Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You can’t be serious, buir.”

Jaster sighed heavily at his holopad, already exhausted with this repeated argument. When Jango was informed of his adoptive father’s decision of an arranged marriage, not pleased was a kind description of his reaction. That wall still held a dent even now, two weeks later.

Not taking his eyes off the words he was reading, Jaster drawled out, “I would’ve thought that you had grown tired of me repeating things you already know, Jango.”

With a growled huff, the teen flopped down onto Jaster’s bed, glaring mutinously up at the ceiling. His silence was telling enough to Jaster that Jango was more uncertain than angry. The anger had already passed in the first week. Now, he was just unsettled by this sudden upheaval in their lives.

After learning of Montross’ betrayal and the grueling battle against Death Watch, and finally defeating Vizsla, the True Mandalorians have been unsteady, trying to find their footing in the galaxy despite their victory. The remnants of Death Watch were scattered, and Jaster had his best hunters hunting them down. There had also been the slow rise of the New Mandalorians, citing neutrality and pacifism, and only offered to help heal the injured after the Jaster’s people came out the winners from the civil war. The Republic favoured their pacifist ways, of kriffing course. The True Mandalorians stayed out of the Republic business, not wanting to get leashed by all their polices and politics. Jaster also had a huge disliking for it too.

With the New Mandalorians, he could understand their reluctance to get involved with the war, but it frustrated Jaster and his people to no end. To just forsake their history and culture like it was nothing.

They luckily enough had a planet to rebuild their society seeing as Mandalore was not an option with the pacifists barring them entrance. But even having a planet, giving them a home-base to come back to after jobs around the galaxy, eased the stress of living post-war. A place for his people to settle their families and begin creating a society that did not need to heavily rely on the super-commandos protecting and providing for them. Jaster prided in those that fought and took up the job as mercenary and bounty hunters, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew that was not the best basis for creating income, as some people were not warriors entirely, preferring the use a non-violent trade to bring in money.

The only problem was that they were low in terms of material to start the building process. Currently, their Mandalorian city was primarily tents and ships, creating a haphazard community on a large plot of land that stood close to the planet’s sea and with mountains in the distance. The land was a strange mix of sand and earth, the grass cropping up from the ground the closer you got the mountains, but the tentative city standing on sand. The sea was fresh water, not the common salt type he had come across most of his life, which made keeping their water stores full easy. At least he wouldn't have to worry about his people dying of dehydration.

The planet was practically uninhabited too, only a small settlement on the other side, a community of farmers who were more than happy to trade animals and food for protection. However, it wasn’t sustainable. They needed their own crops to grow. They needed actual buildings that could last against the elements and future attacks.

Westeros, a planet that sat mid-rim, but was more outer than core, offered up their help. Or, more specifically, one of the kingdoms on the planet did. The largest, simply called The North, offered their massive resources of wood and different stones. What they wanted in exchange was help fortifying their borders after suffering major loss from their own recent war. A war that they won as well, but all battles came with a cost.

Though they weren’t warrior people to the extent that Mandalorians were - no one could really hold a candle to the Mandalorians - the Northerners held a respect and understanding for them, and reached out. They were also a planet that was self-governing, not within the Republic, and Jaster was pleased with that fact.

However, their help came with one main condition: an arranged marriage.

The people from Westeros were steeped in tradition, almost archaic in their ways compared to many planets in the galaxy, and their main way of forging alliances was marriage. And Jaster was the marry to King of the North’s eldest daughter.

Another grumble of annoyance pulled Jaster from his thoughts, and finally he turned to look at his son, and wry amusement pulling at his lips at seeing the frown on Jango’s face. The boy shuffled on the bed until he laid facing Jaster, and like this, the man could see the worry finally making it’s way onto his face.

“What if she’s horrible?”

Softening, Jaster ran his hand through his kid's hair, “If she’s in no way able to accommodate herself to our culture, then I’m sure that we could find a place for her to stay far from our people, and still keep within contract boundaries.” He answered diplomatically. He didn't want to worry his son, especially with all the many concerns he had about his future wife. Jaster could only hope that, at the very least, they could be amenable with one another, if not friends.

Sansa stood frozen in place, eyes blankly staring out the window past her parent’s heads. She couldn't stand to look at them in that moment. The second she heard the news, it was like her body became stone, mind a deafening silence. She ignored the way her heart skipped a beat in horror, ignored the way she felt a scream trying to claw it’s way out from her chest. Instead, she swallowed it all down and just felt her heart crumble with betrayal once more.

Her non-responsiveness brought concern from her parents, and when Sansa’s mother came to her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, Sansa unfroze. Smacking the hand off her, Sansa staggered back, and felt her body become alive once more, anger igniting.

“You can’t make me do this. Not again.”

“Sansa-“

Furious, she cut off her mother’s plead, “You promised me peace! You promised me a choice! And now you want to steal that from me again!? I can’t believe you!” Tears of anger burnt in her eyes as she stared in horror as her father tried to soothe, “It’s for the good of the kingdom, of our people.”

She snarled, hands clenched tight, “What have our people done for me!? They stare at me with pity. They talk about me as if I am nothing but damaged goods. The last time I did something for them I was abused! I was treated like I was nothing, in the hands of a monster that you-“ She stopped in her tracks, head shaking softly in disbelief, a hysterical laugh escaping her. Hands covering her wet eyes, Sansa breathed out, “Why am I even saying anything to you? You never listened before.”

“That’s not true, Sansa!” Her mother insisted, trying once more to comfort her, “We love you, but-“

Sharply, Sansa looked up at her father, ignoring her mother, “Anything before ‘but’ is horseshit, father. Remember?”

The King let out an exhaustive sigh, as if she was tiring him with her justified anger, “Sansa,” He rubbed at his eyes, and met her angry ones with firmness, “It’s been five years. You’ve had so much time to heal.”

Beneath the anger Sansa showed, the hurt was far more raw as she hissed out, “A hundred years could not give me the true healing that I need to become the girl I was before. How dare you suggest that my suffering is something I could just get over.”

“The Mandalorians are honourable people,” He insisted, “Like our people.”

A scoff of derision escaped her lips, arms crossing, feeling vulnerable and needing a defense, “Honourable like how Ramsey was? Because he was Northern too, Father.” She reminded him derisively.

His voice was a quiet rumble, eyes stormy with regret, “Sansa, we did not know.”

“That doesn’t make it any better!” Stabbing a finger in his direction, Sansa growled, “You didn’t know about Joffrey, you didn’t know about Ramsey, and now I bet you don’t know shit about this new person. Your words do nothing to ease the betrayal I feel just looking at you.” Her words were filled with venomous disgust, and they subtly flinched back, stuck by her words.

They could only stare at her, eyes sad and so frustratingly full of pity. Just like how her people looked at her everyday. But she hated her gods damned loyalty and duty that had been taught to her since she could talk. The duty that made her remarry even after all the warning signs. Hissed air escaped her teeth and she glanced away. Voice a cold, frigid tone, Sansa quietly announced, “Twice I have been married. Twice you have bartered me off to monsters. Twice I have spent a marriage in fear, in pain. I have been brutalised by men who were meant to protect and cherish me. I have had too much taken from me. And once more, you are selling me like cattle. Have you not learnt a damn thing!?” Her words rang loud in the room, tears of rage forming once more as she spat, “Know this; if this man treats me like the others, I will leave. I will leave him. I will leave you, this family. I will leave everything behind. Because I am not going through any of that ever again!”

At her declaration, her father sat back with a resignation, but gave her a warning, “They are warriors, Sansa. They would not let you escape unharmed if it was their will.”

Chin titled up in defiance, Sansa stated with conviction, “Then I will die free than live a prisoner once more.”

And with that promise, Sansa turned and stalked out of the room, door slamming hard behind her. Fists shook where they clenched by her side, and not even the soft butt of Lady’s head against them would unfurl her white knuckles. People scurried out of her way, and Sansa had barely a mind to care.

In the safety of her room, Sansa shucked off her shoes and crawled under her covers. Shoulders trembling, she wept into her blankets, memories of pain and isolation hovering over her like an omen. Phantom aches flare with every memory, like her scars reopening with just the thought of their infliction. When Lady crawled onto the bed with her, Sansa pressed her wet face to the warm fur, seeking comfort from the near and uncertain future that awaited her.

The North was a land filled with wild forest, a small mountain range, and flat plains covered in snow, Jaster observed, as they flew over it. The sky was grey and currently snowing. The plan was for them to land in the ship port nearest to the Winterfell castle and trek up from there, as there was no place to land nearer.

When they flew over Winterfell, he felt his eyebrows raise, impressed by the architecture of the castle. It took up a massive foot print, managing to hold a decently sized wood inside it’s walls and Jaster heard his son’s breath gasp in wonder. Despite technology being far ahead, the people of this world still kept many of it’s old architecture and way of life.

Continuing past the stone keep, they came to the town just below the castle, Winter town. When given the allowance to land their ship, Jaster stood up from his seat, preparing to gather the last of his supplies to leave. They were to stay a week, hash out the contract, get married according to their traditions, and then return to his home again. From there, they will have to see, as it all depends on whether it not him and his wife got along.

One wedding was too many already for him, especially to a stranger, but it’s for his people, so he will do as was needed for their survival. Jaster had only taken himself, Jango, and two other commandos for guards. He could protect himself just fine, but it was good to present a strong front to potential allies.

Armour cleaned and scuff marks painted away, he was as presentable as he could make himself. The dark clothes under his armour made the red painted bes’kar stand out, along with the heavy cape he wore, also in a deep red colour. Normally, he would not want to stand on such ceremony, but the cape was worn by the Mand’alor symbol of power and status. And their people were all about showing their power one way or another.

The darksaber was hooked on his hip, along with a blaster on his thigh. Those were the two of the more visible weapons he had stashed on his person, and dearly hoped it wouldn’t be seen as an offense. But weapons were part of themselves, and to be without one was to be vulnerable.

The people of Winter Town were mainly humanoid, though some other species and droids flitted about, many staring at the passing Mandalorians. Facing forward, helmet on, Jaster paid no mind to them besides cursory glances. The village was more stone and wood then metal like many planets tend to lean towards, and the road was of cobbled stones.

Through the commlink, Jaster heard his son mutter, “It’s so old looking.”

“This is an old kingdom, Jango.” He reminded the boy, knowing for a fact that his son had researched in-depth on this planet and kingdom. Jango wanted to be cautious, and make sure there was nothing that could be used against them here. Jaster was proud of him taking the initiative like that.

Still, the boy scoffed, “Yeah, but you would think that they'd be more advanced then this.”

Humming lightly, Jaster replied with a subtly warning, “I do hope you can keep those remarks to yourself when we meet the king.”

The boy scoffed once more, but became silent, a tension in his shoulder leaving as they passed through the town. He was not good with crowds, and finally away from them and winding up the road to the castle, Jango relaxed minutely. Taking a glance down at his son, Jaster gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, the boy leaning into it.

The castle walls towered high above them, and Jaster couldn’t help the low whistle at the sight of it. The guards at the gate gave them a suspicious eye, but after a quick word of who they were, the Mandalorians were escorted through. Across a moat, through another gate, and they stood in Winterfell.

More buildings, much like the ones from the town scattered about, along with more bustling crowds, though not as chaotic as Winter town. Weaving through the streets, soon enough the castle that stretched far into the sky was before them. As well as a small group of people.

The man at the front was of a severe expression, hair dark and greying, cloaked in fur. He cut a powerful figure, along with the younger man by his side, just as fur cloaked but with red hair. Hair that matched the older woman on the other side of the first man. There clothing could be seen as old-fashioned, especially in the Core, but the wildness and detail on every piece of fabric, Jaster could appreciate the craft.

However, Jaster was not expecting to have been greeted directly by the King of the North, Eddard Stark, thinking he would instead be brought to the throne room. But did not let how caught off guard he was show. Giving a short bow of his head, as he too was a king and would not bow lower than his station, the other king responded in a similar motion.

“Welcome Mand’alor. Thank you for arriving in such short time.” The man had a quiet voice, though that did not lessen the power behind his words.

“Time is of the essence for my people.” Jaster pointed out, not one to fuss about formalities. Luckily, the man was of the same opinion, quickly introducing the other two people in his group with a wry smile upon his stern features. The King agreed, “Of course.” And then gestured to the other man, “My son and heir, Prince Robb, and my wife,” He gestured then at the red haired woman, “Queen Catelyn.”

Under his helmet, Jaster rose an eyebrow at the near hostile and guarded look in the Queen’s eyes, but made no remark. Instead, he introduced himself, wanting to get out of the cold as soon as possible, not used to such temperatures.

“Jaster Mereel, and my son, Jango Fett.” Said boy just gave a jerked nod, but said nothing more. Knowing him, Jango was glaring at the lot of them, not wanting to be here. “And these are my guards, Myles and Zaran.” Said guards simply nodded silently in response to their introduction.

Thankfully, after that, they moved into the castle, the prince heading off in a different direction as the king and queen led them to the rooms they would be staying in. Of course, in no way would any of them be sleeping in private rooms, not wanting to be alone in potential enemy territory, so Jaster informed the monarchs of their silent decision. Though a little surprised by the decision, they did not take offense, nodding in response.

Soon after, they were then escorted in a different direction of the castle, entering a private room. By the looks of the furniture and items, it was a large private study for the king, Jaster concluded, surveying with a critical eye.

His guards stayed outside the room, with only Jaster and Jango taking a seat across from the king at his desk. With an internal sigh, Jaster knew it would be a while as the king started on their contract.

They went over all the contents, adding what would be needed in the first initial shipping of their required material, as well as discussing the amount of Mandalorians that would be stationed here for the time being.

It was when they began to discuss the actual marriage that Jaster had to ask, “And where is the other person for this marriage? Shouldn't she be here too?”

The monarchs shared a private look, one that spoke years of learning one another deeply, before the queen nodded and stood. “I will call her here.” And then swept out of the room.

Sitting in front of her vanity, Sansa did not react as her mother came into her room, just continued to plait the last of her hair. The older woman silently watched her, waiting for Sansa to finish stalling. She knew that her future husband would be arriving today, and purposefully did not join her brother and parents in the courtyard. She wanted them all to know exactly how much she did not want this marriage, even if it was in silent defiance.

Tying off the end, Sansa swung the long, thick plait of hair over her shoulder and stood from her seat. Sansa had done her research, learning what colour symbolism the Mandalorians used, wanting to make a statement. Westeros weighed heavily on the importance of colour and sigils that they wore day to day, mainly the wealthy. But even the common folk held importance to what they adorned their bodies with, showing their alliances through each outfit.

Sansa stood before her mother in a grey dress, sweeping low to her ankles and sleeves belled at her wrists. Around the collar, down the middle-front, and along the sleeves, were heavily embroidered strips. All in bright scarlet, depicting wolves, birds, trouts, and nature. Her hair, long and reaching her knees, was loosely braided into two separate locks, both having small, light green strips of ribbon tying the ends.

Lastly, a thick embroidered and beaded band went over the top of her head, tucked behind her ears. Also grey with red accents. To the people of the North, they would see the grey of the Starks and the red of the Tully. But to the Mandalorians, they would see scarlet; defiance. And grey; mourning. They would of course understand the scarlet, but the grey was for Sansa.

She was mourning the loss of her innocence, the loss of freedom and choice. And the sliver of green, subtle and hidden, could either be for duty, or for a lust of peace. Either meaning worked for her.

Sansa barely even glanced at her mother, striding out of her room with her head held high, knowing that her betrothed would be in her father’s solar. Past guards and servants, Sansa kept her back straight and poised. Just like her last two marriages, she would go in with her dignity intact and strength apparent. Just like her last two marriages, she would not be crushed easily either.

Two Mandalorians stood before the door, the helmet showing no reaction on their faces, but Sansa still gave them a soft nod in greeting, before continuing into the room. If they were to be her people, polite was the way to go. She was no warrior, would not gain their respect nor admiration that way, so she had to find other ways.

Inside, her father sat at his usual spot behind his desk. And in front, were two armoured males, and unlike the two outside, these Mandalorians had their helmets off. One was young, dark skinned, black hair curling, and possibly in his teen years. The other had hair just as dark, though the skin was lighter than the boy. And his eyes met hers the second she stepped into the room.

Though face weathered from battles, he was handsome, soft white marks of scars scattered across his skin. He was older than her, by maybe a decade, and even age did not detract away from his comely features. But Joffrey was handsome too. Beauty did not mean anything when it came to people's true intentions.

Behind her, her mother closed the door, walking over to her father as the Mand’alor stood from his seat to greet her. Instead of a bow, he offered his arm, and she clasped his forearm with only a slight hesitation. A different greeting to the usual bows and hand kisses in her culture, but she would accommodate.

“Sansa Stark.” She announced herself softly, gazing up into the hazel eyes of her future husband, looking for any danger. In return, he gave a gentle squeeze with his hand before letting go, “Jaster Mereel.”

Behind him, the boy watched their interaction, a frown on his face. He seemed to be assessing her every move, not unlike how she lived as Joffrey’s wife, surrounded by a court of snakes and lions. He was suspicious of her, and she could not fault him for that.

As they continued the negotiations, Sansa sat and watched, observing Jaster. He was loyal to his people, that was the first thing that stuck out to her. He was adamant about making sure all were fed and safe, and as a king, it was far more than Joffrey had ever done. When it turned onto their marriage, Sansa kept her face perfectly blank when the topic of heirs came up.

Jaster laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, firmly stating, “Heirs are not really necessary in our culture. Jango isn’t mine by blood, but he is still my son. I would have him take on the role of Mand’alor, if he so chose, but if not, then it will be whoever could beat me in a fight.” He then turned to look at her, speaking for the room but directly to her, “If Princess Sansa does not want children, then it will not be forced upon her.”

Pleasant words. Could be taken at face value or as a lie. It could be that he didn’t want the North nor her family to have any hold over his people and title. It could be that he wanted the heir he groomed to take over, trusting his son to follow in his footsteps. Or, it could be a lie to lure her into a false sense of security, and when she was alone and at his mercy, the words would crumble like ash. She does not allow herself to hope, just knows that she will just brace herself for what was to come on their wedding night.

Her parents seemed unsure about his words, but nodded in agreement, her father stating, “Per tradition, the marriage is to be consummated.”

Jaster scoffed, waving a dismissive hand, “Isn’t consummation about creating heirs, even though I just stated I don’t require them from her?”

Her father conceded, “That is true, but even still. It is tradition.”

Jaster’s face contorted into one of displeasure, “And if I just don’t want to?”

At that, her father faltered, as if not understanding why the other man did not want to have sex with her. She herself was also confused, thinking that sex was something all men desired. She hated this confusion, and continued to snuff out the hope that tried to form with his words.

His soon to be wife was an interesting creature, a delicate ease to her behaviour, face set to be calm and accommodating. But the second he met her eyes, all he saw was coldness. It was unsettling how quiet she was, only watching, never speaking. He wondered if these people were of the opinion that women held no sway. Going by the way the queen also sat and observed, he figured he was right.

So not only does he have a wife that he doesn’t want, he has one that's compliant despite the anger that raged behind her mask of indifference. She was no warrior either, that was for certain. From her noble posture and behaviour, down to the way she dressed. However, Jaster could see that there was a possible strength to her, under all those fancy clothes. Just one look and he could tell that she did not want this marriage either, and showed it subtly in the colours she wore. That’s even if she understood the meaning behind each colour for his people.

After they hammered out the contract, finalising all the details, Jaster had his two guards take Jango back to their room, and asked the princess if she would take a walk with him. He wondered if her meekness was due to her actual personality, or because she was in the presence of her parents and rulers.

They looked uncertain at first, glancing over at Sansa. The woman however stood up and gave him a nod, already leaving to room. After seeing Myles and Zaran off with Jango, Jaster caught up with her.

Silently, they walked through the corridors alone, and Jaster took this time to appreciate the architecture and stone work of the castle. It was some excellent craftsmanship, especially if made before modern technology. He was also curious about the history of such an ancient building. If his new wife and him got along well, he would have to ask her.

However, as the silence dragged on for too long, he then eyed the woman next to him. Young, was what he noticed about her features first. An adult, which he was relieved about, but still far younger than him. Jaster wondered if it was considered rude to ask her age. Observing her more, he noted that she moved gracefully, and he could admit that she was very beautiful, even if her hair was at an impractical length. Lingering on the colours she wore once more, Jaster had to ask, “Do the colours you wear have a symbolism to them?”

A faint quirk of her lips was her first response, looking at him with that accommodating smile. He wondered if everything about her was like that, or if she just acted that way with strangers. Her voice was near musical as she responded, “I had researched before hand, and as someone who puts much weight on appearances, I thought it appropriate.”

Jaster raised an eyebrow, not expecting someone who didn’t want to get married, to put a lot of thought into their future spouses culture. And if she knew the meaning behind every colour she wore, that meekness he thought of before was more than likely a front.

Deciding not to address her defiance, as it was obvious enough to it's reason, he went for the other more prominent colour, “And can I ask, about who you mourn?”

Sansa stilled in her steps and looked up at him. With the lack of movement, Jaster took in her height, and noticed that he was only a few inches taller than her. Her response to his question was just a simple shake of her head after a pause of deliberation, and Jaster could understand the silence, them being strangers to one another. Not wanting to push, he gave an understanding hum, before continuing on their way. They walked together through the halls, neither making anymore conversation.

He wondered if it would be best to try again later, asking who she mourned for, but decided to just observe her in her home, watching the way she interacted with her people. She gave smiles to those that greeted her, murmurs of ‘your highness’ following them. But Jaster was used to reading small movements, little ticks, observing what people really felt when their words did not match.

Uncomfortable. Guarded. Not just with him, but with everyone she passed. Her posture was perfect, however the tension in her shoulders made it seem as if she was ready to run at a moments notice. Like she was ready for an attack, surrounded by enemies. And this was meant to be her home too.

For someone who lived a life of nobility, Jaster thought it strange that she would be so taut with tension, especially in her own home. There was something more to her, something that might have happened in her past. Because she held the same characteristics as those warriors who have returned from a harrowing battle. And he wasn’t going to learn if he never asked. Clearing his throat to gain her attention, they walked out a side entrance of the castle and into the bitter cold once more as he asked, “How old are you?”

“25.” She answered promptly.

Jaster couldn’t help the relieved sigh that left his lips, and a spot of amusement played in her eyes before it left just as quickly as it came. His future wife was terrifyingly good at hiding her emotions. That worried him a lot.

Chuckling, mainly to himself but hoping his humour eased her nervousness, “I have to say, I’m very happy that I am not marrying someone too young for me.” And then he tacked on at the end, “I’m 34, by the way.”

She gave an elegant and indifferent shrug, “Westeros has had bigger age gaps before. But I guess I too am relieved that I am not marrying a very old man.”

He huffed another laugh. There was a subtle humour to her. However, their short conversation seemed to help to ever so slightly lighten the tension in her shoulders, and soon enough they moved through a small stone wall, the entrance curving at the top. Jaster had to pause in his steps at the sight of the trees before them, the heavy silence that hovered in the air, like all the bustling of the workers in the keep disappeared the second you step through the archway. It was unsettling.

Sansa, on the other hand, did not pause, continuing on with her steady pace, a comfortable stroll through the trees for her. Jaster knew instantly that the woods around him were not normal. He couldn't help the way his hand trailed over to the darksaber at his hip, knowing that he was a stranger, possibly invading lands that he shouldn't be entering. The weapon seemed to hum, louder within this unsettling wood.

The woman’s voice was soft, reverent, as she spoke, “This is the godswood. Our place of worship.” Her eyes looked brighter outside, surrounded by nature. Gazing up at the tree branches above him, he marveled at the thickness of all the trees, towering above them. They were old. That he could tell with just a glance. More than likely existing either before or during the building of Winterfell.

“An interesting place of worship.” Was his response. And it was. He would have thought people of their high society and traditional culture would worship in a place richer than in a literal forest, but there was something wild about this kingdom, so it wasn’t that surprising to learn.

She hummed in agreement, continuing on deeper into the Godswood, “Yes. I suppose it would be to a warrior culture.” Jaster smiled down at her, nodding in agreement. The place any Mandalorian would feel closest to the divine would be on a battlefield, where life walked a fine line of death and survival.

“So you come here to...?” Jaster trailed off with a tilt of his head, curious to know more of her culture, of her life. Anything to know more of what laid behind that mask she wore.

“Pray. Weddings are held here too.” She answered easily at first, but then paused. Eyeing him for a short second, she added, “Though I personally come here for some peace and quiet.” Jaster was now a bit surprised that she offered personal information up, and wondered what she prayed for, but that would be too intrusive to ask.

“Can’t say I find this place...peaceful.” Another delicate comment, and Sansa seemed to appreciate how he was accepting of her religion, but still agreed with his remark by shrugging and bobbing her head.

“It can be unsettling to outsiders. The Old Gods are faceless and strong, especially under the weirwood tree.”

