she no longer held her breath or gagged at the smell. The acrid scent of smoke and ash that permeated the stone walls and rooms of Winterfell these days was a far cry from the smells of her childhood. Her gaze rested on the fire where she could see the remains of the sick and starved.

In this particular fire there was the body of a maid that she had taken into her employ several months ago but had gotten a chill a week ago and then a fever and passed away just this morning. Then there was the toddler who used to run and giggle in the Great Hall as gleefully as her brother Rickon ever did. Even before they went up in flames their bodies were more skeleton than flesh from the rationing everyone had to follow.

There was a babe in the pyre too that Sansa suspected was smothered rather than slowly starved; at this point, she didn’t know if she thought the act was a kindness or a crime. Before she could decide the wind changed directions and smoke curled around in her direction stinging at her eyes and breaking her out of her thoughts, but she refused to stop watching the fire consume those she has failed today, so she stepped a few paces to the right and hoped the wind didn’t change again.

The guards who had set the fire had long since returned inside the walls of the castle on her order. Though she has but one and twenty namedays and less weight to her than she should, she’s been Queen in the North since shortly after the Night King was slain and her orders were respected by all that were left in the North. There is scarcely anyone left now though, the Night King had been defeated but at a high cost of human life and winter had not ended just because the Night King was destroyed. It had been two years since the Battle for the Living, but there was no end to winter in sight; neither the winds nor snows had lessened since then and with the conditions as bad as they were no ravens, riders, or traders had graced her halls in months.

When what little bit of the last weak rays of sunlight faded below the frozen, desolate horizon Sansa turned to make her way back into the courtyard of Winterfell, signaling the guards on duty at the East Gate to watch the fire die for the rest of the afternoon and the evening, if it even lasted that long before the wind and snow smothered it. Sansa skipped the Great Hall and its meager offerings to venture into the family crypt. She plucked a torch from the entrance and made her way down the darkened labyrinth. Her steps stop only for a few moments to pay her respects to her father’s and Rickon’s bones before continuing down to the older sections of the crypt.

None of the rest of her family’s bones had been returned to their proper resting place, not her mother’s that were lost to the rivers of her homeland or her brother Robb’s and his direwolf’s, Grey Wind, bones that had been gruesomely sewn together in death. She did not know if Arya was still alive, although she suspected that after this long without a visit or word from her that Arya’s ship had been lost at sea. Jon had gone North of the destroyed wall, never to return, but the last she had heard conditions were even worse there, so she did not dare hope that he still lived.

When she was a little girl, before she had gone south, she had found the crypts frightening and unsettling when her siblings played here. Perhaps she had always been the one more frightened of death than the rest of her family, perhaps that was why she was the only one left of them now, well except Bran, but Sansa wasn’t sure if what Bran was now could still be considered her brother. The Three-eyed Raven was a creature that had stolen the use of her brother’s body and although, he wore her brother’s face she recognized none of the sweet curious boy that had dreamed of being a knight and who had loved the scary tales of the North more than any southern tale. The Three-eyed Raven sat the Iron Throne in her brother’s body, though her brother Bran had never had any aspirations or dreams of being a king.

Sansa went down past Torrhen Stark, the last King of Winter before Robb, who had knelt to the Targaryens. Past Jon Stark, his son Rickard Stark, past even Rodrik and Theon Stark. Her steps echoed past hundreds of statues, names, and descriptions that had faded to illegibility, all her family though she did not know all their names or their stories. Lords and Ladies, Kings and Queens and Princes of Winter. Down and down, she went. Eight thousand years of her family history she passed all the way down to the time of Brandon the Builder.

The gray stone statue’s features had long been worn down. No one was sure if this truly was the tomb of the first Brandon Stark, but it is in the oldest part of the crypt and the farthest one from the entrance. Father had never let his children down this far, warning that it was too dangerous. Torch light flickered over the space though it did not penetrate far due to the thick steam that hung about the chamber. She placed the torch in an ancient looking holder to free her hands. It took only a moment to determine why her father had issued the warning. Here, nearest the oldest tombs was part of the massive underground hot spring that heated all of Winterfell’s walls.

While the springs in the Godswood were hot they were still cool enough for a child to soak or swim in. As a young girl, her father had often taken her and her siblings there to learn to swim or clean off some of the clinging mud before letting their mother see them or the maids sigh over them dirtying up the keep. Arya and Rickon had been the wildest of the bunch and had probably individually spent more time in the Godswood’s hot spring being rinsed off than the rest of her siblings combined.

The hot spring down here must be much hotter than the ones on the surface though, too hot for children and perhaps too hot for people at all, if the thickness of the steam and the way sweat gathered at the back of her neck and the small of her back was any indication. In the distance she could weakly see the way the water bubbled up and steam curled near what must be the source of the spring. Otherwise, the water of the spring was dark and fathomless and the way the torchlight reflected instead of penetrating the water was eerie. She had no idea how deep the water ran nor how far back the rest of the cavern goes. She wiped at the sweat at her hairline and removed her cloak. The warmth brought a flush to her face that had been missing for ages.

Between the boiling hot springs and what she can see of the crumbling rock walls it was treacherous down here. She glanced down at her feet and toed a rock on the floor to examine it. She cursed herself for being such a rule follower and for being so frightened of her family’s final resting place as a silly little girl. Clearly, none of her siblings, or at least not Jon, Arya, or Bran, had disobeyed Father in his command either, because the rocks scattered all over the floor and glittering darkly in thick veins in the walls were dragonglass. There were veins of other rocks that she didn’t recognize but Sansa only had eyes for the veins of dragonglass that she could see.

She pursed her lips as she tried to calculate if there would have been enough dragonglass for the Long Night, but without being able to see the rest of the cavernous space she couldn’t begin to guess. Was it possible that her ancestors had built Winterfell in this location less for the hot springs that warmed the walls and more for the dragonglass that would have been invaluable for killing wights? She wondered if she had known, if Jon would have ever had to bend the knee to the silver-haired Dragon Queen. If he hadn’t would he still be here at Winterfell? Would his help the last few years have made a difference or was this just the fate of the North no matter who led it?

Sansa turned back toward her ancestor’s tomb again and though the features hewn into the stone had long since worn away, it was apparent that like many Starks throughout the ages, the suspected Brandon the Builder, was broad and long of face. She can’t see any of herself in the remnants of the stone face. She was always the least Stark looking of her siblings, only the paleness of her face and her height did not come from the Tully features of her mother.

In the depth of the crypt, where none of the current inhabitants of Winterfell could hear or see her, where only her long dead ancestors lay, Sansa Stark let out a heartbroken little cry.

“How did you do it? How did you feed your people through a winter that lasted a generation?” she asked the worn statue.

 She continued on in a whisper, “I have failed everyone I ever set out to save. I failed Father, Rickon, Jon, even that fool Dontos, and many others over the years. Right now, I am failing all the people of the North. They have survived so much, but it will be hunger that kills us all in the end. A slow torturous death that I must watch my people endure. Truly I don’t think a single region in all of Westeros has enough food to last much longer than another year.”

Tears had blurred her vision and she swiped at them furiously. The weight of her failure sat heavily on her shoulders, and she slumped them where there was no one to see her falter. She traced her slim fingers over the features of this long-gone ancestor of hers. “I would do anything to spare my people of this now,” she said.

“Anything?” A voice whispered distorted oddly through the steam and cavernous space.

Sansa stepped back away from the statue and the direction of the entrance. She whipped her head around, but she couldn’t see any figures or hear any steps. “Who’s there?” she called out.

The voice whispered like wind through the leaves, “Who comes before the Gods?”

Sansa swallowed down her surprise and fear. The voice had no gender to it that she could determine. It seemed to whisper and rustle with a thousand different tones. She wet her cracked lips and answered, “Sansa Stark, Daughter of Winterfell and Queen in the North.”

“Stark, A Stark, The Last Stark in Winterfell, blood of the First Men,” echoed suddenly and at great volume with no discernible source. Sansa flinched and covered her ears with her hands.

When the echo ended and Sansa removed her hands from her ears, the voice whispered again, “Would you do it again?”

“Anything! Tell me what must I do?” she said desperately.

“Again, do it again,” the voice replied, but the answer was no help to her.

“Do what again?” she asked. She bit at her bottom lip in a display of nervousness she had thought had long been beaten out of her.

Behind her Sansa heard the hot springs begin to roil furiously. The ground began to rumble, the rock walls cracked, and stones began to fall. Sansa scurried backwards to avoid the falling debris. Her heart was pounding painfully in her chest and her breath quickened with fear. In her haste she slipped on the loose pieces of dragonglass scattered on the ground and tumbled backwards into the hot spring.

The heated water burned and blistered her skin the moment she fell into the water. The pain sizzled through her like nothing she’d ever experienced before. It was so excruciatingly hot that she felt it scorch through her veins and when it was done burning through her blood, the heat and the pain seared through her soul. She was incapable of distinct thoughts through the overwhelming pain that lanced through her. She did not know whether she screamed or not. Time was meaningless to her. It took only a brief few seconds for the water to burn through her body completely, but it felt like an extended lifetime of agony to her.

 Through the pain and above the rumbling of the ground she faintly heard the voice speak again, “Where death once walked, where winter was once felled, where First Men’s blood spilled, let the Last Stark walk once more.”

And then Sansa Stark, the Last Stark in Winterfell, sank into welcome blankness and neither saw nor heard any more.

Chapter Text

“Sansa!” A familiar voice called searchingly in the distance. Sansa could not respond back; her mouth did not seem to want to obey her. She could not see or move, though she was sure that her eyes were open. Panic surged through her mind and body, overwhelming in its intensity and stealing her ability to form thoughts. She was wet, and the heat of the cavern was too reminiscent of the spring water that had burned through her. The ground was warm, but hard with points of the strewn dragonglass poking her uncomfortably and she used the stinging pain to focus through the panic.

She must have dragged herself out of the hot spring, although she could not remember how or when. In fact, she had considered herself already dead when the boiling water had first hit her skin, and she had the fleeting moment of realization of just how hot the water was before she couldn’t think anymore. It had been agony unlike anything else she had experienced before. She had thought that she understood all the ways in which a human body could be hurt, but she had never thought to feel pain that seemed to pierce through her very soul.

“Sansa?” the voice called again. She thought she could detect a hint of worry in it. She could not recall how she knew the voice at the moment. She couldn’t concentrate enough to think of anything except the pain she was still reeling from.

Sansa whimpered lowly. It was the only sound she could manage to get past her lips. Gods, everything hurt, and none of her limbs felt right. Every inch of her skin felt as if it was still burning in the hot spring. She attempted to move her fingers and hands with uncomfortable success. She curled and straightened her fingers slowly in an attempt to work out the stiffness. She panted through the small success.

Perhaps something had come up in Winterfell, and it was one of the guards she didn’t know well who was sent to retrieve her. She wondered how long she had been down here for the guards to seek her out and for her torch to have died. Suddenly remembering the rumbling ground and falling stones right before she fell into the water, she considered it likely, if not most probable, that she was trapped and that the guards or one of her people were calling to see if she was still alive in whatever rubble was surely around her.

Solid footsteps hurried towards her collapsed form, and a hand touched the wet clothing on her shoulder. Curiously, while the touch wasn’t exactly painless, it did not invoke feelings of extensive burn damage that some part of her assumed she would have from being practically boiled alive.

“Sansa. Thank the gods you’re alive. Are you hurt? Come on, child, wake up,” the voice asked, and this time she registered that it was definitely a man who had found her.

Sansa, confused and exhausted, rolled over because her mind was frantic, behind the mental fog of her pain, that she knew this gruff voice. It had taken all her mental fortitude to steel herself against the incoming pain, and by the gods had it hurt to move. A pained groan escaped unbidden out of her mouth, and she nearly sobbed from the effort.

She was so sore, but if she could lift herself up after the Bolton bastard had beaten and humiliated her, then the hot spring that her home was built on wasn’t going to stop her either. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gasped as her eyes hungrily traced the face of the figure that was crouched down next to her.

“Father?” she cried.

He looked just like he had before they had set out for King’s Landing, down to his clothing and the beginnings of wrinkles around his eyes. She would have thought that she was already dead except that she hadn’t thought that death was supposed to hurt so much, and she didn’t think she had imagined or hallucinated the inhuman voice from before. If she wasn’t dead, though, then she had no idea how her father was in front of her, since she had watched his head be separated from his body.

Relief washed over his stern face, but confusion was also present for where his twelve-year-old daughter had disappeared this morning, a maid of about six and ten with his child’s distinctive looks and sweet voice, even pained as it sounded, was lying in the deepest part of the family crypt. The crypts were for family and invited guests only. No one would have let an unknown woman come into Winterfell, nonetheless down here to the crypt, no matter how much she looked like his wife or daughter.

Sansa clenched her jaw, shuffled her hands underneath herself, and then attempted to push herself up. She had barely lifted herself a few inches when her arms began to tremble and shake, weak as a kitten. Before she could collapse to the ground again, strong arms caught her and settled her so she could be carried out of the crypts.

“You’re here. I don’t understand, though,” she murmured mournfully. Maybe this was all a fever dream, but if it was, she didn’t want to wake up. She hadn’t seen her father in so long, and her last memory of him had tainted the rest of them and haunted her nightmares for years. When he did make an appearance in her dreams nowadays, his head that had been left out on the Traitor’s Walk was always sewn back onto his body, sometimes he was missing his eyes, or his skin was half rotted off. It was gruesome, and she much preferred this view of him.

Eddard Stark hugged the young woman closely to his chest and lifted her cradled form as he stood. He did not know yet if this was his daughter, but he wouldn’t leave any injured woman alone, especially in a place such as a dark crypt with potentially unstable walls.

As he made his way toward the entryway of the hot spring chamber, he asked, “What don’t you understand?”

“Sansa Stark, Queen of Winter, The Last Stark in Winterfell. The Last. The Last. The Last Stark,” echoed hauntingly behind them in that strange voice and followed them up the crypt tunnels.

Ned guessed that was the best verification he was going to get that this was, in fact, his daughter. He tightened his grip on her and glanced around, failing to locate the source of the words. The voice continued to echo around them. He stared grim-faced into the dark tunnel and cavern below, and then Eddard Stark gave the only answer to give.

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” he said firmly, and finally the eerie whispering died away.

“I don’t understand how you are here,” Sansa said as she stared up at her father with a deeper version of her mother’s Tully blue eyes. While every one of Catelyn’s children, except for Arya, had inherited her Tully eyes, Sansa’s had always been the most expressive. Sansa’s were the only ones that sometimes looked as deep and unfathomable as the never-ending Sunset Sea or as clear as the sky on a cloudless day.

He met her gaze and sighed. “Well, daughter of mine, it seems like you’ve been caught in one of your interesting tales.”

Sansa hummed sadly, “It wasn’t a tale of knights and maidens. It was a true northern tale like Old Nan’s, the terrifying kind that Bran was fonder of than I.”

“I really thought you’d be the child that gave me the least gray hairs, but it appears you’ve merely been biding your time, Little Lady,” he said with a wry grin twisting his mouth and humor in his Stark gray eyes.

 The utterance of his nickname for her startled a broken, hysterical sound out of her that was half laughter and half a sob. Her father had never gotten the chance to get grey hairs, and he had called her that when she was very little and too concerned about being the perfect lady.

Ned’s grin faded to something sad and concerned. He did not like the broken noises his, until this morning, happy and fanciful daughter was emitting. He worried that something awful had happened to her, although he supposed that it could just be whatever had displaced her in time. He was somewhat concerned that she didn’t seem to know what had happened to her either. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever is going on, Sansa, it will be okay. First, let’s get you out of here and into some dry clothes, and maybe some food wouldn’t be amiss either.”

Sansa nodded against his chest. “If you will set me down, I believe I can walk now. I would not burden you any further,” she said, her voice a little hoarse.

Ned scoffed, “It is no burden to carry my own daughter, no matter how old she gets, but if you wish it, I will put you down when we get to the exit.”

Sansa’s throat tightened as she choked down emotion. “I- That will work. Thank you, Father.”

If Eddard Stark noticed her odd behavior or her teary eyes, he didn’t comment on it. As promised, he set her down at the gated entrance. A little unsteady and off balance, Sansa stumbled, but her father’s hands caught her and steadied her before she could trip or fall. Sansa gripped his sleeves tightly and tried to school the heartsickness from her eyes. She had forgotten the feel of the absolute safety of her father’s steady hands. It had been years since she had felt the strength and safety his mere presence provided, and it was her own fault that it had been so long. She had failed to recognize what the Queen and Joffrey were, and it had cost her father his life.

She tore herself away, but Ned placed his daughter’s arm on his, too worried about her stability to let her attempt the distance alone, and walked her out of the crypts. The evening summer wind whipped at her wet clothes and raised goose flesh on her arms. The courtyard was lit with torches and candles from guards and servants moving quickly with purpose through the space.

On their way to the Great Keep, Ned waved a guard over and said, “Tell the captain to call off the search. I’ve found Sansa unharmed.”

Once the guard hurried off, he met his daughter’s eyes and said, “I’ll walk you in and send for a maid with some clothes that will fit you.”

Sansa blinked in confusion and looked down at herself to see that she was wearing the same clothes from her visit to the pyre and the crypt, but that now they were slightly too long and soaking wet.  This wasn’t her Winterfell. There were too many people, it was too warm, and the buildings didn’t look like how she had rebuilt them.

“How old am I?” she asked, stunned.

“This morning you were twelve, but now you look older, six and ten or perhaps seven and ten,” he answered with a shrug of his broad shoulders. Sansa stopped dead in her tracks, forcing her father to stop as well if he didn’t want to pull her along.

“What?” she asked, the bewilderment clear in her voice and trembling hands.

She straightened her sore form and, for the first time, she noticed her height compared to her father’s, and not trusting her memory, she looked around at anything else familiar to compare herself to. Ned Stark turned to glance at his daughter, who was near a stranger to him now, and waited for her to make her assessment.

She breathed out, “I think you are right. I’ve got another inch or so before I stop growing, and I stopped growing by the time I was seven and ten.”

She was apparently in the past, and strangely, the wrong age. Everything was too real and detailed to be a dream, and she hurt too much to be dead, but the alternative was weird and something she was having difficulty wrapping her head around.

“It appears that you inherited your grandfather’s and uncle Brandon’s height, then. While I am tall for a Northern man, both of them were even taller, and it appears that since you are already at least my height that you will be taller than I am,” he observed.

Sansa sighed miserably, “I’m going to need boys' clothes until either my dress dries, or I can make myself some more clothes. There isn’t another woman as tall as I am in all of Winterfell right now.”

“How old did you think yourself before?” he asked curiously.

“I was one and twenty before whatever happened today,” she said, waving her hands in a vague gesture.

They meet not a soul on the way to the family wing of the Great Keep. "Everyone must be in the hall for dinner. I’ll let your mother know you are safe and send someone with some of Robb’s clothes, since I believe you are taller and more slender than Jon right now.”

“Yes. Jon seems to have inherited his mother’s height. Even when he was fully grown, he was never as tall as Robb or even me,” she said fondly.

Ned tensed up as he did whenever Jon’s mother was mentioned. The strain on his face was evident for a person who had learned to lie in King’s Landing. “Aye, Jon’s mother wasn’t very tall,” he let slip bitterly.

“I hear she was a tiny little thing built, if I am not mistaken, rather like Arya will be in the future,” Sansa said in a carefully even tone.

It was Ned’s turn to freeze this time. “You know somehow,” he breathed out and then continued stonily, “I’m going to ask that you don’t ever repeat that information.”

“I’m not a little girl anymore with thoughts of only golden-haired knights and fair maidens. I would speak with you more on the matter later, but I understand what’s at stake and would not endanger him or any of my other brothers in such a manner. I know the value of even the smallest information now. It was a hard lesson, but you can rest assured that I learned it a long time ago,” she said softly.

Ned nodded grimly. “My solar in half an hour. Should anyone else be included?”

“Not tonight, though we’ll have to come up with something to tell Mother and everyone else at some point,” she said as she left her father at the door to her room.

Once in her childhood bedroom, Sansa stripped out of her heavy woolen and leather dress. She hung it up near the wall in hopes that, in the absence of a fire that the heated walls would help dry the garments faster. Her hands were lifting her shift when there was a soft knock on the door. She dropped the garment with a grimace at the way that the cool, wet fabric clung to her skin and crossed the room to crack the door. She peered out through the slim opening at a short brunette maid with a plain face that she vaguely remembered from her childhood.

“Milady, Lord Stark sent me with clothes,” said the girl, handing over a neatly stacked bundle of soft fabrics while staring curiously at her.

“Thank you, Danelle,” Sansa said with a polite smile, remembering the maid’s name at the last minute.

“Lord Stark bade me to assist you if you required, Milady,” she said, dropping her gaze to her feet.

Sansa’s face dropped into her polite, air-headed mask she had used to survive in King’s Landing. She did not allow people to undress her anymore, especially after her marriage to Ramsey Bolton. Better for them to think she was a stupid little girl than to let them see the devastation that had been written on her bare skin.

“I can manage on my own, though it was kind of you to offer,” she declined with an empty smile on her lips.

With that, Sansa closed the door to her room and set the clothes down on her bed. Mechanically, she began stripping out of the rest of her wet clothes and the many under layers of a lady’s winter clothing. She was still sore, and she felt strange in this younger body of hers, but it wasn’t until she caught sight of her naked body in the large silver mirror in the corner that she realized why. She stared wide-eyed as she made her way closer to the mirror. The flesh of her arms and legs wasn’t marred by scars anymore. She had goose bumps from the combination of wet skin and the chill in the air, but there was no flayed skin, bite marks from the hounds, or other scars on her front. She turned sideways and twisted her neck to peer at her back. She cocked her head as she considered that the scars from Joffrey’s Kingsguard were still crisscrossed over the expanse of her back.

How strange, she thought. Why keep some of her scars, but not all of them? She wouldn’t complain, though; these scars were a thousand times more preferable than the ones that Ramsey had gifted her. Sansa brushed the mirror gently where she could see her remaining scars with the very tips of her fingers. She swallowed back the lump that had taken up residence in her throat. Perhaps the scars were a punishment from the old gods for getting her father killed, which had started a whole sequence of events that left the North and the rest of Westeros vulnerable and ravaged by multiple wars. She would deserve those at least.

The voice was mournful this time when it whispered in her room, “What was done in the sight of the North can be undone. What was suffered in the South remains.”

Sansa smoothed her hands over places where scars had been erased and remembered that Old Nan had once told her that the Old Gods have no power where there are no heart tree faces to see. South of the Neck, there were hardly any heart trees left, and there were certainly none in King’s Landing. She wondered if that was why she was six and ten instead of two and ten, too, for she had spent a little over three years as a prisoner in the south outside of the view of the Old Gods.

Taking a cloth from next to the wash basin and pitcher, Sansa wet it in the cool water and scrubbed her hands and face before wiping down the rest of her body. The water was chilly, but it was no colder than she already felt walking around in wet clothes or in comparison to the Winter from which she had just come. She had no towel, so Sansa grabbed a lightweight fur off her bed and ran it over her skin to dry herself. It did not work as well or feel as nice on her skin as a towel would, but it dried her off sufficiently enough and she had learned to make do with much less than the amenities that were offered in her childhood.

After her skin was dry, she picked through Robb’s clothes on her bed and noted that they, of course, did not come with any sort of appropriate underclothing suitable for girls. She grimaced but turned around to the baskets that held all her sewing supplies. She would have to do without small clothes, of course, but if she could find some long strips of muslin or other soft material, she could at least pad her chest, so she wasn’t walking around completely indecent as well as improper.

She dug through the assorted fabrics, scraps, ribbons, and lace before her fingers caught on the feel of the cloth she had hoped was still in her basket. She pulled out the length of soft muslin and folded the thin material to the right width before loosely winding it around her torso, making sure not to pull too tightly. For once, she was relieved that her sister had shown her something so unladylike before departing to sail the world. Sansa tucked the end of the fabric in to secure it and quickly donned the plain white shirt and tan breeches that had been provided. The shirt was too long, so Sansa tucked it into the pants, thankful that everything fit well enough, even if the pants were snugger around her hips than she was comfortable with.

Sansa ignored the leather doublet that was provided. She had just come from the depths of winter and had previously felt the unnatural cold that the Night King had brought with him to Winterfell. It had been a cold so harsh that any exposed skin froze after only a few minutes. However, it was summer here, and the inside of Winterfell was always warm, so Sansa skipped the extra layer.

Sansa eyed her boots disdainfully; they were soaking wet and would take days to dry, while no shoe, boot, or slipper that she had while she was two and ten would fit her current feet. She frowned, sure that she didn’t have any stockings either. Apparently, she was just going to have to be as wild as her brother Rickon was and wander through the keep barefoot.

“Oh,” she gasped aloud. Rickon would be here as little more than a small child. He'd be just five or six years old. Tiny, happy, and as wild as any direwolf north of the Wall. They would all be here. Everyone of her siblings safe for now, but not if she couldn’t stop what was to come. Determination steeled her spine. The confusion she had felt earlier at her circumstances died. She would pay any price, stain her honor, even drain her lifeblood dry to keep them all safe. In fact, if she could keep them as sweet summer children forever, she would do that too.

Sansa picked up the silver hairbrush her mother had given to her as a girl and brushed out her long, wet hair. She didn’t have enough time for any of her usual styles, so she braided the whole length in a single braid down her back to keep it tamed and out of her face. She glanced at herself once more in the mirror before deciding that this was as presentable as she was going to get. She squared her shoulders before leaving her chambers and walked toward her father’s solar.

The door was already open. When Sansa stepped into the room, she was struck by the sight of her father behind his desk. It sent a pang of nostalgia through her heart to see him sitting there whole and peaceful. She scrunched her bare toes on the stone floors that had been worn smooth over the years. The floors, like the walls, radiated warmth, and Sansa wondered why everyone didn’t walk barefoot through the keep, because despite the firmness of the stone, the heat felt absolutely wonderful on her sore feet. She could feel some of the stiffness and pain in her lower legs begin to dissipate.

As a girl, she had kept slippers near her bed, and Sansa couldn’t remember her bare feet touching the ground ever. She had been too concerned with being the perfect lady and having the softest skin. It had served her poorly in King’s Landing and then again with the Bolton bastard that she’d married. In fact, both men who had beaten her and hurt her had seemed especially delighted that her skin had been so soft prior to their attentions.

Her father looked up nearly as soon as she entered the room and beckoned her further into the room. “Come sit down. I’ve had some stew brought up from the Hall in case you were hungry,” he said.

Sansa closed the door behind her and padded forward on her bare feet. She sat down primly in the comfortable chair that was provided and went to adjust her skirts before abruptly realizing that she was wearing Robb’s clothing and they didn’t need to be adjusted after sitting. She supposed that was the only thing she liked about men’s clothing. The stew in front of her was hardy compared to the thin, barely more than broth, that she had been eating in the future. She picked up her spoon and began to daintily eat.

“Thank you. Would it be possible to get an old pair of boots from Jon? I think his are probably the closest to my current size,” she inquired.

Ned nodded. He hadn’t realized that she wasn’t wearing shoes or that some hadn’t been provided for her yet. “Of course. Anything else?” he asked.

“Maybe some stockings of some sort and whatever lightweight wools or summer fabrics can be found on hand so that I can sew some proper clothes for myself,” Sansa said as she plucked at her pants with a wrinkled nose.

Ned suppressed his laughter. Well, there was no doubt that this was his proper little lady daughter now, even if she wasn’t so little now. Had he any doubt, that disdainful look at the state of her clothing would have cured him of it. Only his daughter, Sansa, would be that displeased by clothing. He did wonder how he had two such very different daughters; Arya would have been overjoyed if she had permission to wear boys' clothing.

“Aye. That can be arranged easily,” he said as solemnly as he could manage, although he wasn’t sure that his amusement wasn’t written clear as day on his face.

She smiled in relief. “Excellent. Thank you!”

He cocked his head at her and frowned lightly. While Sansa had always been the politest of his children, she was being excessively polite even for her. “You don’t have to keep thanking me, you know? No matter what has happened, you’re my daughter. It’s my job to provide for your necessities, and your mother might lay a dragon egg if you wander around in boys' clothes like Arya for too long.”

“Sorry, it’s been a while since I wasn’t the one doing the providing,” she answered after a moment of quiet while she stared down at her food.

She wasn’t used to being provided for anymore, not without the provider expecting something in return. Too many people had tried to take advantage of her position as the Lady of Winterfell or the Queen in the North for selfish reasons. She finished the stew, put her spoon down next to the dish, and folded her hands in her lap demurely.

Ned wondered at the statement. He had a foreboding feeling that he wasn’t going to like what she had to say, but he asked her anyway, “Sansa, what happened?”

“The Old Gods, at least I think it was them, sent me back. I was in the deepest part of the crypt, looking for answers or maybe hope. Everyone was already dead or dying, and I knew I couldn’t save them, that I couldn’t save anyone. Gods, did I try though. It was just never enough,” she laughed bitterly at her own words.

There were tears in her eyes that she refused to let fall. What good had it done her people for her to be Queen when she hadn’t been able to stop them from starving in their homes?

“Sansa, where were your brothers? Where was Robb?” Ned asked, alarmed.

How had Winterfell been left to Sansa when he had three healthy sons before her? He trusted her household management skills, obviously, but she should have been managing a husband’s keep, not her ancestral home. She should have been tending to a lady’s tasks, not a lord’s duties.

Sansa grimaced and her words came out falteringly, “They were long gone by the time I was sent back. Robb died in one of the wars, Rickon- Rickon died in Jon’s arms after being a hostage in an occupied Winterfell, Jon was lost north of the destroyed Wall, and I don’t understand what Bran became, but he wasn’t Bran anymore. He was something other.” She shivered as she remembered the cool, dispassionate eyes of the three-eyed raven and the unnerving, sometimes creepy or disturbing things he’d say. She wasn’t sure if the three-eyed raven had forgotten how to be human or if he just enjoyed unsettling people.

“And Arya?” Ned asked frantically.

“Arya was captaining a ship, but I hadn’t heard from her in over a year,” Sansa said, sighing sadly.

The Warden of the North couldn’t control his facial expressions or his shock. None of what Sansa had said made any sense. Most of his children were likely dead in the not-too-distant future, but he couldn’t bring himself to process that or ask more about the specifics; he wasn’t sure he could bear to know. He felt a thousand years old. Ned had already lost his parents and siblings, and now his daughter was telling him that the same thing had happened to her.

He wouldn’t wish that on any of his children, but especially not Sansa, who was sweet and dreamy and whom he had never spent much time training. He had let Catelyn and a septa take charge of her training, and he had no idea if she had been properly trained in anything aside from how to manage a household, which was a vastly different task than being a Lord Paramount or a Warden. He had never even considered that the position might fall to one of his daughters, which was clearly a mistake he would need to rectify this time around.

“The Wall fell?” he asked, unable to comprehend that information either, but surely it was less traumatic than discussing his children’s deaths.

An indecipherable look overtook her expression, and Sansa tensed up as if she was bracing for something unpleasant. “It did.”

She bit her lip and continued to speak, “But I’m not sure how to explain it. I don’t think you’ll believe me.”

He wasn’t sure why Sansa would think that he wouldn’t believe her. Most of his children were fairly honest, but Sansa had been like him as a child, a terrible liar. It had always been apparent, the few rare times that she had tried to lie to him or her mother. He furrowed his brow and leaned forward in his chair.

“Sansa, you are sitting in my solar, appearing nearly four years older than you were this morning. Whatever you have to tell me can’t be more bizarre than that.”

Sansa released her lip and stared at him appraisingly as if she could see through him, “Alright, I’ll tell you, but when you think I’m mad in a minute, you remember that you said that.”

She looked down at the desk and sighed. “It turns out Old Nan’s stories aren’t just stories at all. With the howling winds of next winter comes the Long Night, the Night King, and an army of the dead, a hundred thousand strong. The Wall might have held them off for longer if one of those fool Targaryens hadn’t lost a dragon on the other side of the Wall. The Night King raised the dragon and melted the Wall down so his army of wights and white walkers could march through.”

Whatever Eddard Stark had been expecting as an answer, it wasn’t that. The Wall had held for nearly eight thousand years and had been destroyed by things that he and most others believed were myths, but he detected no lie in his daughter’s voice, and Sansa had warned him that it was unbelievable.

He wanted to ask about the Night King, magic, and dragons, but instead he asked, “Is that why you were sent back? Is that why everyone was dying?”

Sansa shook her head and then bowed it. “Not entirely. That happened two years ago for me, but there were several wars beforehand as well, and between those, the War for the Living, and the harshest winter in hundreds of years, men, resources, and food stores all over the seven kingdoms were severely depleted. I hadn’t heard from the other kingdoms in months, but all the survivors left in the North were starving, myself included. Queen in the North and I couldn’t keep them from starving,” she ended self-deprecatingly.

“Can we fix it? Or prevent some of it?” Ned asked when he got over some of the initial horrified shock.

The things she was telling him were nearly unfathomable. If they were true, then it was no wonder that the Old Gods had sent her back. Humanity was doomed in her time. Just one of those events was enough to spell disaster for everyone during a long winter, but with all of them stacked like that, they hadn’t stood a chance.

“I promised the Gods I’d do anything to save them, so I believe so. I hope the Gods wouldn’t be so cruel as to send me back only to watch the same terrible fates befall everyone,” Sansa said with a shrug.

Ned rubbed at his temples with one hand. “Do you have any ideas?”

She leaned back in her chair, appearing less tense for the moment, she replied, “Yes, I spent a rather long time considering the what-ifs. We need better relations with some of the other kingdoms and more trade, which I suspect means that we need a port on our western shores, also more food and glass houses throughout the North, we’ll likely need to ally at least tentatively with the free folk, and we need more weapons capable of killing the wights and white walkers. I don’t have any idea what to do about the Dragons yet,” she shrugged the last part.

Ned blinked at the torrent of information. He focused on the part where he had some knowledge. He would come back to the food and the magical problems later.

“My father had wanted to build a port on the western coast, but he died before he got to it. The Iron Born might be a problem, though,” Ned mused.

“They will be,” Sansa confirmed, with a knowing grimace. Balon Greyjoy was a menace and too ambitious not to try something.

Ned glanced around his office and frowned, “The plans might still be set aside somewhere in here. I’ll see if I can find them. Who do you think we need better trade and relationships with?”

Sansa pursed her lips as she answered, “Minimally, the Westerlands. They have too many resources and too much power for us not to be on good terms with them.”

Ned’s features twisted in disdain. “Tywin Lannister only cares for a few things, and he won’t care for empty pleasantries.”

That startled a laugh out of Sansa, “Tywin Lannister only cares about the Westerlands and his family legacy. I would never suggest doing anything frivolous with him. A trade agreement will be sufficient for him. I doubt that he wants anything else from us, barbaric Northmen. Just invite him here whenever we finish a western port and hammer out all the details then.”

“Alright. Any others we should trade with?” he asked.

“The Reach and Dorne, if they will let us, although we might have to make other concessions to them. The Dornish can be tricky, and they have long memories,” she said.

“Aye, they are, and with what happened before with your aunt, they might not want anything to do with Starks,” he said with grief coloring his tone, clearly remembering the incident with his own sister’s demise.

“Perhaps not, but our isolationist policies after Robert’s Rebellion hurt us last time, and we should try to repair the relationship if we can. Plus, Dorne has the best glass blowers in Westeros, which we will need for the glass houses if we are going to increase the number of them throughout the North,” Sansa explained.

Ned nodded and asked, “What will we need from the other regions, or is the trade strictly general?”

“We’ll need the glass from Dorne, food from the Reach, and miners, smiths, and craftsmen from the Westerlands,” she said, counting off on her fingers all the things she’d previously considered that the North would have fared better with during her life.

Ned appeared taken aback, “Why aren’t our own miners and craftsmen decent enough?”

“Because we won’t have sufficient numbers for our needs. The North has a lot of raw materials, but between its scarcely populated towns and the large distances between them, we’ve never attracted enough skilled workers. Only the Westerlands and King’s Landing have truly great smiths,” she answered her father’s query easily.

Sansa continued, “Besides, it’s dragonglass and Valyrian Steel that kills wights and white walkers. We’ve no workers who know how to work with those. I spotted some dragonglass in the deepest part of the crypts, so I have a feeling that we’re going to have to ask Lord Lannister for a recommendation on a team that’s skilled in assessing how much might be there down there and the dangers of removing that much stone from underneath Winterfell.”

Ned rested his head on his steepled hands. It wouldn’t fix everything, but his daughter had clearly spent a long time considering the issues the North faced, and if trade agreements would fix half of his future problems, then he had no trouble justifying the construction of a port and drafting agreements with the other regions and their lords.

“It’s getting late, and you look more tired than I’ve seen anyone who wasn’t on a battlefield look. We can discuss this more tomorrow,” he said.

“What will we tell everyone about me?” she asked, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“We’ll tell your mother and brothers most of the truth. I don’t think they need details right now, but they should know that things got bad, and the Old Gods kindly sent you back to help. We’ll figure out what to tell everyone else later.”

Sansa snorted, “They weren’t kind about it. I’m sure that they tripped me into the crypt’s hot spring on purpose. It was agonizing, and I felt as if my soul and whole being were burned out of my body before I woke up in more pain. Although I suppose I should be thankful that much of the evidence of the last few years was erased from my body.”

“I suppose kind was the wrong word to use in that case. Either way, come back here for breakfast and I’ll have everyone else join us after they break their own fasts,” Ned stated.

After Sansa left, Ned got up, poured himself some ale, and then sat back at his desk to drink it. He stared blankly at his worn desk until after he finished his second cup, then, in a sudden explosion of movement, he shoved a stack of paperwork off his desk and threw his cup against the wall. He couldn’t stand to be sitting so still, so he stood up. He paced and prowled the room as his thoughts tumbled through his mind.

How had all of that happened? And Sansa, gods was his daughter different. It was clear that something terrible had happened to her, too, although she had been light on the details of her own life. She had really only discussed the issues that faced the North and avoided anything personal about herself. Ned found himself surprised that his soft, fanciful daughter was the one who had survived and then was immediately shamed by the thought.

It was true that his daughter was good and kind, but that didn’t make her weak or any less of a wolf. She was the most patient and least prone to recklessness of his family, barring maybe himself. She had also always been clever in a way that her other, more straightforward siblings hadn’t been. He found himself thinking that he should have encouraged that in her rather than just letting his wife and a silly septa train her in only ladylike accomplishments, not that those skills weren’t important or useful too, but he should have encouraged her intelligence too, rather than let it stagnate. She had been eager to please as a child and would have gladly taken on extra lessons if he’d framed them correctly.

He was disappointed in himself. Just because she wanted to be the epitome of a gentle lady, unlike her other, more warrior-inclined siblings, did not make her less. Just because she looked southern didn’t mean she wasn’t a Stark with steel in her bones and the wildness of the North in her heart. He supposed that it was similar to everyone comparing him to his wilder brother and sister. They’d had wilder and daring nicknames while he was named the Quiet Wolf, but it had been he and Benjen to survive, not Brandon or Lyanna.

Gods, he had made the same mistake, the same assumptions, that he had resented people making about him when he was younger, with his own daughter. He’d dismissed her skills and accomplishments because they weren’t topics he understood or cared for, and even without knowing the full story, he knew that he had failed to ensure that she learned the political skills he could have taught her to better survive. He vowed to himself that he’d do better with her now and with all his other children too.

Chapter Text

Sansa could only stare as her family trickled into her father’s solar. They were exactly how she remembered them before everything went wrong, Arya’s fierce bearing, her mother’s long auburn hair, Bran’s sweet smile. It wasn’t until Rickon, who was holding their mother’s hand, made a noise, that Sansa felt the ice unfreeze from her limbs. She stood up from where she had finished eating her breakfast, crossed the room with as few steps as she could manage, and swept her youngest brother up into her arms.

“Rickon, oh, you’re safe,” she cried while she pressed a kiss to his head and breathed in the fresh, wild scent of her littlest brother.

Her youngest brother, whom she had been on her way to save with the Knights of the Vale, but she had arrived too late to save. She closed her eyes and wept silently into his unruly auburn curls. Gods, she had known it was a slim chance that he would make it with the way Ramsey reveled in hurting people, but she had tried all the same. Tried everything she knew to do; she had even taken up Littlefinger’s offer of assistance after she had already refused him and his slimy help once before. She felt Rickon’s small child's arms wrap around her neck, squeezing her after yesterday's commotion of her going missing, and heard him greeting and chattering happily in her ear. His embrace felt both agonizing and like absolution, even though Rickon couldn’t possibly know what had happened to him and how she’d failed to save him.

“Ned? What’s going on?” asked Catelyn Stark.

She was staring at the girl who held her youngest child with fear and suspicion. From what little she could see, the girl had looked eerily like her eldest daughter, but it couldn’t possibly be her. Sansa was two and ten, not a nearly grown woman, and she certainly didn’t act like that with her siblings. Catelyn had taught her better manners and more restraint than that.

Sansa glanced up and watched her mother and brother, Robb, above Rickon’s wild curls. She wasn’t sure what she felt about either of them. They could have both officially traded Jaime Lannister for her and sued for peace at any time. Sansa Stark had been nothing compared to Jaime Lannister at that point. A girl of three and ten who wasn’t even the heir at the beginning, versus a grown knight and military commander. Plus, everyone knew he was his father’s favorite. Tywin Lannister would have done nearly anything to get his precious heir back safe, and he had truly been the power behind the throne before his death, even with his distance. It had been his money that funded the crown, and his reputation that shielded the royal family for all that they called themselves Baratheons.

Both her mother and Robb had shown poor political sense and reckless behavior. Maybe that wasn’t fair to her brother, because he was barely a man when he’d called the banners at seventeen, but at the same age Sansa would have married anyone to keep her brother safe and she’d have had better sense then to behead one of her bannermen that provided so many of her troops. There was honorable and then there was stupid, and that decision had been the second.

“It’s alright, Cat. It’s just Sansa,” Ned soothed his wife. That hadn’t relaxed Catelyn Stark, though. She was still watching Rickon like a hawk.

“Where’s Jon and Theon?” Sansa asked as she swept her gaze around the room as if they would suddenly just appear out of the shadows.

Rickon squirmed in her arms; he was getting too big to want to be carried around like a babe. "Let me down, please."

Sansa smiled warmly down at him. “Alright, my Wild Wolf, I’ll put you down,” she said and set him carefully on his feet.

He grinned toothily, displaying his first lost tooth, and tugged at her braided hair mischievously one last time with his little hands before veering off toward the little bookcase by the window to pull out something to entertain himself with the fastest that his short legs would carry him. It was strange to be able to see her family as they once were. In her head, she could see echoes of their older selves superimposed on the versions in front of her.

Catelyn Stark peered warily at the girl her husband claimed was her daughter, cataloging the differences in her from the last time she had seen her just the morning before. She certainly looked enough like her daughter with Tully eyes, a deeper blue than the color of the Blue Fork and distinctive copper hair that was brighter than her own, but even aside from the age difference, there was something very different and unsettling about the girl in front of her.

“Your father only asked for me to bring your siblings to the solar,” she replied, lifting her chin stubbornly.

“Cat,” Ned warned, the exasperation was written all over his face and in the tension in the line of his shoulders

Internally, Sansa was furious, but she shuttered her expression and with winter in her breath she addressed her father, ignoring her mother entirely, to firmly state, “They should both be here.”

“Theon too?” he asked without judgment, only curiosity, and at her decisive nod, he sent Arya off to collect them. She hopped up with a pleased grin and raced out of the room like their septa was after her with a dress and embroidery needles.

Catelyn stared out the window, her lips pressed so tightly together it was nearly impossible to see them, and her eyes flashed angrily. Robb was glancing between their parents and Sansa nervously. He’d never liked to be caught between their parents. Bran was merely staring at the girl they had called his sister, curiously waiting for things to be explained to them. She looked taller than he was used to, but other than that, there were few physical changes, and he knew that it was his sister, Sansa, without a doubt.

It was quiet for several minutes before Catelyn spoke furiously, “I don’t understand why-”

Sansa, without raising her voice, cut her mother off sharply, “They are family and, in the future, while they made mistakes, when it mattered, when all was nearly lost, Jon and Theon did more for me and the North than anyone else in this room.”

Robb was bewildered and a little hurt by this changed girl who is his sister, but isn’t at the same time. Robb hadn’t even thought his haughty little sister cared much for either boy or paid them any attention, yet here she was dressing down their own mother about her behavior toward them while she seemed to be avoiding him completely. Although judging by the way his clothes fit her, she wasn’t so little anymore and appeared to be the same age and height as him.

Jon and Theon walked in together just in time to hear Sansa berate her mother, and both were too stunned by her words and different appearance to fully enter the room. Sansa, herself, was thrilled to see both boys in the doorway and had to tone down her exuberant smile lest they think she was deranged. It had been a long time since she’d seen Theon looking so young, cocky, and best of all, whole. And there were no words for how ecstatic she was to see her moodiest brother, Jon, not in the all-black ensemble of the Night’s Watch.

“Everyone, come in and shut the door. We have a lot to talk about,” Ned said, meeting everyone’s gaze with a stern look of his own, already dreading this meeting if Cat’s attitude was going to set the tone for the day.

Arya slipped in from behind the boys, and Jon shut the thick wooden door behind him. All the younger children sat down on the floor while the oldest either sat in one of the chairs or stood against the stone walls of the solar. All of them peering between Sansa, who was uncharacteristically still dressed in boy’s clothes, and their father, who had called them all together and looked like he might have answers to the questions that were burning in several of their minds.

When everyone had settled and their attention was on him, Ned began again, “When Sansa went missing yesterday, I found her in the crypts several hours later like this. It's still your sister, Sansa, but best we can tell, she’s from a few years into the future.”

“That’s ridiculous! How do you know it’s really her?” Catelyn asked, staring at Sansa with her arms crossed obstinately and thinned lips.

“Sansa Stark, Queen of Winter, The Last Stark in Winterfell,” whispered throughout the room before Ned or Sansa had a chance to speak up in defense against Catelyn’s remarks.

The inhuman voice still sent a chill down Sansa’s spine, and judging by her family’s responses, the voice made them uneasy as well. She wondered if every time someone questioned her identity, the Old Gods were going to declare her name and titles. She crossed her fingers and fervently hoped that they wouldn’t announce such a thing all the time. Not only would it get annoying, but she didn’t want the knowledge that she’d lived this before to get out, and she didn’t know how else to explain the disembodied voice proclaiming her name and impossible titles.

“Well, I think that answers Lady Catelyn’s question nicely,” Theon said with an uneasy laugh as he fidgeted from his position against one of the walls.

Sansa briefly met his eyes and, hidden in their depths, saw the boy who wanted to do the right thing, but didn’t know where he belonged. A young man who hadn’t decided whether he was a Stark or a Greyjoy and whether, if choosing one, meant forsaking the other entirely. She didn’t know how to help him decide who he was or what he stood for yet, but she knew she would have to figure it out soon. She realized that it was entirely possible that there wasn’t anything that she could personally do; some lessons, some soul searching, had to be done alone in order to last. She knew that it was a risk to include him in this conversation before his loyalty was decided, but she couldn’t risk alienating him and she felt like she owed the man he had become in the future, the one who had jumped from Winterfell’s walls with her and fought for the living during the Long Night.

“What was that?” asked Arya, staring wide-eyed at her sister with her little body tensed in a combination of fear and wonder.

Sansa darted her eyes down to her little sister, who was sitting cross-legged, shrugged, and answered simply, “The Old Gods, I think.”

Robb broke in impatiently, “Sansa, what do they mean by The Last Stark? How could you be the last?”

She sighed sadly. “The Old Gods sent me back after I tripped into the underground hot spring that warms all of Winterfell. I was the only one left that I knew was alive and in Winterfell. Mother, Father, Theon, you, and Rickon were all confirmed dead. I suspect both Arya and Jon were dead by the time I went back, too; Arya likely lost at sea, and Jon beyond the Wall in the worst winter in living memory. Bran was in the south, but I’m not sure what he became could technically be called Bran anymore.”

The room was dead silent at her revelation, and Catelyn dropped heavily into a nearby chair and let out a tortured moan, “Not my children.”

“But the Old Gods sent you back, so you must be able to stop it,” said Arya, with all the assurance of a child who still believed that bad people were punished, and bad things could be righted if people just acted. A child who still believed the world could be made fair.

“I told the gods I would do anything, and I intend to keep that promise,” Sansa claimed fiercely, holding the other girl’s steadfast gray eyes. Arya grinned back and nodded with approval at her sister. For once, the two sisters were on the same page.

“Can we do anything to help?” Jon spoke up for the first time, looking at this sister of his who had once been younger than him, but now appeared either the same age or older. It was strange to think of this girl as Sansa, but her features were the same, she spoke the same, and she moved with the same grace that he’d only ever seen Sansa be able to achieve. And if this was his sister, he’d do his best to help her fix things.

Sansa smiled gently at Jon and said, “I don’t know. The most immediate problem is convincing the rest of the household of my identity, so if you have any ideas on that, I would be glad to hear them.”

It was quiet for a moment before Arya’s eyes lit up wickedly, “What if we didn’t explain at all. What if we just started a few rumors?”

“Rumors might work, but about what?” Sansa asked, cocking her head at the younger girl, careful not to seem dismissive. It was a smart idea if they could control the narrative, and Sansa desperately wanted that precious bond they had formed in the future back.

“We could say you were a witch,” Theon japed. Catelyn gasped, looking scandalized, even as the children all grinned at the joke.

“And get burned by my fellow Northmen? No, thank you, Theon,” she said, sharing a grin with the Iron Islander, which Catelyn noted she never would have dared to do before, but there was no doubt it was her daughter’s grin. She would recognize it anywhere, since she’d seen it so often on her little girl’s face whenever she had accomplished something.

“Even Northerners already think Starks are strange,” Bran offered quietly from his position on the floor.

“That’s true. We could just let it spread that the Sansa was blessed by the Old Gods,” said Arya, leaning forward on her elbows eagerly.

Sansa frowned, worried about the implications of that. “I don’t want it to be too favorable. Then other houses will hear, and I’ll spend all my time dodging their attempts to steal me away.”

“We could tell them you had an accident with the Old Gods and leave it mysterious. The household will still know it’s you, but that’s ambiguous enough that the other house might think it was something unfortunate that happened to you and wouldn’t be too curious unless they saw you in person. We wouldn’t even be lying,” Robb answered with a smirk.

Ned nodded his agreement, knowing that the easiest stories to maintain contained at least a bit of the truth. “Alright, if Sansa agrees, then that’s what we’ll do.”

Sansa closed her eyes and let all the implications and scenarios run through her mind as Littlefinger had taught her. If she didn’t go south before the rumors were settled, she thought it could work, and since she had no plans at all to leave the North, they could easily manage the rumors in and around Winterfell. Everyone would be able to come to their own conclusion that satisfied them, and hopefully, the curiosity around her would die relatively quickly.

By the time the King came, if he still did, she’d be well established again, and as it wasn’t a new topic, there would be little open discussion about it. Even if someone did hear a rumor, the stories would be so conflicting and probably outrageous by that time that anyone who caught wind would likely dismiss them all out of hand, especially since there was nothing excessively strange about her appearance. Most likely, not having seen her change overnight, they could just chalk it up to her being an earlier bloomer, and the King’s party would consider the talk just superstitious northern gossip. After all, she’d always been rather tall, and puberty could be a truly strange time. One benefit of her father’s isolationism and keeping their family in the North rather than paraded through relatives’ homes and the King’s court was that they weren’t often seen outside of Winterfell, and therefore nothing could be substantiated about her sudden “growth spurt”.

“I think that might work, and I have no better ideas. Just make sure you spread a couple of variations and maybe throw in some confusing and wildly untrue details. When people ask, never confirm anything either,” she said slowly with a thoughtful little frown as she opened her eyes again.

“Excellent,” Arya said, eyes gleaming with mischief and fidgeting as if she couldn’t wait to jump up from her seat. She eyed all her brothers, as if to judge their mischief-making capabilities, before proclaiming, “Me, Theon, and Robb will start on that immediately.”

Ned smiled fondly at his wild little daughter and made a shooing motion towards the door. “Why don’t you go ahead and do that. The rest of you can leave, too. I’d like to speak with Sansa some more this morning.”

When his other children left and Cat trailed out, looking pale and lost with Rickon's hand once again grasped in her own, Ned picked up a quill, inked it, and addressed his remaining daughter, “Okay Sansa, we talked about the North yesterday, but what can we do to improve your siblings' lives, so they live longer?”

Sansa rested her arms on the desk and sighed tiredly, exhausted already, even though her day had only just begun, while she decided on what to tell her father. Her father was a good man, but in politics, especially southern politics, that could be more of a hindrance than help. She didn’t want to change so much that all her hard learned knowledge would unravel, leaving her without any cards up her sleeves or advantages. She also didn’t trust that her father wouldn’t act on some of knowledge, plunging the realm into chaos and war again, and to be honest, Sansa didn’t care who sat on the Iron Throne, so long as they left the North largely to itself and helped defeat the Night King. She’d probably have to do something about Joffrey at some point, but that would be something that had to be evaluated later on.

“Everything fell apart when King Robert demanded you as Hand after Jon Arryn died. That is a mess I’m not sure you can fix from here, and I’m not sure that you can escape that duty either. However, saving the rest of my siblings should be doable. If you ever take any of us south, have a sword sworn to each of us. It’s unfortunately true that Starks don’t do well in the south. All my brothers need lessons in diplomacy, and Robb clearly needs the refresher, too. Jon needs to be included in those lessons, even if you must fight mother on it, and he cannot be allowed to take the Black. Find something else meaningful for him to devote himself to, the Wall only brought him misery, and sometime soon you should tell him about his mother,” she said.

She rose from her seat and went to stand near the window. As she stared out at the people moving about the courtyard, she continued pensively, “Let Arya train with a sword. See if you can’t find a water dancing teacher. I don’t remember his name, but last time she trained with the former First Sword of Braavos. Lastly, don’t send Theon back to the Iron Islands anytime soon; his father will shame him into doing things he knows he shouldn’t. Everything else and the other deaths can be prevented as long as we avoid war or breaking agreements.”

Ned jotted those down quickly, surprised to hear about Jon Arynn and the Hand position. He supposed that Jon was nearing his eighth decade, though, so it made sense that his foster father was nearing the end of his life. It was sad and he would miss the man, but he’d not had much contact with him over the last seventeen years since Jon was in King’s Landing and he was in his place in the North. He would think about what she said on the Hand position; there was surely some way out of it. He hated the cesspool that was the capital.

“Those are easy enough requests. Anything for you? Should you and Arya be included in the political lessons, or should I find you an arms trainer as well?” He grinned at the thought of his perfect lady of a daughter wielding a sword. She was plenty tall enough for it with excellent reach.

“Arya should be included. The lessons should also include military tactics too, to keep all of their interests. As for me, I have no wish to train with a sword and I learned diplomacy already from a variety of teachers. I only ask that you not betroth me to any princes,” she answered solemnly from her place by the window. She never turned to meet his eyes, worried that he’d somehow know her shame if she did. She never wanted to have to discuss how Joffrey had treated her or how she’d learned to survive in King’s Landing with her father.

“Sansa,” he breathed out mournfully, remembering his graceful little daughter who’d been dreaming of princes and knights ever since she was old enough to understand the stories she had been told. That request, more than anything, told him that his daughter had grown up and that something terrible had been the catalyst.

 “I won’t betroth you to anyone you don’t consent to,” he promised, and it was perhaps the easiest promise he had ever made, almost as easy as the last one he’d made to his sister. There had been a terrifying blankness to her words, and the little he could see from the profile of her face that Ned hadn’t liked at all. She hadn’t even sounded that way when she had spoken about the Night King or the North starving during the next winter. She didn’t appear to want to elaborate on her request, though, and he wasn’t going to make her. There were only a few princes in the realm, and he was sure that he could refuse any one of them for his daughter’s hand.

Sansa exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She might not believe in a lot of people’s words, but she wholeheartedly believed her father when he made a promise. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, Sansa. I did find my father’s old plans, and I think they can easily be used with only some slight modifications,” he said, handing her a stack of old parchment that had yellowed with age.

Sansa sat back down at the desk and flipped through the stack of parchment, tracing the unfamiliar writing with her finger as she reviewed the plans. There were building designs, budgeting assessments, ideas for the location of the port, and lists of the staff that would be required, among other things necessary for a new port, all written in a steady masculine hand. She’d never seen her grandfather’s writing before, and by the time she would have been interested in such a thing, Winterfell had been burned, and anything like that had been lost in flames. She thought it interesting that even without having ever met each other, Jon’s handwriting was the most similar to their grandfather’s. They both wrote in a clean, no-nonsense script and even crossed their t’s in exactly the same way.

Sansa spoke, still hungrily tracing the script with her eyes, “The budget will have to be revised as material costs have probably increased, and we would have to pick the location, but these look feasible. If we started soon, we might even be able to get enough infrastructure built to begin receiving ships and goods through it within several moons, since the designs are already drafted and appear possible to build with only local materials.”

Ned watched his daughter read through the plans and critique them. He knew it wasn’t a skillset that he would have taught her, and he didn’t think Cat knew how to do so herself. He found himself oddly jealous of whoever she had learned the skill from, which is why he found himself making the offer that he did next. “I’ll have Maester Luwin and the steward revise the budget. How would you like to accompany me to scout out the locations listed? There’s only a couple, and we can bring Jon too. I’ll talk to him about his mother then, too.”

Sansa was startled by the offer. Her father had never invited her on any of his duties for the North before. In fact, the first time that she had viewed most of the North and its beauty was when she had fled from Ramsey and then rallied the Northern houses to take back Winterfell. She’d often wished that she had been able to share the experience of travelling through the North with her father. She knew that he had loved the North and their way of life and wished that he’d shown her his favorite parts when she was younger so that she could’ve fallen in love with the land before she dreamed of leaving it.

“I’d love that,” she whispered fervently.

“Good. We’ll leave in four days. I’ll let Jon know after the midday meal today,” he said, smiling at his daughter, who still looked shocked and touched by his offer.

Ned wondered if he had really neglected his eldest daughter so much that she was surprised by the offer to travel with him on a trip that she was the most qualified of his children to assist with. He found himself not liking the thought, but he had already resolved to do better, so the only thing so do was to follow through with it.

Four days was just enough time for Sansa to tailor the dress she’d come through the hot spring in and sew a simple travel dress and plain shift. She wouldn’t have time to embroider or adorn the dress in any way before she left, but she could still whip something up that was befitting of her station as the daughter of a Lord Paramount. While a Northern style dress would be simpler to make, considering she wouldn’t have to come up with her own pattern, the wrap dresses of the far south were easier to put on and remove by herself, especially while travelling. She wouldn’t need any assistance with lacing her dress up or any complicated or hard-to-reach clasps. While she pinned the fabric, trying to determine how to adapt the southern wrap style of the Reach and Dorne to the thicker, less slippery fabrics of the North, she contemplated what she was going to do.

Now that she was in the past and the North had a good, but distant relationship with the Crown, there was no need for a Northern Independence movement, and Sansa had no desire to kick off any of the events that would provoke discussion of that. She had several large challenges to overcome without kicking at hornets’ nests. Minimally, she had to deal with food storage for the long winter, the Night King and his army of the dead, keeping her father from getting himself killed in King’s Landing, and Daenerys Targaryen, her beasts of destruction, and the huge army she’d been able to amass due to them.

With the western port they were planning on building, they would hopefully be able to able to import more food and supplies before winter came. The economic agreements would also hopefully boost relationships between the North and the other regions, which would hopefully help deter war from breaking out. Lords were always more wary about starting war if it would empty their treasuries, and wars were expensive enough without the lost income from disrupted trade. As long as she could keep her parents from starting a war with the Lannisters, the North would likely be in a good place for the long winter.

Sansa selected grey thread to match the Stark grey fabric of her dress and threaded a needle before beginning to stitch the long panels of the skirt and bodice together. It was Daenerys and her murder beasts that she believed would cause her the biggest headache. What she wouldn’t give to be able to steal her dragon eggs and throw them into the deepest part of the Narrow Sea. That would be the simplest solution, but she had no way of getting someone competent and loyal to her into Essos to accomplish that. Daenerys was, of course, a threat on her own, but the dragons were what distinguished her from just being a bad queen to a truly dangerous, mad ruler who could rain untold amounts of death and destruction from the ground.

While she could enlist her father’s help, she didn’t believe that he would condemn the Targaryen girl to death when she hadn’t done anything yet, and Sansa herself didn’t want to kill indiscriminately just because someone had done something in a future that may never happen. She was a politician rather than an assassin. While she had no problem distributing justice, she didn’t believe death to all her enemies was the solution; many of them would be able to be outmaneuvered politically if she was smart about it. As Westeros had learned before, the death of too many players at once caused chaos, instability, and power vacuums that could allow bigger problems to flourish or even worse rulers to take control. Winter was coming, and the realm didn’t have the luxury of squabbling like children. Westeros, above all else, needed stability in order to be ready for both the Night King and the Dragon Queen.

It took three days for Sansa to finish her dress and the alterations on her other dress. She was proud of how the grey wrap dress had turned out and promised herself that she’d make several more dresses after she came back from surveying the coast, but until then, these two would have to do. She was looking forward to designing her clothing again, especially in an environment where supplies weren’t scarce. Planning and thinking about the designs would be a good distraction on the road. If she thought about politics the whole time, she would drive herself crazy, and it had been a long time since she’d been able to create and sew for pleasure rather than necessity.

During the long winter, she had sewn several times during the week, but it was always to patch clothing or alter it in a way to make the garment last longer. There just hadn’t been enough supplies around to be anything less than strictly practical.

On the night before they were due to leave, Sansa gathered the clothing that she had borrowed from her brother and returned it to Robb’s room, freshly laundered, while he was out in Wintertown. She kept Jon’s old boots since they didn’t fit him anymore, and they were still in good condition. Her boots were still damp anyway, and she wasn’t sure if they would be dry by the time they left in the morning. She put together a small traveling bag, with only her necessities for the trip, and then turned in early to rest.

Chapter Text

It took Sansa, Ned, Jon, and their host of guards eight long days of horseback riding to reach the first site that their Grandfather Rickard had marked on a map as a possible location for a port. Unfortunately, the first area was quickly deemed unsuitable due to exposed nature of the coast. It was clear that the area suffered sea storms often for what ruins were in the area had been abandoned long ago. Many of the old buildings showed signs of flood damage or had great big trees that had been uprooted by the wind, smashed through their roofs.

They had eyed the coast up critically. The shoreline was littered with rocks of all sizes with no telling how far some of the larger boulders extended into the sea. It would do no good to build a port only to discover that there were large rocks strewn across the seafloor. While rocks under the surf would be alright for tiny fishing vessels whose hauls didn’t sit low in the water, the larger ships with deeper drafts could potentially crash and sink on the hidden hazards which would be dangerous for the sailors and counterproductive if they wanted to bring heavier merchant ships through their port.

There weren’t even any good structures to rest their tired bodies in or make camp nearby and it was a bitterly cold, blustery night that they spent on the coast with only tents to protect them from the elements. The wood in the area was too green for a fire and Ned spent the night tossing and turning, worried about Sansa sleeping alone in her tent without the ability to warm herself by the fire in this kind of wet, cold air, since she was the only girl on the trip. It turned out that he needn’t have been concerned, because she didn’t seem bothered by the conditions the next morning when she walked out of her tent looking well-rested and refreshed. In fact, she showed no signs that she felt the freezing temperatures at all. She never even uttered a complaint which was more than he could say for anyone else, even some of the most experienced Northern men on the trip had grumbled about the cold as they bundled up and tucked chilly hands under their armpits.

It took their party another six days to pass entirely through the Rills, where the understated beauty of lowland meadows and marshes was interspersed with numerous small clear brooks and streams. His brother, Brandon had once enjoyed riding through this area for pleasure and in the height of summer, Ned could easily see why he’d fallen in the rolling hills and lush temperate marshes. The group crossed over the width of the Whispering Rill, the river whose headwaters originated in Torrhen’s Square, on a long wooden bridge that had seen better days. Between the mouths of the Whispering Rill and the Barrowton River on the Saltspear was a stretch of land nearly a hundred miles wide, perfectly sheltered from the storms off the Sunset Sea and with river access to both Torrhen Square and Barrowton.

It only took Ned just a day of surveying the land to settle on the spot for the North’s western port. He was still going to ask for his children’s input, but he was certain this area was the right spot. Truthfully, while the surveying had gone well, that hadn’t been what had convinced him to build in this location. Instead, it had been the large weirwood tree that he, Sansa, and Jon had stopped under to rest their horses and eat a quick midday meal.

When his daughter had sat down and tucked her long skirt around her on a dry patch of grass under the immense branches of the heart tree, a twisted crown of weirwood and their bright red leaves had dropped softly onto Sansa’s head with a rustling of leaves that had sounded eerily like the words, Queen of Winter. Sansa reached up with cautious fingers to explore the sudden weight on her head with large, stunned eyes. It only took her slim fingers just a moment of lightly stroking the intertwined leaves and bark before realization dawned on her face. He was glad that none of the men he’d brought with them had been near them at the time. If any of them had seen that, well their family wouldn’t have to make up any rumors about Sansa, she’d stir up plenty on her own, except they’d be the opposite of the type she wanted spread.

Sansa hurriedly looked around to make sure nobody was staring at her. She breathed a sigh of relief when it was apparent that only Jon and her father had heard the odd rustling and watched a crown of weirwood tumble into her windswept hair. She eyed up the large tree suspiciously as she wondered what the purpose of such an absurd thing was anyway. The Old Gods hadn’t spoken to her since she left Winterfell more than a fortnight ago. She had hoped that now that her family was assured of her identity, the Old Gods would consider their part of the task complete and leave the rest of it in her hands.

She pulled the delicate wreath off her head, careful not to get the finer branches and leaves caught in her long tresses. She ran her fingers along the smooth, bone white bark and went to deposit the surprisingly elegant looking crown beside her, but the branches of the tree swayed alarmingly overhead and the leaves rustled faintly without the assistance of the wind. Sansa swiftly shoved the crown back on top of her head instead with ill-concealed exasperation. Immediately, the weirwood seemed to still and the leaves quieted down. She decided not to risk removing it for now, slighting the Gods sounded like a stupid, foolish idea.

No one had heard from the Old Gods in hundreds if not thousands of years, so there was no telling how petty they could be now that they decided to reveal their presence and lend their dubious assistance. She had no idea what would happen if she removed the crown they’d bestowed on her. Would it drop another on her head, or would the Old Gods be content without doing something so ridiculous and attention catching? She pursed her lips and glared at the face carved into the tree. Were the Old Gods trying to get her in trouble? This whole thing was distinctly unhelpful for maintaining a low profile.

She resolved to take it out of her hair once she was out of sight of the weirwood tree. If anyone asked her, she would just claim she’d weaved the crown herself. Her father’s men hopefully wouldn’t question that as it wasn’t completely out of character for her, she’d certainly been dreamy enough to do something like that previously. She might look a little older, but no doubt her father’s men remembered recent incidents of her weaving flower crowns and tucking wildflowers into her southern braids.

Ned watched on with awe and could only assume such an unusual event was another sign from the Old Gods. Since they had already brought his daughter back to him, changed yes, but with knowledge of the future, he was willing to trust that they wouldn’t steer him wrong in this decision. Ned, his children, and the guardsmen he had brought along spent the rest of the afternoon on horseback, but when nothing jumped out at him as a major flaw in the land, he wordlessly signaled for his men to make camp, satisfied with the Old Gods choice.

That evening, after a simple camp dinner, he gathered both Sansa and Jon in his tent and sent his guards to patrol further away than they had in previous nights. He wanted to be sure that their conversation would be both unheard and uninterrupted. While he trusted his men with his life, he hadn’t kept Jon safe and alive for so long by being incautious. He’d never told anyone this secret before and breaking his silence felt dangerous and taboo after so long.

“Sansa, do you think this place will suit for the port? What about you Jon?” he asked, looking at each of them in turn, genuinely wanting their unbiased opinions but also because, he didn’t know how else to start the conversation he meant to have with them this evening.

After a moment of contemplative silence, Sansa leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands as she answered, “I’ve never built a port before, father, but I believe this is an advantageous spot. The ground is certainly stable enough and unlike the last area, the bay here is sheltered from the worst impacts from storms. In addition, there are plenty of smallfolk already in the area who would be happy to work in a port town for a good wage.”

“Aye, Father. I like this place, it’s mild weather for the North and it has plenty of resources around to start the construction,” Jon offered, in his quiet, solemn voice as he adjusted his cloak to better cover his chilled limbs.

Ned dipped his head in concurrence, glad to see that their thoughts paralleled his. “I agree that it seems like a good location and am glad to hear that you both approve. I’m going to leave a man in charge here to start building the necessary infrastructure right away. I’m also going to leave you both in charge of overseeing all the construction and budgeting. Eventually, when it’s complete, I’m going to set you up as the lord here,” he said, directing the last comment to a startled Jon.

“Me as a lord, Father?” Jon asked, turning his head slightly to the side to hide the wetness in his Stark grey eyes. His shoulders were hunched as if he thought he had misheard and would be punished or mocked for thinking too highly of himself.

Sansa elbowed her father and nodded her head toward her brother. She knew her father was taciturn and uncomfortable with displays of emotions and therefore, also terrible at verbally consoling or reassuring anyone. It had been fine when they were small children as a hug or gentle touch went a long way in a child’s mind, but now that they were older, words were required and her father just wasn’t very good at those.

Ned clasped Jon’s shoulder with gentle pressure and sighed out a soft, sad sound. “I should have told you this a long time ago, but I promised I’d keep you safe and I was worried about what would happen if the information ever leaked. Sansa convinced me that you needed to know sooner rather than later and that you wouldn’t endanger yourself. I’ll need you to promise me that you won’t tell anyone else though.”

Jon stared up at his father and wondered if he would finally get the answer to the question he had always wanted to know. He leaned forward and crossed his arms over his belly in a confusing mix of excitement and desire to protect himself. He’d longed to know this information ever since he was old enough to realize he was different and that Lady Catelyn was Robb’s mother, but not his. What had happened that he was left with his father rather than his mother? Was she highborn, still alive, and married to another lord? Was that why he’d been kept a secret? Or was his mother a whore or a peasant that Lord Stark was ashamed to have broken his vows to his wife with?

“I promise father,” he said impatiently. He felt like he could live with any knowledge so long as he finally learned it.

Ned swallowed, trying to prepare himself to tell the secret he’d kept for a decade and a half. “This story first starts with Princess Elia Martell. After the sacking of King’s Landing the Princess and her children were gruesomely murdered. It is no tale for children what happened to them, but when the bodies of the Princess and her children were laid at Robert Baratheon’s feet, he said that it was good thing that the dragon spawn were dead. That he would have killed them himself if he’d had the chance, though neither the Princess nor her children had anything to do with war or Lyanna’s disappearance. So, when I rode to the Tower of Joy to find my sister, bleeding out in the birthing bed, it was no hard decision to make to promise her your safety.”

“My mother was your sister?” Jon asked, confused and heartbroken after the stunned moment it took to understand what the other man was saying. He had hoped one day to maybe talk to his mother, but instead all he was left with was a statue in the crypts.

“Yes, Jon and your father was Rhaegar Targaryen,” Sansa said, with a sad, frail looking smile aimed at him. She knew from their talks in the future, how much he had yearned to know about his mother and how he had believed that after their father died that he would never know the truth.

“But he stole her! And ra-,” Jon started, nearly in tears at the new information.

“No!” shouted Sansa, halting his words and hoping to stop the negative thoughts she could see spiraling through him.

She continued, reaching out to hold his hand while she spoke, “That’s not what happened. Aunt Lyanna was willing. She ran away with Rhaegar because she was unhappy with her betrothal to Robert Baratheon and however poorly it was done, they were in love. You aren’t a bastard either, Rhaegar set aside his marriage to Elia Martell and married Aunt Lyanna before you were born.”

Privately, Sansa had no idea what her aunt had been thinking running off with Rhaegar Targaryen. While Lyanna may have been smart enough to never fall in love with Robert Baratheon who couldn’t keep to one bed to save his life, she would have had to be a complete fool to believe that a man that would set aside his marriage to his wife of more than two years, potentially disinheriting his already existing children, was the picture of faithfulness either. Sansa had to wonder if her aunt had been just as foolish as she, herself had been as a child, swept up in the romance of being the love interest of the Crown Prince or had the reality been much darker than anyone knew?

Had she been unhappy with Robert, but also worried about the consequences of denying such a powerful man? Sansa was well aware of the delicate dance one had to play with royalty. She remembered watching every word she said so as not to anger her own mad king, remembered chirping her love after that dream had turned to ashes in her mouth, remembered cursing her family as traitors as they dropped dead to appease her captors, remembered gliding down the aisle of the Great Sept to wed a man whose last name was an anathema to her own. There was little a girl of six and ten, with no power of her own, could do when caught in the whims of powerful men, aside from enduring them. She would never share these thoughts with either her father or her brother though, both had been hurt by the situation enough without her grim speculations.

“But why is that the story then?” he asked, reeling back and it grieved Sansa to realize how lost he sounded. She hadn’t been there when he learned the truth in her original time, but she imagined that he was every bit as devastated then as he was now.

Ned smiled a melancholy little smile at his nephew who looked more like him than some of his own true born children. He hated how this was hurting him, but Sansa was right, Jon did deserve the truth and he deserved it from his own mouth. He shouldn’t have left it so long, but he’d thought it better to let sleeping dogs lie than to risk Jon’s safety in any way.

“To keep you safe. Your safety is more important than my sister’s or a dead man’s memory. It was the last thing Lyanna ever made me promise. You have dragon blood and I would not see Robert murder another innocent child, especially not one that carried the blood of Winterfell too,” he answered.

“Father, I mean Uncle,” Jon corrected himself quickly and lowered his eyes to the ground.

The correction broke Ned’s heart. He squeezed Jon’s shoulder until he looked back up at him and Ned shook his head. “I’ve been your father for fifteen years, my son. I don’t intend that to change. I promised my sister I would keep you safe and I have raised and loved you as my own since I held you in my arms the first time.”

“You lied for me,” said Jon, awe and bafflement present in equal parts on his face.

Sansa giggled helplessly into her hands and Ned’s lips twitched. “Aye I did. The only thing more important than the truth is family. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

“But Lady Catelyn?” Jon asked, unsure whether it would be worse if she knew or not. If she knew and still treated him poorly than that would be devastating to him, it would mean that it was him that Lady Catelyn didn’t like rather than the perceived betrayal that she felt over her husband breaking his marriage vows and taking in his bastard too.

Ned pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I never told her, but I will soon, when I know it’s safe. The more people that know a secret the harder it is to keep and unfortunately this is a big secret.”

“I’m sorry mother has treated you so poorly and I’m sorry for my part in it too, but so long as Robert Baratheon lives it isn’t safe for you to claim your Targaryen blood,” Sansa spoke sympathetically. She remembered what it was like to have to deny her Stark blood, first in King’s Landing and then again when she pretended to be Littlefinger’s bastard daughter. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone. It had felt like a wound she was continuing to gouge open every time she had denied her family and her name, and the guilt she felt over it was like rewrapping that wound daily with salt.

“Oh, I’m not a Stark,” Jon gasped quietly, sounding even more distraught at the realization.

“Yes, you are,” Sansa bit back fiercely. “Out of all of us, you are the Stark that is most like father. You may have been Rhaegar’s seed, but you have a Northmen’s honor and the blood of the first men runs just as prevalently through your veins as it does Robb’s or mine.”

“How could you not be a Stark? You’re my sister’s child and she was as wild a Stark as any before her,” Ned declared, his words soft and sorrowful at the mention of his little sister, but he’d said it with the utmost conviction.

Sansa grinned ruefully. “Besides, you look more like a Stark than I do, except for your height, of course, little brother,” she said, ruffling his pretty dark curls.

“Thank you and thanks for telling me. I won’t tell anyone else,” Jon promised wetly, his shoulders still hunched protectively.

Ned brought Jon up for a hug and as he crushed the young man that he considered just as much his child as any of the rest of his brood to his chest, he whispered, “If you have questions about Lyanna, I will try to answer them for you.”

Jon nodded, but didn’t answer verbally as he was too overwhelmed by all the information he’d received that evening. He knew it would take him a long time to process what he’d been told before he had any further questions anyway, although he expected that the things he really wanted to know, weren’t things that any one aside from Rhaegar and Lyanna could answer.

Ned released the child he had raised from infancy after they both had gathered their composures. He watched Jon discretely wipe his eyes and decided that a change of subject was in order since it didn’t appear that his son had any immediate questions for him, which was just as well because he already felt raw from what little bit they had discussed.

He cleared his throat and directed a question to the other person in the tent, “Sansa, can I trust you to oversee this project and teach Jon anything he doesn’t already know about castle management? I’ve arranged for diplomacy and political theory for everyone, but when I tried to broach the topic of Jon joining Robb’s castle management lessons with your mother, she pitched a fit. Without disclosing the reason or taking over the lessons from the maester myself, which I don’t have time for considering the extra winter preparations that I am undertaking, I don’t have anyone else.”

“Absolutely. This project can’t be harder than rebuilding Winterfell after it burned,” she answered offhandedly, more focused on carefully watching her brother for additional signs of distress than her words.

“What?” Ned asked and could hear Jon’s voice echo his as Ned whipped his head toward his daughter. He took a step towards her before he had even realized that he moved.

Sansa stepped back and then her expression shuttered, becoming unreadable to him, though she had been the most honest and poorest liar of his children during her younger years. Her eyes were like the Wall itself, cold and completely impenetrable. “It will never happen now, so don’t worry about it.”

