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Chapter Text

“Lady Sansa, I was hoping we could speak alone.”

When Daenerys was younger, she’d often overhear her brother talking about women. And while Viserys was not, by all means, a good person, every once in a while he would slip up and let a bit of his humanity shine through, and at those moments, when he told her of her family’s past and history, she would sit still and listen and learn.

Stark women ruined us, Viserys told her once. Had it not been for them, none of this would have happened.

But it was all about the details, she knew. All about the way he said it – the way he said ‘Stark women’ as if they were a force of nature, as inevitable as winter itself. It made her curious. And then she met Jon Snow, the Stark bastard, and suddenly she understood.

There was something about the Starks, and she should have seen it sooner.

The servant who Sansa had been talking to walked away from the room, and Daenerys took a step forward. “I thought we were on the verge of agreement before. About Ser Jaime.”

“Brienne trusts him, and I trust Brienne.” Sansa Stark replied, taking a seat. Jon had soft black curls that framed his gentle face, but they paled in comparison to Sansa’s fiery red locks.

There was something about the Starks, and there it was, staring her on the face, and yet she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She walked to the chair and rested her hands on it, but didn’t sit down, instead tapping a finger on the wood.

Daenerys was never a woman to beat around the bush. “You don’t like me.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Sansa’s lips. “Northerners are suspicious of strangers.”

“Wise of you.” She broke eye contact and took a moment to think. “But we have enough in common to bridge that gap, don’t we?”

“Not enough for me to understand your intentions,” Sansa replied, and Daenerys took a seat, arched an eyebrow and nodded for her to continue. “You have everything. The army. The dragons. If you attack now, King’s Landing is yours for the taking. And yet here you are, in the middle of nowhere, fighting a losing battle. Why?”

“Would you believe it if I said it’s because I care?” She smiled humorlessly and reached for a cup. “I am no Cersei. If my people are dying, then I have to do something about it. And I am your queen, whatever duties that entails.”

She stared at Sansa and Sansa stared right back, head held high, never dropping her gaze. There was something about it – the dignity, perhaps, that same noble character she’d seen in Jon – something about it that gave her pause. They sat in silence for a moment.

“Did you fuck my brother?”

Daenerys realized right then that she might have however many men at her disposition she wanted, however many dragons, and Sansa Stark would never be afraid. Cautious, certainly, but unwavering regardless.

“I did not,” she replied, and poured herself a drink. “I did not, in fact, fuck your brother,” and then, because the way to deal with the ruthless was with ruthlessness, she added “Though I did think about it. Want it, even. It’s not out of question. I might still do it.”

“And herein lies our problem,” Sansa leaned forward. “My brother, as you must have noticed, is in love with you. And men do stupid things for women.”

“Hence why I am here, talking to the person who actually runs Winterfell,” Daenerys ran her eyes over Sansa’s whole shape, taking notice of her movements, her body language. “Your brother is a genuinely good man. Those are scarce. It would be a pity to destroy that, when I know my one true love will always be the Iron Throne. But that’s another thing we have in common, isn’t it, Lady Stark? You’ll never love a man as much as you love the north.”

“Which begs the question,” Sansa crossed her legs, “What about the North, my queen?” she said it in a way that made Daenerys want to snarl, “Say we survive this. Say you march down to King’s Landing. Take the throne. What about the North?”

“The North will be a part of the Seven Kingdoms, like all others,” she tensed her jaw, then sighed. “Is that such a bad thing? When I’ve gone out of my way to defend you. When you’d keep your power over Winterfell. Would it really be so awful?”

“We fought for the North. We bled for our freedom, for these lands, we fought so we would bow down to no one.”

“You fought for the North, and so will I. Without my forces, there will be no North for you to rule.” Daenerys placed her glass on the table. “As for bending the knee, Lady Stark, though I would never say that in public, you don’t have to. It’s not what I need from you, and your brother already did it. From you, all I ask is cooperation.”

“You have three dragons and an army on my lands. It wouldn’t be smart of me to spite you.” Sansa shrugged. “But it wouldn’t be honest of me to lick your boots either. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think you’d want me to.” She paused, tapped her finger against her jaw. “So, there it is. You have my cooperation, for now. You also have my distrust.”

There was something about the Stark women, all right, and she suddenly found herself laughing despite how tense the situation truly was. Sansa arched an eyebrow at her. “Something amusing?”