And at that, they stopped in front of a pond, a thick white tree towering on the other side of it. It’s leaves bright red and large, swaying gently in the chilled breeze. If he came across it anywhere else, Jaster would mark it off as normal, if not for the weeping, smiling face, carved into the bark. The red tears had a chill running down his spine, and Jaster couldn’t help but feel like he was being watched. This was not a place to be messed with. If you’ve explored and visited many worlds, sometimes you come across places that held sentience. Places you would not have thought to have such intelligence. He once came across a planet where they entire thing was one entire sentient mind, covered in just plant life. Too wild for anyone to think of trying to control. The heaviness on his shoulders told Jaster that he should be careful in this place, and he wasn’t the kind of person to ignore his gut instincts.

Sansa peered over at him, eyes narrowed faintly. She seemed to be in the midst of contemplating something, so Jaster took that time to ask, “What do you want from this marriage?”

It would be best to lay everything out on the table, and depending on her answer, Jaster could discern more on her person, whether she could be trusted to be around his people. Her body stilled again, breath disappearing at his question. Once more, he saw a hint of vulnerability, eyes widening, and then it was hidden again. Jaster was determined to smash that mask to pieces, curious to see who she was without it.

Turning away from him, Sansa walked over to the tree, sitting down upon the large roots that clawed it’s way out of the ground. A seat for prayer, by the looks of it. Jaster stayed where he was, not wanting to intrude on her space nor get any closer to that tree unless necessary. His future wife stared up at the red leaves, and her pale skin and hair colour, she could be the human version of the weirwood tree.

Then, her voice broke the silence, the wind that played around them disappearing with her words, “Respect. Not for my station, but for me as a person. That my thoughts, opinions, and decisions are respected. Of course, I can accommodate, as I’m not unreasonable. But I would like to be respected.”

Jaster was stunned, not having thought she would request such a basic thing. Why would she ask that? What caused her to need such assurance? He voiced his thoughts, “I would’ve expected fidelity, as I’m sure many would want that from a marriage.”

She laughed. It was self-deprecating and cold. Jaster hated it’s sound because it was still beautiful despite the ugly emotions behind it. “We aren’t married for love.” Her mask was good, but not enough to hide her resignation in the winter blue eyes. “Why would I demand that from you? If you have a lover, I would not fault you for it, nor demand you to remain celibate. This is a contract.”

Jaster couldn’t refute that, and nodded slowly. She then asked, “What do you want?”

Eyeing her contemplatively, Jaster replied shortly, “Honesty. Can you do that for me?”

Sansa gave a short bow of head in agreement, and he wondered if she would actually follow through. “If you could do the same for me.” Guarded was her expression, as if expecting him to negotiate instead of agree, so Jaster walked over to her, and knelt down in front of her sitting form.

Sansa startled back at his sudden proximity and position, especially when he gently gathered her hands into his. Dainty things, barely a callous on them. Meeting her gaze firmly, Jaster spoke solemnly, “I want us to, at the very least, be neutral with one another. Neither of us wants this union, but I will go through with it for my people. I promised to lead them and keep them safe. I put them first. Can you understand then, why I would want you to be honest? My people aren’t really ones for subterfuge unless in battle. We are blunt and forward people. I need that honesty from you, princess. If you can give me that, I promise to never overstep with you. You will be heard, and you will be treated respectfully. I promise.”

She wished she could speak her mind. Scream and yell without fear like with her parents, but she couldn’t. Sansa doesn’t know this man, doesn’t trust him. With her parents, her family, she knew she was safe to speak her mind, as they wouldn't raise a hand, or a sword, in reply to her defiance. She can be angry with them. But not with the Manda'lor. So she pulled her mask on tight even as she prayed that he would not like be her last two marriages. If she needs to don on clothes and colours to please him, like with Joffrey, she will. But if he turned violent, she would rather take her own life than go through that pain once more. Her defiance had always been a silent one. And it will continue to be so.

Still, Sansa responded with the promised honesty, “I would never ask you to put me before your people. As a ruler, that is something I find commendable. But I will tell you this.” She leant closer to him, hands moving until she was the one to grip his tightly, voice going low as she promised him what she promised her parents, “If you ever raise a hand to me, hurt me, abuse me. I will leave. I don't care about the agreement and contract. I will leave and I don't care of any of the consequences I leave behind. Do you understand?”

Hazel eyes stared back as he replied, “Completely, princess.” Then, standing up, Sansa allowed him to gently tug her to her feet, giving her a wry smile as he spoke once more, “To honesty and respect?”

At the very least he seemed to have decent humour, her lips twitching against her will. “To honesty and respect.”

Chapter Text

Stood on the battlements, Sansa let the cold evening air settle over her. After parting from the godswood with her intended, Sansa needed some distance from the world. High up and only manned by a few guards passing through, Sansa was as alone as she could be. Breathing out heavily, breath a fog in front of her face, the woman thought back to Jaster.

She purposefully took him to the godswood, as you can not lie within those trees. He was honest, and as someone who learnt to tell look underneath peoples pretty words for their true intentions, she could spot no lies or deception. Jaster appeared truly honest with his promise to treat her with respect. And she was truthful herself.

Sansa did not expect much from his people, knowing that as a culture of warriors, they would not think much of Sansa, as someone who had no experience in combat. And that was fine for her. She could handle that as long as no one outwardly harmed her. If they were neutral of her, than Sansa would do the same.

And if Jaster truly did not require children, nor sex, from her, then this marriage was already looking better than the last two. If she could just grow old away from all the memories Westeros brought with it in peace, then she would be content.

“There you are.”

Turning her head, Sansa softened at the sight of Jeyne approaching her. “I've been searching for hours.” The other woman complained good-naturally, sidling up to her.

Smiling, Sansa opened her cloak and the two of them snuggled in close, sharing body heat easily. Resting her head onto Jeyne's, Sansa mumbled, “He could be worse.”

Jeyne scoffed, “No one could be worse than the last two. One was an incest bastard, the other a monstrous bastard.”

“My cousin is a bastard.” Sansa pointed out wryly.

“Yeah, but I mean bastard in the sense that they were the absolute worst.”

Sansa nodded, conceding, “There wasn't much different between them really.”

“Joffrey was prettier.”

They paused, looking at one another, before sharing a giggle. It truly was some of the darkest humour, but what better way to move on from what they went through than to laugh? Though Sansa tried to divert most of her husbands attentions in the past, Jeyne was still just as much of a victim as Sansa was. If anything, her first husband tend to forget about Jeyne, his torment focused solely on Sansa. Joffrey wasn't that smart enough to know proper manipulation and how to cause pain without inflicting pain on a victim. The bruises he left on her body would have hurt far less than if she watched him do the same to Jeyne.

With Ramsay however, Sansa had Jeyne sent away just a week after the wedding, knowing that he would do far worse to her friend then what he did to her. He needed Sansa alive, not Jeyne. And Sansa would be damned if she allowed her dearest friend to die from the fierce loyalty that she showed.

“So, we aren't running before the wedding then?” Jeyne asked, drawing Sansa from her musings. The red head nodded, “No. For now he seems alright. My gut isn't telling me that something is wrong.”

Jeyne hummed in acknowledgment. “You should have Lady meet him. She growled when meeting Joffrey for the first time, which was why you made her stay behind.”

“Wish Lady ate him,” Sansa grumbled, “Would have saved us from all the pain.”

Her friend laughed, snuggling deeper into Sansa's side. Falling into a companionable silence, the red head knew that despite everything, Jeyne was someone she was forever grateful for. She was steadfast and unwavering, and Sansa wouldn't know where she would be without her best friend.

“I can always talk to him.”

“Hm?” Sansa hummed noncommittally, leaning back to look at Jeyne's face. Expression earnest, Jeyne repeated, “I could talk to him, the Mand'alor. Threaten him or something to not hurt you.”

The red head arched a brow, “You want to threaten the king of a warrior culture?”

“Sansa,” Jeyne replied with the gravity of a million suns, “I would threaten the Old Gods for you.”

Smiling, Sansa smacked a kiss to Jeyne's forehead, “And I would do the same for you, my dear. But no, no need to threaten the man. As I said, he seemed lacking in evil or sadistic ways.”

Jeyne huffed, disappointed.

Shaking her head, fond and amused, Sansa tugged on Jeyne's hand, leading them back into the castle. After the time alone and the comfort of her dearest friend, Sansa felt far more centered than she had all month, preparing and waiting for Jaster to arrive.

Returned back to his shared room after the walk with Sansa, Jaster was faced with three curious and assessing eyes. Myles was the first to speak after Jaster closed the door behind him.

“So, what's the verdict on this woman?”

Running a hand through his hair, Jaster replied tiredly, “I think she may have been abused in the past, but I'm not completely sure.”

Zaran let out an explosive sigh, rubbing at his forehead, “Does that mean we have to worry about her abuser following her?”

“Probably not.” Jango piped up. Directing his attention over to the boy, Jaster noted he was staring at a holopad, brows furrowed in contemplation. “I was looking at some of the news about her, which by the way, these guys barely even have much of a holonet here, all information is in books and shit. Anyways, from what little information was actually on there, she's been married twice. And both men are now dead.”

Jaster crossed his arms, eyebrow quirking as he pointed out, “They were recently at war however. And how does that link to them being her abuser?”

The boy rolled his eyes, “I was getting there, buir.”

Ignoring the sass, Jaster made a 'carry on' gesture.

Jango huffed. “Anyways. She was married to a king of a neighboring kingdom, a Joffrey Baratheon. Or Lannister. I'm a little confused because they also give him the last name of Waters too. But this guy then incited war by basically announcing she was now a hostage and that all trade agreements between them and the North were void. Apparently, he was a bit insane.”

“Does it say how long she was married for?” Myles asked. Jango scrolled through the holopad, before shaking his head. “Not really. Like I said, barely any information is on here. If there were some written records in this castle, that would hold a hell of a lot more information than what I can find on here. Most of this stuff seems more focused on the war than the princess. Well, ex-queen, I guess.”

And wasn't that a thought. In terms of government and the elected monarch through battle, the True Mandalorians were relatively relaxed in status and hierarchy. But he was briefly concerned about his new wife not being able to handle any of the basic duties that came with being married to the Manda'lor. But if she was a queen, even a hostage one, she must have had experience in ruling to some degree. But he would have to see how she fared when on their home world once more.

“What about her second husband?” Jaster wondered then, to which the boy made a face, “A Northern lord, Ramsay Bolton, who died six months after they were married. That was noted because of the short time, as she was also held captive there.”

“Real great people here.” Zaran muttered, starting to clean his blaster.

Jaster had to agree with that sarcastic statement. He didn't like the picture that was forming in his head, especially with the added knowledge that she was being married a third time. Were the first two also against her will? How old was she when she married, seeing as she was only 25? And how far did this possible abuse go with her previous husbands, if she was abused by them? The promises she made from him, to respect her, were making a lot more sense now. As well as when she vowed to run if he got violent with her.

Already knowing he wasn't going to do such a thing, Jaster just had to gain her trust. A lot of things came down to that, and it was starting to look more of a daunting task with every new piece of information gathered.

“She doesn't seem to trust anyone here.” Jaster then stated, drawing eyes to him once more. “This is her home and she's guarded, so I'm not sure to what extent she trusts her family.”

He watched as Jango appeared confused, “But they're her family.”

It was Zaran who replied sadly, “Sometimes, family ain't everything, Jan'ika.”

Though the boy scowled at the term of endearment, he nodded in understanding nonetheless.

A knock at their door then broke the contemplative silence. Zaran had his blaster up, only for Myles to wave him down, “I'll get it.”

Opening the door, a young woman was revealed. Brown hair and eyes, tall, though not as tall as Sansa. There was also a pale scar, running from her temple to just beside her lip on the left side of her face. And she looked at all of them fearlessly. Jaster could appreciate that, as Mandalorians garnered many terrified or wary looks everywhere they went.

“Can we help you?” Myles asked politely. This was why he was Jaster's second in command. If it was anyone else they probably would cause a political disaster within an hour.

The woman asked, “I wish to speak to the Manda'lor.” It was actually more of a demand. Jango's hackles rose at the informality, but Jaster just said amicably, “Of course. Was there something you wanted from me?”

She turned to him, and Jaster nodded to Myles, who stepped aside to allow her entry. They did not close the door. Hands neatly clasped in front of her, the woman gave him a long, cautious once over, before tilting her chin up.

“I will be coming with Sansa when she leaves with you.” Was her blunt statement. Assessing her posture, it screamed the same subtle defiance that his future wife held. Cocking his head to the side, Jaster asked, faintly humoured, “How so?”

“As her friend and confidant, I will follow where she goes.”

Interesting. “So you were with her in the last two marriages? Thought she was a hostage.”

At Jango's suspicious tone, the woman sent a small glare his way. “Of course I was with her. And if you want more information on her, you have to gain it from Sansa. I will not betray her as others have.”

Calmly, Jaster came to his son's defense, “Jango is just protective of his people, we all are. Bringing someone in that we don't know and to place them in a position of power is unnerving for us. We are all concerned about her trustworthiness.”

The woman stared at him long and hard for a moment, before replying, “Sansa won't do anything to harm you, if you show her the same courtesy. She would never be the one to strike first, wanting to understand the other person's motive and behaviour beforehand.”

“How did she gain such loyalty from you, is what I'm wondering.” Zaran chimed in, voice low and interest piqued. “Do you owe her a life debt?”

Crossing her arms defensively, the woman scowled his way, “We were raised together, and I would die for her. Just as I know she would do the same. That is all I will tell you. I just came to inform the Mand’alor that when Sansa goes with you, so will I and her direwolf.” Then, she whirled around and stalked out of the room, leaving silence in her wake.

“What the kriff is a direwolf?” Jango demanded to no one.

A direwolf, it turned out, was a massive furry beast of a creature. Adorable from afar, but Jaster was desperate to get closer to observe them even with the flash of sharp fangs from it's wide mouth. They seemed relatively tame, though the wildness of the beast was still there under it's fur. Controlled and contained. And standing next to Sansa, just it's head was as large as her entire top body.

“Can you ride it?” Jaster blurted out.

It was the second day of their stay, and once more him and Sansa were taking a walk. She appeared more relaxed this time around, though caution was still evident in the space kept between them and the blank mask she still wore.

However, in that moment Jaster was too enraptured with the direwolf to really care about controlling his 'nerding out', as Jango would mock.

He wanted to pet it.

Hands deep within the thick, silvery coat, Sansa nodded, “They move differently to horses,” He had no idea what horses were but nodded nonetheless, “But yes, I have ridden on her. She does also have a saddle made for her too.”

“She's massive.” Jaster commented in awe, taking half a step closer. The beast eyed him passively, like he was just some little mouse that passed by her. It was intimidating. He still wanted to touch her.

“Does she have a name?”

Sansa's eyes lit up, proudly stating, “Her name is Lady, and the best behavioured of her litter.”

“There's more of them!?” Jaster exclaimed. The name was also somewhat hilarious, but decided that pointing that fact out would just ruin the companionable air between them. He wanted to lure her out of her shell, not send her back deeper within it.

When she pursed her lips, he noted that her shoulders were trembling. At first, he thought she got frightened by his sudden outburst, only to note the faint twitch of her lips afterwards. She was laughing at him. Her voice remained commendably steady as she replied, “Yes, one of six. And actually the smallest of the pack.”

Jaster hoped his mouth wasn't gaping, staring at the tall beast and trying to comprehend that this was a small one.

“Direwolves are actually a sub-species.” Sansa then commented, scratching under the beast's chin. Lady grumbled low in pleasure. “Regular wolves look like them but much smaller, Direwolves are actually an endangered species, and rarely are they this far south.”

Jaster wanted to take Westeros, put it in a jar, shake it, and see what happens. He wanted to study the hell out of this place.

Eyeing the thick and soft looking fur, as well as the blue ribbon ludicrously tied around this massive creature's neck, he asked, “Can I pet her?”

Pausing in her scratching, Sansa looked at him thoughtfully, before nodding slowly. “Let her smell your hand first.”

The very thought of holding his hand out to Lady's maw was daunting, but he did so anyways. Jaster really wanted to pet her.

Breath hot, Lady snuffled at his hand, before a small lick graced his skin. Jerking back minutely, Jaster held back the nervous chuckle as he shuffled closer. Golden, intelligent eyes watched him as he ran a hand up her snout and to her ears. She was as soft as she looked, hand rubbing at one of her ears.

“I think she likes you.”

Sansa's murmured words drew his focus back to her, and Jaster peered over to where she was pressed close to Lady's neck. Observing the woman, Jaster met her steady gaze. The cold mask from before seemed to shift, and Jaster wondered if meeting Lady was a test. Animals tend to sense intentions before most people did, knowing who was a threat or not.

Jaster wondered if he passed the test.

He cracked a smile, “Would hope so, seeing as she will be coming with you after all.”

The woman then froze, looking baffled, before closing her eyes, exasperated. “Jeyne.” Was all she stated. It certainly held a lot of emotions behind that one word.

“Brown hair and strangely unafraid of anything?”

At his description, Sansa let out a heavy sigh, her expression fond despite the aggrieved tone, “Too protective for her own good.”

Jaster shrugged nonchalantly, “Loyalty is a good trait to Mandalorians. She wouldn't be looked down for it, most likely commended really.”

She appeared to be struggling internally, unable to find words. So Jaster shuffled up beside her, giving her a reassuring smile, “I'm not angry with her. Or with you.” He tacked on at the end. Blue eyes watched him warily, even as she nodded.

“In fact,” He continued, “I'm impressed with her. If she ever wants to learn combat, she can simply ask. Wouldn't be bad for your fierce protector to be able to shoot your enemies.”

Looking away from him, a faint smile on her lips, Sansa murmured, “I wouldn't be alive without her.”

Trying not to show how he perked up, sensing an opening for more information, Jaster tried for casual. “I have a few friends like that myself. Myles, my right hand man, I can trust him with anything. I always know he has my back.”

They fell into another silence, Jaster waiting with bated breath on her response. For awhile, Sansa was quiet, deep in her thoughts, before she finally confessed, “Jeyne saved me from my second husband. I had sent her away after learning about his...proclivities to violence, not wanting her to be hurt. It took many months, but she returned with a small group who helped sneak me out and kill Ramsay.”

Impressed, though certainly concerned with the information she gave him, Jaster was finding that Jeyne held some guts, even stating with honest appreciation, “Mandokarla.”

At her confused glance, Jaster explained, “It means that she's got the right stuff. Like, the epitome of Mando virtue. A blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty, things like that. She'll fit in well enough.” He assured her with a smile.

But even though her expression flashed with pride for her friend, something stormy covered it afterwards. Worried that he had mis-stepped, Jaster went to ask, only for Sansa to state and cut him off, “I have tasks to attend to.” A polite smile fixed on her lips, she then curtsied, “I'm sure I will be seeing you at dinner tonight.”

Taking her leave, Jaster felt a bit lost, watching her back retreat. Next to him, Lady gave a huff of a sigh before following after Sansa.

Whatever he had said wrong, Jaster really hoped he hadn't kriffed everything up.

Chapter Text

Jaster was still contemplating how he messed up by the time dinner rolled around. The night before, he had actually requested for him and his people to eat privately. Tonight, there would be none of that. Though he didn't mind feasts and celebrations, it felt weird to do so with a bunch of people he was not familiar with.

Luckily, it was just his people and Sansa's family. Well, more accurately, it was them at a long table in the large dining hall, where many workers and guards were also taking their meal. No big festivities. Having expected the royals to hold dinner in a private chamber, he was pleasantly surprised by the interaction between them and their people. Granted, they still ate at a high table at the back of the hall, watching over everyone else, but still.

Sat next to Sansa, who ate silently, Jaster was still mulling over what he had said when the prince, on his soon to be wife's other side, spoke to the woman, “The others should be arriving in the next few days.”

Sansa smiled at her brother, and it wasn't like the stilted and false ones she gave him. This one held true affection as she replied softly, “Even Jon?”

Robb chuckled, “He had to be dragged from the Wall by Uncle Benjen.”

That had Sansa perking up, “Uncle Benjen is coming too?”

At his food, Jaster smiled to himself. They're strangers, meant to marry, but he wasn't someone who enjoyed upsetting people. It was good that her mood picked up as she and her brother discussed their family.

He was curious on how big her family was, and was relieved that he had the wrong observation. Jaster had thought there was no one in her family that she trusted, but perhaps that was just her parents.

An elbow dug into his side, and huffing in slight pain, Jaster sent a small glare at Jango, “Can't get my attention in a way that's less painful, ad'ika?”

The boy instead whispered to him, “What was the direwolf like?” Earnest curiosity was evident and Jaster leaned in to eagerly whisper back, “She was so soft! Sansa said she had ridden the creature too.”

Jango loved animals, and it was one of the topics where he didn't mock Jaster for rambling on about all the different species he knew, listening intently instead. Casting a glance to his other side at Sansa, he spoke once more to his child, “Maybe you can ask her if you could pet Lady. She seemed friendly enough.”

The boy squirmed in surprised excitement and actually overcame his reluctance to talk to Sansa to lean over Jaster to get her attention. “Hey, Sansa-er...Princess.”

Sighing, Jaster pressed a hand to his face, exasperated with his kid's lack of formality. From what he observed, these people held formality in high regard, and Jaster prayed he could teach Jango about minding his manners if they had to interact with any other dignitaries or monarchs. The woman however wasn't offended, just turning to the boy politely. “Yes, Prince Jango.”

Jango made a face and Jaster held back his laughter, “I'm no prince. Just call me Jango. Anyways, can I pet your direwolf?”

Robb laughed at the boy's bluntness, as the woman looked at Jango indulgently. “Of course, Jango.”

The brother then joined in, “I have a direwolf too. Grey Wind is also much larger than Lady.”

“That's because he's overweight, idiot.” Sansa retorted, poking her brother with her fork. Batting the utensil away, he leant further past the woman, who had to rear back. Now both Jaster and her were in the way it seemed as Robb talked with Jango on his direwolf.

Chuckling softly, Jaster turned to Sansa to mention that. “I think we're in the way.”

A smile teased at her lips as she nodded. Surrounded by family and softened by her brother and Jango's interaction, Jaster took that opportunity to murmur for only her to hear, “I'm sorry if what I said earlier offended you.”

Bright blue eyes darted to him, and Jaster was struck at how close they were, but a foot between their faces. She too realised this and subtly leant away. Mask of detachment back on her face in seconds. “It's of no consequence.”

Her response was placating, but didn't answer the questions he had on why she reacted so abruptly. Did he insult Jeyne? Jaster was sure he emphasised on how it was a compliment. Frowning, Jaster turned back to his food, nudging Jango back into his seat despite his grumblings. “You can talk later, I want to eat Jan'ika.”

There was not more conversation between him and Sansa, and Jaster went to sleep that night still confused. He ended up asking Myles and Zaran on the morning of their third day there about it, Jango having run off to find a direwolf to pet. Jaster wasn't too worried about the boy's safety, having his armour and blaster on him, and was relieved to have a moment to appear pathetic to his friends without his son witnessing it. But even Zaran appeared bewildered by Sansa's reaction, Myles contemplative. “Maybe she's jealous?” Zaran muttered, and though Jaster considered it, he shook his head. “Not the type of jealous reaction that I've ever seen before. I dunno,” He shrugged helplessly, “She seemed more sad than anything.”

Myles then sighed, giving both of them an unimpressed look, “Have you maybe considered the fact that she is a non-fighter marrying into a warrior culture? You complimented her friend on her being mandokarla, but not her?”

Jaster frowned, “But she hasn't shown any-oh.” Staring at the wall in realisation, the man thought back to the tale she told him, of being saved by her friend. Jaster had needed help at times in the past, Myles saving his shebs consistently throughout their friendship. And he was so focused on how unsuspecting it was for someone of this world to show such admirable traits, that he inadvertently called Sansa weak.

She was no fighter. Not in the traditional sense. But he would be a fool to not see the hidden strength. She survived two hostage situations, one at the very least appearing to be a violent one, and here he was, saying she was weak in the eyes of his people. It took immense fortitude to continue on after suffering heavily. Jaster still did not know the true extent to her pain, but he had an inkling that it was bad.

Groaning, Jaster hung his head, “This is why I didn't want to marry.”

Zaran laughed, not a hint of sympathy in him as he slapped Jaster's back, “Good luck to you, vod. You're going to need it.”

On the third morning, four days away from her third wedding ceremony, the sun had broken through the clouds. With it appearing to be a nice day, Sansa and Jeyne decided to walk out past the wall of Winterfell to sit in the fields around it to enjoy the warmth. Having forgone a guard, they had Lady come with, the direwolf happy to run about the open fields. Ground wet, Sansa had taken a tarp to protect the blanket they would still on from getting wet and water seep through. Lady trotted around them as the two women worked on Sansa's third wedding cloak, sniffing at the air, ears perked and twitching about.

The first was an elaborate one, having the months of preparations to add tiny and beautiful detail to the fabric. It had been pure white, letting the burst of her other family colours catch peoples eyes. Wolves and trouts ran and swam about flowers and vines. Though being married to Joffrey was a miserable affair, and she had spent her wedding night terrified, the ceremony before hand was a marvellous one.

The second wedding cloak was grey and rushed. Only the necessary details added to at least make it look like she put the effort into the piece, never minding the fact that she was seething with rage and betrayal at having to marry again. That only had white and blue stitching with hints of red. Tiny birds mixed in with the wolves and fish. Simple.