Ned dropped it, sensing that if she didn’t want to discuss it, nothing would get her to break her silence on the matter and shook his head to stop Jon from asking the questions that looked like they were ready to tumble from his mouth. Ned could only guess that the memories hurt his daughter deeply and that she hadn’t meant to reveal that snippet. She had said it like it was information that everyone had known, which likely meant that it had been bad and widespread enough that there was serious damage done to the structures.

In general, after those first couple of days he tried not to ask her anything intrusive, figuring that her mere presence was a boon to his House and the North. He would trust her to let him know anything vital, after all she had managed survive longer than anyone else in their family. There was something wounded about his daughter, like a bird with a wing that had healed incorrectly, and he wasn’t going to hurt her further by asking questions she wasn’t ready to answer. In the last couple of weeks, since she had mysteriously appeared, he rarely saw joy or genuine happiness on her once expressive face that used to display her every thought. Now, if she did feel any of those positive emotions, they were hidden behind the shadow of grief and a blank mask of pleasant politeness.

He hoped that with time and patience she would confide in him and unburden herself, so that her smiles and happiness would come back. Ned planned to keep a close eye on her and express his interest in her work while she helped with the port plans and other preparations that were needed for winter. He planned to listen and take any advice she gave about the coming winter and in turn he would provide any support she needed, especially since it didn’t seem like his wife was planning on doing so.

Ned grimaced, though in the dying daylight neither of his companions likely noticed. He wanted to shake his wife for how suspicious and distant she was being with their daughter. He wasn’t sure exactly why Catelyn couldn’t accept the situation, since there could be no doubt that the young woman who came through Winterfell’s hot spring was indeed their daughter, but her attitude was so drastically different with Sansa now than the way she had behaved just before the incident that everyone, from the lowest maid to the steward, had noticed. She wasn’t openly rude per se, but she was often coldly polite or even mildly inconsiderate of Sansa’s feelings. Not to mention the way she watched Sansa with open mistrust. He didn’t think that Cat didn’t believe that this was their daughter, she just seemingly disapproved of her and who she had become.

Ned just didn’t understand what the real issue was. Even after more than fifteen years of marriage her thought processes still occasionally evaded him. He didn’t know if it was because she disliked who Sansa had become, if she was just bitter with the Old Gods’ interference, or just plain stubbornness. He personally, felt a little robbed that he missed out on some of the years of Sansa’s childhood, but it was nothing compared to how relieved he felt that his daughter was alive and that the Old Gods had given them a warning about the Long Night and a way to save his other children.

Chapter Text

Jon huffed loudly, shoving a ledger book across the desk with force, and leaned back on two legs of his chair in a gesture that was more reminiscent of Arya’s behavior than his normal conduct. Sansa looked up from her own seat across the desk that their father had added to his solar so that he could oversee their work, to see her brother wiping a palm over his face.

Sansa stuck the needle she was sewing with halfway into the hood of the winter cloak she was working on. She’d finished drafting plans and cost estimates for the extra glass houses that were going to be added to both Winterfell and Jon’s land but had stuck around to answer any of her brother’s questions. While he had been scratching away, she’d been working on a cloak that was long enough to accommodate her height. It had been several months since she had fallen through Winterfell’s hot spring and she had finally gained back the little bit of height that she’d lost. The cloak was in Stark colors but like many of her clothes in the future, it was less feminine looking than the southern clothes she had once favored. She had a summer weight cloak that she’d nicked from Robb that would still do for a while, but she wanted her own and if she ever had to go further north, Robb’s old cloak wouldn’t do her any good.

When she finished this cloak, she had plans to make a couple of fancier dresses in a broader range of colors as well as practice clothes for Arya so that she didn’t have to keep stealing Bran’s pants and shirts for her lessons with the master-at-arms. Even though their father had allowed the lessons, Catelyn Stark hadn’t approved once she’d learned of them, especially after she’d discovered that Sansa had suggested them. Since their mother had refused to make or supply the clothes for Arya, it fell to Sansa to provide them, since Arya was as unlikely to pick up a sewing needle as Robb was.

“What’s wrong,” she asked her brother calmly, setting the cloth down in her lap.

“I’m trying to make these numbers work, but I have no idea how many people actually live in the area right now,” he answered, drumming the nib of the quill against the desk absentmindedly. Sansa refrained from informing him that he was staining the desk with the ink because the sheer frustration and desperation to succeed and impress their father was written over every bit of his exasperated frame.

Sansa reached for the book and looked over Jon’s winter food withholding calculations for the new port. She had set Jon the task of determining how much storage he would need for his new keep this morning, since the man their father had left on location was eager to begin constructing that soon, rather than finishing the other parts of the keep that weren’t immediately necessary and could be added on at a later date. The minimum infrastructure was just about complete and provided everything went well Jon would be able to start welcoming ships in about two moons.

Together, Jon and her, had also come up with a system to ship goods up the river to the lake at Torrhen’s Square and from there to the houses in the heart of the North. The system, when in place, would hopefully cut travel times down by a few days either way since ships did not need to rest, unlike horses and could be captained around the clock. Sansa was unsure if the river was wide enough near Torrhen’s square to remain unfrozen in the winter, but it was a problem they could solve after they got the system working in summer. If the system turned out to work as well as they thought it would, then Sansa had the beginnings of a few ideas she could expand on later after consulting with experts.

Her eyes scanned the pages, checking his work for errors or erroneous initial conditions. There were several different calculations scrawled across the page based on different assumptions. It was a lot more work than he’d needed to do.

She tapped the page as she responded, “Your calculations are done correctly, but you are focusing too much on the present. After we create a port there, it is likely that the population will increase significantly, especially as more goods and services become readily available. There is no way to predict exactly how many people will settle there, so it’s best just to start with an estimate and then monitor the situation yearly. I would guess, based on our survey of the area, that there are approximately three thousand people near enough to call on you rather than another liege lord.”

“How do you just know that?” he asked with a defeated huff as he plunked the chair back onto all four legs with a dull thud.

“I became very good at figuring out how many people were in an area in the future. It was skill that came with time and practice,” she said with a shrug, remembering calculating rations for a combined army and then calculating rations for a Winterfell that was severely diminished and starving right before the Old Gods had sent her back. There had been no room for mistakes then and it had still meant gaunt faces and an untold number of dead. She might once have been the weakest of her siblings at sums, but there was nothing like necessity to sharpen her skills.

He frowned sourly. “That still doesn’t help me figure out what size the granary should be. What if I’m wrong and I build one that’s too small?”

She glanced at him thoughtfully, seeing how anxious he was about the problem. “We still have a few years until winter, but if you’re wrong then just build a second one when you realize you need one.”

“That would be wasteful,” he said.

Sansa put her hand over the paper Jon was staring at broodingly. “It would be more wasteful, to build something way too large and never use the space. Besides, you’ll be one of the most insulated lords in the northern kingdom from that kind of mistake.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk.

"Jon, you’ll be lord of a port town. There will be lots of wealth and food pouring into the port after just a few moons, I suspect. In addition, nobody in Winterfell is going to let you starve during your first winter. You just plan the best you can but know that a large part of ruling is dealing with the things that are unexpected,” she explained to him, trying to ease his apprehension. When Jon worried and panicked, he got the worst tunnel vision that led him to making foolish mistakes. She wanted to avoid that and teach him how to think through his options more carefully.

“How do you know that? Is that what happened last time?” he asked, his grey eyes watching her carefully for whatever information she would release about the future. None of the Stark children had gotten her to speak more about what happened in the future, though he knew everyone from Robb to Bran had tried. She’d been so tight-lipped and miserable looking every time she was asked that even Arya hadn’t pushed too hard.

Sansa dropped her hands into her lap and clenched them so tightly that her nails cut into her palms.

“No,” she bit out harshly.

“Then how did I manage last time?” His shoulders slumped at the minimal response. Sometimes, it seemed to Jon that Sansa was withholding vital information that would make this whole process go a lot smoother if she would just confide in someone.

Sansa stared into his Stark grey eyes with an intensity that she rarely displayed around her siblings and it unnerved Jon to see it focused so squarely on him. “Last time there was no western port. Instead, you took off to the Wall, where you quickly rose to Lord Commander within a few years and managed with a lot less resources, which is how I know you can learn to manage this easily.”

He blinked at the information, breaking the disconcerting eye contact with his sister. “Why didn’t you have me go back to the Wall then if I was good at it?” he asked with some confusion. The Wall was a noble option, and it was true that he had considered joining before their father had tasked him with this instead.

"The stories of the Wall that tell the reality and truth of serving as a Night’s Watchman are more akin to the tales of the Rat Cook or Danny Flint rather than whatever noble cause it is purported to be in the North. Most of the men at the Wall are murderers, thieves, and rapists and in the future, they had no trouble mutinying and stabbing you through the heart,” she said, her voice sharp and furious, though he sensed that it wasn’t him she was angry with. Sansa hadn’t been the only Stark who had been blinded by the stories as a young child, she had just favored the romantic tales rather than the heroic ones of valor her brothers had preferred.

“Oh,” he breathed out.

He sank into his chair, wide-eyed and stunned. Sansa was vibrating with rage on his behalf and despite the shock of the subject matter, he found himself touched that she cared so much for him. His sister who, before her accident, had been the most distant from him. There was a small part of him that worried that her improved treatment toward him stemmed from the fact that she knew he wasn’t a bastard, but he tried hard to silence that cynical voice.

“You are my brother, and I did not specify to father what task he should give you, just that you couldn’t be allowed to go to the Wall. This is a task he thinks you capable of too. In a kinder world, where your mother still lived, this would have been similar enough to something you were raised to do,” she answered kindly, her wrath subsiding in the face of his shock.

Jon supposed that he should have been more careful what he wished for. He had wanted information about what happened to him in the future, but he would never have guessed it would be such a gruesome tale. He wondered if that was the reason that she refused to answer questions from their other siblings. He suppressed a shiver when he wondered if their tales were worse.

Shortly after Jon returned to his calculations and Sansa to her sewing, there was a knock at the door and Robb peaked his head in. There was still some oddness between her and Robb she was having trouble letting go of, so she spent most of her days with her other siblings. She had once been closest to Robb, as the two eldest of Catelyn’s children they had spent a lot of time playing together before the other children were old enough to tag along. But Robb hadn’t only been her first playmate, but also her fiercest protector throughout her childhood and the part of her that remembered those days couldn’t forgive him for leaving her to rot in King’s Landing.

She knew it was irrational, because it hadn’t happened in this lifetime and with the changes she was enacting, hopefully never would. Robb had started down the King’s Road to save them and their father, but after Ned Stark was beheaded, the Northern Army, of which her brother was head of, seemed to think the daughters of their lord either lost or unimportant. The part of Sansa who had adored Robb and thought of him as her personal hero growing up, couldn’t let the abandonment she felt go. She loved him still and it gladdened her heart to see him alive and whole, but her mind shied away from the absolute trust she had once held for him. That trust had burned her terribly before, because although she had waited like a captive princess in a tower, Robb had never come to save her. That abandonment had been the true beginning of the death of her belief in the songs.

On the bright side, she and Arya had never gotten along so well, especially now that Sansa had gotten their father to allow the younger girl to openly practice with a small sword these past few months. They had forged a mutual respect for each other’s strengths, though Sansa privately suspected that Arya still thought some of her skills were useless. In addition to her improved relationship with Arya, with as often as Rickon was in her arms or lap, he was more likely to think she was his mother than their actual mother, Catelyn Stark.

“Jon, there’s been a deserter from the Watch. Father wants us to be ready to ride out in an hour’s time to watch justice carried out,” Robb stated from the doorway, not bothering to come all the way into the room.

Sansa stood and smoothed her skirt down, before putting her sewing supplies away and neatening her work area.

“Sorry I’m taking Jon away from you, Sansa,” Robb apologized.

She grabbed her summer cloak from where it was folded over her chair. “No matter. I’m going with you.”

Robb gripped the edge of the door and fretfully sputtered out, “Father, only told me to get Jon.”

“That’s alright I’ll talk to father about it,” she assured him, though she could tell by the horror written on his face that he wasn’t comforted at all. Served him right though, he was just as bad as all the other Northmen who thought her incapable of ruling or witnessing justice due to what was or wasn’t between her legs.

It hadn’t taken much to convince her father that she should come along. Robb and Theon were giving her apprehensive sideways glances while she trotted next to them astride her own horse, but neither Jon nor Bran acted like they thought it was odd for her to join them.

The deserter had his hands tied up and was being led to the chopping block by two Stark guardsmen when they arrived. While her brothers waited where their father had indicated, she walked up with him to the deserter and listened to the deserter repeatedly mumble about white walkers. He was dirty and his black clothing was torn in several places. He looked just as frightened by what was behind him as he was by the chopping block before him. Sansa pitied him. He wasn’t very old. In truth, he was little more than a scared boy, but she knew there was nothing she could do to stay his execution.

“I saw them. I know I broke my oath and I know I’m a deserter. I should’ve gone back to the Wall, but I saw what I saw. I saw the white walkers. People need to know,” he babbled with nervous remorse.

Sansa interrupted him gently, “I believe you. I need to know what you saw and where though.”

His eyes slid from her father to her, and he seemed relieved that someone was listening, even if it was a girl rather than Lord Stark. “I was up in the Frostfangs on the edge of the Thenn’s land when I saw it. He was one of the rangers that we’d lost beyond the Wall more than two years ago. He was half rotted with bright blue eyes, but he was moving and running towards me. I only got away because I was on horse rather than foot.”

Hoping to give the man a sense of closure before his death, she explained to him solemnly, “What you saw was a wight. It is a minion of the white walkers and if they are already near Thenn land than I thank you for the information.”

She nodded to her father and then went to go stand by Bran. She caught the tail end of Jon telling him not to look away, because father would know. She watched Bran swallow thickly and look toward their father with hardly a blink. She reached down and gripped his tiny hand in hers.

“We shouldn’t look away when justice is carried out, but there is no shame in having the support of your family either,” she said, looking forward once more and waiting for her father to swing his sword. If she had been blind and deaf, she still would have known the moment of the deserter's death from how hard Bran flinched. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and began to lead him back to the horses with her other brothers following her.

Before he went to climb on his horse, Sansa stopped him and hugged him where the others couldn’t see. He shuddered once and gripped at her like the young child he still was. “If you want to talk about it later or if you have trouble sleeping you can come to my room later, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Sansa,” he said in a barely audible whisper.

His eyes were shiny, but there were no tears on his face right now. Even still, she only released him when he let her go first. Then she helped him into his saddle and walked around to the horse that she had ridden here. She didn’t necessarily disagree that Bran needed to be exposed to the reality of life in Westeros, but she hoped her father or one of their brothers had at least explained the situation to him before dragging him out to witness an execution without proper context.

Everyone was quiet and solemn on the ride back through the Wolfswood. Sansa was riding between Jon and Robb when they stopped on a small stone bridge over a shallow creek. Her father and brothers dismounted, and she followed their lead without hesitation. When she moved to the front where she could see she frowned at the stag lying dead in the middle of the roadway. She snorted inelegantly. Well, if that wasn’t just the perfect metaphor for the next few years.

“What is it?” asked Jon.

“Mountain lion?” Theon offered.

“There are no mountain lions in these woods,” her father said and suddenly Sansa thought she knew what was happening. She tamped down her excitement and hoped she was correct. She hadn’t paid enough attention in her last life to remember what had happened before or even if she had been told this part of the story. Based on how gory it was, it was likely that neither her father nor her brothers had told her about the deserter or the stag lying in the middle of the pathway in the first place.

She followed her brothers and father down to the bank of the babbling brook to find the carcass of a large direwolf still sluggishly leaking blood. She estimated that it hadn’t been dead long as the blood hadn’t even dried on its fur yet. It was just as large as Ghost had been the last time that she saw him.

“It’s a freak,” said Theon, taking a step backwards.

“It’s a direwolf. Tough old beast,” her father said and pulled the antler, still lodged in her, out as he patted her on the head in respect for the fight the direwolf must have put up.

“There are no direwolves south of the Wall,” said Robb, puzzled by the appearance of this one.

“Now there are five. You want to hold it?” Jon asked, handing one pup over to Bran. At some point during the conversation, he’d kneeled down in the mud next to the slain animal and found the pups huddled together for warmth.

"Where will they go? Their mother’s dead,” Bran questioned quietly. He was stroking the pup’s soft fur and Sansa smiled to see him looking half in love with it already.

“They don’t belong down here,” Rodrick, the master-at-arms, stated.

“Better a quick death. They won’t last without their mother,” Ned agreed joylessly.

Theon pulled his sword from his belt and reached for the wolf in Bran’s arms, “Alright give it here.”

“No!” shouted Bran, pulling away from the older boy with startled eyes.

“Put your blade away,” Robb’s eyes flashed as he ordered Theon. Robb wasn’t sure why he was so incensed by his friend, but perhaps it had to do with how scared and devasted his younger brother looked, especially after he’d had to watch his first execution.  

“Enough!” Sansa said firmly and everyone turned to look at her, even her father, in surprise. Sansa rarely ever raised her voice anymore, especially in something that sounded like a command. Generally, she spoke like the most well-mannered of ladies while in the presence of others and the staff of Winterfell scrambled to obey her politely worded requests without her ever having to outright order anything.

“Sansa,” her father said, speaking her name like he thought she was being too tender and soft-hearted because she was a girl.

She didn’t understand why everyone always underestimated her. Was it because she liked the arts and politics rather than military history and learning to fight with a weapon? Sword fighting hadn’t kept either her father or her brothers alive. She’d been the last one alive and she’d used politics to keep herself and the North sustained until it was no longer possible to do so. Politics might have saved her father, mother, Robb, and Jon while he was Lord Commander of the Wall. Robb had won every battle, but still lost the war, because war wasn’t fought solely on the battlefield.

Sansa would agree that a head for military matters was important, but it wasn’t the only important skill, and she was just exhausted by people underestimating her abilities, because she had different interests. Sewing had kept her people clothed and music had kept them hopeful when the nights seemed never-ending. Both had been useful during the long winter and it was her effectiveness at politics and administrative duties, rather than weaponry, that had brought the Knights of the Vale to win back Winterfell and eventually secure Northern Independence.

Why were a woman’s skills less valued than traditional male skills? It was a rare man that created rather than destroyed. After all, men did not deliver or nurture children, men did not ensure that the gardens were growing and producing enough, and men did not feed and clothe the household. Women did all that and no man armed with a sword could survive very long without those necessary tasks completed.

Her father’s tone only made her furious, none of them had any idea what she’d endured or what kind of impossible decisions she’d learned to make in their absence. They had no idea what kind of woman she had become in the future, she had been well loved that was true, but Houses all across the North had feared her justice too. She had been the Stark in Winterfell and Queen in the North and by the end no one had doubted her rule.

“Father don’t be ridiculous. You can’t kill the symbol of our house. There are actually six pups, one for each of your children. To kill any one of them, especially with Ice, would be beyond foolish,” she warned him. She knew her tone was too sharp and cold while speaking to her Lord Father, but she was offended by his and Robb’s attitude toward her today and she couldn’t help but remember when her father had beheaded sweet, innocent Lady with his own sword.

Ned read the icy warning clearly in his daughter’s eyes and tone of voice. There was anger there that he didn’t understand, but she’d made it clear enough that the wolves would be important. With an upward glance and a silent prayer for strength he acquiesced. “You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves and if they die you will bury them yourselves.”

She nodded in grave understanding at her father and her brothers quickly followed suit. Jon handed up the wolf pups to her other brothers and they brought them up near the horses. Sansa waited just at the top of the ravine for her father.

He gave her a hard, searching stare. She was rarely so visibly ill-tempered since he’d found her beside the hot spring, especially over something he considered minor. “What is this about, Sansa?”

Some of the fury seeped out of her eyes as she explained tiredly, “Those wolves saved your children’s lives more than once. Hopefully, none of that will be necessary this time, but the wolves are important.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about them before?” he asked sternly.

“In my past, my wolf died a long time ago. For me, this is eight or nine years ago, I don’t remember a lot of the small details, or I only learned about them after the fact. Truthfully, I had forgotten exactly when we got the wolf pups and I wasn’t here when this happened the first time around,” she answered with a soft sigh.

Ned relaxed, satisfied that she wasn’t intentionally keeping important information from him, and his mouth twitched into a self-pitying grimace. “Your mother is going to be furious with me.”

“I’ll pray to the Old Gods for your marriage then,” she said grinning up at him mischievously. Ned wasn’t sure he liked that look on his eldest daughter. He was used to seeing it on Arya and it always boded ill for his peace of mind from his wild daughter. On his eldest daughter though, he thought it might mean the world was coming to an end. Which, now that he considered the circumstances, probably was true and not very funny at all.

“Aye, I’ll probably need it.” He sighed.

Bran, Robb, and Jon were happily playing with two wolves a piece while Theon watched on from a short distance away. Sansa left her father’s side and swooped up a pup and cradled the wriggling wolf in her arms. She hadn’t even had to check the other wolves; she knew this one was hers as surely as she knew she was a Stark. “Hello, Lady. I’ve missed you so much. What happened before won’t happen again, I promise. I’ll keep you safe this time,” she murmured and kissed the soft fur of Lady’s head. If she also wiped tears on Lady’s coat, then she and Lady would be the only ones to know.

Robb rolled his eyes at her in typical older brother fashion. “Sansa, they aren’t babies.”

“Of course, they aren’t. I heard father say they are direwolves just as well as you and these wolves and I have met before,” she finished lowly for his ears only. Robb’s eyes lit up at the news. Thrilled to know that they were supposed to have the wolves.

“Bran, will you hand Lady and that one there up to me when I mount my horse?” she said pointing to the one that Sansa knew was for Arya.

"I can,” he said nodding eagerly, still thrilled that Sansa had helped him save the wolf pups.

She tucked Lady and the wolf Arya would likely name Nymeria again, into Bran’s arms and then mounted up onto her horse. She undid her cloak and brought it around front to her lap. She reached her hands out and Bran stretched up and passed the pups up to her one at a time. She wrapped the two of them in her cloak so they couldn’t wriggle away and waited while the rest of the party mounted up and the wriggling wolves were secured.

She couldn’t wait to hand Nymeria off to her wild little sister and watch her fall in love with the pup all over again. She could see Jon’s heart in his eyes at the ball of solid white fluff in his arms and grinned to herself. She wished she could draw better in order to capture the likeness of her brother. He’d be embarrassed if he could see the soft look on his face over a puppy that was snuggled up against him. Neither Robb nor Bran were much better though, and she caught her father grinning at his sons’ soft looks. He shook his head in fond amusement, finally believing that he’d made the correct decision, and then started leading everyone back to Winterfell.

Once back through the gates, Sansa spotted her mother with a letter gripped tightly in her hand and her lips pursed worriedly. Her father immediately made his way over to Catelyn and they began to speak lowly and with increasing agitation.

Sansa slid off her horse with her small bundle of wolf pups. She handed Nymeria off to Jon reluctantly. “Would you give this one to Arya? This one is hers. I wanted to be there, but I have to deal with something else,” she asked Jon, knowing that he and Arya had a close relationship, and he would enjoy giving the wolf pup to their sister, almost as much as she would have.

She strode over to her parents and interrupted them, “If that’s what I think it is, we had better discuss that in father’s solar.”

She didn’t look back to confirm that Lord and Lady Stark were following her. She knew her father at least would follow her and where her father went her mother would likely follow her. She strode directly to her father’s solar and sat down at the desk she had been working at earlier that morning. Her father came in directly behind her but didn’t say anything as he stared, looking grim and distraught, while they waited for her mother to walk through the door.

Sansa was petting Lady absentmindedly in her lap as her southern mother marched herself through the door, as near to stomping as her mother ever got. Her eyes were blazing with fury. “Who do you think you are young lady to speak to us like that?”

Sansa gazed up from under her eyelashes at her mother while she stroked at Lady’s fur in her lap, unconcerned by the outburst. “I’m the one who is going to stop you from starting a war that tears across nearly the entire realm based on the mad, paranoid ramblings of your sister.”

“Lysa isn’t mad,” she defended angrily.

What right did this girl have to say something so awful about her own aunt? Clearly, she hadn’t taught her eldest daughter the Tully family words well enough if she was willing to speak so poorly of her family.

Sansa hummed lowly and raised a brow at the fuming woman in front of her. “You haven’t seen her in years, mother. Aunt Lysa is unstable at best right now and she only gets worse in the next few years.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s wrong about her husband being poisoned,” Catelyn said crossing her arms.

Sansa shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s true, I suppose, but it’s unlikely to be the Lannisters as I believe that letter accuses. Am I right?”

Catelyn nodded slowly, suddenly starkly reminded that this stranger with her daughter’s appearance had lived through the future and that Ned’s gods had claimed her a queen. In this moment she could see her regal bearing in the way she carried herself and how she kept her composure through this argument. Her spine was straight as steel, her voice never raised, but it cut and commanded with an assurance that her Sansa had never before possessed. And her eyes, for all that they matched her Tully side of the family, there was something wise and knowing in them that made them seem foreign and otherworldly. She made her feel small, as if Catelyn was only a child playing at being an adult.

“Tywin Lannister is in the Westerlands, ensuring that it prospers, and has been for years at this point. There’s no reason for him to poison the Lord Hand. Tyrion Lannister gains nothing from the Hand’s death and he’s clever enough not to get caught if he had done so. Jaime Lannister has a black reputation, but he’d sooner kill someone with his sword than use poison and accusing the Queen is plain crazy,” Sansa listed calmly, hoping that neither of them would notice that she hadn’t given them an actual reason about Cersei. It was true she hadn’t done it this time, but it wasn’t because she wasn’t capable of it.

Ned sighed tiredly. “Are you sure it wasn’t any of the Lannisters, Sansa?”

“Jon Arryn was eighty years old and while I have suspicions about who might have poisoned him, it certainly wasn’t the Lannisters and no one will believe he died of anything but natural causes without proof anyway.” Sansa only felt the tiniest smidgen of guilt for omitting the truth, but her mother was very unlikely to believe that her own sister had killed her husband or that Littlefinger had helped. She was a stubborn woman and even if Sansa had her own proof, with the current state of their relationship, she wasn’t sure Catelyn would believe her over Lysa and Petyr Baelish.

“Alright Sansa. I’ll drop it for now,” her father stated, giving a quelling look to his wife.

Sansa suppressed the breath of relief she wanted to release. Instead, she offered her father information, “I imagine you will receive the raven letting you know that Robert Baratheon is on his way to Winterfell within a few weeks. You should probably invite Lord Lannister here at the same time, so that you can create a trade deal before you leave.”

“Why would the King come here and where is Ned going?” Catelyn asked, not following the conversation.

Sansa did sigh this time. She didn’t want her father in that pit of vipers and was incensed that she knew of no way to prevent it. If she had thought that she could keep Aunt Lysa from poisoning her own husband who she had access to all day every day, she would have. “To be the Lord Hand. I would advise he try to decline, but King Robert isn’t likely to take no for an answer. So, my advice is to hold off on accepting if you have any concessions that you’d like for him to make.”

Catelyn looked devasted by the news, but soon her gaze dropped to Sansa’s rhythmic petting, having just noticed it, and she frowned. “What’s that in your lap?”

Sansa smiled brightly, partly in real joy and partly in feigned enthusiasm. “A direwolf pup! There were six of them, one for each Stark child.”

Catelyn’s demeanor changed in an instant from shock to anger and Sansa had to work to hide her smirk. “Eddard Stark! Did you bring home a bunch of dangerous wild animals for our children?”

The man in question cringed. “I couldn’t kill off the sigil of my house and Sansa assured me that the wolves grow up to save all of her brother’s lives at least once,” he said attempting to placate his wife.

Several days later, long after Sansa had retired to bed, she had her first ever wolf dream. Lady had been stalking a scratching noise through the dimly lit corridors just before dawn when Sansa’s consciousness found itself tagging along. Lady seemed aware that Sansa was there with her but paid her no attention, since the scratching sound and smell of a small animal was far more interesting to her wolf mind. The colors of the keep were muted through Lady’s eyes, but her sense of smell and hearing were both greatly enhanced.

Lady’s heightened were nearly overwhelming for Sansa, but as soon as she realized what was happening, she continued to hold on to the connection as best she could. When she had found out that the rest of her siblings were likely wargs in her last life she had been jealous, but mostly heartbroken that she had never gotten to experience it with Lady. She had loved her direwolf just as much as her other siblings. If she had known that Cersei was going to make her wolf pay for Joffrey’s poor behavior and Nymeria’s protective actions, she would have sent her off with Nymeria or with instructions to head back to Winterfell. Lady had always been smart and obedient and if any of the wolves could have made it home, she believed that Lady could have. She might not have been as big and fierce as her siblings, but she had been smart and had grasped her training far faster than any of her littermates.

Sansa didn’t know why the ability was showing up so early for her this time. She could only guess that it was either a benefit from the Old Gods or that it was a result of the fact that Sansa, in her soul, already knew Lady from her last life and knew that the skill was possible for her. Or maybe it was neither of those things, perhaps it was just that she had embraced her Stark heritage rather than trying to cast it off and deny it constantly that she was able to receive the gifts of her blood.

She hadn’t been trying to establish a connection with Lady yet, since she believed that it was too early to form the bond. Now that she had done it by accident, she resolved to try to accomplish it during the day. If she could manage to figure out how to do it consciously then she would try to teach her siblings too or at least let them know that the skill was possible.

Sansa spent time basking in the feel of being so deeply connected with Lady as she stalked her prey with single-minded focus. Hunting with Lady was wonderful, it felt like when she led some unsuspecting opponent into a trap that they had never seen coming. Although Lady was still just a small pup with feet too large for her frame she moved silently and with a clumsy sort of grace through the halls. The feeling of her ears twitching to better hear her prey was odd, but not uncomfortable. Suddenly, Lady was within striking distance of her prey and with a nimble pounce she landed over top a large brown rat and sunk her teeth into the animal’s neck. The rat had never seen Lady coming and had only had time to let out one startled squeak before Lady shook the small animal until it went limp in her teeth.

Lady was quite proud of herself, and Sansa sent feelings of amused congratulations down the connection at her wolf’s first successful solo hunt. Lady wagged her tail at the praise. As the first light of dawn shined through the windows, the soft light broke Sansa from her sleep and ended the shared experience. Sansa gagged at the taste and feel of dirty unwashed rat fur in her mouth as she threw her bed covers away from her. It had tasted much different to Lady than it did to her taste buds. She ran to her pitcher of water and took a large gulp before swishing it around in her mouth and spitting it out. She repeated the process twice more before she was satisfied that she couldn’t taste sour, filthy rat anymore. She couldn’t wait until Lady was big enough to hunt larger game, surely rabbit, deer, and other larger game had to taste better than rat.

Between preparing Winterfell for the King’s arrival, finalizing arrangements for Jon’s port, and drafting a tentative treaty with her father for the Westerlands it took Sansa another sennight worth of days of staring determinedly into Lady’s citrine eyes and a few more accidental wolf dreams to find the part of her that was intertwined with her direwolf in her mind. Once she found the connection, it wasn’t hard to follow it and seep her consciousness into Lady’s on purpose. She didn’t stay long as it was difficult to maintain while she was awake, but when she flickered back into herself the first time, she grinned proudly into her empty room.

While Lady had been easy to train the first time around, with Sansa’s added ability to share consciousness, Sansa taught her all sorts of tricks in a truly breathtakingly short amount of time. She taught her how do all the normal commands like sit, lay, and stay with both hand signals and verbal commands as well as some tricks just for fun, since it was something fun to do with her wolf pup that was too little to hunt outside by herself yet; things like playing dead, curtseying, crossing her front paws, and retrieving items for her. Sansa thoroughly abused that last one to have Lady bring her sewing supplies and help her clean her room up.

It was nearly a fortnight before the King was due to arrive that Sansa rounded up all her siblings and their direwolves in the Godswood. She sat down next to Lady with Rickon in her lap, running her fingers through his downy hair to keep him calm. He was wild like a wolf if he wasn’t being pet like one. Once all of her siblings had settled down and corralled their wolves, she asked, “Have any of you been having strange, confusing dreams that seem to linger even after you wake up?”

Sansa could tell immediately which of her siblings knew what she was talking about, both Bran and Ayra had glanced around covertly while Robb, Jon, and Rickon were confused by the question.

“Maybe they only started a few weeks ago after you got your direwolf pup,” she suggested.

“What’s this about Sansa?” Robb asked with a tired sigh. While he was generally willing to entertain his sister’s whims, he’d had more duties as of late, with his father being increasingly worried about winter and the King’s imminent arrival.

“It’s about how the Stark Kings of old were wargs, skinchangers who could connect with their direwolves, and how their blood still flows through the current generation of Starks,” she said while meeting Arya’s and Bran’s cautiously hopeful gazes and avoiding Robb’s skeptical one.

“They aren’t just dreams?” Bran asked hesitantly, scratching nervously at a scab on his arm.

Sansa smiled warmly at him. “No little brother, they aren’t. If you practice, you’ll be able to do it while you are awake too. All of us will, I think.”

“How do you know?” asked Arya, shifting forward on her knees with excited impatience. Out of all her siblings it was an easy thing to predict that Arya would be the most visibly excited about the idea of skinchanging. Anything that allowed her wild little sister to be unladylike was an activity that Arya strived to excel in and being a direwolf? That was as unladylike as you could get for Arya.

Sansa smiled knowingly and Arya damn near leapt into her arms even with Rickon already seated in her lap. “Teach me please!” Arya cried.

Jon was frowning in mild confusion and some sort of uncertainty that Sansa didn’t understand the source of. For a moment, it brought to mind his older, brooding self. She blinked and the image flickered away as fast as it had appeared.

“What are you talking about Sansa?” Jon asked.

“Warging is when you can slip inside your wolf's consciousness with them, but it normally starts as dreaming, before you can do it consciously,” she answered, suppressing her grin of amusement at his morose demeanor. It was almost adorable how much like Rickon he looked with his pretty curls and sulky expression. It reminded her that he wasn’t nearly so grown as he believed himself to be.

Robb crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Sansa, that’s just an old Northern tale.”

Sansa bared her teeth in a fierce grin. “Is it?” she asked, before finding the part of her mind that was both her and Lady combined and dipping into it.

From Lady’s vision, Sansa could tell that her eyes were a strange milky color and that her siblings were either shocked or excited or both. As Lady, she trotted up to Robb, sat in front of him, and tapped at his knee with Lady’s front paw.

Robb’s matching Tully blue eyes were wide with disbelief as he gawked at her and breathed out an incredulous, “Sansa?”

Lady wagged her tail, since Sansa hadn’t quite figured out how to manage that movement on her own, and Sansa made sure to nod Lady’s head before stepping out and back into her own headspace. That was about the longest she could manage while awake without giving herself a splitting headache. She was improving her time by a few seconds each day, but she just didn’t have a lot of time to devote to the skill with all the projects and plans she was overseeing.

Sansa pinned her astounded brother, who was still gaping between her and Lady, with a haughty look. “Do you still think it’s just a tale now?” she asked triumphantly.

He shook his head, dumbfounded by the events he’d witnessed. Sansa answered a few more questions from the rest of her siblings and described how she had learned to slip between her and Lady and what it felt like. Arya had stars in her eyes and made her promise that Sansa would help her practice the skill.

Sansa turned Rickon in her lap to ensure he was facing her. “If you want to try this Rickon, you have to get one of us to sit with you first. I don’t want you to get stuck or hurt. Do you understand?”

He nodded, his blue eyes huge and innocent in his young face.

“Do you promise to get someone?” she asked, making sure to keep her expression serious, to impress upon his young mind the importance of this conversation. She didn’t think Rickon would get hurt or stuck, but she just didn’t know enough about how Bran had learned the skill originally to be confident in her youngest brother’s safety. By the time Sansa had learned the skill was possible, both Robb and Rickon were gone and the only wolf alive and with the Starks was Ghost.

“I will. I promise, Sansa,” he said as solemnly as his six year old self could manage.

She smiled softly at him and gave him a tight hug. “Good.”

Sansa lifted her brother from her lap and set him on his feet, so she could stand up. She dusted her dark colored skirt off and was about to leave her siblings to their own devices while she went back to her duties of readying rooms for their guests and her ongoing winter preparations when Jon caught her arm.

She jumped at the contact, having not expected anyone to touch her while she was leaving the Godswood and so deep in thought.

“Sansa,” he whispered as she turned to face him. He looked deeply uncomfortable and worried.

She stared searchingly into his eyes at his timid and anxious countenance. “What’s wrong, Jon?” she asked urgently, worried that something awful had happened.

He shifted on his feet and darted his eyes to the side as he muttered, “Are you sure I can do this too?”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to?” she asked baffled by the question.

He shrugged self-consciously and cast his eyes to somewhere near her feet. “Because of my parentage.”

“Jon, look at me. You’re half Stark, just like the rest of us and that’s the only part that matters for this,” she claimed forcefully as if with the strength of her words she could purge his insecurities.

“But-” he started to argue.

She shook her head vehemently and tightened her mouth mulishly. “But nothing, Jon. I told you, the blood of the First Men runs just as prevalently in your veins as it does any of ours. If anything, I’m the least Stark-looking of all of us and I have enough Stark blood to possess the gift, so you definitely do too.”

“You’re sure?” he asked in a tiny, bracing tone.

“Absolutely, we all had direwolves last time too and I was told by someone who would know that we all had the potential to do so with our wolves. Just be sure to keep yours safe,” she said as she reached for his arm to assure him. Sansa watched as some of the doubt drained from his frame and lightened the tension in his shoulders. She smiled at him gently before she left to complete the rest of her tasks for the day with Lady trotting alongside her faithfully.

Chapter Text

The arrival of the King happens almost exactly how Sansa remembers it. Jon is still with other members of the household, thankfully out of the sight of the King. He’d been more than willing to slip in with the others of the household and had gladly agreed to keep a low profile while the King was in Winterfell. Arya still slipped into the receiving line at the last second with a helm on her head that she wasn’t supposed to have to the exasperation of their parents. She shared a grin with Robb at their little sister’s antics. It was good to see that somethings never changed. Although Sansa was in the past to change events, she never wanted to strip the wild spirit of her siblings away from them, perhaps to temper it with some caution or political intelligence, but she never wanted their spirits trampled like hers had been in King’s Landing.

King Robert still dismounted his horse with the assistance of a block, ruddy complexioned from the exertion of riding. He still marched up to her father, raised him from his kneeling position, and solemnly said, “You’ve gotten fat.”

The comment stunned everyone else in the courtyard until Ned Stark raised a brow and without a word, looked over his old friend pointedly. The two of them broke out in laughter together and the King initiated an embrace before moving to her mother and then down the line of Stark children with a small comment or complement for each of them. Whatever else the King was, he did clearly have fond feelings for her father and by extension his children, judging by the fact that he even bothered to acknowledge them at all, nonetheless spoke to them all so warmly.

“Where’s the Imp?” Arya tugged at Sansa’s sleeve as she whispered impatiently up to her.

Prince Joffrey was staring at Sansa and trying to catch her eye, so instead of shushing her sister this time, Sansa avoided the prince’s eye and glanced around carefully, noticing that Tyrion wasn’t in the courtyard yet. Based on her knowledge of the littlest Lannister, she would bet that he had stopped in Winter Town first. She didn’t remember paying him much attention the first time he’d come to Winterfell, far less interesting in the littlest Lannister that time than the purported handsome crown prince. It wasn’t until they were in King’s Landing together and he’d stopped Joffrey’s torment of her that she had paid much attention to the man, but she knew enough of his disposition to know that if he’d had to spend the last month in the company of his sister and her beastly oldest child, he surely needed a break from them. Truly, she couldn’t blame him in the slightest for drowning himself in drink or seeking out some pleasure for himself.

She, herself wasn’t looking forward to entertaining the royal family nor the Lannisters for the next several days and Tyrion had been on the road with them for over a month. She was quite jealous of Lady and the other direwolves who were currently shut in the kennels eating a very nice meal to keep them from howling at all the commotion and the new scents entering Winterfell. She wouldn’t be opposed to hiding away from more than half of these people invading her home.

“I’m not sure, Arya, but be sure to be polite to him and the rest of our guests even when you can’t see them,” she whispered kindly, pitching her voice low so that Cersei Lannister, who was approaching the Starks, couldn’t hear her response.

Arya nodded as seriously as an eleven-year-old child could and turned back in her spot properly. In another life, her comment would have easily sparked an argument or at least caused hurt feelings. Thankfully she now had a close enough relationship with her sister that Arya knew it wasn’t a rebuke only a gentle reminder from her ill at ease, older sister about the dangers of accidently offending their powerful guests.

The only difference between this arrival and the previous one Sansa had experienced was that when Ser Jaime Lannister arrived through the gates in his golden Kingsguard armor, his father, Lord Tywin Lannister was beside him with a small group of red cloaked guards. Sansa watched the two men dismount from their horses. While the younger man took off his helm and went to stand by Joffrey and Sandor Clegane, the Hound, Tywin Lannister hung back and looked around at Winterfell with silent appraisal.

Sansa kept her eyes averted from Sandor, even though she wanted to see with her own eyes that he was well, she wasn’t about to risk encouraging Joffrey’s attention by looking anywhere near him. She didn’t want to accidentally catch the prince’s eye or for him to think that she was looking at him when she wasn’t. She hoped her indifference would be enough to deter Joffrey’s interest in her. He’d never attempted to work hard for anything in his life and she suspected that her attention wouldn’t be the first thing that he broke that streak for. She imaged that at most he would complain to his mother. She had no doubt that Cersei would assure her precious firstborn son that her lack of interest was because Sansa was a stupid girl who was unworthy of him or some other arrogant nonsense that would pander to his already inflated sense of self rather than the fact that he was a spoiled, cruel boy with the wits of a lizard.

Sansa suspected, by his assessment of the castle, that it was the first time the Lord of Casterly Rock had been to Winterfell. She wasn’t terribly shocked by that as there wouldn’t have been a good reason for him to have come so far north before. The North was a largely quiet place, even when the Lannister lord had been the Hand of Aerys the Mad. It was a long way to travel from the capital and as the North didn’t have an abundance of Knights, since knighthood was tied to the Faith of the Seven, there weren’t any Tourneys or reasons for the King’s court to travel all the way to the North, nonetheless to Winterfell itself. The North had also been largely stable during most of Tywin’s life and therefore there would have been little opportunity for him to take advantage of it, like he had tried to do after the War of Five Kings.

It was clear that Lord Lannister did not want to be caught up in the production of the King’s arrival. He looked as stern and dour as she remembered in King’s Landing all those years ago when Joffrey was making a public display of his stupidity. She watched his jaw clench as he heard the spectacle the King made about paying his respects to Lyanna in the Winterfell crypts, even over the objections of his daughter, the Queen. Sansa was careful not to catch the attention of the Great Lion while she observed him through lowered eyes. He was by far the most dangerous player here. The less attention she attracted from all these people the better. She didn’t want to get dragged into their southern games; it was bad enough that her father was going to be.

When her father brushed past her to lead the King to the crypts, he caught her eye and with a slight tilt of his head he motioned toward Tywin Lannister. Sansa shifted her weight onto her heels and carefully hid the dismay that wanted to surface. So much for not drawing the attention of any of the major players in the political sphere, her father was apparently happy to throw her directly into the Great Lion’s maw. Sansa signaled her comprehension of her father’s instruction with a barely perceptible nod.

It was the height of rudeness that the King had called away the Lord of Winterfell before he could perform all of his hospitality duties such as greeting all his guests, offering Guest Rights, and directing the various groups to their accommodations. However, it would be folly to refuse the King in this instance too, so it would be left to mother and her to finish welcoming the guests. She shook her head minutely and smoothed out the little frown that had taken residence on her lips, it wouldn’t do for anyone to think her displeased with the royal family in any way, she didn’t have the power to defend herself against them properly at this point in time.

When the Queen walked away from the gathered Stark family to go back to her golden brother and Joffrey, Sansa caught the attention of a serving girl and directed her to retrieve the materials necessary to extend Guests Rights. Then Sansa caught up to her mother, tugged gently on her sleeve to draw her attention, and said in a low voice, “I’ll deal with showing Lord Lannister and his men where they will be staying, since you’ll be busy with the royal family and their entourage.”

“Thank you, Sansa,” she said with a relieved huff, grateful for Sansa’s intervention for once.

While her mother still treated her distantly most days, they’d reached a sort of uneasy coexistence where they didn’t openly display the cracks in their relationship to those outside of the family. Her mother rarely said anything out loud just watched her actions with cool disapproval. Sansa didn’t know how to help her mother accept her presence or convince her that policies and measures she was enacting were for the good of their family and the North. Her mother seemed especially irritated after Sansa broke out of the mold that Catelyn had cast for her by discontinuing hers and Arya’s lessons with Septa Mordane, ignoring the faith of the Seven, encouraging Arya’s weapon practices, and shadowing her father’s duties more often.

None of those things would have been insurmountable, except that Sansa had been sticking around and helping Jon, which she knew was a constant source of soreness for her mother. But Sansa wouldn’t abandon her brother for the sake of her mother’s feelings ever again. She’d learned her lesson last time. He hadn’t been perfect, but Jon had been the first one of her siblings to come through for her. When she had thought all was lost- the rest of her family, Winterfell, and the entirety of the North, Jon had embraced her with such joy and love and relief in the courtyard of Castle Black that her heart had sparked with hope once more.

Her mother’s consistent displeasure at Jon’s presence let Sansa know that her father still hadn’t informed her mother of Jon’s true parentage. Considering the cold fury her mother had released when their father had informed her that he was setting Jon up as the lord of the new port, Sansa wasn’t sure that she could blame her father for not telling her mother yet. Even if it would soothe some of Catelyn’s ire and hurt over Jon’s presence, the absolute vehement anger and hatred she had shown at the idea made Sansa weary of trusting her with such a delicate secret. One wrong word while the King or the Lannisters were in Winterfell or a stray comment in her letters to her mad sister could doom them all.

While she was sure that her mother would understand the importance of such information, her animosity toward Jon wasn’t rational at this point, even if the original motivations for her hurt feelings were entirely understandable. Her mother wouldn’t ever intentionally do something to hurt her family, but she had proven to be rash before, had proven that she didn’t always think through the implications of her actions in defense of her children, and she had very dangerous friends who could cause untold chaos with that type of information.

As Sansa crossed the courtyard to Tywin Lannister she wiped every stray thought, calculation, and emotion off her face and replaced it with her armor of courtesy. She was careful to stay out of the way of all the moving knights, servants, and extra men in the yard. It wouldn’t do for her to be injured, not while there were so many strangers in Winterfell and while the danger to her family was so high. Luckily, Sansa had little trouble slipping through the commotion, because while there were many additional people in Winterfell it was nothing compared to when she had hosted the armies of the North and the Vale, as well as Daenarys Targaryen’s mix of sellswords, Dothraki, and Unsullied.

Sansa stopped in front of the older man and gave a slight curtesy. “Welcome to Winterfell, Lord Lannister. My father, Lord Stark, passes along his sincerest apologies that he is unable to greet you properly.”

“We are all loyal servants to our King’s whims,” he intoned with wry exasperation.

“I’m sure that both my father and the King appreciate your understanding. If you will follow me, I will show you where you and your men can stay. Have you been to Winterfell before, my lord?” she asked pleasantly with her courtesies drawn tightly around her, not willing to participate in his disdain for his good son when it served her no purpose.

“I’ve not had the opportunity before,” he answered and while his words were perfectly polite his voice and posture were as rigid and stern as she remembered from King’s Landing so many years ago.

He followed her out of the courtyard with a long, sure tread that reminded her of when the Kingsguard used to dog her steps. She shook off the anxiety that rose in her stomach at the reminder. She hadn’t thought about that in years, but with several of the Kingsguard in residence and the numerous watchful eyes in her home, it was calling to mind the sensation of being scrutinized and judged for every step and misstep she made while a prisoner in the capital.

Since the Lord of the Westerlands hadn’t been to Winterfell before Sansa made sure to point out the layout and relevant common areas. While most of the royal party was being housed in the Guest House, her parents had decided to accommodate Lord Lannister, his son Tyrion, and his accompanying men in the First Keep so that the Guest House did not become overly crowded.

The First Keep had been empty all her life, but there were no problems with any of the infrastructure or rooms, so it would be a suitable place to house Tywin Lannister and his small retinue that he’d travelled with. In addition, it meant that Sansa didn’t have to come up with a plan to stop Bran from falling from the First Keep. Since the building was going to be occupied, the Lannister twins would have to find somewhere else to carry on their affair and Bran was less likely to climb the tower if he knew that it was inhabited too. She was also confident that without being pushed, Bran would never have fallen after all, he had never done so before.

She breathed a little easier once it became apparent that while the severe man was paying attention to the information she was imparting, he had no particular interest in her, her family, or the North. She prayed that he continued to find them all uninteresting. While she was cannier now and her father was still alive, she was well insulated from other lords’ scheming, but Sansa still remembered the power and fear this lord could wield better than any steel weapon and she had no wish to turn that on her family.

Before they entered the First Keep, Sansa motioned for a servant to bring the tray of salt and bread.  She offered the lord first pick from the tray and when he had grabbed his piece with bored indifference, she lifted her own portion from the same tray.

“Lord Lannister, be welcome within the walls of Winterfell and at my father’s table. I extend my hospitality and protection in the sight of the Old Gods and the light of the Seven,” she proclaimed with due solemnity and the two of them ate the bread at the same time.

She motioned for the servant to hand over a carafe of wine and two cups. She handed one of the cups to the lord and noted his raised eyebrows while she poured them both a measure of the wine. It was rare for a House to extend the full ceremony of Guest Rights, most only offered salt and bread and skipped the offering of the drink, but Sansa refused to take any chances, especially not with this particular guest. She met Lord Lannister’s shrewd gaze that was taking in the ceremony with renewed interest, likely trying to determine the reason that either her or her father had extended full Guest Rights, before nodding and swallowing the full contents of her cup at the same time as he threw his back.

She wasn’t fool enough to believe that Guest Rights would stop Tywin Lannister from doing as he pleased and harming any of her family should he feel the need to. Not after he had encouraged Walder Frey to murder her brother, mother, and numerous members of the Northern Army during the Red Wedding while under Guest Rights. However, she did want to send a message to remind him that the custom was still practiced and respected in the North. While she might consider it important to improve relations between their lands, Sansa didn’t trust Lannisters as a rule.

Once she had trusted Joffrey. He had promised not to be disrespectful or cruel, only to have her beaten and humiliated in public. Cersei had been beautiful and kind initially, only to demand the head of her direwolf and arrest her father on false accusations of treason. She hadn’t had much contact with Tywin Lannister before he died, but she was aware of the types of cruelty he was capable of justifying in the name of maintaining his family legacy. She could somewhat respect his mindset as Sansa, herself had promised the Old Gods that she would do anything to protect her family and the North. However, it still made him a potential adversary that she was wary of getting on the wrong side of. Luckily, from what she could remember, he wasn’t the type to strike first or without warning.

Sansa directed the Lannister Red Cloaks to their respective rooms on the lowest level and then walked up the spiraling staircase to the second floor where the nicest rooms in the keep were located. She stopped at the old lord’s chamber in the family wing of the First Keep. “Lord Lannister, this room is yours and two doors to the left is Lord Tyrion’s room. Should you need anything, please let any of the staff or myself know”

The lord sneered at his absent son’s name, before glancing down imperiously at her. “Would it be possible to house my other son, Jaime, here as well?”

“I can arrange that for you, my lord. I’ll have a servant retrieve him and show him to the room to the right of you, if that would be acceptable?” she said politely after only a moment’s pause.

While it could be considered rude that Lord Lannister wished to change the room accommodations, it wasn’t necessarily an unreasonable request, and it was easily granted as long as the knight in question didn’t put up a fuss. Besides if such an easy to change thing pleased the Great Lion, whom her father and her were trying to strike a deal with, it was worth the small amount of effort it would take. If Sansa could do anything to guarantee the trade agreement or help smooth the process, she would because the stakes were too high for her to falter or second guess herself now.

“Thank you. I would appreciate it, my lady,” he said with aloof civility.

“You’re welcome. My father also wished for me to ask whether you would meet with him tomorrow morning in his solar to discuss business?” she asked, already aware that her father had intended to set that meeting up for tomorrow if possible.

Tywin Lannister was too important and too arrogant to slight by wasting his time or leaving him up to his own devices. It would be poor form to leave the Lannister lord to decide that they didn’t respect him or that the Starks weren’t serious about the trade agreement after he had personally travelled all the way to Winterfell at their behest.

His eyes glimmered with faint approval. “Tell your father that tomorrow morning will do,” he said and entered his set of rooms without looking back or waiting for a response.

Despite knowing what to expect from his daughter, Ned Stark was still surprised by how abruptly Robert had dragged him to the crypts. He hadn’t even let him complete the custom of Guest Rights yet, which was sacred in the North, as Robert should have known from their time fostering together in the Vale. A few minutes into their walk Robert turned to him on the pathway and they both stopped in the corridor lit only by flickering torch light, well before they reached Lyanna’s tomb, which as one of the last Stark’s to perish was one of the closest to the gate, although it still took several minutes to walk the distance.

“I need you Ned, down in King’s Landing. Not up here where you’re of no use to anybody. Lord Eddard Stark I would name you the Hand of the King,” the King stated as formally and regally as Ned Stark had ever heard his friend speak.

He kneeled in the dirt flustered. His daughter had warned him, but time had seemingly made his foster brother blunter, rather than less so as he aged. He hadn’t expected Robert to try to name him Hand so soon and in his family crypts at that. “I’m not worthy of the honor.”

Ned was still staring at the ground with thoughts racing through his head on how to get out of this ghastly duty. He was needed in the North, especially with a long winter coming and the other threats his daughter had warned him about. Sansa had indicated that it would be futile to try to resist the King for too long, but he was still determined to try.

Ned could feel the exasperation coming off his old friend as he rumbled out, “I’m not trying to honor you. I’m trying to get you to run my kingdom while I eat, drink, and whore my way to an early grave. Damn it! Ned, stand up. You helped me win the Iron Throne. Now help me keep the damn thing. We were meant to rule together. If your sister had lived, we’d have been bound by blood. Well, it’s not too late. I have a son; you have a daughter. We’ll join our houses together that way.”

Ned fought to keep the distaste out of his expression. Was his friend’s son the reason that Sansa had requested that she not be betrothed to a prince? Perhaps Robert had raised an entitled philandering son like he had been as a young man. Maybe, just like Lyanna, Sansa had hated the idea, but hadn’t had a way to get out of it and his daughter, to her credit, was more mindful of consequences than his sister had ever been. She would never have run away from her duty without more cause than that, not after Catelyn had drilled her own family motto into Sansa’s head, nor after she’d heard what happened to Stark women who broke betrothals. Perhaps betrothals between Stark women and Baratheon men were always fated to fail.

Was this what happened last time and if so, what had he been thinking betrothing his daughter to a boy he knew nothing of? He ought to have known better. “I’m not sure that’s wise, Your Grace.”

Robert frowned, his expression looking like a southern thunderstorm, dark and menacing, in the low light. “What’s not wise?”

“To place me as Hand or to betroth my daughter to your son. I don’t believe my daughter would be happy in a place like King’s Landing,” Ned answered, mindful of the fact that he was disagreeing with the King of the realm. Robert had rarely been overly formal with him though so he didn’t think he was out of line yet.

King Robert’s face cleared, and he snorted, the sound echoing in the darkened crypt, “Well, I can’t fault her on that. It’s an awful place, which is why I need you there helping me to rule.”

“You don’t want Tywin Lannister? He was a good Hand even to a mad king,” Ned offered desperately.

“I’m already surrounded by Lannisters, every time I close my eyes, I see their blond hair and their smug satisfied faces. No, I want you,” the King said shaking his head and clasping a meaty hand on Ned’s shoulder.

“May I have a few days to consider it, Your Grace?” he requested with a resigned sigh. If it was true that he couldn’t get out of it than Sansa was right, it would be best to see if he couldn’t wring a few concessions out of the King before he consented. Foolishly, he hadn’t prepared a list of what he wanted beforehand after his daughter had told him this would happen more than a moon’s turn ago. While it felt somewhat dishonest and reeked of the politics that he had shunned and despised nearly his entire life, his children’s lives and the fate of the North were entirely too important to leave to chance.

Robert sighed. “I suppose, but I’m not taking no for an answer and talk with your daughter about my son, but don’t take too long.”

Over his dead body would he or anyone else talk Sansa into a match she didn’t want. He learned his lesson with his sister, he’d never force his children, especially his daughters, into matches they would hate. “I shall have an answer for you in two days. Consequently, while I have a small feast prepared for this evening, I’ve held off on a larger feast for two days, because I presumed you might want to join in on the hunt. The Wolfswood has the best game in the North after all,” Ned said with a friendly knowing grin.

Robert laughed boisterously. “Separated for the last nine years and you still know me so well! A grand feast is worth the wait if I can participate in the hunt.”

Jaime stalked through Winterfell’s courtyard and into the First Keep after a harried looking servant. He gritted his teeth behind the girl’s head and refrained from speaking, lest he say something in poor taste. It wasn’t the servant girl’s fault that he was in such a terrible mood. He just didn’t want to be in this frozen wasteland in the first place. There was absolutely nothing of any note for him here. It was a sleepy, boring place held by a man who very likely still despised him and surrounded by superstitious, ungrateful northerners, who also hated him.

It had been a month that they’d been on the King’s Road and a month that he’d been without his sister. He had been looking forward to getting her alone now that they weren’t travelling on the open road. However, now that his father was requesting his rooms be switched to the ones next to his own, that would cross off one of the places Jaime had hoped that he might easily be able to get Cersei alone. In addition, the extra distance between their rooms would make it more difficult to set up a time to meet or even to sneak off unexpectedly.

It would also be riskier in general to fool around with Cersei while their father was there. His good brother, King Robert, was a moron who was so drunk half the time that he’d never noticed the relationship between he and his sister. His father though, was not prone to heavy drinking and never missed details that other men did, which is why he had been exceptionally careful with his attentions toward Cersei since their father had joined the King’s company at the Crossroads Inn, where the River Road met the King’s Road. Neither of them had been in their father’s company at the same time for so many days in a row since they were children and Jaime did not want to invite his father’s scrutiny.

Cersei was annoyed with him over his caution, but while Jaime believed he could fight any man alive for his sister, he wasn’t about to court the kind of danger his father could rain down on them if he learned the truth. He wasn’t afraid of other people finding out necessarily, since between he and Cersei he believed they could take care of the situation, but his father was not a man that could be outmaneuvered so easily. Cersei might believe that their father wouldn’t do much, except cover up their indiscretions if he found out about it, but Jaime was aware of how ruthless he could become even with his own children as evidenced by how Tywin Lannister had treated Tyrion for his entire life.

Cersei might think that Tyrion had deserved their father’s displeasure, but Jaime knew better. In fact, Tyrion’s treatment was the only thing he and his sister argued about with any regularity. Like their father, Cersei was constantly irritated by Tyrion and treated him poorly. She had already assigned Jaime with the task of finding their little brother, though he was certain that they were both happier in separate locations and as far as Jaime knew no one in Winterfell cared that Tyrion Lannister wasn’t in the courtyard during the King’s arrival.

His sister hadn’t wanted to come here either, but Robert had insisted, and it was no secret that Robert wanted to name Lord Stark his Hand and join their houses through a marriage of their children. Cersei was in a snit about that too, she had no love for the Starks and vacillated between the belief that honorable Ned Stark’s daughter would either be a simple, stupid thing or a conniving, power hungry temptress that would wrest all of Cersei’s power from her. After listening to her rant about Stark’s daughter the whole trip, a girl neither of them had ever met nor heard much about, Jaime was exhausted and fairly convinced that Cersei wouldn’t think any girl was good enough for her son, not even if she was the Maiden reborn.

Chapter Text

Sansa was sitting quietly at her desk in her father's solar reviewing her notes on the upcoming trade agreement that they were hoping to make with Tywin Lannister. She dipped a feathered quill into her ink well and added another quick thought at the bottom of the page. She could hear her father scratching away at some business at his larger desk just feet away. As a child she had disliked the noise because it meant her father was too busy to play with her, but now she found comfort in the familiar sound of her father taking care of the business of the North.

At the soft knock at the door both her and her father stopped writing and put their quills up in a nearly identical way. She quirked her lips slightly upward, amused to see that they had some of the same small mannerisms. Her father stood up and stretched lightly before crossing the room to answer the door.

"Lord Lannister to see you, Milord," said the guard on duty at the door.

Ned met the gray eyes of his guard, some distant cousin of theirs, and nodded his thanks before glancing at a solemn Tywin Lannister. Displeasure crossed Ned’s face instantly as he beheld the second person in the doorway, Tywin Lannister’s arrogant son Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. He imaged that the Kingslayer's smug, laughing eyes were because he knew he was a vastly unwelcome guest to this meeting and to Winterfell in general, but that he, Ned Stark, couldn't do much about the interloper’s presence without offending Lord Lannister, which would be a terrible idea if he wanted to start a trade agreement with the man.

"Welcome and please come in, Lord Lannister," Ned said as composed as he normally was.

When Ser Jaime followed his father into the room Ned gritted out, "I wasn't aware you were coming, Kingslayer."

"Well, the only thing you Starks see coming around here is winter. It's too cold for anything else to come. In fact, I reckon that a man could freeze his bollocks off trying to do anything else," Jaime said, his cocky smirk as pleased as a cat that ate the canary.

Ned opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get so much as a syllable out, a feminine throat was cleared. Jaime's hand immediately went towards the pommel of his sword while he pivoted sharply towards the sound.

When she had the attention of all three men, Sansa addressed her father, "Well that's alright father, now it shall be even: a Lord Paramount and one of his non-heir children. That seems fair to me, and it isn't like there isn't an extra chair in here."

She curtsied shallowly to both men and murmured, "Lord Lannister. Ser Jaime."

Jaime Lannister was aghast at the sight of the woman curtsying in front of him and his father. He might regularly be called a man without honor and he might not have wanted to shadow his father to this meeting, but he would not have spoken so crassly if he had known there was a young lady in the room, even if she was the daughter of man he didn’t much like. He might still have said something crude, but he would have at least been more discreet about the wording.

He swept into a short bow, hoping to convey his sincerity with the motion that he normally wouldn’t even bother with. “I beg your pardon, my lady.”

When she rose, she met Jaime Lannister's cat green eyes with a teasing grin and eyes glinting with sly amusement. "That’s alright, Ser. You'll have to excuse my father too; he didn't know you were coming because he couldn't hear you roar."

Her father groaned, but the tension released from his stance. If she wasn't mistaken Tywin Lannister's stern mouth had even twitched upwards for a fraction of a second. Ser Jaime had switched from contrite to struggling to contain both laughter and what was possibly another inappropriate comment.

"Lord Lannister, this is my eldest daughter, Sansa. Kingslayer, I'd appreciate it if you would guard your tongue better than you do your kings around my daughter," said Ned sharply.

Sansa wanted to growl, and it was only the fact that it was unladylike to do so that stopped her. Her father was undoing her work. She had no idea why, but her father and Jaime Lannister truly brought out the worst in each other. At this rate they'd never start the meeting since her father was too intent on bickering with the other man.

"Robb and Theon have both hinted at worse, so no harm done father," she said with a negligent wave of her hand. She wanted to bang her head against the stone walls, but she just continued to keep a calm, pleasant countenance through her growing irritation.

"Well, I'm afraid it's not quite fair, Sansa darling, since my child didn't bring live steel into a lord's private solar," he said with the Stark stubbornness on full display. If he crossed his arms and pouted any more, he’d look exactly like Bran or Rickon at their moodiest.

Sansa was quickly losing her patience. She knew her father wouldn’t have even cared about the weapon if it had been anyone other than Jaime Lannister. Did he not understand how they needed the extra trade for winter and a good relationship with the West? Was her father trying to make this difficult? Even she knew separating the Lannister knight from his sword was asking for trouble. She honestly wouldn't be surprised if he slept with the damn thing on the nights he wasn't sleeping with his own sister.

"Oh well, if that's all that's bothering you, I can fix that father," she answered, grinning almost pleasantly, except that there were far too many teeth on display.

It was only because her father looked so confused by her statement that Jaime didn't draw his sword. In exasperation and with an air of recklessness, Sansa felt for the space in her mind that was Lady and let herself fall into it. Her eyes flashed a strange milky white across the whole visible portion of her eyes before clearing back to their regular Tully blue after no more than a long blink of the eye.

She cocked her head and let the stunned, confused silence between the three men draw out. Too late did Sansa remember that she had wanted to keep a low profile around their dangerous guests. Her frustration abruptly drained from her and she pressed her lips together tightly to disguise her worry. She shifted on her feet and then considered that it probably wasn’t as big of a deal as she feared. If Cersei’s disdain for the Starks was any indication than the rest of the Lannisters already believed that Northerners were all barbarians anyway. This wouldn’t improve that assumption, of course, but it probably hadn’t endangered her. Besides, now that her siblings knew it was possible to connect with their wolves it wasn’t like she would be the only one to skinchange while they had guests and it was basically an open secret, since she knew some of the staff had already caught her siblings practicing.

Both Bran and Arya had taken to it like fish in water. While Bran didn’t usually do anything too eye-catching while he was warging, Arya got into all sorts of mischief. She’d put a dead rat in Septa Mordane’s bed after the woman had called Arya a wild heathen that was a disgrace to her noble family’s name. She’d also used Nymeria to stalk one of the castle men who had taken exception to her learning to fight. Over the course of three days, she had terrorized the man by having Nymeria appear before him looking menacing and hungry every time he had thought he was alone. After the three days were over the man had stayed far away from Arya and had learned to keep his misogynistic opinions to himself. It had no doubt fed into the rumors people already whispered about the strangeness of the Starks.

So, while it was careless to show such a display in front of the Lannisters, who she certainly did not trust, Sansa believed that the two men would see it eventually from her other wilder and more careless siblings during their visit. Before anyone could muster up a question there was a quiet scratching sound at the door.

Tywin Lannister watched the girl with suspicious, sly green eyes that matched his son’s, except for the hard gold flecks in them, as Lady Sansa let out the first sincere expression she had made since he had met her yesterday. Admittedly, their meeting yesterday wasn’t much of an introduction since she hadn’t even told him which Stark daughter she was and hadn’t done anything that was out of character for the daughter of a Lord Paramount. There had been the extending of full Guest Rights, but it was more likely that Lord or Lady Stark had decided on using the full version of the custom as a sign of deference for the multitude of high-ranking guests rather than anything the girl decided. If Tywin hadn't seen her truly light up, he would have believed all her other expressions before were sincere. How curious that the honorable Lord Eddard Stark's daughter would know how to hide herself so well.

He was starting to suspect that the comment that she had made about Jaime being a non-heir child was an intentional dig at him rather than just a polite effort to diffuse tension. He wasn’t upset about it. The comment had been subtle enough and others had said far worse over the years. If he got upset every time someone mentioned his son’s stupid choices, he would spend all his time angry and plotting against those that had slighted him. Mostly, he was just interested and amused at the nerve of this slip of a girl. He hadn’t thought to find anyone in Winterfell who could play with their words with any skill.

Lady Sansa crossed to the door with an overly polite, "Excuse me, my lords. That will be Lady at the door," as she glided past both he and his son.

She opened the door and a large wolf padded into the room with nary a sound across the stone floors. Its fur was a light grey color with a white underbelly and its eyes were citrine in the weak morning light. The beast didn’t pay much attention to anyone except the girl, whom it followed faithfully. The wolf glanced briefly at the others in the room, but never stopped to further investigate.

Lady Sansa sniffed, her eyes alight with pure impish delight, "Ser Jaime can keep his steel. I don't have a sword, but claws and fangs ought to suffice." The beast named Lady laid at her feet and obligingly yawned, displaying her wickedly long teeth.

"Gods Stark, you were worried about my mouth when you let your daughter keep a wolf as a pet!" Jaime exclaimed, incredulously staring at the creature at the girl’s feet like he would need to save her from it. An utterly ridiculous notion of course since Lady was loyal to her.

Lady Sansa grinned mischievously as she corrected him sweetly, "Oh, she’s a direwolf actually. She's still just a pup, so she’s not fully grown yet."

Oh, but Tywin approved of this young lady of Stark's. Where she’d learned to fight with honeyed words in the quiet North was a mystery, but he was amused to see it. He'd never seen his oldest son so off balanced and so often since Jaime was a child. She was also skillfully avoiding and diffusing the other two men's sniping. His son sputtered, "A direwolf? Surely you can't be serious? No one's seen a direwolf in at least a hundred years!"

Lord Stark's twinkling grey eyes betrayed his mirth. "Well actually, all my children have their own, even the youngest," he said with a nonchalant shrug.

Jaime's brows scrunched together, and he pursed his lips for a moment before he asked, "Lady Sansa, I must have heard you incorrectly, but did you say that you named your very large, very wild and fierce, near mythical beast, Lady?"

"Oh, Lady isn't wild. She is the gentlest of the set, in fact. You should see Shaggydog, that's Rickon's wolf. Now, he's just as wild as my littlest brother and Rickon’s clearly got wolfsblood," she said, but Tywin noted what Lady Sansa hadn't refuted with her statement and Tywin had a feeling that his son had taken notice of that as well.

Tywin spoke up before his son could say anything else, "Lady Sansa, did you call Lady here yourself when your eyes flashed white a moment ago?"

"Yes, my lord, I directed her here. She was in my room previously," she answered him pleasantly, not particularly displeased about playing up the stereotypes about the North, sometimes it was useful to let her adversaries think she was a simple girl that had grown up in the barbaric North.

"And can all your siblings do such a thing with their direwolves?" he asked, looking at her with a strange light in his eyes that Sansa wasn’t sure she recognized from her time at court with him and his family. It made her slightly wary, but she chalked his questions up to the novelty of the incident.

"Hmm, I'm not sure if the rest of them can consciously warg yet, but I think they are having wolf dreams at least and I think Bran might be able to manage other animals as well in the future," Sansa hummed out a cautious answer to the Lord of Casterly Rock. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t find out from her other siblings. Gods knew her other siblings weren’t shy and wouldn’t have an issue showing off if he’d merely asked. She thought Arya might be particularly susceptible to the Great Lion if he displayed any interest, since she had a sneaking suspicion that Arya would appreciate his devious and ruthless nature that was a match for her own personality.

She'd never seen Lord Tywin Lannister so interested in anything though, not even in her past life. Granted she didn’t have a large frame of reference for the lord as she hadn’t spent a lot of time observing him before she had fled King’s Landing last time. She needed this trade agreement to work, more than any of the others they might make. Better relations between their kingdoms would be essential for preventing war, especially since the King was determined for her father to be his Hand and Winterfell would be left in hers and Robb’s hands, who the bannermen didn’t know or respect enough yet.

Her father muttered a curse. “That’s what your siblings have been doing with their wolves the last few weeks,” he said, suddenly understanding the weird scenes he’d come across of his children sitting nose to nose with their wolves. Even his most wild children had been sitting still, which had been confusing and disconcerting to everyone in Winterfell.

Sansa nodded guiltily. “Sorry father, they were worried mother would tell them to stop if either of you knew.”

"And where does such a skill come from?" Lord Lannister inquired lightly, breaking the stare down between Lord Stark and his daughter.

"It's a gift from the Children of the Forest that crops up most often in the Stark bloodline. It does occasionally crop up in other northern houses, but not with any sort of regularity. There's a reason Starks mostly marry in the North," she shrugged, careful that what she was giving him was only information that was easily accessible.

That particular fact was knowledge that was a repeated theme in many of the tales of the North, though most of the people in both the North and the South considered it nonsense nowadays. If he didn’t already know the tales than it would be a simple matter for him to look them up either in the library or by asking anyone from the youngest toddler to the most ancient of grandmothers in the North.

"To keep the gift?" he asked, his eyes boring intently into hers.

Despite his scrutiny, Sansa didn’t sense any threat from the Warden of the West in his questions. Perhaps it was a mistake to feel so little fear in front of a man whose very name could frighten grown men all across Westeros, but even so, with the future of the agreement at risk, she continued to provide calculated answers. "No, because most other houses don't like direwolves in bed with their heirs is my guess."

She frowned thoughtfully and added, "Or maybe they just think it strange."

Tywin could see his son suppress a grin and what he suspected was an inappropriate double entendre. His children had no sense of decorum. He supposed he should just be thankful that Jaime hadn’t spit whatever remark he had considered clever out in the solar of another Lord Paramount. Tywin slid a reproving look at his son before meeting the young lady's eyes again. "That's quite remarkable, Lady Sansa."

She beamed genuinely at him. Lady was one of Sansa’s favorite things in the entire world. She was pleased and relieved in equal measure that Lord Lannister seemed more interested in her than any Lannister had previously and not in a manner that suggested he wanted to use Lady to cause her misery. Perhaps he was merely curious since such a thing hadn’t been seen for years in the North and even longer in the South.

"Would you like to pet her? She won't bite unless you mean me harm," she asked the older lord, confident that at this point in time the lord had no particular interest in her, so he was unlikely to be planning to hurt her.

Tywin was momentarily stunned before he stepped forward and watched as Lady Sansa motioned her beast up with a hand signal. He let the wolf sniff his hand and when the girl nodded at him, he sunk his fingers into the soft undercoat at the wolf's shoulders and scratched lightly. Lady wagged her tail happily and panted like an overgrown pup with her tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth. When he had finished running his hands through the wolf's coat he stepped back. He looked back to see Jaime looking at him with wide, incredulous eyes, like he didn't recognize him, and he smirked at his son. Sometimes it was entertaining to do things just to shock his children.

"Ser Jaime would you like to try as well? Surely, a lion of Casterly Rock and a renowned knight of the Kingsguard such as yourself, is at least as brave as his Lord Father," she goaded with a sweet smile that wouldn't have looked out of place on the Maiden herself.

The girl was good, Tywin could visibly see his son, whom he believed was twice the girls age, bristle and gather himself up at her words. Evidently, his son had caught on that she was calling him a scaredy-cat despite her innocent demeanor.

Sansa watched closely as Ser Jaime Lannister put his hand out toward her direwolf for Lady to sniff, looking like he thought he would be mauled to death. She hid her merriment carefully, it was okay a tweak a lion's pride, but offending a lion's pride would be a grave mistake. But then Lady did something Sansa wasn't expecting she sat down in front of Ser Jaime and wagging her tail, batted his hand with her paw. Sansa watched him pull his hand back reflexively and blink in shock at her wolf.

"Oh no, I'm sorry about that! I think Lady misunderstood something," Sansa said with an embarrassed flush rising on her cheeks.

Ser Jaime relaxed a bit and cocked his head as he asked inquisitively, "It's fine. What did she misunderstand?"

"It would be easier to show you. Um, hold out your hand with the palm upwards this time," Sansa stuttered out, avoiding direct eye contact with any of the men in the room. She twisted her hands behind her back in order keep from reaching her hands up to hide the growing heat of her face. Lady was supposed to wait for a command or corresponding hand signal, but Sansa knew her wolf and now that she had initiated it, Lady wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted.

Jaime complied and held his hand out with his palm face up a little bit confused, but not unwilling. The wolf hadn’t hurt him after all, just surprised him with the unexpectedness of the movement and she seemed more playful than anything at the moment. Lady ducked her head demurely to the side, put her right paw into his outstretched hand, and crouched the best a wolf could manage. Jaime held the wolf's paw and waited but she didn't do anything else.

When he looked up Lady Sansa appeared as if she'd like the ground to swallow her whole, but she muttered, "She'll hold the pose until you complete the greeting."

And suddenly the whole thing clicked for Jaime. Sansa had named her very scary direwolf Lady and taught the damn thing to be properly greeted like a lady would from a lord. He grinned with unholy glee at the embarrassed girl who had continually baffled and off balanced him throughout the morning before he bowed lowly over Lady’s paw, brushed his lips across it with his absolute best manners, and with every ounce of charm he possessed said, “A pleasure to meet you, Lady.”

As he relinquished the wolf's paw Lady, in one seamless and graceful movement lifted her head and stood back up. Lady then proceeded to brush herself against his upper thigh clearly looking for attention and to be pet. He obliged the lady of course since he was a knight and that’s what knights did.

He looked up to see a rare grin on his father’s lips and Ned Stark wheezing with laughter. Since he was sure he had never seen the man look anything but dour in his presence he was just as surprised by that as seeing his father grin.

“Sansa, should I replace the kennel master? I’m quite certain that not even he has trained the keep’s hounds to curtsey,” Ned asked his blushing daughter. He was glad to see a hint of his silly romantic daughter that he had thought lost ever since she had come out of the crypts a few moons ago as solemn and dutiful as people had said of himself after he came back from Robert’s Rebellion.

“I don’t think that will be necessary Father,” she answered primly though the effect was ruined by the color still suffused over her pale skin.

“I take it back Lady Sansa, your direwolf may be fierce and wild, but she does deserve her name. I’ve rarely been greeted with such a pleasing display of manners even at court,” Jaime said, his warm green eyes dancing with mirth and laughter. He could see Stark smothering more laughter with a hand over his mouth out of the corner of his eye.

She was saved from having to answer by Tywin. “Lord Stark, I will agree to the lady’s compromise if you will. Lady Sansa’s wolf for my son’s sword.”

Ned Stark glanced at Lady with thoughtful consideration before meeting Lord Lannister’s piercing gaze and nodding. “I think that should be acceptable. Please be seated,” he said, gesturing towards the open chairs near his desk.

When both Tywin and his son had pulled up chairs and sat down. Sansa made her way to the smaller desk in the room, picked up a quill and dipped it into the well of ink at the top of the desk.

