XVI

"Queen Sansa! We can see your brother's flags on the horizon!"

Sansa stood quickly, the chair knocking back and tumbling over. Her heart filled with joy until she recalled that it wouldn't be Bran. And, even if he had made the trip, he was no longer the bright-eyed curious boy who she'd watched over and mourned over when the news reached her of his 'death'. A part of Sansa expected her emotions to temper, but she still felt that strange tell-tale flutter down in the deepest parts of her stomach, one that would not quell.

"Thank you, sir. I'll be down to greet them in a moment," Sansa dismissed him. The young squire paused before darting over to set the chair back to standing, stuttering out a couple of words of parting as he left. The way his cheeks blushed and the way his eyes stayed glued to the floor reminded Sansa so much of Podrick when she first met him when he was a squire for Tyrion.

One day, she almost wanted to tell him, you'll get there. If Podrick can do it, you surely can.

Podrick...he was going to be in the arriving group. Sansa did not realize how excited she was for his arrival until she was tending at the gates and her whole body was still shaking slightly. To have any familiar faces was like finding life over and over and over again; it was the joy she'd experienced reconnecting with Jeyne or any other members of her father's former household.

She walked slowly down to the main courtyard. She could see the Stark flags waving in the distance. Perhaps not 'Stark' anymore. She'd been informed by Podrick and Tyrion in letters that Bran has asked for a change to them. It would be very convincing to have two opposing Stark flags. It still was the warm gray colors that her father had loved to wear and there was still a dire wolf, but behind the head of the howling wolf was a raven. Appropriate; Sansa thought with a small snort. It did set the two houses apart now. She wondered if Bran would change his name until she realized it didn't matter. He would not have any natural-born heirs, rather give the title on to the next worthy soul.

It was a small convoy. Only eight. If it were more, Sansa wasn't sure what would happen. Already, she saw her guards eyeing the group with trepidation. They had good reason to hate King's Landing and all from it, even if now Bran was the King. If Sansa had married Joffrey, and things had progressed how she'd excitedly explained to her mother years ago, maybe they would have given her the same cautious welcome.

Sansa was standing at the front gates.

"My Queen, I'm sure that we can escort them to the hall for you," Randin Cerywn said, "It's chilly out."

"I'm sure you are capable of that," Sansa replied, face stony, "But I will welcome them here."

Jeyne came to stand next to Sansa and Alys parted the crowd to stand near Sansa as well. She'd be returning to Fort Karstark within the moon, having now settled as much as she could here. Sansa was pleased that the welcoming front was women, as she felt it set the tone. Not that she expected Podrick to guffaw at the idea of Sansa ruling as a woman alone, but the other knights may harbor some...outdated ideals.

Ser Podrick lead the procession, riding in on a stormy gray horse that towered over Sansa. It was a great deal larger than the rest and Sansa wondered if it was a destrier. She almost wondered where he acquired one until she remembered that Ser Podrick had the King's favor now, and that was worth quite a lot. It certainly set him apart, gave him an air of confidence Sansa was unsure she'd ever seen on him. It was obvious the other members of the party deferred to him.

A handful of stable-boys rushed forward to grasp the reins as Podrick dismounted.

As Podrick patted his horse's side comfortingly, Sansa glanced around her. Most of her men at least recalled Podrick, and were looking at him with welcome, or at least a lack of hostility. Jeyne's face was impassive, thoughtful. When Sansa looked at Alys, she noticed a blush slowly creeping up the young girl's face, all the way to her ears. Alys' gaze was locked onto Podrick.

Sansa frowned, a strange feeling bubbling beneath the excitement at the realization that Alys may have a crush on the young knight. It was something Sansa did not enjoy feeling at all, but she wasn't sure what it was, to be frank.

As soon as Podrick had handed off his horse, he turned immediately to Sansa.

"Queen Sansa," He said, bowing before her. Now all the way to the ground, as though she were his queen, but enough to show the utmost respect. He raised his face to her.

"Ser Podrick," Sansa replied. His lips twitched as though he was attempting to keep a smile off his face and his eyes were lit up with something that reminded Sansa of sunlight.

She was just so happy he was here.

He stood, turning first to Alys, but before he could finish his greeting, Sansa had grasped onto him.