And now, she sews a third. Staring at the part she was embroidering, Sansa muttered, “Do you think I'm the first woman to marry three times like this? How many just reused the stupid things instead of sewing new ones?”

Jeyne cracked a smile, threading through her own section, “If you want we could always go searching through Casterly Rock. Maybe Tyrion kept the cloak. I know you burnt the one made for Ramsay.”

Mulishly, Sansa stabbed a bit too harshly into the fabric. Septa Mordane would've reprimanded her if she was still alive. The thought of Casterly Rock had her heart aching, and not wanting to ruin her mood for the rest of the day, Sansa banished those thoughts. She had eight years to get over it. But despite the time, it still made the shattered piece of her heart fracture more anytime she drifted off to the memories.

The third cloak was a final statement before being handed off to the next husband – and hopefully the last – in her life. Coincidentally, it was a deeper red like the Mand'alor's cape. When searching the colour meanings, Sansa picked the scarlet red, which meant defiance, for her first impression. Whereas the shade Jaster wore meant to honour and parent or leader. Though, she assumed because it could be hard to tell the two shades apart, the meanings could be interchangeable.

Sansa was determined for this to be her best work, because she wanted to keep it after being married off. It was more than just a Maiden's cloak. It was a message to her people and to Jaster's. Maybe she could even wear it outside the ceremony.

At her silence, Jeyne tentatively asked, “Have you told him you're leaving?”

Sansa's jaw clenched, giving a curt shake of her head. Sighing, her friend suggested, “Maybe you should? Especially as-”

“Jeyne.” Sansa cut her off sharply. “It doesn't matter, whether he knows or not. It wouldn't change anything.”

Hands having stilled in their work, the red head glanced down. The gold thread was stark against the red, and softly, Sansa thumbed against the half embroidered lion. The next breath she let out was shaky and resigned. “Nothing would change.” Was her next muttered words, final and full of too much pain.

Ignoring the look of sympathy in Jeyne's eyes, Sansa went back to her task.

Sighing heavily, the other woman apologised, “I'm sorry, Sansa. I shouldn't have brought it up.”

Sansa clicked her tongue primly, “No, you shouldn't have.” And because she can't stay angry at Jeyne long, she looked up at her with a sad smile, “But I forgive you anyways.”

Responding with her own smile, reaching over to give Sansa's shoulder a quick squeeze, Jeyne changed the subject, “So why are you upset with the Mand'alor?”

'Because the stupid man called me weak.' Her mind grumbled. “I'm not mad,” Sansa argued coolly instead.

Giving her an unimpressed look, Jeyne drawled, “Right. Because I wasn't able to feel the tension between you two last night at dinner. And I was across the hall at that.”

“Fine,” Sansa gave in, “He complimented you. Said you had traits that Mandalorians would find admirable. And this was after I told him about being left with Ramsay as you gathered a small army.”

Squinting her eyes at Sansa in confusion, Jeyne replied slowly, “So...you're mad because...”

“Because he implied I was weak!” She exclaimed, shoving the sewing off her lap. Frustration bubbled in her chest and she had to move. Standing up, Sansa proceeded to pace around the blanket, ranting, “I know I'm not much to compare to when it comes to fighters. I can't swing a sword nor shoot an arrow, and I would never want to! I know being able to protect ones self is a good thing, but I wish it wasn't necessary! And then to have him say I was weak, after my last two husbands said similar things, is just fucking infuriating!”

The other woman's eyebrow rose at the profanity, but pointed out unphased, “But did he actually say you were weak?”

The red head halted. “Well, no.” Sansa granted mulishly, “But it made me think about how all of his people will think of me the moment they see me. They will look at me and think I am a helpless high born lady, and they would be right!”

Softly, Jeyne assured her, “You're not helpless, Sansa.”

Crossing her arms, Sansa muttered, looking at the walls of Winterfell, “Tell that to all of the North and then some.”

“Well we already knew all of them are idiots.” Jeyne rolled her eyes, making Sansa huff in amusement, “And the Mandalorians would be idiots too, if they looked at you and thought you were weak.”

Flicking her eyes over to meet Jeyne's, Sansa then looked away and up at the sky. She heard all that her people spoke about her. All the whispers and gossip. If she learnt one thing married to Joffrey, besides gaining an excellent threshold for her pain tolerance, was how to play dumb and listen. If people thought you were empty headed they would speak of near anything around you.

But just because she had grown used to it didn't mean it didn't hurt. She hated people looking down on her. And it made the pain worse knowing it was her own people who spoke about her with derision.

“Sansa!”

Both women looked towards the person who called her name, and then shared a bemused look between them. Hurrying over was Jango. It was still odd to see one so young with armour, his helmet tucked under his arm. There were scorch marks and faint denting on the metal, and Sansa tried not to think about one so young being in a fight.

Softening from her previous irritation, Sansa gave him a greeting smile as he came closer. “Jango. Here to see Lady?”

Nodding eagerly, Sansa saw how his eyes trailed over to where said direwolf was basking in the sun. Leading him over with a gesture, the animal perked up, tail lightly thumping the ground.

Cooing, Sansa crouched to run a hand down Lady's body, giving her lower back a good scratch. As she told the boy's father, Sansa instructed, “Let her smell your hand first.” And soon enough Jango was knelt beside Lady and giving her neck firm scritches.

Eyes closed in bliss, Lady let out a groan, making Jango laugh a little. “She's really calm.”

“The calmest of the pack.” Sansa announced proudly. “Even her brother Ghost, who's really quiet is not as calm as her.”

“Ghost is another direwolf then?”

She nodded, “One for each of the Stark children.”

“And how many is that?”

“Six.”

“Six!?” Jango exclaimed. Behind them Jeyne laughed brightly. Smiling to herself, Sansa replied, “Robb is the eldest, then there is me, my sister Arya, and then the two youngest boys Bran and Rickon. Jon, our cousin, was raised like a brother for us.”

Frowning, Jango asked, “How come I haven't met them.”

She explained simply, “Jon is at the Wall and a man of the Night's Watch, which is a military order. The Wall is a massive structure that protects the North, by the way. Arya is currently travelling with her band of women, spreading justice and chaos no doubt. Bran is at his own castle, along with Rickon. They should all be arriving within a day's time for the wedding. Each of us have a direwolf. Ghost is Jon's, Nymeria is Arya's, Bran has Summer, and then Shaggydog is Rickon's.”

Jango stared at her blankly. “I have so many question.”

Grinning, Sansa asked curiously, “Do you have any siblings?”

His face shuttered, looking away. “A sister. She's dead.”

Coldness washed over Sansa, taking in the grief on his face. There had been a moment, a few years back during the war, that they had almost lost Bran and Rickon. Sansa remembered Joffrey telling her that they were dead, and the loss was a horrible feeling. She wasn't even allowed to grieve properly. Though it turned out they were alive, Sansa could not forget the horrible drop in her stomach and how breathless she became.

His expression was one that had settled with this grief for awhile, though still present. Sansa knew it well. Not wanting to over step but still wishing to show comfort, her hand moved close to where it stilled on Lady's neck. Close enough for reassurance but not going past the boundaries. Jango glanced at it, then at her. And after a long moment, he gave Sansa a short nod. He understood.

Sansa stood up, “Would you like to join us? We have lemon cakes and tarts.” It was the best she could offer at this time. He stood, his own silent confirmation to her suggestion.

Following Sansa over to the blanket, Jeyne unpacking their basket of treats as they settled down, they gave Jango first pick. Taking up her embroidery, Sansa watched out of the corner of her eye as Jango took a tart, biting into it hesitantly. Then face lighting up, he took a second, larger bite.

The women shared another look, one of relief and humour, as Jeyne asked him, “So how old are you, Jango?”

“14.” He replied through a mouthful. After swallowing, Jango then asked, “How old were you when you married?”

“Which time?” Sansa replied wryly.

Pausing in thought, Jango supplied, “The first.”

“I was 15.”

He paused mid bite, horrified. “That's so young though!”

Shrugging, she replied nonchalantly, “It's not really. It would be frowned upon if I married a man three times my age, though marriages like that have happened before, but Joffrey was 16, so not many cared.”

“Still messed up.” Jango mumbled into his food. Looking back on her younger self, Sansa privately agreed. She was so innocent and naive then, even when she thought herself mature and fully grown. What a silly girl she was.

“I've never been married.” Jeyne chimed in. Chuckling, Sansa teased, “Like you had much time to fall in love with keeping me alive.”

Elbowing her lightly, smiling, her friend japed, “It appears I've taken the silent sisters vow. Keeping you alive is now my devoted task forever.”

Sansa made a face, “Ugh. What a terrible life decision.”

The boy looked like he wanted to ask, eyes darting between the women, but instead looked at her cloak to question instead. “What's this for?” He lightly fingered the edges where there was heavy embroidery of brambles and thorns wrapped and entangled together.

“A wedding tradition.” Sansa explained, “The bride and her female friends and relatives will sew a Maiden's cloak for the ceremony. She will kneel down and the husband will take off his own cloak replacing her's to show she is now part of his household and under his protection.” Thinking about it, Jaster probably didn't know how the ceremony was meant to go. She would have to tell him, or ask Jeyne to do so. After all, he seemed to like her more, Sansa thought with a hint of bitterness.

Appearing thoughtful, Jango then wondered, “Did you have to make one for both marriages?”

Sansa nodded. “Yes. And now I make a third.”

The boy grimaced, “Looks complicated.”

“Girls are taught to sew at a young age.” Jeyne informed him easily, “Starting simple and working to more complex stitches.”

Jango shuffled closer, “Can I see it?”

When she presented the near finished piece, Sansa took in his calculating gaze, moving from each animal, symbol, and colour. “Does it hold meaning?” Plenty of it, Sansa knew. Every thread held a heavy weight of her history and emotions. She was sure it's message would be understood by both parties.

“Symbolism is basically the main language of Westeros.” Jeyne joked, “We're a dramatic lot.”

“Yeah but,” Jango began, “You've got a dead man on it. Which is a bit suspicious, especially if you're marrying my buir.”

Waving a dismissive hand, Sansa assured him, “Don't worry about that. That's just my second husband.”

“...Right.” Jango eyed her warily, and turned back to his second tart.

Changing the topic, Sansa asked the boy, “Do you have anything I could learn Mandalorian from?”

He straightened up, “You want to learn?”

“Of course.” The woman confirmed. “I'm going to be living with you are for the foreseeable future. And you and your father have already used a few word in the language, and I don't particularly enjoy not understanding what people are saying.”

Scrutinising her for a long moment, Jango then gave a slow nod, “Yeah. I've got a datapad that can access some learning modules. It'll be only the basics, the higher levels will be found on our world. Can give it to you later?”

“Please. And basics is all I need right now.” Sansa assured him, and Jeyne added, “Same for me.”

A guarded look in his eyes seemed to fall, and Sansa hadn't known it was there until it wasn't. Appeared that Jango was good at hiding his emotions well enough. That will do well for him in the future, Sansa silently determined to herself. Her interest in learning his people's language must have gained some points in her favour.

Then, standing up and brushing off the crumbs from his shirt and armour, Jango said decidedly, “You know, you're alright. Just don't try and kill my buir and we'll be good.”

Looking up at the boy, amused, Sansa retorted, “As long as he doesn't try the same thing.”

With a non-committal shrug, Jango turned around and headed back to the castle. The women watched his abrupt departure, equal expressions of bemusement.

“He's adorable.” Jeyne cooed.

Snorting, Sansa turned back to her work. “That's one word for it.”

Chapter Text

When Jango came tramping into their room that afternoon, the Mandalorians sat around and cleaning their gear, the boy promptly stated, “I'm pretty positive that Sansa killed her last two husbands.” Then swung the door shut behind him.

The men blinked up at the boy. “How do you figure that, Jan'ika?” Myles asked slowly.

Going over to his bag, riffling through it, the teen replied easily, “She's making this wedding cloak and there's a dead man on it and said it was her second husband.” Straightening up, datapad in hand, Jango began to tap through it as he continued, “The way I see it, Sansa probably had help escaping but she definitely killed them.”

Leaning back in his seat, Jaster contemplated that new information. From what Sansa had told him, it sounded like someone else had done the killing when helping her leave her second husband. There wasn't that much information gathered about the first, but she obviously got out of that marriage too. And with a war occurring, it made sense that her people helped her. She was their princess after all.

“Do you think she'll try to kill me?” Jaster highly doubted it, seeing as both Sansa and Jeyne had reiterated that Sansa wouldn't harm someone unless they did first, and Jaster had no plans to do so.

However, when Jango shook his head, some tension in Jaster eased. His kid was frightfully good at reading people, and knew to trust his instincts. “She's not bad.” He paused, then quietly added, “Understands grief too.”

The frank words had a weight of regret fall on the room. Looking down at his helmet, Jaster knew exactly what he was referring to. But, Jango continued onwards, not lingering on the sadness, “She gave me these tart things, they were delicious. And let me touch Lady, so that was cool. She also married her first husband at 15.”

Jaster blanched, horrified, “She was a child!?”

Looking just as disconcerted, Zaran muttered, “I really don't like these people.”

Shrugging, though he too looked queasy, Jango replied, “Sansa said it was normal, and there was only a year age gap between her and her husband, so there's that at least.”

“Still...” Myles murmured, disgusted.

Glancing over at the datapad, Jaster asked then, “What's with that?”

“Oh,” Jango recalled, looking down at the object then back up, a little excited, “Sansa wanted to learn Mando'a. Thought I would give her the basics, along with the marriage vows just in case you wanna marry her out way too, seeing as she doesn’t know them.”

Jaster was pleased for all of two seconds, before he grimaced, “I don't know shit about theirs.”

“Well,” The boy began, “Sansa said that the man is meant to remove her wedding cloak and replace it with his. 'Pposed to mean that the wife is under her husband's house and protection. But other than that, you're gonna have to ask.”

“Maybe ask Jeyne.” Myles suggested, a sly smile on his face, “She would tell you.”

Shooting the man a glare, Jaster snapped back, “I already caused problems with complimenting the woman, I'm not going to make it worse and seek her out.”

Snorting, Zaran teased, “Already living in the dog house and you aren't even married yet.”

Throwing a piece of his disassembled blaster at the man, Jaster retorted, “How about you go and talk to the woman then? Get the information for me like a good underling to the Mand'alor.”

The man rolled his eyes in response, not even deigning to reply back. They all knew Jaster wouldn't throw his weight around and actual order such a task, nor enforce it.

“Why not just ask Sansa herself?” Jango suggested, unimpressed with the adults and their bickering. “Maybe then you can actually figure out how to talk with her instead of insulting the woman.”

“Since when are you on her side?” Jaster whined, feeling suitably betrayed.

Scoffing, the boy sneered, “You're my buir and I love you, but if you don't sort this out, the two of you'll be miserable. And that means I will be as well.” Then, he stalked out of the room, door slamming behind him.

There was a moment of still silence, before Myles sighed, “I hate when they become teenagers.”

Jaster wholly agreed.

As they were returning to the castle, just passing through the walls, Jango came running over to them. Pausing and sharing another amused glance with Jeyne, Sansa smiled at him, “Back to give Lady more attention?”

Said direwolf perked up, stepping closer to receive said pats. Panting, the boy shook his head, though he did place a hand on Lady's neck to give it a couple of strokes. “No, I got your datapad.”

Handing the object over to Sansa, Jeyne placed a hand on her hip and wryly stated, “This will be fun. We don't have many of these about.” Nodding in agreement, it took Sansa a couple of seconds to turn the screen on. Westeros was typically anti-tech, in the manner of them preferring the old ways of living. So very traditionalist, even the sight of droids set many uneasy. But having some experience with a datapad, soon Sansa was navigating through it.

“Got the basic modules on there, like you asked.” Jango explained, “I also got some basic traditions of Mandalorians so you don't, you know, insult anyone or whatever.”

Huffing, Sansa replied, “Yes. We certainly don't want that.” Flicking through, Sansa paused on the topic of marriage and weddings. Softly, Sansa wondered then, “Out of curiosity, what title would I get, if I get any, for marrying your king?”

“Besides being his riduur?” Jango shrugged, “Nothing unless earned. You would maybe be the Mand'alor's Cosort at best, but that's it.”

At that reply, Sansa felt herself off-centre. Even when marrying Joffrey, she still had her duties as queen. She organised feasts and kept the households running smoothly. Even when many only gave her a sliver of respect, she still got her work done. With Ramsay, that was a little different, seeing as she was mainly a prisoner in every sense of the word.

Frowning, Sansa turned off the datapad and tucked it into her sewing basket, “I will look this over, thank you Jango.”

Nodding, the boy said, “It's no problem. Though I think buir will be asking you on your wedding traditions. He doesn't know shit.” And gave them a cheeky grin at that.

Jeyne giggled, hiding her mouth behind her hand. Sansa's lips twitched. “Well, he's welcome to come find me.”

After having dropped off her sewing things in her room, along with the datapad for her to study tonight, Sansa had started her way towards the seamstress to pick up some fabrics when Jaster had found her. She wasn't actively trying to avoid him, just hadn't completely believed that the man would seek her out after their...distance in the last day. Sansa assumed he would just ask her father on how the wedding would go instead of her.

Too polite to give the man a cold shoulder nor turn him away with a weak excuse, Sansa nodded in greeting, “Mand'alor.”

The man frowned, “Call me Jaster. Please.”

“Very well.” She acquiesced, then nodded her head towards the direction she was heading. “Would you like to join me on my walk? I heard you may have some questions for me.”

Sighing exhaustively, Jaster muttered, “That boy...” But fell into step with her nonetheless. “I just wanted to know how the ceremony will go. We can't find much information and no one has told us.”

Sansa frowned, more at the fact that no one had told him than the lack of information. Honestly, her father should've told him on the first day they met, but perhaps that was forgotten in the middle of making sure Sansa wouldn't do anything like attack the man when they first met. Like she would do something so stupid and obvious as that. “Yes, I noticed. Did neither of my parents really not explain?” Maybe they had met in the last couple of days.

Shaking his head, and dashing away her theory, the man tucked his hands behind his back. His armour was a fearsome thing to behind, but it did not strike the same terror as the White Cloaks had when with Joffrey. Those Lannister guards with their dark looks and enjoyment for pain. She hated them and was glad all of them were rotting in the seven hells.

“We discussed more about the trade deal and agreement.”

Conceding, Sansa admitted grimly, “Yes, I suppose those are a far bit more important.”

The man however disagreed, “Vows are important, and this wedding is immensely needed for my people. If I mess it up, not only could I insult you and your traditions, I could also lose the support we need.”

“I don't think many would care about you insulting me.” Sansa found herself saying, and immediately regretting. Pursing her lips, having noted the way his eyes flicked over to her, the woman cursed herself for becoming too relaxed with her words. These past five years have done well in giving her back the courage she needed to speak her mind, but a slip of a tongue could lead to deadly consequences. And though Jango had said she would not have much power nor traction when married to Jaster, she was still someone in the spotlight to those within the political sphere.

And to make her luck worse, as they were about to turn the corner Sansa caught the tail end of a sentence, “-and I think this wedding is absolutely pointless.”

Pausing just by the corner instinctively, as she would when married to Joffrey, Jaster stilled as well, following her cue. His gaze met hers, head tilted as he also caught the voices as well. Together, they listened as the second person replied, sounding irritated. “Exactly. There's a reason she's called the Hostage Princess. She should just quit on trying and accept she's cursed. All this will do is lead us all back into war.”

There was a cluck of a tongue and a worried tone to follow, “And this time it's Mandalorians. You've heard about how barbaric they are! The men would barely be able to hold up against them. Hopefully this time, the Princess will just deal with it.”

“If she was anything like Princess Arya, she would just deal with the problem herself instead of waiting around to be saved.”

The words rang heavy in her ears. They echoed with the thoughts she herself already had about herself. Though her and Arya got along well enough now, both couldn't help to constantly compare themselves to the other. To hear others speak the things she though about herself out loud hit harder than normally.

Swallowing hard, Sansa ignored the sting in her eyes as her blood thrummed loudly in her ears. There was heat on her cheeks, and she couldn't look at Jaster, mortified with all that he had heard. Sansa could deal with it if she was alone, but with the Mand'alor right next to her? All the inadequacies when compared to his people became prominent.

Clearing her throat softly, Sansa tilted her chin up, drew her shoulders back, and carried on around the corner. Jaster was only a step behind, quickly catching up to her sudden movement. Up ahead were two laundry women. Sansa knew them by name.

They paled as she walked past, Sansa only giving them short greeting nods, pasting on a false gentile smile, “Tisa. Hana.” What more could she say? It would be pointless to punish them, this kind of gossip typical. A little different seeing as the subject was her new marriage, but all the same either way.

Ignoring how her hands tightened around one another where they were delicately clasped in front of her, Sansa continued on with her walk to the seamstress as if she hadn't heard the gossip. She had gone through enough ridicule in Joffrey's court. The whispers of her people would not shake the solid foundations she had rebuilt in these years of healing. And the Mandalorians would not be able to do the same to her. Her skin has been turned to steel for so long now and Sansa was a Stark. They endured and survived.

Jaster, was furious. Offended on Sansa's behalf, seeing as she wasn't. Then again, he could not read her mind, but from how embarrassed she appeared with the words spoken, along with the hint of tears he caught before they were blinked away, he knew at the very least she was upset. Understandable with such cutting, mocking, remarks of her person.

In all honesty, watching her walk past the women with a dignified posture and so composed, even he was doubting if he saw the crack in her mask, Jaster was impressed. The control she had was admirable, and sometimes he wished he wasn't one to shoot first and ask questions later.

However, even with how well she dealt with her own people demeaning her, putting her down, Sansa was still obviously affected. And that angered him. Jaster hated injustice. Even as they walked away Jaster wanted to turn around and shout at the women's retreating backs.

Instead, Jaster spoke to Sansa softly, “They're wrong.”

The red head stared on straight ahead as she remarked with an empty voice, “Are they though?”

That had him stopping in his tracks, shocked. Sansa walked a couple of steps before stopping as well, turning to look at him. Her eyes burnt with a cold fury and resignation. She was used to this treatment by her people. Setting his jaw, Jaster firmly stated, “No. They are. I don't know much of your past, Sansa. But I do know that there's far more to you than what many know. What ever you survived, you are strong for it.”

The woman scoffed, glancing away. “Must one suffer to be strong? Why does the pain that I went through make me better than who I was previously? If I hadn't gone through those marriages, I would be far different, and certainly not a woman you would find strong.”

And what could he say to that, taken off guard with her cold words. Her bitterness was present in her tone and body language, and Jaster couldn't blame her. Nodding slightly, Jaster conceded, “Maybe you're right. But for this marriage, we agreed on honesty and respect. I also promised honesty in return for yours, so this is me being honest.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, steady and reassuring as he met her eyes to finish, “They were wrong. And you did not deserve those words spoken against your character.”

Blue eyes had widened minutely at his short speech, completely open in showing the true vulnerability behind her mask. Smiling gently, Jaster removed his hand to instead hold out his elbow, “Shall we continue?”

He figured she needed some space and time to think his words over, and Sansa looked relieved that he changed the topic. Hesitantly, her small hand tucked into his arm between the padding and armour that he wore. Through the thick fabric, Jaster could just pick up the coldness of her hands as well as the solid presence of her touch.

Looking down at her, Sansa still seemed lost in thought, though able to guide them to her destination nonetheless. Deciding to finally ask what he found her for to begin with, Jaster kept his voice casual. “So tell me about how the wedding is meant to go? What lines do I need to say?”

Eyeing him for a short moment, mask back up and gaze scrutinising, Sansa answered, “You will stand at the weirwood tree, my father will walk me down to you...”

He listened intently, absorbing everything so as not to forget and mess up on the night. Apparently it was different in every kingdom, with the North holding their weddings in the evening and then having a large feast.

Sansa spoke of the lines to be stated, along with vows exchanged that were unique for the couple, that was if vows were even exchanged to begin with. They weren't necessary, as Sansa mentioned that she hadn't used any when marrying her second husband, who was Northern like her. Jaster bit his tongue from asking more about her past marriages, instead noted the offhanded remark that sometimes the man would carry the woman back into the castle or home, all the way to the feasting table.

“Would you be alright if I did that?” He asked, and she gave a moment's pause, before slowly nodding with a hint of caution mixed in with curiosity. “If you wish to, I would not be adversed.”

Inwardly fist pumping, Jaster nodded serenely instead. Not one to lie to himself, Jaster knew he found Sansa to be beautiful. Granted, he liked more from a partner than beauty – particularly a sharp wit and a bit of a history enthusiast like himself – but it certainly helped. And if the marriage went well and they got to the stage of being friends, Jaster would like to be able to pursue the relationship further, with her consent.

And to be able to carry his riduur was just something that stroked his ego, showing off his strength, as well as proving to Sansa that she could trust him. He wouldn't fail her like the others did in the past. He wouldn't let her fall into pain again.

Their conversation then halted as she came to one of the many buildings within the wall of the keep, knocking politely on the door before entering.

Fabrics rolled and folded filled the shop interior, neatly stacked in similar patterns and shades. Interested, Jaster watched as Sansa approached the woman at the counter with familiarity, who gave a genuine smile at her princess' arrival. “Princess Sansa! Welcome back, I have your order ready for you.”

