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It is disconcerting having a brother who can see the future.
Sansa is pretty sure Bran only sees bits and pieces. Fragments, visions disappearing like smoke.
Pretty sure.
If they ever found out definitive proof, that her younger brother was completely omniscient, totally aware of everything that was to come...well, she was sure no kingsuard would be able to stop Arya. Or Jon. Or herself with all the northmen behind her.
Arya’s return is three years after her departure. She comes home looking somehow younger and less like a lady than ever. She seems fine, but she also refuses to talk about where she ended up on her journey.
“It’s not fit for a queen’s ears,” she tells Sansa.
Sansa takes her teasing in stride. She repays it in kind when she asks Arya about all the letters she’s been receiving from Storm’s End. Arya pinches her arm so hard that she squeals, and one of her guards comes rushing in.
He finds the two sisters wrestling and is unsure whether to separate them or leave them be.
It is disconcerting having a brother who can see the future because when Bran sends Podrick all the way to the North without so much as a raven beforehand to warn of his arrival, she’s not sure why or what she expects him to do with Pod.
Podrick doesn’t seem too happy himself to be there. “
Your brother said I could no longer be a part of his kingsguard, said I would break my oath,” he tells her, his face red and upset. “I would never, I told him that.”
Sansa smiles at him. “I know. My brother can be...misleading.”
She thinks of that time when he spoke of her wedding night in the godswood.
“He can be hard to follow.”
Podrick looks at her. “You don’t have to follow anyone now. You take orders from no one.” He says it with a little bit of awe in his voice. He’s always spoken to Sansa like that, even back when they were children in King’s Landing.
Sansa nods. “You are welcome here in the North for as long as you wish to remain, Ser Podrick.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” he says. Then, he goes to take his horse to the stable.
She meant what she said to Podrick, but truthfully, it is hard to know what to do with the boy.
“Bran said you would be needing me,” he tells her constantly. As if that should make everything clear and suddenly, she would know exactly what his purpose in the North should be.
She has decided not to have a queensguard. It’s meant as a symbol of respect for her subjects. She meets them openly, without a wall of protection between them. She simply has two guards in the room, near the doors. They are close enough if she should ever need them, but she feels she owes it to the northerners to act as if none of them could ever hurt her.
Arya doesn’t love it. She’s had to ask her sister to stop sitting in when she listens to the northerners’ complaints or requests. If any one raises their voice, Arya gives them a deadly stare and grips her dagger.
“I need them to be honest with me, and they can’t be honest if they’re worried about their throats being cut,” she tells her younger sister.
Podrick doesn’t love it either. He will always find a reason to come into the Great Hall and stand with the guards. He carries Widow’s Wail, a gift from Tyrion Lannister after the death of Jaime and always has one hand hovering over it.
(Sansa hates the fact that the sword is a constant reminder of Joffrey. She loves the fact that one half is Ice is back in Winterfell.)
Once after a long afternoon of listening to her subjects’ complaints and requests, she stands up to leave and Podrick follows her out.
She’s about to tell him she doesn’t need an escort. That this is her home, and she is safe.
When she turns to face him though, Podrick speaks first.
“Good—well, I just wanted to say, you did well today, Your Grace,” he says. “You always do well, I mean, but just—well, there were a lot of complaints today, and you listened and responded to each one fairly.”
For a moment, it feels slightly condescending, having a knight who technically serves under her compliment her leadership abilities. Then, she remembers that Podrick was there in King’s Landing during Joffrey’s rule, that he’s served her brother, that he remembers the dragon queen, that he was here when Jon was King.
So she thanks him.
“Thank you, Pod. It can be a thankless job sometimes, ruling. I try the best I can.”
She starts to walk away, but then, she pauses. “Podrick?”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Did Bran...did Bran ever talk about the North? That is...did he ever say he regretted granting us our independence?”
She’s not sure why she’s asking him this now, but it is something she’s spent hours and hours wondering. Whether her little brother secretly resents the fact that she took the North away.
Podrick is considering the question, carefully, she can tell. His pause is long, but once he opens his mouth, Sansa knows for some reason that he will be truthful.
“No, Your Grace. To be honest, your brother never once mentioned the North to me.”
This answer is unexpected, and she finds that it makes her want to cry. So she nods firmly and leaves Podrick to return to her chambers where she allows a tear or two to fall. Just for a second.
Podrick comes to her study one day. She’s not expecting him, and he is apologetic when he can tell he has disturbed her reading.