“You know, this whole mess started because my brother couldn’t keep his hands off your aunt. For the longest while, I thought him a fool for it.” She smirked. “But now, face to face with your family, I can somehow see where he was coming from.”

“My brother had that much of an impact on you?”

Daenerys leaned back against the chair and stared at the roof, thoughtful. “Jon is… remarkable, albeit naïve in his idealism. Whatever lady he ends up with is a lucky woman. He is a gentle soul. I could see myself falling for him in the past, but I’m not that person anymore.”

“You’re right,” Sansa extended her hand, took a cup – Daenery’s cup – and sipped on the wine. “Before, I mean. You’d ruin him. Don’t. I’m sure there’s a girl out there less jaded than the two of us. One who believes in beauty and magic and the lies of the noble. Let her have Jon. Let them be happy. I was that girl, once.”

 “Oh, so were I.” Daenerys leaned forward and took her cup back from Sansa’s hand, letting her fingers linger on her skin just a little bit longer than necessary. “We have that in common as well, I suppose.” She held Sansa’s gaze and didn’t move back. “I wasn’t talking about your brother.”

“With the way you’ve been looking at me, I figured as much,” Sansa snapped, but didn’t recoil.

She laughed again, and it brought a lightness to her chest she hadn’t felt in a while. Daenerys liked having people bend the knee, but there was something about that defiance based on harsh sincerity that was undeniably attractive. “I’ve burned people for less, you know.”

“I do know,” Sansa smiled, and this time it almost reached her eyes. “Burning people seems to run in your family. Together with, apparently, a particular taste for Starks. And the madness, of course.”

“The madness,” Daenerys repeated. “Ah, the madness. It all comes down to that, doesn’t it?”

“Does it?”

“I’m mad,” she admitted with a grin. “I’m definitely mad. I can feel it crawling in the corners of my mind, hear its whispers like we’re bound to hear the fingernails of the dead scratch against the walls of Winterfell tomorrow. I’m mad, all right. I’m fucking –” she slammed her fist against the table and laughed. Sansa didn’t flinch. That, more than anything, made her blood boil. “I am mad like my father and my brothers before me. Undeniably. And so you’re right to be distrustful of me, Lady Stark, because I too am distrustful of myself.”

“Your acknowledgement is not as reassuring as I expected it to be,” Sansa replied, reaching for the cup again.

Daenerys grabbed her wrist. “I have advisors. Some of which, presumably, you trust. People to keep me in check.”

“The three dragons answer to you and you alone.” She made no movement to pull herself free.

“As Ghost answers to your brother. Some of us have been blessed with unconditionally loyal allies.” She released the pressure on Sansa’s wrist and dragged her fingers up the arm. “You should count that as a good thing. I am easier to keep under control than my dragons.”

She watched as Sansa trailed her eyes over where their skins touched. “Perhaps I should give that a shot, then.”

“You can try.” Daenerys let her fingertips move up to Sansa’s shoulder. “What do you want from me, Lady Stark? Besides my army and my dragons. What do you want from me, nonpolitically?”

“Everything is political.” Sansa touched Daenerys’ arm with her fingers, dragging nail over skin just hard enough to hurt. “But personally? I believe the things that are pure and good should be preserved, because they are inspiring even when unattainable. So stay away from my brother.”

“Done. And you?”

 “I’m neither pure nor particularly a good person,” Sansa stood and, without warning, closed the distance between them and pressed their lips together.

It was over faster than she could react, way too soon, before she could get a chance to kiss back or tangle her fingers on red hair. It was over and Daenerys was left wanting more, but Sansa was already at the door when she finally got a hold of herself and stood to give chase.

“And I’ll keep in touch,” Sansa grinned, and at last it seemed genuine, if a bit malicious. “And maybe we’ll see about novel ways to make sure you behave.”

There’s something about Stark women, she thought as she watched Sansa go, still standing, acutely aware of how dumbfounded she must have looked and even more aware of Sansa’s smugness.

She felt heat coil at her belly and the scratch marks Sansa had left on her skin felt like fire.

There’s something about them, and it turns out I am no less stupid than my brothers, she realized as she pushed the chair she’d been sitting on and made her way to the door.

And no less mad than them, either.

Chapter Text

Daenerys Targaryen was an interesting person.

Sansa wasn’t sure what took her to the self-proclaimed queen’s chambers on the night of the celebration, when the men were drunk with mead, grief and relief, all at once. A dangerous combination, she knew, and the wisest move would be for her to stay around and keep things under control. But something she couldn’t quite explain compelled her to seek the woman –

I want sex, Sansa cut to the chase and admitted to herself. I just survived a battle I didn’t expect to and now I want to have sex.