“I hope you don’t mind. My daughter has a fair and quick hand,” Ned said, motioning toward Sansa.

“Not at all. I wish my children had taken such initiative in their youth,” Lord Lannister complimented before beginning the tedious debate over trading terms with the other Lord Paramount.

Lady picked herself up from the floor, shook her fur out, and began to trot over to Sansa, before catching sight of the Lannister knight staring out the window, off into the distance and fidgeting absentmindedly with his clothing in his seat. She turned, trotted over to the man, and wagged her tail in front of him. When he did not look down or glance at her right away, Lady put her head in his lap and shoved her snout under his calloused hand. He finally looked down at her in surprise and ran his hand through her fur and scratched behind her ears when he determined that she wanted his touch.

Jaime glanced up from underneath his lashes and grinned cheerfully at the betrayed look etched across Lady Sansa’s face. From his position he could see Lady Sansa’s jaw clench while she was ferociously writing down notes and a draft of the agreement as their fathers bartered food, furs, timber, metals, miners, how much the craftsmen could up charge on their goods, the rate of taxes between the two kingdoms, and what their respective responsibilities were in regard to protecting the ships and merchandise from the Ironborn. She didn’t really have time to glance up from her parchment but, he could see her sneaking glances at Lady and him. Originally, he had thought this meeting would turn out to be dreadfully dull, but with Lady’s cooperation, he believed that he could create some enjoyment for himself.

He scratched behind the direwolf’s ears and around her haunches until one of her back legs began to thump in time to his movements. He crowed softly into the wolf’s ear about how good she was and watched Lady Sansa try to hide her curiosity and jealousy behind a disinterested mask while simultaneously concentrating on the agreement their fathers are hashing out. Jaime hit a particularly good spot for Lady and she let out a happy little whine. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Lady Sansa narrowing her eyes and pursing her full lips in annoyance. Jaime swallowed the laughter that wanted to escape. He hadn’t had this much innocent fun with a lady since before he discovered sex.

He patted Lady on the head and whispered, just loud enough for the girl to hear, “Go on to your mistress, Lady. She looks like she would welcome your company.”

Lady did not move, just as he suspected that she wouldn’t. She stared up at him with pleading puppy eyes and wagged her tail again expectantly and when he withheld his hand from her, she forcefully pushed her head back under his palm. He grinned smugly at the wolf and he didn’t even have to glance up to know that even if Ned Stark’s pretty, young daughter was hiding it, she had to be fuming about the attention her wolf was demanding from him, of all people.

Chapter Text

When the arguing over exactly what goods and services could pass through each port and the individual tax rates on those items wound down between the two lords, Tywin Lannister looked as pleased as he ever did. In fact, to Jaime, he appeared faintly smug as if he thought he had pulled the wool over Stark’s eyes. Jaime hadn’t followed the conversation closely enough to know for himself, but if his father was looking pleased than he’d probably gotten the better end of the deal.

The meeting had taken a few hours already, but Jaime knew the negotiations could have gone on much longer if his father wasn’t so pleased with the whole idea of trading with another port to begin with or if Ned Stark had dug his heels in at any point. Jaime was, for once, satisfied with Ned’s simple and honorable nature, since he’d envisioned this agreement taking days to hash out, like it would have if this agreement was between his father and a more politically minded region like the Riverlands or the Reach. Good old Ned though didn’t seem interested in squeezing every gold piece he could out of the agreement, so there was much less haggling and bickering than he’d anticipated throughout the meeting.

Tywin leaned back in his chair and asked, “Why are you so concerned with your food stores? From all accounts, the North has been faithfully storing up food like it always does for winter.”

Ned sighed wearily. He wasn’t sure if the other man was truly curious or if he was mocking the North, although with a man like Tywin Lannister it could easily be both. “For two reasons. After such a long summer, we’re concerned that the winter will be particularly long and difficult. The second reason is that we’re hearing tales from North of the Wall that are worrying.”

“About the wildlings?” the other lord asked, having heard rumors about more attempted crossings over the Wall over the past year. He hadn’t thought anything of it since wildlings rarely made it as far as the Westerlands, but he supposed that for a kingdom that shared a border it was an important concern.

“Yes, and from whatever the wildlings are running from,” Ned tacked on grimly.

Tywin’s eyes took on a clever gleam and he leaned forward as he spoke, “I will throw in a mutual defense treaty for Lady Sansa’s troth to House Lannister.”

He had not been blind to the game his first-born son had been playing with Lord Stark’s daughter. It’s the sincerest attention he’s ever seen his son pay to a girl, other than his sister, even if the attention was meant to be aggravating rather than flirtatious. Between his son’s hint of interest, the Stark gifts that were present in the girl, and the intelligence and diplomacy Lady Sansa had displayed during this meeting he means to have her for his House even if he must trick her father into it or maneuver the situation to his liking. If the Warden of the North is worried about wildlings, then that is easy enough to help with for a prize such as Sansa Stark. He has no trouble exploiting the opening Stark left him. He would have to teach the girl how to scheme and survive in the capital or anywhere outside of the quiet North, but she seemed bright enough to pick it up eventually.

Eddard Stark crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair with a puzzled frown gracing his lips, and said slowly, “With winter preparations and my presence in the capital, I have need of my daughter in the North for a few years yet and I’m not quite certain she would be happy, or forgive me any offense, as respected as she should be as Lord Tyrion’s wife.”

“You could keep her here for a few more years. I don’t believe that would be an issue and I wasn’t referring to Tyrion. I’m quite sure he would make Lady Sansa unhappy or disgrace her,” Tywin Lannister scoffed out, having long since given up on betrothing Joanna’s youngest son to a woman of quality.

She narrowed her eyes and ran through all the men of House Lannister of an age to marry her other than Tyrion. There weren’t many reasonable options for a lady with as high of a birth as hers. Lord Lannister hadn’t specifically mentioned a name and surely, he hadn’t meant himself as he’d never remarried after the death of his first wife. She flashed her eyes toward Ser Jaime, who still appeared clueless to the conversation. She had a terrible suspicion that she knew exactly what Lord Lannister was proposing. While she had understood relatively quickly, her father still looked confused, apparently unfamiliar enough with the internal politics of the Lannisters to reach the conclusion she had swiftly grasped.

“He didn’t mean Lord Tyrion and I doubt he means his nephew Lancel either,” she sighed out and when her father met her knowing gaze, she darted her eyes toward the Lannister knight who was still petting her traitor of a direwolf and only half-heartedly listening to the conversation. Realization swept over her father’s face like a swiftly approaching storm.

“Kingsguard serve for life,” Ned Stark ground out from behind clenched teeth. He looked on the verge of losing his temper, which for the first time in her life was a thing of heat and fury rather than the cold, wintry anger her father normally displayed. She had no idea what made Tywin Lannister think that her father, Ned Stark, who infamously stayed out of politics for the last dozen years and just as infamously despised his eldest son, would ever agree to such a match.

Jaime had stopped petting Lady and was beginning to look hunted as he tuned back into the conversation. Lady huffed and then drifted her way towards a patch of sunlight, unconcerned with the rising tension in the room.

Sansa closed her eyes in a silent effort not to howl her displeasure. It seemed that no matter which life she led, Tywin Lannister was determined to marry her into his family for some unknown reason. And refusing Tywin Lannister was a lot more dangerous than refusing anyone else in Westeros, even the King. She opened her eyes and met the Old Lion’s scheming gaze.

Porcelain. Ivory. Steel.

She let her hard-won strength and intelligence bleed into her eyes, straightened her spine until her posture was as rigid and fine as castle forged steel, and shook off any pretense of being a child. She had been a queen once and she was no easy prey, not even for a lion.

“I’m afraid it’s me you’re going to have to convince Lord Lannister and I don’t play knights and maidens anymore,” she drawled from her position behind her desk.

Tywin watched Stark’s daughter shift again faster than a chameleon. He let a glimmer of his respect flare in his gaze before speaking directly to the young woman, “As I said, Lady Sansa if you wed my heir, I will add a mutual defense treaty as well as the trade agreement discussed earlier. Your father seems worried about the wildlings to the North of the Wall. More soldiers, particularly from the well-trained Westerlands, can only help save more of your family’s and northern men’s lives. In addition, you would one day be Lady Lannister and could send whatever food or aid to your father or brothers that they would need even during winter. Provided you did right by House Lannister, I would be inclined to be very generous to you and yours before that time as well.”

Sansa held her impassive mask through Lord Lannister’s offer, showing none of her eagerness for the proposal though it came with the unfortunate stipulation of marrying into the Lord’s own family. It was clear what he meant about doing right by House Lannister too, he expected more heirs for dynasty.

“For how long do you intend this mutual defense agreement to last? You aren’t very old Lord Lannister, and you aren’t likely to die from natural causes anytime soon either,” she inquired coolly.

He nodded approvingly and stated, “Fifteen years.”

She fought to keep her face impassive. That was a better agreement than she could ever hope to make on her own. She didn’t want to marry at all but, having the Lannister Army and the Great Lion on her side or at least not against the North would possibly negate most of the damage from the War of the Five Kings if she couldn’t manage to prevent the whole thing altogether.

The North had suffered too much from the lack of military expertise during the fight against the Night King, and as brutal as he was, no one was a tactical match for Tywin Lannister, not even his eldest son. It wasn’t his mistakes on the battlefield or in court that had cost the Great Lion his life, it had been the callous way he treated his family, Tyrion, in particular that had led to his death. Also, having four kingdoms worth of fresh soldiers for the fight with the Night King was something she couldn’t pass up even if it would mean marrying a Lannister and bearing his children.

Granted, it was a Lannister who would likely barely tolerate her throughout their life, but she’d had much worse marriages. She could tolerate one where they didn’t love one another and weren’t interested in each other aside from what duty required of them. Ser Jaime would be unlikely to touch her unnecessarily and would hopefully ignore her for the most part since he was far more interested in his sister at this point in his life and he hadn’t yet experienced the loss of his hand. She didn’t believe in the great romantic love of the songs anymore, so the prospect of a strictly political marriage was a relief to her.

“Why me Lord Lannister? Surely there are dozens of other women in the west, if not the rest of the Seven Kingdoms themselves, that would be suitable for your heir,” she asked, sliding a look at his recalcitrant son.

Tywin quirked one side of his mouth up slyly, “Really Lady Sansa, tell me how many other daughters of a Great House are there in Westeros? I must have missed the lot of them,”

He gave her a minute to mentally run through the names before listing them out loud, “There’s you and your sister, Princess Arianne Martell, Shireen Baratheon, and Margery Tyrell. As for you specifically, you’re clever and pretty with the oldest noble bloodline on the continent. You’re intelligent enough that you won’t ruin my House or let my children do so after I’m gone, and you might bestow the gift of your blood to any children you have.”

Suddenly, Sansa realized exactly what the light she hadn’t recognized in Lord Lannister’s cold green eyes was when they had discussed Lady and warging earlier. It had been greed. He’d seen her blood’s gift and wanted it for his own line. That hadn’t been something she had expected from the austere lord, considering his low opinion on Tyrion’s interest in dragons and magic, and the fact that most other houses, even in the North, seemed to avoid intermarrying too frequently with the Starks. She gripped a fistful of her skirt underneath her desk, dismayed to realize how poorly she’d miscalculated the lord’s interest.

“I have conditions of my own,” she stated firmly, if marrying into the Lannisters was as inevitable as she thought it would be, considering that it had happened in her last life as well, then she wasn’t going waste the opportunity to make her life easier or more comfortable.

He nodded his agreement to hear the conditions out. That was expected and even if the normal course was to discuss this with her father, he had no problem discussing it with her, especially since her father did not look capable of having such a discussion rationally.

She wet her lips and proposed, “The terms of the agreement begin when the betrothal is signed and provided that there is a credible threat to either House, prior military authorization is preapproved.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That is a lot of trust. What is the reason for that?”

Sansa arched a brow and pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth for a second to gather her thoughts before she addressed the lord’s concerns in a low calm voice, “It would mostly be trust on the North’s part, Lord Lannister, considering that the threat is in the North and the fact that my father will likely be down in King’s Landing for the foreseeable future. Military matters between Kingdoms typically require either the King’s or the Warden’s approval and that position does not automatically fall to Robb with my father as Hand. If anything urgent came up than getting messages all the way to King’s Landing from here or the Wall would take too much time and could potentially be disastrous.”

Tywin nodded, pleased that while the request was unusual it had a logical reason behind it. It was also an issue he hadn’t considered yet, so he was impressed with the girl’s forethought. It might not ultimately matter, especially if the wildlings weren’t as big of a threat as Lord Stark was concerned about, but it was impressive that she was thinking about how the power in her home would shift with her father in the capital. “I will agree provided that the military action has the approval of the Head of House or an agreed upon proxy whose territory the threat is in and that the goal of those actions may not be to overthrow either House or the heads of those respective Houses.”

Sansa cast her gaze downward and tapped her finger on her desk as she thought on the modification carefully. Getting the approval of House Stark rather than her father’s, as Warden would work for the situation north of the Wall, which is what she was truly concerned about. She didn’t want to have to waste time getting approval from her father for every military action in the North that Lord Lannister wanted to make against the threats to the north. It was also a more elegant solution than blanket preauthorization. She still didn’t trust the Great Lion with her family, but if she willingly bound their families together with a defense treaty, he would destroy his legacy if he renegaded on the agreement or hurt her family.

“That’s a reasonable compromise. My other conditions are more personal,” she said and glanced back over at the Westerlands lord as she continued, “I was born a Stark of Winterfell and I would remain as such for the rest of my days.”

“You have the oldest ruling bloodline in the land, keeping your name is reasonable. I can understand having pride in your name,” Tywin agreed easily, relaxing in his seat in the face of less serious requests.

“My next condition, if my father should also agree, is that I would like to be buried in Winterfell when I pass away,” Sansa said, eyes fixed firmly on her father rather than on Tywin Lannister as she made the request.

“Sansa, of course,” Ned choked out, pained at the thought that she believed he might refuse her and impossibly forlorn because she reminded him of another beautiful young Stark girl. This one with dark hair crowned with blue winter roses and framed by bloody sheets. She had also wanted to be buried in Winterfell’s crypts beside her father and brother. He could almost hear her whispered words on the wind, “Promise me, Ned.”

Tywin scowled at the underlying insult to House Lannister. It was one thing for a woman to keep her name if she was from a House of equal or greater standing, but it was a completely other thing to refuse to be buried with one’s husband and her own children. He crossed his arms and fought not to scoff at the girl’s ridiculous request as he asked stiffly, “That is an unusual request. All previous Lady Lannisters have been entombed with their husbands. Why should I consider such an unconventional demand at all?”

“I have cried more tears and spilled more of my own blood to House Stark than any Stark before me. My bones belong in the North,” she stated frankly with a hard, unflinching stare.

She had once spent all her effort denying the blood of the North that flowed through her veins, only to learn that she was no delicate Southern Princess like in their sweetly trilled songs, but a Winter Queen forged of ice and steel. She had spent years renouncing who she was and she refused to do so again. She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell, the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, and she would not rest where no wolves howled in the night.

Both Lannister men looked incredulous at such a claim stated as if it was truth. How was it possible that she believed she had given more blood than a soldier or more than someone like her uncle, Brandon Stark who had strangled himself trying to save his father from wildfire?

“Sansa Stark, Queen of Winter, The Last Stark in Winterfell,” whispered through the room in the Old Gods’ eerie tones.

“What, precisely was that?” demanded Lord Lannister imperiously after he regained his voice. His countenance was set in stern, unyielding lines and both he and his son were sitting rigidly in their chairs, scanning around the room with flinty eyes for the invisible threat. Jaime’s sword hand was once again hovering over the grip of his sword prepared to draw it in defense.

“Eight thousand years of silence from the Old Gods and now they won’t stop making my life difficult at the most inopportune times,” she muttered.

Sansa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Damn it! They were going to ruin everything. They had all but ensured that Tywin Lannister wouldn’t rest until she was a Lannister herself no matter what ridiculous requests she made. He also wasn’t a fool and wouldn’t believe anything less than the truth, nor was she sure that the Old Gods would let her lie so blatantly.

“Lord Lannister, I had an… “accident” with the Old Gods in the future. It’s part of why I don’t look three and ten like you no doubt anticipated. I was one and twenty when it happened, but I believe I’m maybe seven and ten now?” she trailed off trying to calculate her age in her head. It was confusing, especially since she didn’t know exactly how much time she’d been out of the Old God’s sight in her previous life.

“Stark is your daughter mad?” Ser Jaime asked, inching backwards and looking at her like she was contagious.

Ned shook his head but didn’t have time to speak.

“Sansa Stark, Queen of Winter, The Last Stark in Winterfell,” the Old Gods’ words came more insistently this time and seemed to rustle indignantly on her behalf.

Sansa rolled her eyes at both Ser Jaime’s and the Old Gods’ dramatics and continued to try to figure out her actual age in her head. How many moons had she been back now? Was it eight or nine? In her other time, she would have been two and twenty by now for sure, but she hadn’t the slightest idea how to keep precise track of her physical age.

“And what kind of accident did you have with your gods, Lady Sansa?” the Old Lion questioned, keeping his voice purposefully soft, and had she looked she would have seen the greed shimmering even more prevalently in his cunning eyes.

“The kind where everyone was dead or dying and I foolishly told the Old Gods that I would do anything to save them. Then they tripped me into the hot spring that warms Winterfell and I awoke younger with my long dead father calling out my name,” she answered absentmindedly at the gently asked question, not quite fully realizing the extent of the information she was giving to the cunning head of House Lannister.

“And the titles?” he prompted in the same leading pitch.

The shrewdness promptly trickled into her expression again and she gave the Great Lion a sharp, suspicious stare before she spoke, “For complicated political reasons the North declared its independence from the Iron Throne and then all my brothers died or abdicated until it was only Arya and I left. Arya, can’t be tied down to one place though and she wandered the seas looking for whatever is west of Westeros and then I truly was the Last Stark in Winterfell.”

Tywin nodded satisfied. “If, at the time of your death, you still wish to be buried in Winterfell I will allow it.”

Sansa folded her hands in front of her on the desk. “My last condition is that I wish to have a proper Godswood with weirwoods and that any children that result from the match may be taught both faiths,” she stated calmly, though she was aware that this was a much bigger request than her previous ones.

“That would be more difficult. You’re going to cause me trouble with the Faith of the Seven child,” he replied curtly.

“I have the favor of the Old Gods and I would keep it,” she insisted with an upward tilt of her jaw.

Truthfully, Tywin Lannister would have granted just about any request to get Lady Sansa and her knowledge for his House, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. He would be an absolute fool to pass up one of the highest noble born women in the land with knowledge of the future for his son. He might have thought her claim crazy without her father’s support, the apparent whispers of the Old Gods, and the display of magic in the form of her warging earlier in the day. Even if he didn’t personally believe in the Old Gods, those whispers were some type of magic and all the better if she could wield it on command.

“How do you know you still have their favor or that it would help you in the Westerlands?” he questioned with an affected dispassionate tone.

“As long as there is a heart tree they would help me,” she said and with a resigned look on her face, she continued, “If you are here for a few more weeks, I have no doubt that you will see how the Old Gods treat me.”

“Be that as it may, I will set aside some space and allow that, if I can have your assistance getting the white cloak off my son sooner rather than later,” he bargained.

He was skeptical that Lady Sansa had the ability to fulfill such a condition. However, she clearly didn’t think removing his son from the Kingsguard was impossible if she had invested so much energy into discussing terms with him. He already had plans of course, but he was prepared to be magnanimous if she could manage to give him the knowledge on how to strip the cloak from his son.

She surprised him and rendered him speechless when she stated without hesitation or doubt, “Deal. Consider it done, Lord Lannister.”

“Now Sansa! You can’t mean to-,” started Ned Stark, sounding truly angry for once.

“Father,” she said and stood up from behind her desk to walk over to him. When he looked up at her, she dropped her implacable mask she had kept up since the beginning of this discussion and squeezed his clenched fists comfortingly.

“What type of man would you have me marry if not the son and heir of another Lord Paramount and Warden?” she asked with a nostalgic smile. She still remembered what he had told her all those years ago in King’s Landing.

“I would find you a match with someone brave, gentle, strong, and most of all honorable,” he answered with an angry bite on the last attribute he listed.

“When Ser Jaime isn’t doing stupid things for his sister, he is all of those things,” she answered in a voice meant to soothe.  

Jaime practically squirmed in his seat, aware of the kinds of things a girl with future knowledge could know about him and his many misdeeds. That she had mentioned his sister at all made his palms sweat with nerves. It also made him suspicious of what the girl was saying, because he didn’t possess any of those traits, except for strength and his own tattered sense of honor.

Ned answered back furiously, “He didn’t kill Aerys for his sister. He is a kingslayer and an oathbreaker.”

Like a premonition or an echo of the story Brienne had once told her Sansa thought she knew what Ser Jaime Lannister would say if this was anyone else aside from the man that had given him that cursed title to begin with.

“And what a king he was, Father! The king that burned Grandfather and Uncle Brandon,” she retorted angrily.

“He served him well when serving was safe,” he said bitterly. He unclenched his fists and took her slender hands in his larger ones. He stared up at her imploringly from his seat behind his desk.

“He has forsaken his vows and he would forsake his to you too, my daughter,” he said intently, trying to make her understand that he couldn’t stand to see his little girl who had believed so strongly in the knights of the songs as a child be hurt in that way. It would break his most sentimental child’s romantic heart even if she no longer acted like she believed in the songs or stories anymore.

And then Sansa let Ser Jaime say the words she knew had built up for over fifteen years in him. He slouched sadly in his seat with his hands clamped tightly to the arms of the chair, but his words came out tired and defeated, “So many vows… they make you swear and swear. Defend the King. Obey the King. Keep his secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the gods. Obey the laws. It’s too much. No matter what you do, you’re forsaking one vow or the other.”

In the silence that followed his outpouring of words Sansa peered at the knight curiously, that wasn’t what she had thought he would say at all. He still wouldn’t tell her father that foolish, too proud for his own good, idiot. That was fine, Brienne had told Sansa herself after he passed away in King’s Landing and Sansa had always had an exceptional mind for remembering stories.

Her words were like crackling glass, clear and sharp, in the surrounding silence as she asked, “Would you like to know what really happened Father? Would you like to know why although everyone condemns him for it, Jaime Lannister considers putting his sword through the Mad King’s back his finest act? I admit that it’s been a while since I reviewed the acts of Ser Jaime Lannister, The Golden Lion, myself but I agree with him on that.”

She had the undivided attention of all three men, and she gave a smile that wasn’t a smile at all, for although her lips were upturned, her eyes were like ice and there was the wildness of the wolf in her expression that the Starks were so infamous for. Sansa had her share of wolfsblood too, she’d just always been better at disguising it, at wrapping it under layers of duty and honor and being a lady. Tywin Lannister was looking at her with keen interest, her father was in some sort of stunned disbelief and staring at her like he didn’t recognize her, and Jaime, well Jaime Lannister was gazing at her like she was his salvation.

“I see that look Father. You don’t believe me. I would have thought you learned by now, but here’s what you never asked and what Ser Jaime only confessed to one person before he died in my time. Luckily, that person was a dear friend of mine, so I can tell you what Ser Jaime is too proud to say,” she said, cutting her father with a cynical stare.

She cast her mind back to the words Brienne had once told her and began speaking quietly in the silent room, “Wildfire, I’m sure you remember how obsessed the Mad Kind was with it. He loved to watch people burn. He burned lords he didn’t like, he burned Hands that disobeyed him, he burned anyone that was against him and soon half the country was against him. Aerys was paranoid and saw traitors everywhere, so he had his pyromancer place caches of wildfire all over the city; beneath the Sept of Baelor, the slums of Flea Bottom, under houses, stables, taverns, even beneath the Red Keep itself.”

She continued weaving the tale without pause, but she stared at her father and watched as the horror crept into his eyes, “And when the Lannisters were at the gates promising to defend the city against the rebels- well seventeen-year-old Jaime Lannister knew his father better than that and he and Lord Varys both urged Aerys to surrender peacefully, but the Mad King didn’t listen to either of them. Aerys opened the gates and Lord Lannister sacked the city. Jaime begged the King again to surrender, but Aerys told him to bring him his father’s head instead. Then, that Mad King turned to his pyromancer. ‘Burn them all,’ he said. ‘Burn them in their homes, burn them in their beds,’”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa could see Jaime mouthing along the words in a stunned daze as she spoke, “So, first Ser Jaime killed the pyromancer and when the King turned to flee, he drove his sword into his back. ‘Burn them all,’ he kept saying, ‘Burn them all,’ and that’s when Ser Jaime slit the King’s throat,” she finished in the same grave tone she had begun the story in.

Ser Jaime was panting and slumped sideways in his chair, but the other two men were still staring with horrified fascination at her. She met her father’s stunned, wide gray eyes and asked with deceptive softness, “Tell me father, which oath was he supposed to uphold there? Was it: Defend the King? Obey the King? Obey your father? Protect the innocent? Defend the weak? Well, which is it, father? Is honor worth your father’s head or a half million innocent men, women, and children burned alive?”

“No,” he rasped out, sounding physically pained. He closed his eyes and tucked his chin to his chest in regret.

“Good, remember that. Honor got you killed last time and I refuse to watch it again. Did you know I wasn’t but six feet from you when I begged for mercy for you, but Joffrey chopped your head off on the steps of the Sept of Baelor anyway and called that mercy?” she asked, her voice firm and unyielding.

“Gods Sansa,” he said, and she’d never seen her father cry, but there were tears in his eyes now.

He’d never wish that on any of his children. He’d had nightmares when he’d heard how the Mad King had murdered his father and brother. And Sansa, sweet, trusting Sansa, had experienced something very similar in King’s Landing as her Uncle Brandon, only she’d had to live with it afterwards.

“I’d have killed a hundred mad kings for your head alone and probably a few sane kings too. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” she declared, her voice strained with choked back emotion.

 “It’s enough Sansa. If you want this match I will consent to it,” Ned croaked out. No wonder his daughter was so solemn if she’d watched him be beheaded. He didn’t understand her reasons, but if this was what she wanted then he wouldn’t stand in her way.

She had nearly forgotten why she had started telling that story. She nodded decisively, reigning in her fury and heartache and suggested, “I know King Robert has or will complain about how many Lannisters he is surrounded by in the capital. Suggest that he relieve Ser Jaime of his white cloak. Tell him you don’t trust him or like him. Whatever you think will work and when he tells you that Cersei won’t let him do so, tell him to wait to inform her until after the fact. I’m fairly certain he’ll agree if you make it one of your conditions for taking the Hand position. You’re one of the few people he’ll still occasionally listen to.”

“Alright Sansa. I’ll do it,” he capitulated tiredly with his head in his hands.

“Wait!” cried Jaime.

“You still need my consent and I’m not giving up my cloak,” he said stubbornly, breaking out of the stupor he had been in for the last few minutes.

He had held out hope that Ned’s infamous disdain for him would cancel out Lady Sansa’s agreement. That Lord Stark would be able to talk some sense into his daughter. He’d never counted on Lady Sansa knowing the truth about Aerys’s death. He’d never told anyone that and he’d been the only one left alive in the throne room at the end of it. Nonetheless, she had recounted the story exactly the way it replayed in his mind and exactly how he imagined telling people a thousand times, but never had.

Tywin growled dangerously, “You’re my son! You will if I tell you to, Jaime.”

Sansa shook her head softly at the Great Lion. “Pardon me, Lord Lannister, but that’s not the way,” she said gently, before sinking to her knees in front of the exhausted looking Lannister knight.

She pulled both of Ser Jaime’s hands into hers, idly noting that they were both made of flesh, lightly squeezed them, and lured his keen attention to her. She drew up all the good things she knew about the knight in her mind and none of the bad. She drew up her own experiences when he’d ridden alone to Winterfell to fight for the living, because it was the right thing to do and the stories she’d heard from Brienne, Podrick, Tyrion, and Bran.

Though she knew that he was far from innocent, Sansa had felt a certain measure of compassion for him after learning about his life. He’d been a pawn for most of his adult life either due to Aerys or his deranged sister and had only managed to break out of that role briefly before his death.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, Ser,” she told him, meeting his tired but sharp gaze with her own sympathetic one. To have one of his deepest secrets dragged out into the open unexpectedly after years of being shamed for it would wear out anyone.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a woman prostrated at my feet,” Jaime smirked as he spoke, but it was an exhausted thing.

“You should enjoy it while it lasts then. I haven’t kneeled for anyone since I became Queen,” she said airily.

He raised a brow and grinned sardonically as he answered, “Well I feel very special indeed then, Ice Queen.”

 “Jaime, Jaime, Jaime,” she said softly, and he shivered to hear his name spoken like a caress from her lips. She continued, “What am I going to do with you? It’s enough. You’ve tortured yourself enough. Leave the Kingsguard for your own sake. What do you care what others think about you? You’ve listened to their scorn enough and you don’t deserve any of it, not for that.”

He shook his head sadly, his hands limp in hers. “My honor. I can’t,” he wheezed out.

“There’s no honor in the Kingsguard,” she said sharply.

She sighed softly and then peered up into his tortured green gaze with her own expressive orbs that had melted from their steely winter color to the deep blue of the Sunset Sea near Casterly Rock.

She gentled her tone, “You can and you must. You’ll shatter what’s left of your good heart if you stay, Ser.”

“Did I tell you that myself?” he asked unable to break eye contact from her magnetic stare or remove his hands from her finely boned grip.

Sansa shook her head negatively.

“Then you can’t know that and good heart? I think you are thinking of someone else, Lady Sansa. I’m a hateful person,” he barked out with a bitter laugh.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. You are many things, not all of them good, but you aren’t built for hate, Jaime. The best part of you has always been your love,” she said tenderly before continuing on in steady voice, “I know a great many things about you Jaime Lannister, but I know that you will shatter your good heart, not because you told me, but because I was once a stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learned too.”

“I can’t say that I claim girlhood, my lady,” he said, but Sansa ignored him and ran her thumbs over his fingers and knuckles. He trembled in response to her soft touches and the way her words pierced straight through him.

“Ser Jaime, tell me, what do you do with mad kings?” she asked, her upturned face as solemn as any Stark’s before her.

He shrugged indifferently and answered, “Rebel, I guess.”

She shook her head and implored, “No, not what does the realm do. What does Ser Jaime Lannister do with mad kings?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. He was exhausted and too wrung out already to continue playing twenty questions with her. “We just finished talking about what I do with mad kings, Lady Sansa. I run them through with my sword,” he said with an arrogant shrug.

Her eyes were regretful, as if she could tell how miserable he felt, as she asked lightly, “And when that mad king is your sister’s son? What do you do then?”

Jaime sat straight up and stiffened in alarm. “No. No, Cersei would never allow that! She wouldn’t,” he denied. Cersei knew how he hated the Mad King, even if she didn’t know the full extent or precise reason that he had killed him.

Sansa sighed. “Jaime, you’ve learned this lesson before. Even if she wanted to stop it, Queens don’t control Kings and especially not mad ones,” she reminded him patiently.

“You’re lying,” he repeated, but he didn’t rip his hands out of hers, so she continued to rub his comfortingly.

She tilted her head and asked, “Have you ever seen her say no to Joffrey? And when sweet little Tommen and bright Myrcella run into Joffrey in the Red Keep, do they flinch? Are they too quiet despite being fine a moment before? Does Tommen already hide his kittens with their too adorable names?”

He shook his head in meager protest. “I don’t believe you. You’re making this all up!”

Sansa smiled unhappily; she knew what it felt like to have hard truths thrown in your face and she didn’t wish to inflict it on anyone else. “I wish that I were, but this I can actually prove to you. I’ll need your cloak first though.”

“Damn it, woman! I’m not marrying you,” he growled out.

“I actually meant the one you were wearing right now. Not a marriage cloak. You’re the only one in the room with one. I wasn’t trying to trick you. I reserve that for my adversaries,” she soothed sheepishly.

He settled down in his seat, though he was still guarded. “Alright then. What do you need it for?” he asked.

“I’ll give it back in a minute,” she said side-stepping the question. She nodded toward the clasp and asked, “May I?” when he didn’t make any motion to unclasp it himself.

He swallowed and nodded. With slow fingers designed not to spook him she unclasped the fastening and dragged the cloak from his shoulders, the thick fabric brushing only lightly against him. She was careful not to graze her fingers against him and she stared unguardedly into his eyes the whole time so that he could read her intentions. She could read enough in his expression to know that he was feeling cornered and dangerously close to snapping.

“Last time around when I was a stupid little girl with stupid dreams, I didn’t want someone who was brave, gentle, and strong. I wanted a golden-haired prince who I was convinced would grow up to be all those things. And babes. I did want those too. All the things a noble girl of three and ten is taught to want,” explained Sansa quietly, she had no reason to speak louder as the room was dead silent listening to her.

She smiled again, but it wasn’t like any of the smiles he’d seen from her thus far, this one was wistful and heartbroken, and it pained him to see it on her face. It reminded him too much of himself when he looked into the mirror those first few years after he’d slain Aerys Targaryen.

Her voice came out mournfully and he could hear the hint of self-loathing in it when she said, “So I was betrothed to the crown prince and we left Winterfell. They killed my sweet Lady before we ever got near King’s Landing. She’s the other half of my soul, you know? But still I convinced myself that Joffrey was what I wanted.”

She swallowed and blinked back tears. Jaime thought the glassy sheen only made her blue eyes more captivating and he could no more tear his eyes from her than he could force the sun to rise in the west. “Then in King’s Landing, King Robert died, they called my father a traitor, and our families went to war with each other. I know that you know what happens to little girls of three and ten or four and ten in King’s Landing during war, Ser.”

“Lady Sansa, stop,” he begged and began to tremble more violently. He didn’t want to hear this. He wanted to cover his ears like a child, but his hands were shaking so much that he doubted he could. He gripped the leg of his pants in an effort to still them or at least hide the trembling and still he could not look away.

“I cannot stop. You called me a liar and I would prove you wrong,” she stated, her expression still somber and regretful. Although she had refused his plea out loud, she desperately wanted nothing more than to stop. She didn’t want to relinquish this secret; hadn’t thought she would ever need to drag her shame out into the open again.

“Father, would you bring me my desk chair?” she asked without breaking their shared eye contact and Jaime shuttered out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding

Her father looked at her inquisitively but retrieved the chair as she had asked. He set it in front of the two Lannister men and watched her closely. He hadn’t heard this story either and he wondered what she could possibly be planning on showing this man that she thought would be able to change his mind.

She sat backwards in the chair with the Lannister’s scarlet cloak pressed tightly to her chest with one hand. “I’m actually quite glad neither you, nor your father, were in the capital at the time, since neither of you condone senseless violence against women or children.”

She reached behind her back with her free hand and tugged at her gown’s laces. When she had loosened it enough, she shrugged the gown off her shoulders and arms, one at a time, to pool at her waist. This dress luckily hadn’t required that she wear a shift with it, and she had been too warm to consider putting on extra layers she didn’t need when she dressed that morning.

She clutched the cloak tighter to her chest, ironically thankful that it was Ser Jaime’s crimson Lannister cloak, rather than the man’s Kingsguard cloak and brushed her long hair aside to reveal her scarred back. There was a distraught gasp and the sound of a chair scrapping harshly behind her that she thought came from her father, but she kept her eyes determinedly forward as she recounted, “For you see, I chirped their little songs about how I still loved King Joffrey even though my father, mother, and brothers were all traitors, but I was beaten still. Every time my brother beat your armies in a battle I was called before the Iron Throne during court and made to kneel and beg while I was stripped and beaten. Keep in mind, my brother won every battle he fought, and he had no idea I was being beaten for his success. Sometimes, I believe that I was beaten just for Joffrey’s pleasure.”

“Ser Jaime, do you recognize the weapon I was beaten with?” she asked flatly, all the emotion having drained out of her voice during her recital.

There were dozens of marks layered over each other. Jaime raised his hand to run his fingers across the raised scars that marred the delicate skin on her back. They were white with age, having long since been fully healed, but they were unmistakable. He felt, more than saw, the aborted flinch she made before she froze in complete stillness at the touch of his hand. He felt the moment she realized the touch was only his hand and that he wasn’t trying to harm her. It grieved him deeply that a young girl who had likely grown-up idolizing tales of knights and the maidens they saved would flinch from his touch when all he had ever wanted, all he had ever dreamed of as a boy, was to be a knight as noble and as valiant as Ser Arthur Dayne.

Jaime did not keep his fingers on her skin long. Both because he knew the lady in front of him was distressed by it and because the compulsion to touch her skin had been more to prove to himself that the scars were real than any desire to touch her. After all, he hadn’t truly needed to touch her to know what weapon was used. There was only one thing in the Red Keep that was as long as her scars and cut so perfectly straight.

Ire burned low in his gut at the evidence on the lady’s skin. He worked his jaw for a moment before he was able to get out the words to answer her, “It was a blade. He beat you with the flat of a sword.”

Her voice was still stilted as if she was somewhere else, somewhere far away as she spoke, “No, Jaime. You’ve misunderstood. Joffrey didn’t beat me himself. He commanded his Kingsguard to do it while he sat on the Iron Throne with a crossbow aimed at my heart and watched. He told them not to hit my face, because he liked me pretty. I’m certain if he had been standing while he was having me beat, I would have been able to tell just how much pleasure he was deriving from it.”

“I would never!” he swore as he stood up suddenly, knocking his chair over from the force. Oh gods, he had thought he’d stopped caring about acting honorably after everyone had reviled him for being a king slayer, but apparently, he was wrong; there was still some part of him that cared.

The woman flinched at the sound and then turned her head just enough to meet his indignant gaze. “Then he would have killed you,” she said in that same flat, detached tone.

“Death would be better,” he insisted obstinately, panting from the intensity of his emotions.

“Better for who Jaime? Certainly not me. He would have just replaced you with someone crueler who would gleefully obey his command. I would have rather you just beat me softer as Ser Aerys Oakheart did,” she uttered lowly, her blue eyes distant and listless as they bored into his.

He let out a wounded little noise. He recognized the stilted tone and faraway gaze as part of the same method he’d used to go away inside when Aerys had been committing atrocities in front of him and he’d been helpless to act.

“The Kingsguard really did this?” he asked dully, not really needing her confirmation. Her words devastated him and tore at his heart. A softer beating was what she would have wished from him had he been there? Not that he would refuse or save her. Just that he would only inflict the minimum amount of damage. He hadn’t become a knight to beat gentle ladies. The thought of such a thing left him sick with despair.

 He ran a hand through his long hair and tugged on the ends. Gods, he was stupid, so fucking stupid. He thought he’d already been through the worst he would have to endure as a Kingsguard, but the proof was written on her skin that there was still more he could be dishonored by in the service of the King. Lady Sansa was right about him. When would he ever learn?

She nodded. “The knights all did. The only one who never did was Sandor Cleagane, the Hound, who both refused to speak the vows, but also refused to beat me.”

One-handed she began to shrug back into the sleeves of her dress. She pulled the gown over her shoulders one side at a time. Glancing back over her shoulder to look fully at the men, Sansa was startled to see both her father and Lord Lannister looking heartbroken and the type of shocked that comes with being lost in memories. Only Ser Jaime appeared a little better than the other two men. He at least looked determined too.

“Could you help me tighten my laces back up, Ser? I cannot completely do them up by myself with only one hand,” she murmured quietly in an attempt not to disturb the two other men from their contemplative states.

He nodded and walked the few steps towards her to close the distance. Gently, he lifted her by the elbow to help her stand up, lest she trip on her long skirts that were tangled around the legs of the chair. He guided her out of the other’s direct line of sight and stood between her and them to preserve her dignity as much as possible while he helped her. He brushed her long coppery cascade of hair back over her shoulder so the locks wouldn’t get caught in the laces. He tugged at the laces to tighten her into the gown and tied them with practiced ease.

“Alright Lady Sansa, you win. I’ll let them strip me of my white cloak and then I shall cloak you in my own and bring you under my protection,” he murmured from behind her, his breath ghosting the shell of her ear. He ran his hands over her shoulders to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress and turned her to face him. She suppressed the shiver that tried to work its way down her spine at the feel of his breath on her skin and his barely-there touch.

He dropped his hands from her shoulders abruptly to take his crimson cloak back when she pressed it into his hands. Her lips quirked up into a parody of a smile. “I’m not asking for your protection, Ser. No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone.”

“Who taught you that Little Wolf? It’s not true, else what are knights for?” he asked lowly, caught up in the little bubble they had created around them.

“Everyone all my life taught me that. No one who has ever said they would protect me has ever done so. Anyone I ever trusted to do so either ended up dead, used me, or abused me. And Knights? Knights are for killing. The Hound taught me that. It’s fine though, all men are killers. Even I was,” she finished with a nonchalant shrug.

He stared at her for a moment before retorting imperiously, “No one would dare harm the Kingslayer’s wife.”

She scoffed in response to his arrogant words, “Ambitious and stupid men alike will dare a lot when the reward is high enough.”

Jaime feigned an exasperated sigh. “I’m going to have to teach you about appropriate pillow talk when we’re married too, aren’t I?”

She furrowed her brow. “What’s that?”

His eyes widened in alarm and he glanced back to see that both of their fathers were paying them no mind. “Oh no, that’s a conversation for after we’re wed and your father, who probably still hates me, is not in the room.”

She tilted her head and said, “Technically, I was married twice before, but I still don’t know what you’re referring to.”

He blinked down at her before humming out, “Two husbands? Ah, they must have been the type to fall asleep immediately after lying with you rather than talking.”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I was four and ten the first time and your brother never consummated it.”

Jaime sputtered, “My brother? Well, I suppose that’s a good thing. I won’t have to kill my own brother now.”

Her eyes were lost now, no longer focused on anything, but she continued speaking hauntingly, “I should have stayed married to him. He was the best of them. My second husband was much worse than even Joffrey. He enjoyed leaving me hurt and bleeding.”

Jaime inhaled deeply in an effort to calm himself. He tipped Sansa’s chin up with the gentlest of touches to meet her eyes. When the clarity returned to her gaze he vowed solemnly, “You will never have to worry about that from my hand.”

She lifted a corner of her mouth slightly not commenting on his oath, she wasn’t sure that she trusted any husband of hers not to strike her. “Luckily, however the magic of the Old Gods worked, I didn’t have to continue bearing those scars,” she tried to reassure him.

Jaime closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He wasn’t the slightest bit reassured and he hadn’t failed to notice that she wasn’t comforted by his words, which he was intelligent enough to infer meant that she didn’t believe him. It was no wonder she didn’t believe in knights or romantic notions anymore and that all men were killers. How did so much misfortune even befall one girl?

“Where might one find your illustrious second husband at the present moment?” he asked with forced lightness.

“At the Dreadfort,” she answered him after a brief pause, unable to comprehend the reason he was asking.

“A Bolton. I should have guessed. If you’ll excuse me, my lady I have a four-day hard ride to prepare for,” he said tightly. He moved to step away from her, but she caught his wrist.

“Don’t be foolish. I killed him the first time and I’ll make sure he’s dead again as soon as he gives me cause. I promised him the first time that his Words and House would disappear, and I mean to keep it even in this timeline,” she purred with dark promise.

“Are you going to send him poison? I assure you steel is more satisfying,” he told her in an attempt to distract himself from the appealing way her voice sounded when she was spouting murder and vengeance. He had a feeling that he probably shouldn’t find it as attractive as he did.

“It was more satisfying than that the first time. Another time I will tell you about it if you wish,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Hmm, yes another time we’ll discuss your abysmal taste in men and how to keep you safe from them,” he said.

Sansa grinned up at him impishly. “Are you including yourself in that?”

He chuckled taken aback at her humor, “Oh, most definitely.”

She tugged at his wrist where she hadn’t dropped her hand from. “Come on. Let’s go tell your father the only news he’s wanted to hear for more than fifteen years. My father seems too overwhelmed. It’s probably a good thing he wasn’t listening just now,” she said, worrying at her bottom lip.

“Lady Sansa, I’ve only just met you today and I would like to run a sword through your tormentors and at least one, if not both, of your ex-husbands, one of whom is apparently my own beloved brother. Give your father a few more days before you break his heart entirely, if you plan on telling him,” he advised.

She frowned. “I never planned to tell him about Joffrey,” she said sadly.

In fact, she’d never wanted to tell anyone about her time in King’s Landing, but especially not her father, who always stood so tall in her memories. She never wanted to tell him about the times when she couldn’t do the same, when she’d kneeled before false kings and monsters, when they had shamed and humiliated her in public and in private, when she’d had to denounce her very blood, or when she’d learned to lie as easily as she breathed.

She’d never wanted her father to know what she’d done in order to survive. She didn’t want to see his disgust or disappointment in his eyes whenever he looked at her. She didn’t wish for him to look at her any different than he’d always looked at her, like she was the daughter he adored, but didn’t always understand.

Jaime glanced around the solar, Lord Stark was leaning on the mantle staring into the empty fireplace with one hand buried in Lady’s fur, but his father was exactly where they had left him.

“Lord Lannister?” Sansa tried, but his father continued to appear lost in thought.

Jaime sunk down in the adjacent chair and cleared his throat, “Father?”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened to its normal piercing stare as he took in his son and the lady standing next to him. “What was that son?” he asked evenly as if nothing had happened at all.

He expelled the breath he was holding and answered, “I’ll consent, Father. I’ll give up my white cloak.”

Tywin raised a brow and smirked faintly at the two of them. “My future good daughter is apparently a miracle worker.”

He nodded at her, shaking off his preoccupied demeanor. “Thank you, Lady Sansa. I’ll write up a contract this evening with the terms we discussed, and you and your father can look it over tomorrow before signing it.”

“I believe that would be agreeable, my lord,” she answered politely, smoothing her skirts and clasping her hands demurely in front of her.

She looked back over and met Ser Jaime’s gaze. Then, while smiling a sweet lover’s smile, she bent down to whisper in his ear, “I don’t care if you fuck your sister every day from now until the wedding or even after it. But should my brother, Bran, catch you while he’s climbing and you let your vile sister convince you to push him out the window again, then you better pray you remember to do it with your left hand, because I shall take the hand that pushed him. I hear that wielding a sword and pleasuring yourself is much harder with only your left hand.”

She straightened herself back up, smiling still, and he answered it with one of his own devious grins and said, “My, my, Lady Sansa, you do have a way with words. I had no idea you were such a poet.”

“Well, reading and composing poetry is a traditional pastime for proper young ladies and I’ve always been both a proper lady and a fan of poetry, especially the ones where poetic justice is served to those who deserve it,” she chirped at him.

Jaime would have considered a threat from a mere girl of seven and ten humorous in any other context, except that he could clearly read the danger and grim resolve in her eyes. There was nothing in her posture to indicate that they were discussing anything other than her taste in literature, but he knew that her words were no idle threat. Since Jaime considered his sword hand the best part of him and his continued ability to participate in his two favorite activities vitally important, he’d take care to heed that warning, even if it was uttered by a slender woman almost a dozen years younger than him who didn’t look like she’d ever lifted a weapon in her life.

Chapter Text

Once Sansa was sure that her threat of dismemberment had been received by her soon-to-be betrothed. She nodded to the two men and made her way back to the lady’s desk she had used during the meeting. She put all her notes in one pile and the start of the trade agreement in a separate one so that she could continue working on it later that evening. She glanced briefly out the window to check the position of the sun and determined that it was only just now time for the midday meal, which meant she had plenty of time to draft the official copies of the agreement even if her father wasn’t able to assist her after the revelations from today.

Tywin broke her concentration by standing up from his seat beside his son and asking, “Lady Sansa, is there someplace private where I could speak with my son around here?”

She looked up to meet the man’s steady gaze and was surprised, but thankful not to read any condemnation in his eyes. He seemed like the type to believe that one shouldn’t ever be the victim, but perhaps that was because of her familiarity with Cersei, who tried to emulate her father. It was clear after speaking to the man one on one that even Cersei at her most clever had never approached Lord Tywin Lannister’s political prowess. Or perhaps he was just thankful enough that she’d cleared the way to remove his heir from the Kingsguard that he was not inclined to judge her for girlhood mistakes.

She cocked her head slightly and drummed her fingers noiselessly on her desk as she considered the request. She assumed that he meant more private than his or Jaime’s room in the First Keep. It was hardly private with so many people in and out of the structure. While convenient for keeping her brother Bran from climbing and falling from the Broken Tower, it was not conducive for the kind of conversation she suspected Lord Lannister needed to have with his son. Which meant that she would need to offer up a Stark exclusive space for them.

“There is. You may use my personal solar down the hall, since I mainly work here, and no one would look for you there or you may use the Godswood. Only my family ever goes there, but everyone will be too busy with the royal party or the hunt this afternoon to be there at this time,” she answered.

“Then I would like to go to the Godswood, if possible,” Lord Lannister said after a moment of silent calculation.

“If you take Lady, she can show you the way and ensure that there aren’t any little birds listening in,” she offered while she looked back down at her pile of work.

“How do I know that you won’t be listening?” he asked, turning his suspicious stare on her.

Sansa lifted her head and raised a brow at the Lord of Casterly Rock and thought that maybe she didn’t know what he wanted to discuss with his son. She answered him steadily, “I suppose that you don’t, but I have no desire to spy on you, Lord Lannister. I will tell you as a sign of trust and reassurance that my bond with Lady is too new for that. I don’t have the ability to manage that for such a prolonged period of time. I also managed well enough in my last life without resorting to spying.”

Tywin took in the lady’s form and could not detect any deceit in her. It wouldn’t do any good for her to lie to him either, pretty soon she would be betrothed and married to his son and therefore under his rule and protection. Lying and spying now would only disadvantage her and possibly the agreements that she wanted in place. If he wasn’t mistaken, the agreements were what had caught her attention rather than the power that being wed to the heir of the wealthiest house in Westeros would grant her. He held back a scoff. The Starks were always so concerned with winter and the Wall that it hadn’t been difficult to get the lady to agree to his proposal once he’d offered to help with both of those.

“Then the offer of your wolf as a guard would be greatly appreciated, my lady” he said nodding at her.

Sansa flicked her hand at her direwolf. Lady rose from her position and shook out her fur before she trotted out the door, looking back expectantly at the Lannister men when they didn’t immediately follow her. When Jaime reached Lady’s side, she nuzzled her snout under his hand affectionately then set off for a course outside. Tywin watched with dry amusement behind the two as his son alternated between speeding up and slowing down in an attempt to move from the side of the large wolf. However, Lady was more determined than his son and she never let him get in front of or behind her on the way there, she just continued to keep pace at his side. She wagged her tail up at him like she was a friendly overgrown hound especially when Jaime huffed out an exasperated breath and gave up.

They did not cross paths with many people on the way that Lady took them to the Starks’ Godswood. Once they were in the quiet of the Godswood, under the largest weirwood tree either of them had seen, and Lady was laying some feet away in a pool of sunshine that glimmered through the leaves of the trees, Tywin observed mildly, “I can see why she wants one of these at Casterly Rock. It’s very peaceful and serene.”

“Yes, it is,” Jaime agreed, letting his gaze wander over the foreign landscape. He thought Lady Sansa’s wolf looked right at home between the weirwoods and the hot springs, like a patch of snow on the otherwise clear forest floor. He considered that with her vivid coloring, Lady Sansa would match the weirwoods and scenery prettily as well.

Distaste and displeasure twisted together on Tywin’s face as he asked, “I would hear it from your own mouth. Is Cersei the reason you’ve never wanted to take up your duties to your House for all these years? Why you have been determined to stay in King’s Landing as a glorified bodyguard when you should be in the Westerlands?”

Jaime whipped his head toward his father, trying to determine how much his father knew. His stomach sank, the disappointment and disgust were easy to read on his father’s face, and Jaime knew that his and Cersei’s secret was no longer hidden anymore. Somehow his father knew, though Jaime wasn’t sure how he had discovered it or what Tywin Lannister was planning on doing with the information.

From between clenched teeth, Jaime hissed out a quiet, “Yes.”

“And the children?” Tywin questioned in a voice that brooked no room for lies. Jaime remembered the tone from his childhood and he was just as intimidated by it now as he had been at ten years old.

Jaime looked up at his father and swallowed hard before nodding. He’d never been ashamed of his relationship before but seeing the results on Sansa Stark’s pale skin as she flatly recounted the pain and abuse she had suffered at the command of his ill-begotten son had started a seed of regret. It would have been bad enough if Joffrey was only a future lord, but he and Cersei had made him a future king, with nearly unlimited power and no one to check his behavior or ensure that he turned into a fair ruler.

Jaime knew that people said that it was the generations of incest that had caused the Targaryens’ madness and he had engaged in the same type of behavior without care or thought for the consequences. His own parents were first cousins and he and Cersei were twins which was as close as they could be to being the same person as was physically possible. It was probably a miracle that all of their children weren’t mad, stupid, horribly deformed, or all three.

“I struggle to comprehend why the two of you would shame our House in such a vulgar way. That was selfish and stupid of you both. Do you even understand what would have happened if you were discovered? You would have gotten yourselves killed and there would have been nothing I could have done in enough time from the Westerlands. It will stop immediately for everyone’s safety,” Tywin demanded through tight lips, struggling to keep his ire under control. He’d rarely been tempted to hit his son, but he was sorely tempted to right now. He largely believed that physical violence was for lesser men, so he lectured and taught lessons they wouldn’t forget when the physical pain faded.

He had no doubt which one of his children was the mastermind of this plan either. It reeked of his daughter’s self-centeredness and shoddy planning. If this weren’t a deadly and deeply disgraceful secret for his family, he would confront his daughter over her actions too. He had half a mind to do so anyway, but he wasn’t stupid enough to do it with the many people who surrounded her at any given moment and if he had to try to talk sense into one of his stupid, arrogant children, Jaime was more likely to listen. Everywhere had listening ears, especially with the King in attendance, and he was hesitant to even discuss this with his son out in the open, even though the North had the fewest eavesdroppers in Westeros. However, it was too dangerous to leave this behavior unchecked. The two of them could have ended the whole Lannister line if it were discovered by the wrong people.

Jaime nodded swiftly, unwilling to challenge his father over this topic, especially when he agreed that it was too dangerous to continue and that the consequences of their actions were already more than he could bear. He’d sired another mad king and made his nightmares a reality again. “How did you find out? Lady Sansa never outright said.”

Tywin couldn’t bear to look at his son, but his golden green eyes were cold and furious as he gritted out, “She didn’t, but there are very few things I would go to war with the North over anymore and that would get Ned Stark killed for honor. All my reasons either share my name or the Lannister look. I’ve also been traveling with you and your sister for a fortnight and neither of you are as subtle as you think you are. You’re fortunate not to have already been discovered.”

Tywin curled his lip and continued speaking, “It wasn’t hard to read between the lines when Lady Sansa was describing Joffrey to you either. She clearly knows something, but you better hope that Lord Stark never finds out. He’s too honorable to let the matter rest despite the political ramifications of such a move.”

“If she wants the agreement to stand then I doubt she’ll tell her father. Lady Sansa said she didn’t care if we continued as long as no one got hurt. That was what she whispered to me at the end,” he assured his father.

“As you won’t be continuing, that better not be a problem. I will not have House Lannister’s reputation tarnished again. If I find out you’ve disobeyed me in this, neither you nor Cersei will like the consequences. Do you understand?” he warned his son. As this secret had the possibility of destroying his House, he would take drastic measures if he needed too. He was certainly outraged enough at the abject depravation of their actions to rain down catastrophic consequences on his children without pause or regret. He’d never slay his own kin, but there were a wide variety of consequences that didn’t involve death.

“Yes father,” he answered solemnly and surreptitiously wiped his sweaty palms on his pant legs. He knew what kind of horrible things his father was capable of if he didn’t heed his warning and he had no desire to personally experience any of them. Gods forbid his father ever learned that Lady Sansa was a dab hand at poetic retribution. He shivered at the thought of them working together. While his father might not allow her to maim his heir, he had more than proven that he would allow and could enact worse consequences for his children and the people they loved.

Jaime sighed and changed the topic, “Did you promise Lady Sansa a long betrothal or just that she didn’t have to travel south soon?”

Some of the rigidness of his stance drained away as Tywin accepted the change in conversation. “I don’t believe I promised her anything specific, but I told her father he could keep her for a few more years to help with winter preparations in the North while he is Hand.”

“Why?” he asked flicking his eyes to the side to look at his son, whose expression had shifted to one of grim resolve.

“I think I’m going to have to wrap her in my cloak sooner rather than later,” Jaime answered, crossing his arms with a scowl, thinking about what Lady Sansa had revealed about her consistently poor treatment. He had heard and watched enough women be beat and raped to last him several lifetimes. If he could protect one, especially from a problem he had inadvertently helped cause, he would.

Tywin raised a sardonic brow, the ire melting the rest of the way from his face to be replaced by faint amusement as he mused, “Ah the dangers of being betrothed to a beautiful maiden with a potential claim to more than half the continent.”

Oh gods, he was betrothed. Even though he had been standing still, Jaime stumbled when the fact hit him. He threw his hand out against the weirwood tree to stabilize himself. Idly he noted that the smooth bark underneath his fingers felt smooth like parchment. What exactly had he done? He had spent more than half his life avoiding such a thing since Cersei wouldn’t agree to leave with him. Now, in one conversation, he had agreed to take up a wife and the Westerlands. When he thought about the alternative, staying in the Kingsguard, he found he just couldn’t bear to stay, not even to remain with his twin.

He wouldn’t and couldn’t participate in a mad king’s atrocities, and he didn’t think he had the will to watch it happen all over again. Nothing was worth the stain and self-loathing that would inflict on his soul. It was bad enough when he had been incapable of helping a brutalized woman, but to be ordered to inflict the damage himself, when he didn’t have the option to refuse or kill the king that had ordered such a despicable thing, he’d rather die or be dishonored by being the first Kingsguard to be removed from his service than to follow those orders.

“Wait I know that the North is big, but it’s just one kingdom and certainly not the most populous one at that,” Jaime said with a confused frown marring his face as he glanced up toward his father.

His father’s face smoothed into pleased lines, though no true smile had graced his face since the death of Jaime’s mother. “There are no heirs to the Riverlands after her uncle, Edmure Tully and the Vale only has one sickly child from her maternal aunt. The next heir is some distant nobody cousin. In addition to having other distant cousins there through her paternal line, Ned Stark fostered with Jon Arryn as a child and is very well liked there still. If Lady Sansa or her brother wanted the Vale, they could probably have it with only a little work required on their part. With her marriage to you, that will be four of the seven kingdoms that she’ll have direct political connections to.”

Tywin paused to let his son absorb the information before continuing with a pleased smirk, “Congratulations my son, even without the Stark’s natural gifts, you’re marrying probably the most powerful girl on the continent. Not even your sister, as queen, has that much innate potential power.”

Jaime stared at his father in something approaching shock and consternation. This was no spur of the moment proposal on his father’s part. He sputtered out, “Exactly how long have you been planning this?”

“I’d hoped that in a few years when Lady Sansa was a bit older that I could convince you or strong arm the King into stripping your white cloak from you. It’s why I’ve let the King borrow so much gold from House Lannister, but it was a far-off distant plan until I met her today,” he shrugged casually, but there was satisfied gleam lingering in his eyes.

Tywin knew that many people, including his Cersei, thought that he was funding the Crown because his daughter was Queen. However, while he would have loaned enough gold to the Crown to stabilize the realm after Robert’s Rebellion, he wouldn’t have continued to lend obscene amounts of gold for close to fifteen years for that reason. Instead Tywin had planned to call in the debt within a few years and when the Crown inevitably couldn’t pay, he would demand his heir back to satisfy a portion of the debt. Now though, with Lady Sansa’s help he could call back the debt sooner and he would be able to get back everything he had loaned out with interest. He was quite pleased with the way that had turned out. Lady Sansa had given him back much more than she likely knew.

Jaime asked, “Why today? Why didn’t you wait until I’d already been stripped of my cloak or until she was a little older? Even with her aged up a bit, she’s still just a girl half my age and not even the heir. She still has three brothers before her in line to inherit.”

“Weren’t you listening? Sansa Stark isn’t just any girl, even before her gods interceded, she was always going to be highly sought after. She’s got the oldest bloodline on the continent and a lot of innate political connections. Now that her gods have intervened, she also has invaluable knowledge of the future, which makes her the key to our House succeeding,” he said pinching the bridge of his nose.

Tywin continued with a sneer, “I offered for her today specifically, because I was concerned that bumbling fool would persuade Stark to make his daughter queen or that another House would steal her away before I could convince Lord Stark to promise her to you; perhaps the Tyrells, Martells, her sickly cousin in the Vale, or some lowly vassal house in the North. Having seen the girl’s looks, I imagine that Lord Stark has been refusing offers for the girl left and right ever since she was old enough to walk. I don’t doubt that his bannermen will be furious to discover that they’ve lost the chance for her hand.”

Tywin huffed, annoyed that his son didn’t seem to grasp the politics of the match or the fact that with her knowledge Sansa Stark could make or break dynasties. As he intended to have his line last for another thousand years, he wouldn’t pass an opportunity like that up. He thought he had taught his son better, but this whole day was revealing that neither of his older children had an ounce of sense between them.

Jaime could privately admit that Lady Sansa Stark was stunningly beautiful. She had clearly taken the best characteristics of both houses that she was descended from. He’d never known his father to be wrong about a person’s political worth either. Which meant that she was a rare treasure for the Great Houses to fight over to gain more power and influence. His father had even had plans for her years before she could have been useful to anyone.

Jaime frowned and ran a hand down his face slowly. He desperately wanted to hit something or hack at something with his sword. “Fuck, no wonder she doesn’t think anyone capable of protecting her if everyone is fighting over her like a piece in their stupid game already.”

Tywin’s gold flecked eyes fastened on his son. “She told you that?” he asked sharply.

“She told me that no one could protect her. That no one could protect anyone,” Jaime repeated the grim words that she had told him with growing agitation. It infuriated him that Lady Sansa had been so ill-treated before that she didn’t believe anyone could keep her safe, that she didn’t trust him enough to keep her safe even though he had sincerely meant the words he had spoken. He slouched against the tree behind him. He supposed he couldn’t blame her though, after all what good were words from an oathbreaker.

“A general warning then,” Tywin said relaxing. “If you get her to agree and you’ll stay in the North with her while she prepares for winter, I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t marry her immediately after you get your white cloak off.”

“That might be possible,” Jaime answered looking back at the castle where he would likely be stuck for a few years, surrounded by the northmen who despised him. He cast his eyes back to his father’s tall form across from him and cocked his head. “I’m surprised you believed her story about her brush with the gods and future knowledge.”

Tywin clasped his hands behind his back and answered, “I don’t care for the gods, but it isn’t because I don’t believe in them or magic. The last of the dragons died out only a hundred and fifty years ago, there’s blood magic in Essos, and whatever magic the Red Priestesses practice. Even Lady Sansa’s connection with her direwolf is some type of magic. Besides the gods are capricious cunts and it sounds about right that the gods would throw a little Northern girl almost ten years into the past rather than just preventing or fixing the problem themselves.”

Tywin raised a brow and accused, “I know you believed her too, I saw how rattled you were when she was talking about Aerys.”

Jaime shivered at the reminder and whispered. “I’ve never told anyone what happened and she recounted it like she was there, but the only one there was me. It was almost word for word how I’ve envisioned telling that story a hundred times. So, she’s either a mind reader or telling the truth.”

“Yes, which is why you aren’t going to screw this up. You’re going to end things with Cersei immediately. Then you are going to court Sansa Stark until she is so firmly bound to you that the only name on her lips is yours and her loyalty to you is guaranteed. I don’t care if you must seduce her or if I have to rush a wedding. Do you understand?” Tywin commanded with an intensity that was surprising even for him.

Jaime looked at his father like he was mad, “Father I’m not going to-”

Tywin’s voice was harsh as he said, “You will do as you are told. You are to ruin other men for her. I don’t care if that’s with jewels, silk, or a lover's touch so long as you succeed. A woman like that cannot be bound by anything but love. She might do the noble thing for justice, survive for duty, or fight for honor, but that kind of woman would sacrifice every one of those noble concepts for love and you’re going to want that type of devotion for yourself and your House.”

Jaime shook his head emphatically and countered back bitterly. “I don’t need her love. I’m not marrying her for love. I’m marrying her for her own protection and because I can’t stay in the Kingsguard anymore with what I know.”

“I don’t care if you love her back, Jaime. You just need to secure Lady Sansa’s love and devotion. A woman like that would give you everything you ever desired in the name of love, whether you deserved it or not,” Tywin said firmly without a hint of doubt.

“I already have love. I don’t need hers,” Jaime retorted sharply. Even if it was forbidden now, he and Cersei would always love each other. They were two halves of the same whole.

“You don’t have that,” Lord Tywin snapped back annoyed and held his hand up to stall Jaime from responding. He continued more evenly, “Jaime, she already told you she isn’t marrying you for protection. If how she flinches is any indication, she probably even thinks you’re one of the threats she needs to protect herself from. Why exactly do you think she was so agreeable to the match? Her father certainly isn’t making her marry. In fact, if she never wanted to marry, I daresay Ned Stark would never force her too, especially after today’s revelations.”

“I don’t know,” Jaime answered staring at the ground with a clenched jaw. His father couldn’t possibly know how he and Cersei felt about each other or how devoted they were to each other.

Tywin swept a disappointed glance at his son. “Well, she doesn’t seem to have warm feelings for anyone in our family except for perhaps Tommen and Myrcella. She doesn’t care about your wealth, looks, name, or protection. I didn’t even get the sense that she knew you well enough to know whether you would be a decent husband or not. So, what’s left?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated dully.

Tywin clasped his son’s shoulder and sighed. Now his son was being just being stubborn. What had he done to deserve such disappointing children? “Love Jaime. Not yours. Lady Sansa’s for her family. She’s trying to stop a war and her family’s suffering before it happens. Seven hells! She told her gods that she’d do anything to save them, and the gods apparently believed her enough to give her a chance. Would you marry someone you didn’t like, whose family had previously beat you for nothing more than their own entertainment, for your siblings’ lives?”

“Of course, I would!” Jaime replied incensed. He would do almost anything to save either Cersei or Tyrion.

His father’s face showed the first sign of approval during this conversation. “Good, now would Cersei do the same for you? Would she sign up for a potential lifetime of misery for anyone? For a lifetime of contact with people who had personally wronged and humiliated her?”

Jaime lowered his eyes to his feet, ground his teeth, and refused to respond.

Tywin continued, gentling his tone as much as he was capable of, “You want to say yes, but you know the answer is no. Cersei only knows how to take. She would never give up a single thing for you and that’s not love, Jaime. She drinks down pride and bitterness like wine and is drunk on both. She covets power and control and would never relinquish an ounce of either for your health or safety.”

He paused to make sure his son was listening, “The only thing that lives on after we’re gone is family. Sansa Stark apparently understands that concept and even if you don’t think you want that for yourself, you should want it for your children.”

Jaime couldn’t reply to that because he had no idea what to think or say. He’d spent his entire adult life believing that he and Cersei were two halves of the same whole. He’d sacrificed years for the love he believed was between them, but thinking about it, his father was right. Cersei had never done any of the sacrificing to be with him, not one bit of her power, position, or reputation had suffered. Cersei had reaped all the benefits while he had continually sacrificed over and over for their relationship.

Jaime rubbed at his temples to ease the tension headache that was building and addressed a different topic instead, “That reminds me. I have a couple of requests in exchange for not protesting the removal of my white cloak and getting married to your choice of bride rather than my own.”

“Your choice isn’t legal,” Tywin grumbled and then with an exasperated sigh he asked, “And what conditions are those?”

“No bedding ceremony,” Jaime demanded. He despised the tradition at every wedding he’d ever attended. The girls always got the worst of the drunken behavior. Cersei’s had been maddening and rage inducing for him. Jaime imaged that after what Sansa had told them in the solar about being stripped and beaten in open court that she’d had enough of men tearing her clothing, leering at her skin, and touching her without permission. He wouldn’t subject any bride of his to that, but he absolutely would not force Lady Sansa to endure it after their talk earlier.

Tywin Lannister nodded approvingly. He’d never liked the tradition anyway. Why would any man let a bunch of brutish men paw at his new bride? He’d loathed it when Aerys had taken inappropriate liberties with his Joanna. “I’m sure Lady Sansa will appreciate that consideration.”

Jaime braced himself and stated his next request, “You don’t push for children right away.”

Tywin sighed and barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “I suppose I can give you time to get over your ill-fated love affair.”

Jaime shook his head. “It’s not that. Although, that would probably benefit me too.”

“Why then?” Tywin inquired, cocking his head with interest.

“I would never bed a woman that flinched from my touch,” he snarled, then more softly said, “I would never be able to touch a woman that didn’t want me to do so.”

“Do you have reason to believe that she wouldn’t welcome your touch?” Tywin asked.

Had he miscalculated? He blinked slowly as he took in his son’s agitated countenance, concerned with the possibility that he wouldn’t get grandchildren from his heir. No, he had incentivized that part of his conditions and Lady Sansa was clever enough to understand that. She hadn’t seemed averse to the idea of children with his son either, and she had also mentioned that she wanted any of her children raised with both faiths.

Jaime glared at the ground with clenched fists and replied, “I won’t share what she told me without her permission, but she did say that Joffrey wasn’t the worst she suffered. I don’t think my betrothed has been treated well by many men outside of her family for a long time and even the men in her family appeared to have failed to keep her safe. I don’t think it’s my touch specifically that she would object to, I just don’t think she would welcome anyone’s touch right now and I refuse to bed her until she’s ready. That’s why aside from being dishonorable I don’t think that seducing her would work quite as well as you believe it would, Father.”

“I will agree to wait, but not indefinitely and this better not be a scheme to get back to your sister or some other such nonsense,” Tywin warned his son. He wouldn’t tolerate either of his children’s disobedience in this matter.

“It’s not,” Jaime stated firmly and met his father’s serious gaze with his own to prove his sincerity. In addition to the danger of continuing his relationship with Cersei would pose, he didn’t know how to feel about Cersei and her apparent ability to let their son beat a young girl for his pleasure or the revelation that she didn’t love him as deeply as he loved her, or even at all, if his father was to be believed. If she didn’t love him, then why had she continued their relationship for all these years? What did she get out of being his lover that she didn’t get from being his twin?

“Is that the end of your requests?” Tywin asked, breaking his son from his contemplations.

Jaime shook his head and refocused on the conversation, “No. I have one more condition. I want Lady Sansa and I to be in charge of any children we have together, not you and not your siblings or mine. I don’t want my children raised how you raised us or how Cersei raised hers.”

At his father’s offended look, he held up his hand. “I would certainly welcome your help and advice, but all of your children were hurt by your parenting after mother died and one of Cersei’s children is apparently mad and completely uncontrollable.”

Tywin crossed his arms but capitulated with an inaudible huff. “Alright, son if that’s what you want. I will let you and Lady Sansa make the decisions for any children you have unless it puts the rest of the House in danger,” he agreed tiredly.

“That is fair enough. Thank you, Father,” he said, grateful that his father hadn’t argued against his requests. Jaime leaned back against one of the weirwoods, tilted his head skyward, and closed his eyes. He was mentally exhausted, and the day wasn’t even half over for him yet.

The Lord of Casterly Rock eyed his son up as he asked, “You’re awfully protective of a girl you just met and claim you don’t want to wed. Are you sure you don’t feel anything for her?”

“I just met her today,” Jaime exclaimed with exasperation as he opened his eyes and darted them toward his father’s unyielding form. He was baffled by the question. What was his father trying to insinuate?

Tywin’s lips twitched up into a satisfied smirk as he said, “Yes, but she believed you were- What was it? Brave, gentle, strong, and honorable. How long has it been since anyone thought that of you? And you’ve always had a soft heart for sad, beautiful women. Those were always your favorite tales growing up, the ones where a brave knight saved a lady from certain danger. You must have begged your mother to repeat those stories to you a hundred times.”

“I do not have a thing for sad, beautiful women,” retorted Jaime, flashing an annoyed look at his father for- what he could only interpret as teasing. He did not have a thing for any type of woman, he’d only ever looked at Cersei that way. While he could acknowledge that other women were pretty, he had never been tempted to stray from his other half.

“You do. There was Queen Rhaella, your sister, and now your Wolf Queen. On second thought, maybe you just have a thing for sad, beautiful queens. At least no one can accuse you of having poor taste. When I told you that Lannisters demand the finest I didn’t know that would be the only lesson I imparted that you would take to heart,” Tywin said, snickering at his son’s discomfort and the color rising on his cheeks.

“I was not in love with Queen Rhaella!” Jaime sputtered out.

Tywin shrugged, “You were a little bit. I saw you before I left court. Saw the way you looked at her like you wanted to run away with her. I actually thought that was why you killed Aerys and then remained a Kingsguard for all this time. I thought you were pining until I saw you with your sister these past few weeks and spoke with Lady Sansa today.”

“No, Lady Sansa was right. It was the wildfire that finally made me kill Aerys. I did want to save her, but the other Kingsguard always held me back when he hurt Rhaella until I learned to think of other things and go away inside when it was my turn to guard their bed chambers,” Jaime said, sighing miserably as he ran a hand through his blond hair. He didn’t like to think of those days. The ones where he upheld his oaths to the king, but still felt dishonorable.

Tywin clenched his teeth and his eyes flashed dangerously, “That’s what the lady meant about there being no honor in the Kingsguard and it breaking your heart. I suspected it was something like that. Aerys was mad for years before he stole you for his guard and he would have taken special joy in hurting Rhaella worse around you if he knew you found it abhorrent. You should have told me about the wildfire. I would not have allowed people to whisper such vile untruths behind your back for the last fifteen years if I had known.”

“Oathbreaker, Kingslayer, they haven’t said anything that wasn’t true. I did break my oath when I killed the king,” he voiced dejectedly with his shoulders and head slumped forward.

“You made the right choice, Jaime. Absolute honor doesn’t exist. It’s an unrealistic concept, a pretty notion, but utterly unattainable,” he said seriously, before dryly remarking, “And I don’t think your Wolf Queen quite sees it your way either. She painted a rather heroic picture of you for her father.”

Without waiting for a response, Tywin strode to the edge of the clearing, scratched Lady’s head playfully on his way out, and then left his sputtering and red-faced son alone in the Starks’ Godswood.

Soon after the Lannisters left his solar, Ned shifted from his position by the fireplace to look at his eldest daughter who was still at the desk he’d installed in his solar for her to work at. He had wanted Sansa near while they worked so they could collaborate and rebuild their relationship while they safeguarded the North from the future threats. Ned had hoped that with time, his daughter would unburden herself and confide in him about whatever had caused the haunted look in her eyes when she had first come back.

However, while he had seen glimpses of the wounded girl underneath the competent woman and leader she had become, she rarely gave up any personal history. Sometimes, he could get her to speak about her siblings in her past life, but she easily side-stepped questions about her own experiences with light-hearted anecdotes of things she’d seen or heard about. After a while, even though she was still solemn and serious, she had fooled him into thinking that she was better and he began to doubt his memory on how wounded she had seemed when he first found her near the underground hot springs. He later assumed that it had just been the death of nearly the whole family that had caused her extensive grief and that now that she was back with them and able to correct the issues that had caused their deaths, she was healing from her heartache.

“Was all of that true?” he asked from behind her in the near quiet of the room, the only sounds were from her diligently scratching away at the parchment in front of her with a quill.

He watched his daughter stiffen in her seat momentarily and pause her writing. After a few seconds pause, she resumed her writing. She didn’t turn around as she answered him quietly, “It was.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of that moons ago? Gods Sansa, I’ve thought so many things were wrong over the last few moons, but I never considered anything like that. When you asked not to be betrothed to a prince, I thought maybe Robert’s son took after his habits with women and drink, and that he disgraced you that way, but that you didn’t want to risk another situation like Lyanna’s,” Ned said as he let out a ragged breath.

“I never- Sansa he tortured you! I would have never allowed him through the gates if I’d have known,” he said, howling his outrage and despair out.

“Not allow the Crown Prince of the realm through the gates of Winterfell? You would have caused a war. That’s exactly what I’m trying to prevent,” she answered with cool indifference.

“I’m not sure I care. Let them try to invade the North and I’ll declare for Northern Independence like I should have after the Rebellion,” he snarled and longed to leave the room to find the boy that had hurt his innocent daughter, however ill-advised such a move would be.

Sansa dipped her quill into the inkwell, blotted off the excess, and then went back to writing as calmly as if they weren’t discussing how she’d once been tortured in the Red Keep. “Well, I do care, which is why I didn’t say anything. I protected myself and prevented the problem this time around,” she answered with hardly any inflection to her tone.

Ned took a deep breath to calm himself. He knew he would never get her to reveal anything else with as worked up as he was. He closed his eyes and then released the breath slowly while he pushed down his rage and frustration. When he had schooled his emotions and tone to something less likely to make his daughter retreat into distant courtesy, he pleaded, “Don’t try to do all of this alone, let the rest of us help. You told me the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. You’re part of the pack too and you can’t keep us all safe at the expense of your own safety or sanity, Sansa. Let us protect you too.”

She sighed. “Joffrey won’t try anything in Winterfell, not with King Robert or Tywin Lannister present, even he’s not that stupid. Besides, I didn’t want to talk about it or drag my shame into the open without a good reason. Had I known of any other way to convince Jaime Lannister to consent to leave the Kingsguard, you still wouldn’t know.”

Ned shook his head and crossed the room to stand before her writing desk. She didn’t look up, but he didn’t need her to, he just needed her to listen. "The shame is not yours, Sansa. You were a child. A girl who had been raised on tales of brave knights and love. The shame of their actions is theirs.”