Giving a small smile in return, even as the woman bustled to her back room, Sansa replied, “There's no rush. I'm grateful you managed to get it all ready in such a short time.”

“Nonsense!” Came to call back, “I wouldn't be the royal seamstress if I couldn't get such a basic order for our princess!”

Strangely, Sansa threw him an exasperated look, “I had to ask for fabric to make some trousers, seeing as I don't have any.”

His brows rose in surprise, “None?”

Shrugging, the woman explained, “I prefer dresses and skirts, it's my sister who likes to wear trousers. But I figured with marrying you and the Mandalorians...” As she trailed off, unsure, Jaster picked up on what she was referring to. Trousers was just practical, especially as all of them, even those who weren't the main warriors, were put to work. Whether it be farming or some other skill set, there was constant need for easy movement. However, he didn't want Sansa completely out of comfort zone, reassuring the red head, “Dresses are worn, and skirts. The length is just shorter, practical.”

Making a face, Sansa murmured, “I'm not one to show off skin, so even with the length shortened, I would still need to cover my legs.”

He nodded once, blanking out the thought of seeing more skin from Sansa than the neck up and her hands. “Of course.”

When the seamstress came out, she had folded fabrics of neutral tones of brown, cream, and blues. Stepping closer with Sansa to peer at the fabrics, he noted the different textures, some thicker, others looking soft and light. But he wasn't any kind of expert on what exactly the fibres were made of.

“Linen, cotton, wool, and that Essosi silk-cotton blend for you. Those should cover different temperatures.” The seamstress proclaimed, Sansa lightly running her fingers over the fabrics, face serious as she assessed each one. The worker looked nervous, waiting for approval, and Jaster wondered at Sansa's ability with a needle and other textiles. Casting a glance at the dress she was currently in, he considered her sitting and making it all from scratch. Every small stitch and floral detailing.

It was an impressive skill, and if nothing else, the tailors and sewers of his people would happily add her to their small group, always welcome to extra hands. After all, with Mandalorians getting into fights that ranged from practice spars to actually battles, there were plenty of new clothes needed on top of repairs.

Sansa finally looked up, finished with her assessment and gave the woman a firm nod, “These are perfect Alina and will do well.”

Sighing, relieved, Alina replied, “Thank the gods. Let me know if there's anything more I could do for you before you leave.”

“I will.” The woman assured, “I might come by to restock my pins and threads. Perhaps some beads as well.”

Puffing up, Alina promised, “I will be happy to provide what you need, princess.”

Sansa gave a short curtsey in gratitude before parting with a wave good bye, wares tucked under her arm. Just as Jaster was stepping out to follow however, Alina called to him, “Take care of her, will you?”

Turning back, Jaster noted the concern on her face, how she wrung her hands. “I've had to fit her for some dresses and I-well...let's just say the last two were not kind to her body. That poor woman has been through enough.”

There was true sincerity in Alina's face, and the tension with the maids from before settled, knowing that there was another person who had Sansa's back in all this. Setting a fist across his chest, Jaster promised firmly, “I will do all that I can to keep her safe. You have my word as the Mand'alor.”

The woman's lips were pursed as she nodded silently back, and Jaster took his leave. Catching up with Sansa, she gave him a curious glance but did not broach the topic at his late presence, instead she carried on with her explanation of the wedding traditions.

“There is also the bedding ceremony.” The look of distaste on her face was enough to tell him it wasn't a pleasant tradition. “The woman would be taken away by men and stripped bare before being shoved into the room. For the man, it would be women.”

Jaster grimaced, “Sounds...invasive.” That was saying it lightly too. “I'll have to decline on that part.”

Though she gave a nonchalant shrug in return, Jaster heard her relief, “It's not a firm requirement, just a way to entertain the guests. But yes, it's not pleasant, depending on who are stripping you.”

Jaster knew instantly she was speaking from first hand experience, the shadow of the memories in her eyes. The more information he gathered about her past, the more questions emerged. It created this tangled web, not enough to show the entire picture, but still enough to paint a horrific image.

“Good. We'll forego that and just walk to the room.” He finished decisively. The woman nodded in agreement.

And what was meant to occur in said room would not be happening either. Sansa may not believe him when he said he would not consummate the wedding, but he wouldn't do it. Not when she was still so hesitant and wary around him. That would just be unpleasant all around and ruin the fragile, cordial relationship they had currently. Instead, he hoped to just get a good night sleep, seeing as they would be leaving the next day.

He was antsy with the time away from his people, and wanted to return to them as soon as possible.

When he dropped her off at her door, Jaster couldn't help but say, “Jango mentioned you sewing a dead man, so I have to ask. Did you kill your husband?”

Cocking her head to the side, Sansa replied blankly, “Would you believe me if I said I did?”

“Yes.” He replied immediately. Jaster would. He could see it from the promise she made him under that ghastly tree. She said she would run the minute he raised a hand to her. Sansa had been pushed in the past, and he knew the eyes of killer. The same resolve was in his own after all, as well as many of his people.

Tapping her finger on the door frame, Sansa hummed thoughtfully, “There was certainly more to their deaths, but yes. I killed them both personally.”

Wryly, Jaster couldn't help but comment, “Please don't let me be the next one.”

And, in a surprising turn of events, she laughed. It was a short one, but the amusement was there as she snarked, “Don't make me a prisoner and you'll keep your head.”

A grin split his lips as she closed the door. Running a hand through his hair, Jaster privately confirmed that yes, his riduur was definitely mandokarla material despite first impressions. He would have to marry her the Mandalorian way too, as her wedding wouldn’t feel real enough for him. 

Chapter Text

That evening, Sansa was flicking through the modules, focused primarily on the different traditions and ceremonies. She went from reading about the funerals and their religious beliefs to then finding her way over to how a typical marriage would be, mind already stuck in the wedding in a couple of days and wanting to compare. In comparison to the different customs across the Westeros planet, as well as the circling moons, Braavos and Essos, the Mandalorian wedding rituals were so...plain? That did not feel like the right word, too insulting. But it was simple in just reciting the vows and swapping vambraces.

The meaning of the vows though were certainly romantic in nature, and there was a beauty in a private ceremony and no need for anyone ordained to make the marriage official. The couple just had to recite the words and they were married!

Living a life of pageantry, where everything was showy and flamboyant, Sansa was certainly caught off guard with the minimalism. But she couldn't say she hated it.

Sansa wondered if they were to marry by his standards, and Jaster hadn’t mentioned it, and is so would they have a private ceremony, with only their close family, or aliit, as it was in Mando'a, or if there would be a larger audience, seeing as Jaster was their king.

However, what truly worried her, besides getting the pronunciation of the vows wrong just in case they were needed, was where she would get a vambrace from. She wore no armour, and to order one in such a short time was just unfair. She knew how to work with leathers and their dyes, so she could make one out of a thick strip of leather, but it felt like it would be useless in an actual fight.

But perhaps the gesture would be enough? And would he be giving her one in return, or not bother because she was no fighter? Was this even necessary, seeing as he hadn’t mentioned them marrying this way? 

Even when laying down, trying to sleep, Sansa's head was full of questions and ideas of what to make. Better to be prepared than not, just in case. She wouldn’t wish to insult him by not having a vambrace made.

In the morning, Sansa had went to the Leathersmith, Janth, with her questions. The man suggested, “Make something thin, but still durable, to go under the metal brace, if you want him to wear it. As for designs, unless you have a metal stamp made specifically for pressing the sigil into the leather, then the best suggestion I have is staining. A dark stain than the main one for the leather, and paint out the symbol onto the leather with it. When wiping it off after it settled long enough, the sigil would still be there.”

The man also sold leather tools, though Sansa already had the ones needed for puncturing holes and scoring edges, but she bought the rest, along with a high quality strip of leather. With some waxed lacing, as buckles would be cumbersome to the design, Sansa exited the shop pleased and with plans circling her mind.

As she reached the courtyard to the entrance of the castle, Sansa heard the clattering of hooves and whipped her head around. Coming up the main street, was her sister and her women. Grinning wide, Sansa waited until the stables boys had the horses in place to fling her arms around Arya the second after she dismounted.

Letting out an 'oof' from the impact, Arya grumbled despite holding her tight, “Let me breath, Sansa.”

“Never.” Sansa declared, tightening her embrace just to be contrary. After they parted, Sansa gave her sister an assessing look, searching for any injuries. Rolling her eyes, the younger woman said, “I'm fine, Sansa. Barely a bruise on me.”

“You say that, but I certainly recall you returning with your arm broken and a concussion. Palla had to carry you on her horse because you couldn't ride.”

“Gods Sansa, I'm fine! Will you ever let that go?”

Grinning at her sister's irritation, Sansa gave her shoulder a squeeze as she approached the other women.

Where Robb, Sansa, and Bran got married and did as expected of them, Jon, Arya, and Rickon had too strong of the wolf's blood to do so. Jon ran off to join the Night's Watch, Rickon was more than likely hassling the Skaagosi on one of his many adventures around the Kingdom, and Arya had gathered a group of women and created an all women legion who dealt of justice. It was said group of women that were the ones to help Sansa kill Ramsay and escape the Dreadfort, the keep burning behind them.

Of the group, Arya and five others had come to the wedding, the rest continuing on with their goal of keeping the smallfolk safe from harm. There was Palla, Kyra, Alison, Maude, and Helicent. All of them were of humble backgrounds, wanting to learn to protect themselves, and do so for those who couldn't. There were also some noble ladies that joined too. Second and third daughters that managed to convince their parents that marriage wasn't for them.

Sometimes, Sansa envied Arya's freedom, and her sister even offered a place within the group to her. It was after Ramsay and of the firm belief she would never be marrying again, forever ruined in the eyes of all men. However, Sansa had to decline for multiple reasons. The first was that even though she killed Joffrey and Ramsay, Sansa actually hated killing, and did not wish to wield a weapon. With that lack of desire and passion, she was sure she would be miserable, along with the constant travelling on top of being part of the women.

The second reason was that Sansa had not wished to intrude on Arya and all that she was making of herself. Her band of women was a first, and Arya was doing amazing at leading them. With Sansa there, there would be too much bickering between them, and she knew that she couldn't take orders from her sister as the other women did.

And the third, was that she wanted Arya to have this freedom that Sansa herself could never have obtained. With Sansa playing dutiful daughter, Arya could live happy and make sure other women safe too. She couldn't bear to take that away from her.

After Sansa greeted the other women, Arya asked seriously, “Do we need to help kill another one?”

Pausing, Sansa contemplated that question. She thought about his promise of respect and honesty. Thought about his anger of the way the maids talked of her. Thought about how her stomach did not squirm and skin did not crawl with revulsion at his touch, her arm tucked in his arm. The fleeting thought of his fingers brushing against her cheek, an occurrence that did not happen but certainly stewed in her mind. Then, shook her head. “From our interactions,” Sansa began slowly, “I can say that he is not a bad man. And Lady likes him.”

Snorting, Arya joked, “Lady likes everyone who gives her good pets.”

The older woman grinned as Helicent giggled into her hand, “Then test him with Nymeria, if you must.” Sansa replied, before looking around, confused, “Where is she anyways?”

“Hunting.” Her sister shrugged, before her eye caught something off to the side. Following her line of sight, Sansa stilled at the Mandalorians that were making there way to them.

Jaster was taking a walk through the streets within the keep along with his men and Jango. It was amusing how many eyed them with suspicion. Four days was not enough for most of them to grow used to a small group of Mandalorians, and their armoured forms would set many into a state of discomfort.

It was in that walk that there was a commotion towards the gates. They stopped, hands going to their blasters as a clattering came fast down the street. Horses, an animal he had learnt during his stay, were ridden in fast, people stepping aside as they came through.

Watching with caution, Jaster took in the group of females, swords and axes at their hips or backs. There was no panic at their entrance, if anything most seemed pleased, waving as the women passed by.

“Think one of them is Sansa's sister?” Jango asked, not really expecting an answer. The boy had told them about how large her family was, astonished at the amount of children Queen Catelyn had. With a one shoulder shrug, Jaster decided, “Lets follow after them.”

Observing the women, Jaster noted the closeness of the sisters, along with the friendly interactions between the women and Sansa. Easing in tension, Jaster continued forward, even as both women caught sight of him.

Helmet clipped to his belt, as it was for most of his time here, Jaster gave a smile to Sansa before turning to her sister. A short nod, he introduced himself, “Jaster Mereel, Mand'alor. My companions, Zaran and Myles, and my son Jango.”

The sisters couldn't be more different. Short and tall. The younger a spitting image of her father where Sansa took after their mother. But both had that same steely gaze. Looking him up and down in assessment, the sister drawled, “Arya Stark, and my women,” She gave a wave at the others, “Who helped kill Sansa's last husband. All are certainly ready to do so again.”

Said women all eyed him with suspicion, one even out right glaring at him, arms folded. Jaster caught Zaran's huff of amusement, too soft for the rest to hear, as he himself cracked a smile, “Would expect nothing less, Princess.”

Humming, Arya turned back to Sansa, “At least he isn't disgustingly pretty like Joffrey was.”

The breath that exhaled from the older woman was of exasperation, but wryly added, “Nor is he as ugly as Ramsay.”

Whacking her hand against Sansa's arm, Arya gleefully announced, “A perfect balance! Decently looking and debatably decent in morals.” Then, the young woman turned on her heel to head into the castle, her women falling in behind with waves of good bye to Sansa. Arya called back, “I'm telling mother and father how disappointed in them I am!”

“Robb got there first!” Was Sansa's response, a fond smile on her face as she watched her sister's exit.

“...I'm going to take all that as a compliment.” Jaster decided after a moment of bemused silence. He didn't think he was bad looking, maybe a bit weathered from fighting, but certainly not the worst in appearance. Crossing her arms elegantly, as she tend to do with most things, Sansa dryly stated, “You will never be able to wrangle a proper compliment from her, so don't hold your breath.”

Then, one of the women came running out, Sansa turning to face her with confusion. “Kyra? Is everything alright?”

Nodding, Kyra explained, “Arya forgot to mention, but Wynafryd, her children, and the Mormonts are not too far from here. We rode on ahead, but they should be here by the evening.”

Sansa's entire face lit up, “The Mormonts are coming too?”

Grinning wide, Kyra added, “Maege and all her daughters are on their way.” Then, after side eyeing Jaster, the woman added, “They wanted to see the leader of the people who will be helping fortify our borders.”

A plausible reason, but it was plain to see that under those words, the Mormonts wanted to vet him as well. Jaster didn't point this out as Kyra ran back inside.

“Who are the Mormonts and others?”

Turning to Jango at his question, Sansa replied, “They're a matriarchal house, one of the few, that are vassals of House Stark. They also helped against Ramsay and the Boltons, when Arya and Jeyne went to them for help. Along with Maege, her five daughters will be coming. Wynafryd is my good-sister, married to Robb. My two nephews Ryland and Desmond were travelling with her when she went to visit her family.”

Brows rising, as Jaster hadn't actually known that her brother was married, he wondered, “Are any of your other siblings married?”

Shifting the bundle in her arm to the other one, Sansa nodded, “Just Bran. He married Meera Reed, the daughter of a close friend to my father. They have a daughter named Erena. All three, plus Meera's brother Jojen, will be coming to the wedding.”

Myles cocked his head to the side, “That's quite a lot of people.”

However, Sansa scoffed, shaking her head, “It's actually a small amount, as none of the other Northern Houses will be coming. Some came to my wedding in the Stormlands, most came to the next with Ramsay. But at this point, none of them care too much, thinking this one won't be lasting as well.” Then, she gave a pointed nod to Jaster, “They all think like the maids do. So the ones coming are those who I know actually care.”

Grimacing, Jaster gave a short nod, “Then it's good they aren't here. Celebrations should be done with those you care about and are close to.”

Sansa hummed in agreement, “Mm, I requested my parents to not have the rest of the houses come, despite their wish to.”

“Even though he's a king?” Myles cut in sharply, “That could be seen as an insult to us. Plus, he would need to meet the lords if out people will be working along side them.”

Her body became rigid as she turned her head slowly to the other man. “Perhaps.”

Something heavy settled into his stomach as Jaster cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed at her blank tone. “Why was this not run past me first, Sansa?”

Sansa blinked. “I did not deem it important.”

“No.” He quietly disagreed, correcting her, “You chose not to tell me because I'm ignorant to your culture's ways and would think nothing of their absence. You've just made me seem unimportant to your people.”

She had become deathly still by this point, a stone statue once more. Eyes a cold blue, fragile like thin ice over a lake. There was far more to her omission. Glancing over at Myles, who was starting to tense up as he would before a fight, Zaran looking not too far behind him in joining, and decided that privacy was needed for this conversation.

Jaster cut a quick look to his men, giving his chin a short jerk to the castle. They nodded just as stiffly. “Will you walk with me?” He then requested of Sansa, though his firm tone was enough to dissuade her from making excuses to not to.

Her arm tightened it's hold on her bundle, eyes flickering around the courtyard. Scared. Sansa was scared. Jaster hadn't wanted to cause such a reaction, but it was already done. Holding out his elbow for her to take, the gesture to be familiar and reassuring, Jaster led them away.

Behind him, Zaran and Myles ushered Jango away, hopefully back to their room, despite the boy's protests. On the walk, Sansa passed a servant and handed over the package to her, having it to be delivered back to her room. A short burst of curiosity had him wanting to ask, but now was not the best time. The air between Sansa and him was heavy, fraught with tension, as they walked toward the outside entrance to the godswood. She would be calmer there hopefully. He wasn't truly angry, far more exhausted and frustrated than anything. Though only having known one another for three full days, Jaster had come to the conclusion that Sansa never did anything with hidden plots or schemes. Instead, she was quite frank when on the right topic, and skittish on anything pertaining her past, which he was understandable of. So he truly believed she hadn't withheld this information out of dark intentions but he still had to figure out what they were.

Upon entering the holy forest, Jaster began to speak calmly, “For whatever reason you have, I have faith it was not out of subterfuge nor malicious intent. But I would ask that you give me honesty, as we had promised.”

The hand tucked into the crook of his arm tightened, Sansa's head giving a jerky nod of compliance. “Of course, Mand'alor.”

Closing his eyes briefly, Jaster inwardly cursed. They had just gone back several steps in the progress they'd made previously. Sighing as they approached the weirwood tree, Jaster collapsed onto the bench tiredly. He really wanted this wedding to be over with and back on familiar ground again. Rubbing at his eyes, Jaster took a deep breath and looked back up at Sansa.

Baring the few short moments of vulnerability, the woman had always managed to present a strong front and unflinching gaze. When he tried to meet her eyes in that moment, Sansa looked away. There was shame written on her face but it clashed with the firm resolve to her decision.

“Explain it to me, Sansa.” He commanded.

Hands wringing, the woman began softly, eyes up at the branches over them instead of on him, “I did not wish for them to see me wed again. It was purely selfish of me to make that decision, but these were the lords that-” Cutting herself off, Sansa met his gaze for a split second before glancing away once more. “The lords that left me to rot with Ramsay. They were also the lords reluctant to fight for my return here. The men here believe that women belong to their fathers. And when married, they then belong to their husbands. I was no longer their Northern Princess. If I had been kidnapped, then perhaps they would have fought sooner, but I willingly married Joffrey. But the threat of my death was used to threaten my father into complying to Joffrey's demands. It was the insult on the North, commanding them to bend the knee to one who was not of them, that had them raising their armies.”

Sympathy and righteous anger flared in his chest in tandem. His stomach began to twist itself into knots. “And not to save you.”

At Jaster's blank conclusion, Sansa nodded stiltedly, eyes still cast away. “I was his.” And here, her voice began to waver, distraught memories coming back to the surface no doubt. “It was when they learnt my entire household besides Jeyne was unfairly slaughtered, that it really rose tensions. There was men from different houses that were killed guarding me. Many wanted justice. I was just...”

“A last minute thought.” Jaster concluded, fist clenching. He thought about how quickly he would have formed a team to get her and her people out, how fast a small team could take down all the guards. It pained him knowing that he couldn't go back in time and save her this trauma. This betrayal felt from her own people.

“My family loves me.” She firmly stated, drawing him from his thoughts. Finally, Sansa was meeting his eyes, as if trying to emphasise that he shouldn't be mad at her family. Too late, he already was but Jaster decided to keep that to himself for now.

“I know they do.” The woman reiterated, like she was now trying to convince herself of what she was saying. “But politics make love difficult. To have me safe once more, father would have led the army himself to the castle gates, I know that. He would have done so for any of us. But the other lords needed a better reason. The baring of trade, which means food, was their main reason to go to war. Their first priority.”

“So you hold a grudge against them then.”

The glare sent his way was one of grief and fury, “Do not make it sound so petty.” Sansa snarled. “I'm not so self-absorbed to hold such a grudge. I understood their reasoning because I know not to put myself first. It is the fact that when one of their own was a traitor and planning to usper my father, and they hesitated to fight, that I bar them from this wedding. They did not want another war, especially on their own land, and I understand that. But not even a single one of them sought to help me. It was my sister, just only on the cusp of womanhood, and my best friend, who managed to rally enough people to save me and destroy the traitors. That is why they are not welcomed here. Because these lord knew of possible treachery from Lord Bolton, and held their tongue. It angers me, that they would not do their duty to my father, their king! I could give a damn about their lack of concern for my safety!” She then spat, at this point stalking back and forth across the clearing, anger and hut practically falling off her in waves. “I knew no one cared! A good and kind princess is all well and good, but one who was in the hands of the enemy for years, ruined in their eyes twice over, I knew they would not pick up even a knife to defend me.”

The words seemed to echo around the clearing at her sudden silence. Taking in a shuddering breath, Sansa closed her eyes. It took her a second to recollect herself so that she could murmur, “I could not bare them to come here and sneer at me behind their hands. I could not bare them to come into my home, knowing that some condoned Lord Bolton's plans to take the Northern throne.”

Taking a moment to digest all that, Jaster decided that despite her saying it was a decision made out of selfishness, and he could see how some of it was, most was made out of concern for her family. He could not condemn her for that choice. Standing up, Jaster stepped close and gently took her hands into his. He made sure to indicate what he was doing slowly, not wanting to scare her again. “Thank you for telling me, Sansa.” Jaster forced all his sincerity into his words as best as he could, ducking his head a little to catch her gaze. With a small smile, Jaster continued, “I understand your reasoning now. Just next time, perhaps tell me beforehand?”

Swallowing hard, appropriately chastised, Sansa apologised, “I'm sorry, Jaster. When you've lived with enemies, nary a friend, and only lies spoken behind smiles, it's difficult to...”

“To be honest.” He finished for her. “I will be honest, only having to worry about the wedding for this visit is a relief, leaving the politics and plans for next time. There will be another day when I meet the lords. But please, tell me. Do you understand?” Here, Jaster gave her hands an emphasising squeeze, “As Mand'alor, my people can't see me as ignorant, especially with my riduur. On top of that, you are an outsider to them, and many will be watching you with suspicion. I know you're used to it, but lies and deception are not well liked with Mandalorians typically.”

Hopefully, this situation and their conversation demonstrated to Sansa that she could come to him with her thoughts and feelings about anything. Jaster was not a fan on miscommunication and information being withheld. With any luck, Sansa would not do this again, for both of their sakes.

Now, with that all sorted and cleared up, Jaster decided to lighten the mood with a little teasing. Wiggling his eyebrows, he commented after recalling Sansa's conversation with her sister, “So, you think I'm attractive.”

That did the trick, as her tension eased, stepping back and dropping their hands. She sniffed dismissively, tossing a lock of hair over her shoulder, “I've certainly seen worse.”

He rose and unimpressed eyebrow. “Like your second husband?” Sansa gave a performative sigh, aggrieved and truly upset. “The one thing that was nearly worse than the torture was having to look up his horrid face.”

“Better to be hurt by someone handsome?” He made a face, though dark humour was something he enjoyed. “Seems a bit...fucked up.”

A smile twitched at her lips, “I suppose so. I guess it was a blessing that he had me face down for most of the-”

Jaster held up a hand. “I'm going to stop you there. That dark humour might make me cry.” The unwanted images were already stirring in his mind, doing his best to force them out as Sansa gave a humourless laugh. “How else am I meant to deal with it? Many would say five years was enough time to move on.”

“No.” He said firmly. And perhaps a bit too loudly, as she startled at the sudden volume. Wide eyed, Sansa listened as Jaster stated, “You don't just move on from things like that. Take it from me. I know.”

A blink. Then realisation washed over her face. “You...”

With a wry smile, Jaster shrugged and confessed, “I was homeless when I was a kid, had some younger ones that relied on me. Sometimes odd jobs weren't enough to feed them, and I was desperate.”

Stepping closer, Sansa made an aborted movement, like she wished to take his hand. Instead, her fingers curled and her arm dropped. “How old were you?” Understanding was on her face, no pity nor false sympathy. Myles knew, having been there for when a trigger had Jaster going through a rough panic attack. The man hadn't necessarily treated him like glass, but the few days after he walked around Jaster like he was a few seconds away from breaking down. They settled it after Jaster had snapped at him, but it was relieving to be faced with just sad understanding.