She knew she should have knocked, but the alcohol got to her. When she opened the door, Daenerys was crying.

Sansa froze and moved to close the door. It was a valiant effort – Daenerys had already noticed her presence.

“Your grace,” she said, without the usual hint of irony she let slip into the words. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to –”

“Lock the door behind you when you come in,” Daenerys replied. She didn’t wipe her tears – didn’t even seem to try to stop them from coming. Sansa was surprised to realize it brought her newfound respect.

She stepped inside the room and turned the lock.

“Do you know what they say about Targaryens?”

Sansa did know, but she had no intention of saying it. “That they have violet eyes and hair white as snow, among other things. Many things.”

“You know exactly what I mean, Lady Stark,” Daenerys broke eye contact and sat up from the bed. “They say whenever a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin. What side of the coin do you think I landed on?”

Sansa didn’t have an answer to that, and so she said nothing.

Daenerys scoffed. “You asked me, before the battle, what I wanted – what I’m here for. Do you still want to know?”

“Of course,” Sansa took off her gloves and rested them on a desk, sideways to the other. “Since you offered.”

“I wanted to belong,” Daenerys turned her face and stared out the window. “All my life, I’ve been chasing this – this sense of belonging. Viserys – my brother, he always said we could only find that on the Iron Throne. That we were meant to rule. But seeing the people here, seeing how they look at me, I’ve realized that was just… a lie.”

“The northeners aren’t the most welcoming people,” Sansa offered, feeling an uncharacteristic need to make amends. “But don’t get us wrong – we are grateful to your –”

“You’re scared,” she interrupted. “You’re scared of me, because of the power I have and because my family has a reputation of being maniacs. And that’s how it’ll always be for me here – just people wondering, over and over, if tomorrow is the day the queen goes mad and kills us all. I won’t belong here and I – coming to Westeros was a mistake.”

This is who she really is, Sansa realized when Daenerys wiped her cheek with the sleeve of her robes. This is the person behind the queen.  “You did save us,” Sansa took a step forward, then hesitated. “And it cost you a lot – it cost all of us a lot. But you did what was right when Cersei didn’t move an inch to stop what would have been everyone’s doom.”

“And yet,” Daenerys clenched her hands into fists. “And yet, and yet. The people loved me in Essos, did you know? They called me mother. And I should have stayed, but I have this – this fucking need to ruin everything good,” she stood and walked to the window. “I chase after a dream of belonging, a dream of being loved, but I can only ever see it in the past, when I’ve already lost it, or in a future I’ll have to climb mountains to reach.”

She was shaking, visibly, and Sansa found herself stepping closer. Without warning, Daenerys slammed her fist against the window frame. The rattling made Sansa hesitate.

“They called me mother,” She repeated, “And I can’t ever have children again, did you know? Because that’s the gods’ greatest irony, when all I want is a family. So they’re all my children – my people and my dragons, and I – I – fuck.”

Sansa closed the distance between them and placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’ve all suffered great losses,” she looked out through the window. Below, drunk men cheered and yelled. “A bittersweet victory at most.”

“Aren’t they all?” Daenerys turned to her, and Sansa found herself searching her violet eyes for hints of madness. “But that’s my issue – even when I win, I lose. I lose my children. I lose people who loved me, and I never really realized how much they mattered until it was too late. I lose and I lose for the sake of – of what? I always want more but I don’t know what that more even is anymore.”

“You’re lonely,” Sansa let her hand slide, until it touched Daenerys’ fingers. Her skin was always warm. “I’m sorry,” she thought fitting to add. “For Ser Jorah. And the Dothraki, and Missandei and your dragon. I understand they’re important to you.”

“Do you?”

“I do now,” Sansa moved closer, bumped their shoulders together. Daenerys stared at the place where their hands touched for a moment.

“What happened to your wolf?”

“Excuse me?” Sansa visibly flinched, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Daenerys turned to her. Their eyes met, and Sansa found she couldn’t bring herself to look away, even though it made her chest ache and her heart beat uncomfortably fast. “Your wolf. Robb Stark had a wolf. Rickon Stark had one. Jon has Ghost, and he’s not even – never mind. It seems to me you should have one, but you don’t. So what happened?”