She knew it would be better for her to maintain her mask of indifference and emotionlessness. She knew that there would be talk, again. She knew that showing the obvious pleasure to a member of their enemy- and yes, Bran was their enemy in the literal sense- was foolish.

But...Sansa could list off the people she trusted implicitly between two hands. Less than ten people alive that Sansa trusted her life with, and that she knew would not forsake her, no matter the lines between them. It was a startlingly small number. More than that, it was a smaller group that she considered a friend, something she feared would vanish entirely now that she was Queen.

It wasn't really Podrick she thought of, not at first, but Theon.

Specifically, she was thinking about how she- out of everything she'd ever done- would not regret greeting him with emotion when he'd arrive. She would not take back that moment in the hall, nor any of their short moments after.

It was this reminder that caused her to pull Podrick into a hug in front of the whole courtyard.

"Queen-," Podrick broke off, obviously shocked and unprepared. Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck, inhaling his distinctly southern musk; something spicy and warm and almost earthy. After a moment, Podrick hugged her back. He grasped her tightly; not just a person hugging back for the sake of not looking strange, but like he actually wanted to. She did have the thought that this might be the first time she'd touched him more than just passing on the shoulder or arm, but something felt right and familiar about it anyway.

Sansa knew that any longer would be entirely improper, so she untangled herself.

"I'm glad you're here, Ser Podrick," She said, nodding.

"I...erm, yes, my-your Lady, I mean, my Queen."

Any confidence Podrick had while riding in seemed to be momentarily wiped away as he stared at Sansa with the most peculiar expression, his face nearly as red as Sansa's hair.

"Lady Poole is my house Steward. She will settle you and your men into your rooms. I will go and inform the kitchens of your arrival and we'll eat in an hour. I will see you then," Sansa said briskly, returning her carefully controlled face of expressions. Underneath it all, she was shaking, her heart thumping harder than she could ever recall.

"Yes, Queen Sansa," Podrick said, his voice a little rough, his eyes watching her carefully.

As Sansa weaved back to the main hall, Randin caught up with her.

"I don't mean to insult, my queen-,"

"Then don't," Sansa snapped, having no patience for such flubbing around.

"That was...perhaps an improper display."

Sansa turned to Randin, raising an eyebrow, "According to who?"

"To tradition! And to-,"

Sansa raised a single hand, "Ser Podrick fought for Winterfell and was part of the group that helped us survive. Not only that, he protected me when I had few others. He is a friend to the North, sir. I think we can all agree that we've spent far too much time not expressing ourselves to those that matter, wouldn't you agree?"

"But he's a knight from the Kingdoms-,"

"Oh?" Sansa said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Thank you for bringing that to my attention. I'll remember to stab him in the chest before I hug him next time."

"I'm not saying you have to kill him," Randin was now struggling, his face pale.

"Either he is a friend and we should be allowed small moments of acknowledging this, as I just did, or he is a foe and in that case, we should kill him on sight. I will not fall into these silly games that Littlefinger always puppeted, it is one or the other. Which will it be?" Sansa questioned, "Please, Randin, make up your mind." She finished simply, turning away to talk to the kitchens.

She had no tolerance for any of the bullshit that told her she wasn't allowed to express joy about the arrival of her friend.

XVII

Sansa could not sleep. It was the first night of the party from the South arriving. Jeyne was sleeping in her own room, as it would be improper for this to continue when there were visitors. She'd stayed with Sansa until the moon was rising high into the sky, but had bid her best friend a good night with a half-sorry smile.

Sansa was restless.

She threw on a heavy cloak, lighting a candle on her desk. She waved out a flint stick, holding the flame up and putting a hand around it to protect it from the winds that whispered through her bedroom.

Outside, the walls of Winterfell were quiet. It was almost peaceful. It wasn't snowing, and it wasn't quite cold. It was simply settled, as though the stones of her home had finally found its place after so much strife and heartache.

Sansa wondered how the men were settling in. Podrick had lived here for a handful of moons, so he would be used to the feeling of curling up under heavy furs. Most of the other men who had joined him had not, as they were men plucked from King's Landing and the surrounding areas for Bran's shield. Sansa had of course provided more blankets than usual to assure their warmth, but it could take some getting used to. Just as the heat of King's Landing had felt foreign and uncomfortable in the first few moons, Sansa understood their transition. She made a mental note to talk to Gage tomorrow morning and request some warmed cider for when they broke their fast; or, perhaps better, warm mead.