“Ten.” The memories were faded by this point, though key moments stood out prominently on dark days and moments. Scratching the back of his head, Jaster admitted, “Circumstances are different, but that kind of trauma will still linger, even after two decades of healing. There are still some places I can't go, on my home world, or species I'm more wary of, because it triggers that fear I had when I was a child. Certain smells or tastes too. It's normal.”

The expression on her face was like he gave her the biggest revelation of her life as she whispered, “Pigeon pie. T-the taste of it stayed in my mouth when I married Joffrey and we had to-” Choking up, Sansa squeezed her eyes closed. “I can't eat anything like it, even other meat pies, I just can't. Their tastes are too similar.”

Making a note to not make or buy her anything like that in the future, Jaster placed a hand on her shoulder. Steady and comforting. “I have people who can help you work through all of this, if you want. Just let me know when you're ready.”

Looking up at him, eyes with a faint sheen over them, Sansa smiled at him. A true and heartbreaking smile. “Thank you, Jaster.”

Chapter Text

Westeros was a small planet, barely larger than a typical moon, with it's own moons barely large enough to be even called that. It was one large land mass that covered the planet's surface, divided into seven kingdoms, each with their own intrinsics religions and traditions. Jaster, after only learning about it through the North's contact to them, wanted to research about this small planet as much as possible. Turned out, there wasn't that much information outside of it's own little system.

It was why he had ended up in the library with Myles, Zaran and Jango wandering around Winterfell, as the two of them flipped through the old scrolls and pages of the planet's history. Maester Luwin, an old man that served as a record keeper, healer, adviser, and a whole slue of other things, was kind enough to indulge in Jaster's curiosity. Apparently he taught the king and his siblings when they were children, making the man old as balls, in Jaster's succinct opinion.

Together, the two men put together a rough timeline of Westeros and it's moons. At around over 8,000 years old, they had managed to stay shockingly stagnant in any technological development, with only Essos and Braavos being the main port for outside travellers, and even then it was still far behind in the majority of the rest of the galaxy's tech. Rarely did people come to Westeros other than for trading purposes or general exploring. It was just not a place many liked to build a life, even outside it's lack of advancement. It was a brutal place to live. With it's own self-governing, it made sense how they did not fall in with the Republic, more than likely to be seen as 'barbaric' with the laws and skewed morals most of it's inhabitants had.

It built up a solid picture of the way Sansa was, as well as the other people within the castle. There was a kind of...glorification of death, when it came to executions and war. Something close to the Old Mandalorians during their time as conquerors and their mentality of domination and brutality. But on the other side of it, Westeros was strangely hypocritical.

A guard of a king killed his ruler. But on record, it showed that the king was sadistic and vile. It told Jaster that the king deserved to die, but many reviled the knight because he broke his vows where he himself would have commended the man for doing so. Live burnings and torture would have had Jaster doing to exact same as that guard. Though the disgust for the man's choice made sense in a messed up way, that he had to break their sworn word in order to save the masses from a terrible ruler.

Such a weight was placed on oath and vows, but then they turned around and condemned people for saving others or themselves from a terrible fate. The people muttered and whispered about Sansa, about her breaking her vows of not being a good wife, but ignored the fact that the husband was not good in turn. The men had the majority of power on this world, while the women scrambled to grasp even a sliver of it.

And don't get him started on the massive gape between the nobility and common folk. Jaster held his tongue but he was disgusted by the treatment of what was actually the large majority of the population. But such was the way with most planets in the galaxy. He just hoped that Sansa would not act the same with his people, how none of them were lower than him, just because he held a title of their king. The planet was just full of things that made his stomach churn and chest flare with the injustice of it all.

But putting aside the kriffed up political and class system, Jaster learnt that there was a third moon at one point. Valyria was the smallest of the three moons, a volcanic one at that! It ended up erupting and killing most of it's inhabitants. Those that fled went to Westeros and decided to systematically conquered the place because why not. With a 200 year dynasty, the Targaryens were, in his opinion, really terrible rulers. The lack of marriages with their conquered nobility had them lacking any proper alliances, constant in-fighting over who got to rule, and the inbreeding just ended up fucking them over in terms of health and mental state.

And don't get him started on the dragons!

The Westeros he had arrived to was at nearly four decades without the dynasty ruling over them, and it was a bit of a mess. The monarchs of some kingdoms scrambling to figure how to rule as their ancestors did before being conquered. Jaster was relieved he only had to help with boosting the North's southern defences and not mess too much with the actual politics.

Sighing, Myles thumped a book closed next to him. With a shared aggrieved look between them, the man then muttered into the quiet and dusty room, “These people...are insane.”

Jaster snorted, lazily turning the page of his own book, “That's putting it lightly. Did you get to the part where their seasons last decades, and they only have one cold pole and one warm one?”

His friend made a face in response, “Seen weirder geographically, but yeah. This place is a stranger mixture of ancient civilisation and karking magic bantha shit.”

The text about the dragons and Essosi magic flashed before his eyes, making him grimace. “Fucking dragons, vod.” And they shared a solemn, exasperated, nod.

“So you haven't got to the part of Skaagos and the far north then?” A young voiced piped up, making both men jump as they whirled around in their seats, not having heard anyone approach. An older teen stood behind them, draped in furs and with a riot of red curls. Like with most of the Northerners, furs were typical for the weather, but instead of the neatness and structured draping, what he wore were more like after skinning and drying the animal, he just gave some half-assed stitching until it just managed to hold together, sufficient enough in keeping him clothed and warm. Function over fashion.

It made him look like he stepped out of a two year stint running about feral in the mountains.

Loosening his hold on his blaster, Jaster asked, “Prince Rickon, I assume?” He had the same delicate facial structure of Sansa's, blue eyes just as bright. Plus, Jaster had met Bran the night before, so by process of elimination this was the youngest Stark sibling. By the Ka'ra there were too many of them, Jango was right about that.

Walking around the table to pull out a chair across from them, the teen collapsed into it and gave Jaster a cursory glance over, “You're way older than the last two.”

Myles disguised his laugh with a cough at the boy's blunt observation. Kicking him under the table, Jaster smiled politely, “So I've heard. Hopefully that's my only flaw as Sansa's third husband.”

From the depths of his ragged furs, Rickon pulled out some kind of jerky and took a sharp bite from the meat. Chewing it slowly, Rickon cocked his head in contemplation. Out of all the siblings, this one felt more wolf than human, far more unpredictable and unwilling to follow social norms. Made sense that he was the one running about the land doing who knows what. Jango would get along with Rickon swimmingly.

Through his second mouthful, the teen commented, “Did you know Sansa fed her second husband to his own dogs?”

“Ah. No,” Jaster cleared his throat, “She hadn't mentioned.” Another fact added to the list of things he knew about Sansa. And another topic to question her on when they managed to get to that point in their relationship. He hoped it was soon, brimming with too many unanswered questions, Jaster was afraid he was going to explode.

Rickon slumped disappointed, clicking his tongue “She never does when people talk about it, and no one believes she did it despite many witnesses. They see her as the least Stark of all of us, which is bullshit. A cornered animal is far more deadly than when it has space to run.”

Did he mention that he wanted to jar up the Starks and study them too? Because that would be one fascinating observation.

“Why would she be least Stark like?” Myles asked, leaning his arms on the table. Resting his chin on his hand, Rickon blew a long stray curl off his face as he answered. “I don't know what it's like for other worlds, but here, there is a typical warning sign in animals. Species of frogs, snakes, insects, and even birds, can be poisonous or venomous. They all tend to be brightly coloured, attracting prey to them, only to strike and kill when the previous predator wasn't expecting it. Sansa's like that. She's pretty, dresses colourfully, and everyone thinks she weak and stupid.” Shaking his head in frustration, he muttered to himself, “She even thinks that about herself too.”

Jaster filed that comment away as the boy continued on with another bite of jerky, “So you see,” He said around his mouthful, “She's just as full of wolf blood of all of us. Just better at hiding it. An unexpected deadly animal. I think mother doesn't see that, as Sansa's still more similar to her in interests, skills, and looks, whereas father does but pretends to not to, cause Sansa's wolf-blood came out due to the constant danger when she was younger. He feels guilty.”

Swallowing, Rickon then levelled Jaster was a cold look. A predator staring down it's prey. “What this all means, is that do not push Sansa into a corner. She orchestrated the fall of Joffrey's reign from the inside, and watched her other husband be torn to shreds without flinching. She hates violence and killing, but when pushed, she will lash out. And the Starks are not lone wolves. If she howls, we will run to her. The pack is stronger together than apart.”

With that, the prince shoved ungainly away from the table and off the chair, giving the two men a short nod, “See you around.” And casually walked out of the library.

Silence reigned as they watched him disappear, even continuing to stare at the empty entry way long after Rickon was gone.

Until Myles broke the tension was bemused hum, “Do you think they practise being that ominous or it's just how they're raised?”

Dropping his head to the table with a dull thump, Jaster mumbled into the dusty pages of the book underneath him, “Sansa said they were told stories of child eating gremlins and creepy ancient history by an old lady as kids. That must leave some kind of an impact on their development.”

With a comforting pat on Jaster's shoulder, Myles wryly commented, “Try not to fuck this up, hm? For your own sanity at the very least. And mine too, please.”

Jaster groaned, straightening up to only drag a hand down his face. Why can't people just be blunt instead of creepily vague. Prince Bran had already gave him a mile long stare into his soul, before murmuring about a change of fates or some kark the second they were introduced. And if rumours were to be believed, Princess Arya had spent a few year stint as an assassin on Braavos. That was Jeyne who had mentioned it to Jango, who of course came back wide eyed to Jaster with that information.

The man hoped the woman was just fucking with them and not serious. He doubted it though.

At least Prince Robb was appearing normal so far. But honestly, he was just waiting for the second shoe to drop on that one.

Humming, Sansa couldn't help the child-like glee as she twirled in her wedding dress. There was still some stitching needed to be done, but for the most part it was complete. Though she was not ready to be married again, even with finding Jaster far more pleasant, Sansa could enjoy a pretty dress.

Fluffing up the skirts at the back once Sansa stilled, Jeyne murmured, “Sad that this will be cut up after the wedding. Just look at this lovely train!”

Laughing, Sansa turned to the mirror, smoothing down the front and taking in her reflection. As with all her dresses in the last five years, the collars never went below to bottom part of her neck, and this was no different. A mid-high collar with the fabric gathered into tiny pleats so as to create a billowing torso and skirt. Her sleeves were equally puffed, cuffed at her wrists. It was in a silk-linen blend, dyed to a heather grey. She would never wear full white again. Not after Ramsay.

The embroidery were in bright threads of red and blues, depicting flowers and birds. Delicate nature on the outside of her sleeves, along her collar, and down the train. Sansa felt the same regret at having to cut this dress short, but the train would be repurposed for another outfit. She purposefully kept the embroidery far more simple, so as to make the Maiden's Cloak stand out. And, she wanted the contrast between the heavy detail from her first dress, and the lack of detail from the second one.

The hope and possibilities from when she married Joffrey without knowing his true nature, and the lack of optimism with Ramsay. A delicate balance she walked, hoping Jaster would be far better, but treading carefully so as to not disappoint herself in the future when it all went bad.

Staring at her reflection, Sansa asked quietly, “Do you ever wish to marry, Jeyne?”

Pausing, Jeyne looked up and met eyes in the mirror. “Not in the same arranged way as you have. If I marry, I will make sure I know them before even considering tying my life to theirs in ceremony.”

Facing the woman, Sansa clasped Jeyne's hands. “I want you to find love. You deserve someone after following me and my tragedies across Westeros.”

Laughing, her friend tugged her hands from Sansa's and pulled the red head into a hug. “To find love would be a gift, not some stupid debt that you absolutely don't owe. And I chose to follow you, just as I know you would follow me, sweet Sansa.”

Squeezing the woman tight, forcing back the grateful tears, Sansa promised, “Through the seven hells and back, lovely Jeyne.”

Chapter Text

It was a day away from the wedding and the castle was bustling. Even with only the Mormonts, and the surprising arrival of Lord Manderly and Wylla, there was still the necessary feast to be prepared for the wedding. The Starks were a large family, even with most of her extend family being dead, with six children and some with their own, they had many mouths to feed.

But what was a bit of a revelation, was finding out what Myles and Zaran looked like under the helmets. The entire time she had interacted with them, or seen them, they had them on. Only Jango and Jaster had theirs off for a long period of time. None of her other siblings had either, though Jeyne had. It was only a short glance, but she gave a shrug and said that they looked normal enough.

Sansa soon learnt about their appearance though due to arriving at their shared room door to ask for any possible food preferences for the feast. Knocking politely, a man in familiar armour but no helmet opened to door for her. It was Myles.

He was dark skinned, curly and short black hair that had hints of grey streaking through it. Sansa thought he was decent looking enough as she stated her business, “I was wanting to talk to you all, to see what foods you would like at the feast. And if there's anything you don't want served.”

Before the man could reply, another head popped into view over his shoulder, “Meats for me please. I'm a carnivorous species after all.”

Sansa blinked, taken aback. Jeyne hadn't mentioned that Zaran had horns. Or strange facial markings. Or that he very obviously wasn't human.

And the man must have noted her reaction, no matter how subtle she tried to keep it, because he cocked a brow and stated, “I'm a Zabraks. You know what they are?”

Slowly, Sansa shook her head. “I...can't say I've heard of them.”

The two men shared an amused look before Myles held to door open for her to walk through. Jaster and Jango were not there, and Sansa wasn't sure on how she felt, being in a room alone with men she didn't entirely know. At least they hadn't closed the door behind her. Still, delicately clasping her hands in front of her, Sansa gave the man an attentive expression as he explained, “Zabrak are humanoid-ish, but with obvious differences.” Here, Zaran waved at his horns and general strange skin colouration.

Hesitantly, Sansa asked, “Were...you born with your skin those colours?” He was a light oak tone with deep brown markings that were completely symmetrical on his face, though maybe he was a dark brown and the markings were the lighter colour. The collar of his shirt was high, but she noted that the markings went down.

Shaking his head, Zaran replied, “Born without them. The brown are tattoos from my rite of passage, which I got when I was ten.”

Curiosity grew, interested about his different culture, but decided those questions were for another time. “And the horns?”

“Eh,” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Grow throughout puberty. Don't touch them unless you're either family, wanting to fight, or wanting to fuck.”

Blushing furiously at his sudden crudeness, Sansa glanced away and cleared her throat, “So. You are carnivorous. Any particular meat?” It was an obvious ploy for a change of subject, one that Myles huffed at in amusement as Zaran replied, “More raw the better, but I'm good either way. Myles likes vegetables.”

Said man bristled. “They're good for you and taste well enough if you actually know how to cook and not just boil or steam them.” Myles defensively insisted, leading Zaran to roll his eyes, amused.

Making a note down, Sansa gave them a tight smile, “Thank you for your help, I will let the kitchens know.” And then beat a hasty retreat.

She sped through the corridor, on a hunt that bore fruit as she caught sight of the familiar brown curls of Jeyne coming around a corner. The other woman barely had a chance to call a greeting before Sansa snagged her arm and dragged her in through a door she knew to be an empty guest room.

Yelping, Jeyne stumbled to keep her footing before whirling around to shoot Sansa a glare, “Can I help you, your majesty?”

Ignoring to sarcasm, Sansa snapped, “Why did you not tell me one of Jaster's men was not human?”

Jeyne stared at her blankly. “What?”

Her irritation spiked, “Did you not say you saw what they looked like on the very first day of their arrival? If you had told me, I wouldn't've looked like an idiot when faced with a Zabrak. I didn't even know that his species existed!”

Wincing, Jeyne explained, “I didn't really notice. I was mainly talking to the Mand'alor than Zaran. I mean, I noticed the skin colouration but I thought it was just, you know, face paint.”

Sansa throws hands out in front of her to emphasise her incredulous disbelief, “He has horns, Jeyne!”

“It was an accident, Sansa!” The other woman tossed her own arms up explosively, “I'm sorry for not noticing but don't get mad at me for it! I was too busy defending you, if you recall.” At her snide tone, Sansa reared back. A flash of guilt welled up, and the red head looked away, her sharp emotions snuffed out.

“Sorry.” Sansa muttered after a second of tense silence. “I hate feeling foolish and stupid, and I felt that when talking to them.”

Slumping her shoulders with a tired sigh, Jeyne rubbed at her temple, “And I get that. But don't go directing your anger to me. It's not my fault.”

Though she nodded in understanding, Sansa couldn't help but say, “How did you not notice horns, Jeyne?”

Said woman's face turned red with embarrassment, “Sansa!”

“Honestly, they were at least three inches tall-OW!”

The hard smack against her arm was well deserved for all that teasing.

That night for dinner, a simple meal due to the elaborate feast tomorrow, most of the guests had gathered in the great hall, boisterous laughter and chatter resounded against the thick stone walls. Sansa had arrived a little bit after many had begun eating. Lady had decided it would be fun to gnaw on her hair whilst she was distracted with her sewing and had to clean and re-braid it. The direwolf would be sleeping with her siblings outside tonight.

When she entered, Sansa noticed that Zaran had his helmet off. The Mandalorians took all of their meals alone in their room, barring the second night of their stay. However, the man hadn't eaten, deciding to drink through a straw and observe. Going by her own reaction, she now assumed he did so to not set any of her people off at his appearance. They may be aware of many different species existing in the galaxy, and some having passed through their small world, it wasn't a typical sight to see.

However, tonight the man decided to show his face, amused and easily answering the questions sent his way by the people around him as he ate freely. Myles sat next to him, equally humoured those eyes sharp for any insults or rudeness.

Jango was sat next to Rickon. Wincing, Sansa decided to look away. Plausible deniability and all that. Instead, she headed to where Jaster sat opposite his men, Jon on his right and Bran on his left. There was a look of complete bafflement as he listened to whatever her brothers were saying. Suspicious, Sansa made her way over to them, the men cutting off at her approach.

Looking up at her with wide and hopeful eyes, Jaster plead, “Please tell me that you people didn't actually have a century old ice zombie with a massive undead army.”

Sansa blinked. “The Night King was over 10,000 years old before we killed him. Or so we assume.”

Dropping his face into his hands, the man groaned, “Why are you all like this?”

Laughing softly, Sansa made a gesture at Bran to scoot over so she could take his place next to her soon-to-be husband. Easily, the young man did so, finding an empty plate for her to use. As she scooped up some potatoes, Sansa remarked, “For the sake of honesty, we were all a bit surprised about his existence too.”

Morosely, Jaster went back to his food as he grumbled, “You know, one day, I'm going to say something about my history or whatever that will blow your tits right clean off, and then you're going to know my pain.” Turning to give her a solemn look as she stifled her laughter, the man swore, “You too, will know my lack of comprehension, and understand.”

Indulgently, Sansa patted his arm, “Of course, my dear.” And the people around them chuckled as Jaster shook his head with wry amusement.

Going back to dishing herself up, Sansa felt heavy eyes on her and turned in their direction. It was Myles, a steady gaze fixed onto her. Then, Sansa's words registered, mortification flooding her face. With Jeyne and her siblings, she used that patronising, teasing, tone often enough, that she hadn't really thought about it when using it on Jaster.

With a panicked glance towards said man, she could only contain her relief at how he went back to chatting to Jon, still looking faintly astonished by his feat in defeating the Night King. Arya, somewhere on Jon's other side, had tossed in arguing that she was the one who struck the final blow, not their cousin. Their bickering made Jaster smile fondly.

She...did not know how to feel, about Jaster and his people fitting in so well with her family, when she constantly struggled to feel comfortable with him. Sansa was the one going to live with the Mandalorians, yet it seemed like it was the other way around.

Good mood dampened, Sansa ate her food, barely tasting any of it. Any one of her siblings would be a lot better pick in this alliance than her. Robb helped lead a large portion of their army in their war against the Lannisters. Jon was the Commander of the Watch and practically an ambassador for them with the Free Folk. Arya was doling out justice, Bran survived a trip all the way the the Land of Always Winter, escaped the Night King, and became prophetic host for some ancient deity for goodness sake! And Rickon was as wild and aggressive as they came, running about and wrecking havoc. Any one of them was mandokarla. Far more than her.

Jaster was truthful, in his words of his belief of her strength. She could see it. But even then, that was not enough for his people. Everyone already knew of her past, or at least the general idea of it, so most often than not, Sansa never needed to explain herself and her reasonings. But with his people, it would be different. They don't know her, nor anything about her. And Sansa was not ready to tell everything all that happened. The fear, the betrayal. All that pain from the beatings, the harsh words, the ra-

“Sansa?”

Pulled from her inner thoughts, said woman turned to Jaster. The man was leant in close, the call of her name soft enough for only her to hear. On the table, he gently settled his hand on hers. Relaxing the grip on the fork, Sansa hadn't even noticed how tight she was holding it. Shame filled her. So self-pitying in her thoughts, she had ignored him and her guests.

Clearing away the lump in her throat, Sansa smiled politely, “Did you need something?”

His brows furrowed, glancing around before murmuring, “Are you alright? You went quiet. Did I say something wrong?”

Sansa's eyes widened, breath caught in her chest as a rope wrapped around her lungs and heart. Swallowing hard, she couldn't meet his eyes for fear of him seeing too much vulnerability. She was told that no matter how much control she had of her facial expressions and body language, her eyes always gave her away. Showed obvious hurt or anger. Sometimes it helped, revealing just how disgusted and cold she felt at the recipient, but never in a moment like this.

It was ridiculous, how easily Jaster kept stripping away whatever shields she had built up with his honesty. With his true concern. And right now, that moment of inner discord, which no one had ever inquired when she was King's Landing as she sat beside Joffrey, was noticed. If anyone had noticed it then, no one said anything. Why? Why does he do this? It's infuriating!

Setting her utensils down, slipping her hand from his, Sansa goes to stand up. However, Jaster instead lightly trapped the sleeve of her dress between two fingers. “Sansa.” He said once more, low. “What's wrong?”

Eyes locked onto his fingers, easy enough to escape from, a simple tug. Jaster wasn't trapping her there, but he wanted her to stay nonetheless. Blinking away how her eyes burnt at what it all meant to her, Sansa whispered, “Sometimes, I wish you weren't so kind. It would be so much easier if you were a monster just like they were.”

He stilled. Sansa dragged her eyes to meet his once more. Hazel eyes looked like golden cider in the candle light, and the appeared sad, full of too much sympathy. It was better than pity, or maybe worse.

The slight pressure of his fingers on her sleeve disappear, however, Sansa tracked the hand as it moves. Hesitantly, it settled on her elbow instead. There, the warm weight was subtle. Holding only a steady presence of showing comfort instead of caging her by his side. “I wish,” Jaster began softly, thumb now moving across the sharp point of her elbow, a soothing motion, “That I could have prevented what happened to you. I wish I could find the right words to tell you that I would never harm you. That you have nothing to fear from me.”

His thumb then stopped it's movement, Sansa noting her eyes were blurring then, and she ducked her head into her shoulder, ashamed. The warmth then left, instead touching her jaw. Lightly, his hand drew her head back up. Now, the thumb runs a slow path across her cheek bone. Sansa locked eyes with him once more, and a tear manages to escape when she tried to blink them away.

He wiped it away.

“I want to be enough for you and your people.” Sansa confessed, the words escaping before she had the chance to trap them behind her lips forever. A frown pulled at his lips. “You are enough.”

Sansa scoffed. A quiet breath of a thing, but held enough weight of the derision she felt at his comment. “You think that, because you've heard what all has been said about me. They don't. And I don't wish to spill my pain and past for strangers. In doing so, they will see me as all other do. Spoilt. Helpless. Weak. I am no warrior, and what I am will never garner their respect.”

Hurt flickered across his features, “Do you really think so little of my people?”

Reaching up, Sansa wrapped a hand around his wrist, just as light as his own grip on her sleeve, and lowered his arm. With a soft shake of her hand, Sansa replied, exhausted with her own self-doubt and lack of confidence, “It's more that I think very highly of them, if they are anything like you.”

“Well, if they're anything like me, then they should be just as charmed by you as I am.”

The grip on his wrist tightened, surprised with his words. Breath hitching, Sansa hushed out, suddenly shy, “You lie.”

Jaster hummed, “I promised honesty.” And just that tone, the lightness dragged the darkness away from her mind, slow curtains revealing the daylight after a night. Smiling at where their hands slowly linked on her lap, Sansa said, “Then I hope you're right. I truly do.”

Glancing back up, the man now had his own soft smile. It made him look younger, and for a moment, that child deep within her heart, so in love with love and dreams, gave a little twirl of excitement.

“SONG!”

The sudden yell of many had both of them jerking away from one another, surprised. Recalling that they were in public, surrounded by many, Sansa's face became hot, mortified. Looking at the faces near them, it appeared that only Myles and Zaran had caught their moment. And Jeyne too, who had found a seat next to the Zabrak when Sansa was too distracted to notice.

All three gave them a myriad of looks. None of which Sansa wished to decipher, instead looking away from them and Jaster, towards those who demanded a song.