She looked up at him with such heartbreak and pain in her blue eyes that he hardly recognized them as his daughter’s. If he’d ever seen her look at him this way, he would never have doubted his initial assumptions. There was a self-deprecating smile marring her face as she spoke, “I’m the one that trusted Joffrey and Cersei, even after they killed Lady and even after you tried to warn me by telling me that you would find me a better match. I was a stupid little girl. It was my mistake, my failure, and nothing I did afterwards helped.”

It was nearly unbearable for him to hold her gaze for so long. He couldn’t bear to see the unjustified shame and guilt there. All that blame she put on herself for being a child playing in an adult game with seasoned players. It was an unreasonable expectation for herself, for any child of three and ten really. Frankly, it was a miracle she had survived at all. “No, Sansa it isn’t. It is mine and maybe your mother’s mistake. Several years ago, before your Grandfather Hoster got sick, he offered to foster you for a couple of years to tutor you in politics and governing, but Cat and I assured him that we could manage it ourselves. It seems in your past that we never kept our word with any of our children and it cost all of us dearly. Unless you want to tell me that your septa taught you, I don’t see how you could have learned.”

Sansa still thought she should have known better than to trust anyone who wasn’t family or hadn’t proven themselves to her. It had been stupid to believe that life was a song.

Sansa frowned at the information her father had given her. She’d never known that anyone had offered to foster her, nonetheless her own grandfather. She had only met her Grandfather Tully a few times and truly didn’t know much about him, but he was reputed to be a clever politician. “Why didn’t you?”

Ned sighed tiredly, but his smile was infinitely soft as he answered, “Honestly? You were the first of my children I was home for the birth of and when I held you for the first time, I was sure that you were the most beautiful little thing I’d ever seen. I had the castle bells run from sunrise to sunset that day. You brought such joy and peace to the household after the disaster of Robert’s Rebellion and the upheaval Jon’s presence brought. Everyone in Winterfell adored you and fussed over you those first few years, none more so than your mother herself though. It made her happy to have you shadow her around and neither of us could bear to send you away so soon. I also didn’t want to send you alone and by the time Arya or Bran were old enough to accompany you, your grandfather fell ill.”

“Oh,” was all Sansa could manage to say as she swallowed back a sob and wrung her hands in her lap. She’d always wondered if her father had loved her as much as her other siblings that he connected with better.

He shifted his weight to work out the stiffness in his legs from standing for so long. “So, you see, not your fault. You can’t use what you haven’t been taught. In addition, I never considered betrothing you so young either, not after what happened with Lyanna, so I thought I still had time,” he assured her.

She cocked her head and whispered, “Are you ever going to tell mother who Jon’s mother is?”

He groaned at the reminder, “I was going to months ago, but she was in such a temper about Jon joining Robb’s lessons and the port that I didn’t know if it was safe to tell her. I’d like to tell her before I leave, but it’s just too risky with our guests here. It’s not a conversation that can be overheard and I don’t have any idea what she will do after I tell her. All she has to do is slip up once.”

He strode to his desk and sank down into his chair.

Sansa folded her arms on her desk and leaned forward with a gusty sigh. “I know. It’s why I haven’t pushed the issue either.”

“I can’t make you give up your secrets, but tell me the truth Sansa, you are satisfied with this match?” he asked as he slumped in his seat and rested his head in his palms.

She shrugged and said, “I’m satisfied with what I got out of it for myself and for the North. I also knew I would have to marry eventually and Lord Lannister was right there aren’t too many matches that would be as advantageous as this one.”

Ned grimaced at her non-answer and earnestly said, “You do not have to marry at all Sansa. Winterfell is your home and you are always welcome here. We don’t have to sign that agreement tomorrow.”

Sansa laughed bitterly, “We might not have, if the Old Gods hadn’t announced themselves and declared me a Queen to Tywin Lannister of all people. He’s not about to pass up that kind of opportunity. Or perhaps if I hadn’t revealed that I could skinchange in the first place. I honestly thought he wouldn’t care about that or at worst think it another barbaric Northern practice.”

Ned looked over at her from his seat with furrowed brows and palpable confusion surrounding him as he asked, “Why would you ever think that?”

“Because I thought he hated magic. I overheard Lord Tyrion say once that his father despised his interest in magic and dragons as a child,” she said with a wry twist of her lips.

Ned blinked at her response in mystification. “It was the dragons he hated, not magic. By the end of the Mad King’s rein, Tywin hated Aerys Targaryen and anything even remotely related to his line. Like most Targaryens, the Mad King was obsessed with his dragon lineage and there were rumors that he was inappropriately fascinated by Lady Joanna Lannister too and he never let his Hand, Tywin Lannister, forget that the Lannisters didn’t have magic in their line nor that he was fascinated with the man’s wife. Lord Lannister would have despised to hear that any child of his was enamored with something so closely related to the Targaryens.”

“I didn’t know he hated dragons specifically because he was holding a grudge! I would have never called for Lady that way had I known he didn’t mind magic,” she groaned.

“Well, nobody really talks about it anymore because the dragons are gone and few people can afford to offend Tywin Lannister,” he said with a dismissive shrug.

She blanched and set her forehead on her desk, uncaring of the parchment in front of her as she murmured remorsefully into the wood, “And I just told the most legacy obsessed man in the entire Seven Kingdoms how easily he could add magic to his own bloodline after Aerys had ridiculed him for years.”

“Appears so,” he hummed and then said, “The cat’s out of the bag now. We’ll just have to deal with the consequences.”

“I suppose so.” She sighed, lifted her head from the desk, and continued, “Besides, even if I wanted to turn my nose up at the Lannisters a mutual defense treaty with the West is too good of an opportunity to pass up for so little cost on our part.”

Ned frowned at the dismissive attitude Sansa displayed over her own worth. “Your hand is no small consideration, darling girl. You and your sister are probably the most eligible girls in Westeros. I’ve been refusing offers for your hand, specifically, since before you lost your first baby tooth.”

“I lost my first tooth at five,” she said with a flippant wave, figuring that it was a rare case of exaggeration on her father’s part.

He raised a brow and responded back with wry amusement, “I know, you were adorable with the gap in your teeth and your little lisp, still trying to smile and give orders like a proper little lady. I had offers for you even then from nearly every house in the North and a half a dozen from other kingdoms. However, I hadn’t intended on betrothing any of my children before they were old enough to agree to it freely, so I never considered any of them.”

She frowned and worried at her bottom lip. “I didn’t know that.”

He shrugged. “There was no reason to tell you. Just remember you can come home whenever you wish and if you are mistreated as you were before, then I will come get you personally. I don’t care what Tywin Lannister has to say about it either. His own sister is at Casterly Rock instead of the Twins often enough that he has no room to speak,” her father said with fierce determination.

“Thank you,” she said as she hid her sadness and smiled at him. She didn’t think it would be that easy, not after the colossal blunder she had made. She had doomed herself the moment she had summoned Lady and revealed herself as even remotely competent.

The chance that Tywin Lannister would just let her birth a child or two and then run home was slim, no matter the circumstances. He might claim that he didn’t care what people thought of him, but he wouldn’t tolerate the type of rumors that would circulate if she left her Lannister husband. He’d tolerate nothing that would tarnish his legacy, not rumors of infidelity, abuse, or mistreatment.

He had already stated he wanted her for more than the heirs she could provide his son too. He wanted to be sure that none of his children ran his House into the ground. Knowing what she knew about his children, that would be a full-time job that she wouldn’t be able to quit if she wanted her own children to succeed. Which meant she would need to help Ser Jaime with the Westerlands after she was finished with the North and to do that she would also need to learn about the region and unfortunately, the best person to learn about managing the Westerlands from was Lord Lannister himself.

Chapter Text

Sansa knew she had drifted off to sleep in her own bed hours ago after drafting the final language for the trade agreement with her father late into the evening, but at some point, during either the late hours of the night or early hours of the morning, she found herself wandering around on four legs instead of two, scenting the air with a keen nose, and staring out eyes that only saw in muted shades of grays and browns in the dim light. Although the colors were more subdued her sight was much sharper than her vision as a human would have been, especially in this level of darkness. Most of the torches and candle lights were extinguished during the late night, since most of the occupants of the fortress were asleep, only the guards still patrolled the courtyard and halls, but she neither saw nor heard any of them nearby as she slipped into one of the large buildings, following a specific scent on the wind.

Her paws, or rather Lady’s paws, made no sound as they stepped on the warm stones and glided through the shadows of the keep’s hallways. She turned down several halls searching for the distinct smell. Many of the doors concealed men who smelled of metal and sweat but, the scent she was tracking smelled strongly of the finest steel and leather, with hints of cedar and summer rain hidden underneath. When she finally caught the scent lingering faintly by the stairwell, she put her nose to the ground and trotted up the stairs to the next level following the trail down two hallways and past several doors until she reached where the distinct blend of scents was the strongest.

When she reached the door that the enticing scent was behind, she butted her head against the solid wood just loud enough for the occupant to hear and let out a short, sharp whine. When she heard footsteps and the sound of scrapping metal from in the room she sat down on her haunches and waited patiently for the steps to move closer. With every footstep closer to the door her tail begun to wag faster until the door opened suddenly and the man with hair the color of spun gold was lit by the candlelight behind him.

The man was tense in the open doorway as he stared into the dim light of the corridor with his sword drawn in front of him, but the tip pointed downward. He was only in a pair of pants that looked hastily donned as they weren’t buttoned all the way. His hair was a mess and sticking up in several places as if he’d been sleeping restlessly before she had interrupted him. Lady sat up straight, whined softly in the hall again, and wagged her tail pointedly at the man when it was clear that he hadn’t seen her yet.

He glanced down at the noise and realizing that the disturbance at his door was only a friendly wolf and not an emergency or an attack, he relaxed his stance with a slow exhale and grinned at her in relief.

“What are you doing here, girl?” he rumbled drowsily down at her, keeping his voice low so that he didn’t wake the other occupants nearby, chiefly his father or his brother.

Lady stood up and brushed by him in the doorway, considering his greeting a warm enough welcome to his room. He made no move to stop her from entering and even moved slightly so she could enter more easily. She padded across the length of his room with dainty steps, glanced back at him, catching his amused stare, and then jumped gracefully into his bed of furs. The furs underneath her paws were still warm from his body heat and had the strongest concentration of his heady scents of cedar wood and summer rain. She turned around in a circle a few times and scratched at the furs beneath her paws to get them how she wanted them, turned around once more, then laid down over the warmest part of bedding. She breathed in deeply through her nose and with her head on her front paws stared up at him from where he was standing and watching her by the small table included in the room.

“Make yourself at home I guess,” he said as he rolled his eyes at the large grey direwolf laying in the middle of his bed. He combed through his hair trying to flatten the mussed, sticking up tufts. He had no idea how he was supposed to get back in his bed with her laying across so much of it. He had half a mind to send her back out, except he had no idea how to remove a wolf from one’s bed. Was it like telling a dog to get down? He didn’t have much experience with that either, as neither his father nor sister were one for allowing pets.

He had already shut the door behind him, too quietly for any other human to hear. He sheathed his sword back into its scabbard and placed it on the table. With a longsuffering sigh he sat on the edge of his bed. He was only illuminated by a single candle and the moonlight from a window, but with her sight she could make out all of his features and form just fine even in the low light.

He smirked down at her, golden hair falling into his face, and laughed softly, “You know, this is my bed Lady and I’m not supposed to have a lady in my bed until after I’m wed.”

She lifted her head and cocked it at him, confused by the unfamiliar words. Was he trying to tell her to leave? She scooted closer to the man’s warmth, inching forward by pushing with her hind legs.

“Is Lady Sansa going to be mad you spent the night with me rather than her?” he asked, raising his brow in feigned concern. He was a little puzzled on why she had sought him out in the middle of the night rather than staying with Lady Sansa or one of the other Starks. Nothing seemed wrong, so he could only assume that she had sought him out because she wanted his company.

She laid her head on his warm thigh and stared up at him pleadingly. She didn’t want him to send her away. She wanted to stay. He ran a large hand over her head and into the thick fur around her neck and shoulders. She leaned into his touch and lolled her tongue out, preening under his attention.

He sighed in mock exasperation, “Alright I suppose you can stay, but there are rules in my bed Lady.”

He’d never admit it out loud but Lady’s sweet and trusting puppy eyes were nearly impossible to refuse. If she continued seeking him out, he imagined that she would be able to con him and half the castle out of anything she desired. Gods, he hoped his father never found out how easily he caved to an overgrown puppy, he’d never let him live it down.

Her tail began to thump against the furs as he scratched behind her ears with firm, blunt nails and she let out a satisfied sigh.

“The first one is no scratching or biting. Your nails and teeth are much longer and sharper than I’m used to having in my bed. The second and last rule is that we can cuddle, but if you steal the covers, I’m going to tell your mistress you’re cheating on her with me,” he said with a cocky grin tugging at his mouth.

His hands scratched her one last time and then he patted her twice on the head, before he leaned over, blew out the candle, and pushed her weight over, so he had enough room to lay down next to her on the bed. She let out a puff of air and readjusted her position to lay her snout on his chest as he covered them with a free blanket.

In the Great Keep, several hundred feet away, Sansa Stark sat up in her own bed with a sudden start, panting and still feeling the ghost of Ser Jaime’s strong hands petting and scratching Lady’s head and neck. It was no wonder Lady was always begging to be pet and scratched, the sensation was entirely more pleasant than she had realized for her wolf. She made a mental note to remember that for the future and give Lady more head scratches.

Sansa covered her hot cheeks with both hands and groaned aloud in the solitude of her room. Lady might not have understood Ser Jaime’s suggestive words, but Sansa knew what they meant, and she knew he would never have said them if he knew that he was speaking to her rather than her direwolf.

In addition, it was apparent that all that sword practice was good for something. Jaime Lannister had looked as tempting as sin and had smelled divine to Lady’s sensitive nose. Sansa had seen her brothers, Tyrion, Ramsey, and other men during the war shirtless before, but none of them had looked like Jaime Lannister had without a shirt. None of them looked like they could be carved from stone or like they could pick her up and carry her wherever they wished without breaking a sweat. None of them had looked like a knight from a song even without armor and looking adorably sleep tousled.

She had the brief thought that she gladly let the knight carry her anywhere before she scowled at her runaway thoughts. He was a Lannister. Just because he was a handsome knight didn’t mean he was good nor that they were destined for some great love story. The stories and the songs were lies, and she would do well to remember that. A pretty face and attractive physique meant absolutely nothing, and all too often hid an ugly, monstrous interior. She knew better and wouldn’t let herself forget the lessons that had been beaten into her years ago by the man’s own kin.

Sansa fell backwards onto her bed and sighed. She had no idea how she was supposed to face the man in the coming days. Worse, she had no idea why Lady was so fond of the knight to begin with, which meant it could happen again, since Sansa couldn’t control when she fell into the wolf dreams. Yes, the Lannister knight smelled clean and wonderful, and he seemed to know how to touch Lady just right. But was that really enough for her wolf to seek the man out in the middle of the night, dragging her own consciousness along and embarrassing her more thoroughly than she had been in years?

Jaime couldn’t figure out what had changed between the day before and this morning. He had gone back to Ned Stark’s solar immediately after breaking his fast as his father had bid him to do. Ned Stark, his father, and Lady Sansa were already there waiting on him. The plan was to sign both contracts, the trade agreement and the betrothal contract, this morning provided that everything was in order in both sets of paperwork. He and Lady Sansa were there to act as witnesses on the agreements, since technically neither of the documents required their permission.

He couldn’t put his finger on it exactly, but Lady Sansa was acting differently than the previous day. She had still greeted him prettily and answered courteously whenever anyone spoke to her. He signed the trade agreement without reading it, since his signature as a witness was only a formality. The betrothal agreement and defense treaty he read more slowly, waiting for the letters to untangle themselves, so that he could discern exactly what was in it.

It looked as if it contained fairly standard language, aside from Lady Sansa’s conditions, from what he could read. The only surprise was that Ned Stark had named both his heir and Lady Sansa as his proxies for the North should military intervention be necessary, with his daughter having the deciding vote should they disagree. It was an unusual amount of power to be given to a woman, although considering that Lady Sansa had lived through some of the future, perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised by the amount of trust Ned Stark placed in his daughter.

While Jaime had grown up as his father’s heir and wasn’t a complete lackwit, he wasn’t especially good at determining the political implications of certain concepts or the results of certain clauses, so he wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t missing the point on the mutual defense treaty portion of the document. He was too rash for this kind of meticulous planning. He knew himself well enough to know that he was more of a fix the problem during the moment type of person than a strategist with a good grasp of consequences. He was better at fighting and even military tactics. Those he could see the actions play out in his head, but he just didn’t understand, or care to understand, enough politics or economics to understand all the possible outcomes for a treaty such as the one in his hands.

He had been thoroughly trained in how to read a betrothal contract though. It was one of the things that his father spent an endless amount of time teaching him how to read and draft, since they were among some of the most important contracts drafted between Houses and regions. He also privately thought that his father wanted to avoid another situation like what had happened to his Aunt Genna who had ended up in a betrothal and marriage with a second son of the Freys, who his father believed were beneath their house. Having had the displeasure of meeting some of the Freys, Jaime was of a mind that his father wasn’t far off from the mark in this case. It had been an embarrassing misstep for House Lannister and his aunt that he knew his father didn’t want repeated either with his own children or grandchildren. Since nothing seemed unexpected or like it would come back to haunt him in the betrothal contract, Jaime signed that too without much hesitance.

After he signed underneath his father’s signature he handed the quill back to his father, who for once, looked momentarily pleased with him.

“This document is not technically legally binding until you are released from the Kingsguard, so you cannot tell anyone until that happens, especially not your sister or anyone else who is likely to try to prevent the King from releasing you from your vows,” Tywin warned and Jaime nodded grimly, the last thing he wanted was to continue being stuck in the Kingsguard after yesterday’s revelations of how far the brotherhood would fall in the next few years.

“Actually, if both of you would keep the news quiet until after the King leaves that would be better. I’m turning down the hand of the Crown Prince in favor of the heir of the Westerlands and Robert isn’t likely to take that without insult, even from me. If the official announcement is held off though, then neither House risks offending the King quite so blatantly,” Ned said addressing both Sansa and Ser Jaime, heaving out a beleaguered sigh at the headache such a situation would cause him. He still hadn’t the slightest idea how he was going to turn down his friend for a marriage contract between their children while simultaneously demanding concessions for the North when he agreed to take the Hand’s position.

Tywin nodded in agreement with the other Lord Paramount as he stated, “That’s a better idea. While the King can’t afford to outright anger either House Lannister or Stark too much, nonetheless both of them at the same time. It would be better to avoid Robert’s and Cersei’s dramatics altogether if possible.”

The last thing we need is King Robert refusing to release Ser Jaime or invalidating this contract since it was not legal at the time it was signed. I suggest that we leave the date and House seals off of the document until Ser Jaime is officially released from the Kingsguard,” Sansa offered quietly from the window.

Jaime noted that Lady Sansa had kept a careful distance from everyone too, never straying too close to anyone for very long during this little meeting. Thinking about it, she was always positioned the furthest from him and kept her eyes carefully away from his person. A glance at his father confirmed that he also noticed her change in behavior too, but he couldn’t determine whether Lord Stark had or not. It was possible that Lord Stark had noticed, but knew the reason for it, so didn’t feel the need to comment or bring attention to her change in demeanor. His father clearly didn’t care much as long as it didn’t affect the outcome of their meeting this morning.

“That’s probably for the best. The Starks will uphold the agreement even before it’s officially dated.” Ned asserted quietly while he leaned against a corner of his desk with his arms crossed.

Tywin nodded. “As will House Lannister. I expect you two will behave as if this document is already perfectly legal. Do not shame House Lannister,” his father said and while he met Lady Sansa’s gaze for a brief instant most of his attention was set on Jaime as he spoke. He knew what his father was telling him. He meant that he was to stay away from his sister and keep his mouth shut until his father told him otherwise.

“Of course, Lord Lannister. I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing,” answered Lady Sansa, before looking at her father pointedly, “You are going to have to tell Mother soon, definitely before you leave. While I doubt that she will be thrilled that you are turning down a prince, I don’t think she will take this news especially poorly. I doubt she'll cause a scene about this and she’ll need to know for practical purposes soon enough.”

Ned grimaced, talking to his wife lately was like playing a game of chance, sometimes he got the woman he had known for the last ten or so years and sometimes he got the cold woman she was after he had brought Jon home as his bastard. He also knew his wife didn’t have any particular like for the Lannisters, since she had grown up in a neighboring region that didn’t always get along and they had once turned down a betrothal contract with her younger sister, Lady Lysa, which he knew aggravated his Catelyn’s pride. Ned, himself didn’t necessarily like the Lannisters either, but as Sansa had made clear to him time and time again, the North needed the supplies and a good relationship with the Lannisters for the upcoming winter. They did not have time to squabble like petty children with a long, harsh winter around the corner.

“Aye Sansa. I’ll tell your mother about the betrothal as soon as I secure the King’s word to remove Ser Jaime and I’ll impress upon her the importance of keeping it to herself for now,” he agreed with clear reluctance.

When everyone was exiting the solar at the conclusion of the meeting, Jaime stopped Lady Sansa with a light touch to her forearm. She looked up at him startled and just as quickly as she looked up at him her eyes darted back down. He frowned at her gestures which, since she was carefully not looking at him, he felt free to display as she wouldn’t see him anyway. She hadn’t had trouble meeting his eyes yesterday while she was ripping his illusions from him. Had he done something to upset her or was she just normally so shy?

He didn’t think anyone that could interrupt Tywin Lannister could be considered meek, so perhaps, now that she had time to consider it more carefully, she was regretting agreeing to the betrothal. That would be a shame since they had both already agreed to it and the heads of their respective Houses had just finished signing the paperwork. Granted the paper wasn’t yet official, but it was as good as, since there was no way his father would let either of them get out of the contract. There was only one way he was going to discover what the issue was.

“Lady Sansa, would you do me the favor of walking with me?” he inquired, watching her closely for any clues to her odd behavior. While he was most curious about what was causing the lady’s strange behavior, he also knew that taking Lady Sansa for a walk would help reassure his father that he was taking his orders about this betrothal and Cersei seriously.

She nodded, but still didn’t meet his eyes. “Of course, Ser. Where would you like to go?” she asked in a perfectly polite and distant tone of voice.

He offered her his arm and when she slipped her dainty hand through to rest on his bicep he answered, “I don’t know. I saw your Godswood yesterday. Where else is good to walk through in Winterfell, my lady?”

From the view of her profile, he saw her eyebrows furrow in thought for a second before smoothing out. He could feel her heart galloping in her chest where his arm was pressed lightly into her side. It was a peculiar reaction since she was showing no other signs of distress.

“There are the glass gardens. We don’t grow many flowers there, but they are warm even in the winter and they smell fresh,” she offered up a suggestion.

Winterfell didn’t have gardens like the Red Keep or most of the other southern castles, since it was too cold for many types of decorative flowering plants to grow. The glass houses were the nearest thing to a southern garden that the North had and while they weren’t generally a place to walk through like the beautiful gardens of the south, they would be warm and quiet during this part of the day. Most of the workers would have completed their duties there already and it would hopefully be peaceful among the growing plants.

“Lead the way then,” Jaime said still observing her meticulously from the corner of his eye.

He would think from her behavior and skittishness that Lady Sansa was scared of him, but her mannerisms didn’t quite fit fear and she hadn’t been especially wary of him yesterday, which he thought was good considering what he knew about her previous experiences with men. He had noticed that she hadn’t liked being touched unexpectedly, but it hadn’t seemed personal, and she hadn’t flinched from his touch when he’d helped her tighten her gown back up yesterday.

They chatted lightly on the way to the glass house though she kept her face turned determinedly away from his as she spoke. He wouldn’t have been able to recount which topics they had discussed later as he was much more focused on watching her and the discussion had been mostly innocuous small talk that wouldn’t have been dangerous if it was overheard by prying ears.

When they reached the glass garden, Jaime looked around curiously. He’d never been inside a glass house though he had heard that the North had such a thing. They didn’t have these in the Westerlands as even in winter they generally had enough food stored from the stuff that came in through Lannisport and their terraced farmland. In addition, many of the trees in the Westerlands produced nuts that were both hardy and easy to store for long periods of time.

Lady Sansa was right the glass gardens were warm and fresh smelling and he relaxed in the private atmosphere. While they didn’t smell of flowers, the scent was pleasant and fresh from the hundreds of verdant plants in the space. The gardens were humid and warm, but not uncomfortably so. He could see dozens of herbs he couldn’t name, all types of produce being grown in the space, and even bizarrely, what he believed to be a lemon tree or two.

Sansa was staring at the space in contemplation as she guided the man on her arm through the rows absentmindedly. The plants were doing well at the moment and some would be ready to be dried and stored for winter soon. The root vegetables would need to be parted out and the other vegetables and herbs would need seedlings started from their flowers or fruits soon as she had plans to start an additional glass house nearby. She had already cleared space in Winter Town for a large community glass house there. The plans were already drafted and funds sorted for the project. She was just waiting on the western port to be completed so she could order the glass and get it shipped up to Winterfell.

She supposed that she could get it shipped into White Harbor from Essos, but Hellholt and Sandstone in Dorne truly had the best quality glass, even if she did have to pay the astronomical fees that the Martells had tacked on after Robert’s Rebellion to acquire it, it would be much better quality which was important since the glass couldn’t be allowed to crack or shatter in the cold during the long winter or else all the winter harvest might be lost. For now, the stone foundations and fireplace were being laid and the beds of dirt and wooden planters were being built and installed even without the glass. Without the wars, Sansa expected the population of Winter Town to swell more than during any previous winter on record. Even if the population didn’t start that way at the beginning of winter, she was sure that by the time winter was in full swing more people would trickle into the city as the temperatures got colder and their own personal food storages ran low.

“Are you regretting this betrothal now that my father isn’t actively working to convince you?” he asked during a long pause in their conversation. Lady Sansa’s heart rate had slowed down during the walk, but she had still seemed tense and unyielding on his arm even as he listened to her speak warm honeyed words at him.

She stopped strolling abruptly and turned to face him. When he mirrored her actions, she finally met his gaze directly, and he was struck by the full force of her clear blue eyes contrasted with her vivid copper hair and flawless pale skin. He had seen both her mother and aunt when they were her age before, but their features seemed a pale imitation to the stunningly beautiful young woman on his arm.

“No, why are you asking?” she questioned with a small, confused frown.

He shrugged, breaking eye contact momentarily so that he wasn’t leering or staring at her like an idiot and said, “You seemed upset earlier and this is the first time you’ve made eye contact with me today, though we’ve been in each other’s company for the better part of the morning.”

She was still holding onto his arm, so he felt her shift in discomfort in response to his observation. He saw her eyes dart back down to somewhere around his chest before flitting back to his determinedly again.

“You can tell me Lady Sansa, it’s not like you’ll hurt my feelings. I wanted this less than you probably did,” he coaxed.

“I hadn’t meant to do it so soon, but I knew that I would likely have to get married again for political reasons. You couldn’t care less for the power or claims I could provide you so, I have no objections to that marriage being to you specifically,” she stated softly. While she knew her father had said that she didn’t have to wed anyone, she knew that the North would be far safer and in better shape during the winter and the Long Night if she did marry for an alliance or resources.

“Have I done something to offend you then?” he asked, frowning down at her. He’d truly thought that regret would explain her actions, but while she didn’t seem thrilled with the match, she apparently had no objection to becoming his bride or to the Westerlands in particular.

“No, Ser,” she assured him and squeezed his covered arm with the dainty hand that was resting there.

Now Jaime was very confused. If she didn’t object to him or the marriage and he hadn’t offended her then he was at a loss for her strange behavior. He admittedly didn’t know her well, but what he did know from their meeting yesterday, didn’t match up with what he was seeing from her today. “Well, if it’s not that, then what is it?”

“It’s nothing,” she replied, but too quickly for it to be honest and her gaze dropped from his once again.

“It’s clearly something,” he insisted. His eyes turned sly and a smirk rested on his lips as he continued speaking, “If you don’t tell me what it is I’m going to have to assume I’ve offended you somehow my lady and I shall spend all day inquiring which behavior or words were spoken that has your pretty blue eyes shying away from mine. It shall be a tremendous waste of both of our time, and I’ve been told that my persistence can be exasperating at the best of times.”

Sansa withdrew her arm from his, to cover her face with her hand in exasperation. If there was one thing she knew about Lannisters, it was that they liked to play with their food before eating it. Sansa had visions of him interrupting her all day while she tried to work until she finally cracked. There was no way he would ever let the topic rest otherwise, both he and Lord Tyrion were similarly persistent once they found or learned about something they wanted.

She sighed out in annoyance, “Fine. Just stop that and I will tell you.”

“Good,” he said with a smug smile, pleased that she had capitulated so easily.

He wondered if that meant that she trusted him or if she knew that he wasn’t japing about his persistence. How strange it was that this woman knew far more about him than he knew about her. He’d barely even heard of her before this trip North, but for her, she had already met him and knew him well enough to know his deepest secrets.

She placed her hand back into the crook of his arm and started walking down the next row in the glass house that seemed to contain mostly root vegetables like carrots and potatoes. He sensed that the woman on his arm needed a moment and he allowed her the time she needed now that she had promised to tell him what was wrong with her. She stared out at the produce for a long time gathering her thoughts or courage, he wasn’t sure which, before finally opening her mouth.

“You know how you saw me call Lady to the solar yesterday?” she asked, her gaze still skimming the plant life they were strolling past.

He blinked. He didn’t have any idea what that had to do with anything. “Yes, I don’t see what that has to do with whatever you are worried about though,” he replied, working to keep the befuddlement he felt out of his voice.

A furious blush overtook her pale cheeks and neck. She slowed to a stop to run her fingers over a large leafy plant for a minute, but soon dropped her hand, and pressed her lips together tightly.

“I’m not worried. I’m embarrassed,” she muttered, and it took him a moment to decipher her low words.

“I certainly don’t see what’s embarrassing about that. It’s a neat trick and my father seems positively delighted by it,” he snorted, pleased that it was something so easy to deal with and nothing he personally had done. It’d be a terrible start to their very likely doomed relationship if he’d already managed to offend her.

She shook her head slowly and bit her bottom lip. “I mentioned wolf dreams yesterday too. Did you know what I meant by that, Ser?”

He searched his memory for the reference, but yesterday was the first time he’d heard of such a thing. “No, I don’t suppose I do, my lady,” he said, cocking his head toward her.

His betrothed looked resigned now and she fiddled with a loose lock of her hair that had fallen into her face from all the looking down she had done during this conversation. “When I called Lady, I slipped into her mind yesterday and directed her to come to me.”

He nodded. That was what he had gathered from observing and listening yesterday, so that was no surprise to him. It was certainly strange, but he’d seen it with his own eyes and his father really had seemed thrilled with the small display, so he knew his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

Lady Sansa wet her lips before continuing her explanation, “Sometimes though, I don’t slip into her mind consciously. That’s mostly how the bond starts to form in the first place. When I’m very relaxed or asleep, but Lady is awake, out hunting or doing other wolf things, sometimes I am there with her, seeing out of her eyes and feeling through her other senses. I’m not in control, but I’m there and I’ll wake with the taste of blood and fur in my mouth.”

A slow smile was spreading across his face as it dawned on Jaime what exactly what had caused the lady’s accelerated heart rate and inability to hold eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds. Her pet direwolf was providing him with endless entertainment and material he could use to tease her for potentially years at this point.

Lady Sansa paused and he faked a noise of confusion to prod along her explanation. She closed her eyes for a long moment as she bemoaned her direwolf’s obsession with the man. Lady hadn’t been so fascinated with the man last time, although with her so wrapped around the idea of Joffrey and being a perfect lady, Sansa wasn’t sure if Lady had ever been properly introduced to the knight at all. Last time Lady had spent a lot of time either locked up in her room or around Joffrey and the Queen and she’d certainly never warmed to either of them so fast.

“I was wolf dreaming last night and Lady was hunting for something, but it wasn’t a rabbit,” she finished in a near whisper.

It was his turn to stop them in the middle of the path this time. “My, my Lady Sansa, are you trying to tell me that you were spying on me last night?” he purred.

“I wasn’t doing it on purpose and I woke up when you blew out the candle,” she retorted. The blush still prevalent on her face and embarrassment suffusing through her. She wished the ground would open up and swallow her or maybe she could fall into another boiling hot spring, so she never had to continue or remember this conversation ever again. She didn’t think the Old Gods would be so kind as to assist her that way, unfortunately.

“See what I can’t determine, is if you are embarrassed because spying is dishonorable or because you saw something you liked,” he said, putting two fingers under her chin and tilting her head up to meet his laughing eyes. “Judging by that rather fetching shade of pink on your face and the way your heart is fluttering like a hummingbird’s, I’d say it was the second option.”

Sansa set her jaw stubbornly and resolutely did not think about how his fingers that were touching her now, had felt fantastic buried in Lady fur. “Yes, you’re a very pretty man. Are you happy now?”

“Oh, very much so,” he replied. Unfortunately, the arrogant smile on his face didn’t detract from his unfairly good looks. “I thought you said you were married before, twice if I recall correctly. Why are you still blushing like a maiden then, my lady?”

She scowled and muttered, “Now you are just fishing for compliments.”

He chuckled and teased, “Should I expect this to be a common occurrence? Should I start going to bed fully dressed if I want to be able to talk to you or meet your eyes the next day?”

“I don’t wolf dream every night, but a shirt would certainly help,” she stated wryly, somewhat thankful that it seemed that he hadn’t caught on that she’d felt him cuddle up next to Lady or that she’d heard his ridiculous rules for staying in his bed.

He dropped his hand from under her chin and laughed warmly, “I can do that. Now let’s get you back to the castle before someone sees that blush on your face and decides that we’ve been gone so long that I must have dishonored you.”

Jaime escorted her back to the keep where her family’s rooms were located and headed back toward his room in the First Keep alone to change into his Kingsguard armor for his shift guarding the royal family smirking the whole way.

Before he could reach his room his father’s voice from a scant few feet away stopped him, “You look rather pleased with yourself, son. Did you resolve whatever was wrong with Lady Sansa this morning?”

He pivoted and leaned against his door casually with his arms crossed. “I did,” he answered.

Tywin raised a brow and glanced at his son for clues as to why he looked so satisfied. “Are you going to leave me in suspense? Or should I just assume I have to move up getting that cloak removed and a wedding planned?”

He frowned, “I told you I wouldn’t touch her until she welcomed it and I certainly wouldn’t have dishonored her in a glass house where anyone might see.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Honor and chivalry,” his father said, waving a hand. “I’m never getting answers or Lannister grandchildren.”

Jaime ran a hand down his face. Gods his father was persistent. Maybe that was the only thing he’d inherited from his father besides his looks. Blond hair, green eyes, and annoyingly persistent. Poor Lady Sansa, he wondered if she knew exactly what she was getting into.

A smirk gathered on his lips again as he remembered her trying to sidestep his questions. “It wasn’t anything like you are thinking. Lady Sansa was just embarrassed. Apparently, she accidentally skinchanges when she sleeps sometimes. When that happens, she dreams through Lady’s eyes and last night Lady made her way into my room and slept in my bed.”

His father smirked, looking exceedingly pleased. “Did she now? That is interesting. Let me know if plans need to be adjusted.”

Tywin paused in his doorway and appraised his son. He wondered why the lady’s direwolf liked his son so much and whether it was a good sign for their match or not. They’d been in Winterfell two days and hadn’t seen hide nor hair of any of the other Starks’ wolves, but Lady had already shown a preference for Jaime and had sought him out for no other discernible reason than that she wanted to. Lady Sansa seemed flustered by the attention that her wolf cub was paying to his son, but whether that was because it hadn’t happened that way last time or because she’d accidentally caught an eyeful of his son, he wasn’t sure.

Jaime entered his room after speaking with his father and immediately began to strip out of his everyday clothes with practiced ease. He was down to his small clothes when his sister suddenly swept into the room.

“Hello Cersei. Nice of you to knock,” he greeted her dryly while gathering the first layer of his clothing that fit under his armor from his bags that were lined up against the wall. He hadn’t been in the proper mindset to put his clothes and toiletries up after the disaster that was yesterday. When he’d finished his guard shift after his talk with his father, he’d skipped dinner to go directly to his room, stripped his clothes, and laid on the bed thinking for hours before he fell asleep. He’d only been asleep for an hour or so before Lady had come in and hopped in his bed with him on a mission to cuddle.

“Well, that’s a colder welcome than I was anticipating,” Cersei replied with a dramatically raised brow. She locked the door behind her and glided across the room to his side, eying his mostly unclothed form hungrily. She reached out to touch him and he stepped away from her hands.

“We can’t anymore,” Jaime answered her unspoken query regretfully while he stayed just out of her reach. He watched her cautiously while he pulled his pants up and buttoned the fastening. He was prepared for her to fly into a rage. His darling sister never liked being told no or denied the things she wanted, even if that thing was his affections.

She looked up at him in confusion and whatever she saw in his face made her eyes flash like wildfire. “And why not? Don’t tell me it’s because of that stupid little girl you went on a walk with this morning,” she snarled at him.

 “Father knows,” he answers her simply, but his mind was stuck on the way that she had immediately assumed it was because of Lady Sansa and then called her a stupid little girl. It was the exact same thing that Sansa had called herself when she told him about her former betrothal to his nephew and he wondered if his sister was the reason why she called herself that. He found himself cold at the thought.

Nothing about how Sansa had described herself as a child sounded stupid, she had just sounded like every other girl of three and ten. Certainly, no sillier than Myrcella would likely be at that age or even how Cersei herself had been at that age. Cersei had been certain that she was going to marry Rhaegar Targaryen at that age despite the fact that by that point he had been betrothed to Elia Martell. Her current attitude only helped confirm to him that Sansa had been telling the truth yesterday when she’d spoken about her time in the Red Keep.

Cersei blanched at the information he’d provided her. “How did he find out?” she asked frantically.

He’d only just come in from walking with her, so he didn’t know how she had already found out about their walk either. Jaime shook his head to clear his thoughts. It would do no good to think about Sansa while he was speaking to his sister. Cersei had a way of knowing things like that and it would do no good for his sister to focus her wrath on the Northern woman. Not if he wanted to escape the Kingsguard and his father’s wrath. He was a lot more wary of his father than he was Cersei.

“I don’t know, but he was furious and said that it was too dangerous for you and the children for us to continue,” he replied, careful not to give away any of their father’s other plans yet, especially after he’d been specifically told not to tell anyone.

“Why aren’t you fighting this? We belong together Jaime. We’re two halves of the same whole,” she pleaded with watery eyes.

Jaime softened at her teary eyes. He gripped her clasped hands and pulled her close to whisper in her ear, “Then run away with me. We’ll go to the free cities or somewhere no one knows who we are, and then we can love each other in peace. We can finally be together.”

She jerked away from him and looked at him with disgust. “Don’t be a fool, Jaime. We’d be no one in Essos,” she scoffed condescendingly.

Jaime sighed and went back to dressing and putting on his armor. His father was right, Cersei would never give up anything for him or to stay with him. She did love power and status more than she had ever loved him. However, Jaime couldn’t stay in the Kingsguard anymore and he’d promised Sansa that he would protect her, even if she didn’t seem to want him to. It would be loveless and cold over the years without his sister with him, but at least he wouldn’t have to dishonor himself more in another mad king’s court and he couldn’t kill this one, Joffrey was his son. At least he wouldn’t have to spend years or a lifetime going away inside. He shivered; nothing was worse than when he came out of the blankness too soon.

“Then there’s nothing else to do,” he said with a shrug. Besides he wasn’t eager to experience whatever horrible punishment his father would enact if they stayed together, and he had a feeling that it would fall more heavily on Cersei than him. He would spare her that if he could.

She sat down on his bed with her legs parted and began untying her dress to bare her chest. “Come on, Jaime. No one’s opinion has ever stopped us before. We came in this world together, no one can take that from us, not even Father,” she coaxed with a sultry tone and bedroom eyes as she ran her fingers lightly over her exposed skin in an effort to entice him.

But the sight didn’t arouse him at all. In fact, all Jaime could think about as he met his sister’s dark, inviting stare was Lady Sansa’s listless eyes as she flatly recounted how their son had stripped and ordered a young girl beaten by knights for nothing more than sport and his own sick amusement. He wouldn’t risk bringing another mad child into the world, especially one with so much potential power and influence. The thought sickened him and dampened any arousal he might have otherwise felt. Even now he could see how Cersei would discount the girl’s suffering or write her off as just another stupid girl that got in her or Joffrey’s way.

Had he really pushed a little boy from a window for their relationship? Unfortunately, there was a lot of things he would do to protect his family and hide their secret. But had he been so stupid as to risk getting caught fucking his sister in an unfamiliar place and then shoved a child out the window in the hopes he would die? He’d done a lot of awful things in his life, but he’d never done something like that before. He felt his stomach sink and twist as he stared at his sister and considered that he probably would do such a thing if he felt he had no choice. What had happened to him in the years since he’d been knighted that he would do something as terrible as that? Yes, he’d had his illusions shattered by the Mad King, but he didn’t kill children and it wasn’t a line he wanted to cross. His father was proving correct once again, this had to stop before it became dangerous or he did something he would regret to hide it.

He turned away from the sight of his sister and ordered with a grunt, “Get dressed.”

He heard her huff indignantly from behind him.

“Fine. Do what father says! Pretty soon he’ll take you away from me and have you engaged to some insipid little cunt that you can’t stand. Don’t come crawling back to me when that happens. You’ve always been the stupidest Lannister. Gods I should have been the one with a cock and you the cunt,” she railed at him venomously.

Jaime stiffened, he was trying to save her and the children from their father and the consequences of their reckless actions! And in a small way atone for the wickedness he had helped bring into the world. He knew leaving the Kingsguard and his sister’s influence alone wouldn’t be enough to even the scales, but he would figure out a way to pay the rest of his debt.

He glared at Cersei’s furious form as she tucked herself angrily back into her clothes. He was incensed at her words and swore he wouldn’t go back to her even if he found he couldn’t stand Lady Sansa. Cersei was no good for him if what his father and Lady Sansa had to say was true. He was starting to believe their words for himself. Why had the gods made him love such a hateful woman? He’d lived most of his adult life denying himself of things, it would be little different to deprive himself of his lover.

“Get out,” he growled at her while he donned the last pieces of his armor and belted his sword to his waist.

“Fine,” she said glacially, stomping wrathfully back out of the room and slamming the door on the way out.

Jaime groaned. The day he was released from the Kingsguard couldn’t come fast enough. He checked his armor and person one last time for anything missing and then left to go relieve one of the other guards for a short shift.

Chapter Text

Ned Stark stood at the entrance to the King’s chambers and shifted his weight onto his heels. He watched his old friend for a moment, before taking a deep fortifying breath. Sansa seemed to think he still had enough influence with his old friend to make this work, but he wasn’t so sure. It had been a long time since they had acted like brothers at the Eyrie and during the Rebellion. Part of that was his own fault he knew. After he’d brought Jon home, he was worried about anyone discovering his nephew’s parentage and he had been so deeply lost in the grief of losing nearly his entire family that he had all but closed off the North.

He’d thrown himself into the daily tasks of being the Stark in Winterfell and the Lord Paramount of the region. He had done his best to step into the shoes that had been his father’s and had always been meant for his brother Brandon. There had been no part of him as a child or teenager that had considered that his older brother wouldn’t live to have a family or that he would have to take Brandon’s place as Lord Stark. Those first few years had been a difficult adjustment with a steep learning curve for him and he was aware that he’d made mistakes that could have been prevented if he’d participated in Brandon’s lessons with him or taken the ones that Jon Arryn had tried to press into Robert more seriously.

It was part of what made himself so angry at himself with the situation with Sansa. He, of all people, knew how quickly a house could be wiped out. Lyanna, Brandon, and his father had all died within a handful of moons of each other, leaving only himself, Benjen, and his infant son. So why had he failed to include Sansa and Arya in those same lessons that he wished he had learned from his own father? A terrible misstep on his part that he was thankful he was able to correct before it was too late.

The door wasn’t closed so Ned knocked on the door frame to get Robert’s attention. The King looked up from table where he was drinking from, and his face brightened when he identified his friend.

“Come in, Ned! Don’t just stand there. Have a drink with me,” he bellowed from his seated position.

Ned sat down and poured himself a glass of the northern ale that was in the pitcher. He took a small sip and addressed his friend, “I wanted to let you know the feast will start in a little over an hour.”

“Excellent! I’m hungry already. We missed you on the hunt yesterday,” Robert said with a jolly smile.

Ned grunted. “Unfortunately, business ran longer than I anticipated, but hopefully you enjoyed the Wolfswood and left some game for the next hunting party.”

The King chuckled, “I might have left a few animals there. I’ll have to come back sometime though, the game in the Kingswood isn’t nearly so large.”

“Well we don’t have quite so many people hunting in it,” Ned said, smirking at his predictable friend.

“Have you decided about your daughter and my son yet?” King Robert asked after he downed the rest of the ale in his cup. He reached for the pitcher and poured himself another nearly overflowing cup. He sipped at the new glass and then met one of his oldest friend’s troubled grey eyes.

Ned considered his old friend pensively as he slowly spoke, “The truth is Robert I just don’t think my daughter would be happy as queen.”

“Why not? She seems the type to want that,” Robert replied cocking his head and furrowing his dark brows into a deep vee.

“My daughter is sweet and thoughtful, but unfortunately her wolfsblood is just as prevalent as any of her other siblings. Like the rest of us Starks, she doesn’t belong that far south, and she’d be miserable in King’s Landing. I hinted around to her earlier today, but she didn’t seem the slightest bit interested, she said that the Iron Throne and the crown was just a burden,” he answered with a purposely nonchalant shrug.

He was lying about asking her today. Ned already was well aware of her opinion and hadn’t had to ask her at all as she had made her feelings about the Iron Throne clear to him months ago. He had no idea what he would tell his friend after the knowledge of the betrothal between Sansa and heir to the Westerlands came out, since Casterly Rock and Lannisport were nearly as far south as King’s Landing. He supposed he would have to come up with something or hope that Robert wouldn’t remember the reasons Ned had given him. Based on how low the pitcher of ale was when he’d poured himself a cup there was a good chance that Robert wouldn’t remember the details of this conversation. Ned suppressed the grin that wanted to surface on his face. He had never thought that he’d have a use for Robert’s excessive drinking, but apparently these were strange times.

He had told Sansa when she first came out of the crypts several months ago now, that he’d never betroth her to anyone without her consent and after seeing the marks on his daughter’s skin from the prince, he’d sooner kill the boy than let him get anywhere near his gentle daughter. He was sure that for as long as he lived, he’d never forget the sight of the dozens of scars on crisscrossing his daughter’s delicate back or the dead tone she’d spoken with as she recounted her torture. In fact, ensuring that never happened to his daughter or another young girl was half the reason he was going to accept the job as Hand. He could not, in good conscious allow that to happen to anyone, so he’d keep his friend alive for a good long time and hope either the prince grew out of it or that he could either stop or mitigate that depraved behavior until something could be done about the cruel boy. Unfortunately, he had low hopes for that the boy would grow out of the behavior considering that Sansa had called Joffrey a mad king.

King Robert snorted. “Aye. I’ll agree with her there. If I had known how terribly boring being king was, I would have insisted you take the crown rather than take it for myself.”

“No thank you! I don’t want the crown either,” Ned snickered, then proposed more seriously, “However, if you still want to join our houses my eldest son, Robb is still not betrothed. It would be a step down for Princess Myrcella. However, when she is old enough, my son would treat her right and she would be safe in the North.”

Ned had carefully considered how he would refuse Robert’s son for his daughter and figured that the most diplomatic way would be to offer a compromise. He might not be willing to hand his daughter over, but he didn’t have an objection to joining their Houses together another way. Besides, he had heard Sansa when she had spoken to Jaime Lannister the day before, the princess wasn’t safe around her own brother in the Red Keep and if she was betrothed to his son, Ned could send her to Winterfell, to safety, if it looked like she needed it.

Robb had consented without much fuss when he had consulted his eldest son after his meeting this morning. Ned would never betray his daughter’s pain without her permission, but he’d made it clear to Robb that Sansa knew that the Crown Prince was cruel and did not want a match with the boy. Robb thankfully, hadn’t had to be convinced of the fact as he, Theon, and Jon had all gone hunting in the Wolfswood with the King’s party yesterday which had naturally included Joffrey Baratheon. Robb didn’t say what the boy had said or done during the hunt, but he’d also been adamant that Sansa couldn’t marry the Crown Prince and that he had no objection to Myrcella, except that she was very young at the moment.

While he had originally intended to wed his heir to a bannerman’s daughter, there were a number of political reasons for the match he had carefully considered as well. The first reason was that the girl would need to be matched anyway to either a Lord Paramount’s heir or a prince. The number of people in Westeros that would be suitable and age appropriate for the girl was truly slim. Robert Arryn was too young, the Lannister brothers were too closely related to the princess, Willas Tyrell was perhaps an option, Edmure Tully was much too old for the girl, and Robert would never consent to a betrothal with the Martells. The only good options out of that list were the Tyrell heir and his son, but his son was closer in age and a better match than a family who had once nearly starved one of her uncles.

If Sansa was right about the long winter and the dangers on the other side of the Wall then having such a close tie to the Crown would be invaluable, especially if Myrcella was in Winterfell at the time. Ned wasn’t convinced that the Wall would fall this time around, but if it did then Myrcella would perhaps be able to lend credence to the story and that would ensure both Robert’s and House Baratheon’s help when the time came if his own word wasn’t enough. He was aware that many of the southern kingdoms considered the North strange and superstitious, so having the word of a southern princess would hopefully eliminate their inclination to dismiss the claim. If nothing else, she would be able to ensure that if Winter lasted for years or a generation, that support in the form of food and supplies would come from the Crown.

It would also provide another reason for Tywin Lannister to promote Northern stability that he wouldn’t be likely to ignore, even if their defense treaty somehow fell through. While he trusted that Sansa knew what she was doing with the Old Lion, there was no reason he couldn’t help her by putting her in a more politically advantageous position. It was time for him to start pulling his weight instead of letting Sansa carry all of the political responsibilities of the North and the future. Sansa may not trust him enough to tell him all her secrets yet, but he wouldn’t allow her to fix all this alone. There were too many problems for one person to fix and their family was stronger together when they supported each other. She was a Stark and the Starks had survived for so long by protecting their packmates.

The King sighed. “If you are refusing my son for your daughter than I am going to insist that you take the position of Hand. I’d rather have your daughter as Queen than some other grasping House, but Myrcella wed to your heir is a fair compromise I suppose. Consider it a tentative yes and we can draw up a betrothal agreement when you come to King’s Landing,” he stated firmly.

“Alright, I’ll agree to take the position, but I have a few conditions. The first and second of which are that you release Jaime Lannister from the Kingsguard and that I may ride for Winterfell before the last harvest of Autumn to ensure the preparations for winter are complete,” Ned bargained. He prayed his daughter was correct about the King’s continued regard for him.

Robert frowned and asked, “Release the Kingslayer? Why would I do that?”

“For one, because you claimed to be surrounded by Lannisters and their smug satisfied faces and because I don’t trust him. If I am to be Hand, I don’t want to spend half my time trying to make sure he isn’t going to stab you in the back, my friend,” he finished, keeping his face serious, and using the excuse he might have given before the truth of Aerys’ death had been revealed to him yesterday.

Gods he hated all this politicking, but if Sansa was correct than Robert wouldn’t take no for an answer on him taking the position of Hand, which meant that he was potentially signing up for a lifetime of it. Maybe after a suitable amount of time, he could get Robert to release him for someone else more suited to all the politicking as Hand and he could retire back to the North to watch over it and his family again.

“You’ll agree if I release Lannister from his vows? And let you make a short trip home in Autumn?” he asked with knit brows, somewhat confused by the simplicity of the requests.

“I have one more condition as well, the North is opening a western port and I’d like permission to have the North build up a fleet to protect against the Ironborn,” he stated firmly, this wasn’t a condition he’d talked to anyone about, not his wife, not Sansa, nor his eldest son, but he thought it important if they wanted to have a major trade port through the area.

He didn’t trust Balon Greyjoy or any of his siblings to keep to the agreement they had made nine years ago with so much merchandise passing right by the Iron Islands nor with a trade port only a few days of sailing away. He’d not have his son slaughtered in his home or the North invaded because the neither the North nor the port had adequate defenses.

“That one you didn’t need to bargain for, I’d have easily agreed to let you build a fleet to keep the Ironborn in check years ago. Actually, why haven’t we already done that?” Robert asked with a fierce scowl.

Ned shrugged, “I don’t know. There’s never been much on the North’s western coast to protect except small fishing villages. I don’t have any lords that close to the coast until Lord Glover in Deepwood Motte, so I wasn’t aware of how often they were raiding those areas until I surveyed it for myself. Most of the residents of those towns had moved further inland to avoid the risk rather than raise the issue with the nearest lord or myself.”

Robert nodded back and then with a defeated sigh said, “Alright. If it gets you down where you’re of use to me that’s a small price to pay. Build your fleet, you’ll have leave to travel to Winterfell at least once before Winter, and I’ll release the Kingslayer at the end of the trip. I’ll have to leave him here though otherwise Cersei will find some way to stop it, or gods forbid have the smug bastard sworn in a second time.”

Ned took a sip of his ale to hide his grin. That had been easier than he thought it would be. It appeared his daughter did know what she was talking about even when it came to the King. “My family would be fine with hosting him after you leave until he and his father head back to the Westerlands.”

Robert smiled at his friend. “It’ll be just like old times, Ned. You and me against the world.”

He drained the rest of his cup and stood up. “That it will Robert. I have to get back to the preparations, but I will see you at dinner.”

He made a note to find Sansa and Robb within the next few days to update them on the developments and discuss the plans for the North while he was in King’s Landing. Even if the dead didn’t cross the Wall there were still more Wildling crossings than usual and they would need to discuss a solution to that. Additionally, they needed to figure out how much more work needed to be done at the western port before they could start receiving shipments and discuss the fact that he’d just negotiated with the King to start a fledging navy though the North hadn’t had a significant military presence on the sea since Brandon the Burner had put a torch to all his father’s ships hundreds of years ago.

Sansa walked into the banquet hall for the feast on her brother Robb’s arm. Things were arranged just as she remembered them from the first time this had happened. The only noticeable difference at the moment was that it was two days later than the feast had been held in her original time and her own appearance. She was older this time and while she was again dressed in a gown she’d made herself, this one was a Northern styled dress in the same color green as the bottom of the Stark pennant with delicately stitched grey and white direwolves running along the hems. She’d left her hair to tumble down her back in loose curls rather than the elaborate braids the Queen liked to sport. She had no desire to flatter Cersei with imitation this time around.

The Queen crooked a finger over at her and smiled, but Sansa recognized this smile of Cersei’s as the fake one she gave whenever she was miserable or angry. Considering that it was basically the only smile she ever used, Sansa didn’t believe recognizing it was some great feat. Cersei had never been able to conceal her feelings well, only when Sansa had been a little girl had she been fooled by the other woman’s words while her countenance had displayed an entirely different emotion. Sansa glided up to the Queen’s table and her own lips tipped up when she mused that Cersei looked especially wroth this evening. She curtsied quickly to the other woman just deeply enough that the woman wouldn’t feel slighted and no deeper like she had done when she had first met the Queen.

Sansa keenly remembered the days when she had admired and adored this woman once upon a time. There was no denying that Cersei was still one of the most beautiful women in the realm even with the subtle hints of anger on her face, but her beauty hid her true nature. She was like a poisonous flower, lovely, but bitter and deadly.

She was the most powerful woman on the continent right now, but she had never tried to exert much influence until after Robert, Joffrey, and her father had died. Then she’d gone mad with grief and power and the realm had suffered terribly under her hand. Right now, Cersei was wasting her influence, but she wasn’t mad yet. Cersei had always craved more power and control, but never done anything constructive with it once she got it. What good had all that power been if she didn’t use it to better the kingdom? It certainly hadn’t done her or her family any good. Near the end she had been so power hungry that she had committed atrocities that led to her younger son’s death, had outright killed her uncle, Kevan Lannister, and she had died with her twin under the rubble of the city she had been Queen of. Her rule had been a rot on the Kingdom and a pestilence to the Lannister family and their legacy.

Sansa had to wonder what Cersei had thought would happen if she had won the war against Daenerys? It had still been winter and she had alienated all her would-be allies. She held no one’s loyalty or trust and any region that had food would be unlikely to share it with the Crown with her ruling. Planning and consequences had never been Cersei’s strong suit, so it was possible that she hadn’t considered those ideas at all. Just like Daenerys, Cersei would have been content to reduce the kingdom to ashes so long as she ruled over it.

“Hello, Little Dove. But you are a beauty. Did you enjoy walking with my brother today? He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” she asked warmly, but her smile now dripped with barely concealed poison.

“He was ever so gallant, Your Grace,” Sansa chirped.

She wondered if this display from the Queen was all caused by jealousy that Jaime had walked with her this morning or if Cersei somehow knew about the betrothal between them. She hoped that the other woman hadn’t found out yet but knew that even in a quiet place like Winterfell it was difficult to keep secrets, especially ones of that magnitude and there was always the risk that Jaime had told his twin.

Out of the corner of her eye Sansa saw Ser Jaime and Lord Lannister enter the room together. She supposed that was the other change to this feast. With Tywin Lannister here, Ser Jaime was spending visibly less time around his twin than the last time.

Cersei looked suspicious at her words. “Gallant? Yes, my brother is that too, but he’s never looked at a woman twice. The King is arranging a betrothal between you and my son if your father consents. Wouldn’t you like that, Little Dove?” she asked.

Sansa was saved from having to answer when the King loudly cut in from beside his Queen, “Actually, Ned offered his oldest son for Myrcella’s hand instead. He claimed his daughter had too much wolfsblood for King’s Landing.”

“Is that so?” Cersei looked disdainfully away from her husband and eyed Sansa up with barely concealed mockery.

Sansa only smiled politely back at the other woman and tucked away the information the King had dropped to think about later. It had been a long time since Sansa cared what Cersei thought of her and her disdainful stare wasn’t anything new.  

By this point in the feast King Robert was deep in his cups and he addressed Sansa directly, “Do you really not want to be a queen one day or is your old man protecting you from the vipers in the capital? Ned said you have too much wolfsblood, but you seem more trout than wolf to me.”

“Sansa-” the Old Gods started to declare in the noisy room and Sansa froze as her heart raced. Were the Old Gods trying to get her killed? They couldn’t just whisper who she was and that she was Queen whenever someone questioned her. Cersei would make it her personal mission to kill her if she heard, not to mention all the awkward questions and political upheaval such a thing could cause. While she knew the King was her father’s friend, she doubted he would just laugh off the Old Gods calling her a queen. At best, he’d probably push harder to marry her to his son, but at worst he’d try her for treason and nobody in the North would take that lying down.

“Lady Sansa, King Robert, and sweet sister! How are you enjoying the feast so far and the honorable Ned Stark’s hospitality?” Ser Jaime spoke loudly from behind her, drowning out the Old Gods whispers and drawing the attention of both his sister and Robert.

Sansa felt the tension melt from her shoulders when it appeared that neither the King and Queen, nor anyone else had heard the gods speak over Jaime Lannister’s boisterous greeting. She had never felt so thankful to a Lannister before, not even when Tyrion had interrupted her beating in her last life. That time it had only been her life and pain on the line, but this time there could have been consequences for her family and the North. It was a queer feeling for her to be so thankful to one of them, especially Ser Jaime at that. She supposed she might have to get used to the feeling if Tywin Lannister held up his portion of the agreements that had been signed.

Robert brightened at the interruption. “Ah Kingslayer! Ned brought out the good ale. Try some! I was just asking Lady Sansa about her father and whether it was true or not that she had too much wolfsblood for the capital or if he just didn’t want to bring his beautiful daughter south.”

“Do you know my father to lie, Your Grace?” she asked pleasantly.

He snorted derisively. “No. Your father was a terrible liar as a boy. Everyone always knew when he tried.”

“Then it is as he said, Your Grace. I’m Sansa Stark of Winterfell and I shall remain a wolf until the day I die,” she stated with an elegant shrug of her shoulders.

“No lord you marry will let you keep your name, girl,” the King said as he rolled his eyes.

What a fool Jaime thought of his good brother and King. What did a girl’s name matter? She wasn’t a possession; she was a girl and sometimes Sansa Stark was more wolf than girl anyway. It was exactly that attitude that had lost him Lyanna Stark too.

Sansa let a little bit of the steel she had spoken with as a queen turn her voice as cold and fierce as the very land she was born in, “If no man would let me have my name than no man shall have me at all, if I must ensure it myself.”

From somewhere in the keep Lady howled piercingly, loud enough to be heard over the chatter in the hall, and from across Winterfell the other Stark direwolves joined in, their chorus echoing through the hallways and Great Hall.

When the echoing of the wolves’ cry died down, the King laughed, “Never mind Lady Sansa, Ned Stark’s wolf-daughter you are!”

Tywin held back a self-satisfied grin at the howling, though it was soon wiped away by the look on his good son’s face. There was lust in the King’s drunken eyes and when Tywin Lannister caught him leering at his future good daughter and Sansa’s shuttered expression he motioned to his son. “Jaime, why don’t you escort Lady Sansa back to her place at the table, now that the King’s curiosity has been satiated, so she may eat instead of exchanging pleasantries.”

Tywin threw the man a warning glance. As far as he was concerned, Robert Baratheon had lost his chance at a Stark woman and it would be a cold day in the seven hells before he let another king try to dishonor a Lannister bride. Even though the King couldn’t know that about Lady Sansa yet, Robert was sitting right next to Cersei and he wouldn’t have his daughter humiliated by her husband lusting after a younger woman so blatantly in public either.

“Lady Sansa?” Jaime murmured as he offered her his arm with a flourish.

When they got away from the head table she whispered, “Thank you for earlier, Ser. I appreciated your quick assistance.”

“When I said I would protect you, I didn’t consider that it might be my ability to be rude that got the first bit of thanks from you, my lady. Might I suggest getting your gods to shut up? Or at least giving you a new title? Because that was too close unless you want my sweet sister to skin you alive,” he jested from beside her.

She tilted her head up to meet his bemused green eyes. “Before you came in, I thought I might be in danger of that anyway. Apparently, she either saw or heard about our walk this morning and she was displeased by it. With as cross as she was, I thought she might have found out about something else for a moment.”

The laughter drained from his eyes and he considered the woman on his arm for a moment before deciding that since she already knew about him and Cersei it wouldn’t hurt to fill her in on what had happened earlier. “No, I don’t think she knows about that, my lady. I informed her that our father forbid my association with her earlier and she didn’t take it well.”

“Oh, I didn’t think he knew about that,” Sansa said, re-evaluating what she knew of the Great Lion from her last life.

Jaime shook his head. “He didn’t before, but he apparently figured it out on the road here and after the discussion in your father’s solar the yesterday.”

When he got her back to her seat, he didn’t relinquish his hold on her right away. He glanced at back at Cersei, who was glaring at him with fire and rage that made her eyes glow maliciously. Sansa followed her gaze before rolling her eyes. When Sansa went to remove her hand herself, he placed his other hand over top of it drawing her attention to him. “Say, Lady Sansa how about as repayment for my assistance earlier you take another walk with me tomorrow?”

“Is this some type of weird foreplay between the two of you?” she hissed, checking to make sure no one around them was paying attention.

That startled a laugh out of him, “No, but I’m rather put out with her right now. She’s giving me the silent treatment right now and it will make her absolutely furious.”

“I can’t tomorrow. I already have plans in Winter Town, but I would be able to in a few days,” she said with narrowed eyes, attempting to assess his motives and sincerity.

Was he joking with her? She did not know this Jaime Lannister well. She had never had much contact with him before her father had been beheaded and the next time she’d had contact with him, he was proclaiming to want to fight for the living and he’d been down his sword hand, his father, and all three of the children born to him. She knew how grief could change a person, but she didn’t know how much it had or hadn’t changed him.

Jaime shrugged. “In a few days is fine too. She’ll be just as furious then as she would be if we walked tomorrow.”

Sansa rolled her eyes again, this time at him and then she pulled up every trick she had learned in the Vale and from watching Margaery Tyrell. She demurely dropped her chin, letting a lock of her hair fall forward as she peered up at him through her lashes with enticing ocean eyes. She let a coy smile play on her lips as she trailed her free hand over his shoulder and upper arm with a flirtatious caress. “I’ll look forward to it, Ser. Do try not to get me strangled in my bed though,” she murmured breathily.

Jaime was momentarily tongue-tied by the temptress in front of him. Where had she learned to look and speak to a man like that? The mirthful twinkling in her eyes soon gave her away. He grinned roguishly at her and decided to play along with her little performance. He helped her into her seat, but before he relinquished her hand, he brushed a kiss to the back of it and watched, pleased as a genuine blush rose on her cheeks.

“I make no promises, my lady. Until later,” he said, carefully ignoring the stare he could feel burning into his back from his twin sister. He wandered off with a grin to get his own meal and maybe chase down his father or brother to talk with for the rest on the evening.

Chapter Text

Tywin Lannister wandered through the Great Keep, attempting to catch Ned Stark to see if their gambit to remove Jaime from the Kingsguard had worked on Robert. He had thought to check Lord Stark’s solar, but it had been empty, neither the man in question nor Lady Sansa had been there.

Since he didn’t know where the other lord was, Tywin did not rush through the halls and instead took his time studying the architecture of this castle. This fortress was vastly different than the one at Casterly Rock. It was an older style of architecture with diamond shaped windows and tall towers whereas the Casterly Rock had only part of its infrastructure above ground, since much of the castle extended into old mining caverns. However, the upper levels of the Rock were much brighter than anything in Winterfell. The above ground portion of Casterly Rock was inlaid with gold and glittering jewels, there were also windows and balconies that opened to spectacular views of the Sunset Sea.

The first day Tywin had arrived, while in the privacy of his room, he had checked the walls of the castle to find them pleasantly heated by some engineering marvel he had yet to learn all the details of. It was well known of course that Winterfell was heated by the hot springs below it, but the exact process was known only to the Starks. He noted that it took the maids mere minutes to bring hot bath water to his room after he had ordered one, whereas in any other large keep he’d stayed in, it might take an hour to get a hot bath. Was the difference in time only because the maids didn’t have to boil the water first? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think that could account for all of it.

The Godswood had also been more peaceful and beautiful than he had expected with its mixture of weirwood and ironwood trees. As he had told his son before their discussion, he could see why Lady Sansa desired one wherever she lived. He did not know if the space had felt sacred because of the mysterious presence of the Old Gods or if feeling could be attributed to the generations of reverence that the Starks had paid the area over the last eight thousand years.

While Tywin didn’t come across either of the Starks he was searching for as he strolled through the halls cataloguing the differences he noticed about Winterfell, he did spy a figure who he thought was one of the younger Stark boys with milky white eyes, in the middle of skinchanging. As he paused his steps to take a closer look at the little figure tucked away in a darkened little nook, he noticed that there was a thin castle-forged steel sword laid within arm’s reach.

Despite being dressed in pants and a tunic, it quickly became apparent that the figure wasn’t one of the younger Stark boys at all, but the youngest girl instead, her gender only given away by her long hair and dainty facial features that she shared with Lyanna Stark. He observed her with a raised brow and renewed interest. Partly he was amused by the fact that Lord Stark let his daughter run around with a sword in boys clothing. He couldn’t imagine that the other lord didn’t know what the girl was doing since her clothes were so well fitting that they had to have been made for her. He was also curious to see another of the Stark children perform the same strange magic that he’d seen Lady Sansa perform a few days prior.

The girl, whom he now believed to be Arya Stark didn’t acknowledge his presence whatsoever when he shifted silently only a few feet away from her. Neither her head, nor body moved in response to the motion he made. Tywin assumed that either the girl had terrible manners or that when the Starks skinchanged they had no concept of what was visually occurring outside of their connection with their direwolves. In this case, he thought his second assumption was more likely as very few people failed to acknowledge his presence when he was standing so physically close to them.

He wondered if her preoccupation precluded her from hearing him as well and was about to clear his throat to test that hypothesis when the girl blinked her eyes and they suddenly cleared to the same solemn grey as Ned Stark’s. She snatched up the thin sword beside her, hopped up from her spot, and nearly barreled directly into him before frantically stopping short with a loud gasp. She was a tiny thing that barely reached waist height on him with dark hair that shared none of the hints of auburn that any of her trueborn siblings displayed. Her wide eyes traveled up his chest to his face and recognition flared in them.

“Lord Lannister,” she stated abruptly, taking a large step back to put more space between them and so that her neck wasn’t as craned.

He wondered if that was what passed for a greeting in the North and responded in kind, “Lady Arya Stark.”

The girl wrinkled her nose and adopted a mulish expression as she asked, “What are you doing in this part of the keep, Lord Lannister?”

He suppressed a smirk at her reaction. Did she hate her name, or the title attached to it? Judging by the way she was dressed he was willing to wager that she hated being reminded that she was a lady. “I was hoping to catch either Lord Stark or Lady Sansa in your father’s solar to discuss some unfinished business.”

She nodded at him suspiciously but didn’t say anything else. He wanted to ask about the warging since he had only gotten to see it so briefly the other day, so he cast about for something to say that would get her to speak past her suspicions.

“I saw your sister do that a few days ago,” he said, waving his hand towards her vaguely.

“Sansa warged in front of you?” Arya asked skeptically.

That wasn’t something she could see her lady sister doing in front of southern company, not even before she had come back different several moons ago. Before Sansa would have been too embarrassed to show such a “barbaric” skill to the refined lords and ladies of the southern kingdoms, but now the reason would be different; her lady sister was far more distrustful of those outside the North and rarely showed anyone outside of the family anything other than the image of a perfect lady. The staff and servants all adored her pretty sister with her even prettier manners still, but Arya was aware that her sister was more relaxed and less refined in private with most of her siblings than she was with the staff and Winterfell’s occasional visitors.

“She did, but I don’t think she intended to display such a skill. She seemed fed up with my son and your father arguing and called for Lady,” he confirmed dryly.

“My father was arguing with Lord Tyrion and Sansa called Lady to break it up?” Arya trailed off, even more confused by the explanation. Why would her father argue with the Imp? And why would Lady be required to break up such an uneven fight anyway?

Tywin scowled. “Not Tyrion, my son Jaime and she brought her wolf to balance out the fact that my son was carrying a sword into a private discussion in your father’s solar where both he and Lady Sansa were unarmed.”

The girl snickered into her hand as she asked incredulously, “No wonder Sansa had to call for Lady. Who thought it was a good idea to put my father in a room with the Kingslayer?”

She seemed suddenly to realize what she’d said and to whom she was speaking to because she lowered her eyes quickly and backtracked her words, “Forgive me, my lord, but my father despises Ser Jaime and I thought he would feel the same about my father.”

Tywin changed his earlier assessment, the girl was rude, although he did not think it was intentional. She was just excessively blunt and hadn’t learned to hold her tongue yet, which wasn’t yet unforgiveable at her age. It was a sharp contrast to her older sister who was able to weave her words so carefully that it was difficult to tell whether one was being complimented or insulted. The tiny thing in front of him had solemn, intelligent eyes though and he bet that she would grow up to be every bit as clever as her older sister, even if that cleverness took an entirely different form.

“I’ve rarely interacted with your father and I was unaware of the extent of his feelings on the matter when I had Jaime accompany me. It was an oversight on my part that Lady Sansa was able to rectify, thankfully without either of them resorting to anything worse than rude words,” he hummed out with his hands folded behind his back.

“Can’t believe my perfect lady sister forgot herself enough to skinchange in front of others. She must have been very annoyed to do so,” Lady Arya said with a tone that promised that she was already plotting how to tease her older sibling for her recklessness.

“I’m sorry to say that neither your father, nor my son, were on their best behavior,” Tywin said as he glanced down and shared an amused smirk with the girl, delighted to be able to give her material on her very serious lord father too.

Arya cackled gleefully, “They were behaving like children then?”

“I can confirm that that wouldn’t be too far from the truth. When I saw your sister skinchange she only held it long enough to call for her direwolf. How long were you holding the connection for just now?” Tywin asked now that he had seemingly broken through her wary distrustfulness of him.

Arya grinned proudly. “This time I held it for nearly an entire hour without a break!”

He raised a brow at her answer, that was far longer than he had expected to hear. “And what were you doing for a whole hour as a direwolf?”

Arya eyed him up carefully, weighing whether he would be likely to mock her for her answer. She pressed her tongue into the roof of her mouth as she considered that he hadn’t been dismissive of her nor had the Lannister lord commented negatively on the unorthodox clothing she was wearing. She let out a long slow exhale and her eyes darted down to stare at the floor near her feet.

“Father lets me train with the master at arms,” she said, half-way lifting the little sword in her hand to draw attention to it.

She raised her head again with an angry tilt to her chin. Her voice gained strength and a note of indignation as she continued speaking, “But Ser Rodrick isn’t training me properly, because I’m a girl and he doesn’t think girls should be allowed to fight.”

“How do you know? That’s a serious charge if he’s disobeying Lord Stark’s orders,” he cautioned her.

She nodded. “I know. That’s why I was warging. I was watching my younger brother Bran’s lessons and Ser Rodrick does not train me nearly as well during my lessons despite that I am already better than Bran.”

He commended her, “That’s clever of you. What are you going to do about the lessons?”

“I’m going to watch Bran’s lessons, learn it on my own, and then I’ll beat Ser Rodrick and make him train me properly,” she insisted stubbornly.

“That will allow you to learn the forms, but you won’t get any practice in that way nor the satisfaction of getting the master at arms disciplined for his lack of respect to you and your father. It will also take a long time without proper instruction. Would you like my suggestion?” he asked meeting her flinty eyes.

“Yes, please,” she answered eagerly.

Arya was well aware of the reputation that the man in front of her had acquired. Her favorite tales growing up had been the ones of Dorne and their warrior queen Nymeria, but she had ease dropped and listened to many fearsome tales of this man too. If she was going to ask anyone’s advice on how to get what she was owed the Great Lion was likely the best person in the entire Seven Kingdoms to ask and he was offering to give it to her.

Tywin could practically see the thoughts whirling in the younger Stark girl’s head. “I assume you are worried about your father not believing you if you told him outright?”

Arya nodded. “Yes, and I don’t want him to think I’m complaining after all the fuss he and Sansa had to put up with from mother about the lessons.”

“In that case you will need an ally. Someone who knows how you are supposed to be trained and who your father will believe,” he said.

“I think my father would be offended if you said something,” Arya said starchily, entirely unenchanted by the plan so far.

Tywin’s lips twitched up minutely at the girl’s presumption and her utter lack of tailoring her critiques to his ego or position. If was a refreshing change from the adults he normally had to put up with. “I don’t doubt that he would be offended if I interfered, I was thinking of your older brother actually. Have him covertly watch one of your lessons and one of Bran’s lessons and then if he agrees with you, he can go to your father on your behalf. You will get better lessons and your father will either have to reprimand the master at arms or keep a better eye on him.”

Arya frowned and stared at a spot on the wall as she worked through the plan in her head. “I’m not sure whether Robb would help me. He doesn’t like being stuck between mother and father when they disagree.”

Tywin tucked that bit of knowledge away about the future lord of Winterfell. The habits formed in youth could be adequate predictor of future. Despite how closely the marriage between his heir and Lady Sansa would tie their regions together, it never hurt to know another lord’s habits and weaknesses, especially one so easy to exploit such as that. A lord that would not take a firm stand against injustice to help his sister because another part of his family might not approve suggested a lack of character and principles that hopefully for both of his sisters' sakes, he would grow out of by the time he reached adulthood or assumed the lordship of Winterfell.

“But Jon would help and he’s a better swordsman than Robb anyway, so father might listen to him too, even though he’s younger than Robb,” Ayra said brightly and tucked her sword away into a sheath at her side.

That was also interesting to know about the Stark family dynamics, but Tywin was far more interested in the length of time that Arya had claimed she could skinchange for. Lady Sansa had implied only a few days ago that she could not hold the connection with her direwolf for very long. Had she been lying to him? He hadn’t thought the lady to be a liar, but he did not know the girl that well either. A whole hour was plenty of time to hear most, if not all, of the conversation he’d had with Jaime in the Starks’ Godswood. Tywin hid his negative speculations carefully. Now that he’d built up a bit of rapport with Lady Arya and done her a favor, though it hadn’t been explicitly framed in that manner, maybe she would answer some more of his questions about the Stark family gift.

“Can your other siblings hold the connection for that long? Lady Sansa only used it for a few moments,” he inquired, masking his suspicions with idle curiosity that he didn’t believe the girl would be able to see through now that she didn’t distrust him on sight.

Arya screwed up her face in contemplation. “I don’t know how long my older brothers can manage or if they’ve even tried. Bran can warg as well as me. Sansa is the one who showed us all that it was possible, but even after you manage it the first time, it takes a lot of practice to get it right and she doesn’t have that kind of time to practice. I think she can warg for maybe a quarter of an hour? She’s always busy with other things and if she’s not busy, than she’s helping Rickon learn the skill, Sansa thinks he’s too young to try by himself.”

He found himself pleased that Lady Sansa had proved to be intelligent enough not to lie to him and that his suspicions had been unfounded in this case. He was also pleased to hear that Lady Sansa both knew how to teach the skill and was going about it responsibly with her youngest brother, who if he remembered right, was only four years old. It boded well for if she passed the skill along to her own children.