Sansa found her feet trailing her around the halls of Winterfell. She hoped that a walk around would ease her into sleep. Perhaps if she tired herself out enough, it would be all too easy to fall into her bed.

There was some talk in the courtyard.

Sansa expected it to be some of the castle guards or men with weapons discussing the day, something trivial. She expected to see her own men. She did; but they were silent and respectful, nodding to Sansa as she passed.

What she did not expect to see is Podrick, looking just as lost as Sansa felt internally, hovering in the open space.

"But, ser-," One of his men under him was arguing with him quietly. Podrick just gave a sad sort of smile, one Sansa knew well, and stopped him.

"Go to sleep, Brid. I'm fine."

Brid seemed ready to argue more, but realized that Podrick would not be budged, and nodded once. He passed Sansa as he moved to his chambers, murmuring a polite and quick acknowledgment. Sansa held his gaze as he passed, tilting her head.

She turned her expression back down to Podrick.

He was staring at a wall with a nearly forlorn expression, something hard and angry and sad all at the same time. It took Sansa a moment. She may not have known for sure the meaning of this wall- one that looked entirely ordinary from her point of view- but she could read his face well enough.

She crept up on him.

"This is where you nearly died, wasn't it?"

Podrick nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Queen Sansa," He said, his face flushed, "I suppose I'm not a very good guard if I let you sneak up on me." He forced a smile.

Sansa just looked at the stone. The blood had been mostly washed away, but if one stared at it just right, the flecks of brown stains were remaining. It would always be there, Sansa felt.

Podrick swallowed hard, turning his head back toward the wall.

"Yes." He just said, all in one breathe, "I thought I would have died many times before that- at Blackwater, I was sure I was a goner, but here…"

Sansa closed her eyes hard, breathing in.

"Then Lady Arya killed him," Podrick continued.

"If Arya ever hears you call her that…" She said in one breath.

"I know. She's a lady but she's... I mean," Podrick paused, then decided to drop it once he saw Sansa's eyes glitter with humor, "I guess I didn't think I could sleep until I faced it. I walked the long way around it today, to avoid it. It's silly, it's just a wall," He looked away, "You probably find me mad."

Sansa took a step closer to him, "I don't."

Podrick glanced up, eyes quietly questioning, but not pushing or demanding. He had grown a small beard since Sansa last saw him, or the beginnings of one. It made it look not quite as childlike as before, older. His clothes were wealthy looking. Not the hobbled-together set that they'd found for him and Brienne when they'd arrived, but something of matter, something carefully crafted. There was a hint of embroidery on it. Sansa found herself analyzing it, deciding she could have done it better.

"Queen Sansa?"

Sansa opened her mouth, licking her upper lip, before deciding she wasn't quite sure how to reply. Instead, she blew out her candle, deciding to show him was better.

"Ser Podrick," Sansa said in the same tone, offering her arm to him, "If you would?"

There was just a pause that lasted a second, nothing more, before Podrick was linking his arm in hers.

Sansa brought him through the darkness of Winterfell, over the reparations and the scaffolds, through the areas where stone still lay unmoved- or just shoved to the side. She led him down a set of stairs, grasping one of the torches that they kept permanently lit of late.

"I haven't been able to come down here since the attack," Sansa finally said, her voice wavering, "I thought I was going to die too." She thought of how, like Podrick, there had been so many moments she was sure death was upon. She thought of how it was so unfair, almost mean, that in Winterfell she had most nearly met her end. How the place that was supposed to be safest for her had been spoiled. How she'd thought after Ramsay's death she could rest easy.

How nothing was really fair, and how a part of Sansa wished to run into her parent's arms and for them to make it all go away.

She wasn't sure how to explain that to anyone, but from how Podrick had stared at the wall outside, she knew that he knew the feeling too.

The crypts lay deserted at this hour. It was cleared of rubble and bones, but the reparations were far from over. It was decided that the living was a more important aspect to focus on, not to say that they didn't make sure the spirits were appeased down here.

Sansa had been asked many a time to oversee the process, but she'd found soft and weak excuses each time to avoid it. She hadn't been sure she'd ever been able to return.

"We thought it was the safest place," She continued, "And so many died down here. Mothers, girls, babies ." Her grief spilled out before she could stop it, her cheeks flushed as she tried to keep from sobbing, "I mourn the men, I do, but to see a babe no older than six moons killed by the dead is horrifying."