She says it’s no matter and quickly hides the book of famous love songs under a history of ale in Westeros.
“Sorry, Your Grace, but a letter from your brother—I mean, your cousin—has arrived from the Wall,” he hands her a scroll. “I thought you might want to read it right away.”
She snatches it out of his hands and dives into it without even first dismissing Podrick. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him edge nervously back to the door, unsure whether to leave or not.
Dear Sansa,
As for your last letter, I’m writing to tell you that the Wall is well-stocked with men, women, and children from the free folk. We have little need for new recruits in the next year.
I know you tell me to write more often, but I find myself at a loss for time. The wall is being rebuilt, and I am the one overseeing every inch of it. It is to be a monument to the fallen men in the Great War and a reminder that the threat from the far north, even if it seems to be gone for the moment, is always to be taken seriously.
I have told Bran of the rebuilding, and he had no protest...I do not know if this is a bad or a good thing.
I have received a raven from Arya, finally. She has told me little of her adventures, but I am hoping to find more out when she visits the Wall next month. She tells me you will not be able to come, too many duties at Winterfell.
One day, you shall take a break from your responsibilities and allow yourself some time here. The free folk call you the “red wolf,” the one who has freed them from ever having to kneel to a king again.
I know you worry that I shall work myself to death up here in the cold, but I say it is better to work myself to death out in the open rather than inside the stuffy air of Winterfell’s library.
Take care of yourself.
Jon
“He never says if he is happy or not,” she said to herself.
“Excuse me, Your Grace?”
She turns to find Podrick with one foot sticking out the door. Something about his pose is comical to her. He looks a little uncomfortable, as if he is intruding on her privacy.
“My brother, Pod. Jon. I am never able to tell if he is happy or not with his lot, his life at the Wall,” she says. “I think it sounds lonely.”
“He misses you.” He says it as a fact.
“I miss him.” It is also a fact.
Podrick is still posed halfway out the door, shifting nervously.
“May I ask you something, Pod?” He looks even more nervous now. But he nods.
She gestures for him to come closer, and he takes a small step forward, out of the doorway.
“Do I...Do I scare you?”
He looks her straight in the eyes, and for the first time, Sansa realizes how wide and warm they are. “Yes.”
His honesty makes Sansa laugh. He laughs a little too—a nice, deep chuckle—and takes another step closer.
“You are formidable, Your Grace,” he says. “I don’t think you could rule the North if you weren’t.”
“I don’t think life gave me much of a choice there,” she says. “I had to become ‘formidable’ as you say in order to survive.” She sounds sad, she realizes. It is sad.
Podrick is much closer to her now, only a foot or two away from where she sits.
“But you’re past surviving now, Your Grace. You’re a queen. And you have every northmen to protect you. And your sister, who is also frightening, in a very different kind of way. And...well, you have me as well. I’m not as good a fighter as you sister I know...and I know, you don’t want a queensguard. I’m not arguing with you, but well, just..I’ll always be there if you need for me. If you ask for me, I mean—”
Sansa decides to cut off his rambling.
“I know, Podrick,” she gives him a small smile. “And I’m sorry, we haven’t yet found that much for you to do. But I’m glad you’re here.”
He looks unhappy now for some reason.
“Do you really mean that, Your Grace?”
Somehow, Sansa knows exactly what he is thinking of. He is thinking of after her escape from Ramsay when she was left so weak. When she could barely sit up on her horse. When Theon or Brienne had to coax her to eat. When she would cry silent tears at night and whisper to herself, the Wall, the Wall, just to make it to the Wall.
In some ways, she had almost been happy when Podrick and Brienne both stayed in King’s Landing after Bran’s coronation. That meant there was no one left in Winterfell to remember her back then. No one who had seen her in those awful moments when she would have almost lovingly embraced death.
She thinks Podrick asking her whether she is sincerely glad he is here is a kind of bravery. If she were to say no, she would have no doubt he would be gone at first light. No hurt or bruised ego even. He would simply put himself on a horse and find somewhere else to go. All to make things easier for her.
So she is gentle when she answers.
“I’m glad there is someone here who has seen every side of me. You don’t have to worry about reminding me of the past, Podrick. No matter if I try to bury it or not, I can’t ever forget it. I’m glad there’s someone here who knows what I have been through and still doesn’t treat me as if I’m so terribly fragile.”
“You’re not fragile, Your Grace. You are…”
“Formidable? Yes, I know.”
Podrick has the grace to blush.