“Does your sister practice sword fighting instead then?” he asked, nodding toward the sword the girl had sheathed at her side. Lady Sansa hadn’t struck him as the type to want lessons in swordplay, but perhaps it was a Stark thing. He was still mildly curious about the girl that he’d betrothed to his son and here was a prime source of information that would be unlikely to sugar coat the truth, after all there was no one so honest about your faults as younger siblings.

Arya broke out into uncontrollable laughter and preceded to laugh herself silly at the thought.

“My sister is a proper lady. She does not sword fight. She sews and has long talks in my father’s solar,” she said somewhat dismissively.

“She must spend a lot of time doing those things if she doesn’t have time to practice either the skinchanging or swordplay as you do,” he said leadingly and hid his satisfaction when the girl took his bait.

Arya rolled her eyes and huffed in aggrievance, “Sansa is always sewing something.”

“Sewing can be a useful skill. Your own clothes appear well-tailored to you, and someone had to make those,” he said, a little surprised at the vehemence and disdain in the girl’s voice for a skill that was common to many highborn ladies.

“Sansa made my clothes herself, but mostly she makes blankets, clothes, and little hats for the babies in Winter Town. I don’t think she’s trying to be useful, Sansa just likes babies and other stupid girly things,” Arya said, holding out a corner of her tunic and wrinkling her nose. She loved her sister, especially now that they didn’t argue all the time, but she didn’t understand her sister or how they were so different from each other. Arya didn’t enjoy being around little babes or sitting for long hours sewing and she had no idea how her sister could stand to do those things and even profess to like them.

Tywin struggled not to chuckle at the little northern girl in front of him. He’d met a few women like her in his life, ones who despaired of anything overtly feminine, but rarely had they been so honest about it to him, especially because he was a widower with two unmarried sons and a vast fortune.

“Having met your sister, I doubt she is only being nice. She and your father seemed worried about winter. Distributing out blankets and warm clothes will help keep the babes and children strong when winter does come. It’s also excellent politics,” he stated dryly.

Arya screwed up her face in confusion and asked, “How can sewing politics?”

“A House, even a Great House, isn’t propped up by itself. All those people that received clothes and blankets made from your sister’s own hand will remember that your sister, that House Stark, was kind to them and their children and they will be more likely to answer House Stark’s calls to fight or work. Lady Sansa is building loyalty and goodwill. Your sister is being useful and clever in her own way. Wars aren’t only fought on the battlefield with swords,” he explained to the restless girl in front of him as he had once explained to his own children, though in hindsight, the lesson had been completely wasted on both of his older children. Jaime still thought he could fight his way out of any conflict singlehandedly and Cersei had never had any inclination to use anything but the crudest of methods.

Arya frowned, rocking back on her heels like she sometimes saw her father do when he was thinking and said, “Alright, so Sansa’s sewing could be useful, but I still think learning the sword is better and more interesting.”

Tywin fought the twitch of his lips. “You remind me of my children. Jaime always wanted a sword in his hand, and I imagine if I would have been more like your father, Cersei would have wanted to learn to fight too.”

Arya tried to hide her frown. She didn’t much like the Queen and she hadn’t interacted with Ser Jaime at all. She wasn’t sure she liked being compared to them but recognized that Lord Lannister was likely paying her a compliment in his own way.

“It probably is more interesting to you, but your sister doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would be interested swordplay whether she tried to learn the skill or not. Some people like to create things and others like to fight. The founder of your line, the first Brandon Stark, was most famous for his ability to build, no one remembers if he was a talented fighter or not. Does it matter what skillset your sister likes so long as she’s being useful with it?” he asked angling his head down towards the girl.

Arya scuffed at the stone floor with her shoe. “I suppose not and you’re right Sansa does like creating and making things. I know my father asked for her help with building the port too and she seemed very happy to help though it all sounded dull to me. I don’t think she likes fighting at all.”

Perhaps his son’s little bride would be more useful than he’d originally anticipated. He knew Lord Stark had kept Lady Sansa in the room during the negotiations, but he had thought that it was a merely a learning opportunity for the girl rather allowing her to see the results of her own work. He’d thought her clever enough and teachable then but, he hadn’t thought to revise his assessment of her after her gods had revealed that she was once the ruler of the North and perhaps that had been a mistake on his part.

“Speaking of which do you know where I could find either your father or your sister?” Tywin asked.

Arya cocked her head. “My father is either with the King or in the Godswood at this time and Sansa has been in Winter Town talking to the people and giving out her blankets for the last few days.”

He sighed. He would check the Godswood next, but otherwise he would just have to wait to catch the other man alone. He didn’t want to risk running into Robert as he had no patience to deal with fools so early in the day.

Jaime watched from his seat at a lower table as Joffrey tried to gain Lady Sansa’s attention. He smirked into his glass when he saw that every time Joffrey addressed her, she would smile pleasantly and say just a few words before swiftly turning back to her meal. He could see the frustration mounting on the boy’s face when none of his efforts amounted to anything with the pretty girl. When the knight saw that Lady Sansa was nearly finished with her meal he stood from his own seat and made his way toward the high table just in time for him to hear Joffrey speak.

 “I think I would like to see your wolfsblood for myself. I shall have my father request your presence at court, Lady Sansa. After all, just because you don’t wish to be Queen doesn’t mean you can’t be shown a pleasurable time,” Joffrey said, leering unsettlingly at the lady’s figure.

Jaime clenched his jaw and wondered if that was the kind of veiled comments that Sansa had been replying to the entire time Joffrey had been sitting next to her this morning. He found that the thought made his blood boil. While little could be said about the boy’s actual words, his tone and emphasis made it clear what he meant and it was an insult to any lady, let alone the daughter of a Lord Paramount. It wasn’t even terribly clever. Joffrey would be lucky if the words didn’t get back to Lord Stark.

Had Joffrey always acted this way? He normally did not get assigned to guard either of the princes. He thought the scheduling was a result of Cersei’s paranoia, but he wasn’t sure that it wasn’t to protect the boy from him now that he could see the prince’s behavior. Ser Barristan still distrusted him and loathed working with him. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard most often assigned Jaime to Robert, Cersei, or Myrcella, so he wasn’t sure that he could comment on Joffrey’s normal behavior, but he could see a glint of madness in the prince’s eyes that would only take a spark to ignite.

What had he been doing these last few years? Had he been too wrapped up in Cersei’s cunt to notice what was going on around him? For a moment, the thought rose in his mind that perhaps that was the purpose of their relationship to Cersei, before he smothered the thought. Just because he was discovering that she didn’t love him like he loved her, didn’t mean that she’d had a nefarious reason for their relationship. There was no need to ascribe malice to what might only be his inattentiveness.

Jaime watched Sansa smile pleasantly and a little vacantly again as she said, “The best place to see wolfsblood is in the North, my Prince. Perhaps, in a few years I shall look forward to seeing King’s Landing. I hear the city is as impressive as the royalty that lives there, but for now, my place is here in Winterfell.”

He watched Joffrey preen at the perceived complement and tried not to laugh at the lady’s words. He had a fair idea of how impressive Lady Sansa thought the city and the royalty were and it was not the complement Joffrey had taken it as. From up close, Lady Sansa’s expression was worryingly blank and Jaime interceded before Joffrey could respond to her with any more ill-advised comments.

“Nephew, I’m sure in a few years you shall have to ask Lady Sansa’s husband for permission for the pleasure of her company at court and they may not be inclined to share her sweet smiles with you,” he said in a falsely bright tone.

And since he would be the husband in question, over his dead body would he allow his nephew to brutalize or torment his wife, even if he didn’t love her, he’d still promised to protect her. It was an oath he was finding himself very reluctant to break. Luckily, Joffrey was no warrior and aside from Barristan, there were no other knights on the Kingsguard that he couldn’t easily beat if he wished.

“I’m the Crown Prince and eventually I will be the King. Who would deny me something so small as Lady Sansa’s company? Lord Stark is a friend of my father’s so I’m sure he wouldn’t refuse so simple a request. Besides, I heard her tell my father a few nights ago that she wouldn’t marry because she wanted to keep her name,” Joffrey said with a self-assured shrug and the glint of madness flared to life in his familiar green eyes.

Dread pooled in Jaime’s stomach. Joffrey’s words had been said pleasantly enough, but they sounded like a threat against the lady sitting demurely at his side. It was more evidence that Lady Sansa was telling the truth. How was this his seed? He didn’t recognize any of himself in the boy. Yes, he was often described as arrogant, but Joffrey was well beyond mere arrogance and would turn out vicious and cruel if the marks on Sansa’s back were any indication.

Jaime leveled a pitying look on the prince, but his words were sharp with warning, “That’s not how it works, dear nephew. Being a prince or king doesn’t mean you cannot be denied things and Lady Sansa is a Stark which means her bloodline is older than any other on the continent, including yours, only a foolish house wouldn’t let her retain her name if that was a condition for her hand.”

Joffrey opened his mouth in what was sure to be a nasty retort, but Sansa spoke first. “I think my meal disagreed with me. I shall take my leave of you, my Prince, Ser,” she said, standing up abruptly from the table, leaving nearly half her food on her plate.

“Of course, my lady. Why don’t I escort you to get some fresh air? Or to your room if you would prefer,” Jaime volunteered, worried about the pallor on her face and her suddenly bloodless lips.

“I would appreciate your escort, Ser. Good day, Prince Joffrey,” she said woodenly with a slight curtsy that Jaime had no idea how she’d executed so perfectly while looking like she might faint dead away.

Jaime offered her his arm and tucked her delicate hand into the crook of his, before escorting her out of the hall. The whole way through the hall he could feel Joffrey’s stare boring into their backs until the door closed behind them.

Jaime waited for the blankness to leave Lady Sansa’s expression before he addressed her, “Would you prefer to head to your room or outside, my lady?”

She gave him a weary smile and he was relieved to see some color seeping back into her complexion. “I believe that I owe you a walk. Let me get Lady and then we can walk through the Godswood.”

“We don’t have to. I can tell that you are upset, and I would not hold it against you if you wished to hide in your room for the rest of the day,” he said softly.

“Oh no, I promised you a walk and I know how you Lannisters are about debts,” she teased, and more life and warmth trickled back into her eyes.

He snickered, “A Lannister always pays their debts, but I can always collect on this one later and you don’t have to worry about that as you aren’t a Lannister.”

Sansa heard the unspoken ‘yet’ in his tone. She would be as good as a Lannister once their agreement was officially dated. She guided them out of the Great Hall and into the courtyard. There wasn’t a lot of people out and about, they either had tasks in other parts of the keep or they were still in their rooms sleeping. It looked like it would be a mild day, which this far North, meant no snow or cold rain. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the early morning sun felt warm on her skin.

“Why aren’t you just summoning my favorite lady the way you did the other day?” Jaime asked, jesting and curious all at once.

Sansa scowled. “It wouldn’t do any good. My mother made me put her in the kennels after her howling during the feast the a few nights ago. She was most displeased with the interruption.”

Jaime frowned down at the lady on his arm. “Why would she do that? Your wolf is better protection than any guard and there are a lot of people you don’t know and shouldn’t trust here.”

Sansa shrugged. “My parents have never put guards on us. I don’t think my mother even understands that there is any threat while we’re here in Winterfell. She doesn’t like the direwolves either, so she wouldn’t be keen to use them as protection anyway.”

She looked away and off into the distance, Jaime assumed to hide her face from him, and admitted quietly, “My lady mother is a devout follower of the Seven and I believe my presence confuses her. She’s always pushed for me, more than any of my other siblings, to be a model gentlelady in the light of the Seven and I believe that I make her uncomfortable now. Not only did the Old Gods prove themselves real, when she’s never believed in any but the Seven, but she finds me too changed from the girl I once was to the woman I am now. She also wasn’t thrilled with some of the changes I’ve encouraged in the last several months.”

He hummed in response to her words and stared at the back of her turned head. He considered her words about her mother and wondered if she realized how much information she was entrusting him with. He might have been the stupidest Lannister, but he understood people better than either of his other siblings and this strained relationship with her mother was something that pained Lady Sansa. If he wanted to cause trouble or stay with Cersei it would be an easy thing to exploit, but he found that he didn’t wish to cause Sansa any more trouble and he’d already determined he was going to stay away from Cersei. He patted the hand that rested in the crook of his arm in an effort to comfort her.

He grinned playfully, shaking off the serious mood. “Well, I guess I will just have to rescue Lady then. That’s my job as a knight, right? Rescuing ladies in distress?”

Sansa turned her head back to his and rolled her eyes. “Come on. She’s in here. If you’re good, I’ll even let you be the one to release Lady from her captivity.”

They walked inside the kennels together. He could hear Lady let out a pitiful little whine from inside, but true to her word, his betrothed did let him open up the gate to Lady’s pen. As soon as the pen was opened Lady pounced on him and her mistress excitedly, clearly grateful to be let out of her dungeon.

When Lady settled down the three of them made their way outside the kennels and headed toward the entrance to the Godswood. As they were passing by one of the tall stone buildings the girl on his arm spoke hesitantly, “Thank you for rescuing me again earlier, but please don’t imply that all it would take for me to marry Prince Joffrey is to let me keep my name. I don’t need him convincing his father that he needs the wolf bride his father missed out on.”

He hadn’t considered that his words could be taken that way and could see why that situation might frighten her. If what the boy was saying to the woman at his side this morning was any indication, Joffrey wouldn’t hesitate to mistreat Sansa even before he became king. It was clear that he would do his best to humiliate and shame her even without provocation.

“Alright, I’ll be more careful, my lady. However, you should know that now that my father has nearly trapped me into a marriage, which he’s wanted to do for half my life, he isn’t likely to let you go to another House, not even for his grandson,” Jaime conceded to her.

He watched her look skyward while he was speaking, before he felt every muscle of hers tense along his side. He had no idea what he’d said that could have so offended or scared her, but she tore her arm from his and began running toward the nearest building in a sudden flurry of movement. The desperation and fear twisted all over her face had Jaime following her gaze and he immediately took off after her when he saw what had caught her attention.

Sansa felt as if her heart had stopped. On the side of the Library Tower was Bran and his feet were dangling in the air, neither one of them touching the building at all, only his hands were keeping him from falling. She ripped her arm out of Ser Jaime’s without a care how rude it was and ran as fast as her legs could carry her toward the tower.

“Bran!” she shouted desperately, afraid that she wouldn’t make it in time. Even with her head start Jaime and Lady soon overtook her, both of them faster than her in her long skirts.

Summer was whining at the base of the building when she got there and out of the corner of her eye she saw Lady join her littermate, pacing anxiously around with the other wolf. Ser Jaime was already there too eyeing up the distance to where her brother was hanging from. Even from the ground Sansa could tell that there wasn’t a window close enough to grab him from nor a near enough foothold for Bran to reach with his short frame.

“Bran! Can you hear me? Hold on,” Sansa shouted up at her brother.

She was frantically searching nearby to find a ladder to climb or something soft to break his fall. This couldn’t happen again, she refused to let it. She’d changed so much since her last life, but still her brother was in danger of falling. Her arrogance and secrecy were going to cost her again. She had been so sure that with the First Keep being occupied that Bran wouldn’t climb it and therefore couldn’t fall or be pushed from it that she hadn’t even warned him to be careful while he climbed during the King’s visit. Was her family’s misfortune doomed to repeat itself? Would she lose them all the same way no matter what changes she made?

“Sansa, I’m slipping. I can’t hold on much longer,” his little voice carried down to them, sounding terrified. Sansa could see that his fingers were slick, and they were sliding from the stone he had griped onto. She watched him adjust his hold, but his arms and shoulders were starting to shake from holding his whole weight up.

In her helplessness, she bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. There weren’t even any guards around for her to call and Sansa could feel the panic rushing through her veins and beginning to paralyze her with fear. She had no idea how she could help him if he was truly slipping as fast as he said. Her own voice felt stuck in her throat, and she couldn’t even reassure him as she was running out of time with no solution coming to her mind on how to save him.

The Lannister knight at her side unbuckled the sword belt from his waist and tossed it to the side. He patted the rest of himself down and called up to her brother nearly thirty feet off the ground, “Bran, it’s Jaime Lannister. When I tell you to, you’re going to push yourself off from the building and then tuck your arms and legs in so I can catch you. Alright?”

“You’ll catch me?” floated down his soft, fearful voice.

“I will. Are you ready?” Ser Jaime asked as Sansa looked on at him incredulously. Did he really think he could catch her brother from that high? They might both be injured at this rate.

“Please don’t let me fall,” Bran pleaded.

Jaime positioned himself underneath the boy and stared up at him determinedly. It was true the boy was up high, but he had heard of falls from higher where children were caught and saved. If he could break the boy’s fall and slow his momentum by falling backwards to disperse the force, than Bran had a shot of walking away from this relatively uninjured. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for the force the boy would slam into him at.

“Push off Bran,” he called up, infusing confidence he didn’t feel into his voice.

Sansa watched with her heart in her throat as her brother pushed off from the tower and folded his limbs inward. The wolves at her side howled loudly, but her heartbeat was louder and drowned out the sound in her ears. She couldn’t bear to watch, but she couldn’t close her eyes either. She watched Ser Jaime adjust his position and brace himself right before her brother landed in his arms. He stumbled back a few steps and then fell onto the ground hard with her brother still in his arms.

After a long moment, the knight let out a long breath and then stood up as he set Bran on his feet and steadied him. Sansa only had eyes for Bran. She swayed once, took a few staggering steps toward her brother, and then knocked him over with the force of her hug, sending them both tumbling down into the dirt.

“Bran,” she sobbed, holding her little brother tightly to her, so relieved that even though he had still fallen, he was able to stand this time around.

Jaime crouched down next to the two of them and said soothingly, “It’s alright. Let the lad have some air, my lady.”

A Stark guard cleared their throat from nearby. The guard was gazing at him as if he was the cause for all the trouble when the guard had been nowhere in sight a minute ago when his presence would have actually been useful.

“Lord Bran fell from the tower. He’s alright, but he’s got a couple of scraps that need tending to. Take him to the Maester while I help Lady Sansa,” Jaime addressed the guard seeing that the lady was too distressed to take control of the situation.

The guard nodded but didn’t come any closer. Jaime sighed and with minimal effort simultaneously hefted the two siblings to their feet. He separated them as gently as he could manage and pushed the boy’s unresisting form towards the guard while keeping hold of the boy’s sister.

When the guard escorted the boy and his wolf from view, Jaime’s betrothed collapsed against him as if her strings were cut. She was making little noises in her throat that sounded suspiciously like she was holding back tears. He caught her against his chest, wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, and crooned in her ear, “Shhh. It’s alright, Lady Sansa. Your brother is fine.”

Her sobs only shook her frame harder, so he continued, “Let me take you to the Godswood. It’s private and you can cry more there if you need to.”

He had the momentary realization that she smelled of fresh fallen snow, lavender and something citrusy before she nodded, tucked all her emotions away, and drew herself up. He released her with reluctance. The speed and ease in which she had hidden everything away disconcerted him, there was no way that she wasn’t holding herself together by a mere thread.

The knight grabbed his sword from where he’d tossed it onto the ground a few minutes before and offered her his arm again, but she shook her head and walked with all the poise of a queen to the entrance to the Godswood. Sansa knew that if she touched him or anyone else, she would start sobbing out in the open again.

They were quiet until they reached the huge heart tree in the center of Winterfell’s Godswood. Jaime let Lady Sansa stare sightlessly at the tree for several minutes, but when he saw her clasp her hands together tightly to stop them from trembling, he couldn’t let her continue holding everything in. He stepped close to her, tugged her into his arms to close the last bit of distance between them, and tucked her head onto his shoulder. She was only a half head shorter than him and her frame fit perfectly against him like this.

It had been a very long time since he’d comforted a woman in his arms, nevertheless such a pleasantly warm and pliant one. Cersei had rarely let him hold her for any significant length of time and certainly not to receive any comfort from him. Despite the circumstances, it felt good to be needed and to be able to offer the woman in his arms a safe haven.

When he felt her shudder and tuck herself further into him to quiet her weeping, he felt himself softening sympathetically to her. It was clear that she deeply loved her brother and that his fall had badly frightened her. He made low soothing noises and rubbed his hand comfortingly over her silky hair and down her back. He continued until her slight form quit trembling in his arms and she drew herself back by her own accord. Jaime raised a hand up and while she froze, she didn’t flinch back from him, so he wiped the tears still on her cheeks away with his thumb. Her bottom lip was cut where she’d bitten into it, but he didn’t dare to swipe his thumb there and it looked as if it had already quit bleeding.

“It’s alright, Lady Sansa. Your brother is fine,” he murmured softly to her again.

“It’s Sansa. You can call me Sansa,” she said wetly as she sniffled and brushed at the creases of her mussed clothing.

He gave her a slight half smile. “Then, everything is alright, Sansa and you may call me Jaime if you’d like,” he said with a slight emphasis on her name.

“Thank you for saving Bran. Last time, when the King visited, you pushed him from a tower and his legs were crippled for the rest of his life. This time though, you saved him,” she whispered up at him with awe edging her voice.

Jaime swallowed at the way she was looking at him, like he was a brave knight or someone worthy of her consideration and respect. It was exactly how he’d always wanted to be looked at. He thought he’d lost that desire after being denied it ever since he had been named Kingslayer so many years ago, but the boy that had wanted to be Arthur Dayne still beat in the hidden depths of his heart.

Then the wind blew through the trees of the Godswood and there was whispering through the rustling of the leaves, “Sansa Stark, Queen of Winter, The Last Stark in Winterfell” and a crown of twisted weirwood branches and their bright red leaves tumbled onto her head from a low hanging branch. Sansa reached up to right the crown with a trembling hand.

She looked heartbroken as she sunk down in front of the heart tree and cried, “Please! Haven’t I changed anything or is all my family’s misfortune inevitable?”

There was a long moment of silence where Sansa’s chin dropped to her chest in despair, before the whispering came again. “Sansa Stark, Queen of Winter, The Red Wolf of Winterfell.”

“I think that answers your question,” he said reverently, coming to stand next to her. He fingered the weirwood crown perched on her head in complete mystification. She was truly something else. If he had still harbored any doubts about Sansa’s claim of the Old Gods interfering in her life that scene would have silenced them. He’d never seen or heard anything like it, not the ghostly whispering nor crowns of weirwood dropped on maidens’ heads.

Sansa turned her bewildered face up to his, desperately trying to see if he understood what the Old Gods had meant. “The Red Wolf has never been a title of mine. It’s new and I’ve no idea what it means.”

He held out a hand and helped her up. “Maybe it’s something good.”

She bit her lip and shivered. “Most of the personal epithets I know of don’t come from anything good and they aren’t compliments. Being the last Stark wasn’t a good thing either.”

Jaime thought of his own personal moniker, Kingslayer, and found that he didn’t necessarily disagree with the woman at his side. “What about Queen of Winter? That’s not a title that hints at something bad.”

“Before, when I was Queen, the people called me Queen in the North, never was I called Queen of Winter. It’s one of the older titles of the Starks from before the conquest and I have no idea if the Old Gods just prefer that term of address or if it means something different,” she stated solemnly with slumped, defeated shoulders.

“We’ll figure it out Sansa. I told you I would protect you and I mean to do so,” he reminded her in a bid to comfort her and offer her his support.

“I wish I could believe you, but no one can protect anyone. Once, I would have swooned to hear such a renowned knight say that to me,” she said with sorrowful ocean eyes and a self-deprecating smile playing on her bruised lips.

“I’ll keep you safe. I’ll vow it if you wish,” he insisted stubbornly. He was becoming more and more determined to keep his word to her on this matter.

She sighed. “No, please don’t. It’ll be enough if you keep saving me when I inevitably get myself into trouble.”

Jaime met her solemn gaze intently and tucked a fiery lock of hair behind her ear. “One day Sansa, you’ll believe me when I tell you that.”

She rested her cheek in his hand and murmured, “I’ll try to keep an open mind if you are intent on proving it to me.”

He felt the urge to slant his mouth over hers, to bury his hands in the silken strands of her copper hair. He wanted to feel her lips on his and slide his tongue into her warm mouth to see if she tasted as sweet as she had smelled in his arms. He would seal the vow she wouldn’t let him speak as he poured his intent to protect her through the kiss.

Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip and Jaime swayed closer before he caught sight of Sansa’s shimmering blue eyes instead of the emerald ones he was used to. He dropped his hand as if burned and stepped away from her abruptly. He ignored her curious stare and berated himself. What had come over him? He had never had the urge to kiss anyone except for Cersei and he’d certainly never desired to pour his devotion through such an intimate act as if the recipient could read his intent.

Furthermore, he barely knew the girl and he had to remind himself that Sansa was only marrying him to keep her family safe. She’d been hurt before, by his own family at that, she wouldn’t want him or long for his touch. Anything between them would only be duty and nothing more.

He cleared his throat and said, “I’m sure your brother’s scrapes have been cleaned by now. Let me escort you back.”

Sansa cocked her head at his sudden change in demeanor. She didn’t know what had caused him to go from intently promising to keep her safe to hurriedly ushering her inside, but ultimately her need to check on her brother won out. She plucked the weirwood crown from her head and smoothed down the tresses that had been pulled free. Then she let Jaime escort her to the Great Keep without questioning the knight at her side further while Lady trailed behind her like a silent shadow.

Chapter Text

Sansa shivered as she changed from her nightgown into another dress she had sewn for herself now that she had finished growing again. This one was made from a lightweight wool fabric that was dyed a deep purple. She’d finished the dress by embroidering delicate silvery snowflakes that were clustered tightly at the waist and fell in whimsical patterns all the way down the skirt. It wasn’t a southern fashion or even a northern one either, but she didn’t much care what the other established styles were anymore, she had enjoyed making the dress and it was flattering on her slim figure. She threw on her lightest cloak to combat the early morning chill and strode out of her room.

She was on a mission to find her father this morning. After Bran’s fall, Sansa had told her younger brother that he wasn’t allowed to climb anymore, but she wasn’t sure how long his good behavior would last. She had spent the last few nights tossing and turning sleeplessly as she tried to determine what to tell her father. When she did sleep, Bran’s crippled legs and his blank stare as the three-eyed raven had haunted her dreams and left her spooked even upon waking.

She was beyond thankful that Jaime Lannister had saved her brother, but the whole thing could have been prevented if she hadn’t been so arrogant as to assume that housing the Lannisters in the First Keep and threatening Jaime would keep her brother from falling. It had never occurred to her that the event could still happen even if the details were different. She should have had a talk with Bran before or informed her parents so that they could have talked with her younger brother, but she hadn’t and now she would have to do her best to protect him from any future foolishness on his part.

Bran’s fall had convinced her that she needed to tell at least her father more information about what had happened to their family and how to better protect them from their future mistakes. Clearly, the amount of information she had already given wasn’t nearly enough to keep them safe. There were still some things that she wanted to keep from her family, but now she didn’t know how much to tell and how much to keep to herself. She knew a lot of very dangerous secrets that she worried would do more harm than good if she told anyone, especially someone as honorable as her father who would feel duty bound to act on the information.

While she was marching past the rooms that held her sleeping younger siblings, Lady stopped abruptly in front of her and whined before loping over to Rickon’s door. Sansa followed her wolf and paused outside his door. She cocked her head to listen and caught the sounds of muted noises out of Rickon’s nursery. She couldn’t discern what the noises were precisely, they were too quiet for that, but she suspected that it was sniffling and crying. She turned the knob quietly and entered to see him cuddled up against Shaggydog, muffling his weeping against the direwolf’s black fur.

The sight tugged at her heartstrings, she crossed the room quickly, and knelt next to him to run a soothing hand down his back. At the first touch of her hand, he uncurled his tiny form and flung himself into Sansa’s chest. She wrapped her arms around the boy who was sobbing loudly now that his face wasn’t pressed into Shaggydog’s thick fur.

“Shhh. Tell me what’s wrong, little love,” she crooned softly in his ear as she rocked him back and forth.

“You all left me,” he wept hysterically into the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

“I’m right here Rickon and everyone else is in their rooms sleeping right now. No one has gone anywhere,” she said soothingly.

He shook his head and nearly howled, “I saw it. It was real! First you, Arya, and Jon left and then mother, Robb, and Bran too!” 

“Rickon, sweetheart did you dream this?” she asked frantically while pulling him back just enough to see his face. It felt as if a stone had settled in the pit of her stomach. That was the order that the Stark’s had left Rickon last time and there was no way for him to know that since she’d never mentioned any of those details to anyone in Winterfell and certainly not around Rickon himself.

“I was sleeping, but it wasn’t a dream,” he insisted with a sniffle and then he dug his face into the shoulder of her cloak and wiped his tears and nose on the fabric. She wrinkled her nose and made a mental note to throw this cloak into the wash pile whenever she made it back to her room later.

“I’m sorry you saw that sweetheart. I can’t promise that I’ll never leave Winterfell, but I promise that even if I do have to leave, I will always come back for you, Rickon.”

“Can’t you take me with you? You and Jon were the only ones who ever came back for me before,” he asked, turning his teary blue eyes up to hers beseechingly.

Sansa thought her heart had stopped when she heard what he said and what else that meant that he must have seen in his dreams. That day was one of the worst days in her previous life and she was determined that it would never happen again. She squeezed him into her arms tighter and bowed her head as she fought her own tears that were threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. She didn’t know how she hadn’t known that Rickon could greensee as well, but she would keep him far away from any Boltons. Bran had never mentioned that Rickon was a greenseerer as well, but by the time Bran had come back to her, he hadn’t exactly been himself anymore.

“Those aren’t my decisions to make while you are still so little Ric, but I will try my best if that’s what you want,” she whispered, worried that if she tried to speak any louder than she would break out into sobs.

“Please, Sansa,” he pleaded wetly.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do, my wild little wolf. How about you change your clothes and put on a cloak and then you can help me find father. How’s that sound?” she asked.

He reluctantly slid off her lap and went to dress himself while Sansa dug around his room for his cloak. She swept it over his shoulders and secured it with a direwolf fastener. Then she tossed her youngest brother in the air until he began to giggle. With a smile, she settled him on her hip and set out once again, both Lady and Shaggydog following the two of them like silent shadows. She fiddled with Rickon’s little black cloak with her free hand to better cover him from the chilly morning air before they walked out of the doors of the Great Keep.

She caught sight of her father standing alone on top of the battlements overlooking Winter Town. She hurried up the steps in order to catch him. Rickon’s extra weight on her hip had her nearly out of breath by the time that she reached the top of the stairs. While she worried about giving her father too much information there were some things, she knew he absolutely needed to know. She was relieved that her father was still in the same position as she had spied him from the courtyard below. She approached him and turned to look out at the same view he was.

“Father, we need to talk,” she said, breaking the stillness of the morning with her soft words.

“What’s this about?” he asked, sure by the tone of her voice that this would not be a pleasant conversation. It rarely was with Sansa nowadays. She smiled more easily than those first few weeks she had come out of the crypts, but she rarely sought him or her siblings out for anything that wasn’t important business. He wondered, aside from her sewing projects, when was the last time she had done anything for herself.

“Honestly, several things, but the first thing is Bran,” she said, bouncing Rickon on her hip absentmindedly.

Ned blinked and turned to look at his oldest daughter who was lulling her youngest brother back to sleep. At six namedays, Rickon was nearly too big to be rocked and generally didn’t like being held like that for long periods of time anymore. He liked to run free and wild through Winterfell with his Direwolf at his heels, but he was tucked tightly into Sansa’s side with his small hands fisted around her long locks and his eyes were red rimmed with faint tear tracks on his cheeks though he saw no evidence of him being hurt.

He cleared his throat and asked, “What about Bran?” even though he was more curious about whatever was going on with Rickon at the moment.

Sansa met his eyes over her brother’s unruly curls and shook her head once to indicate that they would talk about Rickon later. “You need to tell Bran to stop climbing. A few days ago, he fell off the Library Tower while he was climbing, and it was only Ser Jaime catching him that saved him from grievous injury.”

“How do you know he was saved from grievous harm?” he asked, nearly frozen in his alarm.

“Because last time around Bran fell from the Broken Tower, but no one was around to catch him and he was crippled from the incident. I had thought because Bran couldn’t climb the First Keep and therefore the Broken Tower that he wouldn’t fall this time, but I was wrong. I thought just changing the circumstances would prevent the accident, but it was the climbing that was the problem not the location,” she explained, looking down at her feet, deeply ashamed that her negligence could have cost Bran his life or his legs again.

She had also thought that threatening Jaime would prevent Bran from being pushed, she hadn’t considered that Bran would fall by himself. She was plagued by the fear that without the Lannister knight the changes she’d made could have resulted in worse consequences for Bran. She wasn’t sure what had prompted Jaime to try to catch her brother this time around. Was it just in Jaime’s nature or had he done it for another reason? He was a Lannister, so she was sure that there had been an ulterior motive she just didn’t know what it was in this case.  

It was a hefty debt she had incurred and while she had no idea what he would want in repayment, there was almost no price she was unwilling to pay for one of her siblings. She bit her lip in contemplation. There was only thing she knew he wanted, which was Cersei, but she couldn’t give it to him. She might be a stupid little girl, but she wasn’t stupid enough to cross the Great Lion after he had forbidden the twins’ relationship.

She truly didn’t know Jaime well enough, outside of the rumors that everyone knew of course, to know how she could meaningfully repay him. She made a resolution to watch carefully. He would surely want something in return. In her experience, everyone wanted something for every service provided. No one aside from her family had ever treated her with any sort of genuine kindness. If help or support was given then it was never free, there had always been strings attached. It was that way in every kingdom she had travelled to and with every lord she had interacted with.

Ned tightened his hands on the rough stones of the battlements and closed his eyes. He sighed deeply. “Alright Sansa I’ll have a talk with him, and I’ll make the guards keep a better eye on him, since there’s no guarantee that he will listen. Your mother and I have been telling him not to climb for years and he’s never stopped before. Perhaps this scare will get the message through to him this time.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before,” she said, guilt making her voice lower and barely louder than a whisper.

“I know that your mother talked to Bran not a fortnight ago about his climbing Sansa, so this is not only on you. We should have been more diligent in watching him and Bran does know better. Is there anything else that you think is important for us to know? Any other bad habits that need to be curbed?” he asked.

He wasn’t sure why Sansa continued to put all the blame on her own shoulders for every mishap, nearly everyone in Winterfell had talked to Bran before about his climbing. Her plan hadn’t been the best one, but he could see how she had covertly taken steps to mitigate the issue. In the end, it was an extension of the same problem they were already dealing with, which was Sansa trying to fix all of the problems without asking for assistance. Maybe she could have stressed the future, but Bran was a ten-year-old child and there was no telling if he would take his older sister’s warning seriously. Ned’s own siblings had certainly never listened to him at that age.

She frowned in earnest contemplation. “I don’t think there are any more bad habits that need to be addressed, but we need to discuss who you are taking with you to King’s Landing.”

Ned leaned forward on the stone battlements and sighed deeply. “I’m only taking Arya with me. Robb is needed in Winterfell as my heir and with you staying behind as well, it means that I can’t take Bran or Rickon either, because I will be too busy as Hand to keep an eye on either of them.

“Arya,” she said dumbly. Her thoughts raced, recalculating her plans. She would need to speak with her little sister before she left about living in the capital and contingency plans in case something went wrong again. There was no way that Sansa was letting her only sister wander around the countryside for years like what had happened last time.

“Yes, the King has already made it clear that I need to take at least one other Stark with me or he will feel slighted. Jon came to me yesterday to tell me that Ser Rodrick isn’t teaching Arya how to fight properly, not only is he oversimplifying the lessons, but he’s not correcting her forms properly either,” he confirmed wryly.

“He’s not? Have you reprimanded him?” Sansa asked, glancing back toward the practice yard where Ser Rodrick could be seen training at this time of day. Ser Rodrick had been loyal to her family for as long as she could remember. What had been the reason for his disobedience? Was there so low a limit of his loyalty?

Ned shook his head and shifted his weight to lean more fully against the battlements. “I spoke to him, but I won’t be here to keep watch of him. I did find out that Syrio Forel, the former first sword of Braavos, is in King’s Landing already. He won’t agree to come to the North, but he will take a pupil in the city,” he said, giving his daughter a sideways glance as he spoke.

Sansa pursed her lips. Just a talking to wasn’t enough of a punishment especially considering that the man was losing his pupil and would have no way to prove that he had understood the seriousness of his dereliction. She would have to consider what she could do, that kind of insubordination couldn’t be allowed in such an important position, not with winter coming and her father in the south. She eyed the wolves at her feet consideringly, it was true the Starks were loved in the North, but perhaps she needed to take a page out of Lord Lannister’s books and remind the people of why they had held the vast kingdom of the North for eight thousand years. If her father didn’t have time before he left than that was alright, Sansa would take care of it. Neither her father nor her brother could have men that didn’t obey them in the coming years.

“Arya should get her chance to train with the man. He was a good teacher to her. While she is in King’s Landing she will need a sworn sword. I would recommend you get one for yourself too, if I didn’t know that it would prick your pride. However, that wasn’t what I was referring to. I meant that you’re going to need to take more men with you to King’s Landing. Last time you only brought a handful of Stark men and it wasn’t nearly enough to keep you safe. The Household guard was easily cut down in mere minutes,” she said grimly, remembering the row of spiked heads Joffrey had delighted in showing her. It had been both far too many dead and far too few.

“I can't take too many men from Winterfell; it would leave the keep too vulnerable and with winter coming that’s not an option. Do you have another suggestion?” Ned asked at a loss for a solution to a problem he hadn’t even known about.

Sansa smoothed a hand down Rickon’s back and glanced down to see that he was nearly asleep again. She quieted her voice to a murmur so she wouldn’t interrupt his much-needed rest, “I don’t know the numbers, but the household budget for the Hand is much higher than you used previously. I suggest you take a few trusted bannermen and some of their men with you. Perhaps the Flints and the Manderlys. The Flints could meet you on the Kingsroad and the Manderlys could sail from White Harbor and be in King’s Landing before you arrive.”

He grunted and turned towards her with folded arms. “Why those two?”

“A few reasons, they are some of our most southern houses, so you wouldn’t have to wait for them to arrive. They also aren’t bannermen near the Wall, which we will need to stay where they are for the time being. The Flints are also family through your mother while the Manderlys are utterly loyal to the Starks. The Manderlys also understand southern politics better than most other Houses in the North and outside of the Starks and the Boltons they can muster the largest number of men in the North,” she answered with a shrug.

Those would be the two best Houses to use in her opinion, but there were other possibilities, and her father might have a better sense of who was currently loyal. She wasn’t as sure of the bannerman’s loyalty before the War of the Five Kings as she hadn’t paid enough attention to that when she was a girl. She was much more familiar with the bannermen after she had retaken the North from the Boltons, but the wars

“I need Wyman Manderly for something else. He’s not an option at the moment,” Ned said decisively.

Sansa frowned and then answered, “Then I would suggest the Lockes, they often take their cues from the Manderlys and could also meet you within a timely manner in King’s Landing. They are loyal too but, they don’t have as many men so I might also invite Lord Royce from the Vale to court as an advisor to you. He’s canny enough with a sizeable force and they are also distant kin to the Starks. Although he’s not a bannerman of yours and not as closely related as the Flints, he is honorable and his loyalty to you is unlikely to stray regardless of any bribes offered. However, Lord Manderly really is the better candidate. Why is he not an option?” she questioned. As far as she knew he hadn’t been involved in anything the first time her father went to King’s Landing, and she knew that he had joined Robb’s uprising immediately after he’d called the banners.

“Let’s go to my solar and I’ll send for your brother so I can tell you both at the same time. We need to have a discussion on the plans for the North before I leave for King’s Landing in a sennight or so anyway,” he said as he stepped back from the wall and gestured her down the stairwell she’d used to come up here. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he sent a guard off for Robb.

Sansa opened her mouth to discuss other the other things he would need to know about King’s Landing, but he held up a hand, “Not yet, Sansa. Let’s wait until we reach the solar.”

She looked around the courtyard to see far more people around than when she had gone up to the battlements and abruptly closed her mouth and swallowed her protests. She hugged Rickon’s sleeping form to her chest as they hurried toward the Great Keep and the family wing where the Lord’s solar was located. Her older brother was already at the door, yawning and waiting on them. He still looked sleep tousled and blurry-eyed as he leaned casually against the stone wall

“I was already headed here, but the guard told me you wanted to see me, father?” Robb said.

Ned nodded, making his way to his solar and striding through the doorway. “Aye, come in and sit down we have a lot to discuss.”

Sansa arranged herself at the smaller desk and moved Rickon to her lap, leaning his head against her collar bone. Lady and Shaggydog arranged themselves at her feet. Ned waited until Robb pulled up a chair to the other side of his desk and then continued speaking, “As part of my conditions for taking the position of the Hand, I requested from the King that the North be allowed to rebuild our navy.”

“What?” Robb asked dumbfounded and Sansa wasn’t sure she could muster up anything better than that either.

Ned looked at his wide-eyed children and fought a twitch of his lips. It was clear from the flabbergasted expression on his daughter’s face that he had surprised her too. “With the opening of the new port on the western coast and the amount of trade that will pass through the area I don’t trust the Ironborn not to try and raid the area. I will not leave your brother, Jon, that unprotected, especially while he’s just starting out and there are no other Houses near enough to assist him.”

He paused for a moment to allow his children to process that, before speaking again, “Since I won’t be here, I’d like Robb to head this project up with Wyman Manderly. Robb, you’ll have to work out an incentive for Manderly’s help and Sansa if you would run the cost projections with all the other projects we have going right now.”

She nodded slowly and said, “I can run the numbers. I think I can have a preliminary estimate in a few days.”

“I believe the North easily has the ability to finance a navy, especially with the increased amount of trade we should begin to see soon, but I don’t want to overtax our resources and I don’t want to raise taxes before this winter either if we don’t have to. I know we still are spending money on building a port, preparing for winter, and looking at mining or buying a large supply of dragonglass. See what you can do without shuffling around too many things.”

“Dragonglass? What do we need dragonglass for?” Robb asked in complete bewilderment.

“You didn’t tell him?” Sansa asked her father incredulously. Robb and her father had been spending lots of time together the last several weeks whenever Sansa was working on other projects that didn’t require her father’s input or guidance, so she had assumed that her father had warned her brother about the incoming threat.

“I haven’t. I thought you might have though,” he answered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He was kind of surprised that Sansa hadn’t told her oldest brother, since they had always been so close, but now that he was looking back at the time since Sansa had come out of the crypts there had been more distance between Robb and her than there used to be. Even now she had hardly turned toward Robb this whole conversation, instead keeping her attention focused firmly on him and her youngest brother that was resting in her lap. Perhaps if he had noticed the distance before he could have helped them work to bridge it, but he only had days left in the North and dozens of other things to do before he left Winterfell in their hands. He fervently hoped they managed to get things straightened out enough between themselves to govern the North adequately in his absence.

She shook her head at her father and answered, “No, I haven’t talked to anyone about the future when you weren’t there, except for once briefly to Jon and a few small things here and there.”

“The White Walkers are real and they will be a threat come next winter,” Ned abruptly told his oldest son, figuring that it would be better to tell him quickly than ease him into the revelation.

Robb looked at his father like he was crazy and slid an incredulous look over to his sister, but he noticed that Sansa didn’t look even slightly shocked by their father’s words. When Sansa realized her brother was looking at her for confirmation or to deny the accusation, she only met his eyes and nodded her head once solemnly at him to confirm the information. His eyes widened and he turned back towards their father to listen further. After the display with the warging, Robb knew better than to question his sister now, even if what he was hearing sounded absolutely ridiculous to him.

“This information doesn’t leave the room Robb, even though this is the North the bannermen will never believe such a tale without proof,” Ned said sternly.

“Aye, father,” he answered keeping his gaze locked on his father.

“We need to discuss what we will do about the Wildlings too. If we leave them on the other side of the Wall that is only more dead for the Night King to use in his army,” she said, interrupting their staring contest by breaking the silence that had arisen. This was another of the issues that they needed to discuss, but she knew that it wouldn’t be popular either with the people of the North or her family.

Ned groaned, “If we let them through, we may have a hard time keeping control of the North, particularly the more northern houses. They hate the Wildlings the most. We’d be the first Starks to let them over the wall.”

“Do we know how many wildlings there are that would want to cross?” Robb asked, leaning toward her with his brow furrowed in contemplation, but not dismissing the suggestion out of hand.

Sansa sighed and slumped in her seat, brushing her nose against Rickon’s soft curls. “If things happen like they did last time than it is potentially a hundred thousand people from various tribes.”

“I’m sorry did you say a hundred thousand? I didn’t even know there was that many Wildlings on the other side of the Wall,” Robb said.

“They prefer to be called Free Folk and yes, there are that many which is why they can’t stay on the other side of the Wall. If the Night King killed and raised them all it would be almost impossible odds for us to beat,” she answered matter-of-fact way.

“Sansa, that’s a lot of Wildlings,” Ned said disbelievingly. That was approximately ten percent of the whole population of the North, which numbered just slightly under a million.

She nodded solemnly. “I know, but they are people too. Are we supposed to leave them to die only to fight their corpses too when they breach the Wall? It’s why I’ve been pushing so hard for extra greenhouses here and why I wanted you to mandate them for the other keeps in the North after we finished ours. Not only for the long winter, but in case we had to house the Free Folk as well.”

“What do you mean in case?” Ned asked.

Sansa brushed her hair out of her face and said, “Well, I know what kind of political nightmare it would be to let the Free Folk settle in the North even temporarily, so my first suggestion is to try to get the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch to use them on the other Watchmen’s castles and help man the Wall from the threat of the dead.”

“Lord Commander Mormont is reasonable, but I’m unsure if he knows about the threat of the wildlings or the White Walkers yet,” Ned responded.

“I don’t know if he does or not and unfortunately it’s not the kind of thing you can ask in a letter,” Sansa said.

“Well, when the time comes hopefully, we can convince him to allow the wild- Free Folks to man the Wall, but if not than we need to start considering the logistics of allowing them to stay on this side of the Wall. I’m willing to allow it, if it can be worked out safely for the North. Our responsibility is primarily to our people,” Ned said, frowning deeply at the cost calculation.

“If we don’t let them through than the Night King will have more bodies at his disposal,” Sansa argued stubbornly.

“I understand, Sansa, but we can’t help them if the North doesn’t see the threat and mutinies against us,” he said placatingly.

She nodded, she keenly remembered how the men at the Wall had murdered Jon. “I know father, I wasn’t suggesting we just let them all through now. I know that would never work, but we must start working on a solution and sowing the seeds of our plan now rather than at the last minute.”

“Alright. How much longer do you think it will take to finish the port?” He asked.

“It’s nearly done. Probably a few more weeks’ worth of work before ships can start coming in. I was planning on making a trip with Jon in a couple of weeks and helping him set up everything. I shouldn’t be gone for more than a month or two I believe,” she answered calmly.

He nodded approvingly. “That’s a good idea. Even though Jon’s had more lessons on castle management there’s bound to be things he has questions on once he tries on his own. After you come back though I want you to start diverting more attention to the dragonglass and figuring out what we can do with the Free Folk if the Lord Commander doesn’t want them on the Wall. It’s a possibility that the Free Folk might not want to man the Wall anyway considering their history with the Night’s Watchmen.”

Sansa bit the inside of her cheek. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“Robb, it’s a little too early to be making battle plans against the threat and I’m not sure that the Wall will even fall this time, but in addition to working on the navy, I want you and Sansa to work on getting as much information as you can about the threat, so we aren’t blindsided later on. I know I’m asking a lot from you both, but I’m confident you can both handle this.”

There was a sharp knock on the door that interrupted Ned’s speaking, he frowned in aggravation, and called out, “Come in.”

The door swung open to reveal the King with Ser Boros Blunt in his Kingsguard armor a few steps behind the imposing figure of the King.

“Ned, come out and walk with me. We have much to discuss about the state of the Kingdom,” the King boomed.

Ned smoothed the displeasure from his face and stood up.

“Father-” Sansa started.

“I know. We’ll talk more later, Sansa,” he promised as he squeezed her shoulder and then followed his old friend out the door.

Sansa stared at the closed door with mounting frustration. She hadn’t even gotten through half the things she thought she needed to tell her father before the King had stolen him away. She was confident that her father could handle the day-to-day duties of the Hand but there was still a half a dozen things they needed to discuss, preferably in private. She had also wanted to discuss Rickon and his reticence to be parted from her.

Robb cleared his throat and Sansa wiped her expression clean as she turned to him expectantly.

“Before we start planning the navy that father dropped in both of our laps, is there anything else about the future that I might need to know as acting Lord of Winterfell?” he asked.

She cocked her head and considered her brother carefully. “Has father told you anything?”

He shrugged and raised his hands in a gesture of puzzlement. “Not really, the last few weeks whenever he’s taken me aside it’s to remind me of the different duties of a lord, but he never mentioned anything about the Night King or White Walkers.”

She sighed. It was apparent that she wasn’t the only one that had trouble providing information to those who might need it. Their father should have at least given Robb an overview of what was going on, so Robb didn’t screw up their plans unknowingly while he was acting lord. “Alright, there’s a few things you should know then. We have signed a trade agreement with the Westerlands. That’s why Lord Lannister is here in the first place, but he might stick around after the King leaves because, providing the King keeps his word and releases Ser Jaime from the Kingsguard, Lord Lannister has arranged for a betrothal between me and Ser Jaime.”

"What? But you are needed here! Not in the Westerlands,” Robb exclaimed. The North needed her in the North preparing for winter and he needed her help with all the projects their father had left in their laps.

“I know, Robb. I know, but I’ve managed to secure time in the North, it’s even written into the betrothal agreement,” she said placatingly.

“You can’t be happy with the Kingslayer,” he protested.

She cut him off sharply, “Robb, listen please. That isn’t the only thing you need to know and it’s not the most important either. Don’t mention that to anyone though, it would be bad if that information got out before the King released Ser Jaime and worst-case scenario, I could wind up betrothed to Prince Joffrey, which I assure you would be a much worse match than Jaime Lannister”

He clenched his jaw and looked away. “Alright I’ll keep quiet about it. I agreed to my betrothal with the princess to keep you from having to wed that prick. There’s something wrong with him,” he grumbled.

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want to talk about it, but last time I wasn’t so fortunate to escape a betrothal with the prince. Speaking of betrothals though, I do want to discuss yours with you. Last time you weren’t betrothed to Myrcella, but to someone else. However, you got another woman pregnant and rather than have a bastard you broke your betrothal to marry the girl you’d slept with.”

“I did what?” he asked, whipping his head back towards his sister. That was a political nightmare even during the best of times.

“You broke your betrothal and it led to the murder of yourself, your pregnant wife, your baby, mother, and several important bannermen. It also left me a prisoner in King’s Landing. I was not treated well even though I was still the King’s betrothed for much of that time,” she answered stoically, the emotions having drained from her speech as she recounted one of the worst periods of time in her life. While Ramsey had undoubtably been the worst, Joffrey’s reign of terror and humiliation over her ranked highly on the list of events she never wanted to experience again.

“Sansa-” he breathed out.

She locked cold, resolute eyes with Robb’s alarmed gaze. “I just need you not to get another woman with child, but if you do, you cannot break your betrothal, especially not to a Princess. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he said, the shock making his words come out in a whisper.

“I know Princess Myrcella is quite young, but if you are going to sleep around, you’ll need to ensure that the woman drinks moon tea. The North does not need some ambitious woman destroying the agreement and peace we have with the southern kingdoms. It’s too important right now for that kind of political misstep. The dead are coming and we cannot be divided before then,” she said, trying to impress upon him the significance of his actions, especially as the acting Lord of Winterfell and the North.

Robb was flushed at this point and begged, “Can we not talk about this anymore, please sister?”

“Alright Robb, as long as you understand the consequences,” she agreed with a nod.

“I do. I’ll be careful if I lie with a woman,” he hurried to reassure her, though at this point he could hardly meet her eyes.

“What do I do if the woman does get pregnant?” he asked quietly, though lying with a woman was the last thing on his mind right now, after what Sansa had revealed.

She raised a brow, but figured it was good that her brother was at least asking in case her warning and the moon tea wasn’t enough of a precaution. “You send her to me Robb and I will take care of it.”

“What will you do?” he asked, glancing up at her. He was almost afraid of her answer. This sister that had come back to him was no bright-eyed girl with pretty songs and tales on her mind.

She cocked her head and blinked at him as if he were stupid. “I will ensure that the babe is fostered when it’s old enough and if the woman is from a lower class then I will ensure that she has a job or means to support herself. If it is a noble woman than I will find another marriage for her. I encourage you never to sleep with a noble woman that isn’t your wife. Well- if you wanted to knock up a Mormont, they probably wouldn’t demand you marry the girl. They’d take your babe back to Bear Island as the next heir and say a wolf had fathered it.”

Robb stared at her in disbelief for a moment before laughing out, “Sansa! Is that what they’ve been doing on Bear Island?”

Sansa shrugged and gave him a barely-there grin. “I assume so, Lady Mormont’s children are someone’s bastards, but the Mormonts are too proud to let their family seat go to anyone else.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind if I just absolutely have to have a child out of wedlock,” he said with a boyish grin. “Is there anything else I should know about?”

She considered her brother again, before deciding that it might be more beneficial to discuss some of her concerns and issues with Robb in the coming days rather than with her father. It wasn’t her father that would be making the decisions on a day-to-day basis anymore. After all, their father would likely have his hands full in King’s Landing. Robb would be the one chiefly governing in the North with her and she needed him working with her rather than against her.

“Yes, I’m taking Rickon with me when I travel to Jon’s port and you’re going to allow it and support me against any objections mother raises,” she casually asserted.

“Sansa, I can’t do that! Rickon’s just a baby and mother will never agree,” Robb whisper shouted, mindful that the little boy that they were discussing was in the room even if he was curled up in Sansa’s lap and out cold at the moment.

“Rickon is six and I can guarantee that he’s not going to want to be parted from me or potentially Jon,” she said, looking down at her youngest brother worriedly to make sure he was still asleep.

“How can you know that?” he asked in frustration.

“He has his own reasons, and I won’t share them with you. If you want to know you can ask him yourself later and he’ll tell you if he wants too,” she said grimly. It wasn’t her place to tell Robb and aside from that she didn’t even precisely know what he was dreaming of anyway. In her past life she’d never gotten to speak with him after she had left home and she wasn’t sure what horrors his travels had contained. The only thing she knew in detail were the last few days of his life and his end. Ramsey had been sure to sear that into her memory before he’d died.

“Is this going to be something permanent?” he asked with resignation as he carded a hand through his hair.

She pressed her lips together in consideration. “I don’t know, but I think it is a possibility at least while he is still young.”

Robb looked over at his sleeping brother in Sansa’s arms and huffed out a defeated puff of air. Ever since they had received the direwolves he had noticed that Rickon had stuck to Sansa like a burr every chance he got. He was always climbing in her lap and grasping some part of her; a hand, a bit of her clothing, a handful of her hair, or really anything he could get his small hands on. Robb had initially thought that the increased clinginess was from the increased amount of time they had spent together training to skinchange, but he reflected that he might have to revise his assumption on that, particularly if Sansa continued to act so worried and didn’t discourage Rickon’s attempts to monopolize her attention.

“Alright, Sansa I’ll support you in that if Rickon tells me that’s what he wants, but you’ll have to be the one to tell mother he’s going with you,” he said, crossing his arms in front of him on the desk. He would have to spend some time thinking about how he could divert his mother’s attention if the topic came up, she would never listen if he just outright commanded it or worse, she might listen and then undermine him later.

Sansa shook her head at her brother’s antics. She had no idea why Robb had such a difficult time standing up to their mother, but he rarely liked to take a stand against her. It was one thing for a leader to take other’s advice and another thing to allow someone to run over your own good sense. She hoped that this time around he had enough time to grow out of that habit.

“Enough of that. In order to run the numbers for the navy project I’ll need to know some details. We should have plenty of money in Winterfell’s coffers considering that father has basically not touched it since Robert’s Rebellion and it’s been steadily added to since at least Grandfather’s time as lord. However, I’ve never even considered building a navy in either lifetime, so in order to set a decent budget I’ll need to know how many ships you are thinking about, which type of supplies will be necessary for building them, and how we are to maintain sailors for them,” she said, changing the topic.

“Some of those questions, I won’t know the answer to until I talk to Wyman Manderly. I will send him a raven to come here at his earliest convenience. The largest resources we will need are timber and pitch, but most of that can be sourced from the Wolfswood directly,” he answered.

“If you are taking wood from the Wolfswood make sure you plant more afterwards,” she cautioned.

He smiled at her fondly. “I was planning on it. It’ll be a lot of wood initially, but I don’t want to lose that resource either, so I will make sure there are more saplings planted in place of the ones we remove, and I will make sure we don’t only pull from one area of the woods.”

Sansa face cleared and then they began discussing the project in earnest. It was only the first day, but she was determined to work out at least the basics of a plan with her brother and put together a rough estimate of the finances required to build and maintain a navy in the North. As in most military matters the problem wasn’t raising an army or starting a fleet, but in the logistics and cost that went into maintaining the equipment and knowledgeable personnel. And ships were especially expensive to maintain. Horses, armor, and weaponry were expensive to maintain too of course, but not nearly as expensive as maintaining an entire fleet of modern ships, even if it ended up only being a small fleet it would still be a significant expenditure.

As she and Robb talked, she sketched out some rough numbers on a parchment. Even after Rickon woke up and ran off with Shaggydog and Robb exhausted his initial ideas, she continued to scratch away at a budget. Robb and Lady had both abandoned her at some point too, although Robb had been kind enough to order food delivered to her that she had picked at throughout the day. She shifted funds and projects in the North around until late in the evening and only stopped when her eyes were too tired and her vision blurry to continue.

Jaime was sitting peacefully near one of the weirwoods in the Stark’s Godswood, absentmindedly sharpening the edges of his sword. A lantern provided enough of a glow to see his project in the late evening blackness.

“Are you done ignoring me for spite yet?” came the voice of Jaime’s twin from behind him. He tensed at the sound and paused the motions required to sharpen his sword. She wasn’t supposed to be here and especially not so late into the evening by herself.

“That depends, are you done taking your anger out at me? What are you doing here Cersei?” he asked letting out a long, slow exhale, not giving her a chance to answer the first question he’d asked. He already knew the answer to that question in the first place. Cersei never let any of her ire go, she only let it build and build until she was bitter and wrathful, no matter how minor the original slight had been.

“I could ask you the same, brother,” she remarked dryly from just outside the circle of light cast by his lantern. She was half cast in shadow and the silvery light of the moon drained her skin of its golden hue.

“I have permission from one of the Starks to be in their godswood, but I doubt you do,” he said with a grunt, eying her form skeptically.

“Perhaps I’ve come to pray,” she offered.

Jaime snorted loudly in his disbelief. “You don’t even pray to the Seven, so what are you doing here without an invitation? The Starks won’t be thrilled if they find you here and it would be unwise for you to offend or anger the new Hand so quickly.”

“I suppose it was that little red-headed tart of Stark’s that gave you permission to come here. Did you regale her with tales of your knightly deeds for an invitation? It must have been a short conversation if so,” Cersei remarked, ignoring what her brother had said and deflecting his question with one of her own as she slinked closer to him.

Jaime bit down on his tongue to keep from retorting at her. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her that Sansa had indeed been the one that granted him permission to come here whenever he wished after he had seen her to the maester that was treating her brother, Bran several days ago. A cruel smile crept onto Cersei’s face and he clenched his jaw. He knew she was trying to get a rise out of him and he was determined not to give her a victory so easily.

“Does she think you brave? Perhaps you told her about the time her grandfather burned in wildfire, her uncle strangled himself, and you watched it all and didn’t say a word to stop it. Does she know about that, brother dearest?” she asked with vicious pleasure coloring every harsh word.

Again, he refused to speak. There would be no winning this game of hers if he opened his mouth. She would twist anything he said around into a trap.

She circled around him. “Maybe you told her about your page in the white book? Hmm- actually it can’t be that, because your page is blank,” she said, pausing to let her words sink in. When he still didn’t respond she continued her cruel taunts.

“Does she think you honorable Jaime? You who stabbed Aerys in the back and sat on the Iron Throne with both your white cloak and sword stained with the blood of the king you’d sworn to protect?” she asked, her laughter coming out low and mean in the quiet of the godswood.

He eyed her warily as she stopped in front of him. Was she determined to bring up all his faults and failures in a singular conversation?

"Did you charm her, Jaime? Did you make her laugh with silly japes and whisper words of gentle devotion in her ear until she blushed like the stupid girl she is? Have you kissed her?” she continued to bombard him with questions, the last of which came out in nearly a hiss.

He leaned backwards, away from her venomous tirade. Her words made him feel as small and stupid as he had when he’d struggled to learn how to read as a child. Until she’d questioned him, until she’d belittled them, those moments with Sansa; the times when Sansa had grinned at his jokes or flushed under his stare, had been the highlight of his days in the North. He had treasured and greedily revisited the times when she had looked at him like he was worth something in his memory over and over.

Something must have flashed across his face at the question because Cersei’s face lit with rage and she suddenly snarled, “Have you forgotten that you’re Kingsguard? Have you forgotten that you’re mine?”

“I’ve not kissed her,” he answered swiftly, breaking his silence. It was too dangerous to allow Cersei to think otherwise and if she ruined their father’s plan there was no telling what he would do instead.

She stared at him shrewdly and then bared her teeth in victory. “But you wanted to.”

He sighed. “Cersei, I’ve never wanted to be with anyone except for you.”

“So, you admit you walked with her to make me jealous?” she bit back fiercely.

He wet his lips and responded back tiredly, “I walked with her, because she’s nice.”

“Men, if it’s not their cocks they need stroked, then it’s their ego. You walked with her because she smiles up at you prettily and doesn’t sneer your name like the rest of the Starks and northerners do in this godforsaken frozen wasteland,” she scoffed and rolled her eyes at him.

He closed his eyes and swallowed. It was true that Sansa never called him Kingslayer. He’d noticed that she always used his name or title even when no one else did. That day their fathers had worked out the trade agreement, she had even defended his actions to Ned Stark. No one had ever known the truth and defended his actions, especially not to the man that had given him that cursed epithet to begin with. Was that why he had wanted to kiss Sansa a few days ago? Because she didn’t sneer Kingslayer at him? He hated that everyone he’d ever met whispered it behind his back, but was that an adequate explanation for the desire that had stolen over him so fiercely?

“Don’t tell me you believe her words though? She’s Ned Stark’s daughter and the Starks despise you. She’s an empty-headed little dove brother, but she does speak beautifully. Don’t be a fool. There’s no way she’s being anything but polite because you’re the brother of the Queen,” she said, her voice closer than before.

He opened his eyes to see her standing over him. She cupped his jaw firmly and stated, “She can’t have you, Jaime. You’re mine. Two bodies, one soul. No one will ever know you like I do.”

Then she bent down and kissed him heatedly. He didn’t resist but, he didn’t kiss back either. Her nails bit into cheek and when he wouldn’t open his mouth for her, she bit his bottom lip sharply and used his surprise to invade his mouth in a tempestuous kiss. He could feel himself relenting to the familiar sensations of her lips on his. His lashes closed over emerald eyes as he gave in. Mine, all mine her kiss seemed to say and as he began to kiss back, meeting the firm strokes of her tongue with his own, he wondered if it was even possible for him to break free of his sister.

The leaves began to rustle loudly overhead, and the wind picked up, colder and more biting on his exposed skin than it had been all day. His eyes popped open and there, slinking through the Godswood, and slipping through puddles of silvery moonlight was Lady.

He broke the kiss and pried his sister’s hand from his face. The leaves abruptly stilled and the breeze died down. He stood from his seat on the rock nestled in the roots of the weirwood tree behind him and then took first one faltering step back and then another until his back was against the large tree.

“Cersei, I told you we can’t anymore. If father catches us, we’re both doomed,” he said panting. That was if Sansa’s tree gods didn’t murder him first for stepping out on their chosen queen or if Sansa herself didn’t do it. Even if Sansa had told him she didn’t care there was no way she was resigned to hearing about him with his own sister.

He was careful not to look over at Lady or draw any attention to her as she sat primly half-hidden behind another tree with her head cocked and her citrine eyes trained intently on him. He hoped she stayed where she was until Cersei left and he was ready to pray to any god that Sansa wasn’t wolf dreaming or warging right now, that she hadn’t caught him and Cersei together. He didn’t think she would make trouble for him, but he nonetheless didn’t want her to see him kissing Cersei either. Not after what she’d told him of Joffrey, nor after he’d seen the glint of madness in Joffrey’s eye as he’d spoken with Sansa.

Cersei rolled her eyes at him again this time in exasperation and said, “Father isn’t going to catch us and after we leave the North he will go back to the Rock and we can carry on as we always have.”

“He already knows Cersei and he already warned us,” he answered, wiping his mouth.

Cersei shrugged one shoulder and her lips twisted up mockingly. “He won’t do anything. There’s nothing he can do to me as queen without destroying his own legacy.”

Jaime noticed that Cersei hadn’t made any mention of what their father could do to him or the children, only that he couldn’t touch her because she was Queen.

He shook his head. “You didn’t see him. He wasn’t bluffing Cersei.”

“This really is about father then, not that stupid girl,” she smiled at him pleased and he wondered why one was better in her mind than the other. No matter what the issue was, it would still keep them apart and Tywin Lannister scared him much more than anyone else.

He nodded carefully.

“Alright Jaime, I’ll leave you alone until father stops watching,” she said with a sardonic grin and then disappeared into the darkness toward the exit of the Godswood.

He slumped against the weirwood tree behind him and let himself slide down the trunk until he was sitting on one of its huge roots. He tipped his head up toward the canopy of the tree and sighed loudly.

Lady’s snout and luminescent citrine eyes overtook his vision.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t start that, but I shouldn’t have given in, and I should have stopped it sooner,” he said with a sad sigh. He wasn’t sure whether he was talking to the tree or to the wolf that may or may not be housing the consciousness of the woman he was supposed to wed and that he’d promised to protect.

“I don’t even know how she knew I was here in the first place. I wouldn’t have invited her here. This is the second time I’ve had to tell her no and I don’t know if she’ll ever stop,” he murmured, feeling ridiculous talking when he knew he didn’t even know if Sansa or the Old Gods were listening.

Lady nosed his cheek with her snout and inched closer to him. He buried his face into the fur around her neck and wrapped his arms around her, clutching at the wolf’s fur.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I always give into her. I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t, not after what my father threatened and not after what you told me about Joffrey. I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know why she won’t stop,” he babbled into the wolf’s neck, the warmth of her body the only thing anchoring him to the moment. She rested her head atop his own. He wasn’t sure how long he rested there cradled in the roots of Sansa’s sacred trees, pressed against the warmth of her direwolf and breathing in Lady’s wild scent.

Lady perked her ears up and a few seconds later he heard Sansa’s voice in the distance.

“Lady, where are you?” She called out.

She grumbled something lower that sounded like, “I’m too tired to play hide and seek right now,” but it was too mumbled for him to be sure. He smirked wearily into Lady’s fur. Sansa sounded nearly as exhausted as he felt.

“Lady come out. I know you’re here somewhere,” she said from somewhere much closer to him.

The wolf whined softly and wagged her tail frantically.

Jaime dropped his arms and leaned back up against the tree, waiting for Sansa to find them. He was sure that it was only a matter of time before she discovered them.

Sansa heard the soft cries of her direwolf nearby and made her way wearily to where the noises were coming from. She hoped Lady hadn’t found another fallen bird’s nest. Last time Lady had found one she had curled up around the few unbroken eggs and refused to move until Sansa had promised to take the eggs back to the maester to hatch. Sansa didn’t know how much of the conversation Lady had understood, but she had moved and allowed Sansa to collect the remains of the nest and trotted along at her side until she’d had an embarrassing conversation with a bewildered maester Luwin.

Sansa circled around a weirwood tree and found her wolf sitting right next to Jaime Lannister, who looked just as fatigued as she felt. She huffed out an exasperated breath at the sight. Of course her direwolf had abandoned her for half the day to seek out the Lannister knight.

“I should have known I would find the both of you here together,” she said gently, careful not to break the peaceful atmosphere of the Godswood.

Jaime’s lips tipped up slightly at the sight of Sansa’s soft smile, but he also felt like a terrible prick. Here was this lovely girl in front of him, one that was promised to him and still he gave into his sister’s advances.

Sansa stepped closer to pair and frowned down at the knight. “Are you alright? You don’t look well.”

“Fine. I’m fine,” he said, the words unconvincing even to his own ears. He cleared his throat and stood. “I think I’ll just turn in for the night.”

“Alright. Have a good evening,” she called out softly. He thought he could detect a hint of worry in her voice, but there was no reason for her to worry for him, so he dismissed the notion.

“You too,” he threw over his shoulder as he bent to retrieve the lantern and his sword from where it had fallen when he’d retreated from Cersei. He swiftly stood back up and made his way back to his room, rubbing a hand down his face. What was wrong with him?

He felt an overwhelming sense of relief that Sansa’s surprise at seeing Lady with him meant that she didn’t witness the kiss he’d shared with Cersei. He also felt a bit silly that he babbled out his apologies, thoughts, and worries to Lady as if was she was Sansa or another human. He’s glad that Sansa didn’t hear what a mess his thoughts were though. Had he been in the right state of mind he wouldn’t have shared that much with anyone. But mostly, he just felt a creeping sense of guilt. He’d promised himself and his protection to the Stark woman and already he’d broken faith with her. To make matters worse, instead of confessing and apologizing when she had come upon him only minutes later, he’d run away with his tail tucked between his legs. He flopped down on his bed. Some Lion of Lannister he was.

Chapter Text

On the morning that the royal party was set to depart, the King motioned Jaime up to the high table during the height of breakfast. It was crowded this morning even as early as it was in the day because the royal party was eager to make the most of daylight on their way back to King’s Landing. The chatter in the hall continued on around him as Jaime stood up and approached the King. It was unusual for the King to summon anyone during a meal and especially one of his Kingsguard that he could speak with at any time, but Jaime easily kept the surprise off his face. He already had an idea about the reason he had been summoned in such a public setting.

The King stood up and cleared his throat loudly. A hush fell over the busy tables. Jaime chanced a look over at his sister to discover her watching the King with a faint look of puzzlement. Clearly Robert had been able to keep his sister from discovering their plans, which he supposed he could have guessed based on the fact that she hadn’t angrily confronted him about it yet. He darted his attention back to the man he'd served for the last fifteen years just before he began to speak.

“Ser Jaime, you have faithfully served as a member of the Kingsguard for seventeen years. In light of your exemplary service, I’m releasing you from your vows so that you may become your father’s heir once more,” King Robert spoke into the silence of the room.

“Thank you, Your Grace. It has been an honor to serve you,” Jaime said, bowing lowly in front of the man. His lips twitched into a hidden grin as he thought that he might never have told such a poor and obvious lie in his adulthood.

Jaime was shocked to discover that his overwhelming feeling was one of relief. Relief that he wasn’t subject to any more bad kings and relief that he was free of the cesspit that was King’s Landing. He had always thought that if he was released from the Kingsguard that he would feel bitter or dishonored. Perhaps it helped that he also knew how far the brotherhood could fall within only a few years. A brotherhood of knights that beat little girls was nothing that he wanted any part of. It was the white cloak that had soiled him, not the other way around and now he could escape. He no longer needed to stand by and watch atrocities occur nor stain his soul in service of men who were entirely unworthy of his skill. Let incompetent men- let Blount and Trant service such unworthy kings, but not him, not anymore.

The King nodded decisively. “Yes, well you can continue to serve by remaining the Warden of the East until Robert Arryn comes of age or you take up the mantle of the Warden of the West,” Robert finished already looking back down at his food.

“I’m honored,” Jaime answered, raising himself from his bowed position.

He didn’t see Sansa up at the high table, but Ned Stark was present. When he locked gazes with Ned Stark, the Lord of Winterfell said, “Feel free to enjoy Winterfell’s hospitality along with Lord Lannister in the meantime.”

“That’s most gracious, my Lord Hand. I believe that I will stay with my father for as long as he remains here,” Jaime answered with a smirk, well aware that his father was planning on staying until he witnessed him marry Sansa Stark. Considering that Jaime wasn’t supposed to be betrothed as a member of the Kingsguard those plans were still a secret and he wouldn’t reveal them, since it still wasn’t quite safe to do so.

Jaime had been careful not to directly meet his sister’s eyes during the spectacle of his release over an informal breakfast, but he could see her out of the corner of his eye. He saw the shock and fury that had crossed her face the moment she registered what the King had announced, but he had also noted that there was a complete lack of heartbreak. She was his twin, he’d always been able to read her, and there was no missing the lack of sorrow on her part. Had he been willfully blind to her? There was only rage present in her emerald eyes and he wondered if she had ever truly loved him or if he was just another piece in her game. Perhaps she didn't believe or it hadn't occurred to her yet that he would be lost to her after today.

He sat back down next to his father, who for once, looked pleased. Jaime was amused to note that the Lannister men around his father finished their meals and left as quickly as they could, looking worried for their continued health in response to his father’s good mood. He was still processing the enormity of what happened. He was the first Kingsguard to be released from his vows and while he had a bride waiting and title to take up eventually, his future hadn’t been this open since Aerys had named him to the Kingsguard. For the first time in more than half his life he was free to go wherever he wanted or do whatever he pleased, within reason of course. Jaime had no doubt that if he tried to run off to the Summer Isles, his father would drag him back now that he’d finally pried him out of his white cloak.

After the King bumbled his way out of the Great Hall, Cersei swept down from the high table, having only built up her rage even more in the twenty minutes or so since he had been freed, to hiss at him and their father, “I hope you’re happy with whatever stupid girl father chooses to steal our mother’s place, brother.”

She stormed away before either him or his father could say anything in response. When she exited the hall in a flurry of skirts and bad temper, in a much less stately manner than her usual display, she shoved past Sansa, who was just entering the Hall, knocking the younger woman into the doorway and snarling something rude to the Stark woman.

Jaime quickly prepared to stand to help her, but Sansa didn’t even glance Cersei’s way, she just neatened her skirts and walked into the hall without a disruption to her calm facade. He had to respect that the lady wasn’t intimidated or scared of his sister’s rage. Jaime settled back down in his seat.

His father sighed while he buttered a piece of bread. “I’m not making any demands on when you marry the lady, Jaime. You can marry her tonight if you wish, although my preference would be for you to have a proper betrothal feast and allow me enough time to at least invite some of our family. Or it can wait a while, but there was always going to be another Lady Lannister whether that was from your wife or another Lannister lord’s. That’s just how titles work. I’m not sure why Cersei thinks that would be replacing your mother. Nothing can do that and a wife isn’t supposed take the place of a mother. We’ve signed an agreement with the Starks, but I did it with your consent too. It was the lady that convinced you, gods know I had been trying to do so for years without any success.”

“I know father. I don’t regret it,” he said as he poured more water into his cup, keeping an eye on the head table now that Sansa was there.

His father nodded and went back to his meal.

Up at the high table, Sansa sat between her father and Arya. She had missed the spectacle of Jaime’s release from the Kingsguard by several minutes though her sister eagerly recounted it to her without prompting when she arrived. She nibbled at the spread before her and as soon as the hall cleared out enough that she wasn’t too worried about being overheard, she addressed her sister quietly, “Arya, I know you won’t want to hear it, but for now you should leave Nymeria in Winterfell.”

“What? Why?” Arya asked, looking startled and mulish at the suggestion she part from beloved direwolf.

Sansa bent to whisper in her little sister’s ear, “Don’t react, but last time around I went with you as well as both of our wolves. There was an altercation between you and Joffrey. Nymeria intervened to protect you. No one was seriously injured, but the prince lied about what happened. You ran Nymeria off to save her life, but they killed Lady instead though she hadn’t even been involved. I’m not suggesting it to be mean or to deprive you, but until you learn the politics of King’s Landing or people start ignoring that you’re the Hand’s daughter I worry that she won’t be safe.”

There was a storm cloud building in Arya’s grey eyes, like the sky in a brutal winter storm, but she managed to keep mostly quiet as she asked, “That was unfair to you. Who was it that hurt Lady?”

Sansa searched her sister’s face trying to understand her fury. Rarely was her sister ever angry on her behalf, even with their improved rapport this time around. “It was the Queen who demanded it, but father carried the sentence out. Unfortunately, as much power as father has, the King and Queen still hold more.”

Arya nodded. The tempest hadn’t died in her eyes, but it was tempered with comprehension. “Alright Sansa. I’ll leave her here.”

Sansa recognized the look of cold fury on her face and only hoped that her early warning hadn’t sparked Arya’s desire to create her list already. Sansa grabbed one of her sister’s hands and squeezed it lightly, hoping to sidetrack Arya’s focus. “Do your best to stay away from Joffrey. I promise that I will make sure Nymeria is well taken care of and as soon as you send me a letter telling me you believe it safe, I will have her sent to you one way or another.”

“I will. I’m going to learn quickly, so you better be ready to send her soon,” Arya warned her with a jaw clenched in determination and worrying glint in her eye. Sansa had no doubt that if her clever little sister put her mind to it that she would succeed in record time. She might never become a politician, but Arya could be wily and formidable all on her own on whichever path she ultimately chose for herself.

“Of course,” Sansa said with a wan smile. “There’s one more thing. If something goes wrong in King’s Landing take the first ship to White Harbor and I will have someone watching for you there. If you can’t take a ship, then you are to travel to Riverrun as discreetly as you can or one of the towns in the Riverlands and send me a raven. Do not go to the Vale for any reason. Do you understand?” she asked, searching her sister’s eyes intently for a sign of her comprehension.

Arya’s eyes went wide and she gripped the edge of the table at the proof that Sansa was worried about the capital enough to have such a plan already in place, but she nodded grimly. “I understand. If you’ll excuse me. I need to go say goodbye to Nymeria,” she said as she pushed herself back from the table and made her excuses to their father.