“I don’t –” the pain that struck her was abrupt as lightning, so hard she had to gasp for air. “I don’t want to talk about it. It was – It was my fault, my mistake, and I – I can’t.”

I never talked about it, she thought, even as her hand shook and Daenerys interlaced their fingers. To anyone. I wanted to never even think about it –

“It’s something special, isn’t it? Not just a pet. There’s a bond, and when it’s broken, it hurts like ripping a piece of your soul.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated for what felt the millionth time that night, but this time she felt herself tear up. “For…”

“Viserion,” Daenerys completed. “After my brother. The other two are grieving. They haven’t eaten since the battle.”

Sansa hadn’t been aware dragons could grieve, though they had struck her as uncannily sentient.

“I don’t think you’re mad.” She turned to face her, lifted a hand to touch her cheek. “Ruthless, yes. Perhaps even cruel to those you find cruelty justified. But mad? No.” Sansa traced Daenery’s jaw with her thumb. “You know very well what you’re doing.”

She let her fingers move to the soft skin of Daenery’s lips, felt they curl into a smile under her touch. “I am glad for your verdict, Lady Stark. I hope, for both our sakes, that you are right. But enough about losses. You did not come here to check on my emotional state.”

“I did not,” Sansa admitted, “Though perhaps I should have. I might, in the future,” she paused, then licked her lips. “If your grace allows me.”

“Ah. There you go. I must say spite suits you well.” Daenerys grabbed her wrist, snuck a hand to her nape and pressed their lips together.

Sansa grinned.

When she kissed back, Daenerys replied by pushing her against the window frame and giving her lips a bite.  “Yes,” Daenerys whispered to her ear between short breathes.

“Mmh?”

“Yes,” she repeated, pulling her by the waist and backing into the bed. “Check on me. Ask me about my feelings. Tell me about yours. Come to me when you want sex. Come to me when you need to talk, or when you get a hold of a bottle of exotic wine. Just seek me. Be here for me. Let me be here for you.”

“Is that an order?”

“A request.” They fell together on the bed. Sansa removed her coat and threw it to the side. “I’m done feeding on promises and living in the future. We stopped the Night King, but winter is still here. We’ll rest. Recover. Then march on King’s Landing. What will be, will be.”  Daenerys took a second to stare, and Sansa felt violet eyes drift from her shape to peer into her very soul. “But until then, I need to appreciate the things I already have, lest I go truly mad. Such as... the one northerner who doesn’t quite hate me.”

“What a bold assumption.”

“But not an incorrect one?” She smirked, smug, and Sansa had half a mind to wipe it off her face.

“That depends on you,” She leaned in and pushed Daenerys on the bed, tangling her fingers on ash-white hair and pulling her in for a longer kiss. “Ask me again tomorrow, and we’ll see.”

Chapter Text

She knew she wasn’t alone when Drogon started snarling, but she didn’t turn, not even when she caught a glimpse of red hair on her peripheral vision. Instead, Daenerys pressed her forehead to the dragon’s scales and let her throat vibrate into a quiet hum. “It’s okay, sweetling,” she rubbed their jaw with her fingers. “Shh. It’s okay.”

To her side, Rhaegal shifted and grunted. Daenerys could sense their anxiety as if it were her own, and there wasn’t much she could do when Rhaegal stepped forward and put himself in between her and Sansa.

“Lady Stark,” she finally greeted, looking over the dragon’s neck. “Please excuse them. Viserion was always the most social brother, and with him gone, I find the other two are struggling on how to behave.”

Something squeezed at her chest even as she said it, and she teared up a bit before swallowing it back down. It was one thing to weep on the privacy of her room, another to do so in the open, where even her tears were political. “Drogon, Rhaegal, please,” she murmured. “Lady Stark and I have matters to discuss.”

“Oh, no, it’s all right,” Sansa waved her off from a distance. “Don’t let me get in the way of… your dragons. I wouldn’t want that.”

“Rhaegal, Drogon!” she hissed, firmly this time. “Behave!” She slapped Rhaegal on the jaw and the dragon made a sound of protest, but moved his head to the side. Drogon let out a final snarl, smoke puffing off his nostrils, but Daenerys gave him a glare before making her way to Sansa.

“They’re protective of you,” Sansa noted as Daenerys dusted herself.

“They’re children who just lost their brother,” she turned to the two, watched Rhaegal bump Drogon on the neck with his muzzle. “Viserion was gentle and affectionate. They’re trying to… make up for that with each other. But it’s hard to be something you are not. Even for dragons.”