“I was going to say...you are brutal.”
Sansa frowns.
“In a good way!” Podrick nearly shouts. “You’re like the snow, I mean. When you’re just looking at the individual flakes you don’t think it can be so powerful. But then when you wake in the morning and see everything covered and you hear the wind howling and you feel the sting of it on your face. It’s...biting, yes, but it’s also awe-inspiring, and beautiful, and sort of like a...blank page. A chance to begin again—”
Sansa truly didn’t know what she meant to do in that moment. One second she had been sitting down and in the next, she found herself mere inches from her knight, from Podrick Payne, her hands wrapped around the knot of his jerkin. Her face so close to his that she swore the hairs on his nose were touching the hairs on hers.
Podrick has stopped his speech. He is staring at her, his eyes wide and his breath a little ragged. But he also seems calm. He isn’t moving away from her. Sansa feels that she could do anything to him in that moment, and he would simply stay so, so still.
She loosens her grip on his jerkin and places her hand lightly on his chest.
“Thank you. Thank you, Podrick.”
Then, she gently steps back. She turns her back to him, trying to keep her breathing under control.
His voice sounds deeper than usual when he speaks.
“Of course, Your Grace,” he says.
She hears him leave the room and shut the door.
In the days that follow, Sansa realizes that she and Podrick’s positions have reversed. Once, he was the one who would seek her out around Winterfell, desperately wanting the opportunity to help her, to find something to do. Now, she finds herself walking around the castle, hoping to run into him, and he seems to be the one avoiding her, never in his usual spots like the training yard and the stables.
She’s not sure what she plans to do when she does run into him.
Apologize, maybe.
Not that she had meant anything by it. She’d barely touched him really. Just his shirt. A queen could touch her subject’s shirt. To emphasize her point. It had been more threatening than intimate.
She refuses to think about the fact that it’s the closest she’s been to a man she isn’t related to in a long time.
When she does see Podrick again, he is filthy. He’s been out in the yard, training with Arya. Arya pushes him much harder than Brienne ever did. She’s much smaller than him but faster and, well, just better.
As gallant as he is, Pod isn’t actually a great fighter. She likes him better for that.
He’s sweaty and there is mud on his forehead and a cut on his chin.
“Did my sister do that?”
She’s startled him. She saw him coming around the corridor before he could see her.
“She did, Your Grace,” he says. “But we were just training, you know. I got distracted.”
By what? she wants to ask. Maybe he did notice her standing overhead and looking down on them.
“You should be using practice swords only,” she says.
“Is that a command?” he asks. He looks insulted. “This sword is heavy. I’ve been trying to get used to the weight.”
She stares down at Widow’s Wail.
Podrick notices her gaze.
“I want you to know I did ask Bran—King Bran—if he wanted it, Your Grace. I know it really should belong to your family. If you want it...for any reason someday...it’s yours.”
She knows what “for any reason someday” means, and she’s tempted to tell him that she’s not sure if she will have children, if she could handle having children. But she decides that she doesn’t owe any sort of explanation to him.
Instead, she nods. “One half of Ice is back in Winterfell. The other is guarding my brother in King’s Landing. I think my father would say that is fitting.”
“Ice. That was its name?”
She’s surprised he doesn’t know that. “Joffrey is the one who renamed it Widow’s Wail.”
Pod grimaces. “I don’t call it that,” he says. “I don’t think I could bear to wield a sword named that.”
“What do you call it then?” she asks.
He hesitates before he answers. “I call it Wolf’s Heart, Your Grace.”
“Wolf’s Heart?” Sansa is flattered. And confused.
“During the battle here, it saved my life many times. I wanted to name it after Winterfell; I wanted to name it after your family. It belongs to you, really. I’m just the wielder.”
Sansa is worried that a blush is developing on her cheeks. She decides to push the conversation along before it truly forms.
“My father always believed that whoever passes the sentence should be the one who passes the sword. I wonder what he would say about us. If I did need to execute someone, I would need you by my side to actually do the deed.”
“Or Arya, Your Grace?”
Sansa smirked. “I think my sister’s days of slitting necks for me is over. All my men now are Northern men. They deserve a clean death. At the hands of Stark steel.”
It is odd, this moment. She is telling Podrick that he may have to kill for her, that he may have to hack a man’s head off if she commands it. But it feels like some sort of declaration.
Podrick nods. He doesn’t look happy or unhappy. But he grips the sword one more time and says, “I trust you. I know you would never have me hurt a man who didn’t deserve it.”