Sansa caught her father’s sleeve, before he could stand to follow Arya out and finish packing. She shook her head discretely at him and he settled back down in his chair. Her father had promised to talk with her before he left, but there was only maybe an hour or two until he left and he hadn’t made time to speak with her yet. There was practically no one in the hall now, but Sansa was still mindful of her volume as she spoke in hushed tones, “Be careful in the capital father. If you don’t already know, everyone there is a liar.”

“I’ll be careful Sansa,” he assured her with a small smile, touched that she was displaying her care and concern for him.

She gripped his wrist forcefully as if to emphasis the words she was whispering in the only way she could. “Never trust Littlefinger. No matter how many times or how convincingly he says he is mother’s friend, he is no friend to House Stark and he would sooner see us all dead than provide genuine help.”

“Did that happen last time?” he asked, drumming his fingers on the table top, and beginning to understand that this was more than Sansa worrying about him, this was a warning. He wasn’t fond of Littlefinger and couldn’t imagine what had happened last time to have him trusting such an unsavory man, but there must be a reason that she was mentioning it.

He wondered if this was what she had wanted to discuss with him last week before the King had dragged him away to discuss his responsibilities as Hand. He had meant to find her again to talk with her, but he had been busy from sunup to sundown every day for the last several days while he prepared for the trip to King’s Landing. He’d sent out letters to Lord Locke, Flint, and the Valeman that Sansa had suggested and received their affirmative replies to meet him either on the road or in King’s Landing. Sometimes it felt like Sansa never told him anything at all until it was too late, which was frustrating, but he did trust her, and she had tried to catch him last week, so while the hall wasn’t an ideal place to share information he listened carefully because he didn’t think he would get another chance before he left.

“He betrayed you last time and he was responsible for orchestrating a lot of my misery. He’s a very dangerous man,” she answered, careful to keep her expressions to innocuous ones that wouldn’t draw the attention of anyone else in the room.

His lips turned down at the news that this man had personally caused his daughter and his family misery, that she had called this man dangerous. He worried that if he asked the specifics, this would be another story of Sansa’s without a happy conclusion, and he wouldn’t be able to keep calm when he next saw the man. “Alright, I’ll stay away from him and any of his offers of help. Anything else I should know?”

Sansa took a sip of her water and stated as seriously as she could in a pitch that wouldn’t carry, “Don’t focus on what Jon Arryn was looking into before his death. Even if it was true, there’s no way to prove it, and it would tear the realm apart. Focus your efforts on clearing the wildfire out from under the city, the debt to the Iron Bank, preparing for winter, dealing with Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen, and improving the lives of the smallfolk. Those are the most important things right now.”

“What was Jon working on?” he asked curiously, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head toward his daughter to catch her words better.

“I want your word that you won’t pursue it,” she said firmly, sensing that he wouldn’t drop it if she didn’t tell him, and the last thing she needed was him looking it up out of curiosity.

Ned nodded without a moment of consideration. “You have it.”

Sansa hid her lips behind her cloth napkin, mindful of any little birds hiding in her den as she spoke, “The parentage of Cersei’s children. There’s no way to prove it either way,” she said and when her father tensed, his visage twisted with outrage, and appearing like he would loudly object she warned lowly, “It would only cause chaos, and do you know who likes to manufacture chaos? Littlefinger. He thrives off of it and he’d kill the whole realm if it would give him a little more power.”

“Sansa-” he started to protest, alarmed by the information she’d shared. He was starting to strongly regret not seeking her out during the week no matter what he would have had to push to the side.

Sansa spoke with all the warmth of a glacier, “Don’t you dare, you gave me your word. There is plenty to fix without stirring up trouble that will only get you killed and cripple the realm before the Night King comes. Do not make me watch you get killed for honor again.”

“Alright, Sansa,” he agreed, shutting his mouth swiftly, gazing determinedly away and blinking too often to be natural.

She sighed in exasperation. “Do not say it that way. Arya does the exact same thing when she is lying. Would you like to know who they claimed fathered her children last time?”

He bent his head just enough to hide the scowl on his lips. “Who?”

She grinned wolfishly and leaned in close to his ear, “Why Ser Jaime, of course. One can’t have a scandal in the capital without it being truly depraved.”

She sat back in her chair and observed her father’s disgusted, but still determined face. “I will marry him tonight if you even think about it father. Do you understand what would happen to me if you made that claim after I was married? You might get me killed along with him. If Robert doesn’t do it for revenge than Lord Lannister would,” she stated coldly satisfied.

As the realization dawned on his face, he whispered in horrified awe, “You planned this, didn’t you?”

It hurt to see that expression on her father’s face aimed at her, but she steeled herself against the pain. Better that he detested her and her methods then ending up dead. She shrugged one shoulder. “I considered it when the betrothal was offered, yes,” and continued with an audible sigh, “I don’t think you quite understand how terrible everything was last time, every awful thing you can think of and maybe a few more, was inflicted on me. Maybe that’s my fault for shielding you from the worst of it, but I did not become Queen in the North by accident. First, I had to outlive every other major player in their stupid game of thrones and while it was true at first that I was a slow learner, I did learn.”

“Sansa,” he breathed out. His expression was sorrowful this time instead of dismayed, as if he didn’t recognize the woman she had become.

“Do I have to detail the worst of what happened to me for you to understand or do I have your word father?” she asked callously. This was information that was too important to leave to chance and she couldn’t have her father mucking around in it when there were more important things to do for the realm.

She felt like the cruelest of daughters at her father’s clear devastation and if it wasn’t all true, she would feel even worse about using her pain to get him to listen to her. But it was true and the last thing she wanted was to live through it or lose all her family again. She cared little for honor if it got her entire family killed or plunged the realm into a pointless war. When she had been Queen in the North, she had been able to act as honorably as she wanted, but her father wasn’t going to the North and the southern kingdoms only played at having the type of honor her father did.

“Yes, you have it. I swear I will stay out of it,” he vowed quietly, his hands fisted tightly in his lap.

“Good and one last thing, leave Ice here. Robb might need it,” she said as she stood up and parted from him.

“Ser Jaime, I would like a word,” Ned called out to the man who was standing on the edge of the courtyard watching all the King’s entourage prepare for the journey back to King’s Landing with an amused smirk on his face, as if he knew something the rest of them didn't.

Luckily, there was no one near Ned while he was waiting for the rest of the royal party to saddle their horses and pack their wheelhouse. Ned’s own horse had already been saddled by Winterfell’s stable hands and the commotion of the courtyard ensured that no one was paying any mind to what he was doing at the moment.

Jaime crossed the courtyard, coming up beside the morose man. The knight crossed his arms and raised a questioning brow as he asked, “How can I help you, Lord Stark?”

There were a dozen things that Ned wanted to say. He wanted to demand the truth from this man about the royal children, about whether he had fathered bastards on his own sister or not, but his oath to Sansa prevented it and he’d never knowingly endanger his children. Furthermore, he didn’t want to actually believe that about the man his daughter was set to marry. He would have to be content to leave that as just a rumor. Ned looked out over the courtyard and up at the weak morning sun briefly before he settled on asking the thing that was most important to him instead.

“My daughter. She hasn’t told me everything about what happened to her before, but when she came back, she was no longer my dreamy daughter that longed for romance and was full of bright laughter and sunny smiles. Instead, she walked out of the crypts as serious and solemn as people said of me after I came back from Robert’s Rebellion."

“I’m sorry that she will be stuck with me then,” he replied. Jaime almost wished that he had met that young woman as the young man he used to be. He might have had a chance at falling in love with her and she with him, before all the business with the Mad King and Cersei. Instead, Lady Sansa was getting him. A man that was twice her age, three times as jaded and already in love with his own sister.

Ned frowned deeply and looked over at the man. “Sansa was always the gentlest of my children, she might say that she doesn’t believe in all of that anymore, but my little girl’s heart is still there even if it’s been bruised and battered. Once she wanted knights, romance, and love. I can’t ask you to give those things to my daughter, but you could still break her heart terribly. I would ask that you don’t intentionally hurt her that way and that you do your best to protect her.”

Jaime supposed it wasn’t unexpected that the father of his much younger betrothed would seek him out for this purpose. He could even admire that the man was trying to protect his daughter and her happiness, so Jaime was careful to answer respectfully, “I don’t believe I am capable of giving her the things she would have wanted as a girl. I’m too old to learn new tricks, but I already promised to protect her whether she wanted me to or not. I have no intention of hurting her, Lord Stark. I am many things, but I’ve never hurt a woman and I don’t plan on starting anytime soon.”

Ned pressed his lips together and looked off at the clamor taking place in his courtyard again, keen to keep his eyes off the man who did not deserve his precious daughter. “My daughter is too clever for her own good. To be honest, I don’t think a younger man could keep up with her and you are strangely, one of the few men I believe capable of protecting her. She seems to respect you at least.”

Jaime raised his brow again. “You see, your words sound like a compliment, but your tone implies otherwise.”

“You wouldn’t be my choice for my daughter, Lannister, but I promised her she could make the decision.” Now Jaime was sure that something was wrong because Ned sounded quietly furious like he was suppressing as much anger and upset as he could, whereas after the talk in his solar, he had seemed at least alright, if not resigned with the match. He didn’t understand what had changed since then.

“Lord Stark, I already knew I wasn’t anywhere in the consideration for your daughter’s hand, but she’ll be safe with me. I can’t promise you much else, but much like wolves, lions value family, even if you don’t trust me, you can be certain that between my father, brother, and me she will be well protected and well taken care of,” he confidently assured the other man.

Ned Stark shook his head while glowering grimly at the ground and measured his words carefully before he answered, “I do worry about her physical safety, but I’m not as concerned about keeping her safe from others. My daughter has proven that she’s capable of surviving. I’m worried about the promise she made to the Gods. She told them she would do anything to keep her people safe and I’m worried that she’ll sacrifice herself to keep everyone else safe.”

Jaime stared at the man stunned, suddenly understanding the root of the other man’s concerns. “No,” he breathed out, “No, I won’t let her. I swear it,” his words gaining strength by the time he finished speaking.

“I’m worried she already has,” Ned said, looking at the man his daughter had promised herself to in marriage though he knew that she didn’t love or want him. She had willingly put herself in a precarious position that no matter how much she knew of the future was a dangerous gamble. He had been so confused about Sansa’s willingness to go through with the betrothal, but now he supposed he didn’t have to wonder any further what her reasons were. His daughter had outplayed him in a spectacular way before he even knew to be concerned.

He rubbed wearily at his face and sighed. “Sansa is more capable than anyone gives her credit for. If she was determined I’m not sure anyone could truly stop her. It’s nearly time for me to go now but, please keep my daughter safe, even from herself if you can.”

“I will try my best Stark,” Jaime said, and he was determined to follow through with that. First, he would have to talk with Sansa though. Something had happened or changed, or she’d done something to make her father look so disturbed. Was this part of the reason Sansa was so sure that he couldn’t protect her? Did she already have some sort of plan that her father had stumbled across?

Jaime walked back to the edge of the courtyard where he had been watching the spectacle of the King’s party preparing for departure, his earlier mood of bemusement gone. He saw Sansa bid her father and sister a safe journey. She offered the both of them hugs and he observed that Lord Stark embraced his eldest daughter like she was going to disappear on him and whispered something in her ear. He watched her nod and offer the man another long hug, before stepping back behind her other siblings that were staying in the North and keen to say their own goodbyes too.

He was preparing to intercept the girl when his wrist was grabbed in a vice like grip. He tensed and turned to look at whoever had thought to grab him in such a way, only to discover that the hand belonged to his sister. His shoulders relaxed and he dropped the snarl on his face. He’d been avoiding her the last several days and aside from the outburst at breakfast he hadn’t even talked to her since she had approached him in the Stark’s Godswood.

“Come with me,” she said, casting her eyes around furtively, and pulling him along with surprising strength.

He gritted his teeth together but let her continue to pull him. He didn’t see the harm in following her, there was too little time before she left for her to attempt much. It would be the last chance he had to speak with her for a long time anyway, so he let his sister lead him further away from the mayhem of the courtyard. She led him just inside the doorway of the Library Tower before shoving him against the wall roughly. He was so surprised by the maneuver that he let her do so without resistance.

“Cersei, what’s this about?” he asked, staring down into her emerald eyes that were a mirror to his own.

“Come back with me to King’s Landing. We can go back to the way things were before,” she coaxed, her fingers twisted tightly into his shirt.

“I can’t. Robert released me from the Kingsguard,” he refused with a sardonic twist of his lips.

“That doesn’t matter. You can still be with me even though you aren’t a Kingsguard anymore,” she said, releasing her hands from their white-knuckled grip over his chest to slip them further down and began to untuck the hem of his shirt from his pants.

He grabbed her wrists and held them to keep her from removing any of his clothes or touching him further. “Stop, Cersei. You know what will happen if we get caught.”

“Father won’t do anything and no one will find out, my love,” she answered, smiling up at him in a way that he had previously interpreted as affectionate and loving, but which now seemed more like self-serving manipulation. He hadn’t forgotten how she attempted to tear him to pieces the last time they had spoken or how she had left the hall after raging at him this morning and angrily slammed into Sansa as she stomped from the morning meal. There was no way that he believed that she had forgiven him or gotten over her ire within less than an hour’s time. With as furious as she had been at him this morning, he would expect to have to grovel for weeks to earn her affection back if he was to travel back with her.

“Cersei, I said no,” he stated firmly, tightening his grip on her wrists even as she attempted to free them.

Her eyes welled with tears and her mouth wavered as she asked, “But Jaime who will protect me and the children if you aren’t there?”

Jaime could feel his determination wavering at her plea. He hadn’t considered the children’s safety in King’s Landing when he’d consented to relinquish his white cloak. He didn’t want to leave the children unprotected. While he might be wary of his oldest son, he certainly didn’t want any of them dead or harmed in any way either.

As if she could see the change in his resolve, Cersei pressed along the argument that seemed to be working. She whispered, “Jaime, stay with me. The children need the protection of their father and I need you too.”

His grip on her wrists loosened enough that she slipped them out of his larger hands. She quickly dropped her hands lower toward where she had already untucked his shirt. Before Cersei could say or do anything else, there was a throat cleared at the entrance of the Tower. Jaime jerked himself away from his sister with a speed that confirmed his guilt and whipped his head toward the direction of the sound to see Lady Sansa with his father standing right behind her in the doorway of the tower. It had been his father who cleared his throat as Lady Sansa still looked too stunned to have done such a thing. Within a faction of a second of glancing over at them Sansa was able to hide her shock and put on that pleasantly blank expression he had seen her use with Joffrey.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to retrieve a reference for a project,” she murmured before making her way to the stairwell and climbing them without ever glancing backwards.

 His breath caught. He couldn't leave her to run off thinking whatever it was she was thinking, so Jaime shoved his sister off of him and went to follow her. Cersei reached for him again, but his father pulled him out of her reach with a ferocious glare directed at his daughter.

He murmured so only his son could hear, “You had better go after her and fix this immediately. She witnessed even more of this fiasco than I did. Lord Stark dated the betrothal agreement only minutes ago and I won’t have you fucking this up already. Fix this and I will speak to you later.”

Jaime nodded and hurried up the flight of stairs, taking them two at a time to reach his lady faster. The displeased tones of his father drifted up after him, but he soon outpaced the sound of his father's words to his twin. Sansa had disappeared into one of the rooms on the third floor of the Tower just ahead of him. He knew she could hear him on the stairs as he was making no effort to be stealthy in his haste to get to her, but she never acknowledged his presence.

“Sansa, let me explain,” he called after her when he reached the room she had gone into. He was on the edge of panting and he wasn't sure he'd ever raced up three flights of stairs so quickly.

“What’s there to explain, Ser?” she queried lightly, stopping and turning around to face him finally, though he wasn’t comforted in the slightest by her tranquil expression or soft voice.

“That wasn’t what it looked like. Cersei was worried about her and her children’s safety without me in King’s Landing,” he replied, spreading his hands out.

“So, she wasn’t trying to seduce you into going south with her?” she asked pointedly dragging her gaze down to where his shirt had been pulled free of his pants and then back up to meet his eyes with a skeptical raise of her auburn brow.

When he didn’t answer she continued, “There are Lannister and Baratheon men all over the capital, there’s nothing for her to worry about.”

He ran a hand through his long blond strands in frustration. “You know that’s not what she’s worried about.”

“Is your father likely to let anyone kill his daughter or grandchildren? Do you think my father likely to let that happen either? I’m sure you remember how he condemned the senseless death of Princess Elia and her children,” she said lightly, running a finger down the spine of one of the books in the shelf next to her, without deigning to glance at him as she spoke this time.

He blinked at her and answered slowly, “Well, no.”

“Then she and the children are as safe as if you were there. Probably safer in fact,” she said with a nonchalant shrug of her slim shoulders.

He sighed. “Still…” he trailed off, gazing at her ruefully though she wouldn’t meet his eye.

“Are you trying to apologize? Don’t. We both know it would be a lie. You aren’t sorry, only sorry you were caught. I’d at least prefer your honesty, Ser. Besides, I already told you I didn’t care if you engaged in such behavior,” she said as she finally looked back up at him and cocked her head to the side like some kind of exotic and delicate bird, seemingly politely amused by the sentiment.

Her voice was perfectly civil, but he knew it was wrong, all wrong. He knew what Sansa sounded like when she was fine, and it wasn’t this perfect imitation of an unflappable lady. It wasn’t glacially cool, impenetrable eyes, nor posture so straight he thought he might cut himself if he dared to reach for her.

“I’m sorry I’ve hurt you,” he tried again. There he went again, breaking his word. He wanted to laugh until he cried at the tragic absurdity of his life. He had promised her father, Lord Stark, not twenty minutes beforehand that he wouldn't hurt his daughter and here he was already apologizing for doing one of the very things he'd promised he wouldn't. 

“You haven’t,” she denied, and her detached tone cut worse than if she had yelled at him.

Jaime pressed his lips together. He wanted to deny that anything had happened between him and Cersei, but he couldn’t because while it would be true this time, he’d still kissed his sister last time in the Godswood and he had felt himself wavering to his sister’s pleas to come back with her this time. Despite Sansa’s words to the contrary, he knew he’d hurt her, and he also knew that he’d never get through to her until the ice had retreated from her eyes. He decided to leave her alone until either later this evening or the next day. He would speak with her then about this incident and the troubling words Ned Stark had spoken to him earlier. Maybe by then, he would learn how to keep his word for longer than a few minutes at a time.

“Do not make the mistake of thinking that just because you are the Queen that it means I can’t punish you Cersei,” Tywin stated coldly, staring down at his daughter from a height of several inches.

Cersei crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at him and he could feel the anger ignite in his blood at her insolence.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous what you’re doing is? There’s only so much I can protect you from that kind of charge. If you don’t care about Jaime’s or your life, then think about the children. Robert won’t spare them. If I found out, do you really believe your secret will be safe forever, especially if you keep misbehaving where anyone might see?” he demanded, quietly furious.

“What are you going to do with that girl?” she asked, glaring up the stairs her twin had hurried up after the girl that had caught them.

“What girl?”

She narrowed her eyes on the livid form of her father, sure that he was being deliberately obtuse with her. “The red-headed Stark girl.”

“Nothing. Luckily all your clothes were on and Lady Sansa is smarter than to try anything without proof,” he answered, dismissively.

“But she saw!” she exclaimed.

“She saw nothing! But if you don’t quit someone else will! Stupid child, I set you up as a queen and you’ve done nothing but squander that opportunity,” Tywin nearly roared at his obstinate daughter. If he had thought that he was close to striking his children on the day he had learned of their affair, it was nothing compared to how close he was now that he had witnessed their perversion for himself. He was absolutely infuriated by his daughter’s behavior in particular. He’d had such high hopes for her cunning, but there was nothing worth the risk of that disgusting display. It was senseless and dangerous. She was continuing to imperil herself, her children, and the whole of House Lannister with her behavior.

“Expect there to be consequences. I warned your brother of the consequences of continuing and I know he warned you too. I also heard him refuse you and still you persisted. Do not forget that it is my wealth and my reputation that allows you to sit the throne, daughter.” he warned her in a low growl, satisfied when the fear broke through the outrage in her eyes and her face paled, seeming to finally comprehend that he was a very real threat.

“I should say my farewells to Jaime,” she whispered, moving toward the stairwell.

He caught her upper arm in his firm grip and steered her none too gently out of the tower. “You will do no such thing. Your poisonous tongue has said enough. You’ll go back to your husband now, back to the capital, and you won’t attempt such a stupid idea ever again. Now leave,” he declared firmly, with no room for her to argue. He watched coldly as she straightened her spine and donned a haughty look on her face before making her way back to the direction of the courtyard where she would soon leave in her wheelhouse. He would stay here until the King’s party left or until his son came down from speaking with Lady Sansa to ensure that Cersei didn’t get another opportunity to try to convince his heir to leave with her.

Chapter Text

Despite Jaime’s best efforts it was another few days before he even caught sight of Sansa outside of mealtimes. It seemed to him that as soon as she finished her meal she would disappear. After her company had been so readily available during the King’s visit, he was beginning to think that she was avoiding him or his family in particular. He missed her wit; her company had been the best part of his day before she vanished on him. He wasn’t sure that he could blame her considering what she had witnessed the day the royal party had left, but he knew he couldn’t leave the situation as it currently stood.

The truth of the matter was that he didn’t know what would have happened had Sansa and his father not interrupted him. He had felt himself wavering, but it wasn’t because of his sister’s attempts at seduction. He’d refused her three times before his father had interrupted. He hadn’t wanted Cersei’s hands on him, not when it was so clearly an act to manipulate him, so he was sure that he would have deterred her wandering hands if he’d had another minute.

He’d also known, had thought it that very morning of the incident in fact, that while he was relatively free of the Kingsguard there was no way he could run off without his father dragging him back, not to the Summer Isles, not to Essos, and certainly not back to King’s Landing. Cersei may have thought it was his choice, but there really hadn’t been much of a choice at all for him. The agreements between his father and the Starks officially bound their families together already and Tywin Lannister would never agree to let him break a match with a prize such as Sansa and avoid his duty to his House now that he wasn’t constrained by the Kingsguard oaths.

Jaime had promised Sansa his protection, but he’d been the one to hurt her. He had screwed up and he knew it, so while Sansa might not think so, he was sorry. Sorry that Cersei could so easily make him question his decisions and sorry that his inability to resist her whims had hurt Sansa. While Cersei couldn’t have known, it was cruel to pit him against his vow to protect Sansa and his wish to protect his own children, especially because he could never protect his children by claiming them as his own. Doing such a stupid thing would likely endanger them beyond anything they might currently face now.

He knew he had to fix this problem somehow. He was determined to offer Sansa an actual apology first and then he would need to show her that he was serious about the promise to protect her. He didn’t have any idea how to do the second part yet, but he was sure that he could figure it out.   

Finally, he gave in to his frustration and went to find his father in the hopes that he would know where Sansa was holed up at. He might have asked one of her siblings, but he was unaware of whether the rest of her family had been informed of the betrothal between their houses yet and he didn’t want to start any untoward rumors in case it hadn’t been. He knew the betrothal was supposed to be a secret until at least after his cloak was removed but considering that had happened on the same day that the King and Ned Stark had departed Winterfell, he wasn’t sure that the remaining Starks had been appraised. None of them were treating him any different yet and he had to think that if her family knew that Sansa was betrothed to him, the Kingslayer, there would be a lot more hostile looks thrown his way.

“Father, do you know where I might find Lady Sansa?” he asked running a hand through his disheveled hair and trying not to fidget in the doorway of his father’s guest room.

His father looked up at him from a stack of correspondence that he was responding to. Tywin frowned at the worry and pig-headed stubbornness that was written all over his son. “Are you trying to get out of this?” he pressed sternly.

Jaime scowled. “Are you going to ask me that during every conversation even after I’ve married the woman?”

“I’ve been waiting years to drag you out of King’s Landing. Forgive me if I’m worried that you will go back to Cersei, especially after she tried to tempt you to go south with her before she left, despite the fact that you were dismissed from the Kingsguard and told to stay in Winterfell,” Tywin chided, but relaxed back into his seat in response to his son’s previous answer.

“I won’t. Even if it wasn’t too dangerous, you were right, Cersei would never give up anything for me. It was the mention of the children’s safety that I was worried about. I just need to speak with Lady Sansa. Our talk wasn’t very successful when I went after her and I think she’s been avoiding me,” Jaime answered, his tone resigned, and his posture slumped against the door frame. He supposed he couldn’t blame his father for doubting him either. He knew the incident with Cersei had looked bad and his father had given him explicit instructions regarding both his sister and Sansa which his behavior had bordered on defiance of.

Tywin folded his hands in front of him on the desk. “In that case, Lady Sansa has been in her father’s solar for the last few days. I was headed there myself after I finish this letter if you would care to wait a few minutes. Also, you need not worry about the children. I sent a few of my men back with the King to watch after the younger two specifically and Joffrey already has the Hound. We will be without a full rotation of guards here for a while, but our agreements with the North and the Starks should mostly protect us. The North is a much simpler place with less dangerous politics. When I send a letter to Kevin later, I’ll request that he send a few more men our way,” Tywin offered up briskly and went back to scratching at his correspondence.

That his own son thought that he would leave his family unprotected was insulting. As soon as Tywin had learned the twin’s disgusting secret, he’d made plans and considered how to further protect his children and his grandchildren from the increased dangers. He wasn’t about to let anyone kill a Lannister on his watch, especially not one that would distract Jaime from finally doing his duty to their House.

Jaime made a murmur of assent and lowered himself into the only other chair in the room. He felt rather silly for not having checked Lord Stark’s solar himself, but he hadn’t realized that Sansa worked in that room without her father there. He leaned back in the soft chair, relieved. Of course, his father had made plans for the safety of his children. He rubbed a gloved thumb absentmindedly over the pommel of his sword and wondered what his father wanted to discuss with Sansa. He couldn’t imagine it was wedding plans, though those would need to be discussed soon, whenever they cleared up the mess Jaime had made. The image of his serious patriarch sitting down to discuss dresses and how many courses they would serve at the feast had him suppressing a snort. Even in his imagination the idea was ridiculous.

In addition to judging how upset his betrothed still was with him and apologizing, he also felt the need to assess Sansa to see if Lord Stark was right to be worried about his little bride-to-be. He might not love her or feel much for her, outside of gratitude that she had released him from his golden cage in the capital, but he wasn’t going to let her marry him and then sacrifice herself for some nebulous greater good or for the sake of a bunch of northern barbarians that would never appreciate it.

Even if she wasn’t taking his name, she would be a Lannister and Lannisters didn’t self-sacrifice. He suppressed a grin as he considered that he might have to teach her how to be a little selfish or at least a little self-preservation. He had no idea how to teach such a thing, especially to a stubborn Stark. He looked around the castle and decided that its dreary feel must be why every Stark he’d met was so austere. There was no way one could grow up in such a grim place with scarce luxuries and turn out selfish in the way Lannisters seemed to innately be.

He was so lost in his thoughts and musings that he didn’t even notice when his father finished his letter and stood. He startled when he felt his father’s hand come down on his shoulder and squeeze it. “Come on my son, let’s go find your sad little Wolf Queen,” he said faintly bemused.

Jaime frowned thoughtfully. Was she sad? She had been sad more than a sennight ago in the Godswood and upset when she had found him with Cersei, but was she sad all the time? He didn’t know and that worried him in light of what Ned Stark had said. His displeasure deepened as he considered that he didn’t know very much about Sansa to begin with. He had the sense that she was industrious and clever with her words and Ned Stark had indicated that she had once been a girl that loved the romance of the songs, but he knew nothing else of her likes, desires, or plans. He did not even know what she did in her spare time. Jaime followed his father out of the First Keep, across the courtyard, and into the wing of the Great Keep where the Stark family stayed and Lord Stark’s personal solar was located.

The door to the solar was wide open and there was no guard watching over the lady, only her direwolf was present and lying at her feet. The citrine eyes of her direwolf observed them curiously but hadn’t alerted her mistress to their presence yet. He thought they had discussed how a lack of guard was dangerous already. He put his hand on his father’s forearm to stop him from announcing their presence. He held up a finger, indicating to give him a moment. The first step to knowing someone was studying them. He ran a thorough gaze over Sansa, assessing her while she was caught up in her work and not hiding anything from his eyes.

The first thing he noted was that she appeared too pale as well as a touch too thin for what he would expect of a woman her age. His lips thinned to see that there was the start of faint purple smudges under her eyes and her normally perfect posture seemed wilted. There was no way that he had caused this all himself as this wasn’t the result of a couple of days of not eating and sleeping well. It was clear she hadn’t been taking care of herself for far longer. He tried to remember back to the day she had displayed the skin of her back in this very room, but he couldn’t recall whether she had been too thin then. The only thing he could remember when he pictured it in his mind was soft skin unblemished except for the dozens of thin white scars that had crisscrossed her back.

It assuaged some of his concerns that she had been avoiding him specifically, since whatever she was working on was clearly very stressful for her. However, her state of wellbeing, did nothing to ease his other worries and he conceded that protecting her might very well entail protecting her from herself as Ned Stark had been anxious about. He released his father’s arm and nodded at him to indicate that he should announce them.

Tywin gave his son a searching look before glancing at the girl at the desk for himself and noted that his son might be right to be worried about the lady, she looked to be wearing herself out. There were piles of open books stacked around her and she was diligently checking references while she scribbled away in a notebook. She looked more exhausted than he’d noticed since they had arrived. The manic way she was working reminded him of himself after his father, Tytos, had passed away and he’d had to pull House Lannister out of its near ruin. He knocked softly on the door frame, just enough to get the lady’s attention, but not to frighten her.

Jaime watched Sansa draw herself up and hide the exhaustion on her face with an easy smile. She held herself in such a way that hid her the leanness of her figure. It was very realistic and entirely too convincing. If he hadn’t observed beforehand and watched her reforge her mask, he would have believed her to be perfectly fine. He narrowed his eyes and tried to determine just how long she’d been fooling everyone. He memorized her form and the subtleties of her expression and body language. He would remember from now on, remember that she was a master of hiding her feelings and exhaustion and not let her do it when it was just the two of them.

“My lords, what can I do for you today?” she asked with a politely curious smile and began to stand.

She put aside the notebook she had been working out the specifics of Robb’s Navy, the last few details about the western port, and brainstorming about the logistics of bringing the Free Folk over the Wall in. It would be best if they got the Free Folk on this side of an unmelted Wall, so they could fight the Night King from behind its magical protection, but that was the best-case scenario and Sansa had never been so lucky in either life.

Sansa hid her concerns over why both Lannister men had sought her out, dreading that there was another thing she had to fix. Her brother was a charismatic and honorable man, but he had no sense for the politics of the position yet and she hoped that he hadn’t offended either of the southern lords somehow. With Wyman Manderly still not here her brother had little to occupy himself with, since their mother was primarily taking care of the day-to-day duties, except for the weekly petitions but there were still a few days before those resumed.

She had little idea what was going on outside of this solar either as she had spent days in here nursing her hurt in private and throwing herself into the business of running the North. She didn’t even know why she had been upset. She had already known that the Lannister twins had been together for years before Jaime had ever been betrothed to her. It was only confirmation of what she already knew. Their betrothal wasn’t for love it was a business arrangement and a way to keep the North safe. She had even told Jaime that she didn’t care if they carried on their affair as long as no one else found out or was injured. Over the last few days, she had tamped down her hurt, deciding that she had no right to be upset over the incident. She didn’t know whether to believe him that it was the mention of the children that had tripped him up, but she had watched Jaime turn down Cersei before they were interrupted which was a point in his favor.

She had to wed him, and she had no desire to become her mother, always concerned about the mother of her husband’s other children. She could be civil, after all she didn’t love him or want his love in return. She didn’t believe in the kind of romantic love found in songs anymore, especially not for herself, so she needed to stop being a child about it. Grand love, like the kind found in in the songs simply didn’t exist, even her parents had rocky relationship in the beginning or whenever the topic of Jon came up. Besides, what use was love in the grand scheme of things? No one’s love had ever saved her and her love had certainly never saved anyone either, not her father, not Rickon, not the North, nor any of the rest of her family.

In any case though, she had a number of other things that she was more concerned about than whether Jaime Lannister continued his clandestine relationship with his sister or not. Her father had left her a massive amount of responsibility without much actual authority to carry it out. She was worried about her father and Arya in King’s Landing, worried that Robb would screw up again, worried that she would fail to save the Free Folk, and worried that she didn’t know or had forgotten some important detail since she had been so clueless at this point the first time this had all occurred.

There was also the fear that House Lannister would turn on her. In general, Sansa didn’t trust Lannisters, but she did need them on her side or at least not working against her for the next few years. She was slightly less worried about that since Tywin Lannister had a more steadfast reputation than any of his children and she knew that she, or at least her bloodline, was something he wanted for his House.

“No need to stand, Lady Sansa,” Tywin said, waving her back down.

She settled herself back down, adjusted her skirts, and swept a hand out. “Then, if it pleases you, I insist you be seated. Can I get you anything? Water or wine perhaps?” she asked sweetly.

“No, my lady. This is business not personal. I came to ask if you knew why your father wanted my recommendation on a man with experience overseeing mining. I know several such men, but without knowing more I wouldn’t be able to recommend the best one for the North’s needs. I was going to send out a raven to my brother this afternoon but realized I didn’t have enough information. If you do not know then I’m sure the matter can wait until I can send a raven to your father,” Tywin said.

He was still standing at his full height only a few feet away from the desk, causing her to crane her neck to look up at him as he spoke. She wasn’t sure if the height difference was a subtle power play or just an effort to allow her rest, but as she considered the Great Lion for a full minute, she thought it was the latter. Jaime shifted under her scrutiny, but Lord Tywin was as immovable as his castle on the Sunset Sea. She still didn’t truly know this Lannister or even his son very well, but she supposed that since he appeared to be attempting to be helpful and fulfill his obligation in the best manner, she could afford to confide a little bit of her knowledge to him. She only hoped that it didn’t backfire on her.

She nodded to herself. “I do know, but it might be easier to show you if neither of you mind taking a walk,” she answered him evenly, and Tywin noted that she seemed curiously unphased by him unlike nearly everyone else he’d met.

“That would be fine with me. You look like you could use a walk too, Lady Sansa. You look as if you haven’t left this room in an age,” Jaime japed merrily but there was an underlying note of tension too. He saw the moment Sansa heard the censure, because he saw the confusion cloud her blue eyes, before she buried it. What she looked like she needed was a nap and some help working out some of the stress stiffening her spine and shoulders.

“That would be acceptable to me too,” Tywin added. He was quite satisfied with how his son was reacting to the girl. Lady Sansa might not recognize Jaime’s concern for what it was, but he did. He hadn’t seen his son actively care about anything, except for how well he could swing a sword, nonetheless another person’s wellbeing, in ages. He would gladly give them time in each other’s company, especially if it also served the dual purpose of figuring out such an unusual request from Lord Stark.

“Then if you would follow me? I would leave your gloves and cloaks here. You won’t need them in a moment,” Sansa said cryptically as she pushed herself up from the desk. She tucked the slim notebook she had been writing in into a hidden pocket in the folds of her skirt. As she rounded the desk Lady stretched and trotted behind her.

Both Lannisters shed their gloves and cloaks and left them draped across the extra chairs in the room. She ushered them out of solar and shut the door behind them. Jaime shivered and observed with envy that his father was able to suppress his reaction to the cold as they walked the courtyard of Winterfell. The walk through the chilled air didn’t seem to faze Sansa, nor did it put any color back into her too pale cheeks. He watched as Lady moved up to keep pace with Sansa. She dropped a hand to rub between the wolf’s ears absentmindedly and Lady nuzzled into the touch.

Sansa stopped at the entrance to the crypts and heard from behind her, the two men's footsteps halt with hers. She grabbed a free, unlit lantern that was left out for visitors of the crypt and pulled the gate open without hesitation.

“Lady Sansa aren’t these your family’s crypts?” Jaime asked, eying the gate that was guarded by statues of direwolves, hesitant to walk into such a private space of the Stark’s.

“Yes, they are, so I would ask that you be respectful,” she answered dryly. The crypts were better lit in this time, since Winterfell hadn’t been burned, hosted an army, and wasn’t in the midst of suffering through a brutal winter, so her lantern didn’t need to be lit yet, not until they were long passed anyone that could be considered a recent ancestor of hers. She was glad the silence between the three of them wasn’t awkward because she was too exhausted to make conversation like a proper hostess.

Jaime and his father trailed after Sansa as she walked briskly through the first level of the space. The space didn’t lend itself to conversation and neither of his companions seemed chatty either, so Jaime kept his mouth closed and observed the glimpse into Stark history that few were privileged to see. It was dark and the way the light flickered off the statues was disconcertingly eerie. He noted absently that the ground was beginning to slope downward the further they went. They passed dozens of Starks that he didn’t know or even recognize their names from his long ago history lessons.

Interestingly, all of the Stark men had long, iron swords across their laps or in hand. He wanted to reach out and run a hand across the workmanship, especially for some of the older swords, but knew that such an overreach would be rude. He wondered at the tradition since it wasn’t like the Stark’s worshipped the New Gods or the recognized the practice of knighthood. Then came the old Kings of Winter who had both swords and stone wolves curled up by their feet. The wolf statutes were a bit of lore he did remember from his childhood lessons and judging by the direwolf that was faithfully following his bride-to-be there was more truth to the old stories than myth in this case.

He turned his attention back to the woman in front of them. Something twisted in his chest as he remembered that she wanted to be buried in this dark place rather than with him and any children they might have at the Rock. He wasn’t offended per se, her solemn face was so like the stone statues and with her wolf at her side she fit right in with the austere aesthetic of this space, but he found it tragic, because Sansa was a woman made for joyful smiles and bright laughter. He pressed his lips together tightly as he wondered if Ned Stark, with all his talk about his little dreamy, joyful girl leaving the crypts as serious and solemn as himself, had considered that that part of the daughter had died down here in this cheerless and unnerving place only to give birth to the woman in front of him now.

She was silent and sure in her path as she continued ever further downward. While he knew she was tired, she gave no indication of her fatigue. His eye caught on the way the candlelight turned the coppery glint of Sansa’s hair into a living fire as it cascaded down her back. It was entrancing, but they were nearing the end of the lit torches and with it the ending of the bewitching illusion.

Clearing his throat lightly, Jaime broke the silence by asking, “Why are we here?”

Sansa twisted her head to meet Jaime and Tywin Lannister’s nearly identical curious green eyes. “Lord Lannister asked why my father requested a man familiar with mining. I’m showing you.”

Sansa held up the lantern in her hand and lit that candle within with one of the last torches lit on the wall. “It’s only a little bit further,” she offered, able to tell that they were getting close by how humid and warm the air was getting.

“How much further?” Tywin inquired.

She shrugged. “Maybe another few minutes of walking? I’ve only walked all the way down one other time.”

Tywin nodded and went back to looking at Stark ancestors interestedly. He did wonder what was down here that Ned Stark wanted mined, maybe it was silver, iron, or some sort of precious stone. At least he was starting to understand why Stark wanted his advice if the deposit was under Winterfell, since many of Casterly Rock’s gold mines had been dug from beneath it for years without any structural damage to the overlying castle.

Soon the pathway was shrouded in steam and the air was hotter and more humid than a summer in the Stormlands. Tywin gathered that they were deep underground at this point. He stopped looking at the numerous statue’s that were beginning to lose their features with age to peer at the girl, her shoulders were beginning to tense the further they walked, and something itched at his brain, something from the day they had hammered out the trade agreement in Ned Stark’s solar.

“Winterfell’s hot spring is down here. The one you fell into, isn’t it?” he asked, satisfied when the details began to piece themselves together in his mind. Just as soon as he finished asking, they walked past the last statue and were able to see the boiling water of the underground hot spring.

“Yes, my lord, but it’s what’s in the walls that we are down here for,” Sansa answered evenly. She stuck towards the sides of the cavern as far away from the spring as she could stand and shined her light on the wall while Lady wandered off with her nose to the ground to explore the new space. Sansa made a note to remember to put a fence up around the hot spring before she came down here again or before one of her younger siblings got curious enough to wander too close. It was too dangerous to risk someone else falling through the boiling spring. There was no guarantee that the Old Gods would be so generous a second time.

The candle in the lantern cast a soft glow on the wall even through the steam and Tywin stepped up next to Lady Sansa, crowding her space, and ran a hand over the dark stone veined through the surrounding gray rock. The black rock gleamed in the faint light. The faces of the stone were smooth while the points were sharp and jagged under his hands. He could see that there were likely other deposits of useful minerals and metals in the cavern, but that wasn’t what the lady was showing him.

“This is dragonglass. Like on Dragonstone. It’s practically useless. What would you Starks want with it?” Tywin asked, quietly bewildered, and frowning at the stone under his hand.

“It kills wights and white walkers. Along with fire, it is the surest way to dispose of them,” Lady Sansa calmly stated as if she hadn’t just said something nonsensical.

“Wait. What? Those are just old Northern stories to scare children into behaving,” Jaime said, turning to face her incredulously from where he had been looking at the rocks in the wall without any true understanding of what he had been supposed to find.

Sansa let out a bitter laugh, eyes half lidded in contempt, and asked, “You didn’t think so many people died in the future that the Old Gods sent me back just because of the fighting between our families, did you?”

Both men were staring at her with similar expressions of competing disbelief and horror. She wanted to roll her eyes at the evidence of the famed arrogance of the Lannisters, thinking they alone had the power to cause such damage. She pursed her lips and continued speaking scathingly, “That weakened the realm significantly of course, but what really did us in was the Night King and his army of the dead, at least a hundred thousand strong. There were survivors from that war too, but so many supplies were wasted in summer and autumn with stupid wars that there were hardly enough for the war with the Night King or the long winter that followed it.”

None of them had any idea of the horrors she’d witnessed, the desperate way she’d lived and ruled for years to hopefully keep her people alive for one more miserable day in hopes that spring would arrive soon. They were all summer children, whatever previous winters they had experienced would pale in comparison to the coming winter if things were allowed to run the same course as last time. No one could really understand the scope of the misfortune that had fallen over humanity without experiencing it for themselves. There had been hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of dead in Westeros by the end of the battle with the Night King, but the survivors had been barely better off.

The survivors had all been left to slowly freeze or starve to death by the time she’d fallen into the past. If she hadn’t had a duty to the North as its Queen she would have preferred to die during the wars, where at least her death would have been quick instead of the endless hunger pains and constant bone cold chill she had endured the last two years that would have eventually led to her own death like so many others whose corpses she’d had to burn.

She was determined to fix it all, so that her family never had to suffer as she had. No sister of hers would be tortured in the Red Keep, Winterfell, or her marriage bed. No brother of hers would be stabbed through the heart or shot through with arrows and she didn’t care how she had to accomplish it. She was already working toward storing enough food and provisions for both the North and the Free Folk to survive the long winter. And if she had her way, neither dragons nor the dead would ever step so much as a foot into her beloved North.

“That’s what the wildlings are running from,” Tywin interjected, more pieces of the puzzle falling into place for him.

He had been confused when Ned Stark had grimly stated that they were hearing unusual tales about the wildlings fleeing from something, but he hadn’t thought anything of it. He would have never considered something like this even if he had spent more time thinking about the strange comment. He might have considered a disaster or abnormally harsh conditions, but never the idea of something so wild and monstrous as the Night King with an army of white walkers and wights. In fact, like his son, Tywin had never considered that the northern tales of white walkers or the Night King were anything aside from particularly gruesome myths meant to warn children about the dangers of winter.

Winter is coming indeed, perhaps that was the real meaning of the Stark words and why their House words were the only set in Westeros that were a warning he mused. If winter could bring the Night King than all the Stark’s warnings and careful planning over the years made a lot more sense.

He abruptly jerked himself upward as straight as a newly forged sword, eyes shooting towards Lady Sansa Stark and his eyes gleamed covetously as they alit on her rigid form. “Oh, but you are a clever one my dear, aren’t you?” he purred dangerously.

From the corner of his eyes, Tywin saw his son cock his head in askance, but he paid no mind to him, much more interested in the Stark girl next to him. He had been wrong about the politics in the North, or at least wrong about Lady Sansa. The politics here could be just as dangerous as any in the South and he was only now realizing it because the lady was permitting him to know. He watched as Lady Sansa lifted her chin up defiantly and met his eyes with her own triumphant ones.

“I’m not sorry,” she stated, ready to take any punishment for tricking the most feared lord in Westeros. He couldn’t do anything that hadn’t already been done to her before and he couldn’t kill her without starting a war. A beating, torture, or worse? She’d already endured those and survived. She hadn’t trusted a Lannister in years, so he couldn’t betray her faith either. She wasn’t surprised he’d figured her out, had anticipated that he might when she decided to bring him down here, in fact.

“What’s there to be sorry about? That was well played. If you weren’t marrying my son already, I would be sure to find a way to acquire you for my House even if I had to ensure it myself,” he said ruthlessly and savored the dismay that flashed over the girl’s face momentarily before she hid it away.

Tywin was honest enough with himself to concede that he would have been furious at the scheme she had successfully implemented if she was marrying into any other House but his own. He had known she was clever, well-connected, and had foreknowledge of the future already, but Lady Sansa was a fool if she thought he’d let her slip out of his House’s hands now. Her display of shrewdness only highlighted that she would be an even better investment than he had expected and a precious boon for his House that had been on the brink of downfall ever since Aerys had draped that damned white cloak on his heir more than a decade and a half ago.

“Would either of you mind explaining?” Jaime cut in unhappily, crossing his arms and frowning deeply. He knew that his confusion was written on his face, but at this point he didn’t care. He didn’t like being left out of the loop, nor did he enjoy whatever cat and mouse game his two companions were playing with each other. While his father didn’t seem displeased with Sansa, she was clearly feeling defiant, which was an unusual and normally stupid stance to take with his father.

“Your little Wolf Queen outplayed us both Jaime. I thought it was odd that most of things that were requested in the trade agreement were things the North could procure for themselves with a bit of work or if they were willing to pay to relocate some craftsmen. It was exceedingly generous to the Westerlands. Oh, there was food in there and you Starks are always bleating about that, but the benefits of the trade agreement were far more heavily weighted toward the Westerlands,” Tywin said with a negligent wave of his hand.

He dropped his hand immediately when he saw the girl cover a flinch with a well-timed shift of her weight. He didn’t hit ladies and didn’t want his future good daughter to fear his hand. She was clever and he wanted her on his side. She should fear other terrible punishments if she crossed him or his House, but especially after the miracle she’d pulled getting Jaime out of the Kingsguard, Lady Sansa had no reason to worry about any sort of attack from him. She was the reason he had his son back and so long as Jaime did his duty, she would also be the reason that his House continued through his line.

“You used my own prejudice against your honorable father and Northmen against me. I just thought your father was a poor administrator and negotiator or that the North needed new sources of income, but it was never about that, was it?” Tywin asked, never taking his gaze off her, though his words were more of a statement than a question.

“It wasn’t. The income and food will be helpful of course, but I wanted a well-supplied and rested North for the Night King and the long winter afterwards. For that I needed a way to avoid any sort of war with you. I figured that you might hesitate to wage war against a kingdom that you were already sure you were exploiting with a trade deal skewed in your favor. That you might at least try to seek reconciliation first or attempt economical penalties to keep hold of such a favorable deal if events played out like last time,” she confirmed, brushing a hand against the dragonglass in the wall absentmindedly, while keeping a subtle watch of the man’s body language, so that she could at least brace herself if he grabbed or struck her. It always hurt worse when it was a surprise.

Tywin narrowed his eyes, but it didn’t hide the greedy gleam in them in the slightest. This was the part he would have been infuriated by if he wasn’t so pleased to be getting the lady in the bargain. “You must have been thrilled when I offered you a mutual defense treaty in exchange for something so small as a marriage to my son. As the North is a largely slow and peaceful Kingdom, I assumed it was merely uncivilized savages I would have to lend my army against only to find that I’ve committed them to a much bigger war against the apparently real horror of the Night King and his army of the dead that I would never have consented to fight against had I known.”

“It’s not like my purposes were nefarious. You would have had to fight the war eventually. Do you know how the Night King builds his army? He raises the dead nearly as soon as they fall. Your help at the beginning of the conflict instead of after the North falls and you are overrun with all the dead from the North and its allies helps you too. This way I’m giving the best chance for all of Westeros,” she said with a defensive shrug, pushing herself back from the wall and dropping her hand to rest on Lady, who had come up beside her as if seeking to soothe the tension radiating from her.

“Oh, stop looking at me like I’m going to beat you. I’m not angry. If anything, I’m impressed and satisfied my House will be in your hands after I pass and I’ve never so much as hit one of my kitchen wenches nonetheless a highborn woman,” he said, scowling at her.

“In regard to the fate of your sons’ wives a slap from your own hand is the least of my worries, Lord Lannister,” she returned coolly. She wasn’t stupid, even from their brief acquaintance in the future Sansa was well aware of how ruthless this particular lord could be and if anything Tyrion had muttered about his father was true, then neither her gender nor her upcoming marriage to his son would spare her from his wrath should she displease him.

Jaime watched her unfold herself slightly and stop bracing for a hand to strike her. The difference was so minuscule that he wondered how his father had read it in her posture. Jaime hadn’t noticed until she had begun straightening herself out. He clenched his jaw at the thought that she was always worried she would be punished for showing her cleverness. It didn’t take a genius to work out why that might be. He didn’t want to hear whatever defense or justification his father would make to Sansa’s comment either, he had enough guilt over the treatment of Tyrion’s former wife.

“Is this why your father was worried about you before he left, Lady Sansa?” Jaime asked, stepping up into her space, so that she had to tilt her head up to see him, his hands coming up to cup her elbows. If he were any closer, she would be pressed along the length of him. He kept his voice soothing in contrast to his father’s normally clipped, brusque words.

He didn’t much care that Sansa had potentially embroiled them in a bigger conflict, if she was right about the Night King, and he had no reason to believe that she wasn’t, then it would be wrong to stand aside in such a conflict. He also couldn’t fault her for doing everything she could to ensure that the largest military force in Westeros was on her side in that fight. He’d already known that Sansa had consented to wed him to keep her family and kingdom safe, that his father had assumed something inaccurate was hardly Sansa’s fault.

“What are you talking about? My father doesn’t know half of that. He knows that the Night King is real, and that next winter will be long and miserable, but nothing about why I was so insistent on a trade agreement, nor am I sure that he fully understood why I jumped at the idea of a mutual defense treaty. He would have called it manipulation and he wouldn’t have approved,” Sansa questioned, her eyes wide in the lowlight of the lantern she’d previously set down and looking genuinely confused at the turn in the conversation. He didn’t know whether to trust her expression or not, but from how close he was standing to her he should be able to read any expression or thought she wasn’t quick enough to hide.

He drew a hand up, brushing steam curled wisps back from her face and searched her eyes carefully as he spoke softly, “On the morning he left, your father came to me and said that you were too clever for your own good and that he was worried about your safety.”

Sansa nibbled at her bottom lip and his gaze flickered down to them. “Oh that. No, that had nothing to do with this. He didn’t ask you about your sister, did he?” A hard glint coming into her eyes as she inquired.

“No, what does that have to do with anything?” he asked softly, his brow scrunching down in his confusion.

Her expression changed from one of concern to one as fierce and determined as a warrior’s prepared to do battle in an instant. “Because I want to know whether my father broke his word to me or not. I made him swear that he wouldn’t investigate into the rumors Jon Arryn was looking into before his death. I told him in my last life that it was you that was accused of fathering the Queen’s children and that I would wed you that evening if he even thought about stirring up the issue,” she said, her flashing, resolute eyes more enticing than they had any right to be in the dim light.

“Was that wise to tell him?” Tywin asked, crossing his arms and lifting a single brow. Perhaps he had overestimated the girl’s intelligence.

“I never confirmed whether it was true or not and I told him that if I was already married that he’d probably get me killed along with Jaime if he was accused of that. That if Robert didn’t murder me, you probably would,” she stated, wearing the same coldly satisfied expression with the Lord of the Westerlands as she had when she had discussed it with her father.

She turned her intense sunset sea gaze back up to meet Jaime’s. “So do I have to marry you tonight or can it wait until I have time to sew a gown and maiden cloak?” she demanded.

Tywin let his mouth curl up in a smugly pleased grin that neither of the two witnessed, because they were too wrapped up in each other to pay him any attention. It satisfied him to know that Lady Sansa would use her intelligence to protect his son too, even if she wasn’t married to him yet. That she knew more Lannister secrets didn’t bother him either, even if they were gruesome ones, she had known before she had attached herself to his son and House Lannister and she had still consented to it anyway.

Jaime swallowed thickly as he gazed down at the determined woman that he was holding a miniscule distance from his own frame. “It can wait, Sansa. Why would you do that? Why would you condemn yourself along with me?”

Sansa snickered, “First of all, as honorable as my Lord Father is, he’s not going to do anything that would knowingly get any of his children killed.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean that no one else will ever find out,” he insisted stubbornly.

She looked at him strangely, all shimmering blue eyes with a compassionate smile on her lips and reached for one of his hands. She laced their fingers together. Her fingers were slim and as smooth as silk in his own roughened grasp. “It doesn’t, but I thought the risk was worth it. I’ve told you before that the best part of you is how completely devoted you are to those you love. I’ve never known anyone else who would go to the lengths that I know you would to care for the ones you love. You are a good man underneath all that arrogance Jaime Lannister, one who happens to be in love with someone bad for him, but I don’t think you deserve to die for loving the wrong person.”

Jaime’s breath caught. He was in far more danger of drowning in her eyes than he’d ever been in the seas around his home. He tore his gaze away from the too sincere woman in front of him, deeply moved by the conviction in her words only to have them drawn back to her seconds later like a magnet. Now he saw the gentle, romantic girl her father talked about, she was hidden behind grief and pragmatism, but she was still there. Jaime was well aware that everyone else would have condemned him for his relationship and fathering children on his sister. By her own account she’d been beaten viciously by his ill-begotten son last time and suffered greatly at his sister’s hand. How was it that she thought any part of him was good? How was it that she could look past any of that?

There was something he disagreed with about what she had said. He knew of one other that would go to any ends to protect those they loved, because he was staring at her. He wondered briefly what it would be like to have an ounce of her love for himself; a love so potent her gods had granted her another chance to save her loved ones. There was a part of him that desperately wanted that kind of love for himself, because he was finding that his father was right after all, he’d never had that kind of love from Cersei, despite how devoted to her he had always been. To love someone and have them return that love with the same fervor was what he had always wanted but was only now realizing he didn’t and would never have.

“And frankly, there’s no way to prove such a thing and I don’t like the King, nor care that he has no true born heirs. There’s no guarantee that any child of Robert’s wouldn’t be as useless and wasteful as him and I certainly don’t care for Stannis Baratheon either. He would be a miserable king, and everyone would suffer from his rigid stance on justice,” she added with a shrug, breaking the overwhelming intensity of the moment.

“Hear, hear,” Jaime said and if his voice sounded a little wet, he only hoped his father didn’t chastise him for it later.

It was silent on the walk back out of the crypt, all of them lost in their respective thoughts. Once they were all out of the foreboding place, Tywin addressed his son, “Tyrion is headed to the Wall in the next few days. Go with him and assess the threat. Do not cross the Wall and do not stay longer than necessary.”

Jaime agreed swiftly. If there really was the threat of White Walkers and the Night King, the sooner they gathered information and prepared, the better off the realm would be.

Sansa glanced westward, “I will be at the port with my brother Jon for the next few weeks. My father is setting him up as the lord there and since I’m the one who oversaw the project, I’m accompanying him to make sure he is set up properly and that there wasn’t anything we missed. I’ll let my mother in on the nature of your stay Lord Lannister and to expect you and the other Lannisters to come and go from here for the foreseeable future before I leave tomorrow.”

Tywin nodded. “Thank you, Lady Sansa. Please advise your mother that I will be summoning my brother and a small group of soldiers as well. I’ll take my leave of you. I find myself with even more letters to write after our walk.”

“Have a good day then, Lord Lannister,” she responded politely. She was about to walk away herself when Jaime’s hand on her arm stopped her. She gasped quietly and startled. When she released her hastily drawn breath, she favored him with an inquisitive look and waited for him to speak.

“Will you come with me for a few minutes? I won’t take up more than an hour's worth of your time,” he asked.

Sansa nodded. He slid his hand down to hers and twined their fingers together again before he tugged her along to the nearby entrance to the Godswood. He had enjoyed the feeling and it was one he didn’t get to openly experience often.

Once they were a little way into the trees he stopped and released her hand. While she had initially been surprised that he’d led her around by hand, Sansa found herself wishing he would grasp it again. His hand had been warm and comforting in hers. She’d so rarely been touched in a pleasant manner in the last few years that she was greedy for more, even from someone that she knew had no true care for her.

“First, I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have gone off with Cersei,” Jaime offered, looking down at her contritely. His shoulders were tense and he appeared to be bracing for either a physical or verbal assault from her.

She held up her hand to interrupt him and shook her head. “Stop. I appreciate your apology, but you don’t owe me one. I already told you I didn’t care if you continued your relationship and besides, I heard you tell Cersei no. Her inability to take no for an answer isn’t your responsibility. I can’t fault you for being worried about your family either. I was surprised by what I saw but you don’t owe me anything.”

“Still, I promised you my protection and I’m sorry I gave you reason to doubt it,” he said with a grimace that she thought was directed more inwards than at her. He did seem intent on offering her his protection and he seemed to see this incident as some sort of stain on his honor.

She sighed, unsure of how to soothe the knight in front of her and assure him that she didn’t want or expect his protection. “This is a political match, and we aren’t anything but a means to an end to each other. I am not foolish or naive enough to believe that I should come before your children’s safety in your eyes, Ser.”

He opened his mouth to argue and then immediately shut it. Sansa had absolved him of any wrongdoing, but he still felt unsatisfied. She’d said nothing that wasn’t true, but her words sat poorly with him. However, it was clear from the stubborn set of her chin that she was done with this conversation, and he didn’t know exactly what he wanted to disagree with anyway. Sansa had shown both him and his father that she was using them in a far greater game than either of them had imagined and he certainly couldn’t claim that he’d agreed to the match due to any deeper feelings on his part. Also, telling her that he would protect her would be nothing but empty words. He would have to show her that he was serious about her wellbeing somehow.

Jaime kneeled down and plucked a dagger from his boot. He held it out to her hilt first. “Take it,” he said, standing to his full height.

She tried to read the meaning of the gesture while she carefully took the dagger from him. She peered down at the knife in the palm of her hand with a confused frown. “What for?” she asked finally.

He favored her with an honest half smile. “I promised to protect you, Sansa and I can’t do that if you’re in the Rills and I’m at the Wall. I have just enough time to show you the basics this afternoon.”

“I don’t want to learn this,” she said with a knit brow and a tiny frown he wanted to smooth away with his thumb. She tried to hand it back to him, but he stepped away and sighed miserably.

“Please Sansa? I’ve just learned that the world is a lot stranger than I’d ever considered. You’ll hopefully never have to use what I teach you, but I would feel better about you being half the continent away from me if you knew it,” he beseeched her with solemn eyes. Jaime had eyes that were meant for sly laughter and playful grins. She’d rarely seen them so serious since she had met him in this lifetime.

“Alright,” she said just above a whisper, hesitant to speak louder in light of the earnestness he was projecting. She had no desire to pick up a weapon, but she couldn’t deny that it would be a useful skill to have. The world was about to become dangerous again and she couldn’t rely on others to protect her.

Jaime spent the next hour showing her the best places to stab with a knife and which ones to slash, how to grip the knife properly so she didn’t drop it and how to stand so she could put the most force into her blows. It was hardly enough against an opponent in a knife fight, but against an unsuspecting attacker it might buy her enough time to scream or get help. Sansa couldn’t deny that the lesson hadn’t been as dreadful as she thought it would be and she did feel safer with a dagger hidden on her person.

The next morning, after Jaime went back to his room following his own early morning training session, he found a warm cloak and a pair of gloves in Stark gray folded up on his bed. He didn’t know how Sansa had known that he didn’t have an appropriate cloak or gloves for the much colder temperatures at the Wall or perhaps she had just guessed based on the unexpectedness of the trip, but he appreciated the considerate gesture. It saved him from having to ask to borrow one, find a warm enough one that he could buy on such short notice, or having to go without.

However, going without adequately warm clothing could be dangerous, nothing killed so easily and surely like the cold in the North. He didn’t fancy missing fingers or freezing to death. For all that Sansa Stark claimed she didn’t want his protection and that they were just a means to an end for each other, she was doing a remarkable job at protecting him. First when she had stopped her father from investigating into the parentage of Cersei's children and now by providing him with proper attire for the far North.

Chapter Text

“Good you’re both here,” Sansa said, striding into one of the rooms Robb frequently liked to relax in, to see both her mother and oldest brother talking already. Grey Wind was sprawled out lazily at her brother’s feet and only opened a single eye at her entrance, before dropping back into a doze. Her mother’s expression briefly flashed with annoyance at her entrance while Robb looked grateful for the interruption from his position in the window seat.

Sansa didn’t know what they were previously discussing, but from her quick glance Robb appeared to have a book on his lap that was open to a page with an illustration of a large ship. It seemed that her brother was taking his duties more seriously than she had originally thought and that they were weighing on his mind if his choice in reading material was any indication.

“Is there something you need?” Robb asked, a hint of concern and stress bleeding into his voice at the sight of his sister striding so forcefully into the room. She looked to be on a mission, which probably spelled trouble or worse, more work for him.

She quirked her lips up for a fraction of a second in reassurance, “I just wanted to inform you both of some last-minute things before I leave for the port tomorrow.”

Catelyn scowled, the expression making her face look severe. “I don’t know what your father was thinking making that boy a lord over anything or why you must go set him up. He should be able to manage himself.”

Sansa fought to keep the incredulous look off her face and her brother didn’t manage it at all. Her mother had pitched a fit and then stayed cold and silent for days after her father had suggested putting Jon in lessons on castle management with the rest of their siblings. Even after their father had tersely explained that it wasn’t so Jon could usurp her children’s position, but so that he could provide Jon with the proper education to manage his own estate away from Winterfell, Catelyn had continued to eye both Jon and her father with distrust and disgruntlement.

Instead, Jon’s instruction in castle management had fallen to Sansa. He had been diligent in his lessons, but a few months of learning wasn’t the same as running his own household and Sansa wanted to give him the best chance of success that she could and answer any questions that he might not know that he had. Her involvement with helping Jon had earned Sansa her own additional cold looks from her mother at a time when their relationship was already strained. Sansa would have helped with such a vital project for the North anyway since it was her idea, but it was her mother’s own fault that she had so closely worked with Jon as her disapproval had all but ensured that Sansa’s participation was necessary.

“I’m headed there as a representative of Winterfell since the commerce and income from the potential trade will be beneficial to the entirety of the North if it is overseen properly. While we are the largest of the regions in the Seven Kingdoms, we don’t have the kind of wealth that other regions have because we haven’t invested in development in decades,” Sansa said dispassionately, unwilling to be the one to spark an argument between them by addressing her mother’s grievances with Jon.

Catelyn pinched her lips together and sniffed haughtily, “I suppose going there to make sure that that boy doesn’t mismanage it makes sense.”

Sansa grimaced and lowered her gaze. That hadn’t been what she was trying to imply that at all.

“Mother, that’s enough!” Robb interrupted with a snarl and a tendril of satisfaction curled its way through Sansa, appeased that she wasn’t the only one defending her brother against their mother this time.

Unfortunately, their mother didn’t look chastened at all and only extended her scowl to show her disapproval of both her eldest children. It was on the tip of her tongue to spill her father’s secret, but the Lannisters were still here, and she didn’t trust Tywin Lannister not to try and eliminate the potential threat to his daughter and grandchildren’s power. She wouldn’t be here to monitor the Lady of Winterfell’s reaction and if she made the connection between Jon’s potential claim to the Iron Throne and Tywin’s interest in it well then, her mother could do a catastrophic amount of damage to the North and endanger Jon’s life before Sansa could mitigate the risk. She wouldn’t give her mother the chance to scheme not about something so important.

Sansa wasn’t sure what Robb would do with that kind of information either, especially if the fragile peace she was holding together shattered. Would Robb support and encourage Jon’s claim to the Iron Throne, even though it was certainly not what Jon would want? She envisioned a score of new nightmares based on the thought. That was all she needed; to prevent one of her siblings from dying after they were proclaimed King of the North only to get her other brother killed by getting him crowned King of Westeros.

“That wasn’t what I meant, mother. Regardless, I wanted to inform you that I am taking Rickon with me to the port too,” she said, bracing herself for another outburst from the older woman.

“Why?” Catelyn asked, crossing her arms skeptically though she didn’t seem nearly so upset by the thought of Rickon tagging along as she did the previous topic.

Robb pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed audibly. “Rickon asked to go with Sansa and I’m allowing it,” he said, using a tone that Sansa recognized as similar to their father’s Lord of Winterfell voice when he didn’t want to hear any more discussion on a subject.

She wondered if Robb’s support meant that Rickon had actually spoken to Robb about his dreams as Robb had requested or whether her littlest brother had just made it clear that he wanted to stay close to her. No matter how deeply she eyed Robb, she couldn’t read the answer in his countenance. Nothing about his expression had shifted; he looked worried, but he had already looked worried when she had walked into the room.

“Fine,” Catelyn acquiesced with poorly concealed disdain and clear displeasure at Robb asserting authority over the situation.

Sansa cleared her throat and met her brother’s troubled gaze. “I informed Lord Lannister of the nature of the coming threat, so you should be prepared to house more Lannisters and some of their men in the coming weeks.”

“You told Tywin Lannister about the Night King?” Robb asked baffled by the news, especially since their father had wanted the information kept quiet. He tucked a bookmark into the tome on his lap and turned to face his sister directly.

“Yes, I did.  For mine and father’s agreement to a betrothal to his heir, Lord Lannister offered a mutual defense pact weeks ago. The agreement was signed the day father left Winterfell and this morning I made Lord Lannister aware of exactly what he had signed up for,” Sansa said, a wolfish grin curling on her lips.

Sansa watched as her brother’s tactical mind put together her words and soon Robb was struggling to hide a grin that matched her own. “Sansa, that’s brilliant! I’ve been worried for days about how we were going to fight the Night King’s forces with only the men of the North and maybe the Riverlands.”

“And he believed you?” he asked after a short pause. He still struggled to wrap his mind around the information that the Night King was real and not just one of Old Nan’s scary tales.

“Yes,” she said shortly, not wanting to get into the fact that the Old Gods had spilled her secret weeks ago to the Lord of the Westerlands.

Robb blinked and scratched at the patchy scruff that was growing on his face. “Well, that’s good, I suppose. Lord Manderly indicated he would be arriving within the next moon.”

“Lord Manderly will be a good resource. I recommend that you listen carefully to his advice. I believe Lord Lannister is sending for his brother, Kevan Lannister and Ser Jaime is headed to the Wall to evaluate its defenses and speak with the Lord Commander, so we should soon have more knowledge on the current threat and more experienced men to help strategize by the time I come back,” she offered.

He leaned back into the comfortable pillows that were thrown into the window seat and found himself thankful that his sister had already set them up for success long before he’d even been aware of the problem. Robb had barely begun to understand the enormity of challenges the North faced over the last few days now that the task of protecting the North fell to him and his father’s guidance wasn’t as easily accessible. He was also aware enough to know that the credit belonged to Sansa rather than their father in this case, since it was a level of political maneuvering that Ned Stark would have balked at or possibly never even contemplated but judging by the smirk on his innocent-looking sister’s face, it had been something that she had considered weeks and possibly months in advance.

Robb closed his eyes and hummed, deep in thought on the newly presented opportunities that the Westerland’s involvement opened up. With the help of Lord Lannister’s influence and the betrothal with the princess that his father had set up for him, it was possible that the North would be able to call on the King’s support as well in the fight against the Night King. The addition of that many extra men would allow for potentially dozens more winning strategies.

When Robb didn’t seem inclined to respond, Sansa rocked backwards on her heels and added, “Lord Lannister didn’t seem too upset with the information, but I imagine that the price of his easy acceptance means that I will have to wed his heir sooner rather than later, although no date has currently been set.”

Her mother cut in again, though her voice was softer than Sansa had heard directed at her in several moons, “We’ll have to get you a dress and a cloak sewn. We should start looking for a gift as soon as possible too.”

“A gift?” Sansa repeated with confusion as she swung her focus back to her mother.

The change in tone stabbed at her heart. She swallowed down the melancholic longing that rose within her at the return of her mother’s caring behavior toward her. She would give so much to go back to the easy dynamic that their previous relationship held, but it wasn’t possible because the things that her mother wanted most were the very things that were too important to Sansa to consider giving them up. She could never go back to not supporting Jon and she didn't have time to pretend to be someone she no longer was, not if she was going to save the North from the dangers that were lurking from every direction.

Catelyn smiled gently, perhaps happy to impart the knowledge to her daughter the way she had before Sansa had fallen through the hot springs and come back so seemingly different. “It’s customary in the Westerlands to hold a betrothal feast a moon’s turn before the wedding and for the couple to present a meaningful gift to each other.”

“I didn’t know that,” Sansa said with a thoughtful frown, wondering if the surprise nature of her past wedding to Tyrion had been the reason that that custom hadn’t been observed or if it been the fact that Tywin Lannister hated his youngest son, or perhaps her status as a traitor’s daughter had been to blame.

What could she even get a man that came from a family so wealthy that could buy whatever he wanted? She supposed it was just another thing she would have to put on her long list of things to remember to do. She shook her head to clear the thought, she might even be getting ahead of herself, since the date of the wedding hadn’t even been discussed between their families as far as she knew.

“Why would you know? I certainly never encouraged you to think of a match with the West,” Catelyn dismissed easily.

Sansa nodded. “I suppose that’s true. There’s one more thing I wanted to discuss,” she said, turning her keen gaze back to her brother.

"What’s that?” Robb asked.

“It’s about Ser Rodrick. He wasn’t teaching Arya her sword lessons properly which is part of the reason why she’s in King’s Landing with father. Father already spoke to him, but since he’s the reason that Arya and Nymeria are separated, I think he should be the one to take care of Nymeria in addition to his regular duties at least while I am gone,” she said tightly.

“Such a task would be far beneath the man’s station. He might take offense,” Catelyn warned.

“Then I guess he should have obeyed his lord when he had the chance,” Sansa offered dryly, clasping her hands behind her back and tilting her head with feigned nonchalance.

Robb bowed his head for a moment in contemplation, before slowly stating, “I think that’s a fitting enough punishment. It won’t be for very long and it’s embarrassing, but not a severe punishment for a first offense. I’ll let him know tomorrow.”

Catelyn didn’t look pleased, but Sansa rather thought it was because she agreed with Ser Rodrick and hadn’t wanted her youngest daughter to learn any sword fighting skills than that her mother disagreed with whether the punishment for disobeying the lord of the castle fit or not in this case.

“Alright. If I don’t see you before we leave in the morning than stay safe and write to me with any questions if you have them,” Sansa said, solemnly nodding at her brother.

Robb grinned. “I will, and you stay safe too. You’re the one that’s traveling. I should be safe behind Winterfell’s walls.”

She smiled softly at her brother’s innocence and left the room. Sansa hoped that he never had the occasion to learn that no one was safe anywhere, not even in Winterfell. She was more than enough proof that even a Stark wasn’t safe in Winterfell though both of her youngest brothers were also good examples that even the two walls of Winterfell’s castle weren’t enough to keep the monsters out.

She was mostly packed for the journey already and before she’d gone to find Robb, she’d instructed a maid to put together a travel pack for Rickon. Jon and whichever guard he’d chosen to captain the small group of men they were bringing for their safety during their journey were dealing with the provisions and mapping out the route that they wanted to take.

Sansa let her mind connect with Lady for a brief moment and a smile twitched on her mouth when she realized the wolf was lazing about in her bedroom. While Sansa didn’t have as much time to practice warging as her other siblings, she’d kept up the practice in the late evenings just before she went to bed, and she was steadily increasing the amount of time she could consciously stay connected with Lady. The more she practiced the easier it was becoming to find the connection with Lady too.

Sansa took a sharp turn down the next corridor knowing that it would take her to her bedroom in the most direct manner. When she reached the doorway to her room, Lady lifted her head up curiously from where she was laying on the bed to watch her enter her room. Sansa sat down on the bed beside her, scratched her behind the ears and then dropped into Lady’s mind to communicate with her better. While Lady knew an extensive list of commands, it was still easier to communicate this way where her thoughts didn’t have to be human words and were more easily translatable to her direwolf.

Once she was sure Lady understood what she wanted Sansa dropped back into her own skin. She stood up and waited as Lady hopped off her bed with lupine grace. When Lady headed for the door, Sansa followed a half step behind her letting her lead the way to their target. They made their way directly outside and then circling around the outside of the courtyard, past the stables, they walked with purpose toward the smithy near the southern gate. There, lying up against the outside brick wall closest to the hearth was Nymeria, soaking up the warmth from the ever-present fires of the forge.

Nymeria watched them as they walked up to her and while her eyelids were lazy from the heat of forge there was something wild and predatory in them that made Arya’s wolf appear the most dangerous of the pack. Sansa crouched down a few feet in front of her sister’s wolf, ignoring the hem of her dress that dragged across the dirt. “Hello Nymeria. How would you like to get some revenge for Arya?”

Nymeria’s ears perked up and her citrine eyes gleamed with savage interest. Sansa smirked viciously. She had no use for men who weren’t loyal to her family.

“Good girl. You may do whatever you wish. Just don’t get caught.” she murmured, using the sounds from the forge to cover her words. Ser Rodrick didn’t know what he was in for while she was gone.

Chapter Text

Jaime shifted his reins to his other hand and flexed his fingers to work out the cold and stiffness. Ever since the first rays of sunlight had glinted off the snow, he and Tyrion had been able to see the Wall tower over the landscape. It had taken them a fortnight to get there taking the most direct route from Winterfell. While his gifted cloak and gloves helped, they did not completely alleviate the chill. By the end of every day, he could feel the cold all the way to his bones though he thankfully had no signs of frostbite. It was mystifying that it was this cold even in the summer. Jaime had no idea how people could live this far north in the winter if it got even colder then.

He prayed to the gods, old and new, that Tyrion didn’t want to stay long. Not only was it cold and dreary, but if Benjen Stark was any indication, then the company at the Wall would be miserable too. The man always seemed to be glaring at him, which for a man who was supposed to be unconcerned about the politics of the realm and who spent his days with thieves and murders, seemed excessive. As far as he knew, he’d never personally done anything to the man or given him a reason to dislike him so intensely. He’d hardly even talked to the Stark man on this trip, except when necessary, preferring to keep his mouth and nose covered from the wind when they rode and speak only with his brother before they set out or after they made camp in the evenings.

As soon as the men at the gates identified Benjen Stark, they raised the gates and let the small group of them in. It was only the three of them and a rapist, named Rast, who was a new recruit to the Watch in their group. Personally, Jaime thought the man should have at least lost his hand for his crime if not his manhood or life. He was a sorry excuse for a man that wasn’t the least bit sorry about the crime he’d committed, only that he’d been caught. Few things would have thrilled Jaime more than an excuse to run his sword through the lowlife and he had watched him the whole trip hoping the man would try something.

Jaime glanced around the courtyard they arrived in. There were dozens of black brothers milling around and just as he expected they were unpleasant and bitter looking and by the gods had any of these men ever heard of a bath before? He hoped his little bride-to-be was fond of them and didn’t do something ridiculous like only bathe twice a year as these men appeared to. He hadn’t ever noticed her with wet hair, but he had also never caught her smelling like anything other than freshly fallen snow, lavender, and some sort of citrus the few times he was near enough to catch her scent.

“Well, we’re here little brother. Is it everything you imagined?” Jaime asked Tyrion as he swung a leg over his horse and dismounted. Benjen Stark had already departed to take care of the new recruit and speak to the Lord Commander to set up a meeting between them.

“It’s taller than I imagined, but grimmer and colder too. It sort of reminds me of father now that I think about it,” Tyrion quipped, grinning cleverly at his brother as he too dismounted from his mount. It had taken him a few extra minutes to get out of his special riding saddle, but he was easily able to manage without any assistance.

Jaime laughed openly at the description, “I suppose I also see the resemblance.”

“I wish I had your good sense to get a warmer cloak and gloves. I hadn’t expected it to be this cold here at the height of summer. Where did you get such a good quality garment on such short notice?” Tyrion asked, tilting his head back slightly to take in his brother’s visage.

“It was a gift from one of the Starks,” Jaime answered, keeping his eyes averted from his canny little brother.

He turned, reaching for both sets of reins, and guided the horses to the stables to be unsaddled, groomed, and fed after their long journey. He made careful note of what both horses looked like as the pair he and Tyrion rode were on loan from the Stark stables. While he and Tyrion had both rode horses from King’s Landing to Winterfell the Starks had insisted that they borrow a pair that were more accustomed to the cold and landscape of the far north. He had to say that he hadn’t thought it would make such a difference but these northern horses, while not meant for speed or jousting, were sturdy and made the trip with surprising ease.

Tyrion raised a brow and smirked good-naturedly. “That explains the color scheme. Which Stark did you manage to charm or endear yourself to? I hardly got two polite sentences strung together out of the whole lot of them.”

The shorter man was willing to concede that his hesitance to occupy the same space as his father unless absolutely mandatory might have contributed to the lack of conversation, good or otherwise, with his hosts. After all he could hardly expect to find any of the honorable Starks in the Winter Town brothel or uproariously drunk in the small tavern either.

