Chapter Text
Sansa lay in her large bed, most of the space and warmth being actively taken by Lady, her wolf. Her toes were already cold at the edge of the blanket, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull her legs up, it was as if they were made of lead. She had endured another sleepless night, after the reoccurring dream of him had caused her to violently wake at exactly 2:02 am. Lady had awoken as well, and comforted Sansa for a while before she lay back down and returned to her wolfy dreams. Sansa didn’t want to return to her own dreams, her dreams were where he presided. He ruled court over her mind and every time she closed her eyes in the dark, she felt him there. As if he was in the room with her.
Tonight’s dream had been no different from all the others, though this one had felt so especially real. That night, that horrid night, they had argued briefly, about what, she couldn’t even fully recall. It had been something small, or at least that was how she remembered it, but there was an anger that had been simmering under his cold surface. He swallowed it, though, until Sansa crawled into bed that night. He allowed her to settle for just a moment before, in the darkness of their room, he had viciously grabbed her ankles, and pulled with such suddenness that a shriek ripped from her throat as she fell. The memory alone was enough to send a shiver down Sansa’s back, and she did not allow herself to think about what events followed.
She sits up, Lady waking with her and giving her small licks along her arm, as if to say good morning. Sansa stretches with a light groan, absentmindedly brushing the raised lines along her right shoulder blade with her fingertips. She stares blankly out the large windows taking up an entire wall of her room.
Their apartment was on the top floor of a towering skyscraper, the mist of the morning in kings landing obscuring her usually expansive view of the city. The impending winter was edging out the autumn, and the cold morning left spiderwebs of frost on her windows.
Sansa’s long, pale legs slither out from under her covers, padding quickly across the room and into the bathroom. It is not long till the sound of a shower turning on wakes Lady again, who readjusts in the bed, occupying the warm spot in which Sansa had previously taken residence. Sansa emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy robe and a towel around her hair, throwing on sweatpants and a tank top. Lady watches her own lady with trained discipline, waiting as Sansa towel-dries her hair, and shoves her feet into slippers, before opening the bedroom door and leaving.
Lady follows, knowing that her breakfast is imminent.
Arya, against all odds, was already awake, wearing mostly black clothes that looked as if they had been ripped to shreds. Her just-past pixie length hair was wild and unbrushed, and she filled a travelling mug with coffee, dark as Blackwater bay.
“I didn’t realize you could go outside in the daylight.”
Sansa teases, watching as her little sister tightly screws on the cap of the mug, her own pet, Nymeria, waiting diligently by her feet.
“Ha. mom’s making me.”
Arya grumbles as she shrugs on a large coat, much too large for her small stature, but that was likely the whole point.
“Oh right, my not so surprising surprise party! Why Robert feels the need to help orchestrate my birthday party is a mystery to me…”
Sansa muses, taking the croissants she had made the day before out of the fridge, unwrapping them as a knock sounds on the girls front door. Sansa knew they had a key, but they hardly barged in without invitation.
“Come in!”
The girls call in unison. At their word, two very large figures enter the apartment. The woman, Brienne of Tarth, was Sansa’s own personal bodyguard, and closest thing she had to a friend these days. The man, The Hound, was Arya’s bodyguard. Their relationship was less of a friendly matter and more a matter of business. The hound was not an easy man to befriend.
“Good morning my ladies. Hello little Lady!”
Brienne greets the sisters with a smile, dropping to her knees as Sansa’s dog bounds over to Brienne, unabashed excitement on her face. Brienne was dressed for a workout, and Lady knew that meant she would get to go for a run.
“Good morning Brienne, Good morning, Sandor.”
Sansa greets them both good naturedly, though her voice did reveal a bit of the weariness plaguing her. The hound, legally known as Sandor Clegane, gives Sansa a small smile and a nod, more than most people would receive in their entire lives.
“Morning, little bird.”
He greets her, only managing a small, proper, bow before Arya is worming her way under his arm and out the door. The hound follows with an exasperated sigh, the Stark girl did everything in her power to try and shake him every day. Every single day though, she couldn’t ever get far. The hound was good at his job.
Brienne takes Lady and Nymeria, attaching them both to sturdy leashes, before setting back out with a smile and a wave to Sansa, who looked tired and frail, she looked bad enough that Brienne made a mental note of it. The doctors all said that Sansa would only be able to survive if she wanted to survive, if she had the urge to continue living. Brienne understood why she wouldn’t want to, she didn’t look down on the Stark girl for it, but it made her heart ache, as she had come to love Sansa like she was her own.
Sansa spies Brienne from the living room windows, watching as she takes the wolves down the street, and cutting through an alleyway before heading west. She was likely taking them down by the blackwater, where there would be long stretches of beaches to run the wolves. There weren’t many forests or fields in kings landing, but there was no way the girls were going to get rid of their wolves, so they all simply had to adapt.