Sansa smiles sadly. “And I seem to have a knack for attracting the kind of men who deserve it.” It is some sort of self-pity but for once, Sansa does not resist it.
Podrick frowns at this. He knows it’s not Sansa’s fault that she’s had a parade of men in her life who would like to harm her—Joffrey, Littlefinger, Ramsay. But he’s not sure what he can say to make her feel safe again, to make her realize he would rather die than let someone hurt her in any way again.
Maybe he can’t say anything though. It’s something both he and Sansa, and Arya and Tyrion and Jon and Bran and Brienne and everyone who survived knows. There are no guarantees.
So instead he just says, “But you also seem to have a knack for attracting people loyal to you.”
She turns away from the courtyard to look back at him. “I guess I do.”
A few representatives from White Harbor are visiting next week, and Podrick is not sure why but their visit seems to have Sansa on edge.
She’s edgy with Arya. She’s rarely seen outside of her study. Rather than dining in the Great Hall, she takes her meals in her rooms.
Podrick at first thinks maybe she is avoiding him but then concludes that she seems too busy for anyone.
He and Arya have finished training in the yard. Arya splashes water from a bucket over her hair and shakes it out like a dog. Sometimes, Podrick is amazed at how different she is from Sansa.
“Arya?” he says. “Can I ask you something?
She narrows her eyes at him. Now, suddenly he can see the resemblance. Sansa and Arya both carry suspicion on their face in the same way.
“What is it?”
“It’s about Sansa,” Pod says. “Or well...I was wondering. I mean, have you noticed that she seems a little distant recently?”
“I didn’t realize you and her were...close.”
“We’re not!” Podrick is quick to say. “Or well, I just mean—she seems tired as of late and busy. And she’s always busy. But this time, I was just...worried.”
Arya’s still looking at him with suspicion. But she answers.
“She’s worried about the Manderleys coming.”
“Oh,” Pod says. It’s a conclusion he himself had already come to, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to get more from Arya as she turns around to place her staff back against the wall.
Before she leaves, Arya turns back to him, her one-armed cloak swirling with her.
“Podrick,” she says. “You should talk to her about it. That is, if you’re concerned for her, you should tell her. Some people need to hear that someone is looking out for them.”
Podrick feels like he’s blushing, but he just nods.
Three days later, he has worked up the courage to take Arya’s advice. He finds Sansa in her study, poring over a book.
The door is ajar so he walks in without her noticing.
“Your Grace?” he interrupts.
Her head jerks up rapidly.
“Gods be good,” she says. “I didn’t hear you, Podrick.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I can leave if you like.”
She sighs and closes the book. “Please stay. I could use a break.”
He takes a step forward. “You’ve been very busy.”
“I know,” she says, almost with a touch of guilt.
“You’re always busy. I just...well, I was wondering if something was troubling you” When she doesn’t deny it, he continues. “Something or anything I could help you with…”
“Something you could help me with…” Sansa says. For a second, Podrick could swear she sounds amused.
“I don’t mean to presume anything, Your Grace,” Pod says. “I just…” He thinks of Arya’s words. “I was worried about you.”
She smiles at him.
“Pod, let me ask you something.”
“Anything,” he says.
“If you were me, that is if you were in my position and had...my history, would you marry?”
It’s so unexpected, it feels as if she shot him with one of Arya’s arrows. His ears ring with the word “marry.”
“I...well, Your Grace—” Podrick stops. Sansa’s face is a blend of amusement but also vulnerability. His answer matters, he thinks.
“If I were you, I would...to be honest, if I were you, I probably wouldn’t marry.”
Her lips thin.
“You wouldn’t?” Her voice is colder than she’s ever heard it. “So you think I should just abandon the idea of ever making a good alliance for the North? Of ever having heirs?”
“I didn’t mean that. I just meant...well, the North is yours, Sansa. And unfortunately, I think you and I both know that men often think they know more than their wives, that they know best. But no one could know the North better than you. It’s a part of you, and I wouldn’t want anyone else’s hands on it.”
She doesn’t respond, just looks at him.
“And as for...the heirs aspect,” Podrick continues. “I don’t mean to say that you shouldn’t have children if you want them. I mean...I know you wouldn’t want your children to be treated as bastards but well, the North already accepted Jon as their leader.”
Sansa seems as if she’s going to speak, but Podrick rushes to clarify.