Sansa didn’t answer, but moved closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. Daenerys wondered how obvious was the grief in her voice and body language. She fixed her gaze on a spot on the horizon and counted to ten before speaking again. “But enough about them. Give them time to grief. How may I help you, Lady Stark?”

She saw Sansa hesitate, glimpsed a rare moment of anxiety in her face –

“Nothing. I just wanted to check on you.”

“Oh,” she found herself babbling, stupidly, heat creeping up her cheeks. “I – thank you. I’m… I’m doing better, I suppose. Still recovering.”

“Have to make sure we don’t get another mad queen,” Sansa muttered, hugging herself. It was cold, even for a northerner, and Daenerys had already accepted that whenever she stepped outside, she wouldn’t be able to feel her toes.

She’s sweet, Daenerys realized even as Sansa’s face turned into a trained expression of neutrality. She was sweet, just like Jon was sweet, in a way that was candid and sincere even though as opposed to her brother, she turned into someone else when she was in public.

“What about you?”

“Pardon me?”

“What about you,” Daenerys repeated. “You lost people too. I know Greyjoy was like a brother to you. And the northerners are your people.” She paused, thought for a second. “You don’t have to be prone to madness to deserve people caring for your emotional state. Need it, even.”

“Still recovering,” Sansa echoed, absently kicking snow. “Thank you for asking.”

Sansa wasn’t very emotionally open, and she spoke little about herself, which made her remarkably hard to read. “There’s something I need to tell you,” Daenerys decided on impulse. “About Jon.”

Sansa arched an eyebrow at her and nodded for her to continue.

“No, we… we should probably speak of it in private. It’s important, but not urgent. He’s not… who I thought he was. Who everyone thinks he is.”

“I know,” Sansa let a sly smile cross her lips. “But I’m glad to know you would have told me.”

“Of course you know, of course he told you,” she sighed. “I’m not sure what I should have expected. He can’t tell a lie. I’m lucky he’s not related to Varys, else half of Westeros would know already.”

Sansa scoffed. “Jon was always as noble as he is stupid. He’s… not a threat to you, despite what you just learned.”

“With how quick and eager he was to get rid of the title of king, I don’t expect him to be.” Daenerys slid her hands into her pockets and hopped from one foot to the other, trying to make some body heat.  “It’s a good thing.”

“It is?”

“Yeah,” she stopped and looked at her feet, drumming her fingers against her own arm. “I can’t have children. But he can. So when the time comes, well, I’m glad someone worthy will take my place. I’m glad I’m not the last Targaryen. And if you ever need an extra reason to support me, it’s because you know your nephews will be kings.”

“I have plenty reasons to support you,” Sansa replied in an even tone that raised more questions than it answered.

“I suppose in a crooked way, that makes us family.” Daenerys watched Rhaegal and Drogon bicker and briefly considered scolding them. “It’s good to have family again.”

“The northerners are warming up to you, you know.”

“Are they? It doesn’t feel like it.”

Sansa smiled. “Because you can’t tell the difference between a warm northerner and a cold one. I don’t blame you. It’s very subtle.”

Daenerys snorted. Rhaegal nibbled Drogon on the leg, then ducked out of reach. Drogon was larger, but Rhaegal had always been the fastest. “I’m learning. I learn fast.”

“Yes, you do.” Sansa bumped a shoulder on her. “The people have been talking. They say you’re going to marry my brother.”

“It would be a Targaryen thing to do. I was set to marry my own brother, before I had him killed.” She shrugged. “But Jon deserves better than a loveless marriage. And I can’t bear him any children.”

“I never liked Jon,” Sansa admitted. “When we were younger. It had nothing to do with him, per se. I was just close to my mother. I always saw him as the product of something cruel – a break of trust.” She paused and stared off into the distance. “But when he heard of what Ramsay Bolton did to the North, he came right back. At first, I thought it was because he wanted to be king, but when the battle was over, he told me to take the north, he didn’t want it. That’s when I realized – he came back for me. For family.”

“Sounds like Jon,” she quipped.

“You can imagine how stupid I feel now, knowing what I do.” Sansa sighed. “I just wish my mother had known the truth – that father never actually betrayed her. It makes sense. He was an honorable man.”

“The one way to make sure a secret doesn’t get out is never telling anyone,” Daenerys pointed out. “It wasn’t an easy choice by any means, I’m sure. Marriages are…complicated.”

“They are. Do you ever think about it, despite that?”