Podrick was silent, examining not the cavernous space, but Sansa, "And you know what the worst part was?" She asked.

"I cannot guess," Podrick whispered, lips set into a deep frown.

"Rickon." Sansa said. She tried to continue, but all at once, she was back in that moment. She could hear the clicking of bones, the rasping of throats that could not speak, and the stench of death that clung to their bodies. She heard the screaming of the men that had died moments before, and how she'd told herself that if they opened that door, they'd die too but then they all almost had anyway . She recalled how her heart was beating so loudly she was sure they could hear her like that. She remembered how hard she'd clutched the knife her sister had given her, nearly losing her grip two or three times, and how she thought that she was failing somehow, how she should have known or acted faster or-

She didn't realize that she was inhaling rapidly and unevenly, nearly crying, until she felt a soft rhythmic circle being drawn upon her back. She turned to see Podrick. As soon as she turned toward him, he jolted his hand back, like he too had been unaware. Sansa didn't know how to convey she hadn't minded, how she wished he continue.

"You don't have to…" Podrick shook his head.

"Rickon had only died a couple of moons before," Sansa found her voice. She hadn't told anyone this. Most of those that were cowering in the crypts hadn't known Rickon, and surely Tyrion hadn't. She hadn't had the courage to tell Jon or Arya. Bran knew, likely, but hadn't ever said anything to her. She'd been the one to handle it, not wishing that upon anyone else, "And while most of the dead that were brought back to life was just bones held together by magic, Rickon- my baby brother- he was almost…" She scrunched up her face, shaking. Shaking in anger, in agony, in sorrow.

"It was Rickon, but it wasn't. I could tell it was him, I could see it. He wasn't just bones, it was his face and his hair and his freckles, but he looked at me, and he was just gone. And I almost had to destroy him...if Arya hadn't…"

"Sansa, you can't," Podrick struggled, "I wouldn't want to come back down here either."

Sansa regained her breathing, breaking off a couple of feet, to Rickon's grave. She should be so lucky, she thought, that the bones of Robb and her mother were just that or that the bones of her father had been scattered, despite the best efforts to return him home. She wasn't sure she could have raised a dagger against them, even if their spirits had long since left.

"Even in death, Rickon couldn't find peace," Sansa said sadly. She looked at the ground. The head of her father's statue had been knocked off in the struggle, something awful and cruel about that. Podrick seemed to recognize this, for he swiftly grasped the statue from her, setting it away.

He pulled her into a hug, and Sansa collapsed into his arms, trying to hold back her tears. She didn't cry much, not more than a few moments, before she pulled herself together.

"I should have asked, Queen Sansa," Podrick said, "Before I touched you."

"Ser Podrick," Sansa laughed, "I know you'd never hurt me."

She looked back at the ruins.

"We're going to make all of my family's statues again. And, if anyone who died in the battle wants to be buried down here, we are allowing them. Lyanna Mormont will get a statue. Theon will get a statue," She whispered, "They died for Winterfell, they are family."

She turned back, setting the torch back in its place.

"I fear that this trip hasn't done much good, your grace." Podrick said, looking up at her face. She was sure it was blotchy with tears, her nose and cheeks rouged, and her eyes wet. She dabbed her skin with the sleeve of her gown.

"I had to go down there eventually," She said matter-of-factly, "I'm not sure if I could have done it without you."

"I'm happy to help anyway I can, then," Podrick said slowly, as though he was trying to connect two dots. Sansa herself was mulling over it, not sure what that equaled at the end of it all.

It was, as she found herself back in her room, a thought she found herself lingering on for most of the night.

XVIII

Sansa woke much later than usual. One cursory glance outside her window, combined with the warm feeling on her sheets that only eclipsed during the bright mid-morning, told Sansa it was hours after she woke on a normal day.

She nearly tangled her legs in the blankets as she jumped from her bed, muttering under her breath, feeling angry and embarrassed. She was Queen, it was improper of her to oversleep one of the first meals with her visitors!

She cracked her door open, just enough to summon the current guard on duty.