Huffing with laughter when she learnt it was her nephews and niece who gave the call. They were up way past their bed time by now, but their parents seemed indulgent on their excitement. Arya's women, particularly Helicent seemed just as hopeful for some singing. The female loved to dance. In fact, she turned her eyes to Sansa, lighting up as she cheered, “SING FOR US SANSA!”

And that kickstarted the other women and her siblings into joining in, chanting her name. Rickon came running over to grab her arm, tugging her off her bench. With laughter, Sansa went along with his pull, “Must I? I don't even have my harp.”

The large instrument would take time to come from her room to the hall, and Sansa hoped that would dissuade them from encouraging her to be their entertainment for the night. It did no such thing, and soon she was brought to the dais, Arya and Wynafryd having joined in on their shoving.

No one sat at the high table, her parents sitting with Lady Mormont and a few others, which meant she had all eyes on her when she straightened up to look at the crowd. Exasperated with all the cheers, she held up a hand for silence. Immediately, it dimmed.

“Requests? Or shall I just choose?”

Hundreds of requests came shouting, and Sansa had to roll her eyes. If they were going to force her to sing, she would choose, not wishing to figure out all that they were yelling at her.

Hands coming to clasp over her stomach, Sansa closed her eyes and started with 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair'. Something to entertain them before she could get to her own favourite songs. Within seconds, many were singing along, stomping or banging the tables along with the beat. Her own voice was drowned out by the other, far louder, singing.

That was fine by her. She wasn't a fan of bawdy songs, but could appreciate the crowd pleaser in uplifting the already high spirits.

The song was a fairly short one, and within minutes, after laughter and clapping was dying down, Sansa cleared her throat and began 'On a Misty Morn.'

Jaster was reeling. The moment between him and Sansa, the sweetening of her upset motions torn away as the hall demanded for singing. The words she confessed, her warmth of her hand on his his, Jaster was not one to get so swept away with emotions, but he wasn't one to kid himself. He had loved before, though that relationship faded within two years, so he knew the signs. It was too early to say how deeply these emotions ran, but Jaster knew what it was.

A growing affection, watered by admiration and intrigue. He had said to himself, that if he managed to become friends with Sansa, he would possibly see about perusing a romantic relationship afterwards. It was a thought created by the mystery around Sansa, drawing him in, and her personally hoped that even once he knew it all, he would still hold those feelings.

He was lonely, even with his friends and son. Jaster hoped that he wasn't just latching onto the first option handed to him.

Across the table, as Sansa was drawn up to sing, barely hearing the first few lyrics from her as all those who knew the song joined in, Myles said under the singing, “Touching moment?”

With holding the childish urge to stick his tongue out at his friend, Jaster called back, “Mind you kriffing business.”

The man gave him a look that said they would be discussing this later, before leaning back to enjoy the show.

Jaster never put much thought on what being raised as a noble would consist of. Sure lots of wealth and pageantry. Perhaps lessons in politics and dancing, he guessed. Sansa had those teachings. That was his assumptions on her graceful movements, and sharp mind. He had noticed her helping with the running of the castle, the way she knew all the servants she passed by by name and even a tidbit of their personal lives. She knew her people.

But what actually went into training as a princess, he knew it was soft things. Or, perhaps that was an insult to Sansa to say. Fine work in sewing, that he knew for certain. And there were her precise manners, honed and sharpened like a blade. An armour of beskar that she wore around herself.

Now, heart nearly stopping as Sansa changed to a new song, Jaster added another skill she must have been taught. How to enchant a crowd with just her voice. However, it wasn't just her voice. She stood tall, confident as if that moment together, all that fragility, never existed. Hair, in one long braid settled over her shoulder, shone a sharp red. She wore defiance where ever she went.

It was a soft, mournful song that echoed the halls. Her voice a gentle thing but never lacking the weight of the lyrics it carried. A tale of a mother who lost a son. Across the table, Jeyne gave a sad sigh, and Jaster peered over his shoulder, struggling to tear his eyes away from the sight before him.

She had leant her chin on her palm, lost in the memory that the song carried. Another question, another mystery. One day.

Back to Sansa, slowly, she wound down the song, before starting her next one. It appeared that someone had found an instrument, coming to stand a space apart from her with a string instrument. It thrummed with a low note, and Jeyne murmured, “Jenny of Oldstones.”

Curious, Zaran asked her, “Well known?”

“A peasant woman, many believed, who claimed descent from the Kings of the First-Men.” Jeyne explained quietly, and Jaster recalled the history, nodding in understanding. “She was married to a Targaryen, he fell in love with her and forsook a betrothal to marry her instead. They said she was half mad, dancing around and with flowers in her hair.”

The woman then cut herself off, as Sansa began to sing once more. Hauntingly, was the tone of this song. Lonesome and full of exhausted grief.

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone,

Jenny would dance with her ghosts.

The ones she had lost, and the ones she had found.

And the ones who had loved her the most.

Ones who'd been gone for so very long,

she couldn't remember their names.

They spun her around on the damp old stone.

Spun away all her sore and pain.

And she never wanted to leave.

Never wanted to leave

Never wanted to leave

Never wanted leave.

They danced through the day, and into the night

Through the snow that swept through the halls.

From winter to summer and to winter again,

Til the walls did crumble and fall.”

By this point, many female began to join in, a rising of sorrow. It told a story of mourning, or grief. Looking away from Sansa, Jaster found Jango among the others. There was a tightness to his expression, a far away look in his eyes.

As soon as the song finished, many standing to clap for Sansa, Jaster made his way over to his son. Sitting down next to the boy, no words were spoken as Jango immediately buried his face into Jaster's shoulder. There was no wetness seeping into his shirt, but Jango's shoulder shook with old grief.

Holding him close, he ran a hand through the boy's hair, murmuring quietly, “I'm forever sorry, I never saved them in time.”

Shaking his head into his shoulder, Jango replied mournfully, “You can't save everyone, buir.”

Regret was a bitter emotion that he kept within him, a sleeping beast to awaken at the worst of times. Turning his gaze back to the front of the hall, he noticed Sansa. She had been making her way back through the hall to her seat, it seemed, and was staring at them now. Regret was in her posture and the way she wrung her hands.

“Would you mind if Sansa came over?” He asked Jango softly. The boy's shoulders stilled in their trembles, giving the question a thought. Then, he nodded.

With his gaze still locked with Sansa, Jaster gave a jerk of his chin, gesturing her over. After a moment of hesitation, she did.

Sitting on the other side of Jango with trepidation, Sansa spoke, “I'm sorry, if my songs gave you unpleasant memories.”

Pulling away from his arms, the boy turned to her, “Not your fault. Just...”

“You miss them.” Sansa finished. And there was true understanding of loss, just as Jango had mentioned a few days ago. He recalled her stating her entire household was killed baring Jeyne, and knowing how she knew all the workers here by name, Jaster concluded that she had cared deeply for those that were killed needlessly.

They shared a sad glance of Jango's head, as they pretended not to notice him scrub at his eyes. There was still much Jaster wanted to learn of Sansa, all her history and thoughts. Step by step he was, but it comforted him, that she too knew grief, just as his people did. They had a common ground there, and that could not be taken away, even if by some unlikelihood no one liked Sansa. Grief knew grief, and Sansa mourned many things daily. That, he knew and related to deeply.

Chapter Text

Jaster awoke to a slap to the face. Jerking up from the bed, scrambling for a weapon, sniggers of laughter stalled any more movement. Squinting through bleary eyes, he spotted his ad'ika giving him a too cheeky smirk by his bed side.

Scowling, Jaster lunged before Jango could flee, wrestling him onto the bed as the boy squawked and flailed, trying to wriggle free. With arms around his waist, Jaster rolled them over huffing in tired laughter, resting his entire weight onto Jango. He squirmed, searching for purchase, only to fall still with a grumble. “You win, buir. Now get your fat shebs off of me.”

Gasping, over-dramatic and wounded, Jaster exclaimed, “You insult me! After assaulting me from my sleep-”

“It's nearly noon, you have to get married, di'kut!” Jango protested, words muffled by the blankets. He was starting to sound a little wheezy, so Jaster was kind enough to roll off of him. The desperate gasps for air were more for show, and Jaster cast an unimpressed look towards his kid.

Not looking his way, Jango somersaulted off the bed. The teen then started to move about the room, appearing to be packing. Turning his gaze from his son to the ceiling, Jango's words rang in his mind. He was getting married today.

The events of last night's meal rose up, and images of wiping away Sansa's tear, her shy smile as she held his hand, how she practically shone as she sang for them. The gentleness with Jango at his reaction to her singing. Sansa had a spine of pure beskar, but it was heartening to know that she was soft with his kid. That would grant her a large amount of approval from the Haat Mando'ade. Children were the future.

He recalled how ecstatic of a reaction she had at greeting her nephews and niece, scooping them up and littering kisses across their faces. And they showed equal joy at seeing her in return, calling her aunt and chattering about all the new things they've done since their absence from the castle. The little niece, Erena, was held in Sansa's arms, her own tiny ones throw around the woman's neck, happily snuggled in close. It was a sweet image, especially as the girl had the same curling red hair as Sansa, could almost be the woman's daughter. But the murky green eyes was all her actual mother's genes.

Meera was a sharp woman, carrying a bow and a knife tucked into her belt. She had keen eyes and a soft smile at seeing her husband's family greeting one another. And she in turn appeared to be well loved by the Starks, enfolding her into the exuberant reunions.

All of the siblings and their respective partners were close, no undertones of malicious emotions with any teasing tossed about. And with all of them together, Jaster admired at how lively Sansa became, as well as curious with the different relationships she had with each sibling. She and her sister seemed to talk primarily in sarcasm and insults, never veering into hurtful territory. With Bran, they spoke softly, the brother gazing at Sansa with a soft melancholy and her in gentle grief. There was more there than he knew, and Jaster hoped, along with many other things, he would learn about it.

Rickon and Sansa were a riot to observe, Sansa trying to fix his messy appearance and worrying over his adventures, and the teen just grinning, taking it all with fondness. It felt more of parent and child than siblings, and Jaster wondered if perhaps she had a large hand in raising the boy.

Jon and Sansa were interesting to watch too, how they were more cordial with one another out of all of the siblings. From what he gathered, they weren't the closest, lacking in shared interests but still able to hold casual conversation. It was actually amusing to see them observe their siblings silently, the exact same facial expression of exasperation at the others antics.

And Robb? Those two could be twins with how closest to appearance they were compared to everyone else. They clearly carried their status as oldest brother and oldest sister, herding the others and taking charge when need be.

It made Jaster ache for his days on the streets, the children he watched over, his first aliit, making sure everyone was well fed and safe. They were all in other places now, travelling the stars or settled down elsewhere. He kept contact with them, and even offered for a place within his True Mandalorians to them. Two accepted, Jan'il'ma and Thrane. They were the closest he had to siblings.

A pillow hit his face, and Jaster was brought back to the present. Right. He was getting married. Sitting up with a wide yawn, he prepared for the day. Myles and Zaran came back after Jaster had a bath – which, seeing as he primarily used the sonic for most of his life, it was weird as hell – with a small arm full of bread and smoked meat. A small breakfast enough to fill them all. Zaran seemed to like what the cooks did with their meat, and was currently in his three day long mission of gathering every recipe from them. It kept him occupied, as all of them were struggling to contain the urge to beat the kark out of one another in the name of training. Myles took long walks around, talking to the Queen, strangely enough. Apparently they got on well enough, and Myles was deeply interested with whatever the woman talked about.

Jango spent his time with Rickon and the Direwolves, and Jaster was happy to look the other way with whatever trouble they may or may not get up to together.

“So how is this all going to go then?” Jaster had to ask as he gave his armour some fresh coat of paint. Myles had ran out early this morning to their ship to collect some. They probably should've had this done days ago but it was a good task to fill the time. He dearly hoped no one got offended with them wearing their armour. It was the only decent-ish thing they had for this formal event.

Reaching over for a pot of blue paint, Zaran shrugged, “We head out there first, I think Prince Bran or Robb was going to escort us there. Then Sansa will come and you exchange vows.”

“You remember them, right?” Myles cut in, squinting at Jaster as if ready to yell at him if his answer was 'no'. Luckily for Jaster's ears, it was a yes. He nodded, “We have a ceremonial conversation, Sansa walked me through it a few days ago. We say some kind of vows, kneel and bow before the tree, exchange cloaks, then ceremony over.” Short and to the point. According to Luwin, when Jaster was researching the different cultures of the kingdoms, some could be very long and tedious. The North was far more quick and practical. Jaster preferred that, though it was still longer than typical Mandalorian marriage rites.  

Which, speaking of, Jaster informed them, “I’m going to marry Sansa.”

They gave him flat looks, “Yeah,” Zaran drawled sarcastically, “We know.”

Jaster flicked some paint at him in retaliation. “I meant,” He tried again with an exasperated sigh, “I want to go through with a riduurok. I want to marry her our way as well.”

There was astonished silence in response, the seconds dragging on until Myles collected himself to ask, “Wait, so, you’re in love with her, vod?”

Glancing down at his armour, Jaster admitted, “I think I’m beginning to.”

”If that’s what you want, alor, then we’ll support you.” Zaran gently stated. It warmed Jaster to know that they weren’t against his decision, as it felt like the right one to him. 

He then glanced over to Jango, who was silent through this exchange. He was staring at Jaster with a serious gaze, but there was no disagreement from him. Jango just nodded, “You could do a lot worse, buir.” Before returning to his paldron he was touching up. The acceptance from his child eased any bit of worry left over, knowing that Jango would not be adversed to Sansa joining their clan. With a small smile, Jaster also returned to his work.

After he had touched up the paint on his armour, Jaster dragged his red cloak over his lap. He had it cleaned a day ago, having not worn it since his arrival, and the ragged edges had been hemmed and doctored up by one of the servants. Running his fingers through the golden brown fur collar lining, Jaster couldn't wait to see what Sansa's cloak looked like. Other than Jango mentioning a dead man on it, there wasn't else he knew.

But he would soon.

When evening came, the moons low but still rising, there was a knock at the door. All four of them were in their cleaned and touched-up armour, buy'ce on except for Jaster's. According to tradition, him and Sansa were meant to kiss. He swallowed hard, uncertainty rising.

At the door, it was actually Prince Rickon. However, instead of his usual mischievous expression, he was solemn as his father. Giving them all a once over, he nodded sharply, “Follow me.” Then, he turned and stalked off down the hall without a backwards glance. Barely exchanging glances, Jaster went first, Myles and Zaran falling into step just behind him on either side, and Jango bringing up the rear.

It had snowed last night, the sky clear enough for stars to shine through. The snow on the ground shimmered, the night quiet with barely a hush of a voice. Upon approaching the godswood, Jaster noted the long torches staked into the ground, creating a pathway for them to follow. Eerie and quiet, the same weight of unseen eyes settled on his shoulders as it did from the first time. Behind him, he heard Myles release a shaky breath. They must feel it too.

When arriving at the weirwood tree, there was a crowd, silent and stood on either side of the clearing. His men broke off after a second of hesitation, heading over to the left side as Jaster continued his way to stand before the tree. Gazing up at the trunk and the carved, weeping, face, Jaster silently thought, 'Let this be the best choice for my people.' Before turning away to await Sansa's arrival.

They didn't have to wait long, only a few minutes behind him it seemed. Her grey dress trailed behind her, and Jaster's mouth went dry at the sight of her. Sansa was always dressed immaculately, never a hair out of place. But perhaps it was because he was going to be married to this magnificent creature, that it fully settled in his mind that she was beautiful. And she was to be his riduur.

From this position, where Sansa was being escorted up by the king, Jaster wasn't able to see her cloak. But casting quick glances around at the audience, there was understanding and some admiration in the audiences eyes. Sadness as well, along with heavy regret from the queen and Sansa's siblings. Though impatient to see it, Jaster knew he had to wait.

It felt that all he had been doing since meeting Sansa was waiting.

Halting before him, Jaster swallowed once more around his dry throat and began the ceremony. “Who comes before the gods?”

The king was solemn, as always, but the weight of his words far more than usual. “Sansa of House Stark comes here to be wed. A woman grown and noble, she comes to beg blessings of the gods.” He announced to the clearing, “Who comes to claim her?”

Forcing himself to not grimace – the constant treatment of women as property made him uncomfortable – Jaster recited what Sansa had told him to say, “Me, Jaster of clan Mereel, Mand'alor of the Haat Mando'ade. I claim her. Who gives her?”

“Eddard of house Stark, father of the bride.” The man then turned to Sansa and asked, “Princess Sansa, will you take this man?” This time, his words weren't part of the ceremony, but the last minute chance for Sansa to back out. The people around them all seemed to hold their breath, awaiting her answer.

Blue eyes meet his, ice-like in the darkness. “I take this man.”

Jaster hoped his breath of relief was imperceptible to everyone.

Sansa then stepped forward, Jaster holding out a hand to which she took. She wore no gloves despite the cold, and he was sure his own leather ones weren't doing anything to warm them. There was also a faint shake to them, and Jaster could only hope it was due to the cold, and not terror. Together, they turned toward the tree and knelt down as one, bowing their heads. Jaster wasn't a particularly religious man, but he would be courteous to his wife's belief and faith. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that she was softly mouthing words.

After a moment, they stood turning and Jaster recited the vow he decided upon. “To respect and honesty.”

Her lips quirked, eyes alight with recognition as she reiterated, “To respect and honesty.”

Now, her cloak. She presented her back to him, and Jaster tried to be quick in taking the embroidery work in, not wishing to delay the ceremony because he was gobsmacked by the detailed work before him.

The deep red allowed the white and greys of the wolf snarling right at the top of the cloak to stand out brilliantly, fur lining a pure white around the collar. A darker shade of red dripped from the wolf's teeth, it's eyes a chilling blue, and the crown placed above it's head silver. Underneath was a golden creature, decapitated and a crown resting lopsided on it's head. Under that was a pink body of a man, wolves tearing him apart as flames engulfed the image. Around the sides was thick thorns and brambles, little birds ensnared within, with a brilliant blue river on the bottom edge, fish swimming through the waves. On the left, where her shoulder blade would be, was two grey circles, one slightly bigger than the other, with a crescent shape below them. The moons of Westeros, entwined within a barren tree and it's branches.

There were certainly more details, more than his short time could spot. However, Jaster had to take the piece of art off Sansa's shoulders, Jeyne coming up silently to take the heavy thing from him. He hoped to see it again, to study it further and the story it told. Unclipping his own cloak, Jaster settled it over the woman, hands shaking with the sudden realisation that this was it. In the eyes of her people, Sansa was his now. It found a dis-concerting place to rest heavily in his stomach as Sansa turned back to face him.

Shoulders rolled back and chin titled up, the woman looked more braced for a hit than a kiss. That uncomfortable feeling from before came back, and he couldn't do it. Not with how he could still feel her trembles. Framing her face carefully with his hands, he leant his towards her, and making sure the hand facing the audience obscured them, Jaster hovered his lips over hers for a brief moment. Tapping his forehead against her instead, still honouring the tradition in his own way with a mirshmure'cya that only his people will truly understand, Jaster straightened up, hands dropping away.

Sansa stared up at him with shock, confusion, and a myriad of others. He didn't linger on the fact that he faked the sealing kiss instead he sweeping her up into his arms, just as he had wanted to. She let out a soft squeak, barely a thing really but he heard it being so close.

Though agreed beforehand, Jaster still shot her a glance that spoke 'is this alright?'. The woman nodded stiltedly, a red flush just barely noticed in the moonlight as her arms slowly snaked around his neck and shoulders. A stupid part of his male lizard brain felt pride at being able to carry his wife, his riduur, down the pathway to the great hall, showing off his strength.

The procession followed him closely, murmurs of conversation he couldn't pay much attention to, all focus laid on the woman in his arms. Sansa wasn't meeting his gaze, gnawing on her lip as she looked forward.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked softly, nervous. Blue eyes darted to him before looking away, cheeks still red. She shook her head. “No, just...why did you not kiss me?”

“You didn't want it.” Was his frank response. “I'm not going to do anything you don't want.”

Looking at him in disbelief, Sansa pointed out, dumbfounded, “I'm you wife. You have that right.”

Jaster clenched his jaw so as not to tighten his grip in a fit of fury. Westeros, for all it's weird and magical bullshit he wanted to study, was too backwards and sexist for his liking. “Maybe to your people, but that's not how I was raised.” He rumbled out, “You don't want to be touched. Mo matter how small of contact, I won't.” One day, Jaster hoped that his repetition of not ever harming her finally stuck. Sansa deserved to be sure of her place beside him as his partner.

The astonishment and gratitude in her expression had his heart clenching. Her standards were so karking low, and he couldn't blame her for that. Leaning down, Jaster touched his head to hers, another kiss. Whispering, Jaster promised, “I will never hurt you, Sansa.”

It was her father that escorted her to the godswood, just as he did her last two weddings. After all the women had left from preparing her, Sansa had waited quiet and alone in her room. Lady was most likely with the rest of the pack outside, so there was no soft fur to pet in comfort. Her hands shook where they clenched over her lap.

After her first meeting with Jaster, Sansa had to slowly readjust her view of him over the week. He was not a violent man. At least not to her or her loved ones. The king was protective of his people, stern with his words when she wronged him unintentionally. No hand was raised, instead he demanded her honest reasoning, listened, reassured her, before giving a sharp reprimand. That was all. So braced for a hit or vile words, Sansa was caught completely off guard.

She knew that not all men were violent and angry, but the ones she had to share her bed with and bind her life to were. And that was enough to settle caution and fear deep within her bones at any man that wasn't family.

Once Sansa rearranged that new image of her soon-to-be husband, it opened up her eyes to more traits she was hesitant to see. He was funny, a wry and self-deprecating humour at times, though according to Jango the man had some terrible jokes within his arsenal that she did not doubt. A part of her was eager to hear them, wanting to see more of this man she was to marry shortly.

Her parents built their marriage from strangers to friends, and then to love. Sansa hoped that her and Jaster could become friends. She was so exhausted, being afraid, and wanted this to be a good thing. Reading up on the Mandalorian culture, Sansa wanted to be seen as good enough to his people so she could finally settle into a life without fear. Oh she knew there would be dangers, but none so personal as Ramsay and Joffrey .

Closing her eyes, Sansa recalled the phantom warmth and weight of Jaster's hand in hers the night before. It was a secure sensation. She hoped she could hold his hand again, or even tuck it into his elbow more in the future. The gesture's charm was taken away by Joffrey, a once heart racing thing that became more like an iron chain, trapping her next to him. Ramsay did no such thing, and she was grateful for that.

When Jaster first offered his arm to her, after the words those maids had said, she was flustered like a child all over again, enraptured by glorious knights and golden princes. This time however, she was older and far more knowing. But the enchanting sensation of holding a man's arm was still there, even after years of pain.

The memory helped her ignore what was to come tonight. Jaster may have said that the consummation was unneeded, but Sansa would only believe his words when she saw them demonstrated.

And so, the image of Jaster that settled before her was a king that was devoted to his people. A man that was kind and disgusted with injustice. A husband that promised respect. A possible ally and friend in the new stage of her life she was about to begin.

Thank the gods Lady and Jeyne would be with her every step of the way.

There was a knock at her door.

Standing up, Sansa called out, “Come in.” as she brushed her dress down, smoothing the skirt panels into place. When her father opened the door, he breathed in sharply. It must be a strange feeling, to see your daughter in her third wedding gown. Sansa gave him a sad smile, “Here to give me away once more?” A rhetoric question, filled with pained nostalgia.

Stepping back, her father offered his arm, and she easily took it. Maybe this was why she liked the gesture, it was another way to feel safe and loved.

They walked silently to the godswood for awhile, taking a longer way. It was as if her father was trying to prolong the inevitable. Sighing, Sansa leant her head against his shoulder through their leisurely pace, “I'm not that angry with you any more.”

He tensed at her words. “You should be.” A pause. “I am.”

Tired, Sansa played with the gathered skirts in her hand, and uttered, “How were you to know about the last two?”

“As your father,” He protested, voice a low rumble of guilt, “I'm supposed to protect you. All I did was lead you to danger. What kind of father-”

“Mistakes happen.” She cut him off sharply, giving him a stern look. One she had learnt well from her mother. “And they can come with deadly and painful costs. I've learnt this, and you should too. I was far more upset that you broke your promise of giving me solitude and peace.”

“I-” He stuttered on his words, frowning as he searched for the right thing to say. Sansa waited patiently. Father wasn't the best with words and speeches, needing time to gather himself. With a deep exhale, he finally explained, “I looked more deeply into this one. Mainly, I wanted to solidify our borders, and Mandalorians are known, even this far in the outer rim, of their abilities and strength. The True Mandalorians seemed like good people, honorable. And Jaster, when I talked with him, I felt that he was a good man. Perhaps that's not the best explanation, but if I suspected for one second he would hurt you, I would call off the wedding. I didn't want to marry you to him, just to marry you off, Sansa.” And here, he looked at her imploringly, “Please understand that. I wanted you to leave this planet, and all the terrible memories that come with it. I wanted a new start for you, as well as give you an easy way to leave, if he did hurt you. I'm not exiling you or anything, of course you can return and visit. It's just. Here, you would be trapped, and I don't want that for any of my children, but especially for you, Sansa.”