“Of course I do.”

“A political wedding?”

“A smart woman once told me everything is political,” she replied, then smiled. “But honestly? I am taking Westeros by storm with dragons and an army of men with no cocks.” She turned to Sansa, held her gaze. “So I’ll marry whomever I want. Maybe an eunuch. Maybe a woman,” she broke eye contact, “Or maybe the imp.”

“He’s not a bad husband, if you don’t mind the whores.”

“I’ll marry the imp and the whores. Whatever is most scandalizing. More than one partner is just another Targaryen thing to do anyway.”

Sansa laughed then, a sound that was light and clear and made her stomach flutter in a way that caught her so off guard, she forced herself to turn away.

“Look at me,” Sansa snapped. A shiver crawled up her spine and her heart picked up pace. Ahead of them, Drogon and Rhaegal suddenly froze in place, as if sensing the tension. “Daenerys,” she insisted.

She is sweet, Daenerys thought again, but now the memories playing through her head were those of Sansa’s lips on her skin and how she’d hold her down in bed as she touched her and whispered in her ear. She was sweet even when she was rough, gentle even when her teeth and nails left marks on Daenerys’ skin.

“Dany,” Sansa said, and this time she turned.

Sansa wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her, making their stomachs touch. Daenerys closed her eyes and focused on Sansa’s fingers curling around the hairs of her nape and how Sansa’s lips stole the breath off her lungs and made her legs feel weak.

“Your dragons look like they’re going to chew me alive.”

Daenerys opened her eyes. Sure enough, Drogon and Rhaegal were staring at her, their tails lashing out, nostrils smoking just like they did whenever they sensed she was about to go dracarys. She snorted, rolling her eyes at the pair. “Don’t mind them. They’re children.”

She turned around. They were outside Winterfell’s gates and it was too cold for more than a few peasants to be outside, but those who were around were deliberately not looking at them.

Everything is political, she thought, acutely aware of the game Sansa was playing – the game the both of them were playing. Under apparently-non-watchful eyes, she held Sansa’s face and kissed her again.

Let them know, then, she traced Sansa’s jaw with her fingertips. She thought about her brother – not Viserys, but Rhaegar, who threw the whole Seven Kingdoms into chaos because of a woman not unlike Sansa Stark, which, and it was better if she didn’t lie to herself, she was growing to like far too much for it to be safe.

She knew what Tyrion would say. She knew herself well enough, even. The Targaryen were remarkably impulsive, emotional people. But if even Jon Snow, who was only half Targaryen, was allowed to break the most sacred oath of the Night’s Watch, she could give herself the right to take a lover.

Daenerys had dragons and an army, and gods help whoever got in her way.

Let them know.

Chapter Text

When Sansa Stark was young, she used to dream of animals. It was all things from birds to dogs, from bugs to fish. Sometimes, the dreams were so vivid she would wake up breathless and convinced she still had wings.

When she met Lady, Sansa dreamed of wolves.

And then she didn’t dream of animals again for a long while.

--

It wasn’t her brother, that thing which came back from the north. She knew it deep in the marrow of her bones from the very first moment when she laid her eyes on him, but she refused to see it. She didn’t want to – didn’t want to lose the family she’d only just recovered – and so she pretended it was Bran, right until she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Right until he told her how beautiful she was on the night she’d been irrevocably hurt.

Right until he forced her to remember it. Then Sansa acknowledged it – that whatever it was, there was nothing of Bran left in it.

That night, she dreamt of ravens, perched on a Weirwood tree, watching her.

That night, she woke up with a scream.

--

She woke with a start, heart hammering in her chest from a nightmare she could not quite remember. Sansa had plenty of reasons to have nightmares, and she had them often enough. But maybe it was the sounds of the hail against the glass windows, maybe it was the howling winds – whatever it was, she felt restless enough that she stood.

On impulse, slipping her feet into her boots, she decided to go for a walk. She wasn’t sure where her legs wanted to take her – the kitchen, perhaps, for a warm glass of milk – but the need to move was too great to ignore.

She did not expect to run into anyone at that time, and so when she crashed into Daenerys in the dark, she dropped her candle with a yelp and it took her a whole ten seconds to catch up that she was not, in fact, in any danger other than that of burning herself.

Her heart was racing way too fast to be convinced. She bent down to grab the light. “What the – Dany. What in the world. I almost set you on fire.”