Sansa herself had to adapt as well, she knew it just like everyone else knew it. They were all too afraid to say it to her face though; they walked and spoke around her as if she was a porcelain doll, teetering on the edge of a shelf. As if the presence of one strong breeze in the wrong direction, would cause her to go tumbling off, shattering upon impact.
Of course Sansa didn’t think that was the case, but then again, she hadn’t truly left her apartment in months, and only ever spoke to her family. She had made a recluse out of a once very happy girl. Sansa could vividly remember being happy. She felt it enough to know that she wasn’t happy anymore.
As she practiced her meditation, like her therapist had suggested, she wondered about the extravagant party she knew was being planned in her honor, likely at that very moment. Robert Baratheon, king of the seven kingdoms and of Westeros itself, was her father’s best friend. The two men were raised as boys together, and Robert had always been quite endeared to the Stark children. Though she struggled to accept it, It was really no great surprise that King Robert wanted to help plan Sansa’s party, especially now that she was turning 22, she was a true lady, and the party could be as extravagant as the indulgent king wished. She didn’t want it though. She didn’t want everyone looking at her, calling her name, the clapping, and the shouting, and Joffrey would undoubtedly be there, as well as Petyr…
Sansa’s eyes pop open and she finds herself pulled out of the meditative state she had finally sunken into. She sighs, giving up on the mediation and shuffling to the kitchen, where she stands for a moment, unsure of how to proceed from here. After some consideration, she decides that she wants to make lemon cakes, and begins the process of taking out the ingredients and getting such things sorted. Before long, Brienne returns, finding her lady viciously whipping at a lemon cream that could be smelt throughout the spacious apartment. Lady and Nymeria are released, both of them making mad dashes for their water bowls, and practically flooding the living room in the process.
“My lady… there is something I must speak to you about.”
Brienne admits to Sansa, sliding onto one of the barstools facing the interior of the kitchen. Sansa nods, not stopping her baking process, but listening with a careful ear. The two had grown so close in the last few years that Sansa felt like they could talk about anything- it wasn’t often that they struggled to broach a topic. Brienne sighs, as if she was still debating her approach.
“I have a godson, and he is training to become a royal bodyguard like myself.”
“That’s nice!”
“Yes, it is. What I want to ask, lady Sansa… in order for him to get the full experience, before he can officially start any job on his own… I would like him to shadow me.”
No response, Sansa spoons lemon custard onto small cakes; she seems to be in deep thought. Brienne pushes on.
“Podrick is a good boy- not much older than yourself, my lady, and I would trust him with my life. Of course it is your life that is in question here, so I wanted to ask your permission first.”
Sansa pauses, not looking at Brienne for a moment, her perfectly manicured eyebrows knitting together as her bottom lip catches between her teeth.
“Podrick… is it Podrick Payne?”
“You know of him, my lady?”
“I believe I might. When I was still in school, I had a Payne as professor Tyrion’s teaching assistant. Though I could hardly say he was the kind of boy to become a bodyguard.”
Sansa thinks of the young man, he had been a little chubby, with a friendly face covered in freckles. She could not remember speaking to him much, but he had always been kind to her. She could not imagine him going into the same profession as Brienne, a woman standing at 6’3”, and with the stature of the heroes from the old songs. Brienne doesn't say anything, allowing Sansa the space to think as she taps her tray of cakes against the counter.
“You know how I get around… strangers…”
Sansa says, the word stranger was truly meant as “strange men” but she didn’t have to say that part aloud, Brienne knew her well enough.
“He is a good boy my lady, I would not ever dream of bringing a man into this home, unless I truly believed that he would protect you with his life.”
Sansa thinks for a moment longer, opening the oven and popping the lemon cakes in, before closing it and turning back to the woman sitting before her. Brienne’s blue eyes shone with hope, and Sansa found herself unable to find a good reason to turn her offer down. It would be temporary anyways, and she had to start somewhere.
“Alright, I give my permission that he may shadow you. Would he be living in your apartment as well?”
Brienne and Sandor shared a two-bedroom, much smaller, apartment directly below Sansa and Arya’s apartment. The room and board was entirely covered by the Stark family, and it was nicer than they’d be able to afford on any other king's landing salary.
“The boy must get the full experience, mustn’t he?”
Brienne chuckles softly alongside Sansa. He would probably be stuck on the couch, poor thing. Sansa pitied him for just a moment, imagining the clumsy boy trying to turn over on Brienne and Sandor’s tiny couch, before falling off with a heavy thud.
“I’m sure my parents will want to speak with him.”
Sansa muses, and Brienne nods. She stands and stretches her arms above her head as she does. Her fingers skim the ceilings, which were high even by Sansa’s standards.
“We can all have a meeting with your parents tomorrow, if you wish.”
Tomorrow, so soon. Again, Sansa reminded herself that it would have to happen eventually, might as well rip the bandaid off.
“Ill have to move some things around in my schedule, but I’m sure I could fit it in.”
Sansa says with another small chuckle. Brienne laughs heartily; they were both fully aware that Sansa had nothing else to do for the rest of the week.