He let out a shuddering breath, and this was the closest Sansa had ever seen him close to tears. Such a stoic man, the king of the North kept his emotions close to his heart, barely anyone seeing them. Her eyes burnt, watching him swallow tears back as he gave her a look of open honesty and vulnerability.

“You've had enough of being trapped.” The words sounded like an apology from his lips, “I want this marriage to set you free from it all. And over this week, I know the Mand'alor to be a good man. And hopefully a good husband.”

Blinking back tears, Sansa gave him a watery smile, “I hope that too.”

He stopped in his tracks to turn towards her and placed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I love you, Sansa.”

Sansa squeezed his hand. “I love you too, Father.”

There was still left to be said, and perhaps it would never be spoken. Sansa was not angry with his decision, it had simmered to disappointment and resignation ages ago. She knew duty, and she knew that a good king could not be selfish. But enough of what had been said will settle the tension between them. It was for the best. Sansa and her father were different in their interests, but if they were similar in one thing, was how to place others and their people before themselves.

It wasn't snowing, and Sansa was hopeful at the sign from the gods. Her cloak kept the chill of the night off her skin, as well as the dress being layered and thick. The air was sharp and clean to her senses, and resolve settled on her shoulder like the weight of her maiden's cloak. She hoped that the audience would see it and know. They will know all of the tales she had woven and sewn into the fabric. Sansa had plans for this cloak, not to be tossed aside and buried deep and forgotten into her trunks.

Raising her shoulders to submerge her low face into the fur lining, Sansa finally stepped through the stone archway into the godswood. If she closed her eyes, Sansa could remember the exact steps she took towards Ramsay. This time however, she walked with fragile hope, and not cold fear.

Releasing the tension, her shoulder falling back down, her breath was a puff of fog in front of her face. Jaster was a good man. She was starting to truly believe this fact, and if she got through this night unharmed, then Sansa could fully accept her place beside him. She was not going to be a queen, nor lady of a castle. Just a wife beside a king, with no rank given. Maybe that could be a good thing. His people will not expect much from her, probably assume her to be a wilting little flower. Though she should have nothing to prove to them, she will not fall into their expectations either. Sansa will be herself; all the broken pieces of a pretty broach melted down and sharpened to a point. Her words and courtesy was her armour and sword, and they would just have to accept that.

With that resolve, Sansa walked towards her third husband with her chin held high. Her hands still trembled despite herself, fear a fickle thing despite the brave face one put on.

The ceremonial conversation exchanged was white noise to her ears, only tuning back in when it was her turn to speak. “I take this man.” Like she took Joffrey. Like she took Ramsay. She would take all that came with marrying this man, and if it went bad, she would do what she must to survive.

Hand slipping into his, Sansa swallowed her nausea and knelt before the weirwood. With Ramsay, she hadn't a prayer on her mind, only blank thoughts, waiting for it all to be over with. This time, she actually sent a prayer to her gods. 'Let me be happy this time, please.'

The leaves faintly rustled as she stood back up, taking both of his hands as their eyes met. In the moonlight, his eyes were dark, glinting faintly as he murmured, “To respect and honesty.”

A vow spoke not a week ago, and she would've laughed if the nerves weren't keeping a choke hold on her control. Instead, she smiled and echoed, “To respect and honesty.”

With their vow spoken before the gods, twice over, there was no way they could go back on their word. It was Spoken, and must be adhered to. Turning around, Sansa began the process of unclasping her cloak, cold fingers making it hard to do. Behind her, Jaster paused, a faint sharp breath in, and she realised it would be the first time he had seen it. Unable to decide what she felt with being unable to see his reaction, Sansa instead began to shrug it off, signalling him to take it.

The brief stillness did not last long, nor was it noticeable to the audience as Jaster stripped it off her shoulders, bundling it up neatly to hand over to Jeyne. Knowing her friend would tuck it within their luggage safely, Sansa closed her eyes to the weight of Jaster's cloak on her shoulders, accepting what it all meant. From Baratheon – or Lannister really – to Bolton, to now Mereel. Sansa Mereel. It sat strangely on her tongue as she fixed the cloak around herself.

It smelt of metal, of something found within the forge. Sharp but holding a thick warmth in it's scent. Heart beating quick, Sansa slowly turned to him. The final step; the sealing kiss. Without the cloak, Jaster appeared slighter. Oh, he still had broad shoulders and obvious muscle, but it was less intimidating. Or perhaps more, as his armour was on full display. But right now, nothing about him was terrifying. Especially as he swallowed heavily, hands coming up to cup her face as he leant in to kiss her.

Reflexively, Sansa snapped her eyes shut, and braced herself for his touch. Joffrey, those kisses traded before he showed his true colours, had Sansa's stomach fluttering, and they still did when everything went bad. Turned out it wasn't butterflies but an instinct she should have listened to.

Ramsay's first kiss on her lips was cold and wet. In comparison to all that happened afterwards, it was near pleasant.

She only had a second to go through all her past kisses and wonder what Jaster's would be like, before he pulled away. Fluttering her eyes open, Sansa was confused. She had only felt a warm puff of air on her skin, and her first thought, 'was that it?' before perspective came to mind. His hands blocked their lips. No one saw them touch, but it seemed obvious that they had kissed.

But he hadn't kissed her.

Gratitude, bafflement, and a strange sliver of disappointment warred through her as Jaster's forehead touched her for a short moment, and then he swept her up into his arms.

This show of blatant strength, one that neither Joffrey nor Ramsay had displayed, sent her stomach fluttering. This time, it was an exciting flutter, and Sansa felt her cheeks heating up. She hadn't been carried like this before, not in a way that felt so wonderful.

It was when they had settled down for the feast that Sansa was struck by his words completely. Ringing like bells in her mind, all she heard was, 'You didn't want it' and 'I will not harm you'. Pretty lies but he Swore before the gods, and you could not go back on that. Hope, what used to be a tiny candle of a flame in her chest, was starting to flare and crackle like a bonfire.

Let this be a happy marriage.

Chapter Text

The feast was a cheerful one, and Sansa was smiling wide at the lemon cakes made. Barely remembering to eat the actual dinner before hand, Sansa tucked into the dessert quickly. Jaster and her were placed at the high table in the center. Her parents were to her right, as they were royalty too, with Jaster's people to his left, as his family and their guests. Her siblings all sat in the lower tables, happily chatting with one another and the other guests and guards who joined in on the festivities.

Down on one of the tables, Jeyne grinned, lifting her own lemon cake for Sansa to see, before taking a large bite out of it.

“Your favourite?” Jaster asked, leaning in closer for her to hear above the noise.

Shy, Sansa nodded, not wanting to appear gluttonous as she explained, “I love lemon cakes. The sweet and sourness are perfectly balanced, with the cake being so moist. The cook has basically perfected the recipe after making it dozens of times.”

Her husband – her husband – grinned wide, taking his own lemon cake, “Then I'm sure it will be good.”

Jaster liked them.

When dancing began, Sansa held out no expectations for Jaster to dance with her, so she looked eagerly towards Robb. As if feeling her gaze, he turned her way with a roll of his eyes good-naturally, standing up from his seat. Cheeks hurting from how excited her smile was, Sansa quickly stood from her chair.

As Jaster gave her a confused glance, starting to stand as well, Sansa waved him down absent-mindedly, “I'm just going to dance, there's no need to follow, as I'm sure it's a skill you have not acquired. You must find it a folivorous thing, so don't force yourself to participate.” And rushed off to the cleared floor to her brother. The older sibling smiled indulgently as they easily fell into position, the song a lively beat requiring fast foot work.

Robb and Sansa were one another's first dance partners, taking lessons together and learning one another so well. They moved perfectly, knowing each other's tells. As he spun and led her around the floor, Robb remarked, “Looking happy, are we?”

Bashful, Sansa looked at their feet, “I think this will be a good marriage, this time. I truly hope it is.” When she brought her gaze back up to Robb, her brother looked at with melancholy. “I hope so too.” He murmured.

Sharing a muted smile between them, they fell into silence, enjoying the music and dance in this moment. When they song came to the end, Sansa straightening up from the ending curtsey, a voice cut in, “May I have this dance?”

Grinning, Sansa turned to her father, and happily joined arms with him, the new song a Northern jig, lots of linking arms and dancing in a group.

Jaster couldn't help how his arms were folded, sulking in his seat as Sansa span around with friends and family, her words echoing in his head. He's sure she meant no offence by it, but it lingered like a heavy weight. Beside him, Myles leant in, “Nice pout there, alor.”

“I could dance.” Jaster muttered mutinously, leading to his horrible son to snort, “No you can't, buir.”

Offended, the man sent a glare at the boy, “I've got great foot work!”

“Yeah, for fighting.” Zaran remarked lowly into his cup as he took a drink. With holding the urge to smack the zabrak, Jaster turned back to the dancers. Sansa wasn't wrong, in dancing being brushed aside by Mandalorians. When there was training to fight and how to stay alive, dancing was barely a thought to cross anyone's mind. Still, he would have liked to put that smile of delight on her face.

Sansa was radiant, the happiest he had ever seen her. Her current partner was Rickon, the youngest sibling only just managing to do the right moves, obviously out of practise. Sansa watched him fondly, gently taking the lead in a way that still appeared like the boy was instead. She was talented, that was for sure. Like with singing, this was definitely a requirement she learnt growing up. Not particularly useful to Mandalorians, but Jaster liked it. Enchanted, Jaster regretted not asking someone – like Jeyne or Sansa, even – to teach him at least one basic dance, so he could join his new riduur on the floor.

The dismissive words sent his way as she stood up stung, though he couldn't fault her for them. She was correct in her conclusion in him not knowing how to dance. However, he wouldn't have been reluctant if she'd turned to him to dance with, even with his lack of knowledge. She could have led him like she did with Rickon, Jaster was a quick learner after all.

In the middle of ruminating over how to ask her to dance after the fifth song started up, a drunk lord, the uncle of Robb's wife, maybe? Jaster couldn't completely recall, but he was a thick, robust man. Tall and appearing as if he could break a tree in half with his two meaty fists. Either way, this lord drunkenly lifted his tankard and called out, “THE BEDDING!”

Immediately, there were drunk cheers joining in, like how they demanded for Sansa to sing, they demanded for this disgusting tradition. Snapping his eyes over to Sansa, Jaster watched as she froze in between changing dance partners. Within seconds, the joy on her face drained away, replaced with terror. Jeyne, who was to be her next partner, shifted forward, as if to put herself between Sansa and the men.

When his wife's wide eyes skittered over to him, Jaster stood sharply, banging his fist onto the table once, loud enough to cut through the clamouring. The sight of men already trying to stagger out of their seats to his riduur sent a fire of rage through him.

Silence fell, all eyes on him. Glaring at them, especially the one who had suggested it, Jaster snarled, “There will be no bedding ceremony. If you want entertainment, find it elsewhere that isn't publicly humiliating my wife by stripping her against her will.”

Even with the amount of alcohol flowing through them, the listened, curling into themselves or sitting back down. Casting a glance towards Sansa's parents, they appeared grateful, giving him a nod in thanks. Moving away from the table, around his chair, Jaster murmured softly to Myles, “Make sure Jango gets to bed at a good time. We leave early tomorrow.”

He got a soft acknowledgement of “Alor,” before finally leaving the high table. The dancers parted for him as he reached Sansa's side. Though he had quieted the crowd, she still held a spark of fear in her eyes. Jeyne still took position in front of Sansa however, the glare sent his way emphasised with the scar, making it a deadly expression.

Patiently, Jaster paused and waited as Sansa murmured something too soft for anyone but her friend to hear, giving the other woman's arm a squeeze. Whatever was exchanged between them had Jeyne stepping aside, still watching him with heavy suspicion.

Softening his glower as Sansa stepped toward him, Jaster offered his elbow, and that familiar gesture softened some of her tension, hand slipping into the crook of his arm. Together, they quietly made their way through the tables and out into the hall. It was less stifling, cooler as well, and Jaster felt he could breath properly, not having even noticed how wound up he became surrounded by so many people.

There was a squeeze on his arm, and the man cast a glance back at Sansa. “Thank you.”

Grimacing, Jaster led them to her rooms, which was where they were to...finalise, the alliance. Well, what they don't know won't hurt them. This night was strictly between him and his riduur. If she had no desire to have sex, then it will be a night of sleeping. Maybe she would allow him to hold her, that would be nice. It's been awhile since he simply shared a bed with a partner. Ka'ra, he was getting old.

“It was basic decency, Sansa. I hope you can get used to that coming from me.” Jaster tried to soften his irritation at those drunk men, trying to turn his words into something teasing. Though she picked up on it, the woman reiterated nonetheless, “Still, it was a kindness not always afforded to many women here. I've been through two bedding ceremonies, and neither were pleasant.”

Jaster tsked, “I don't want a bunch of men pawing at you. And it would be a shame to destroy such a lovely dress.

Wide blue eyes turned his way, catching the man off guard for a second, “You like my dress?”

His face started to grow hot. As an adult with plenty of experience in flirting, he would hope that he could do a basic thing such as complimenting his wife, but it appeared not. Clearing his throat, Jaster confirmed, “You look wonderful, Sansa. Though, the grey...”

As he trailed off with a wry smile, Sansa reassured him with a quirk of her own lips, “Please know that I am constantly mourning for many things, but it does not reflect upon you. Plus, as a colour of the Stark house, I wear it to show pride and allegiance to my family.”

Jaster's brow quirked, sending her a contemplative glance, “I'm assuming I'll be seeing a lot of grey then?”

With a huff of laughter, the woman gave a casual half-shoulder shrug, “Perhaps. Depends on how I feel when I dress each morning. But for today, I was honouring my house.”

“And honour it well, you do.” Jaster replied with finality, having reached her bedroom door.

The levity of what was meant to happen re-emerged in Sansa's shoulders and grip on his arm, taut and moments away from fleeing. It's been a long time since he himself was forced into a sexual situation, too skilled in combat to not fight back and have a guaranteed win. But he had to think back to those hazy memories of revulsion and fear, to put himself in Sansa's shoes and find a way of soothing her.

Stepping back to give her some space, Jaster tucked his hands behind his back and stated, “If you want me to go back to my room and leave you for the rest of the night, I will. Just say the word, Sansa.”

Appearing caught between the decision, the woman bit her lip, eyes flicking from him to her door, before Jaster spotted the second beskar filled her spine. Lifting her chin, Sansa reminded him, “You said you would never hurt me.”

He gave a sharp nod. “And I meant it.”

“Then you will stay the night.” She decided firmly, “But I will not lay with you.”

Softly, Jaster dipped his head once again in agreement, “We'll just sleep, Sansa.”

Casting him one long, lingering glance of caution, she opened her door, inviting him in. Having not been in her room before, he wanted to take it all in. A last chance to see the space she lived and grew up in. Bedrooms always held information of a person in the form of objects and decoration, their personality taking physical shape.

Though he could see where things were removed, packed away in the stack of trunks in one of the corners, little things stayed behind. There were no less than four separate vases and wooden jugs filled with dried flowers, dead but preserved well enough to still use and brighten up the space. There was a tapestry hung above the bed, a detailed piece of art that showed a pack of wolves running through a forest. Counting the number of animals depicted, it was her family before her siblings married and reproduced.

Knowing Sansa's proclivity to sewing, he wondered if that skill broadened to weaving. Glancing upwards, he noted the tiny pieces of shaped glass and crystal dangling over her bed like a constellation of stars. He made a note to ask her to bring them along when they left.

On a vanity was a brush left out, and Sansa had taken a seat there, watching him in the reflection as she began to undo her elaborate hair style. It was a crown of braids, sprigs of tiny wild flowers tucked into the locks. Jaster's hand twitched, and he took a hesitant step forward.

“May I?”

The uncertainty in his voice was frustrating, but it had Sansa giving him an encouraging smile, though that too wavered with trepidation. They were both unsure of what to do, and Jaster needed to do something with his hands. Hopefully this innocent form of intimacy could soften the tension and awkwardness.

Coming up behind her, Jaster began the process of digging pins out of her hair, Sansa having to gently guide him where they all were. Eye brows slowly rising with the growing pile on the vanity, vaguely impressed, Jaster joked, “You could hide an entire arsenal of knives in here.”

Eyes crinkling in amusement, Sansa hummed, “I could. They would have to be very small though.”

As he unwound a braid, he supplied, “The Naboo would probably have some. Their royalty are known to train how to fight, so I wouldn't be surprised if they had pins that could also be tiny daggers just in case.”

Glancing up at her reflection, wanting to gauge her reaction, Jaster noticed her gaze was distant, staring down at the wood. Frowning, he amended, “Not that you have to carry a weapon.”

Quietly, she replied, “I don't like violence. I understand when it's necessary, but I do not seek it nor enjoy it. I...have carried a blade before, but if I don't have to, I won't.”

“Of course,” He murmured, tugging the ties off the ends of her braids, letting the locks unwind and leave behind thick waves. “I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Your people will expect it of me.”

Jaster met her eyes through the mirror, firm as he stated, “I love my people, but you don't have to accommodate yourself for them. Be yourself, and they will soon learn exactly why I respect you so much.”

He doesn't think he could ever get over the raw disbelief and hope in her eyes any time he said something like that. How caught off guard she was at him giving her basic fucking decency, a thing that everyone should have and deserve. As Sansa handed over the brush, Jaster fumed over the past blows against her self-esteem, trying to think of all the best ways he could build her back up once more.

She must have been confident in the past, before they had broken her down.

However, that would be thoughts for another time, when his eyes weren't so enraptured with her thick, auburn locks. Jaster had to hold up the hair, lest it touched the floor. The length was astonishing, and he couldn't comprehend the amount of work that went into it's upkeep.

“Appearance is important to you, huh?” Jaster couldn't help but murmur thoughtfully.

“How one looks, is how another gathers a first impression.” She replied, “I am a princess. I represent my house and my kingdom. I must always present myself with dignity and power.”

“I did think you were quite dignified when we first met.”

Her response was a pleased look. Jaster's eyes crinkled in fondness.

After he had finished brushing her hair, Sansa took over, eyes mesmerised and locked onto the way her fingers worked her hair into a simple braid down her back. Thick as a rope, he wondered if it was as strong as one.

However, as she tied it off, they both came back to the present, which was for them to sleep. Still dressed in armour and a thick dress respectively, they would have to strip down for comfort. Jaster had slept plenty of times in his armour, uncomfortable, but do-able. He could do so as well, if she so wished.

Instead, Sansa fortified herself and asked, “Would you undo my dress lacing?”

Blinking in minor surprise, Jaster stepped back as she stood from her seat. Her hands wrung, a nervous gesture he had noticed, and Jaster decided to take the next initiative this time. “How about you help me out of my armour?”

Hesitantly, Sansa nodded, hands coming up to hover uncertainly between them. Amused, as this wouldn't be the first time someone was unsure on how to unlatch his armour, Jaster directed her, just as she did before.

Starting with the latches for his shoulder pauldrons, Jaster delicately took her hands to place them in the correct spot. Fingers smaller, Sansa had an easier time wiggling them under to find the right area. When it suddenly came off, she was quick to catch it, but faltered at the weight. Chuckling low, Jaster cautioned her, “Careful, beskar, even when an alloy, is heavy.”

Sending him scathing look, Sansa went onto the next one after setting the piece onto the vanity. Here, Jaster began to explain each piece of armour to her as well as it's name in mando'a. A part of him sent a brief thanks to the Ka'ra for the fact he had no cod-piece. That...would have been awkward.

Sansa was studious, repeating each term, enunciating the words slowly. And she was careful with every piece of metal that came off him, gently setting it down until a pile was made on her vanity and the chair it went with. One day, Sansa would learn the exact weight of intimacy it was to remove a Mandalorian's armour in such a setting. But for tonight, Jaster let her remain oblivious, not wanting to ruin the comfortable air that settled around them, and basked in how...nice it felt, to have some help him out of his beskar'gam. It had really been too long.

Once he was down to his tunic and trousers, Sansa stepped back, gave him a short glance over, before turning around. Presenting her back to him, dragging her braid over one shoulder, Jaster took the silent signal and began the baffling process of working through the ties that held her dress together.

Tongue peeking out in concentration, Sansa broke the silence. “Do you have scars?”

Snorting softly, Jaster countered, “Besides the ones on my face?”

He felt more than saw the way her back muscles stiffened, and quickly added, “Not mad, just playing. And yeah, I do.”

When there was no response after that, Jaster let the conversation die again, though a little bit befuddled by her question. Thinking back to the way her best friend was scarred, Jaster didn't think Sansa to be one to linger on people's scars in a derisive or disgusted way.

“Scars represent survival and glory to my people.” Jaster found himself saying, working the last of the lacing. “I'm not ashamed of the ones I carried, knowing that I came out of each battle or fight as the victor.”

Stepping back as the dress loosened, Jaster observed as Sansa let the garment pool to the ground, stepping out of it to face him steadily.

His breath left him suddenly.

Under her dress was a body fitting piece, like bras he had seen before, but over her whole torso. Under that, was a short sleeve white dress. And though seeing Sansa so bare for the first time should have sent his heart racing, it didn't.

Scars. Varying sizes littered her arms, deliberate in every cut. And they weren't self-inflicted, he could tell. But what really caught his eye was the silvery scar that ran from one side of her neck, down and cutting across her collar bone.

“Who did that to you?”

Reaching up, Sansa delicately fingered the scar on her neck, finding it with practised movements, “Joffrey. I angered him, goaded him, and he lashed out. It was a miracle that I lived.”

Biting his cheek to refrain from showing his fury, Jaster instead stepped closer, raising a hand, “May I?”

Eyes full of caution, Sansa nodded, dropping her hand. He replaced it with his own, cupping her neck and feeling how the scar raised with his thumb. Jaster felt her swallow at his touch.

“By the stars, you are a wonder, Sansa.” Jaster breathed, meeting her gaze straight on.

With a huff of humourless laughter, his riduur, shook her head softly in denial, “I was stupid. My brother had just won a battle, one that truly turned the tide of the war. He had killed Tywin Lannister, a brilliant strategist and tactician. And Joffrey's grandfather. He was furious, and already taking it out on me, I couldn't help but make it worse. All I could think of was that he was losing, and I was getting close to my freedom.”

Sansa stopped, taking a shaky breath. Then, after swallowing thickly, she forged on, “It was Joffrey's uncle that saved me, Tyrion. He arrived as Joffry took his knife to-”

Blinking rapidly, Jaster knew a flash back when he saw one. Removing his hand from her neck, he placed it onto the back of her head, and pulled her close. Shushing her softly, Jaster murmured, “It's over, you survived, Sansa. He's dead, and you're here.”

Choking up, the woman stuttered, “I-If Tyrion wa-wasn't there, I would've- I couldn't breathe.”

Carefully, Jaster began to walk them over to the bed, sitting her down on the edge so he could kneel before her. Taking her hands into his, Jaster looked up at her as she pressed her hands to her face. Heavy breaths, wet and wracking her frame, Sansa cried. It was a stifled sound, one that he recalled that he had done before as a child. Crying in an alleyway, hoping no one took advantage of his display of weakness.

Reaching up, Jaster pried her hands away from her face to cup them into his larger ones. Without that barrier, he could see the blotchy redness on her cheeks, wet with thick tears. “Oh, cyar'ika.” He murmured, sympathy welling in his chest. Releasing one of his hands from their reassuring grip around Sansa's, Jaster tugged up the sleeve of his shirt to cover his hand as he began to wipe away her tears.

Through tear-logged lashes, her blue eyes were a storm, staring at him. Giving her an encouraging smile, the man spoke, “Let it all out, San'ika. You don't have to say any more, if you can't. But I'm here. I will be here for as long as you want me.”

Sniffling, Sansa wetly mumbled, “How are you real?”

Wanting to bring levity to the conversation, Jaster cracked a smile, “Well, it seemed that someone impregnated my mother, who then-”

Jaster laughed, cutting himself off as Sansa gave him a soft shove, a weary smile replacing her sadness. Sobering up, the woman raised a hand, and traced the scars that marred his face. Closing his eyes, Jaster couldn't help how he leant into her touch. “Can we sleep now?” Sansa whispered.

Flicking his eyes open, Jaster nodded, “Sure we can. Got a long journey tomorrow.”

When they parted, Jaster took off his boots and ducked behind the changing screen where someone had thoughtfully left his sleeping trousers, as Sansa took off the torso covering. Stepping out, Jaster decided to forgo his shirt, wanting to show Sansa his own body scars. It seemed to give her some kind of comfort.

Already laying under the blankets and furs, Sansa took the far side of the bed, furthest from the door. He would've wanted her to take that side anyways, always wanting to put himself between the people he cared for and danger.

Blowing out the candles, Jaster could just make out her features in the moonlight, eyes still faintly watery. Resting one hand between them, his chest fluttered momentarily when, after a pause, Sansa linked their little fingers together.

Thoroughly exhausted, Jaster let out a tired sigh and closed his eyes.

The soft scar tissue from his face was a phantom sensation on her finger tips. Watching him sleep, eyes adjusted to the darkness now, Sansa felt that final knot unravel in her chest. Finally, Sansa took a step back from all that fear and apprehension. All her caution melted away when she truly looked at him in that moment.