“I am fireproof,” she deadpanned, then rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. “Lady Stark. I’m sorry, I – I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s dark,” she insisted. “It’s the middle of the night and it’s pitch black and you don’t have a candle. Can you also see in the dark?”

“No.” Even under the dim light, she could see deep rings under her eyes. “No, I… I don’t know what got over me. Sleepwalking, I think.”

“You sleepwalk?”

“Apparently I do now.” The light reflected off her violet eyes and tinted them the strangest shade of orange-gray. “I haven’t slept very well since… since the battle against the dead. I don’t know. I’ve never slept well, but this is getting a bit out of hand. It’s been weeks.”

“You lost people. You saw things no one should ever have to see. I’m not surprised.”  They were standing in the corridor, whispering, and Sansa could not quite shake off the feeling they were doing something wrong. She sighed and pushed the door to her room open. “Well, it seems destiny wanted us to meet. Join me.”

She expected some shape of protest, but much to her surprise, Daenerys followed her without arguing. She locked the door behind them, placed the candle on the table and stretched. Daenerys took a sit on the bed.

“It’s strange,” she commented absently, kicking off her shoes and bringing them up on the mattress. “You’re right. I’ve been through a lot. And I dream of the dead, I do, but… that’s not what keeps me up.”

Sansa froze, a deep instinct suddenly demanding her to pay attention. “What is it, then?”

She knew the answer before it was out of Daenerys’ lips. “The crows.”

A chill crawled up her spine – one she couldn’t quite attribute to the weather. “The crows?”

“I keep dreaming of them – flying above me. Cawing. Staring, as if… you know how they stare at something that is about to die? How they can tell when a beast is about to become food. That’s how I feel – like I’m about to be eaten. It’s eerie.” She exhaled. “It sounds stupid. Dragons shouldn’t be afraid of birds – you probably think I’m mad. As if anyone needed extra reasons for that.”

“I don’t – Dany.” She made her way to the bed, heart drumming. When she touched Daenerys’ warm cheeks, her fingers were shaking. “I don’t think you’re mad. Dreams are… strange things. They don’t always make sense.”

“I suppose. Do you mind if I stay the night?”

Sansa hesitated. They had been seen together more than once, and the norsemen were already whispering, but this was something else entirely. People would talk about the Dragon Queen and the Lady of Winterfell spending the night together – the irony of it being it would happen on the one night they did not, in fact, have sex.

“Stay,” she said finally, out of the same gut feeling that told her something was terribly off, even though she could not quite put her finger on it. She’d learned to listen to that voice, for it was right more often than not. “But don’t hog all the covers. You always do.”

The relief on Daenerys’ smile made her heart tighten. “I’m not used to the cold.” Sansa took the candle and walked to the bed, sat on the opposite side to her. She placed the lantern on the bed stand. “Lady Stark?”

She never called her by name, something which had Sansa somewhat bewildered. For someone so eager to make connections, she was also the first to put a barrier of formality in every relationship she initiated, a wall she could hide behind and fall back when things seemed to slip her grasp.

But Sansa was sharp, and that notion didn’t escape her. “Yes, your grace?”

Daenerys winced. “I – Sorry. Sansa.” She closed her eyes and fell on the bed. “Are there any bells in Winterfell?”

Sansa frowned at the question. “Not that I can think of. We use war horns to signal the presence of enemies – soldiers can carry the horns with them, whereas bells are stuck in place. And most of the north still worships the old gods. There are no churches with bells in Winterfell. Why?”

“Crows and bells,” she muttered. “They’re always there, in every dream. Crows and bells. I was wondering if maybe the bells were real and I was picking them up as I slept but… I suppose it’s all in my head. Do you think it’s an omen?”

Sansa’s anxiety increased, a pressing sense of wrongness, the same kind she got when, as children, Robb and Jon moved every piece of furniture in her room just one inch to the side.

“Dreams are strange things,” she repeated, noting a hint of fear on her own voice. “Often ominous. But you’re not a maester or a mystic. I find there’s little use in trying to figure things you haven’t been taught to understand. As for omens, well, I think of them the same as I think of prophecy – I rather not know.”

“Is that so? You don’t care for the future?”

“I find that knowing a prophecy makes it self-fulfilling.” She snuck her legs under the covers.

“Wise of you,” Daenerys rolled to the side, facing her. “Can you – would you leave the candle lit?”

“Of course,” Sansa laid on her back and snuck her hand under the covers, until her fingers found Daenerys’. She closed her eyes. “Dany,” she mumbled, when she was almost asleep, unsure whether Daenerys was still awake.