"Please fetch me Lady Snow," Sansa said in a cool, even tone, already running through the strict words she'd have for her maid. It was Aedlayne's job to wake her. Youngness was no excuse for mistakes of this magnitude. Great gods, didn't anyone realize their Queen was somehow I explicitly missing? Perhaps an empty seat at the table this morning would have reminded the young maid, one would think.

Sansa seethed as she brushed her own hair out.

The door opened behind her, but it was Jeyne who entered her room.

"If you're here to beg for mercy on her," Sansa said, turning, scowling, "She deserves to be reprimanded."

"Blame me, my Queen," Jeyne said simply, folding her hands in front of her.

Sansa turned, raising an eyebrow.

"You see, when Adelayne was coming to wake you, I was with her by chance, and I realized it had been a long time since I've seen you so rested. I cannot recall a day you've had a deeper slumber. I told her to hold off waking you."

"It was not-,"

"Sansa, you cannot continue on the hours of napping you've had, you surely realize. You'll run yourself into the crypts before you've had a chance for anything good. Ser Podrick also informed me that you didn't return to your room until hours past moon high. If you were awake longer, it would have been a pitiful sleep, at best." Jeyne said firmly.

At Sansa's whitened face, Jeyne continued, "Whatever friendship you have with the knight, or why he'd know what time you went to bed...you know I could never judge you, don't you?"

Sansa bit her lip. She was so used to everyone exploiting knowledge that she had to remind herself. She gave a thin nod.

"Fine, but it is very impolite to miss hosting my guests and-,"

"I easily explained it. I said you had some important business to attend to and were terribly sorry you could not join them." Jeyne said, putting on an act worthy of any thespian troupe.

Sansa snorted, "They didn't believe that, did they?"

Jeyne paused, thinking, "I'm unsure. However, it does make you seem...aloof, mysterious almost. We both know boys find some strange pleasure in this."

Sansa sat back, nodding. Jeyne wordlessly set out a dress for Sansa, unlacing the back. She helped Sansa clothe herself for the day.

"Thank you," Sansa said, "For allowing me to sleep. I don't want to make a habit of it, though."

"Of course," Jeyne readily agreed.

Sansa met with some of the men from King's Landing directly after, but Podrick was nowhere to be seen. One of the men- Brid, the man from last night- informed Sansa he was replying and making notes of the trip in the library, which Jeyne had indicated the previous night was free for him to use.

They had not yet received a maester, so the library was empty sans the young knight, hunched over his work.

"Ser Podrick?" Sansa asked, now in front of him, unsure of what to say. Podrick glanced up, grinning quickly, setting down his quill.

"I hope you slept well, Queen Sansa."

"Yes." Sansa kept the rest of what she wanted to say at the back of her throat; that she hadn't been sleeping well lately, that she couldn't recall falling so deeply to slumber, that the nights were the worst for her.

From the bleary, groggy look on Podrick's face, perhaps he too faced similar issues.

"If I am bothering you, Ser Pod-,"

"You don't have to keep calling me 'ser'," Podrick interrupted her, not quite snapping, but from his expression he hadn't meant to cut her off so swiftly.

"But…" Sansa frowned, blinking, "You're a knight now."

"I'm still the same Podrick as before," He mumbled, less assertive in his tone, "Not much has really changed."

"You're so much more than the boy I met squiring under Tyrion," Sansa insisted, "I want to call you Ser. You deserve it, Podrick, more than anyone I know. Well, besides Ser Brienne."

Podrick shook his head, "Truly, I just happened to be lucky to learn from two extraordinary people, Queen Sansa."

Sansa narrowed her eyes, "If you are to ask me to stop calling you 'Ser', then by gods, stop calling me 'Queen'."

"It's much more improper not to than for you to skip my title," Podrick argued, shaking his head.

Sansa almost laughed. She wasn't sure Podrick had ever fought before, verbally, but there was something nice about it. She knew they weren't truly arguing, but to hear him so passionate about something was closer to normal than most other conversations she'd had. Ruling a land truly was dull at times, and those that did argue with her she often found annoying. Even Jeyne was careful with her.

"I'm hardly your queen though," Sansa pointed out, "And you've said 'my Queen' once or twice."

"You…" Podrick paused, looking up, "You may not be the Stark I serve, but that does not make you any less a queen. As I think Bran will likely have a male follow him, you are also the only Queen I'd ever serve in the little ways I can, the ways without committing treason." He spoke each word carefully, which was fair. Sansa sat back, unsure how to parry back a reply.

