Chapter Text
315 AC
“We welcome you to King’s Landing, Ser Harlaw.” Sansa says from upon the Dragonglass Throne. The light from the great windows reflects off its shining black surface, illuminating her figure with beautiful, dangerous grace. “And we look forward to hear how our cousin Queen Asha fairs.”
The emissary from the Iron Islands rises from his low bow. “Thank you, Queen Sansa. I appreciate your hospitality. My queen and her consort will be glad to know how welcoming the Queens and King of Westeros are to their allies.”
Sansa smiles and indicates that he may approach. Harras Harlaw is an older, distant cousin of Asha Greyjoy and one of her greatest supporters in quelling the Ironborn uprisings when they attempted to reject the rule of their queen. Danaerys had offered support to her ally, but Asha would never have truly been able to claim the Seastone Chair backed by an army of horsemen, eunuchs, and dragons. She took it by sea, with her own fleet and cunning, and in the last many years the Ironborn had finally accepted her total rule.
Ser Harras offers up a gilded box, which Sansa’s attendant brings to her. “A gift, from the artisans of Pyke.”
She lifts the lid to find three large wrought-iron pendants shaped like the heads of dragons, one each for Daenerys, Jon, and Sansa. “The craftsmanship is excellent, my lord.”
“I have also brought gifts for your many children, swords for the older ones and warrior figurines for the younger.”
“I am sure the princes and princesses will appreciate the gesture.” Sansa steps down from her throne. The petitioners have already been dismissed for the day so she could greet the ambassador. They will return in the morning for Daenerys’ day to ascend the Dragonglass Throne and render judgment. The king and queens take turns, hearing petitions every third day and resting on the seventh. “Would you join me for a walk in the gardens?”
“Gladly, your grace.” Ser Harras offers his arm and together they leave the Red Keep to stroll through the gardens outside. It is a perfect spring day, with cool breezes and the fresh scent of blooming flowers in the air. Together, they discuss the weather, the birth of Asha's daughter, Estrid, shortly before he set sail for King's Landing. Finally, as they wind their way up the serpentine steps towards the Red Keep once more, Ser Harras alludes to why Asha has sent him here for the coming year, instead of a less valuable advisor.
"As you are aware, Queen Asha and Prince Consort Qarl highly value the relationship between your kingdoms." Ser Harras bows his head at Sansa. "She would like to strength that alliance."
"That is a goal that we harbor close to our hearts." Sansa says carefully. From the way the conversation has gone, she anticipates his next statement but does not appreciate it.
"She would like to do so, with a marriage pact. Between her heir, Prince Harwyn, and one of your many daughters."
"I must discuss this with my spouses before agreeing, but I look forward to discussing further with you, my lord. Until we speak again, may your stay in our capitol be pleasant and productive." Sansa nods for him to leave her even as a roiling storm boils in her heart to think another one of her daughters might be promised away so soon after they started their family.
“Rhaella and Lyarra are too old for him, of course. And too close to the thrones besides.” Sansa muses, staring out the window at the fading sun. Across the solar, Jon has an arm draped behind Dany as they discuss Ser Harras’ proposal from Queen Asha and Prince Qarl. On the table rests the beautiful dragon pendants, but she cannot bring herself to look. A few of their children nap in the room but the oldest have been sent to the nursery or their own chambers for bed. “We have three other girls to offer him, but which would be best for this agreement?”
Jon begins, “Naerys - ”
“Has already hatched a dragon, even though she is not even two.” Daenerys interrupts and shakes her head. “It is one thing for a dragonrider to marry into a loyal house of our kingdoms. It is another to send a dragon to another nation.”
“It must be Aemma, then.” Sansa says with a sigh.
“Not even a year old and destined for queendom.” Dany murmurs. She glances at the wide cradle in the corner of the solar, where their three children sleep peacefully together. Naerys and Barristan are tucked against each other with Aemma a little bit apart. “She must never think herself lesser, even though we must remove the dragon egg from her cradle.”
“When she is older I will send to Arya for a direwolf puppy. That can keep her content and knowledgable of her heritage.” Sansa suggests, turning away from her window. She stops briefly by the cradle to rock it and smile at their children, sleeping trouble free. The twins are in stark contrast to their sister, soft, white hair compared to her black curls. Naerys has her father’s eyes, while Aemma’s are blue as the sky. Beneath his closed lid, Barristan has strange, red eyes that darkened from Jon’s grey weeks after his birth. Finally, Sansa goes and rests at Dany’s side on their couch.
“I’m sure that Asha would prefer Jocelyn, considering the age difference.” Jon says, thoughtfully considering the option they can’t truly choose. “But with her nearly promised to Brynden, it’s not worth upsetting the Riverlands by revoking that agreement.”
Sansa does not like making this political arrangements with her children’s future. But it is what must be done to secure the North and South. Two kingdoms with new lines, borne from years of war and violence. The peace is best secured from marriage, she learned that from her own mother and father’s union and the example of Queen Rhaenys and Queen Alysanne. But they are being more forceful in protecting her children than her parents were with her, insisting that there is a chance to withdraw the agreement should the chosen betrothed be unfit for marrying a Stargaryen child.
“Will Asha agree to the terms of our agreement with Uncle Edmure?” Sansa asks, and takes Dany’s hand in hers. As she thinks, she traces idle patterns on her wife’s smooth, perfect skin. “I will not send any daughter of ours to the Iron Islands unless she does.”
“We will insist upon it.” Dany squeezes her hand. Their eyes meet and Sansa is overwhelmed with the warmth and love for the only woman who truly understands her own struggles. “She will not be married off until she is sixteen, and Prince Harwyn will come to live here for a year before the wedding, to know her, and so we may be sure there are no cruelties in his heart or mind.”
They may arrange marriages of political for their children. Such duty is to be expected of royalty and nobility alike. Yet she, Dany, and Jon can protect their children with everything they have.