“I don’t mean that…I don’t mean this to sound as if I’m saying you should not marry if you find love and if you want to marry, Your Grace...it’s just your question. The fact that you spoke only of an alliance and of heirs, not love and family. I think it’s a different question if you’re saying whether or not you should marry as Queen in the North or as just Sansa.”
Sansa looks deadly now. “So you think I should abandon my crown if I fall in love?”
“No, no,” Podrick says. He knows he has messed up his words a bit, but also, he can’t help but feel that Sansa is deliberately hearing the worst of it. Maybe it would have been better just to have said yes.
“I think,” he starts again. “That when you marry—if you marry—you should marry for yourself. Don’t marry for the North or for who you think the North would like. Don’t have children for the North. I know you love your people, but I think...well, I think if you let them make that kind of decision, it will never end. They’ll think they’re entitled to every part of you. I know you’d do anything for them, but well, you don’t owe them the power to decide who you love, who you let into your bed.”
He cannot believe that last part slipped out.
Sansa though does not look angry anymore. Her face has softened.
“I have been worried, Podrick,” she says. “The Manderleys are coming next week, and Lord Manderley has made it very clear in his letters that he wants me to marry his grandson. A match like that would do much to keep White Harbor in the North’s favor. And I hear the talk of men. They want me to marry again to a Northern man to prove after so many engagements and marriages that I’m fully committed.”
“You are committed!” Podrick practically shouts. “You hear petitions every day. You’ve read everything you can about the North. You work harder than any leader I’ve ever seen. It’s not just that you’re Ned Stark’s daughter. You’ve proven again and again that you are the North.”
“It’s not enough for them, though,” Sansa says. “For the men here, they look at me, and they see their Queen, but they also see a woman. And to them, a woman on her own is...dangerous.”
Podrick can feel that he’s getting too impassioned, but he can’t help it.
“Then, be dangerous. Show them that you’re dangerous. I don’t mean rule with fear, but still, you are their ruler. You’ll marry who you want to or you won’t marry if you don’t want to. But it will be your decision, and those who protest or grumble are the troublemakers. Not you.”
“I do,” says Sansa.
Podrick is confused.
“I do want to marry,” she says. “I thought I would clarify. I know it seems unlikely that I would want that considering...my past. But I would like a husband, someone I can trust, and someone who I can confide in. I’m surrounded by advisors and guards and handmaids all day. And I respect all of them. But still...I think I would like something, or well, someone, who is all my own. If I can find that. It wouldn’t even have to be true romantic love. I don’t know if I believe in that anymore. But someone who is my friend. I would like that.”
Podrick nods. He feels a little bad now about saying no to her original question, but now, he understands better.
“I guess you are right,” she says. “If I am to marry, I want it to be as Sansa. Not as the Queen in the North.”
She turns and looks at the books on her desk. “Now to sort out what to do about Lord Manderley, though. I’m afraid I won’t be able to be as candid with him as we’ve been. I think in particular, I’ll leave out any mention of my bed.”
Podrick shifts his feet. He should have known she wouldn’t let that one slide.
“Do you think his grandson will propose to you when he is here?”
Sansa pulls one of the books from her stack and flips it open. “Technically, he’s not allowed to. The ruler of the North has to be the one to propose according to tradition, even if the ruler is a Queen, not a King. But Lord Mandereley can be persuasive, and it will be difficult not to offend him.”
“So what will you do?”
“To be honest, I don’t know yet. That’s why I’ve been up here all the time. Trying to figure it out. I’ve been reading every law about marriage we’ve ever had in the North.”
“Would you like some help?”
Sansa raises her eyebrows. “Truly? It’s very dry reading.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Podricks says. “Let me help.”
So she does.
It takes hours of reading and planning, but when the Manderleys arrive, Sansa feels ready.
They are to stay four days with a feast planned for the last night. Sansa knows in Lord Manderely’s mind, that will be the perfect night to announce an engagement. But for Sansa, it is the perfect night for another announcement.
The moment comes just after the wine has been served. For the past four days, she has kept a polite distance from the young Jorah Manderley, and her meetings with Lord Manderley have been strictly about White Harbor and trade.
So when she stands, Lord Manderley narrows his eyes.
Before she speaks, Sansa glances at Pod. He nods at her, and it steadies her nerves.
“My Lords and Ladies, I am grateful for your company here tonight. Winterfell will always welcome you with open arms. It delights me especially to have you here tonight to announce a new piece of legislation. Something I care about deeply and something that I know will better the North.” At this point, she narrows her eyes at the room. It’s not a threatening look, but it is a challenging one.