Jaime frowned and furrowed his brows together, “I don’t think they even particularly like me to be honest. I think they were just being kind because they knew I didn’t have anything suitable for this far north.”

Tyrion tilted his head back to watch his brother and pursed his lips at the strange note of disappointment he could hear in Jaime’s voice. His brother never admitted to wanting anyone’s good favor, not after he’d been so thoroughly shamed after he’d slain Aerys.

“Whether they were being nice or not, it’s a handsome gift. Whichever Stark gifted it to you made sure that it was one of the warmest and finest available,” Tyrion offered lightly, hoping to alleviate some of his favorite sibling’s dissatisfaction.

“Is it?” Jaime asked, looking down at the cloak in surprise.

Tyrion wanted to sigh at his brother but knew that it wouldn’t help right now. His brother had spent the last fifteen years in the Kingsguard and prior to that as the Lannister heir and as such had no head for how much things cost or their relative quality. It didn’t help that his golden brother wasn’t much interested in anything outside of battle, swords, and horseflesh.

Tyrion wet his lips before speaking, “Yes. I’m not sure you would find anything that nice outside of Winterfell itself to be honest. It looks to be made of the finest quality wool I’ve ever seen, lined with soft, sheared rabbit fur, and trimmed with white fox fur. Even for the North, that’s a fine cloak.”

Tyrion picked up a corner of his own cloak. “Mine certainly isn’t lined at all nor does it have such a splendid trim. I’m pretty sure mine is trimmed with beaver. It certainly smells like it.”

Jaime grinned down at his brother, “Mine does not smell of animal, so I wouldn’t know.” In fact, when his nose had been buried in the trim to keep his face protected from the wind and cold during the trip, his cloak had smelled suspiciously of freshly fallen snow and citrus.

The smaller man shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Whichever Stark you charmed, and don’t think I didn’t notice that you avoided answering the question, is a generous and thoughtful gift-giver.”

“If I told you which Stark, you’d try to charm them yourself and I fear you’re a much smoother talker than I am, little brother,” Jaime jested lightly.

He felt odd about sharing that it had been Sansa who had gifted him the cloak and he had a sneaking suspicion that it was less to do with wanting to keep his betrothal quiet and more to do with the fact that in some previous life Sansa had been married to Tyrion. After all, now that he was free of the Kingsguard, there was nothing stopping him from taking up a wife and he was technically free to tell whoever he wished that he was betrothed.

Tyrion chuckled. “Oh absolutely! If that’s the kind of gift your mysterious Stark bestows when they don’t particularly like the receiver, then I’d love to see what they’d gift when they do.”

Jaime didn’t reply. He just handed the reins of the horses to the stableman and grabbed both his and his brother’s packs from where they had been tied down. He slung both packs over his shoulder and strode out of the stable, hoping to find where they would be lodged.

Tyrion gave his older brother a half-smile as he hobbled along to keep up with his longer strides. “I’m starting to find your refusal to tell me intriguing.”

“Drop it, Tyrion. I don’t want to talk about it,” he growled irritably, his emerald eyes flashing their annoyance.

Tyrion bit his tongue. Now he was doubly curious. Which Stark had his normally indifferent brother in a twist? It couldn’t be the youngest, he was only barely out of infanthood. Lady Catelyn would sooner swallow shards of glass than be nice to Jaime after he had passed over her sister, Lysa, all those years ago as a teenager. Ned Stark had famously bestowed his brother’s cursed nickname and likely wouldn’t gift anything to a man he considered an oathbreaker and without honor. That still left five of the other Stark children, although he supposed that the bastard wasn’t technically a Stark. He dropped the topic for now. He would think more on it later if he couldn’t wheedle the answer out of Jaime eventually.

The Lord Commander’s steward strode directly toward them in the courtyard and directed the two of them toward adjoining rooms. He was another dark, rugged-looking Northmen with a dark cloak nearly indistinguishable from the hundred other men who looked exactly like him at the Wall.

“The evening meal is in two hours and the Lord Commander has time to meet you directly afterward, if that’s agreeable to you, my lords,” the sullen boy said with a look that indicated that the meeting time was non-negotiable.

Jaime murmured his agreement and entered his room without any further delay. It wasn’t a large or opulent room by any means, but Jaime hadn’t expected it to be. He was well aware that the Night’s Watch was known for its frugality. There was a straw bed, a chest of drawers, a fireplace, and the smallest desk he’d ever seen. He didn’t care about any of that at the moment though, because what he was most gratified to see, was that there was a bath readied for him.

He dropped his pack on the end of his bed and stripped out of his clothes with a speed he wasn’t sure he’d ever achieved before, especially considering that his fingers were half-frozen stiff. It felt like so long since he’d last had a bath and the layer of grime on him had been bothering him for days, like an itch that couldn’t be scratched. He shivered the moment that he was fully undressed, the room not having been warmed completely by the fire that had been started in his fireplace likely at the same time the bath water had been sent to his room.

He waited no time before hastily clamoring into the small, unadorned tub. He hissed at the sting of his too-cold hands hitting the water but sighed with contentment shortly afterward as the warmth seeped into his other cold and sore muscles. The water wasn’t quite as hot as the water in Winterfell, but Jaime was just thrilled to be able to properly warm and wash himself.

After he thoroughly washed his hair and scrubbed his skin, he sat back in the water and let his mind wander. As it did so often these last few weeks his thoughts wandered to Sansa. He eyed the cloak on his bed and pondered the information that Tyrion had provided him. The cloak was clearly meant to be serviceable rather than fashionable since it had kept even his southern blood from shivering even this far North. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him that the cloak might be Sansa’s rather than just a random cloak she had thought would fit him but based on the quality it could only belong to one of the Stark’s and it smelled like her. While he was a few inches taller and a little broader in the shoulders than her, cloaks were a forgiving garment, and considering that it fell several inches below his knee, it appeared that if it had been made for the lady, the length was meant to nearly sweep the ground for her. He sunk further into the water, bewildered by the thought that he liked the fact that the cloak was probably hers.

While he still considered himself in love with Cersei, more and more he was coming to terms with the realization that what he had with Cersei hadn’t been remotely healthy or an equal relationship. He didn’t want to be stuck under anyone’s thumb and subjected to their absurd capricious desires anymore. What he wanted was a partner that would give as much of themselves as he was willing to give to them. He didn’t know if he could have that with someone as good as Sansa, but at the very least he wanted to try and build something meaningful with her. For all her manipulations, the glimpses of her that he had been able to observe revealed that she was kind and thoughtful. He didn’t want them to just be a means to an end to each other, he wanted something real.

He dried off and changed into a clean pair of clothes, before laying on the provided bed. It wasn’t the most comfortable accommodations he’d ever been given, but the fire was beginning to heat the room to a pleasant temperature, and it wasn’t long until he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of sunbathing at the beach at the base of Casterly Rock and hair the color of copper spread across his chest.

Jaime woke to impatient knocking and his little brother’s amused voice calling out, “We’ll be late if you don’t answer this door soon.”

He hopped out of bed in a state of semi-disorientation, brushed the sleep from his eyes, and let his brother into the room. Tyrion turned a fondly exasperated gaze on him as he scrambled around for his boots and the rest of his gear, which was how both brothers found themselves rushing through their simple dinner fare and up the steps toward the Lord Commander’s suite. Benjen Stark was already at the door, and he sent them the coldest look that could still be termed polite.

Jaime grinned arrogantly at the man in his most irritating manner. He was sure that Benjen didn’t know about Jaime’s betrothal to the man’s niece, so he had no idea why the man was nicer to the riff raff at Castle Black than to him. As far as he knew, he hadn’t done or said anything to the Night’s Watchman, and it wasn’t like the man cared about southern politics.

The Lord Commander, Jeor Mormont, let the three of them into his rooms that were just as gloomy and austere as the rest of Castle Black. The aroma of woodsmoke permeated the room. “Come in. There’s wine on the side table over there,” he said gesturing toward a small wooden table near the large fireplace.

Jaime declined the drink, but Tyrion ambled his way over and poured himself a glass. Jaime studied the former Lord of Bear Island. He was a man of his father’s age with broad shoulders and gray-white hair. He appeared at ease with his position and in command. Honorable in the way that Northmen aspire to be and as dour as most of them too.

“Why have you come to Castle Black?” he asked in a blunt, no-nonsense manner.

Tyrion climbed and pulled himself up into a chair. “I’m not sure why my brother’s here but, I just wanted to piss off the edge of world.” he japed, taking a long gulp of wine from his goblet.

The Lord Commander’s lips twitched so quickly that Jaime wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. Jaime rolled his eyes at his brother’s antics and began tapping his foot underneath the table. “I’m here because Lord Stark and by extension, my Lord Father, since he’s currently partaking in Winterfell’s hospitality, have heard some strange and disturbing things about what’s going on beyond the wall.”

Mormont folded his hands on the table and narrowed his eyes in response to Jaime’s cryptic words. “Which rumors are those?” he asked in a carefully controlled voice.

Jaime stared steadily into the Commander’s firm gaze, watching to see how he would react to his next statement, “The kind of rumor where winter is coming, and the dead come with it.”

The Lord Commander put his hands flat on the table, his shoulders sagged, and he closed his eyes for a moment as he sighed out, “I see.”

Tyrion was looking between the both of them incredulously and Benjen Stark, who seemed unsurprised by the strange declaration. As wild as the tale was, Jaime already half-believed it from the conviction in Sansa’s words that day in the deepest part of Winterfell’s crypt and he knew his father was concerned as well, otherwise, he wouldn’t have sent him all the way up to this desolate place.

“So, there is some truth to it then, I take it?” the Lannister knight asked.

“Aye. We’ve been hearing the same tales from the wildlings we catch and the rangers that have deserted as well. I wouldn’t normally believe something so strange, but some of these men that have deserted have been honorable and steadfast men that I would have trusted with my life,” Mormont said.

“It is a hard to believe tale,” said Jaime knowingly.

“We haven’t informed the rest of the Watchmen yet. I’m planning a ranging to look for tangible proof to bring to at least Winterfell, if not the rest of the kingdom, but I don’t want the rest of the men deserting or mutinying while I’m out past the Wall,” he said gravely, one hand coming up to rub his forehead.

Jaime rubbed his hands together, unable to completely warm them in the larger rooms of the Lord Commander, and cleared his throat, “While I’m here I’d like to take stock of the supplies, fortifications, and anything you can tell me about the dead.”

The Lord Commander nodded tiredly. “My steward or I will get you the information and I will let it be known that you are free to inspect whatever you wish.”

“I believe I speak for my father in saying that the Westerlands is committed to providing you with assistance in this matter and I will bring the information to the acting Lord Stark too,” Jaime stated formally to the other man’s clear relief.

“Thank you and if you have any information in your library about the long night and how to defeat the others, we would be grateful if you would forward the information,” the Lord Commander said with little hope that the knowledge would be found.

Jaime sat up straight as the blade of his sword, suddenly more alert, and asked alarmed, “Do you not know how to fight them?”

Mormont shook his head. “We don’t. The men claim they can’t be killed by normal means and Stark glanced through the library at Winterfell but didn’t find anything in the short amount of time he was there.”

Jaime ran a hand through his hair and debated on sharing the knowledge Sansa had given him and his father. There had to be a reason she hadn’t given the Night’s Watchmen the information yet, but he had no idea what that reason might be. Perhaps it was as simple as she didn’t think they knew about the threat or wouldn’t believe her. If the Lord Commander was planning a ranging though, he would need to know, or else he might never make it back or be able to capture proof that they might need to convince the other kingdoms. He would ask Sansa when he saw her next and just hope that he hadn’t foiled any plans of hers in the meantime.

He wet his wind-chapped lips and said, “Fire and dragonglass will kill them.”

The Lord Commander leaned forward in his seat and asked urgently, “How sure are you about this?”

“I- fairly certain. One of Lord Stark’s children told me, but I just thought it was common knowledge in the North from the way she said it,” he answered.

The Lord Commander raised a white brow at him. “It’s not common knowledge. Whichever daughter of Stark’s told you that, be sure to thank her. Even if it’s just part of a story, it’s more information than we had to go on yesterday.”

Jaime shook his head, “I don’t think she heard it in a story, Lord Commander, but I’ll pass along your thanks. I don’t know if she knows anything else helpful, but you might consider writing her at Winterfell.”

“Which one of my nieces?” Benjen implored in a downright unfriendly tone.

“The oldest, Lady Sansa,” Jaime replied, hoping that he wasn’t making a mistake.

“Thank you, Ser Jaime, one of us will be sure to send her a raven,” the Lord Commander said, looking both relieved and hopeful for the first time since they had walked into his rooms.

When they left the Lord Commander’s suite Tyrion grinned at his brother. “Winter is coming. You nearly sounded like a Stark in there Jaime. What would father say?”

 It was on the tip of his tongue to reply that since he was marrying a Stark it was only fitting, but he didn’t want that widely known yet. Before he could think up a suitable reply a snort came from behind him. The two Lannister brothers twisted around to look at the first ranger, who still appeared as peeved as he had before the conversation with the Lord Commander.

“It’s only fitting since you are wearing Stark colors and my niece’s own cloak if I’m not mistaken,” he stated coolly with a gimlet eye.

"How did you guess?" Jaime asked, widening his stance and discretely putting a hand near his weapon under said cloak.

Benjen cocked his head and said, "I suspected it before, but when you told me you talked to Sansa then I knew for sure that it was hers. Only Sansa and Catelyn have cloaks that nice, the rest of my brother's children attract too much dirt for as fine a garment as that is, and Cat's not near tall enough for that cloak to fit you so well. In addition, that's very clearly Sansa's own work. She and Ned have slipped me warm cloaks into the supplies for the last few years. She sews better than any seamstress or tailor that's ever come through Winterfell."

Then in a considerably lower, more dangerous tone, he snarled, "What I want to know is why the fuck you have it, Kingslayer?"

Jaime gritted his teeth and barely resisted baring them. He hated that stupid name and the implication the other man was leveling at him. "It was a gift. My accompaniment was very last minute, and my guess is that she found out I didn't have appropriate clothing for the far North."

The black brother sighed and visibly relaxed. "Alright. Outfitting a knight, even one as disgraced as yourself, is something Sansa would do. She probably has half a song about it composed in her head too."

Jaime pressed his lips together and bit his tongue. Somehow, he thought that Benjen Stark hadn't spoken to or seen his niece at all during his last visit to Winterfell. Perhaps, if he had, he might have already known how to kill the dead. Whoever Sansa had been as a child was far removed from the serious, clever young woman she was now, and he felt bad for her that her own family couldn’t tell that she had irreparably changed. The Stark man nodded his head to the two brothers, a touch more respectfully than he had previously, and turned down another hallway.

Before Jaime could let out a sigh of relief Tyrion piped up from somewhere around his waist, "And how did Ned Stark's very pretty daughter find out you were leaving, never mind that you didn't have the correct attire, brother dearest? I hope you didn't do something foolish because Lady Sansa is the daughter of a very important lord whom father would find impossible to pay off and Ned Stark would sooner murder you than let his daughter wed you."

He scowled down into his little brother's mismatched eyes. "Lady Sansa knew because it was her that informed Father that the dead were a threat and that consequently meant that she was there when father decided to send me to talk with the Lord Commander. I'm not in the habit of seducing ladies or sleeping my way through a whorehouse. That would be you, little brother, not me."

Tyrion held up both hands. "I know you aren't, but you wouldn't be so defensive about the cloak if it was just a regular gift from a lady either, Jaime," he said in a placating tone and sauntered off in the opposite direction as his older brother. He hoped that Jaime straightened his head out soon, because if he returned to Winterfell and their father saw his odd behavior around the girl, well Lord Tywin would have his wayward heir married to the girl before Jaime could blink whether she or her father liked it or not.

Chapter Text

Sansa breathed in the brisk sea air while she stood next to Jon. They had arrived at the port town nearly a fortnight before after several days of exhausting travel. Her, Jon, Rickon, and the small group of men that had accompanied them from Winterfell had traveled to Torrhen’s square by horseback, and then from Torrhen’s Square they had boarded a ferry down the length of the Whispering Rill before another half day journeying on horseback. By the time they had reached Jon’s new land, Rickon had been whiny and even wilder, particularly in the evenings from the long days spent traveling.

In the last fortnight, since they had arrived Rickon had spent all the time he wasn’t running wild on either her lap or slung around Jon’s back as they oversaw the construction and interviewed staff for the household. He often fell asleep on either of them and for her part, Sansa had loathed to move him out of her arms. From the frequency and duration of his naps, she was sure that her littlest brother was having trouble sleeping through the night. Which was why, after smoothing a hand over Rickon’s silky curls as he lay fast asleep in his bed this morning, even though she and Jon had received word from the lighthouse that there was a merchant ship in the Saltspear they had both unanimously decided to make their way down to the docks to watch the first ship come into port without Rickon. They had left him and Shaggydog curled up around each other in Rickon’s room as they quietly snuck out of the family wing and down towards the coast.

Beside her, Jon was shifting impatiently on his feet and he kept wiping the excited smile off his face in an effort to appear more stoic. Lady and Ghost were caught up in the excitement too. They were jumping and rollicking in the mud some feet away. They would both need baths before they were allowed back into the holdfast. She would elect Jon for that job as she did not doubt that both wolves would be difficult to convince to bathe without the warm water that Winterfell had.

Sansa rolled her eyes at their frolicking and tried to wipe the slight frown from her face. She was suspicious of this merchant ship. Neither she nor Jon had sent out any sort of notice that the port was ready for trading yet nor had anyone sent word ahead that they were arriving. It was an awfully big risk for a ship to come up without the knowledge that they were prepared to receive a shipment of goods. Sansa didn’t think they were in danger, but she wouldn’t be surprised if the captain had an ulterior motive for being here. She wouldn’t put it past one of the other Lord Paramounts to be sponsoring the trip in exchange for information. It was the first time in nearly ten years that the North had bestirred itself to begin any large movements or public works projects and the other major players in Westeros had to be more than a little curious about the change in policy.

“Go on brother. I’ll be fine here if you want to move closer to see the ship and while you’re there start thinking of a name for this place. I can’t go around just calling it the port,” Sansa said cheekily, grinning at his eagerness as she shooed him away. He was practically standing on his tiptoes to see every detail of the ship that was preparing to maneuver into the shallower water and tighter spaces near the docks.

Jon gave her a sheepish look, but he did move closer to take in the sight. Sansa watched fondly, his eagerness reminding her of Arya. She was glad that her most serious brother was happy and excited for once. She hadn’t realized how unwelcome he must have felt in Winterfell for all these years until she saw how relaxed he seemed on the road and here. It made her sad to realize that her brother had probably never felt at home anywhere, that he probably never had in her previous life either.

Sansa adjusted her cloak where the wind had tugged it askew. As she tucked her hand back into the warmth of her cloak a large sweaty hand clamped tightly over her mouth and another around her waist. The Sansa before Ramsey and Joffrey might have frozen in fear, but the girl they had left in her ashes was terrified of being held hostage and abused again so without a moment’s hesitation Sansa bit down on the dirty fingers and ripped herself from the man’s grasp. She registered the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. Her lips twisted in disgust, but she didn’t have time to spit out the taste of blood and unwashed skin as she whirled to face her attacker.

“You bitch,” the man rasped, glaring at her with dark eyes and a menacing aura.

He crouched his large frame and lunged for her. She stepped back fearfully and fumbled with the folds of her skirts for the knife Jaime had pressed into her hands before she had left Winterfell. She brought the knife up as swiftly as she could, in just enough time for the man to impale himself on it, the blade lodging in his left shoulder.

He howled and she pulled the dagger out in horror. Removing the knife from her attacker was more difficult than she thought it would be, but the fear rushing through her ensured that she had the strength to manage it. Blood gushed from the wound and spilled over her hands. She had a difficult time tearing her eyes from the wound and retreated from the man with stumbling steps, but he didn’t stop coming for her.

When he was close enough, he drew back and backhanded her with his right hand. The sound rang in her ears as her cheek turned from the force. Sansa frantically gasped for air and had the distant thought that she would need ice to help decrease the swelling if she lived through this. She brought the knife back up and wished she had taken Jaime more seriously about learning to protect herself with it or at least practiced the motions he had shown her because all her movements were made of more desperation than any type of skill.

Before the man could grab her again a vicious growl rent the air and a gray smear of color knocked the man over and tore open his throat. The man brought his hands up in an effort to hold his throat closed, but blood gurgled out of his mouth and around his fingers. She caught one last sight of his dark eyes that had so frightened her framed by blood-splattered hair and skin before the white blur of Ghost joined the fray and obscured her view. Sansa backed up another few steps away from the gory mess of the dying man and felt hands clasping her shoulders. She shrieked piercingly in fright, tensing again as she gripped the blood-slicked dagger in her hand, but Jon’s frantic northern accent quickly broke through the haze of her mind.

“It’s me, Sansa! It’s Jon,” he said as he turned her around to face him.

Her eyes were blown wide in both fear and shock, and he blanched at the amount of blood on her. Her cheek was red, there was blood around her mouth where she’d split her lip, but what truly worried him was the amount of blood on her trembling form. He searched frantically for a cause of all the blood on her clothes and slumped in relief when his eyes fell on the bloody dagger in her hand. He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a cleansing breath, more thankful than he could express that she wasn’t more seriously injured. He didn’t think his heart had ever pounded so hard as when he’d turned around to see some brute backhanding his sister. He’d sprinted toward them terrified that he wouldn’t reach her in time and furious that someone had dared to touch her at all.

 His sister still appeared dazed, so with one last glance to ensure that the cutthroat was dead he tugged at Sansa’s wrist and gently guided her trembling form down to sit on a nearby rock that was reasonably free of dirt and large enough to accommodate her. She followed his movements with her eyes as he reached into his cloak for a handkerchief. He pulled out one that she had sewn for him, it was made of black cloth with the likeness of Ghost embroidered on it and his initials. The only bit of color was the red of Ghost’s eyes.

Jon bent down and wiped the blood from her mouth. He moved down to the hand with the dagger in it and when he hesitatingly began to wipe the blood from her wrist, she suddenly released the dagger, letting it tumble into the dirt at her feet, and let out a barely audible whimper. He spoke soothing nonsense to her as he cleaned the blood from the rest of her hand.

“Thank you, Jon,” she said softly after some of the clarity had returned to her normally sharp eyes.

He picked up the dagger from the ground and wiped the blood and dirt from it too. He handed her the knife back hilt first and tucked the bloodied handkerchief back into his pocket.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he said guiltily.

Sansa hastily hide the knife back under her cloak, squeezed one of his hands, and answered with a hoarse voice, “It’s not your fault Jon. I told you to go ahead and the North doesn’t have a lot of thievery or kidnapping. I never considered someone would try to hurt me here, at least not while Father and Robb are alive.”

Lady chose that moment to come slinking over to them with a silent Ghost behind her. Lady’s mouth and paws were covered in blood too, mirroring the blood that Jon had wiped off Sansa. She sat down next to Sansa like a gruesome sentinel and Sansa ran a shaky hand over her blood-speckled coat.

She quirked a half-hearted grin at him, though it was still more fear-tinged than he could forgive himself for. “Besides Lady protected me and I think he got what he deserved. I might have to teach Lady some table manners though because she looks as grimy as Arya does after she’s spent all day doing gods know what,” she said in an effort to lighten the grim air.

He let out a small chuckle that was more of a release of tension than humor, “Aye. Arya would be jealous of how much dirt and muck Lady has managed to cake on her in so short amount of time.”

Sansa grinned tiredly and Jon felt reassured enough to leave her for a minute to quietly direct his men to investigate the dead man and then to find a silent sister or someone else to take care of the body. He noticed that the two of them and their wolves had drawn a crowd. There was a lot of whispering and staring but none of it seemed hostile, so he did his best to ignore the townsfolk.

From the corner of his eye, Jon could see that Sansa was twisting her hands in her lap so he hurriedly made his way back over to her and although for the last several months she had been acting older than him, he pulled her into a fierce hug and smoothed his hands down her hair like he had when she was a little girl afraid of Old Nan’s stories.

She relaxed in his hold as he softly crooned, “You’re okay now. It’ll be alright.”

Jon pulled back when Sansa tensed up. When he looked down into her face, he saw the mask that his sister normally wore with strangers shutter over her features as she stared at something beyond him. He turned to see what she was fixated on with a hand on the hilt of his sword. He knew instantly what had caught Sansa’s gaze and caused her to gather up her composure.

Coming directly towards them was the captain of the ship that had just anchored in the harbor and a few crewmen that were whispering among themselves. The captain was a short, muscled man with an amiable wind-beaten face. He was a younger man than Jon had expected with dark Rhoynish features and he was staring at Sansa like she was something fascinating and otherworldly. Jon went to move in front of his sister, but Sansa touched his arm and moved to stand beside him.

“Welcome. I hope your journey has been pleasant and met with favorable conditions. I’m Sansa Stark and this is my brother Jon Snow, the lord of this land,” Sansa greeted with a sweet trill.

Jon gave her an incredulous look. How she was able to sound so composed after what happened and covered in blood he didn’t know. He knew her cheek and jaw must be starting to ache even though the swelling wasn’t visible yet. He rather thought the contrast between her sweet voice and the blood was unnerving, but the captain didn’t seem to have any such reservations.

The captain grinned roguishly, sketched a short bow, and didn’t even glance toward Jon as he spoke with a lilting accent, “Thank you for the welcome, my lady. I’m Captain Merdryn Sand. I’ve come to trade after hearing talk that there would be a northern port at the docks in Lannisport, but I never expected to be greeted by the fairest and fiercest beauty on this side of the Narrow Sea.”

Jon would have been offended but he, along with most of the other Stark siblings, was used to being overlooked whenever Sansa was in the room, especially whenever they met new people. No amount of blood nor dirt could hide her elegant grace or beauty. It had been the cause of a lot of jealousy on Arya’s part before Sansa had come back different several months ago.

“You flatter me, Captain Sand. I’m not fierce and there are plenty of great beauties in Dorne who wield swords and spears with great talent,” she demurred with downcast eyes that matched the surrounding sea and a discouraged twist of her lips.

The captain waved a hand and clucked, “How can you not be fierce? With your enemy’s blood soaking into the ground and your dress? My crew whispered Red Wolf when they saw you; powerful and beautiful. To know that you are a Stark too means the name was more fitting than they initially realized.”

 Sansa’s gaze had snapped to the captain’s when he had called her Red Wolf. That was what the Old Gods had named her in the Godswood. She hadn’t understood the name as she had never been called that, in fact, she’d never even had a wolf-centered nickname at all only bird ones, like Little Bird or Little Dove, unlike her other siblings. Once upon a time, the fact that she wasn’t considered as much of a Stark as the rest of her family had stung, but it had allowed her to appear less threatening and survive for years among her enemies.

“Thank you for the compliment, Captain. What are you here to trade?” she asked.

He smiled gently, recognizing her attempt to change the subject. “Wine from across the sea, a dozen different types of cloth, and honey, nuts, and figs from near Starfall. That can all wait until later though. I have a gift for you, my lady.”

“I’m betrothed. I can’t accept your gift, but I will be happy to send the port’s custom official to you so that you may conclude your business quickly,” she said, brushing off his offer of a gift.

The captain chuckled lightly, “It’s not that kind of gift, my lady. I’m not so presumptuous as to try to offer my hand to the daughter of the Lord Paramount of the North. This is something I found on the shores of the Lands of the Long Summer a few voyages ago and had originally thought to keep for myself.”

He gestured at one of his crew members and they handed forward what looked like a sheathed longsword into his hands. The leather sheath was old and dull, and the hilt of the sword was so grimy that she couldn’t tell what was on it. Sansa furrowed her brows, why would he give her a sword?

He sighed, regret evident in his voice, “This one didn’t sing for me and seemed most displeased to be in my hand.” He flashed her a playful grin. “After seeing you though, my lady, I have a feeling that it will sing for you. It’s a beautiful sword and coincidently it will match your coloring well.”

 He presented the sword to her with it lying lengthwise across his palms. Sansa kept a polite smile on her lips, still confused over the gift of a sword that she didn’t want and that would likely be too cumbersome for her to use, as she reached for the sheath with her left hand. She was careful not to damage the old leather any further or cut herself in case it was too worn through to protect her hand. When it didn’t immediately cut her, Sansa brought the sword in front of her, grasped the hilt with her right hand, and drew the sword from the dingy leather. Like Merdryn Sand predicted, the sword did speak to her, but it didn’t sing. No, it triumphantly roared its ancient song through her blood.

“Oh,” she breathed out looking up at the captain over the sword, her polite facade shattered and a dumbstruck look replacing it. She knew which sword this was now and exactly what to do with it. “I shall not have to send off for a betrothal gift now. I am betrothed to Jaime Lannister and this sword- this sword is Brightroar.”

She slid the sword back into its protective covering and held it tightly to her chest. “This is Valyrian Steel. This is too much for a gift. How can I repay you?” she asked firmly.

The captain shook his head and stepped back with his palms raised in front of him. “The sword was unhappy with me and we Dornishmen do not keep that which is not meant for us. It is a gift for you. There is no payment for a gift and as I said, my lady, it is clearly a sword that will be happier in your care than mine.”

“Then I will pay for a round of drinks for you and your men at the tavern as thanks this evening. I insist,” she stated resolutely.

The Rhoynish man grinned widely. “I’ll accept that. You know just how to thank a sailor. Until next time, my lady.” He nodded at both Sansa and Jon, turned with a flourish, and strode back to his ship.

Jon watched incredulously as the man that had gifted his sister with a priceless artifact strolled away like it was nothing.

“Jaime Lannister, huh? How did that happen?” Jon asked, turning toward his sister with a raised brow, deciding to put the issue of the Dornish captain out of his mind for now in favor of questioning Sansa about the other information she had uncharacteristically let slip.

“Lord Lannister asked and Father agreed,” Sansa stated primly.

Jon snorted. “You’re a terrible liar, Sansa. Father despises Ser Jaime.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and sighed. “I’m not lying. Lord Lannister did ask, and Father did agree, but he did need some convincing first.”

“He didn’t dishonor you, did he?” he asked a dark brooding look clouding his face. That was the only explanation he could think of for why their father would agree to trust Sansa’s safety and care to a man he thought dishonorable.

Sansa shook her head and shrugged. “I don’t think Ser Jaime would do that. Either way, he’s been in love with someone else for many years. This is all politics.”

“Sansa,” he murmured forlornly.

“Stop that. I’ll be fine and it will protect our family in the future,” she said sharply and turned to stare out over the water, the sword tucked under her arm.

Jon crossed his arms as he spoke to her with a stormy look on his face even though she wouldn’t look at him, “You should be loved Sansa and if he doesn’t come to feel that way about you then he’s an absolute fool. I don’t care what kind of agreement you have with the Lannisters or how good of a swordsman he is, if he hurts you, you let Robb, Father, or I know.”

“I’ll be fine Jon,” she reiterated and then in a voice barely above a whisper said, “Technically, it’s all I ever wanted, a handsome, golden, southern knight.”

He scowled. He didn’t want his sweet, sensitive sister stuck in a political marriage she would be miserable in. “If you’re ever unhappy with him you can come here. I’ll protect you.”

“No one can protect anyone, Jon, but thank you nonetheless,” she said politely. Why did everyone always insist on offering her something so meaningless? No one’s “protection” had ever done her any good before, not Father’s, not Robb’s, Jon’s, Tyrion’s, or Petyr’s.

“I mean it, Sansa,” he said adamantly.

“I know you do. Come on, I have to stop at the tavern on the way back to the keep. I promised the captain a round of drinks for his men,” she said with wry humor creeping into her smile.

“Aye. I suppose we do,” he laughed.

Jon walked next to his sister’s gliding form and a teasing smile stole its way onto his solemn face. He nudged her playfully just enough to draw her attention. “You know, even with all the wealth of the Westerlands, Lannister will never be able to top your gift.”

“You think so?” she asked with raised brows, glad her brother was back to teasing her.

He nodded decisively and gave her a conspiratorial grin. “I know so. What infamous knight wouldn’t want a Valyrian sword? Besides, I’ve heard that Tywin Lannister has tried to buy a Valyrian sword for his House at least once before, but that no one would part with theirs and you’re going to do better than that. You’re giving them back their ancestral sword. That’s priceless, he’ll never in a million years be able to give you the equivalent.”

She smiled in agreement with her brother, but her traitorous heart disagreed and whispered that he could give her love. It sang sweetly that love would be equivalent to her. The only things she truly wanted anymore were safety for her family and love, but the last was a foolish thought from the part of her heart she never could completely silence, the part that never quit dreaming and had never learned that life wasn’t a song. She no longer cared for dresses, jewels, or fine trinkets. What were those things compared to the love she had yearned for as a child and never, not once, received? She didn’t even need the love from her favorite stories she would be perfectly happy with the quiet type of love her parents shared. She suppressed a sigh. Sometimes, she was still that stupid little girl that she’d always been.

Not a single one of her betrothals or marriages had ever produced love and this one would be no different. Jaime Lannister would never love her. He’d only ever loved one woman in either of Sansa’s lives and it certainly wasn’t her. No matter what monstrous things Cersei had done, Jaime always went back to her. There was no room in his heart for another woman, not even Brienne of Tarth had managed it last time and Sansa knew of no more deserving or faithful woman.

Compared to Cersei Lannister, Sansa Stark knew she had never had a chance. She swallowed the bitter lump in the back of her throat. The best she could hope for was his respect and that maybe one day he would give her a child to love and mother before he went back to his sister. She was determined to be content with that.

She cleared her throat delicately. “Do you think you could show me how to clean and sharpen the sword? I would hate to present it as a gift in the condition it’s in now.”

Jon grinned excitedly at her, thrilled to be able to handle the lost piece of history and be able to help his sister who so rarely seemed to need help these days, but was always assisting the rest of the family. “Aye, Sansa. We’ll do what we can here and if it’s not enough Mikken can finish up when you head back to Winterfell.”

Sansa reached over and squeezed his hand. She smiled gratefully at him as she said, “Thank you, Jon.”

He nodded. He knew that she had meant her thanks for more than just offering to help with the sword maintenance and he felt something settle in his chest. He finally felt like his place in the Stark family was assured, even without Lady Catelyn’s approval, he had family that loved him and that he loved in return. There was no mystery left either with the secret of his mother revealed. He did wish he could claim her, but he understood that it was too dangerous, and he would never trade the knowledge for growing up surrounded by his Stark cousins. They shared the blood of the First Men and the spirit of the North; wild, fierce, and stubborn, but honorable most of all.

“I think I’ll call this place Wolves’ Haven,” Jon whispered softly for her ears only.

Chapter Text

Jon searched the half-finished estate for signs of his sister, Ghost at his heels. She wasn’t in her rooms or any of the common spaces and neither the staff nor Rickon had remembered seeing her today when he’d asked them. The longer he spent looking for her the more his steps took on a sense of urgency. He wasn’t keen on Sansa being out of his sight for so long after the mishap at the port yesterday. Jon had spent the night waking from dreams of terrible what-ifs; dreams of her bleeding out, dead, or kidnapped.

He’d been haunted by the memory of Sansa covered in blood and trembling in fear. For all intents and purposes, Jon knew that Sansa was the same age as him after the Old God’s intervention, but it was hard to reconcile that with the memories he had of her toddling after him on the way to the kitchens for warm milk or her tiny form slipping under his covers after a nightmare that had her too scared to close her eyes.

He sighed in pure relief when he found her sitting on the floor in one of the unfinished rooms surrounded by regional maps and at least a half dozen books spread out haphazardly on her lap and around her. Lady was curled up, asleep in a patch of mid-morning sun that was coming through the east-facing windows. The wolf opened one sleepy eye, registered his presence, and went back to her rest.

“In light of yesterday’s events, I want to start a city watch here. I went over the books last night and I think we can afford it if I move some expenses around so long as I keep the watch small to start with,” he said, breaking the silence of the room.

Sansa started violently and her head jerked up towards the doorway where he was standing. She frowned thoughtfully while she played his words back through her mind. She, too, was worried about the attack on her yesterday. She didn’t know whether it was a random act, a known adversary, or a new enemy and with the assailant dead she had no idea how to go about investigating something like that on her own.

She nodded slowly as she processed his request. “That should be fine as long as you leave the budget for the spy network intact.”

Jon stared at Sansa and stated, “That’s not listed in the budget.”

She blinked. “It is.”

He shook his head and crossed the room to stand before her. Ghost followed him into the room on silent feet and settled himself in the same beam of sun as Lady. From his view above her, Jon could see the purple smudges underneath her eyes and the weary set of her shoulders. He wondered if she’d had as poor a quality of sleep as he’d managed.

“I would have noticed if it was,” he replied with certainty.

Lady snorted and he was vaguely offended that his sister’s wolf seemed to be mocking him.

A tired grin slowly worked its way onto his sister’s face. “Apparently not, Jon. I didn’t think I was even being terribly clever about where I hid the expense.”

He kneeled next to her array of study materials. “What did you list it as then?” he asked curiously.

“It’s under the recreation section,” she said. She raised her brow and continued, “Unless you think you’ll be spending quite that much on tourneys, minstrels, taverns, and women? It doesn’t seem like quite your thing, but I confess that I don’t actually know the nightly rate for whores in the North so maybe I didn’t include enough funds in that part of the budget. You’ll have to let me know if I’m not being reasonable.”

“Sansa! I’m- I don’t-,” he sputtered, sure that he was flushed down to his toes. He covered his face with his hands and his next words came out muffled, “Can we not talk about this?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, but the smirk on her face belied her amusement. “I guess I’ll just have to check the rates out later by myself.”

“Please don’t,” he muttered with a groan. “Father would strangle me if he found out I let you walk into a brothel. Can we go back to discussing setting up a City Watch and maybe starting up your spy network?”

He fought a grimace at the mention of a spy network. He didn’t like the notion of having one here, but he knew that Sansa was likely right that they needed the information it would provide. There was no sense in handicapping themselves because he was trying to be too noble. Besides, he was in dire need of a subject change.

“You probably have a better idea of how a watch should be set up than I would. Come up with a basic outline of how you want to structure it and we’ll make it work. And I’ve already started on a spy network,” Sansa said.

He met her eyes and pursed his lips, wondering when she had the time to do all the tasks that he knew she was juggling. Not to mention how she was managing to keep track of all of it. He was very thankful that he only had to work on the port town rather than the numerous projects Sansa was working on or contributing to.

“When did you do that?”

She hummed and looked back down at the book in her lap while she answered, “Yesterday while we were at the tavern, and it’s already started to yield results.”

“Is that why you offered to pay for a round for those sailors?”

She shook her head and spoke, “No, that was a happy coincidence, but it is why I asked to talk to the serving girl before we left.”

Jon leaned forward. “Well, what did you learn?”

“I spoke with the woman again early this morning. It turns out our first ship paid us a visit on an unofficial request from the Martells.”

“The Martells of Dorne? Why would the Martells be interested in Wolves’ Haven?” he asked, raising an incredulous brow.

She stared at him, her blue eyes cheerless and worried. “I don’t know. I suppose it would depend on which Martell requested it.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to wait for more information then,” Jon said.

She sighed. “I suppose so. I don’t like it though.”

Sansa worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. She had several theories on what a Martell might want with the North. It was possible that the Martells were just curious about a new trading center in Westeros, but with all the bad blood between the Martells and Starks, Sansa was hesitant to believe their interest was anything as benign as that.

She thought it more likely that it was Prince Doran, rather than Prince Oberyn or any of the other Dornish royal family members that had sent the merchant ship this time. She couldn’t fathom a reason why the Red Viper would be interested in a trade port; he seemed much too hot-headed for any sort of long-term ploy that required the type of planning that sending ahead a merchant as a scout would indicate.

However, she knew that she couldn’t forget that both Martell brothers had long memories and a deep well of vengeance. Although Sansa had never met Doran Martell and she’d done her best to stay away from Oberyn in King’s Landing, she knew that the ruling prince was calculating and patient and that his younger brother was unfailingly loyal to him. Neither of the princes were adversaries that Sansa wanted as they were both utterly deadly, especially since she wasn’t the one with a grievance.

Sansa had hoped to mend some of the wounds between their families, however, that wouldn’t work if they were already plotting something. It was clear that something would have to be done to reset the board, but she was too exhausted from waking to the memory of unwanted hands grasping at her to contemplate what she could do to ease tensions between the two regions.

Jaime frowned at the notes he’d written and then revised so that he could hand them off to his father whenever he saw him later. Both he and Tyrion had spent several days sizing up the defenses of the Wall at Castle Black. Their inspection hadn’t taken nearly as much time as Jaime had feared it would. However, considering that the Wall basically had no other defenses and a severe lack of supplies that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The castle was worn and while the Wall was impressive, the equipment defending it was either non-existent, decades old, or in some cases potentially more than a century out of date.

Jaime was particularly concerned that Castle Black was said to be the castle in the best shape. It did not bode well for keeping out an army of invaders that did not tire or require warmth and provisions the same way the living did.

When Jaime had spoken to the Lord Commander before departing, he’d recommended that the man survey the entire length of the Wall and all the forts along it. After he had once again assured the Lord Commander that the Watch’s needs would be taken seriously by both the North and the Westerlands, he’d inquired about a personal matter and then both Lannister brothers had hastened south, back to Winterfell.

It had been a few days since Jaime had returned to Winterfell from his trip to the Wall. Now that he was finished with his report, he was free to do as he wished. However, the keep at Winterfell was quiet without the royal party or half the Stark family in attendance. His favorite Starks, Sansa and Lady, weren’t around to amuse him and Tyrion had only spent one night under the hospitality of the Starks before cantering off to King’s Landing, eager to leave Lord Lannister’s critical eye.

He strolled out of the keep while the sky was still a wan grey to practice in the yard. He doubted that anyone would truly be a challenge for him here. While the North had decent military strength, they weren’t known for turning out very many exceptional swordsmen or knights like the Westerlands or the Stormlands. However, the North did have much better archers than nearly any of the other regions. It was too bad that he wasn’t more interested in the practice, or he might actually be able to find a good challenge this morning. He was passable with a bow, but there just wasn’t enough movement in archery to keep him interested.

Jaime only felt alive and real when in motion and with his blood up, like when he was fighting or fucking Cersei, but since that second option was no longer available to him, he would have to content himself with the first option. This meant he needed to find someone competent here or he might go out of his mind while he waited for his betrothed to finish whatever she needed to in the North before he could steal her away to the Westerlands where he knew there were at least a few swordsmen that could make him pay attention to them.

As he passed under a tree next to the pathway, he heard a crow caw above him and he looked up to see Bran Stark halfway up the tree. Jaime shook his head at the boy and wondered what the boy’s obsession with climbing so high was. The boy’s sister would surely have a heart attack at the sight of him up so high again. The boy reached for a tree limb and when he went to step up with his opposite foot, the weight from his body snapped the branch in his hand.

Jaime’s eyes widened. He watched in alarm as Bran failed to catch himself on another branch. The scene seemed to slow down as he dashed forward to catch the boy. His heart was racing, and he had only enough time to worry that he wouldn’t make it before Bran landed in his waiting arms. He grunted from the force of the little gremlin knocking into him, but he was relieved that he had made it in time to catch Sansa’s brother before he hit the ground and broke something irreparable, like his neck.

“Let’s not make this a habit. I normally only save damsels in distress this many times and only the very pretty ones,” Jaime quipped down at the boy whose eyes were squeezed tightly closed waiting for impact.

Bran slowly opened his blue eyes that were so like his sister’s. “Ser Jaime, thank you,” he breathed out and relaxed his tense form in the knight’s hold once he realized that he was safe.

No sooner had Jaime let the boy down than his mother, Lady Catelyn came marching over to her son. “Brandon Stark, how many times do I have to tell you to stop climbing? I know your father spoke to you about it before he left too.”

The boy looked down at his feet and toed the dirt at his foot with a defensive shrug. “He told me not to climb any more buildings, but I wasn’t! I was only climbing a tree this time.”

Lady Catelyn looked less than impressed with her son’s logic. “What am I to do with you? You could have been seriously injured,” she said sternly, her hands on her hips.

“I’m sorry, mother,” Bran whispered.

She sighed loudly. “Why don’t you go to the practice yard and see if Ser Rodrick has time to train with you.”

Jaime felt bad for the young boy. He often remembered getting scolded like that as a young child for swinging live steel when he wasn’t supposed to, jumping off the cliffs at the Rock, or other various wild shenanigans he had gotten up to.

Jaime cleared his throat. “I’m headed there right now, why don’t I bring Bran there and we can see if we can work out some of that energy and keep him out of trouble,” he offered.

Bran and Catelyn both looked at him with surprise. Lady Catelyn reined in her surprise first and she nodded. “Thank you, Ser Jaime, both for catching him and for your offer. I would appreciate it if another adult had their eyes on him,” she said a little stiffly.

Jaime wondered if the reason Lady Catelyn was so tense with him was because he was the Kingslayer, because he had turned down her sister Lysa, or because she was upset that he was set to wed her eldest daughter. If he were a betting man, he would guess that it was primarily due to his betrothal to her daughter, though she hadn’t treated him especially warmly even before she had been informed of it.

Bran was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. His eyes had gone from downcast to excited in record time. “Would you really bring me to the practice yard?”

“I offered, didn’t I?” he said, suppressing a grin and raising a teasing brow at the young boy. While he wouldn’t get the challenge he’d been looking for, he thought he’d had enough excitement already this morning. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt him to get to know one of his future good brothers who didn’t seem to despise him on sight.

Bran nodded at him and with a brief acknowledgment to his mother nearly skipped in the direction of the yard, only looking back to make sure Jaime was actually following him. The knight shook his head at Bran’s antics, only a boy could almost die one minute and seemingly completely forget about the incident in the next moment.

Chapter Text

A few days later Jaime knew he was driving everyone around him in the castle crazy. While the keep was expansive, the North was a quiet place. There wasn’t enough for him to do and while he enjoyed teaching little Bran Stark a bit of sword play, he knew that sooner or later Catelyn Stark would put an end to it. His brother had left him too for King’s Landing almost immediately upon their return from the Wall. Unless he wanted to annoy his father or deal with Robb Stark’s too suspicious glances there was no one else to bother. He was bored and pacing the hallway between the rooms the Lannister men had been given.

Tywin Lannister stepped out of his room and crossed his arms in the doorway. “If you insist on moving so much, why don’t you go retrieve your betrothed? She’s bound to be nearly done at that sleepy little port and since her brother is staying there, she will need an escort back anyway.”

Jaime perked up at the thought of having something to do. “That’s an excellent idea. Do you think she actually needs an escort or are you just trying to get rid of me?”

“Honestly, both. Your pacing and grumbling are driving me mad.”

Jaime nodded with a rueful grin. “I’ll leave in the morning then. Let me go tell our hosts the good news.”

Which is how he ended up in the new port town with Bran Stark and a few Lannister men in tow, looking for his betrothed or someone who could tell him where she was. He had already stopped at the small keep to inquire about Jon Snow and Lady Sansa’s whereabouts, but the few servants there didn’t seem to know, or at the very least wouldn’t tell him, where they went. Generally, he would commend that sort of loyalty in new staff if he hadn’t already traveled so many days to find her. The market was busier than he would have expected for such a new place, with women shopping for food and bits of fabric and children running and shrieking happily in the square. He paused to watch the happy scene before stopping at one of the stalls in hope that the owner might have seen one of Lord Stark’s children. 

“Excuse me. Have you seen Lady Sansa Stark around here?” he asked the thin man at the stall politely.

The man sized him up with a wary eye and Jaime sighed but slid a copper piece to him all the same. “Aye, I’ve seen the Red Wolf,” the stall owner stated.

Jaime froze, remembering the confusion Sansa had felt when her Gods had named her that. After a moment he asked, “Do you know where I might find her? And when did Lady Sansa get that name?”

“What’s it to you?” the man asked.

Jaime smirked in amusement and slid another copper over while he gestured beside him towards Bran Stark and his giant companion that was clearly a direwolf. “I’m bringing her brother to visit her, and the second part is mere curiosity, of course.”

The man startled at the beast having not noticed it before amid the horses, before he grinned unpleasantly, showing discolored, crooked teeth. “You can find her at the customs house at the end of the docks and the lady got the name when she stabbed a man who tried to steal her and then her wolf ripped out his throat.”

“And how many days ago was this?” Jaime asked trying to appear calm and merely curious instead of displaying the fury that was building under his skin.

“It was the first day she was here, more than a moon’s turn ago, Lannister,” he said, spitting out his surname like it was something vile, clearly hoping Lady Sansa and her wolf would tear out his throat too.

Jaime uttered his thanks through his tightly clenched jaw and mounted back up onto his horse in a foul mood. He didn’t care that the man had all but sneered his name, he was used to that. He led his men and the Stark boy toward the docks. He could feel little Bran Stark’s curious gaze boring into him though he kept his questions to himself. 

Sure enough, just as they were approaching the customs house, Sansa exited the building with her wolf next to her. She had no guard on her nor was her dour brother standing within a few feet of her. Jaime dismounted hurriedly and marched over to Sansa, furious at her lack of care for her own safety.

She glanced upwards, her face lit up with recognition and she went to wave to him, before realizing something was wrong. He stopped a right in front of her and saw her take a step back from him. He was too angry to consider why that might be at the moment.

“Lady Sansa, I’ve just come from the market and been informed of the attempt on your life more than a full moon’s turn ago. Why didn’t you send for me or some more guards immediately?” he gritted out. He would have happily settled for her requesting guards from Winterfell if she wasn’t comfortable requesting Lannister one’s from his father.

She blinked up at him, her pretty blue eyes puzzled and searching his for something. “It never crossed my mind to do so, my lord,” she said slowly.

“How am I supposed to protect you when I didn’t even know you were in danger, my lady?” he asked in frustration.

She shrugged, her shoulders dainty in their slight movement. “I’m always in danger. It didn’t occur to me that you would want to know.”

Oh, he realized what those looks were now. She still didn’t believe he was serious about keeping her safe. He supposed he couldn’t blame her since he was regularly called an oathbreaker. It was true that he’d broken a not insignificant amount of the oaths he made, but he meant to keep this one the best he could. 

He had no idea how to make her believe him other than doing something drastic. “I’d like to marry you when we get back to Winterfell. No one would dare touch the Kingslayer’s wife and I will remove any man’s head that is stupid enough to try it,” Jaime insisted, clenching his fists at his sides to keep his hands from touching her or pulling her into him to make sure she was alright. They weren’t that familiar with each other and based on her earlier flinch he doubted she would appreciate him taking that sort of liberty with her person.  

Sansa was still staring at him quizzically, but thankfully she answered him quickly. “We will discuss it with your father and send a raven to inform mine when we get back to Winterfell.”

“My father will agree with me,” he stated confidently.

A playful grin crossed her lips and eased some of the tension between them. “I don’t doubt he wants you married off as soon as possible. I meant to ask whether he wants a wedding in the light of the Seven or before the Old Gods and if there were any traditions from the West that need to be observed.”

“He’ll probably only care that there’s a betrothal feast, but I doubt he cares much about anything else except that it’s legally binding,” Jaime said dryly.

“Are you really marrying my sister?” Bran spoke up from behind them.

Sansa’s gaze snapped to her younger brother instantly and she pushed past him to hug her brother to her tightly. “Hello, little brother. What are you doing here?” she asked warmly.

There was such a difference in her greeting that Jaime was surprised to find himself put out that he hadn’t received such a warm welcome, but he supposed that was entirely his fault since he had stomped up to her and made her uneasy. He cleared his throat, “The little lord was driving your mother mad with his climbing and since he fell from a tree a several days ago she sent him with me to keep him busy.”

Sansa pulled back from her brother and ran a worried, assessing gaze over him. “Were you hurt at all?”

“Nope! Ser Jaime caught me again and then he took me to the practice yard and showed me how to swing my sword to knock a sword from someone else’s hand,” Bran said excitedly, his hands miming the action as he spoke.

Sansa smiled gratefully up at Jaime, looking at him again like he was worth her consideration, and he felt heat creep up his cheeks. Yes, she was kind and pretty, beautiful even, but for fuck’s sake she was half his age and definitely not marrying him because she wanted him. As evidenced by their little misunderstanding, she didn’t even believe that he wanted to protect her.

“Thank you, Jaime,” she said sincerely.

He looked away from her to hide the gulp her sincerity incited and met Bran Stark’s curious stare. “Yes Bran, I’m really marrying your sister as soon as I can get her to agree to it,” he said with a roguish wink to the young boy.

“Sansa will agree quickly. She likes knights,” Bran told him as blunt as only a child could be.

It was Sansa’s turn to blush, and he nearly laughed at the siblings’ antics. He was well aware that no one could embarrass you quite like your siblings could manage to. 

In mock seriousness he asked the young boy, “Should I be worried about another knight stealing her away from me then?”

“No way! You’re one of the best knight’s alive! That would be stupid!” Bran exclaimed, nearly offended on his behalf.

He smirked arrogantly at Sansa, “See Sansa, your brother agrees with me. Any man would be stupid to try to fight me for you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Alright, Ser. You’ve made your point, but for the record I already agreed to wed you. Bran, why don’t you go inside and see Jon?”

“Jon’s inside?” he asked, perking up like an interested pup.

“Yes, Jon, Rickon, Ghost, and Shaggydog are all inside,” she said smoothing Bran’s windblown auburn hair down affectionately.

The next afternoon when it appeared that his lady was merely hovering over her bastard brother, Jaime dragged her to the small practice area within the keep’s walls. Since Jon Snow didn’t have an enormous number of men yet, the yard was completely empty.

“What are we doing here?” she asked glancing around at the yard when Jaime released her hand.

“We’re working on your knifework today,” he said in a tone that booked no argument from her.

Resigned, Sansa pulled her knife from beneath her skirts and gripped it firmly, the way he had taught her during their first short lesson.

He nodded at her approvingly. “You remember what we talked about last time, good.”

“I’m a slow learner, but I do learn,” she said.

He walked up behind her and watched as she tensed and turned with him. He held up his empty palms, “Relax, I just want to show you something. I’m not going to hurt or attack you suddenly.”

Sansa gave a single consenting nod, but not a single muscle of hers relaxed or untensed and she followed him with her eyes for as long as she possibly could without turning her body further.

“Widen your stance to just a little wider than shoulders width apart.” As she wordlessly obeyed him, he murmured, “I’m going to touch you now to correct your stance. Do I have your permission?”

“You do,” she said tensely.

He reached for her elbow and though it was impossible for her to see his hand, she stiffened further in response even though he hadn’t touched her yet. That level of awareness was good for protecting herself, but it would be no good for him trying to teach her during this lesson. He kept his hands soft, but impersonal as he lifted her elbow a little higher. It still looked off to him and he realized that her shoulders were bunched up near her ears.

He placed a hand on either shoulder and gently pushed down on them. “Ease up a little, sweetling,” he said, but his words seemed to have the opposite effect and she shivered violently under his hand.

“Please don’t call me that. Anything else, just not that,” she begged, recalling that everyone from Cersei to Littlefinger had called her that in King’s Landing. She knew it was silly to get hung up on a term of endearment, but she hated that everyone had called her that. 

If she was honest with herself, what she truly hated most of all about it was that it was true. The reason everyone had always called her that as a child was because she had been raised to be the gentlest and sweetest of ladies by her mother and septa. She had been taught that the only way to be a lady or a good wife was to be dutiful and sweet, but all that docile attitude had ever gotten her was beaten, raped, or used as political pawn.

It had left her so vulnerable and unprepared for the capital’s politics that even when she realized she was out of her depth, she didn’t know what or how to learn what she needed. They had taught her how to be honest and good while never explaining that most people weren’t either of those things. She hated that her early education had filled her head with no higher aspirations than to be someone’s wife and a mother. She wanted those things still, but they weren’t the only things she wanted anymore and certainly not what she should have wanted as a girl younger than three and ten. 

“Alright Sansa, I won’t call you that, but I do need you to loosen your shoulders,” he said lightly, once again helping her move her shoulders from her ears to where they needed to be for this stance. She took a deep breath and let her shoulders fall under his hand.

“Good girl,” Jaime whispered from behind her.

She stilled but didn’t tense up this time and he spied the slightest hint of a blush paired with a delighted smile on her lips. She liked to be praised. He hid a cocky smirk at his discovery. He hadn’t meant it like that and doubted she knew it herself, but if she ever decided to share his bed, he would be sure to remember her reaction. Jaime cleared his throat and removed his hands from her since he was decidedly not thinking about training her at the moment and he’d promised her his respect.

Besides he wasn’t sure he should be touching her for his own sake right now. He could certainly control himself no matter the situation, but there was no sense in getting himself worked up over a woman he wouldn’t touch that way anytime soon or possibly ever. They weren’t wedded yet and she’d never indicated that she would welcome any type of touch from him. Despite what his father said, he wouldn’t pressure her into anything she wasn’t ready for just because he thought her beautiful and fetching with her cheeks-stained pink as a result of his words. Besides, just because she liked something, didn’t necessarily mean she wanted to try it with him.

When his own thoughts quit rioting, he stepped behind her again and guided her hand through the motions of slashing with her dagger as he explained, “While it was good that you stopped your attacker, daggers are better for slashing unless you can kill with one stab, because pulling a knife out of flesh is more exhausting than it sounds.”

Sansa nodded, remembering the resistance and how slippery the blood-coated handle were even through her panic when she was attacked. After he released her hand, he stepped several feet in front of her and had her demonstrate over and over, until a light sheen of sweat coated her skin, how she would slash at attackers coming for her from all different positions and angles.

“Excellent, now put that up for now, we’re going to work on the most important skill anyone has in their arsenal,” he said once he was satisfied that she had the proper motions down.

Sansa was relieved to put her dagger away. While she would concede that she did need to learn some sort of defensive skill and the dagger had already proved helpful, she didn’t necessary enjoy having to learn it like Arya would. She stashed the knife away under her skirt. She liked being able to resolve a situation with words and diplomacy rather than steel.

While she found lessons from possibly the most infamous knight on the continent informative, she also, to her complete bewilderment, found them intoxicating in a way that had nothing to do with the information contained in them. There was nothing suggestive in the way Jaime was touching her. The locations were innocent and he never let his hands linger for longer than necessary, but Sansa had found his solid warmth behind her and the confidence with which he taught her to be thoroughly distracting. Even when he moved away from her, the intensity that he watched her with made her want to squirm as heat licked through her body. It was both exhilarating and confusing, she couldn’t recall a time she’d felt this way. Was this desire or was she wrong again about her feelings?

Sansa tilted her head to the side as she asked, “What’s that?”

“Footwork, more specifically, dodging!” he said, the mischievous grin lighting up his face in boyish delight. 

She had a moment of trepidation over Jaime’s answer but brushed it off to slide into one of the base positions he’d taught her during their first lesson together.

“Good. I’m going to try to tap you with my fingers and your job is not to let me. Understand?”

She nodded slowly. With three older brother figures as well as Arya she’d been playing some version of this game for her whole childhood. She was sure it would be different with Jaime since he wasn’t a child, but a man at the peak of his physical abilities.

Without warning one of his hands shot out toward her shoulder and Sansa slid a foot backwards, turning her body just enough to stay out of his range. He surprised her with a tap on her hip with his other hand. That caused her to sharpen her focus and remind her to watch for both of his hands at the same time. She didn’t like failing, especially not so soon after they had started the exercise.

Jaime landed a few more hits in the beginning, but within a few minutes Sansa was sidestepping and evading every swipe of his fingers. A small joyful grin broke out on her lips. This was actually sort of fun and almost like dancing, where she had to follow her partner’s lead and anticipate their intentions by the smallest shifts in their body language. She had never considered herself athletic like some of her siblings, but she had always been an excellent dancer. 

It was a skill she had practiced relentlessly as a young girl until she had mastered it and the movements became second nature because she quite simply loved to dance. There had been nothing that made her happier than dancing and singing as a child and she had tricked Theon and all her brothers, except for little Rickon, at one point or another into partnering with her.

“You’re quite good at this. Have you been taught how to do this before?” Jaime asked, while still focusing on the training.

“No, but it is like dancing, like following a partner,” she said with a sunny smile as she dodged his left hand.

Jaime laughed at her unexpected answer. Now that she had called attention to it, he could see that she was using footwork that was light and graceful enough to almost be considered dancing. “I suppose it is a little like that. Maybe next time I must train some soldiers I’ll start them on dance lessons first. What do you think, my lady?” 

Sansa covered her mouth with a delicate hand to hide her escaping giggles at the mental picture of a couple hundred men trying to partner up to learn dancing. “I’m sure if you taught them, they would be fierce warriors no matter what.”

Jaime grinned boyishly at his ability to make Sansa let out a torrent of light-hearted giggles when she was normally so stoic and solemn.

After she finished laughing, Jaime seemed to step up the speed and intensity of his movements. She had less time to think and react accordingly, so she quieted her thoughts and dropped into the headspace she employed during fast-paced reels where she let her body take over from instinct and memory, no longer thinking about the chain of steps, just preforming them. She stepped sideways, back, twirled out of his reach, and circled around him without thought while he attempted to tap her over and over.

They were both breathing hard when Jaime, with a burst of speed and force went to jab her on the thigh. Sansa’s eyes widened at his rapid approach but without thought she immediately moved to the left and before he could recover from the amount of forward momentum he’d employed in the move, she swiftly and firmly stepped forward onto his cloak which had momentarily dragged on the ground.

Jaime who had already been in the process of moving again, flailed his arms, trying to steady himself, and not choke from the cloak that he was being strangled by. He overcorrected, one of his boots landing in a patch of mud. He slipped, lost any chance of balancing, and began falling. He landed with a thump on the cold muddy ground. The air from his lungs had just enough time to whoosh from his body, before Sansa’s slim form collapsed on top of his. He grunted, more from surprise than any injury. At some point in his effort to maintain standing, Jaime had grabbed a hold of her too and brought her down with him. 

Sansa opened her eyes that she had instinctively closed bracing in anticipation of hitting the ground and pushed herself up onto her forearms. While she stared into Jaime Lannister’s stunned green eyes, that from this close she could discern contained all the dazzling colors of spring, it took her mind a moment to comprehend that from her tangled legs to her breasts, she was laid over the Lannister knight. They were both breathing heavily from the training and subsequent fall and every breath pressed her closer against his body. She watched as his gaze went from startled to an intense half-lidded look she couldn’t interpret. One of his hands slid to the small of her back, warmth seeping into the base of her back and radiating into her hips. 

The movement jarred her out of the dreamlike state she was in and she suddenly realized how improper their position was, as well as how uncomfortable he must be. She scrambled off of him into a standing position, flushing to the roots of her hair. 

“I’m so sorry, my lord” she apologized, twisting her hands in front of her. Hopefully she hadn’t angered him, every Lannister she knew was dangerous when provoked. 

Jaime seemed more easygoing than the rest of his family and he had promised never to raise a hand to her, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t make her miserable in other ways, besides she knew from his reputation and from her experience in the future that he could be just as intense and brutal as any other member of his family. It was true that she wasn’t a stupid little girl anymore, but she also wasn’t a queen anymore either. Outside of the North, being a Stark mattered very little and they wouldn’t be in the North forever, no one would save her if she was miserable with her lord husband.

He got to his feet and brushed the dirt off his front and hands. He knew his back was likely covered in mud and he’d need a bath, but this was the best he could do for now. “I believe that was my fault, Sansa. I’m the one that brought you down with me. Did you step on my cloak on purpose?” he asked.

Sansa suddenly felt very vulnerable in the empty courtyard with a knight that could hurt her without breaking a sweat. She bit her lip, lowered her gaze, and answered in little more than a whisper, “I wasn’t thinking. I used to do that to Arya when she would rush me with sticky hands. Her cloaks always dragged on the ground and that would keep her from smearing whatever she had on me.”

“That was very clever of you. I’ve never been taken down like that and I shall have to try it on the next upstart opponent of mine that I want to make eat dirt,” he complimented her and counted his words a success when she grinned shyly back at him. 

It concerned him that she retreated into courtesy and braced herself every time she showed a hint of cleverness or believed some small thing upset him. He despised that she believed he would hurt her. He supposed he couldn’t blame her though, not after he’d seen the scars on her back or heard even part of what she had gone through. It would take time for his little bride-to-be to trust him and any attempt to force the issue would likely make it worse. However, it did leave him with quite the conundrum of how to build enough trust to fix the issue.

“I think we better see if the maids you hired for Lord Snow are any good at their jobs. I think it’s time that we went in and cleaned up. I know I will need a bath to get all the mud out of my hair,” he said touching the back of his head and feeling some of the mess smeared into the strands.

She hid a smile at hearing her brother’s title. It sounded silly, but she supposed that was Jon’s title right now since her father had given him land and since he couldn’t claim his Targaryen heritage. No one had really used it yet, since Jon insisted on being called by his first name, so it still sounded strange.

Sansa’s shoulders eased a little at the playful note of teasing in Jaime’s words as she followed him into the small keep. Unless he was a significantly better actor than any of his siblings or children, whatever intensity she’d glimpsed in his gaze before wasn’t because he was angry with her. It still left her with the question of what that look was, but she didn’t dare ask and without asking she supposed she had no way to know.

Chapter Text

Jaime sought his father out the day after he, Bran, and Sansa had returned to Winterfell. He found him in one of the sitting rooms on the topmost floor in the First Keep. His father had an orderly stack of parchment and a cooling cup of herbal tea on one of the tables, but he was standing at the window that faced north with his hands clasped behind his back and a contemplative expression on his face. Jaime cleared his throat when he entered the room to alert the other man to his presence.

Tywin Lannister turned his head partway to acknowledge this son’s presence when Jaime crossed the room to stand beside him at the window. He noted that his oldest son looked uncharacteristically serious. No hint of humor on his pensive features. Tywin let the silence draw out for a few minutes, but sensing that his son wasn’t going to start the conversation he asked, “What is it?”

 “Lady Sansa agreed to marry me sooner rather than waiting. Can you begin to make the arrangements?” Jaime asked after a long moment of silence that dragged on so long that Tywin had assumed he wasn’t getting an answer to his question.

Tywin smirked in satisfaction, finally his heir would be wed. “I can easily arrange that with Lady Stark.”

“How long would it take to arrange everything?”

Tywin turned from the picturesque view of the Godswood from the window with a soft hum.

“I suppose that depends on what you and your bride-to-be want. Send the guard at the door for Lady Sansa. I’m not too busy right now. We’ll get an idea what she wants today and I’ll bring it to Lady Stark either this evening or tomorrow morning.”

While they waited for Sansa to show up, Tywin sent for a fresh pot of tea and refreshments and pulled a fresh sheet of parchment out in case he needed it. He doubted he would, but better to be prepared than to be caught unprepared. He also observed his son, who was still at the window and seemed to be caught up in brooding about something. He seemed unlikely to discuss whatever it was that had him so deep in thought and for all his intelligence, Tywin was at a loss to read Jaime’s mind at the moment.

Twyin cleared his throat. “Before we discuss this with Lady Sansa, do you have a betrothal gift already? Or do we need to send for something either from the Rock or Lannisport?”

Jaime shook his head to dispel his thoughts and then went to sit down on one of the padded chairs in the room. “I’ve arranged for a gift already, father.”

Tywin raised a brow behind his son’s back. His wayward son, who was supposedly still in love with his sister, and didn’t want to marry the girl Tywin had chosen for him, was awfully proactive about the whole affair. He had expected his son to drag his feet for months and shirk the few required duties he had in regard to the betrothal and subsequent wedding. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Jaime had taken the initiative on selecting a betrothal gift and that he was coming to him to initiate the preparations so soon.

It was only a handful of minutes before Lady Sansa glided into the room and he watched how his son snapped to attention and stood as soon as she entered. She was alone, for once not accompanied by her direwolf.

“My lords, what can I do for you today?” she asked politely, coming to stand in the middle of the room.

Tywin gestured toward the seating in the room. “Please sit, Lady Sansa. Jaime said you agreed to begin wedding preparations.”

“I did. Though he actually asked to marry me immediately when we got back and I suggested we take your wishes into account, my lord,” she agreed as she sat daintily on a cushioned chair and smoothed her skirts down. She was pleased that the conversation was only about this instead of something more serious as she had worried about on her way here.

Tywin glanced over at his son to see him following the conversation with utmost focus. He was surprised that his son wasn’t disagreeing with Lady Sansa’s words. “I see. What is it you wanted to ask?”

She shrugged while she poured a cup of tea for herself. “Primarily, which ceremony do you prefer and whether there were any traditions from the Westerlands you wanted incorporated?”

He cocked his head. He hadn’t expected or considered that she would concede to a southern marriage particularly with her close ties to the Old Gods. After a moment of contemplation he answered, “While both are legally binding, I would suggest that you marry in the Light of the Seven, if only because your father is the Hand right now and it wouldn’t do to anger the Faith while he’s still new at his position. As for traditions, the only Westerlands specific one that is important is that there is a betrothal feast a moon’s turn before the wedding.”

The girl blinked slowly and took a delicate sip of her tea. “A southern marriage ceremony then. I hadn’t thought about the politics of having a wedding ceremony in context of my father’s Hand duties. I appreciate your advice, my lord.”

He nodded. “What kind of timeline do you want this on?”

“As soon as possible,” his son interrupted firmly.

Tywin swung his gaze back to Jaime again and narrowed his eyes. He was starting to get suspicious on why his son was so determined to marry the girl immediately. He was sure that his son would have told him if there was a potential for a little lion cub. Despite how entranced his son looked by the girl, Tywin suspected that there must be something else. “I believe we could hold a betrothal feast in as little as three weeks and the wedding a moon’s turn after that if Lady Stark is agreeable, do you think that would be enough time to arrange something like that Lady Sansa?”

The girl pursed her lips and looked off for a minute with an unfocused gaze in a clear sign of contemplation. “The actual feast and wedding won’t be a problem to plan, but the North is larger than any of the other kingdoms so I think that the feast will have to wait closer to a full moon’s turn rather than only three weeks. I believe that we will have to invite the bannermen right away if we want to have it even that soon. Many of them probably won’t come anyway, but we risk slighting them if we don’t allow them enough time to travel.”

“Excellent. In regard to the betrothal feast itself, while it is traditional in the Westerlands for both parties to provide a gift, I’m aware that that isn’t the case in the rest of the Westeros and that in the North most Houses don’t bother with a feast at all, so don’t worry about any of that or the smaller traditions associated with it, Lady Sansa there won’t be enough of my bannermen here to matter,” Tywin granted the girl magnanimously.

Lady Sansa’s eyes glinted with laughter and a secretive smile curved her lips. “Don’t worry about that. I was already aware of the tradition, and I have a gift for Jaime that I believe you will appreciate too.”

The only thing he could think of that would fit the description of a gift to his son that he would appreciate was a Lannister grandchild, but he didn’t think Lady Sansa was crass enough to announce such a thing at a feast before they were wedded. Then again what did he know? Northerners had a vastly different culture to any of the other kingdoms and they were decidedly more honest and straightforward in their dealings than any place he had ever travelled to. The girl had surprised him several times already. Then again, Lady Sansa wasn’t likely to know what either he or his son would truly like, and Jaime was looking at the girl in quiet confusion too.

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I’ll speak to Lady Stark this evening so invitations may be sent out immediately. I’ll leave you and your mother to plan out the details, but you may be assured that you needn’t spare any expense.”

The smile was still playing about her mouth as she spoke. “That is generous of you, Lord Lannister, but I doubt it will be necessary. I’ll take my leave of you now if there is nothing else you need from me?”

Tywin dismissed the girl. As soon as he was sure that she was out of earshot he rounded on his son, “Did you get her pregnant and fail to tell me?”

“What? No, I’ve not even kissed her,” Jaime said, coughing on the wine he’d just taken a sip of. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Tywin sighed disappointedly. “I don’t know if I should praise your honor or despair of ever having Lannister grandchildren. I sent you off with hardly any supervision with possibly the prettiest woman in the realm and you didn’t even try to seduce her?”

“She doesn’t want me,” he said, hoping that he didn’t sound as pathetic and forlorn to his father as it sounded to his own ears.

He startled and asked, “Did she tell you that?”

“No, but I think it’s rather obvious,” Jaime answered with a sigh and drooping shoulders.

Tywin scoffed. “Then why do you think so?”

He dropped his gaze to the table and pulled a hand through several knots in length of his hair. “She does not seek my company or confidence, she still flinches from even the slightest of my unexpected touches, she keeps a strictly polite distance between us at all times, and I’ve no idea if she’s even passingly fond of me or is merely doing this for politics. Half the time, I think she’s merely indifferent to my presence altogether. It’s not that I expect her to want to fall into my bed anytime soon, but I thought I’d have a bit of her trust by now.”

Tywin swallowed a bittersweet laugh. His Joanna used to overthink like that. Even now more than twenty years after her death, seeing the similarities between his children and his wife had the power to rend his heart to pieces though he would never give up the chance to see the small reflections of her either. “Jaime, aside from the flinching, you are complaining that your betrothed is acting like the lady she was raised to be.”

He raised his brow, “My sister was raised to be a lady and I’ve met dozens of other ladies at court. None of them had any trouble making their interest apparent.”

Tywin snorted inelegantly, “First of all, Cersei is nothing like Lady Sansa. Cersei despises acting like a lady. For all her septa tried to drill it in her head, your sister is no more a lady than Rickon Stark’s direwolf. Being a lady is a veneer she poorly dawns like wearing another man’s ill-fitting armor. She only acts like a lady when it will get her something. Your Lady Sansa though? That’s not a game or an act she affects to manipulate people.”

Tywin drummed his fingers on the table while he debated on how to phrase his next point. “Second, if what I suspect is true of her and any relationships she’s had, she’s likely only ever had political marriages. If you want more than that from your relationship, you’re going to have to be the one that reaches out. You will have to talk to her. After the abuse she suffered, she’s not going to understand how to initiate any of the things you mentioned. And considering the circumstances of your betrothal and whatever knowledge she has of the future; she might not even know that you want her company.”

Jaime wasn’t sure that he understood. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen women who were mistreated, but he didn’t remember them being as skittish as Sansa and he didn’t want to betray her trust by telling his father anything he didn’t already know about the situation. How could she not seek out his company if she wanted him? Even if she was cautious and wary of being bedded and the touch of his hand, she never sought him out to talk or spend time with him. Outside of the one or two times she’d taken his hand to comfort him, she never initiated any contact with him or sought him out for her own comfort or the thousand other smaller intimacies that weren’t improper for a betrothed couple.

He was always the one to seek her out or touch her first. He didn’t understand why Lady Sansa wasn’t the same, why she would hardly touch him even in the most innocent manner, unless she just disliked him. Not all of her experiences with men could have been terrible, she’d been married more than once, and she’d even mentioned that Tyrion hadn’t mistreated her. Plus, she was bound to have had male friends that hadn’t mistreated her either and at the moment friendship was all he truly desired from her.

He slumped into the chair with a defeated air. “What do you suggest then?”

Tywin refrained from rolling his eyes at his son’s dramatics. “I suggest trying, son. I already told you in the beginning to make her fall for you. Just because it is set in stone that you’re marrying her doesn’t mean that you don’t have to put in any effort. Romance her with small gifts and your time. Show her that she has nothing to fear from your hand and that you would welcome her touch in return. She will come around if you invest in her.”

“Alright I’ll try that,” he said slowly, with a thoughtful frown as he considered the advice that his father had imparted.

Jaime supposed that he could manage those things easily enough. He hardly had any responsibilities while he was in Winterfell, so it wouldn’t be difficult to find time to spend with her now that they were both in the same location. Just because he wasn’t willing to seduce her into his bed when she wasn’t ready for that didn’t mean that he couldn’t spend time getting to know her or having fun while he built at least a friendship with her. He’d never had to learn another person before. Since he and Cersei had grown up together, had even shared a womb together, he’d never had to try. Curiously, he found himself looking forward to trying with Sansa.

Tywin shook his head with a snort. “Don’t screw this up. I’d like your sad little Wolf Queen for a good daughter. She’s clever, powerful, and ruthless when necessary. She’ll make an excellent Lady Lannister once you secure her loyalties for you own.”

After a moment with no response from his son, he asked, “Not that I’m upset, but if you didn’t bed her, what’s the rush for the wedding?”

“Someone tried to kill or kidnap her while she was with her brother and she didn’t even consider sending for more Stark or Lannister men,” Jaime said with a dark scowl on his face.

Tywin raised a skeptical brow and asked in a leading tone, “And you think that if you wed her that would change? She’ll magically remember to consult you?”

“I don’t think anyone would be stupid enough to go after my wife but if someone was that unwise, she would be guarded by Lannister men, who wouldn’t be foolish enough to leave either of us uninformed,” he growled.

Tywin nodded in approval. “Good. I’ll speak to Lady Stark this afternoon then.”

It took Jaime a few days to come up with and enact a plan but on the next reasonably warm day for the North he sought Sansa out again in her father’s solar around mid-morning. She had looked puzzled at the invitation, but ultimately he convinced her to ride out with him to have a picnic. He had no idea what she was working on so diligently, but she seemed to be in the lord’s solar more often than either her mother or older brother.

The two of them had been riding for a while and as always, Jaime found that Sansa was a good conversationalist as they traded stories of riding and silly, lighthearted anecdotes of their siblings on the way. Now, he was following her and Lady’s lead into a clearing in the Wolfswood. He supposed that it was pretty here with its gigantic untouched timber and clear, babbling brooks. In the woods there were odd patches of snow next to green ferns and moss slicked boulders. It wasn’t the Westerlands, of course, but he understood why the Starks loved it here. It was a wild and untamed beauty with crisp contrasts in colors fitting for the nature of the family that ruled here.