"Perhaps we will come to a compromise then?" Sansa finally said, "In private, we'll do away with titles- no matter who is more deserving of their newly-minted prefix-,"

"Unquestionably, you," Podrick murmured.

"And continue to refer to each other as 'Ser' and 'Queen' around others. However, you will have to stop saying 'my Queen'," Sansa said. She wished he could get away with it. Every time that he did, a part of Sansa's heart lit up, as she imagined a world where he'd ridden back to serve her, not Bran, "You may lose your head, and we can't have that."

"No, I suppose not," Podrick sighed, "I agree, my Q-Sansa." He winced. Sansa was surprised he agreed, but glad. Part of Podricks' character was his rigid properness and loyalty.

"I had a question, of you, a favor," Sansa said after a moment, recalling why she'd sought him out.

"Anything," He said immediately, the word spilling out all jumbled together.

"I haven't yet picked my personal guard. I have Winterfell guards, yes, but picking out one's personal set is a little more delicate. Anyone I trusted to guard me with a sword is either dead or sworn to another," She could have sworn Pod winced, even just briefly, "So I am at a loss as how to pick the best men."

She paused, looking at Podrick imploringly. Podrick scratched his chin.

"I'm not sure what you're asking."

"I want you to aid me in picking them, or better yet, tell me who you think is worthy." She held up a hand before he could protest, "You have watched Brienne pick for Bran, and I know that you'd have my best interests at heart. You may think yourself a knight only by luck, but that's not it. You're a fantastic knight; you should have been knighted ages ago. You know what it takes to be a good guard, so please, help me," she breathed.

Podrick let out a quiet groan. She almost missed his words, whispered under his breath, as though he didn't expect her to hear it. "It is alarmingly impossible to deny any of your requests, Sansa."

Sansa wasn't sure how to proceed with that, so she just stood. She did not acknowledge or pretend she hadn't heard it, instead just decided to leave and let him be.

"I will have Jeyne deliver the list of men who have expressed interest to your door tonight, and the notes I had on them. I hope you'll find time before you leave to help me."

But, even as she said it, Sansa knew he'd help.

She was sure she'd rest much safer knowing that her sworn guardsmen would be vetted by Podrick.

XIX

Dear Arya,

That was completely inappropriate of you to send me moon tea! You should be glad only me and Jeyne open these letters...can you imagine the scandal that would have occurred? And, I'll have you know, that if I ever find myself in the need of it, we still do grow it here.

I suppose I should be pleased; you sending me such indicates that you are taking precautions with Lord Gendry. Gods know I couldn't talk you out of abstaining any more than I could broach the topic of him making you a proper 'Lady'. If you feel such the overwhelming desire to sleep with him (and please, don't answer that), at least you are being safe. Although, on the other side of the argument, I think we both know where you'll end up. Having an heir early wouldn't be entirely unreasonable.

On a different but slightly similar note...your continued efforts to have me sleep with a man is actually starting to get alarming aggressive and to be frank, a little concerning. I'm not even sure what people would think if they saw the letters we send back and forth to each other.

Is this what sisters talk about? I guess I wouldn't even know…

Love,

Sansa

Dear Sansa,

Well, thank the gods that the moon tea plants survived! You know, I'd take it as a holy sign that they want you to have good, hot sex. You know, considering that most of the rest of the plants were destroyed in the battle.

I'm not even going to talk about you saying I should have a kid. I think I want one, but...damn, there I go, talking about it. Let's just put a pause on that for now, huh?

And come on, isn't there anyone you'd sleep with? You may not believe it, but the whole of Winterfell would probably be very willing to sleep with you! It's better if you like it too…

Arya,

Well, there is-

You remember-

I think that I-

No. There's no one I want to sleep with right now.

Love,

Sansa

XX

Sansa didn't know what prompted her to keep her budding relationship with Podrick a secret from Arya. Certainly, it wasn't because she didn't trust her. She trusted Arya above most people.

Maybe because she wasn't sure if there was a relationship to speak of. Not a romantic one, gods no, Sansa considered. A friendship, she foolishly steeled herself to think. She enjoyed Ser Podrick was a person and confidant, this much was true. She was looking forward to talking to him every day. She was already mourning him leaving, but reminded herself they'd still have letters.