“From this day forward, the line of succession will, for all families in the North, be as follows: the oldest and first-born child will inherit all titles and lands, regardless of gender.”
There is a rush of murmurs throughout the crowd. Lord Manderley’s face is a dark purple.
Sansa holds her head high. Lord Manderley has a granddaughter, older than Jorah. And Lord Mandereley knows that pushing for his Queen to marry a second son would be an insult.
(She is not crazy about the fact that her plan is playing on the idea that the second-to-inherit is less in anyway. But this is what is best for the North anyways. It won’t solve all her problems, but if she is to be Queen, it should be in a land with other women rulers.)
The murmurs silence when she sits back down and immediately calls for the food to be served. She will not be taking any questions about this.
Oddly enough, when Lord Manderley does finally look as if he will speak, it is his grandson who places a hand on his arm to stop him. Jorah Manderley looks at Sansa, and she swears she sees admiration in his eyes.
Sansa nods at him.
It is a new dawn for the North.
Once the feast is over, Sansa has to tell herself not to skip down the hall.
It went well. It went well. There were grumbles and frowns, and she is sure tomorrow, her petition line will be miles long. But she will handle it. She can handle anything.
She sees Pod down ahead right near her door, and she resists the urge to grab him and twirl around.
He spots her and smiles.
She gives into the urge.
Pod laughs as she puts her arms around him and forces him to spin in the hallway with her.
“That was great,” he says.
“It was great, and it is good,” she says. “I know this plan was born out of my own desires, but this is the first time I feel like I’ve brought real change to the North, not just a compromise.”
Suddenly, they both hear voices coming down the hallway. The voices of Lord Manderley and Jorah. Sansa and Pod both look at her arms, still wrapped around him and realize how it looks.
Wordlessly and seamlessly as if they were one instead of two, they disappear into her room.
They stay silent as they listen behind the door.
“Year of planning and training you, and now your sister will inherit. I won’t stand for it. That damned girl doesn’t know what she’s doing. She just does as she pleases with no respect for Northern tradition,” Lord Manderley says, his voice harsh.
As Sansa listens, it is as if the words hit her physically. She backs away from the door before she can hear Jorah’s response.
“Grandfather, Lyla will be—”
Pod turns away from the door to follow Sansa. She has her back to him now, facing her window. He feels like he should leave. He feels like he should comfort her.
“Sansa—” he starts.
She whirls around to him, gets very close.
“Let me ask you something, Pod,” she says. “Am I selfish?”
There’s a bit of a mad look in her eyes, something Podrick has never seen before. But the answer is simple to him.
“No.”
“Oh, Pod,” Sansa smiles, half sad, half amused. Suddenly, she’s placed her arms on his shoulders, just as they were outside.
“Yes, I am.” Then, she leans in and kisses him.
The next morning is surreal for Pod. He’s lying in the Queen’s bed. He’s lying in his Queen’s bed.
The night before was...amazing. There was a moment when Sansa seemed to grow hesitant, when he was afraid he was seeing the beginnings of fear in her eyes.
She confessed she had never been with anyone since Ramsay, had never actually been with anyone consensually. It was what Podrick had suspected, but to hear it confirmed, it made him twice as nervous, twice as gentle. He held her for a while before anything truly happened. And it had been slow, slower than any other time for Pod.
But it had been wonderful. Because it had been Sansa. Beautiful and awe-inspiring Sansa.
She stirs a little bit. Her head coming slightly up from his shoulders. Some part of him wants them both to slip back into sleep, spend a little longer in each others’ arms before facing the day.
Pod watches her face carefully as she wakes. Any sign of regret, and he will get up and leave, regardless of how much he wants to stay.
But he doesn't see any. She is smiling, open and honestly.
At some point in the night, Sansa had awoken and worried for Pod. Did he know what he was getting into? Did he feel as though he had spent the night with Sansa or with his queen?
The look in his eyes when she fully awoke in the morning convinced her that Pod had no regrets.
She isn’t quite sure what will happen next with them. She knows how the rest of the day will go; Podrick will have to go back to being her knight while Sansa will have to go back to be being a Queen. She will listen to petition after petition, complaint after complaint.
But once that was done, once it was nighttime again. Once tomorrow night came and the night after that and the nights to come after that…
Sansa wasn’t sure exactly what was to come, but she knew there was one thing she could ask in that moment.
“Pod, would you like to do this again sometime? Soon?”