“Mm?”

“You can stay. Whenever you have a bad dream or – or feel lonely. Or when you just want to. You can stay. I’ll leave the door open.”

Silence. She drifted into sleep.

“Thank you,” Sansa thought she heard, before the dreams carried her away.

--

She was under the weirwood tree. She knew it was a dream, because the colors were wrong, and because the edges of her vision were blurry, and because it was sunny and warm and because even as she walked, her bare feet didn’t quite touch the ground.

The face on the tree stared at her, making every hair on her body stand on end.

Perched on a branch, a raven cawed. When Sansa looked at it, she saw it had one extra eye.

She screamed, until her throat was raw and her lungs burned and the muscles between her ribs ached from the effort.

When she woke up, a strangled gasp was still caught on her throat and a wild thought just fleeing her mind –

King’s Landing, she managed to catch it before it dissipated. The bells are in King’s Landing.

--

She knelt before the weirwood tree, its branches covered with snow, and pressed her forehead against the bark, right under where the face had been carved. It was warm to the touch. Sansa closed her eyes.

“Please,” she whispered, unsure to whom the prayer was directed. Under the harshness of winter, even the red leaves which she once thought eternal had fallen out. She spoke, even though she knew prayers were meant to be done in silence. “Give me a light. Some direction. Anything.”

There was no response from the tree, as expected, but Sansa felt the weight on her shoulders ease anyway. She didn’t move, not even when she heard noise from behind her. Only when her limbs began aching and her ears were numb from the cold she finally stood.

“Who do you pray to, when you kneel by the tree?” Daenerys asked from where she watched, shuffling on her feet.

“The old gods have no names,” Sansa replied. Out of impulse, or perhaps a need to feel the connection, she removed the gloves on her right hand and touched her fingertips on the tree’s eyes.

“I didn’t take you for a religious person.”

Sansa turned to face her. “I’m not.” She smiled humorlessly. “But the night is long and full of terrors, and I take solace where I can.”

“Will you teach me how to pray to your gods?”

The question took her by surprise, and she frowned. “The Targaryen always struck me as the kind who took what they wanted, rather than begged the gods for it. The type to be their own gods, so to say.”

“So we are.” Daenerys smiled. “But the night is long and full of terrors, so I hold on to who I have, and it doesn’t hurt to learn from them. Lady Sta – Sansa. Look. It’s bleeding.”

Sansa turned back to see crimson red sap leak from the cuts that made the tree’s eyes. It rolled down the bark, sap tears that looked like blood, and she found herself unable to move even as it touched her skin and covered her fingertips. She pulled her hand back, stared at it for a good five seconds, then without thinking, took her finger to her mouth and licked the sap off it.

The taste was bitter, and then it was sweet, and then it was something ethereal she would never be able to name.

“Is that a ritual?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, staring at her palms, seeing them blur for a split second, then grow sharp again. “The old gods communicate in mysterious ways. It might have been something. It might have been nothing.”

“I can see how others may prefer other faiths that are more objective in their duties and in their goals,” Daenerys replied.

“Nature isn’t objective. Life isn’t objective. I don’t see why the gods would owe it to us to be logical, either.” Sansa put her glove back on, then walked away from the tree. “Let’s get inside, before it gets too cold to move. I’ll tell you of our faith somewhere warmer.”

“I won’t argue against that,” Daenerys nodded, and took her hand.

--

That night, Sansa dreamt of animals again – or one animal in particular.

“Lady,” she whispered, feeling tears fill her eyes as the wolf walked to her, paws making crunching sounds as they stepped over a blanket of red leaves. She was large, as big as Ghost, as if she had never –

Sansa couldn’t think of it. “Lady,” she repeated, burying her face on warm fur, her tears licked clean off her cheeks. “It’s so good to see you again.”

It was a dream, and she knew it, but it felt real enough to her right then.

It felt like what she needed.

The old gods work in mysterious ways, she thought when she woke up in the morning, spitting out a mess of ashen hair she had apparently been munching on in her sleep. It was enough to wake Daenerys, who scrunched up her brows in confusion before her brain caught up.

“Oh. Sorry.” She pulled her hair back into a bun.

She had hogged all the blankets, and Sansa’s feet were cold. “It’s quite all right,” she replied, and wrapped her arms around Daenerys shoulders, and then, in a moment of vindictive glory, pressed her freezing toes on her legs to hear her squeal.