Even with all of this, Sansa was unsure what it meant . She knew exactly what Arya would say about it, so that may be why Sansa said nothing. Until she knew more, this was her secret to hold close to her chest.

"Any men look good, Ser?" Sansa said, coming to sit beside Podrick, her fingers tracing lightly across his back. She saw how he stiffened, but after a moment- when her touch receded-his shoulders relaxed.

"My Queen," Podrick teased back, looking around the empty room.

"Podrick, I mean, Podrick." Sansa corrected herself, recalling their agreement.

Podrick flipped through the scrolls, "Yes, to answer. A couple. I'd like to meet with them in person."

"Of course. Would tomorrow after we break our fast be acceptable?"

"More than," Podrick began to assemble the scrolls into three piles. Sansa guess it may be 'yes, no, and maybe', but she was unsure, "I don't think any of these men are necessarily bad choices. I just think some are better than others." He said, as Sansa watched him.

"But you've ruled out some," Sansa prompted.

"Yes," Podrick took a good long time to speak, "I get the feeling, though I may be wrong, that some men coming looking to serve you in...other ways. And they feel this is just a stepping stone."

"For marriage," Sansa surmised. She saw a light blush on Podrick's cheeks, but he nodded.

Sansa hummed unhappily. She hated to be reminded that to many men, she was just a piece in a game to move around, a key to the North. She was the epitome of the North to some, but not all. It was so frustrating to be ruling as she was, but then have these boys ride in on horses with the expectation that Sansa would hand it all over to them.

"If I've upset you-,"

"No," Sansa turned her head sharply, "You? Never. I just...marriage is a subject I don't like talking about."

"Because of...right," Podrick smartly trailed off before he listed her previous two marriages, and one near-marriage, "I'd imagine you wouldn't be keen on jumping into one so swiftly."

"No." Sansa's voice had hardened to edge to it, "Yet, I field at least three offers a day. Not just from my own men, but the new Prince of Dorn sent me you one, did you know?"

Podrick's whole face was red, "I did not."

"I turned them all down." Sansa didn't think it needed to be said, but she did anyway.

"Do you think you'll ever marry again?" Podrick leaned onto the desk, his arms crossed inches away from Sansa's.

"I would like to hope so, and I would like to hope it would be out of love," She said, words she couldn't even bring herself to tell Jeyne, "I don't know if I could bring myself to marry for duty ever again. Even if…"

Even if it meant losing the North.

That was her worst secret, the one that clawed her up inside. For everything she'd done, for all the blood she'd helped to spill, for every awful act she'd been a part of...all for the North. She would give the North near anything, except a loveless marriage. Not again. Never again.

"Did you ever imagine yourself to marry?" The words were leaving her lips before she was aware.

"I suppose. It's just expected." Podrick said, blinking, but seemed a little caught off-guard.

"I'm sorry. That's rude of me to ask now. All things considered…" She found herself glancing at his Kingsguard uniform, visible under the furs to combat the coolness of the winter.

"No, we all knew what we were signing up for," Podrick insisted, "It's a great honor. Besides, though we still can't marry, King Bran has said that we are free to...take lovers," He mumbled the last part, so softly that Sansa almost didn't hear.

"Oh?"

Podrick looked uncomfortable discussing it but realized he'd said it already, and Sansa leaned in, curious, "Well, most of the guard was with someone in secret anyway. But King Bran sees everything. As long as it doesn't interfere with our sworn duties, your brother didn't want to deny us what most already did."

"Would you have?"

The question is undeniably teasing, almost flirty. Sansa is appalled that she even asked. Podrick is the most honorable man she knows, she highly doubts it.

He looks down, laughing a bit, though she's not sure what's funny. It was entirely inappropriate for her to even say.

"No, I wouldn't have. You know that's not me."

"I do. I truly do! I-," Sansa broke off, so embarrassed, "You're a good knight, Podrick. I don't know why I'd even wondered."

"No harm done," Podrick said, meeting Sansa's eyes, "Truly."

He was smiling at the corners of his lips, a soft look that made Sansa relax.

She firmly kept the next question in the back of her throat though, unsaid. The question that she simultaneously wanted to know and did not want to know. The idea of knowing, either way, made her queasy, but not in a gross sort of way, but a way Sansa could not place.

Now that Bran's lifted the rule, will you partake in sexual pleasure?