Jaime stopped his horse next to hers in the clearing and quickly dismounted while Sansa was taking in the panorama. He tied his horse to a tree and by the time he finished Sansa was dropping her reins and preparing to dismount. He came up behind her and wrapped his hands around her slender waist and helped lift her down from her horse.

Sansa peered over her shoulder curiously at him. His behavior and this whole day were odd to her. From his invitation this morning to the way he had personally helped her mount and dismount her horse. He’d had everything packed and ready for her agreement. Aside from picking the clearing in the Wolfswood, she hadn’t had to do any work.

She didn’t understand the purpose of this outing. They were already betrothed and she knew that he couldn’t be happy about it, though he thankfully never sulked about it in her presence. They were alone, so there was no need for him to act so attentively towards her and she was perfectly capable of dismounting her own horse. She wasn’t worried about her safety or modesty with him, he’d more than proved that he wasn’t interested in her in that manner, and even if he was, they’d be married within two moons anyway.

His behavior was strange, but nice. If she could forget that he was in love with someone else, she could almost pretend that he was courting her. She wasn’t foolish enough to pretend that though, so she remained confused, but pleased at the idea of an outing. It’d been years since she’d done something so carefree and she’d had the start of a particularly bad headache over her correspondence this morning. There had been a letter from the Wall addressed specifically to her, a letter from Uncle Benjen she hadn’t read, and one from her father as well. Both letters that she’d read were requests for help, though she hadn’t the slightest idea why the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch was addressing her rather than her father or her brother for the information he’d requested. Perhaps her uncle’s letter would be able to shed light on that? She promised herself that she’d read it the moment she got back.

“Thank you, Ser,” she said primly and then reached for the blanket Jaime had packed on the back of her horse.

She waited for him to grab the heavier picnic basket and then led the way to a patch of sunlight between two trees. As she and Lady passed under a weirwood tree, she felt a soft weight land on her head. She straightened the crown with an eye roll and turned to Lady to pet her only to see that the weirwood had dropped another crown onto Lady’s head, who was prancing around and wagging her tail excitedly. She laughed at her wolf’s behavior. The noise of which had drawn Jaime’s attention too and he began chuckling warmly from beside her.

“Should I start calling your direwolf Queen instead of Lady?” he teased while he patted Lady on the hunch of her shoulder nearest him.

Sansa laid the blanket out and sat on one of the corners. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” she said grinning up at him.

Jaime set the basket down and lowered himself to the blanket. Lady came up to him and nudged him with her snout for more attention. He obliged the still growing creature of course. He scratched Lady’s ears from underneath her crown and ran his hands through the thick fur at her neck. She panted and leaned into his touch. Jaime looked over toward his betrothed only to find her determinedly not watching with a delicate wash of color high on her cheek bones. He wasn’t sure what that was about, but he tried to draw her back into conversing with him. “Why do you think your trees dropped a crown on Lady’s head too?”

Sansa glanced over at her very happy direwolf and then focused her half-lidded eyes away from his hands. She cleared her throat, so her voice didn’t come out husky. “The gods don’t tell me things like that, but if I had to guess it’s because Lady is the other half of my soul.”

He cocked his head at her. “You’ve said that before. What do you mean by that?”

“Lady and I are obviously separate beings, but we’re also deeply connected. If I wanted to drop into her mind right now, she would gladly welcome me. I don’t know if it is the shared mental contact with each other or if the similarity was there beforehand, but all the Stark children and their wolves’ personalities are a reflection of each other. It’s hard to explain, but even when we aren’t consciously sharing a mind there’s some amount of bleed through as well,” she finished with a shrug.

“Like what exactly?” He patted Lady twice to let her know he was done petting her. She huffed lightly but trotted over to Sansa for her attention.

Sansa’s lips twitched in amusement and she ran her hands through Lady coat. She rested her forehead against the thick fur of her neck to hide her face while she explained. “Our wolves often know when we are in danger even from a distance, and the more we’re together or the more I practice warging the better I am at finding the connection and knowing what Lady is up to from a distance as well. For instance, I could tell that she very much enjoyed your touch just now. Sadly, she prefers your ear scratches to mine. The little traitor thinks my claws are too sharp whereas yours are blunter but stronger.”

Jaime threw his head back and laughed uproariously. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to watch him pet her wolf. He laughed so hard he nearly cried. When he started to calm down, he caught her embarrassed eyes peering up over Lady’s back and he started laughing anew. He wheezed out a couple breaths and wiped the moisture from underneath his eyes.

“Can you actually feel the sensations when someone else pets Lady?” he asked, lips still trembling in restrained amusement.

She shook her head ruefully. “Only when I’m wolf-dreaming or warging, when I’m not I just get her impressions on what’s happening from her end.”

He chuckled, “So that night Lady came and stayed in my room?”

She nodded sheepishly.

“No wonder you wouldn’t look me in the eye the next day. I thought you’d just seen me partially undressed, but apparently, I also gave you a very nice head scratch as well.”

She grinned impishly, “And a list of rules for your bed too, but I certainly wasn’t going to point that all out if you hadn’t realized it while I was still mortified.”

Jaime was glad that he wasn’t easily embarrassed because he had forgotten about that list of rules that he’d jested about to Lady, that apparently Sansa had also heard. He picked up one of her hands and furrowed his brow as he studied her nails with mock concentration. He ran calloused fingers over her hands and slim fingers marveling at the difference between them. She had some of the softest skin he’d ever felt and he had the brief thought that they would feel lovely if they were touching the rest of him. “I don’t think my list of rules would apply to you.”

“I should hope my claws aren’t as long as Lady’s,” she said through a little laugh. Although, truth be told, if she hadn’t laughed, she would be displaying how flustered the attention that Jaime was paying to her hands made her and the way his warm green eyes were making her heart race.

Jaime laced their fingers together and smiled at the woman in front of him. She really was beautiful and here in the woods with her vibrant coloring and the weirwood crown resting in her hair she looked like some sort of woodland nymph that could lure any man to their doom with only the promise of her smile.

He grinned with delighted deviousness, “I suppose the real question should be whether you also enjoyed the head scratch or not?”

“Jaime!”

“What? I think I should know if my future wife prefers her head scratched or not, but I think I may already know the answer based on your response,” he smirked down at her.

Sansa sent off Lady with a command to hunt and then return to her or Winterfell if she took too long. They were close enough to home that she wasn’t concerned that Lady would encounter anything too dangerous and between Lady’s nose and their bond there was little chance of her losing her way home.

“May I ask you something personal?” she said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

He shrugged, “I don’t see why not.”

“You seem more agreeable to this marriage than I thought you would be. I half expected that you would have run off already either to King’s Landing or to Essos.”

He hummed, “My father knows now, and he’d never allow for my relationship with my sister to continue and Cersei would never consent to leaving with me somewhere that neither he nor Robert couldn’t reach. My father doesn’t believe it’s love and even aside from what he would do to me or Cersei if I ran back to King’s Landing, I can’t go back to being a Kingsguard after what you revealed.”

“I’m sorry that you are stuck with me when I know that you would prefer another,” she whispered.

He clucked his tongue and waved his free hand. “Don’t be. My father would force a bride on me either way. I had a say in it this time and at least with you I don’t have to hide anything about my past and I can do some good by protecting you.”

“If it would make you feel better, I really don’t know much more about you than I’ve already told you. I had much more contact with the rest of your family than you in my last life.”

He hummed thoughtfully, “You knew the two biggest secrets I ever kept, but I feel as if I know very little of you, my lady. Will you tell me something about yourself to even the scales?”

“I loved the songs and stories and music as a child. When I was stuck in King’s Landing my maid and I used to watch the boats coming into the harbor and make up stories for them until I learned that the truth is either horrifying or boring.”

“Surely not all the songs and stories are lies?” he found himself saying, although he’d had similar thoughts throughout his years in King’s Landing.

“Well, I suppose not the gruesome ones, after all the Rains of Castamere and the stories about the Night King are real, but a song doesn’t tell you that a dragon’s breath smells like smoke and a thousand rotting corpses or the reason why you killed a king.”

“How would you know what dragon’s breath smells like?” he asked amused.

She shivered, viscerally recalling ever horrid thing about the dragons from her past life. “Daenerys Targaryen hatches three across the Narrow Sea and brings them here, causing an untold amount of destruction in a bid for the Iron Throne.”

He froze. “Three dragons, you are making a bad jape.”

Her mouth was pressed into a grim line. “No, there were three of them and Daenerys didn’t much like either me or you,” she answered, tilting her head back to stare at the cloudless sky through the canopy of the ancient trees.

He raised a brow. “I take it that we don’t much like her either than?”

Sansa turned her head toward him and smiled wanly. “I don’t know if she started that way, but she goes mad and her dragons only bring death.”

“Tell me someone kills her.” His fingers twitch with the urge to pick up his sword.

Daenerys would have to be dealt with soon, but the logistics of dealing with someone across the Narrow Sea was difficult for a mere Northern girl, no matter if she was a Lord Paramount’s daughter or not. Hiring a Faceless man to kill a would-be Queen was worth more than just gold and Sansa wasn’t interested in paying with the types of currency the House of Black and White could demand from her. And contacting even a regular assassin from Winterfell would hardly be discreet. Besides, Daenerys was distressingly charismatic and had a habit of turning unexpected people to her cause. She was hoping her father or the council had come up with something to deal with the issue. She’d step in if she had to, but it would be much easier for the Hand or the council to deal with the whole predicament.

“Hmm, yes Jon does, but it hurts him terribly since-” she cuts herself off and stares at him horrified, shocked that she had felt comfortable enough to almost give away Jon’s secret. In her mind she can hear Littlefinger hiss, “Sweetling, the Queen’s brother? You’ve just handed him the dagger he’ll happily stab you in the back with.”

“Since what?” he asked, squeezing her hand gently in his with soft, worried eyes boring into hers.

Sansa furrowed her brow and bit her lip before she fervantly replied, “This is a secret you can never tell anyone, especially not your father or sister, Jaime. If you want me to tell you then I’ll need an oath.”

Sansa tries to bat away Petyr’s low lilting laugh, “Clever fix. When you know what a man wants, you know who he is and how to move him.”

Jaime reared back, startled. “You would take an oath from me?”

Her expression softened to something painfully understanding. “I would take any oath you willingly gave to me Jaime and in return I would vow that I’d never ask you to do something that would dishonor you.”

She doesn’t want to be like Petyr, manipulating people to get what she wants. She’s doing this because she wants to trust Jaime even though he’s a Lannister.

“Will this secret hurt my family?” he asked.

Sansa paused briefly in thought before answering, “Unlikely.”

Jaime nodded solemnly. “Then you have my word. I vow I won’t repeat what you say here to anyone.”

She let out a gust of breath. “Thank you. I will keep my vow in return. Anyway, it hurt Jon terribly, because Daenerys is his aunt and I think they were in a relationship at one point before Jon knew he was related to her.”

Jaime is slow, but he’s never been stupid. He paled rapidly. “Oh, he’s not Ned’s, is he?” He didn’t wait for her confirmation to continue, “Sansa, why would you tell me that? This is information that could get you killed.”

She shrugged. “You gave me your word and I trust that you will keep it. Besides, it’s not the first time you’ve kept a secret of that magnitude before.”

He jumped up and began pacing, his every footstep dogged with frantic, agitated energy. “Why? Everyone else thinks me an oathbreaker.”

She stood up and calmly moved into the pathway of his pacing so that he would have to stop and look at her. “Jaime, you have a different kind of honor than my father, but you are honorable. I know all about those oaths you supposedly broke and those are no broken oaths to me. If keeping your oaths to unworthy rulers means tens of thousands dead or the lives of your family, I hope you break every oath you ever made.”

Before he realized what he was doing his lips were pressed against hers and his fingers were woven into the hair at the base of Sansa’s neck. Her lips were so soft and when she opened her mouth to him, he determined that the citrus scent that he couldn’t figure out before, was lemon. Sansa let out a little sound in the back of her throat and it broke him out of his single-minded focus to realize she wasn’t participating.

He wrenched himself away from her, deeply ashamed of himself. He ran a hand through his hair and turned halfway away from her. “Fuck, Sansa. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

She opened her eyes and blinked at him while trying to regain her bearings. “Why are you sorry? Is it because of Cersei?”

“No! It's not that. I told you I wouldn’t touch you without your permission, Lady Sansa and I broke that,” he hurried to assure her. Gods, he hoped she didn’t think he was thinking about another woman while he was kissing her. All he could think about with his lips on hers, was how good Sansa had tasted and felt, there was no room in his brain for any other thoughts.

“Please call me Sansa and I did not object,” she reminded him.

He shook his head vehemently. “Not objecting is not the same as permission or welcoming and you weren’t kissing me back, so you clearly didn’t like it or want me to do that.”

“I- it was pleasant and I’m afraid that you had me at a disadvantage. I’ve been kissed before but never like that,” she stammered a bit with an accompanying rueful pout.

A slow smile spread across his lips as she spoke. He didn’t understand how she could make it to one and twenty in her last life and not have been kissed properly. There’s a tiny, possessive part of him that is thrilled to be the one that teaches the woman meant to be his, something so intimate as kissing since he won’t get to introduce her to other intimacies. He’s glad he at least has this one thing. He doesn’t begrudge her any of her other experience of course, since it had taken extraordinary circumstances to bring them together this time and she had lived a whole other life before this. It would be rather unfair and hypocritical of him since he had years of his own experience too. He stepped back into her space and watched Sansa’s breath catch in her throat.

“Is that so?” he murmured. “Would you care to try again for something perhaps a little better than pleasant?”

She nodded, unsure if she was capable of speech at the moment.

“I need your words, Sansa,” he prompted with a low rasp.

“Yes Jaime, please,” she pleaded breathlessly.

He cupped her jaw with one hand, tilting it up towards him while he slid the other to the base of her neck. When her eyes began to flutter shut, he pressed a soft kiss to her brow and one under each eye, before dropping his mouth to hers. With a delicateness he hadn’t thought himself capable of he brushed soft kisses to her lips until with a breathy sigh, the clever little thing that she was, caught on and matched his movements with unexpected skill. Her hands traveled up to rest lightly on his chest. Her lips were soft and sweet and the absolute want that had overtaken him the first time he kissed her, kindled again, only brighter this time with her willing participation. More firmly he caressed her lips with his own and when her body yielded to his he swiped his tongue lazily over her bottom lip.

Sansa was overwhelmed with the sensations Jaime was provoking in her and she couldn’t have stopped the whimper that escaped from her if she’d wanted to. He swallowed the noise she made and invaded her mouth with an urgency that swept aside any rational thought. Her focus narrowed in on the feel and taste of his mouth. His languid exploration of her mouth heated her blood in an unfamiliar, but decidedly not unpleasant manner. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into the strength of his body in a desire to tuck herself even closer to him.

The heat and desire between them was beginning to spiral into overwhelming need and Jaime, with only the barest presence of his sanity left, broke the kiss. He’d rarely had an experience that innocent so overpower him, one that both tested his control and made life pump through his veins. He rested his forehead against hers, eyes still closed, and murmured with need still overshadowing his words, “Sansa.”

“My lord?” she answered, breathing heavily and still caught up in a daze of pleasure.

His lips curled into a tender smile. “It’s Jaime, remember? And we best get back Sansa or I’m quite afraid I will get lost in your kisses.”

Sansa agreed mutely and he kissed her forehead softly before breaking away from her completely. As they packed up their picnic Sansa’s head spun with confusion. No one had ever kissed her that way. No one had ever kissed her and left her wanting some indefinable thing more. No one had ever kissed her like she was something precious to treasure. In fact, before Jaime, she’s never felt like the men who kissed or touched her weren’t forcefully stealing something precious from her.

She pressed down on her stomach as if she could calm the rioting butterflies there. What was it about him that made this time different? Whatever it was, she needed to figure it out before he ruined her. She felt the inexplicable need to cry, though she wasn’t sure of the precise reason. Only that Jaime was too dangerous to her stupid heart that always yearned for more than what scraps of goodwill and affection she’d already learned to never expect.

She cannot allow herself to fall in love with him or feel more than friendship for this man who belongs so wholly to another. It would be both embarrassing and heartbreaking. She wasn’t sure she would be able to mend her heart or fall out of love with a decent man whose only crime against her was that he wasn’t hers to begin with, which was no true crime at all, only another tragedy to add to her list of disastrous relationships. Sansa knows better than to hope for his love. She’s not his type; not blonde, not fierce, and most of all, not Cersei Lannister, whom she finds herself envying though she hasn’t felt that way in nearly a decade.

Jaime was feeling hopeful about this relationship for the first time. No one who kissed like that didn’t feel something. Maybe it was only attraction or lust on her part, but it was better than the indifference or mere duty he suspected she felt for him prior to this afternoon. He could build an amiable and mutually satisfying relationship from that. He didn’t dare hope that Sansa could love a man with his multitude of sins, but at least he wouldn’t be stuck in a marriage where his wife hated him or felt apathetic to him.

He helped a contemplative Sansa onto her horse only to turn around and find a knife that had seen better days in his face and the reins of his horse in the grips of a disheveled and very dirty looking dark-haired woman. There were three other men as well and they all had dangerous looking weapons in hand.

“Sansa, run home!” he commanded urgently, desperately hoping that she would be able to leave before one of the men could stop her.

Sansa, who had been lost in her melancholic thoughts, spared a moment to look up in confusion at Jaime’s words and by then it was too late for her escape. A man had grasped at the halter and stopped her horse in its tracks. He had a weapon that was some form of an axe. There was no way her dagger could hold up against the large weapon, even if she could get it out in enough time for it to be useful.

“We’ll be needing these horses and it’s four of us versus you. Your woman doesn’t look like she would be able to put up a fight, so she doesn’t count,” the woman said with a predatory smile at the Lannister knight.

“I think she looks mighty pretty and like she might be a good screamer,” the man at her legs said, gripping a dirty hand over her stocking clad leg that was peeking out from between the top of her boot and the end of her skirt while he eyed her up lewdly.

Jaime eyes flashed with indignant fury and he growled low in his throat. Over his dead body would he allow that on his watch. Sansa was his responsibility now and he’d promised to protect her whether she believed him or not. He just needed enough of a distraction to be able to pull his sword and then it wouldn’t matter how many men he was against, because with a sword in his hand there was no one who could stand against him, especially not this riff raff. If they had any real skill between them, he would be shocked.

Not again. Not again. Sansa’s thoughts kept repeating over and over. She wouldn’t let someone use her body like that again, not after Ramsey. Her heart was pounding in her ears and fear froze her limbs. She worked to keep the emotion from her face as she sought to delay them. “You are Free Folk. What use would you have for my horses?”

Another one of the men, who she thought might be the leader, laughed, “Your horses? I thought you kneelers didn’t let women own things. And we’ll be takin’ them as far south as we can go.”

Racing through trees

“Running from the white walkers then, are you? And these are horses from my family’s stable therefore they are mine rather than my companions,” she stated.

Leaping over shallow water

“Stable, what are you some fancy lady?” mocked the man holding her horse.

“Sansa,” Jaime warned.

Stalking through the ferns

She stared at them from under half-lidded eyes and a dangerous grin curled on her lips. “I don’t think you quite understand who I am or whose land you are on,” she said in a light voice that was completely incongruent with the situation they were in.

The woman was beginning to look nervous, but she was the only one.

“Kneelers are all the same but go ahead, tell me whose horse and life I’ll be stealing today,” the leader said dismissively.

A snarl on her face

“I’m Sansa Stark of Winterfell and it is Stark land you are on. If you would like to live, I would suggest you leave now,” she answered.

“A Stark? Starks haven’t scared the Free Folk in hundreds of years,” the leader had just enough time to laugh out before a streak of grey latched onto his neck, sharp teeth tearing at his throat and killing the laughter, while deadly claws gouged at the wildling’s stomach.

In the commotion, Jaime wasted no time in drawing his sword and driving it through the heart of the man who held him at knife point. He whirled to the man behind him that had a hold of Sansa, leaving the woman to Lady.

The man was just as dirty as the others. His hood fell back as he dropped the reins of Sansa’s horse and swung the large axe he possessed with both hands. Jaime jumped back hoping to lure the man and the sharp edge of the axe as far away from Sansa as he could. The wildling followed him and on his next swing, Jaime deflected the axe downward, burying it in the soft soil before sweeping his sword through the man’s throat on the upswing with a roar. It was such a quick movement that the man died with the same shocked look he’d worn when his weapon was deflected. He’d been the one to threaten to rape Sansa and Jaime was grimly satisfied to have caused the man’s death.

He checked on Sansa who had dismounted from her horse and was standing next to a snarling Lady who currently bared an unsettling resemblance to the Stark’s sigil. It was only the woman left now and while she still held a knife she had let go of his horse and backed away.

“I suggest you drop your weapon. It won’t help you against me,” Jaime said coldly, coming up to stand shoulder to shoulder with his betrothed. The dark-haired woman immediately dropped the dagger and Jaime’s advance was stopped by the soft grasp of Sansa’s hand on his sword arm. He glanced at back at her and she shook her head slightly, conveying to him to wait.

Sansa’s face had smoothed out into the stern lines she had worn as Queen in the North. The situation tugged at her memory. “What is your name?”

“Osha. If you give me my life, I’ll be yours, Lady Stark,” she pleaded, dropping to her knees on the forest floor.

Now she recognized the woman though they’d never met before. She was the wildling woman who had cared for and protected Rickon for years until Ramsey had murdered her. She would reward that kind of loyalty to her youngest brother and while she hoped Rickon would never need that kind of protection again there was only one of Sansa and neither she nor Jaime could be everywhere at once.

Jaime stared at his betrothed in bewilderment, she was going to spare the woman. He could see it in the calculation in her eyes, after all there would be no reason for her to scheme if she was merely going to let him kill the dark-haired wildling. “Sansa, you can’t be serious.”

“I happen to know that she and Rickon will get along quite well with each other,” she answered quietly with a raise of her eyebrows at her companion.

He sheathed his sword with a groan. “You’re very difficult to argue with, you know.”

“Probably best you learn that now rather than later, while there’s still time for you to escape me,” she teased.

“Ha! You’ve met my father, haven’t you? There’s no escaping our match now and I do a much better job protecting you when you stop trying to send me away.”

She smiled tenderly at him, and he would swear his heart skipped a beat, before racing ahead.

“Thank you, Jaime.”

He nodded, feeling too tongue-tied to answer her properly.

“Osha, in repayment for your attack you will come back to Winterfell with us. You’ll be safe there, even from white walkers, but there will be no funny business and if you attempt to harm any of my family, I will warn you now that all of my siblings also have direwolves and mine is, by far the tamest.”

“Aye Lady Stark,” Osha said, eyeing the still snarling direwolf warily.

“Lady Stark is my mother, the correct way to address me is Lady Sansa and as Jaime is a knight, the correct way to address him is Ser Jaime, until he takes up his family seat, in which case he would take up the title of Lord Lannister. I don’t expect you to know all that right now though,” she corrected gently while putting her skirts to right.

Jaime smirked at the woman who was cautiously standing up and eyeing him with recognition and not a little fear. He supposed it was a little flattering that even wildlings knew his name and deeds. Hopefully his reputation would keep the woman in line and if not, that Sansa’s knowledge proved accurate.

Chapter Text

After setting a maid on Osha to get her bathed and properly dressed, Sansa returned to her father’s solar to deal with her correspondence and clean the blood off Lady, only to be interrupted by Lord Lannister knocking lightly on the frame of the door.

“Come in, please,” she said, standing from her position. She had been crouched in front of Lady, wiping the blood from her snout and paws before it crusted and became impossible to remove without a full bath. Lady had been patiently sitting and daintily lifting each part to be cleaned for her mistress, but if she had to give her direwolf a full bath in the hot springs Sansa knew she wouldn’t be so nearly well behaved especially if any of the other direwolves decided to join her. Last time she’d bathed her wolf, she’d nearly been drowned in the hot springs again by her wolf’s desire to play and worse, Sansa had come out smelling like wet dog and had needed to take her own, thankfully separate, bath.

Tywin Lannister strolled confidently into the room, and it was only once he crossed halfway to her desk that she noticed another man in his shadow. He had short hair and was dressed in simple, but finely made clothes in the style of the Westerlands. His hair was white, but with his green eyes there was no mistaking him for anything other than a Lannister.

“Good evening, Lady Sansa. My brother, Kevan has just arrived from the Westerlands with Lannister soldiers and those mining experts we agreed to,” Tywin said stopping a few feet short of her. The sun was beginning to sink low on the horizon and Tywin frowned at the dim lighting in the room and lit another one of the wall sconces.

“Welcome to Winterfell, Ser Kevan. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Should you need anything to settle in please let me know,” she said sweetly, sweeping into a shallow curtsy before rising to her full height.

He nodded at her; his countenance warmer than his elder brother’s. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Sansa.”

Tywin intense gaze bored into her, searching for something as he asked, “Have you seen my son? I was hoping he might be in here with you.”

Sansa kept up her polite mask, determined not to give the Lannister lord whatever he was looking to find in her expression, and offered “I believe he went to bathe. There was an incident during our outing this afternoon and both he and Lady came back in need of a bath.” She gestured toward her Lady who was still a little pink around her snout, though she’d managed to get nearly all the blood off her paws.

“Tywin is that a direwolf?” his brother asked in a strangled tone.

Tywin looked smugly pleased again as he did whenever this topic arose. “Indeed, it is, Kevan. All of the younger Starks have one. This is Lady, she is Lady Sansa’s companion.”

Lady perked up at the sound of her name and her tail thumped on the stone floor. It would have been a more amusing and comforting sight if there wasn’t still red smeared on her snout.

Much like Jaime had done, Kevan Lannister looked halfway ready to defend her if necessary from the direwolf in the room. She wondered if that was where Jaime had acquired his knightly tendencies, since she certainly didn’t think they came from Tywin Lannister. It endeared the other man to her for all that she knew that he was blindly loyal to his older brother. She hadn’t been in King’s Landing when Kevan had been the hand of the king, but from all accounts he had provided both wise and candid counsel until Cersei had blown up the Great Sept.

“Perhaps, you might consider showing my brother how well-mannered your wolf is in the same way she convinced Jaime?” Tywin Lannister said with a smirk.

It didn’t take her but a moment to realize what he was implying, she closed her eyes briefly in mortification, and wanted to sink into the floor. Was she never going to live that down? Sansa could scarcely believe it, but she thought that Lord Lannister was teasing her, which she hadn’t realized he was even capable of.

Sansa caught Lady’s eye and then formed her hand into the pattern that her wolf would recognize as the correct signal. “Ser Kevan, if you would hold your hand out with the palm up?”

The Lannister man complied without question, though he did seem skeptical and Lady, with grace that belied her size, padded over to the man. She placed her large paw into his outstretched hand, bowed her head, and did her best approximation of a curtsy. Ser Kevan caught on quickly and greeted Lady as he would any noble human girl in a formal setting.

Kevan’s eyes gleamed with mirth and a small smirk played on his lips when he glanced back up at his brother. The tension had bled out from his frame and he said, “My apologies, Lady Sansa. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

She shrugged. “Your apology is unnecessary. Lady is a direwolf and I was just cleaning blood off of her. I can understand your apprehension. She’s well trained, but she is still a direwolf.”

Tywin interjected, “Did you take Lady out for a hunt while you were picnicking then? I take it she was successful if Jaime also needed to bathe.”

She shook her head. “We did take her with us, but the blood is from wildlings rather than game.”

“Are you and my son alright?” he asked, seemingly unconcerned. He expected that he would already know if either of them had been significantly injured.

“Yes, it wasn’t anything that Jaime and Lady couldn’t handle,” she answered simply.

Kevan was eyeing his brother and the young lady curiously. He’d never seen the Great Lion be so solicitous of anyone except on very rare occasions, his own family. And far be it from him to question his brother, but it sounded like Lady Sansa had been out in the woods with only his nephew and a wolf as company. He knew the Starks had a reputation for honesty, but the heir to Casterly Rock would be a prize too tempting to pass up for almost any family. It was practically an invitation to trap his heir into a marriage. Although, knowing how Ned Stark felt about his nephew, perhaps it wasn’t as large of a risk as he was worried about.

Tywin’s cold stare gleamed knowingly at his brother. “I was going to wait for Jaime, but since he’s not here, I’ll tell you anyway. You may have heard that I’ve finally pried that white cloak from my son’s shoulders.”

Kevan nodded along. “I did hear something about that on the way here.”

Tywin continued, “What you probably don’t know is that you’ve arrived in Winterfell just in time to attend both a betrothal feast and a wedding.”

Jaime breezed into the solar at that moment with wet hair and clean clothes. “Wolf Queen! I wanted to ask you, without the presence of our honored, but most filthy guest, if it was you who summoned Lady to our rescue?” he called out without checking the room.

“Hello nephew,” came Kevan Lannister’s dry voice.

Jaime whipped around to the amused faces of both his uncle and his father. Sansa hid her laughter behind her hand at his comically startled face. His mouth had dropped open and he looked almost embarrassed by the audience, though he hadn’t done anything aside from call her a ridiculous name.

“As I was saying Kevan, you’ve arrived just in time to see Jaime married to Lady Sansa in a little less than two moons’ turn,” Tywin said.

“Hello Uncle Kevan, I haven’t seen you in ages,” Jaime greeted the man with a smile and a brief one-armed hug after he got over his initial shock.

Jaime stepped back, but his uncle kept him at arm’s length with a sure grip on his nephew’s forearms. “It has been several years, but it seems like I’ll be the envy of all your aunts and uncles if I get to see you wed,” he said, his eyes twinkling at his nephew.

Jaime chuckled, “I take it then that father has already introduced you to Lady Sansa?”

“Uh huh and her delightfully well-mannered direwolf, too,” he answered with a smirk that made his similarities with Tywin Lannister even more apparent.

Jaime turned back towards Sansa. “Speaking of which, my lady, you never answered my question. Was it you who summoned Lady?”

She glanced at the newcomer in the room from under her lashes. He was a Lannister and as a rule she was wary to trust the ones she didn’t know. She replied lightly, “I did not and we had a conversation earlier during our picnic that would explain her timely arrival, Ser.”

Jaime blinked stupidly at her less than straight forward answer. It took a minute for him to parse out that she meant that Lady had come herself as a result of whatever impressions she had gleaned through their shared connection and another few seconds to determine that the reason she hadn’t just stated that was likely because of his uncle’s presence. However, as long as his father was on their side, Sansa had nothing to fear from Kevan, nor any of his other aunts or uncles. Even though some of them had their differences with his father they were all fiercely loyal to him and to his children too.

“So, Lady knew through your bond without you having to skinchange?” he clarified, both for his benefit and for their unexpected audience. At the completely blank look that gave none of her thoughts away, he coaxed, “My father already knows you can skinchange and you can trust my uncle, Sansa, he’s family.”

“As you say, Ser,” she said blandly and he could practically hear the “He’s your family, not mine,” that was left unspoken in her words. She always reverted to formality when she was uncomfortable or distrustful.

Tywin and Kevan looked on with poorly disguised curiosity. Tywin had assumed that she trusted them by now, at least a little bit since they knew what he imagined were nearly all of her secrets, but he supposed he should have also remembered that Jaime had told him that he wasn’t sure if she even trusted him.

“Sansa, he’s here on my father’s orders to help prepare for the threat to the North and you’ll be my wife soon enough. He’s not going to endanger you,” he entreated delicately nearly too quiet for his father and uncle to hear.

Her expression never changed and he all but gave up on convincing her when she asked, “Do you promise?”

“I’ll have him swear to it, my lady,” he assured her.

She shook her head, her windswept locks swaying with the movement and momentarily mesmerizing him. Her hands were tucked behind her back, but he could tell from the tension in her shoulders, that she was clenching them. “No, pardon my candor, but I don’t know him. I would trust your word though.”

Jaime was both flabbergasted and humbled. How was this woman real? She kept surprising him, first with her trust this morning and again just now. No one had ever trusted him like that, not his father, Tyrion, or even his sister Cersei. Her belief made him want to live up to the level of trust she was awarding him.

“Then I swear it, Lady Sansa,” he said without hesitation, something warm in both his gaze and tone.

Then he saw the glacially polite ice in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders melt from her, visible proof of her faith in him. “So, Lady came on her own,” he prompted.

“Yes, she was hunting beforehand, a rabbit I think, or at least that was the impression I received from her end,” she confirmed her hands coming to rest in front of her.

“That’s useful. How far of a distance do you think that would cover?” Tywin asked as if they hadn’t just had a private conversation in front of him.

She tilted her head and frowned ruefully. “I don’t know, our awareness of each other is a more recent development. I’ve never had cause to test it at a distance.”

“What are we talking about?” Kevan asked, completely confused by the topic of conversation, since he didn’t have any context.

“Warging or skinchanging. Lady Sansa and her wolf, as well as her siblings, all have the ability to connect with their direwolves. Apparently, it is a Stark family trait that sometimes gets passed down,” Tywin matter-of-factly clarified for his brother.

“I thought such an ability was just a myth,” he said with a hint of wonder as he looked over at his future good niece. Now he knew why his brother seemed so thrilled with the match and so solicitous of the young woman.

“So did we. Despite what Lord Lannister believes, I’ve no idea if it is passed along to every generation or whether the ability skips some generations, but it always shows up most often in the Stark bloodline in the North,” she said.

“When’s the last time a Stark married a Lannister?” Kevan asked, directing the question to his brother.

“Not since before the conquest and it wasn’t a mainline Stark, but a distant cousin,” Tywin answered the query with a gleaming avaricious stare.

Kevan hummed. “It sounds like a very useful ability to have in the family even if it does skip generations.”

“It is, Lady very likely saved both our lives from a group of four wildlings that attacked us this morning to steal our horses so that they could travel south faster,” Jaime interjected, affectionately scratching behind the wolf’s ears.

“Truly?” Kevan asked.

Lady whined when he momentarily stopped scratching. Jaime rolled his eyes at her and started the motion back up. “Yes, she took down the leader and caused enough of a distraction for me to pull my sword.”

Sansa met the Great Lion’s intense gaze. “I kept one of them alive and brought them back to work at Winterfell. Tomorrow, you may question her about the white walkers as long as you keep it to gentle interrogation. She promised herself to me and I don’t allow the torture of people whose loyalty is mine.”

Tywin nodded, but his eyes flashed with pleasure. He was satisfied all over again with Lady Sansa. That she had the wherewithal to make demands of him even while she wasn’t with her father, to protect her assets, proved that he’d made the correct choice for his son and House. “Excellent. I will keep to your request and we’ll take our leave of you so that you may continue with whatever work you were doing before we interrupted.”

“Thank you and please do let Lady Stark or I know if there is anything you need for your stay in Winterfell,” she said, nodding specifically at Kevan Lannister.

Jaime glanced back and forth between her and his family. She grinned at him and said, “Go on and catch up with your uncle. I’ve correspondence to attend to anyway.”

“You’re alright after this morning?” he asked, looking over her face and form carefully.

Her grin softened into a gentle smile. “Yes, I’m alright. Thanks to you and Lady. I’ve dealt with far worse. Now go on.” That didn’t reassure him at all, but Jaime let it go, knowing that she wouldn’t want to discuss it any further.

She shooed him away with a hand and when he scampered off after his father and uncle she sat back at her desk to deal with the letters she needed to address. She picked up the one from her Uncle Benjen and slid a letter opener under the wax seal. He’d never written to her before and it was frowned upon for members of the Night’s Watch to have contact with their families, though occasionally as a Stark, Uncle Benjen was granted a few minor privileges. She smoothed out the scroll and began reading.

Dear Neice,

I hope this letter finds you well. The Lord Commander sent you a formal missive requesting information on anything the Starks may know about activity north of the Wall and gave me leave to contact you to explain things. He was worried about the message being intercepted by other Watchmen, whereas my communications would not be so heavily scrutinized. I’m not sure if your father told you, but there has been an increase of wildlings crossing the Wall and deserters from the Watch. They all cite white walkers as the reason for their respective crossings and desertions. The Watch doesn’t necessarily believe these wild tales but would like to be prepared for any eventuality.

When the Kingslayer visited the Wall, he indicated that you might have more knowledge on the subject. If you can remember any scraps from the tales you’ve heard on the subject, both I and the Watch, would be grateful if you could send the information as soon as possible.

Benjen Stark

First Ranger of the Night’s Watch

Sansa put the raven’s scroll to the side and pondered the message. She hadn’t been aware that the Night’s Watch had any knowledge of the reason for the unusual activity along the Wall. It certainly made the earlier, more cryptic message Winterfell had received from the Lord Commander make more sense. All that letter had requested were any reports or documents pertaining to the threats north of the Wall.

She grabbed a piece of parchment, dipped a quill in ink, and contemplated her response and how much she could get away with knowing.

Uncle Benjen,

I am reliably informed on the information that you and the LC have requested. I’m sorry that I don’t have any evidence for that claim at the moment. I don’t know what Ser Jaime told you, but the threat is real and can be defeated with fire, dragonglass, and Valyrian steel. While WW are a cause for alarm, you should be most concerned about their legendary King who can raise any number of more wights and WW from the fallen on our side, instantly. The only saving grace is that the bulk of them are wights which are very slow moving and without higher thought.

Be very careful beyond the Wall uncle and should you meet a Free King there, don’t antagonize them, they could temporarily provide a valuable resource to the Watch, or should the Watch not want to deal with them then Winterfell will treat with them. Address their concerns to Robb or me, as the Starks acting in father’s stead.  

There are only two sides in the coming conflict, the living or the dead. Winter is coming and it will be a far more deadly one if there is already fighting among the living. As always, House Stark is committed to guarding the realms of Men.

Lady Sansa Stark

The Stark in Winterfell

Sansa worried her bottom lip for a moment before deciding that the letter would have to be good enough as she’d written it. It was vague enough so that if it were intercepted there was little chance that someone would understand it without the benefit of reading the initial missive. It would have been better if she and Uncle Benjen had set up a code beforehand while he was here, but she’d hardly seen the man outside of the occasional mealtime and she hadn’t any clue that the Watch’s leadership was in any way aware of the real threat. Even with her father backing up her claims, she had seriously doubted that the Night’s Watch would listen to a girl about a mystical threat they didn’t believe in.

Now that they had requested her help though, she was free to let them know whatever information she could remember and to hopefully set up lines of communication with the Free Folk and deprive the Night King of soldiers. She hadn’t the slightest idea where she’d settle them if the Watch wouldn’t use them to man their other watch towers, but better they be alive on this side of the Wall than dead on the other.

Robb came in while she was dusting powder on the letter to dry the ink. “Have you seen Ser Rodrick lately? I need to coordinate with him on possible combined training with the Westerlands’ men.”

“I have not seen him in several days,” she answered while rolling the parchment up and sealing it with the direwolf crest of House Stark.

Robb sighed. “Alright and thank you for looking over the correspondence. You’re much better at communicating through written word than I am.”

She raised a brow. “It’s an important skill and you’ll be the Lord of Winterfell one day.” A grin curled at her lips as she continued, “I would be more than happy to tutor you in it.”

Robb waved his hands in front of himself. “Ah, that’s alright. Like I said I have men to coordinate and important things to do,” he said backing out of the room.

When he was out of sight, she snickered to herself and then pulled her father’s letter toward her and reread the message, before beginning a reply.

Sansa,

Your sister and I are settling into the Tower of the Hand comfortably and I managed to find that dancing instructor you mentioned some time ago for your sister. She comes back tired but happy from those lessons. I remember what you told me before I left about the nature of everyone in the capital. I am carefully following your advice on those matters which we discussed.

I’ve been cleaning up Flea Bottom and looking into the Crown’s finances, both have been left in a sorry state since the last time I was in the capital. The Faith of the Seven is also unhappy that Robert chose someone for the Hand position that doesn’t believe in the New Gods. I have not managed to make any headway on the silver problems in Essos, unfortunately.

I’ve reviewed and removed the fire hazards from the city before the onset of winter. I’ll have to inform Ser Barristan to update the White Book after my large-scale heroic removal efforts are completed.

I miss you all and trust that the North is in good hands.

Eddard Stark

Hand of the King and Lord of Winterfell

Father,

I’m sure with her lessons that Arya will be one of the best dancers on the continent. I would continue your work in Flea Bottom carefully, many in the capital resist any change whether it is good or bad. There is a little Lion headed your way that could potentially help you with your bookkeeping. As for the Seven, the only advice I have at this time is to remind them how tolerant you are of the faith in the North. The silver surplus in Essos is a problem, especially if it makes its way to Westeros. It is vital that you find a way to either end it or mitigate the other three problems it has the potential to birth.  

The far North is stirring and the Watch has sent a request for information that I’ve answered. I also renewed our pledge to support the shielding of the realms of men. Should the situation become more complicated than I hope, I will send a runner with more details. Also, our end of the contract with Lord Lannister will be completed by the end of the next moon’s turn.

Sansa Stark

The Stark in Winterfell

P.S. I’ll ask Ser Jaime whether or not he thinks your efforts constitute a page in the White Book, even though you aren’t a knight or a Kingsguard, but he’s pretty arrogant for a knight so he might think his deeds are more heroic than yours.

Sansa prepared to send this letter too. There wasn’t much she could do about the Spider or Littlefinger getting their grubby hands on it, but like her other one, she spoke carefully about the issues that were raised and hoped that it was obscure enough to at least temporarily confuse the other major players of the game. She doubted that they would understand the messages on the Targaryens or about the removal of wildfire from their words. Varys might find out or guess based on other information he’d gathered, but it wouldn’t be from her.

If she was reading her father’s letter correctly, he was willing to have the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard update the White Book for Jaime and let it be known that he’d saved potentially a half million people by killing the Mad King. It wouldn’t atone for the damage her Lord Father had done when he’d derisively sneered Kingslayer at the young knight who had forsaken his honor to slay a dragon and save an entire city’s worth of lives, but it was a start.

Chapter Text

Candlelight flooded the Great Hall as representatives from a dozen of the closest vassal houses in the North and a few of the more important members of the Lannisters’ guards that had arrived over the past few sennights were present throughout the hall, eating, drinking, and being merry in the rambunctious, unorganized way that only the North feasted. Food was abundant on the tables. The laughter and swelling of conversations were loud in the room and spilled out into the halls and through the moonlit windows. Despite the short notice, nearly all of the northern lords had shown up. Sansa had caught sight of every major house except the Reeds from Greywater Watch. Her blood had frozen in her veins when she had glimpsed Lord Bolton in the crowd along with a few of his men. It infuriated her that he and Tywin Lannister were in the same room. Thankfully, there hadn’t been any secret or interested looks between the two lords.

As honored guests from House Lannister, Lord Tywin, Jaime, and Kevan were sitting at the high table with the Starks, who were currently in Winterfell, politely conversing with each other and her family. Sansa was thankful that all the members of both families, all the way down to Rickon, seemed to be behaving and enjoying the feast. Sansa had managed to cajole her mother into allowing the direwolves as a show of strength since their father was in King’s Landing. At one point, she’d caught sight of Nymeria with too intelligent eyes and had to suppress a grin. Arya never had liked being left out of the fun; leave it to her to attend as a she-wolf instead of attired as a lady. Mother would have a fit if she knew.

When the dessert plates were cleared away by the serving staff and the guests were only drinking, Sansa motioned for Bran, who had slipped out of his seat to mingle with the other children near his age, to come closer to where she was still seated. When he bounded over, Sansa tugged him even closer, so that his ear was right next to her lips and whispered softly enough that only he could hear, “You remember what we talked about? It’s in my room, lying on top of the dresser. Be careful walking with it. It isn’t heavy, but it’s long, and you haven’t had your growth spurt yet. And remember to wait for my signal to enter so we can do it exactly like we talked about.”

Bran grinned widely and nodded enthusiastically, before schooling his features into something decidedly less manic. Sansa watched him fondly as he skirted the edge of the hall and weaved around their guests. She had asked Bran to help her because he was the other Stark child who had most cherished the stories, even if his interests lay more in the heroes rather than tales of romance as hers once did. Though she hadn’t told him precisely what it was that he was bringing in, he had been eager to help as soon as she had mentioned that it was a gift for Ser Jaime.

Jaime glanced where Sansa was watching so intently and then tapped her hand to get her attention. “Is it time for gifts then?”

“Yes, I think it’s about time. If we let this lot get any drunker than it will be too rowdy to hear anything,” she answered, gesturing at a table where there were sounds of uproarious laughter and dozens of empty mugs.

“Excellent. I would like to go first, if you don’t mind?” he asked with a squeeze of his hand. He hadn’t noticed that he had intertwined their hands together. When she nodded her agreement, he stood up, releasing her fingers reluctantly. He stepped down from the high table and tapped loudly on his metal cup. It took several moments for the people in the hall to hear the metallic noise over their dinner conversations, but once they did, a wave of quiet fell over the hall. The guests’ attention pivoted to the standing Lannister man. Then he gestured for Sansa to stand with him, several feet in front of the high table.

Jaime smiled warmly at the people in the hall and then turned so that he was angled slightly toward his betrothed. He spoke loudly and clearly so that he could be heard throughout the entirety of the Great Hall, though he made it obvious exactly who he was truly addressing. “Thank you all for being here and celebrating with us. In the Westerlands, we exchange gifts at the Betrothal Feast rather than at the Wedding Breakfast, as is the custom in many other parts of Westeros. I know that soon I will steal your daughter of the North away, but I know that I could never completely take the North out of a Northern woman.”

Jaime subtly nodded to an auburn-haired man behind his betrothed. Jaime took one of Sansa’s hands and ensured that her eyes were on him as the man, Addam Marbrand, and a few others brought his gift up to the front of the room by the high table, but behind Sansa. The guests went dead silent as they saw what was being placed behind her. “Sansa, I know that many of the customs and practices may be different in my homeland, but I wouldn’t have you uncomfortable or unfamiliar with everything there.”

He grasped her elbow and gently turned her to look at the gift and said, “So my gift to you is a bit of your homeland to take with you. There are seven weirwood saplings and a mix of seeds for a few dozen other types of flora common in the North that should still be capable of growing in the Westerlands.”

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. In front of her were seven saplings as tall or taller than her, each planted in its own container. Along with the saplings, there was a large ornate box that she realized must contain the seeds he’d mentioned. The seed box itself was an exquisite work of art, much too fine for its intended purpose. It depicted a scene from one of the northern forests, complete with a variety of northern trees, one of which was a weirwood set along a twisting stream. She ran her fingers along the inlaid mother of pearl that was used for the drifts of snow and then over the tiny clusters of sparkling rubies that were used for the red of the weirwood trees' leaves, and what she could only guess was lapis lazuli for the deep blue stream.

Pulling out a scroll from a pocket, he handed that over to her, too. “This is the deed to the land between the Rock and Lannisport. It is an area of approximately 150 acres deeded to your name, so that you might have a proper Godswood around our home.”

She untied the gold ribbon, unrolled the document, and skimmed through it to see that it was exactly as he had said. A large plot of land listed solely in her name, which would be passed down through her line. “Jaime,” she breathed out, and the guests broke out into excited whispers and cheerful chatter.

He stepped up behind her and whispered, only for her ears, “It’s so that the gods that brought you to me may continue to watch over us and any children we may have.”

Sansa’s heart stuttered in her chest, and she turned around to face him. Tears glistened in her eyes as she said, “Thank you, Jaime. This is a very generous gift. I thought I would need to find a small corner on the grounds to plant a single weirwood tree, and that it would take years to have anything significant since I would have to start from scratch. Where did you even get these saplings?”

“The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch was very thankful for both mine and your help, and they let me pick seven saplings from Brandon’s Gift,” he said, guiding her over by the trees. She inspected the saplings. They were all about five to seven feet tall and planted in large clay pots. All the saplings had a few small limbs with their characteristic blood red leaves growing. Sansa rubbed one of the leaves through her fingers and smiled down at the familiar smooth texture.

 Out of the corner of Sansa’s eye, she saw Bran peek his head through the Great Hall’s doors. She held up two fingers to him, and he nodded, slipping his head back behind the door. Sansa glanced around and smiled at the Lannister men who had brought her gift to the front. Nodding to the man who appeared in charge, she asked quietly, “Could you have these moved to the side of the room, please, so that I may present my gift to Ser Jaime?”

“Of course, my lady,” said the auburn-haired man, and he and the men next to him moved forward to move the saplings over.

She watched them, finding it difficult to look away from the thoughtful gift that Jaime had gotten for her. He’d given her a piece of her homeland and the Old Gods to take with her when they left Winterfell. She had always thought that the story of her Father building a sept for her southern Mother was romantic, and similarly, Jaime had gifted her that same thing. She wondered if he knew the story of the sept on-site or not. She knew he hadn’t meant the gift to be romantic, but she found it hard to think that it wasn’t.

Sansa tugged Jaime back toward where he’d had her stand. She positioned them so that there was a direct line from them to the doors. Then she watched the doors carefully, and when they cracked open this time, she held up her right hand to silence the room. The quiet fell a little faster this time, and everyone craned their necks to listen to Sansa. “My lord was very generous to me, and I hope that my gift will be equally well received by him and his family.”

At the start of her speaking, Bran and Summer slipped into the room with a long parcel wrapped in silky black cloth. When he neared the front of the room, Sansa stepped forward a dozen or so steps to meet him. She took the gift from Bran and turned around, careful not to drop the parcel as she made her way back toward Jaime. She took another step forward, held the gift lengthwise across both of her hands, bowed from the waist, her long copper hair tumbling forward, and offered the cloth-wrapped package to the knight.

“This is my gift to you, but truthfully, it already belongs to you, Ser,” she said, her sweet voice somber but ringing clearly in the absolute quiet of the hall, though she didn’t lift her head even an inch. Quiet mutters broke out.

Jaime glanced down at the parcel and then at the young woman in confusion. Part of the cloth was folded back from the parcel partially to unveil hints of a leather and metal sheath. Had she gifted him a sword? It was guaranteed he’d like it, of course, but he probably had a half dozen swords to his name already. Besides, none of that explained the ceremonial display she had set up. He smiled and opened his mouth to thank her, but she met his gaze through her lashes and shook her head at him.

“Unsheathe it, Ser Jaime,” she directed, still speaking much more solemnly than he thought she should for the occasion.

With a puzzled little frown, he dipped his hand into the swathe of draped black silky fabric and found the grip. He felt a roar sweep through his blood when his sword hand encircled the grip of the blade. With his left hand, he grabbed the sheath and pulled the sword out in the safe, controlled manner he’d been taught as a young boy. It was lighter than he expected. With every inch revealed, Jaime felt his eyes go wider. By the time the sword had been pulled completely from the scabbard, the room was so quiet that the cackling wood in the fireplace could be heard from across the room.

There was a loud scraping sound of wood on stone. Tywin Lannister had stood up from his chair with an absolutely confounded look on his face. He looked struck dumb. It was perhaps the most emotion he’d seen from his father since before his mother died. It might have been more comical if he weren’t certain he was wearing the same look on his face. Even the members of the Stark family who were old enough to understand, aside from Jon, who seemed to be smiling knowingly, were stunned, and gazing at the gift in wide-eyed wonder.

Jaime dropped his gaze back down to the sword in his hand. “Lady Sansa, is this-” Jaime couldn’t bring himself to finish asking his question. He was still staring disbelievingly, unable to look away, at the sword in his hand. The pommel was a lion’s head, and the blade had the tell-tale ripple pattern of Valyrian Steel.

She straightened herself to her full height gracefully and answered, “This is Brightroar. The ancestral sword of House Lannister. It was said to be found in the Lands of the Long Summer and came in on the first ship to dock in Wolves’ Haven.”

A cacophonous roar spread throughout the room as all the gathered guests began to speak over each other, but Jaime could only focus on the sword in his hand and the woman in front of him. “How did you get a trader to part with it?”

“The captain told me that the sword did not sing for him, and he thought it would be happier in my hands, so it was gifted to me. I did not have to persuade him at all,” she said with a shrug, not wanting to bring up that the captain had witnessed her assault and been prompted to give her the sword by that event. She didn’t need to remind her overprotective betrothed of that event during such a joyful celebration.

Tywin came up from behind his son, clapped his hand on Jaime’s shoulder, and murmured so only his son could hear, “Your little Wolf Queen is shaping up to be my favorite child already.”

Jaime grinned at his father, who still appeared stunned and overwhelmed, and said, “I think this is the best gift I’ve ever received. You’ll have to step up your gift-giving game, Father, if you want to compete.”

Tywin said, “Lady Sansa, if this is the type of favor your Gods bestow, you may have an entire forest of weirwoods if you would like.”

She assumed Lord Lannister was japing and laughed, “I’m glad you like it, my lords, but surely it’s not worth an entire forest? The plot of land I was gifted is plenty.”

Tywin stared at the sword in Jaime’s hands with covetous green eyes. “Lady Sansa, it is said the weight in gold that the Kings of the Rock originally paid for Brightroar would have been enough to raise an army, and the sword has been lost to our House for more than three hundred years. If you want an entire forest of sacred trees or some other outrageous extravagance, it is yours,” Tywin answered.

 She furrowed her brow and rocked back on her heels. Sansa glanced at Tywin's serious expression and then caught Jaime’s still-awed face.

“He’s not joking, Sansa. Should you wish for something even if it is wildly expensive, either of us will happily procure it for you,” Jaime stated, reading the question in her incredulous expression.

Sansa schooled her expression and shook her head. “The sword belongs to your House. I did no more than return it to its rightful owners. It is my betrothal gift to Jaime, and I need no further thanks or payment,” she said and then politely excused herself back to her seat.

Jaime went to follow her, but his father held him back for a moment. Quietly, Tywin ordered, “Don’t screw this up, Jaime. You make sure that her loyalty is always to you first. We both offered her any extravagance she could think of, and she refused it without pause. You’re going to be a very lucky man by association if this is the type of favor her gods gift her.”

Jaime was beginning to understand, though he wasn’t sure that his father did yet. Lady Sansa did not want any material gift in return, and if he was correct, she had been mildly offended by the offer. She didn’t care for expensive jewels or gowns, and she hadn’t given him Brightroar because of the potential cost of the gift either. She had given it back to him because she knew it meant something to him and his House. It was similar to the reason she had gifted him her cloak. It was a fine quality cloak, but she had given it to him to be thoughtful and to give him something that would be useful to him. Lady Sansa did not want his wealth in return; she wanted his consideration, his care, and thoughtfulness. It was different from what he was used to people wanting from him, but he thought he could give her that.

His Uncle Kevan came up to him then and raised a brow. “Are you just going to hold that sword like a lackwit or are you going to ask her to dance, nephew?”

Jaime stopped his appraisal of her, blinked as though the thought had never occurred to him before passing the sword off to his father with a firm, “I believe you’re right. Please excuse me,” he said as he strode over to her with determination, remembering that she’d once told him how much she enjoyed dancing.

One of her brothers, Rob, the oldest, had already waylaid Sansa and pulled her into one of the Northern country dances. She was smiling gaily at her brother, who was pretending to be put out, and Jaime had no reason to interrupt her joy, so he waited for the song to change to one of the Southern dances that he was more familiar with. He appeared at her elbow, nodded at her brother, and offered his hand to her.

“Would you care to dance with me? It would be a shame if I didn’t get to dance with the loveliest lady here at my own betrothal feast,” he teased her, a grin creeping onto his lips when she appeared surprised at his request. Surely she hadn’t thought he wouldn’t dance with her at the celebration held in honor of their betrothal.

When he caught Robb’s eye, her brother nodded back in approval of his actions and handed his sister off to him without pause. Jaime took her slim hand and tugged her closer, his other hand resting on her waist. Unlike the previous dance, this one was partnered, and he had no intention of relinquishing her to anyone else during it.

He led her into the first steps of the dance. “I don’t think I thanked you for my gift yet.” He whirled her into a spin, and when she came back to him, he said, “Thank you, Sansa. It is a wonderful gift.”

She smiled sweetly up at him. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”

He snorted and moved across the floor with purpose while she followed his steps seamlessly. “Of course I like it. That sword was practically a myth of my House. While I was growing up, I often played pretend that I’d found the sword and used it to slay all sorts of imaginary monsters.”

She pressed her head into his shoulder to hide her giggles. She bet he had been adorable. She could just picture him as a boy of five or six with messy blond hair, mischievous eyes, and a little wooden practice sword pretending to slay dragons, tigers, and bears.

He kept careful watch so that they wouldn’t bump into anyone as she shook with mirth against him. “You’re laughing, but I was always running off to try to save some princess or guard a king from assassins. It’s better than I imagined, though. Brightroar was said to be a greatsword, but by modern standards, it is built more like a longsword.”

Sansa hummed at him, and he smiled ruefully. “Which you don’t care about, of course. I’ll save the sword talk for Uncle Kevan.”

She gave a slight shrug, her lips still curved faintly upwards. “I don’t mind listening. It’s nice to see how happy you are while talking about it, but if you want informed responses, then both Jon and Bran would also be ecstatic to talk sword particulars with you.”

“Still, I don’t want to bore you and not many women enjoy talking about swords,” he said, twirling her out in another spin.

It was her turn to let out a snort. “In the Stark family? I fear I may be outnumbered. Reportedly, Aunt Lyanna liked swords, and so does Arya.”

He laughed softly at her observation. “Yes, but it’s not your favorite topic, so let’s switch. Will you tell me more about how the sword came to you?”

She pressed her lips together. “I don’t exactly know. It never showed up previously. I do know the ship was sent by the Martells. I don’t think our engagement is well known outside of the North, as I know my Father intended to keep quiet about it, but I can’t picture the Martells giving me such a boon. It’s not like I’m known for swordsmanship or even outside of the North at all. They may want something, but as there was no mention from either Sunspear or the Captain of any conditions, I’m unsure of the purpose.”

“Was it just presented to you?” he asked with a confused frown.

She paused.

“Sansa,” he said, tightening his hold on her waist.

She wrinkled her nose and sighed deeply. “Fine, you’d find out anyway if you asked Jon. It happened right after I was attacked in Wolves’ Haven. The man attacked me at the docks as the first ship came in, and apparently, the captain of the ship saw and presented the sword to me while I was still covered in my assailant’s blood.”

Jaime huffed out a startled and disbelieving laugh. “Dornish men. They do love fierce women. They completely lose their heads over them. Can’t say I blame the captain, though; you’re the type of beauty the minstrels write songs about.”

She furrowed her brows and frowned. “I wouldn’t know. I never had very much contact with any of the Dornish, even while they were at court. I was very isolated. It makes me a little nervous not to know what to expect from Sunspear.

“Cheer up, Wolf Queen. None of that will happen now. Especially not after you’re my wife,” he said, pulling her a little closer to him.

She gave him a half-smile. “I hope you are right.”

He shook his head at her in bemusement. “Sansa, I’m fairly certain you’re Father’s favorite child now. I’m more worried that he’s going to quietly do away with me after we’ve secured the succession, so he doesn’t have to put up with my foolishness.”

She grinned fondly and didn’t bring up that Tywin and most of the other Lannisters had died in her previous timeline or the dozen other dangers she was worried about. Tonight was not the time for that. It was a betrothal feast in her honor, so for one night, she could let herself forget about all the problems and complications the future might hold and be joyful to be celebrating with her family.

The dance was coming to a close, and Sansa was so beautiful staring up at him with an infectious grin that if they weren’t in public, and the center of attention this evening, he would have kissed her again. He was still tempted, despite how uncouth it would be.

Reluctantly, he released her when the song stopped. Many men were eying her from the edges of the room to dance. Jon came to her first, and she laughingly took his hands, teasing him about shared dance lessons in their youth. Jaime smiled after her and went to mingle with his father and uncle. Dance after dance, he watched her father’s bannermen spin her around the floor. He vaguely recognized an Umber, Flint, two of the Karstark boys, and a Cerwyn dance with her until she was flushed with exertion, cheeks a fetching pink under the candlelight. She stumbled off the dance floor after a particularly fast country dance with another northern boy, giggled with a few girls her age, and pushed them towards the dance floor while she took her seat again to rest.

Ignoring the conversation around him, he watched Sansa surreptitiously from underneath his lashes while she was talking lightly with one of her father’s lords and holding the smallest of her brothers in her lap. She had told him that she’d learned the lesson over and over that life was not a song. He had thought that he had learned it long ago, too, but he wondered if Sansa had considered that her finding and gifting him his ancestral sword was exactly like a song. She had even gone to the trouble of presenting it ceremonially, though the North was a largely informal place, especially for that type of knightly pageantry.

Her brother tugged on a loose tendril of her eye-catching hair and chattered up at her. She smiled brightly down at him and kissed his forehead, love and affection so apparent on her face that it lit up her entire being. She made for a lovely picture, so joyful with a child that looked like her in her hands. She looked just like a song, like the songs he had dreamed of when he still allowed himself to dream of such things, so radiant in his eyes that he wondered if she was his song, the one he had long given up on waiting for.

Chapter Text

Something was dreadfully wrong. Everything on Sansa hurt. The back of her head pounded fiercely, her limbs felt too heavy, her fingers were cold and tingling unpleasantly, and whatever was moving underneath her was turning the dread in her stomach into nausea. She tried to focus on the rhythmic sensations underneath her to identify where she was, but couldn’t concentrate through the pain and nausea. Not even the soft, cool wind on her face was enough to quell the queasiness. Her mouth was parched, like she’d slept for days instead of hours, and she felt mildly dehydrated. She was sure that she hadn’t drunk more than a single glass of wine with dinner, though. Certainly not enough to give her a hangover.

Keeping her eyes squeezed tightly shut, she attempted to recall what could have happened. The last thing she remembered was leaving the feast to put Rickon to bed. He’d fallen asleep in her lap during the revelry, and she had carried his warm, drowsy form towards his room with Shaggydog and Lady following along after them. Gluttonous as she’d been throughout the feast, Lady had been lethargic too, too well-fed at the feast from all the table scraps she’d been fed from the Lannisters’ own hands. She’d had to hide a smile at one point in the evening at the sight of the terrifying Lord Tywin Lannister covertly feeding a pleased Lady a piece of roast pheasant and scratching behind her ears. Between Jaime and his father, they were going to spoil her direwolf rotten and steal all her affection from her. She had noticed that both of them had begun providing more treats to Lady after the encounter with the wildlings. Sansa could only guess that they were both grateful for Lady’s assistance.

As well fed and tired as she was, Sansa had left Lady to curl up beside Shaggydog in Rickon’s room, satisfied to know that her littlest brother would be as safe as he could be with all the bannermen and strangers in Winterfell. Anyone who thought the boy was an easy target would likely die painfully for their mistake. She did not doubt that Shaggydog would gleefully rend any intruder limb from limb and that Lady would gladly make room in her overstuffed belly for the entrails.

After tucking Rickon in and leaving a soft kiss on his unruly curls, she had gone to turn in for the evening herself, content to let her family and the Lannister men in her household continue celebrating without her. Rambunctious laughter from the Great Hall drifted down the corridors, and Sansa smiled at the sounds of joy ringing through her home. Based on prior experience, Sansa was willing to bet that the party would go on for several more hours, but she couldn’t stay up that late. Her mind drifted to all the tasks she needed to accomplish tomorrow as she strolled to her bedroom. There was too much work for her to do the next day between reworking the logistics of building up the Northern Navy now that Lord Manderly and Robb had met about the issue and a scheduled meeting with the group of surveyors from the Westerlands about the feasibility of mining the dragonglass under Winterfell. The last thing she remembered was entering her room; the hearth had been dark, and then nothing else.

Outside of the sensations of cold and uncomfortable she felt, Sansa’s other senses slowly began to work, and with mounting panic, her ears picked up a multitude of sounds she shouldn’t be experiencing: horse hooves on dirt, men talking in the background, and someone’s warm breath near her ear. She also became aware that she was slumped back against something hard and warm.

Her eyes fluttered open and then promptly clamped shut as the bright rays of sunlight hit her directly in the eyes. That meant they were headed nearly due east, which she knew ought to mean something to her, but her thoughts were slippery at the moment, like trying to catch silvery little minnows with her bare hands. She flinched reflexively and groaned; the sensation only made the pounding pain in her head and the nausea crawling up her throat worse. Whatever was behind her moved in response, and a soft, masculine voice several feet to the left of her stated, “Good morning, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa turned her head toward the voice and cautiously cracked her eyes open. She went to rub her hands over her eyes to wipe the sleep from them, but discovered, to her consternation, that they were restrained and tied to the saddle, which explained the tingling numbness in her fingers. She settled for blinking a half dozen times until her blurred vision cleared. Her senses were still swimming, but she’d recognize that man’s face anywhere.

“Lord Bolton, a pleasure, I’m sure. What is the meaning of this?” she croaked out, her voice hoarse from waking. She swallowed and coughed lightly into her shoulder to clear her throat. Idly, she noted that the cloak she was wrapped in was made from black wool and therefore not hers. She winced as the sunlight continued to stab into her eyes, and she fought the urge to gag. Based on her continued sensitivity to the sunlight, the dizziness, nausea, and the terrible ringing in her ears, she noted that she likely had a concussion.

If not for his disconcertingly pale, ghostly grey eyes, the lack of expression on Roose Bolton's face would have marked him as an Other. His voice was naturally soft, but there was no gentleness to his cold voice as he spoke, “Many of your father’s bannermen are upset that yet another Stark woman will be lost to the south when there are so many Northern sons to choose from. House Bolton is rectifying that oversight of your father’s.”

Before she had a chance to formulate a response, the only man’s voice in existence that had the power to freeze her blood in her veins just from the sound of it came from behind her. “Our heart tree has been whispering your name, Lady Sansa. It seems like quite the slap in the face to the northern houses to have a Winter Queen married into the Lannisters, a house your father loudly disdains,” the familiar voice mocked. Sweat broke out along her temple and down the back of her neck.

She held stock still as Ramsay Snow breathed the next words directly into her ear, “Sansa Stark, Queen of Winter, The Last Stark in Winterfell.”

Sansa clenched her numb fingers, using the resulting pins and needles sensation to fight not to react further to hearing the words of the Old Gods from his lips. Ramsay thrived on chaos and fear, and if she showed him hers, he’d never stop tormenting her.

“It appears that even the Old Gods agree that you should be the last Stark left,” Ramsay said, and Sansa could hear the malicious grin on his lips in his voice. He chuckled, and the sound of his laughter sent a rush of fear so overpowering through her that she felt dizzy from the onslaught. Not again. Not her family. Not Robb. Not her mother. Not Rickon. She’d promised not to fail them again. She’d promised the Old Gods, and she’d promised herself, too. She couldn’t fail.

The terror she felt washed away any lingering tiredness. Her head still pained her, and there was still the sense of disorientation present, but her heart was racing in her chest. Why had Ramsay used that title? Had the Old Gods switched her title back to the first set they had given her? Last time the trees had named her in Winterfell, just after Bran had fallen, they’d called her the Red Wolf instead of the Last Stark. Did it mean she had failed somehow, or had the Boltons only heard that first title? And why had her name been whispered to the Boltons at all? They were dangerous to the task that the Old Gods had entrusted her with. She knew it couldn’t have been whispered at all of the weirwood trees in the North, because none of the other northern lords had mentioned it or even paid her more attention than she would have expected.

She promptly shut her mouth and was gratified that the Boltons didn’t try to engage her in any more conversation, nor did Ramsay do anything but ride behind her and make the occasional, veiled, unsettling comment. He was seemingly on good behavior. Which made her wonder what Roose Bolton had done to keep him in check, because this was the longest stretch of time she’d seen him behave himself. There weren’t even nasty remarks when she’d had to eat with her hands tied together, nor did his hands stray anywhere inappropriate. The unusual calm unnerved her. She kept waiting for his usual cruelty to surface.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have to physically be doing anything to frighten her. Despite her outward composure, Sansa had to fight not to fall headfirst into the horrifying memories of when she had been his wife. The memories clawed at her mind, and it was taking all her energy to keep them at bay. Just his presence at her back was threatening enough to cause goose bumps to skitter down her neck and arms, and his breath at the nape of her neck caused shivers and terror that made her want to bolt in mindless terror like a startled horse.

She tried to focus on other things to keep the tide of panic from overwhelming her. However, the pounding pain in her head and lingering confusion made it difficult for her to understand the Boltons’ motives. Since her father and all of her brothers were still alive, she couldn’t quite grasp why they had stolen her. It seemed like a short-sighted plan. There was clearly something she was missing. Did he think her father wouldn’t come for her? It might take her father months, but he would come, and Lord Bolton had been part of the northern army when her father had marched south for her Aunt Lyanna. He had to know that Eddard Stark wouldn’t do any less for one of his daughters.

She frowned and pressed her lips together as she watched the form of Roose Bolton ahead of her on his horse. They were running these horses hard, but his body was too relaxed, or perhaps too apathetic, for the situation. He was so unnaturally calm that aside from the speed they were moving at, it was like the man had no concerns over kidnapping the daughter of a Lord Paramount. Besides, she was already betrothed to another Great House, one that would take great offense at her disappearance. And history had already shown that offending Tywin Lannister was something a House only did once.

The betrothal agreement between House Stark and House Lannister was tied to the mutual defense treaty. Sansa had originally intended for it to be used for the fight against the White Walkers, but that hadn’t been explicitly stated in the agreement. As long as Robb accepted their help, the Lannisters had full authority to move their military through Stark land. She cocked her head and assessed the Bolton lord with sharp eyes. How likely was it that Lord Bolton had placed a spy high enough up to discover the terms of the agreement? Information like that was locked up in the Lord’s solar, and neither her father nor Tywin Lannister had wanted the exact terms of their betrothal agreement to be known before it had been discreetly signed. The full terms weren’t common knowledge even within the family.

There was a pretty good chance that even if her brother Robb didn’t come for her, the Lannisters would. There was no way Tywin Lannister would let an insult like that slide, especially not from some jumped-up northern house. If he had declared war over Tyrion’s kidnapping, whom Tywin despised, then he would surely send some men to retrieve her. If she could just hold on until the Lannisters were nearby, it might be possible to escape her captors, or they might be able to rescue her. It certainly hadn’t been what she intended when she had drafted the clauses of the agreement, but now it might be the only thing that saved her. It did not escape her notice how ironic it was that in this life, she was hoping for the Lannisters to save her.

Judging by the terrain, their party of eight was still in the western floodplains of the White Knife. Which meant that, as best she could figure, Sansa had slept for about a day and a half and had woken up late the second morning after she had been kidnapped. Lord Bolton and his men rode longer hours with fewer breaks than recommended without care for the horses’ well-being. There was a constant sheen of shimmering sweat on the horses, and they were so overheated that anytime they stopped for a moment, steam rose off their bodies that was visible in the cool northern air. At this rate, they would arrive at the Dreadfort sometime during the fourth day, though they would likely lame the horses riding as quickly as they were.

That afternoon, they crossed over the White Knife and camped for no more than six hours before she was placed into the saddle in front of Lord Bolton for the day while he sent Ramsay ahead to scout. Between the rocky hills of the Sheepshead Hills on the southeast side, the larger Lonely Hills to the Northwest of the pass, and the disappearance of Ramsay, Sansa took that to mean that they would be making their nearest pass of the Hornwoods' land that day. Lord Bolton carried on riding as if she wasn’t in the saddle with him. Riding with the intimidating lord was strange. He was as pale as a corpse and seemed to emit no warmth. It was also bizarre because of how completely he managed to ignore her. Preoccupied with whatever was on his mind, he seemed mildly surprised every time they stopped, and he became aware that he had to help her down.

By the fourth day, even Roose’s mouth was set into a displeased grimace, and she was back to sitting in Ramsay’s saddle. She was exhausted at this point and less than pleased with her seating arrangement. While she hadn’t felt safer riding with Lord Bolton, she hadn’t been quite as on edge. It was true that he terrified her, but he wasn’t volatile in the same way that his bastard son was. Ramsay loomed larger in her memories than Roose Bolton. Ramsay’s erratic and sadistic behavior was akin to a fire, stealing all the air from the room. While Roose’s terrifyingly cold, quiet demeanor had scared her, it couldn’t compete with how Ramsay’s vicious wildfire behavior kept her strangled with fear. It seemed that although her physical scars from Ramsay had been erased by the Old Gods, her body still remembered the abuse she’d endured at his hands.

Her prediction turned out to be true, and as the summer sun began to set on the fourth day, the small group thundered through the gates of the Dreadfort. Lord Bolton immediately gave the order to close the gates. Sansa shivered as she looked up at the Dreadfort. It was just as miserable and ominous as she remembered from when she was a child. She’d thought that her experience with the Boltons in her last life and Old Nan’s gruesome stories might have influenced or colored her memories of it, but the castle seemed as looming and oppressive as she remembered.

When the Leech Lord dismounted, he made his way over to where Sansa was sitting on the front of Ramsay’s horse and waited for his son to untie her hands and hand her down. Sansa stumbled when her feet landed on the ground. It had been hours since she’d been able to stand, and days since she’d adequately stretched out her legs with proper movement. Her legs nearly gave out on her, and her hands tingled so sharply that she could have groaned as the blood rushed back into them.

“Have the men take care of the horses and send the maester to my rooms, while I show our guest to her room,” he ordered Ramsay.

Roose caught her by her upper arm, and as soon as she could stand, he threaded her hand onto his arm like a proper courtly escort and led her inside and up several flights of stairs. The cordial treatment was a bizarre contrast after she’d been kidnapped and tied up for the last four days. She was so tired and sore that not even her adrenaline could stop her from stumbling up the stairs. He led her into a room in one of the corners of the castle. It had two windows, but even if she was inclined to attempt to escape that way, they were too small to climb through, and they were in direct view of the guard towers.

“Welcome to the Dreadfort, Lady Sansa. Learn to enjoy your stay, because you will be here for a long time. This will be your room for now,” he said as he guided her into the room. His words were severe, but the tone was placid and seemingly unconcerned. He was the most perplexing man to understand.

“Thank you for your hospitality. Am I to be locked in here?” she asked, hiding the exhausted trembling of her hands by clasping them tightly behind her back. Her eyes scanned the room and noted that the room hadn’t been freshly cleaned, so either the Boltons had bad servants or the arrival of a guest had been a surprise to them. Her gaze caught on the bed, and she stared at it like it was an oasis in the desert.

Roose’s strange pale eyes swept her form thoughtfully. “No, but you aren’t to go into any rooms you aren’t escorted into. I’ll arrange an abbreviated tour for you tomorrow. But for now, rest. Even your beauty is marred by sleepless nights.”

His behavior was strangely cordial, though his tone continued to lack the correct inflections, so Sansa put on her armor and swept a perfect, if not tired, curtsey as she murmured words of parting.

He strode towards the hall as if to leave, but stopped suddenly in the doorway. He glanced over his shoulder as he spoke. “Before you get any stupid ideas. Your father is all the way in Kingslanding, and having met both, I can confidently say that your brother isn’t the commander that your father was at his age. It will be weeks before your brother can muster enough of a force to come here, and by then it will be too late. You’ll have long since been wedded and bedded. Perhaps even unknowingly with child by then.”

“Aren’t you forgetting about my betrothed and his House?” she questioned, furrowing her brow.

He turned to face her and raised a brow. With a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, he answered, “Lord Lannister will certainly be angry, but he’s not stupid. He won’t risk moving troops through the North without permission. By the time Lannister receives it from the Warden of the North, your father, and moves his troops all the way from the Westerlands to here, the Dreadfort will be prepared to outlast any siege. It’ll take moons for the Lannisters to be able to rescue you.”

Sansa shrank into herself, not dissimilar to how she remembered Walda Frey, and adopted a fearful look. “Who am I to wed then?”

“Either me or my son. Graciously, I will let you decide,” he offered with a shrug as if the choice truly made no difference to him.

Sansa made a show of fidgeting. “How shall I choose between you, and how long do I have to do so?” she wailed softly.

He hummed, seemingly still preoccupied with something else. “I suppose, if you’re cooperative, we can afford to give you a few days to decide, but make no mistake, you will be wed in House Bolton.”

“My future is on the line; I can be cooperative,” she murmured, casting her eyes down. She’d find a way to stall that seemed incidental or like someone else’s fault. She was sort of surprised that he hadn’t dragged her before a heart tree as soon as they arrived, but perhaps he was trying to make it look more legitimate than a kidnapping or wear her down enough to make her more compliant. While Ramsay had enjoyed her struggling night after night, it was possible that Roose didn’t prefer that. The servants had never whispered about Walda screaming like they had for Ramsay’s playthings. She wouldn’t be fooled into thinking him kind or decent, but she remembered overhearing him say: A peaceful land, a quiet people.

“Good. I’ll give you seven days from today. I'll have a servant bring up dinner for you. Remember not to try anything stupid, Lady Sansa,” he said without a backward glance. Sansa grimaced at his retreating form. He truly wasn’t worried about any interference if he was confident enough to give her that much time to decide.

As soon as the sound of Roose’s footsteps faded to nothing down the hall, she tore off her gloves and cloak to sit on the bed. It was so soft and heavenly that she nearly collapsed onto it. The room wasn’t as warm as those in Winterfell, but it wasn’t nearly so cold as outside. Sansa turned to face the window and squeezed her eyes closed tightly. She let herself sink into the state of mind that allowed her to connect with Lady.

In the darkness behind her closed lids, Lady’s spark of consciousness was like a dim, distant star. She was so hard to see that Sansa felt a flicker of despair. Strangely, there was another cluster, brighter against the backdrop of her mind, but it didn’t feel anything like her sweet, protective Lady, so she pushed it aside and strained for the light of the other half of her soul. The vast, lonely space between them felt insurmountable, but if Arya could reach Nymeria in Winterfell all the way from Kingslanding, then she should be able to reach Lady from the Dreadfort. Mentally straining to reach across the miles between them felt like nothing she’d ever tried before. She whined softly and panted as her head pounded and her soul ached with a burning stretch. It took several more minutes of straining before she suddenly managed to connect with and fall into Lady’s mind.