He was a good man. A battle-hardened solider and warrior. A loving father and good friend. And finally, Sansa completed the image. He would be a good husband. Knowing not to touch a sleeping fighter, despite how she wished to trace his face again, Sansa instead tightened her finger around his and smiled.

Tears, ones not of painful memories, slipped out of her still puffy eyes. She could breath easy now, knowing that even if all his people disliked her, she had Jaster. Jaster who cared and respected her. Jaster who wiped away her tears and who looked at her scars with barely concealed rage.

Sighing, a trembling breath that shook her lungs, Sansa closed her eyes, and allowed herself to fall into a slumber without any trace of fear for this man laying beside her.

Chapter Text

What woke him up first was movement next to him, the sheets a hush whisper of movement as they shifted about. Laying still on the bed, Jaster kept his breathing slow, a habit he had picked up young and never forgot. Best to pretend he wasn't alert, and take any attacker by surprise.

However, as his waking mind kicked into gear, Jaster realised that the person who was just laying next to him was Sansa. Some tension disappeared, the adrenaline that had begun to pump through his blood cooling down some as he listened.

Something must have woken Sansa up, and hearing as she quietly moved across the room, the faint creak of the door signalled someone must have knocked a few seconds ago. Jaster couldn't help but frown. He should've heard that.

Nonetheless, Sansa hissed to whomever was at the door, “What are you doing here?”

“Like you aren't happy to see me.” Was the retort. It was Jeyne, Jaster concluded, smiling faintly in amusement. Their friendship was one he looked at with amusement and fondness. Together, they were a spitfire pair, finding strength between one another.

Continuing on, the other woman's voice then became hushed and frantic, “Why are your eyes puffy!? I know what you look like if you've been crying- what did he do-!?”

“Jeyne!” Sansa cut her off sharply, voice still quiet however. “Jaster didn't do anything, I'll tell you later, but I'm fine. I promise.”

There was a click of a tongue, Jeyne replying doubtfully, “Fine as in actually fine, or fine as in I just spent the entire night in agony because Joffrey-”

“-Yes, Jeyne.” Sansa hissed again, “I'm fine.”

“Fine.” The word was spat out. Right now, Jaster kind of wished he was still asleep. Though they were close friends, they still argued and he never liked the thought of getting in the middle of two upset women. People tend to get hurt...

After a tense pause, his new wife pointedly asked, “Well, was that all, or did you need something else?”

Jeyne huffed, “No need to be snotty, I got you a jug to wash your face with.”

“You're not my maid, Jeyne.”

“No. I'm your best friend and I need an excuse to check you over for any bruises.”

There was a rustle of movement, skin against skin, and Jaster could imagine Sansa irritably rubbing her face irritably. He had seen her do it a couple of times. “Would you like to help me lace up my corset, Jeyne?” The woman offered, near condescending.

Jaster heard Jeyne sniff, haughty, “Yes, I would.”

Sighing, Sansa grumbled, “Oh, very well then. Get in and be quiet. Jaster is still asleep.”

Deciding now would be a good time, the man announced his wakefulness. Voice thick from sleep, Jaster stated, “No, Jaster is now awake.”

A pause of silence, before both women spoke in unison, “Good morning, Jaster.”

Their friendship was truly an endearing and terrifying thing, Jaster concluded as he sat up in bed, finally getting a look at the two of them. Jeyne was dressed for the day, hair neatly in a bun and glowering. Glancing out the window, it looked to be just a few hours past day break. Too early for him, but whatever. Better an early departure than a late one.

Jeyne had a hand on her hip, giving him a suspicious once over as Sansa had her arms loosely folded over her chest, exasperated.

Running a hand messily through his hair, Jaster waved his other one lazily, “Carry on, you two. Give me a minute to wake up.”

Cocking a brow, Jeyne snidely replied, “Pleasant sleep?”

He took no offence, and having a teenager of a son, Jaster knew a thing or two about dealing with attitude. Don't fall for it. Plus, Jeyne was just protective of her friend, and Jaster couldn't really blame her for that.

Smiling cheerily, Jaster nodded, “Yup. Like a loth-cat in the sun.”

Both women sent him a confused look, before Sansa shook her head, turning back to Jeyne. “Help me with my corset, then I'll meet you all down for breaking our fast.”

Continuing to sit in bed, content to watch the women ignoring him, Jaster observed as Sansa was laced back into that torso covering, the corset it seemed. Tilting his head to the side as Jeyne tugged with familiar strength at the laces, Jaster couldn't help but ask, “Can you breathe?”

Unaffected by the slow constriction of the corset, Sansa shrugged, hands currently resting on her waist. “Of course. It's just an undergarment. The tight lacing keeps everything in place and supports ones posture.”

Jaster rested his chin on his palm, “Never seen anything like it. So it's basically like a bra?”

He got another identical look of bewilderment shot his way, and couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but Westeros were truly out of touch with the rest of the galaxy, as well as with modern times and tech. As he described typical underwear, both women progressively became aghast with the amount of nudity, Jeyne muttered, “How unseemly.” His wife nodded in agreement, and Jaster stifled a chuckle.

Sansa gave a glance down at herself then, smoothing her hands down her silhouette, Jaster's eyes following the motion. Now with better lighting, Jaster took a moment to enjoy just how uncovered she was in comparison to her usual attire. All the faint scar marks were obvious, but it was the beauty past the hurt that he admired. The rising sunlight cast a shine across her hair, like small fire embers. Only faintly, he could make out freckles on her elbows, skin a creamy shade of pale. The dress she wore, some night gown or part of her underwear garb, fell just above her knees. There were freckles there too. Captivated, Jaster felt his heart rate pick up a little.

The woman ran a finger across the bottom of her corset contemplatively, “Would this be a hindrance with your people?”

Pulled from his daze, Jaster replied with a bit of confusion, “I mean, can you do some heavy lifting? Not large rocks or anything like that, but everyone will be put to work in creating our community. You might be helping with farming, laundry, and such like.”

Jeyne was the one who replied with a nod, “That won't be a problem. All women wear a version of a corset.” She then turned to Sansa, “I'll pick up some boning, we can make some working stays on the trip.”

Thoughtfully, Sansa pointed out, “As long as we keep one formal corset, I'm sure we can adjust the other ones we have. Save on supplies.”

Bemused, Jaster watched them debate back and forth. It reminded him discussing logistics in a fight or raid with Myles or Silas. With the two women coming to an agreement, Jeyne gave a friendly tug on Sansa's braid before departing. For a long moment, his wife stared at the closed door, her expression sad.

“Everything alright?”

Sansa hummed lowly at his question, glancing back at him. “Yes.”

That was a lie, but instead of pointing out that they promised honesty, Jaster kept quiet. That particular topic felt more between Jeyne and Sansa than something for him to shove his nose into. Whatever was on Sansa's mind did not last long, the woman going over to an open trunk, pulling a dress off the top, prepared for their leave.

Taking that as his cue, Jaster began to redress. His clothes were clean enough, and he could always change on the ship. Methodically, Jaster suited up into his armour, years of practice he could do them with eyes closed. Has actually done so when Zaran bet he couldn't. When finishing with the last latch, Jaster looked over at Sansa and stalled.

Having expected one of her long, full coverage dresses, the sight of something different was jarring. Dark blue dress a shorter length to her knees, Jaster noted the black trousers and high boots. Far more practical for movement, which Sansa was predicting. However, it was the collar of the white blouse under the dress that caught his eye. It was lower, showing half of the scar.

His fingers twitched, remembering the softness of the scar tissue, how he trailed his fingers over it as he cupped her neck.

In the midst of re-braiding her hair, Sansa met his gaze. “You said no one would judge me for scars.”

Slowly, Jaster nodded, “'Lek. No one would really look twice.”

The hint of fragility melted away, Sansa relieved. “Good. I'll let you get to your people, as I'm having a private breakfast with my family.”

“Of course.” Let her have her last good byes for a long while. She would be able to visit sometime in the future, Jaster wasn't one to keep family apart, but it wouldn't be for some months at the very least.

However, just as they passed the threshold of her room, Jaster caught her arm in a gentle hold. Frowning, Sansa eyed him with caution, only to go wide eyed as Jaster stepped closer and leant in, touching his forehead to hers. Closing his eyes, Jaster inhaled and took in the soft moment, the warmth of being near her. She smelt of pine wood and flowers.

When he opened his eyes, Sansa's had softened. Slowly, the woman reached up, brushing a single finger across a scar that gouged down his right cheek. He recalled last night, where she did the same, and wondered if perhaps it was a comfort for her. “This means something, doesn't it?”

It took him a second to process her question, and how she was referring to the keldabe kiss. Playfully, Jaster murmured, “A kov'nynir, or mirshmure'cya, depending on the context. Both mean head butt, a brain kiss for the literal translation.”

Once more, those deep blue eyes widened, before crinkling at the sides. A secret little smile teasing her lips. They were still so close and his heart beat quickened. “So you still managed to steal a kiss last night, hm?”

She said it in a way to tease, so he felt no guilt. Still, easing away from her, Jaster cleared his throat, “A kiss was required, but I hadn't wanted to over-step.”

Backing away as well, Sansa appeared grateful at his consideration though a hint of astonishment was present as well. For what, he couldn't completely make out, as Sansa soon departed, with only a squeeze on his arm as a parting gesture.

Left there, Jaster watched her back, the sway of her braid with every step. After last night, he knew they passed their first major hurdle in their relationship. Hopefully, soon, Jaster would be able to unravel the mystery that was his new riduur. But he should probably ask her to marry him soon…

Huffing a soft laugh, Jaster placed his buy'ce on.

The private family dining hall was loud with talk. Her nephew Desmond was rambling about a book he had read to Jon, whilst Ryland was engrossed with whatever story Arya was regaling to him. Beside Sansa, Erena was humming under her breath between every mouthful. It sounded like a particularly lively version of the Dornishman's wife. Around her, the rest of her family chatted as if the hanging weight of her departure was non-existent. And Sansa was relieved. She wanted her last moment with them to be filled with the usual cheer, no melancholy in sight.

A bit further down the table was Jeyne and her father, softly conversing. If she could convince Jeyne to stay, she would've. The woman was just too stubborn and steadfast however, dismissing Sansa's suggestions of staying behind. After being so far from her father and in danger in the past, she had just wanted her friend to stay close to her only living blood. But the Poole loyalty was a strong thing, and Jeyne would not waver from her conviction. Jeyne promised to stay by her side, and Sansa knew her friend would keep it to her dying breath.

Sometimes, Sansa had no idea on what to do with such loyalty. Instead, she prayed that it wouldn't get Jeyne killed, like it almost did many times in the past.

On her other side, Sansa's mother broke her inner musings, “Sweetling,” When she glanced up at the queen, she was greeted with concern. “You're very quiet. I know you're leaving but...did anything happen last night?”

The constant concern from her family was infuriating and warming all at once. And now starting to become completely unnecessary. The kindness and comfort during her flash back last night still hung heavily in her mind, along with the words he had whispered, the ones in his language. She would have to search for their meanings. Shaking her head in response to her mother's concern, Sansa replied, “All was well, mother. As he said in the first meeting, we did not consummate.”

Fist worrying the handle of her fork, mother murmured, “Then the marriage is not a true one if someone found out.”

Taking a bite of her toast, Sansa stated primly, “Then don't let anyone know. Right now, only you and Jeyne know. I'm sure Jaster will tell his two men, but they wouldn't say anything due to their loyalty to him. All will be well, mother.”

Though the woman still appeared doubtful, she eased up on her frowning and placed a soft kiss to Sansa's temple. “As long as you are well and safe, then I will be content to let it be.”

When Jeyne and Sansa's trunks and things were piled onto a cart, the married woman felt the weight of her departure more heavily now that the time was closing in. Arya had pressed a small wooden container to her hands, and Sansa had to smother her sister in a strong embrace. Inside was varying packets of seeds of Sansa favourite fruits, flowers, and vegetables. There were lemons seeds!

Lord Poole had also given a gift to Jeyne, though her friend hadn't shown it to her yet. Sansa would inquire later whilst on their journey to Jaster's home.

The atmosphere was sad, despite the exuberant hugs of goodbyes. However, the rush of a ship flew over head had everyone's eyes turning upwards in surprise, the tension rapidly rising at the sight of it. It was a Lannister ship, the golden lion painted on the bottom of the vessel. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see where many of her family members rested their hands on their weapons, only for Jeyne to say, “They come in peace.”

Whipping her head around, Sansa caught the pointed look from Jeyne, and scowled her friend's way. “You wrote to them, didn't you?”

Lacking any remorse, her friend shrugged, “King Tyrion had the right to know, considering the circumstances.”

Chest clenching, Sansa gritted her teeth, sharply shoving Arya's gift into a trunk. With a loud whistle, Lady came to her side as Sansa marched to Winterfell's gate. Behind her, there was a start of a conversation, no doubt Jeyne explaining herself to the king. Her friend took a huge risk in doing this, but was smart enough to do so with the knowledge she would be off planet with no punishment to follow her. Except for Sansa's tongue lashing when things have settled back down.

Under normal circumstances, who ever on the ship would actually be the one to come to the castle, however Sansa knew no one wanted a Lannister to step into Winterfell ever again. Once was enough.

And she should've brought guards, but whomever was on that ship meant her no harm, especially with Jeyne having contacted them. Though furious with her friend, Sansa understood why she went behind her back. Still. They would be having words.

“Sansa.” Stalling in her tracks, Sansa turned to see Jaster, having followed her away from the courtyard. “Is everything alright?” There was tension in his posture, ready to fight at the first sight of danger. By her family, Sansa noted with surprise how Myles and Zaran had spread out to flank either side of her family, Jango discretely standing beside where the children were. They were ready to protect them the second Jaster gave a signal.

Gaze cutting back to him, Sansa willed her heart to calm, too much happening all at once. She needed to keep herself centred and as unaffected by her new husbands concern for her family as possible. She could swoon about it later with Jeyne.

Breathing in heavily, she unclenched her fists. “It's fine.” Sansa muttered. And having a feeling he would follow after her even if she protested, she didn't put up a fuss as he came to step beside her. Together, they silently made their way out the gates of the keep, where the ship was landed some ways away in the fields surrounding her home. There were guards gathered on the battlements, archers no doubt ready to strike.

The ship ramp had already been lowered, and for a split second, hope burst through her heart, thinking it would be who she wanted to truly see, only for Jamie Lannister to step down.

Sighing hard, unabashedly disappointed, Sansa said, “Stay here. He won't harm me.”

Even through the helmet, Jaster was obvious in the way he eyed Jamie with suspicion. “You're sure about that?” His hand rested on his blaster.

“Not if he knows what's good for him.” She mumbled darkly as she strode over to the man, leaving her husband a few paces behind her. Nearly eight years since she last saw the man, and Jamie Lannister was still as handsome as their first meeting. Golden hair had dimmed with age, along with more weathered skin and wrinkles on his face, but he still held the beauty he was famed for. When she got closer, his charming smile sent her way still made her scowl with irritation.

“I'm going to kill Jeyne for doing this.” Was her opening words. And after the man cast a wary glance at Lady, who sat neatly next to her, he teased, “Is that any way to greet family?”

Deadpanned, Sansa replied, “You stopped being family the second your son decided to slaughter my household and wage a war. Your family has caused me nothing but misery.”

The man snorted, wryly conceding, “We do seem to do that. I swear we're a lot better now.”

His humorous comment and insistence had her lips quirking involuntarily. “I hate you all, but we already knew that. So what do you want?”

Taking no offence in her rude demand, the man only continued to smile. Over his shoulder, Jamie then swung a small satchel down, holding it out for her. “Wedding gifts, courtesy of House Lannister.”

Raising a brow, Sansa commented lightly as she reached out to grasp the straps, “Including your lovely sister?”

Green eyes rolled in annoyance, “Cersei was over joyed to know you were marrying a Mandalorian. No doubt having heard of their brutality.”

“Well,” Sansa muttered, as she opened the satchel, “Best let her stay that way, wouldn't want to smother her happiness.”

It went silent. And when she gave him a glance up and away from some of the jewelery that Myrcella had apparently sent to her from Dorne, Jamie was staring at her seriously, eyes glancing behind her once. Glancing over at the no doubt unsettling and vaguely terrifying form of the Mand'alor, his dark red and black armour a walking warning for anyone who laid eyes upon him.

However, slightly touched by his concern, Sansa dipped her head, “He's a good man.” And she left it at that. It was enough for Jamie, whose mood picked up again as he japed, “I think they will enjoy Lady, if you're bringing her.” His eyes cut a cautious glance at her direwolf once more, “Truly, such vicious creatures belong together.”

“You're grudge is noted and ignored.”

Sansa couldn't blame the man for his caution, seeing as he spent a good time terrified of Grey Wind when a prisoner of the Starks. And then his father was then mauled by same direwolf a year later during the last big battle before the North secured their victory.

When she got to the bottom of the bag, there was a bundle of letters, each with her name on it in familiar writing. For a moment, Sansa couldn't breath, until Jamie murmured, “Tyrion has kept his word. We know that the updates were not frequent enough, but a Lannister always pays their debts.”

Taking a trembling breath in, Sansa felt her knees weaken, falling to them as she clutched the letters tight to her chest.

Within seconds Lady was by her side, whining in concern and nudging at her face. As well as Jaster, who fell to one knee beside her, gripping her shoulder in concern as he called out her name. He sounded ready to kill Jamie.

Shaking her head, not wanting to start another war, Sansa stuttered, “I'm fine-it's alright. Just-” However, she couldn't finish her sentence. Forcing her breath even and blinking away the tears, Sansa looked up at Jamie. The man eyed the newly married couple and Jaster's defensive position, hand resting on his blaster.

Whatever he saw however had the tension fleeing his shoulders, slouching into a relaxed position once more as he said to Jaster, “Best keep her safe and protected, Mandalorian. In the Westerlands, there are those who still sing her name with love and praise. She was their queen and is a king-maker. That holds weight.”

Then, with a nod in Sansa's direction as a goodbye, he turned and disappeared into his ship.

In her hands, the bundle of letters were gripped so tight, that she had to stuff them back in the the satchel, terrified of ruining them. Next to her, Jaster was silent as she pulled her composure back together.

“He seems like an asshole.”

She snorted at his frank statement. “He is. His sister far worse. But Jamie helped keep me safe at times from Joffrey, so I do hold some begrudging gratitude for the frustrating man.” Jaster chuckled in response, but it was a weak one. Gently, his hand stroked up and down her back, the motion soothing and helping her pull herself back together.

Sniffling, Sansa whispered, “You must be tired of seeing me cry.”

Jaster's other hand tilted her chin up, and Sansa stared up into the visor of the helmet, knowing that behind them were gentle hazel eyes. “You have a lot to cry about, Sansa.” He replied with sympathy, “And as long as you know you can come to me, or Jeyne, for comfort, then that's all that matters.”

Wiping at her eyes, she returned the offer, “And you as well. I'm here if you need me.”

A pause. “Thank you, Sansa.” And he stood up, offering a hand for her. Once back on their feet, they headed towards the castle. She had goodbyes to finish.

It was expectedly tearful, her siblings smothering her into another massive group hug the second she got back to their side. There were demands that she promised to visit, as well as to come to them if they needed help. Even Jon quietly offered the sanctuary of the Wall, if need be.

With her parents, they each gave her long hugs, whispers for Sansa to be brave and stay safe.

Jeyne herself received Stark sibling goodbyes, seeing as she was basically family too. And Lord Poole gave Sansa a warm squeeze as well.

On the cart, Sansa and Jeyne watched Winterfell shrink into the distance, heading down the road to Winter town. Hands clasped together, offering silent comfort, the two women left their home for the third time. But this time around, they would also be leaving the planet entirely. They hadn't even been to their own moons, so it was daunting. There would be no easy way back home if they needed to leave.

Sansa prayed it wouldn't come to that.

At the ship, loading up their things, Lady tilted her head back and let out a long, low and mournful howl to the sky. The Mandalorians startled, turning towards the creature, however Jeyne and Sansa just looked towards the direction of Winterfell, and waited. As soon as Lady's howl trailed off, in the distance, they picked up the faint calls back of the rest of the pack.

Whining, Lady butted her head into Sansa's chest, who wrapped her arms around her. Sniffling, the woman murmured, “I know, Lady. I'll miss them too.”

Lady had never been separated from her siblings like Sansa had. This would be the first time, and there would be planets and empty space between them. Jeyne also joined in on comforting the sad direwolf, rubbing soothingly at her furry ears.

“Will she be okay on the flight?” Jango piped up, coming closer. His warm brown eyes cast a concerned glance over at Lady.

“Depends on the journey length.” Sansa shrugged, helplessly, “Unless you have a place for her to relieve herself on the ship, then she can only last so long.”

Making a face at the thought of direwolf excrement, Jango replied, “It's a six hour flight once we hit hyper space. So best to have her go before we take off.”

Humming in acknowledgment, Sansa turned to her companion. Golden eyes blinked at her as she softly pushed Lady's face away, the animal trying to lick into her mouth. “Go on. Be quick.”

Huffing, Lady turned tail and trotted off to a nearby patch of trees and bushed. Looking away, Sansa caught Jango's curious expression. “How intelligent is she?”

Jeyne was the one who replied, amused, “They're all smart, far more than a typical animal. But the Stark's connection with them make it far easier to communicate.”

With a furrow of his brow, Jango probed, “What kind of connection? Like, with the mind or something?”

Grinning, Sansa cryptically stated, “Or something.” And left it at that, wanting to ease them all into the idea of warging. They would learn at one point or another, but best to explain went they had the time and space to demonstrate, which was certainly not at this moment.

And seeing as she wasn't going to say anything else, Jango glowered perpetually and marched back to the ship. Jaster, who was stepping back out as the last of everything was loaded, ruffled the boy's hair as he passed.

Coming to stop before them, he eyed them, “Ready to go?”

Unintentionally, both women looked back in unison, towards Winter town, to their home looming in the distance. It was most likely her eyes playing tricks, but Sansa could have sworn she saw figures standing on the battlements.

Next to her, Jeyne's breath shuddered, and when she glanced over, there were silent tears starting to trail down her cheeks. Sansa's bottom lip trembled, taking Jeyne's hand into hers. They shared a look, one that spoke more than words could have, then turned and walked into a ship.

They will be gone for a long time. But in their hearts, they knew one day they would come back. The North had a way of calling it's own home, in life or in death. Either way, the North sunk it's teeth into you, and you couldn't escape it's hold.

Wiping at her wet cheeks, Jeyne muttered, “We should get Lady settled.”

Doing so, Zaran led them towards the cargo hold, where their things had been strapped down. Letting out a low whuff, Lady sniffed the area, sent them all a dispassionate look, before laying down with a huff. Her ear flicked once and all around, Sansa's direwolf looked distinctly unimpressed. That garnered twin giggles of soft amusement from the women, their sadness abating for a little while.

Zaran then spoke up, covered face tilting to the side, “You'll want to strap down until we hit hyperspace. Seats would be best, and from there you can see us ascend up into space.”

“Would we be able to see Winterfell as we leave?” Sansa asked.

The zabrak nodded, “We'll be flying over it before hitting orbit.”

Decision made, Sansa pressed a kiss to Lady's head, “We'll be back shortly. Don't worry and stay laying down, alright?”

Lady sneezed, before resting her head onto the ground, blinking slowly up at her.

Walking through the ship, Sansa had to marvel at the strange designs, all the metal work around them. Fingers lightly fluttering over walls, dipping into very thin crevices where the metal panels were welded together. Jeyne also was showing enraptured curiosity, heading tilting up to stare at the lights above them.

It wasn't that advanced technology was unknown to them, just very rare to see on Westeros. There was much for them to learn then, if the Mandalorians used technology like this with frequency.

As they settled down in the seats shown to them, Jango helping them strap in, both women looked to their left, where there was a small window. Right now, it faced away from Winter town, mostly seeing the grass and trees where the ship was landed.

However, soon the ship hummed to life, Sansa startling and reflexively reaching out for Jeyne's hand. The other woman gripped it just as tight in surprise. Where they were sat, they couldn't see who was piloting the ship, but Sansa wagered it was Jaster.

Stomach taking a sharp swoop as the ship began to rise, Sansa swallowed heavily. Her eyes found Jeyne once more, and her dear friend had her own squeezed shut, lips moving in silent prayer. Giving their hands a squeeze, she drew Jeyne's focus to her, eyes snapping open. Brown eyes were wide with panic, and Sansa leant close.

Touching her head to Jeyne's temple, she murmured, “I'll be beside you until we draw our last breaths.”

Shifting as best as she could from where she was buckled in, Jeyne recited, “Until we are but bones in the ground.”

The years old promise rung heavily between them, until they had to part to look out the window. They were onto their next adventure. Hopefully, this one held less pain. Below them, Winterfell stood tall and proud, and Sansa had never thought she would see her home from such a height.

Both of them took a sharp breath in, filled with awe and grief as they flew past their home, rising through the clouds. Slowly, even those white puffs disappeared, with the blue sky fading into nothing back blackness. Within seconds, they had left the atmosphere and entered the stars.

They had left Westeros. This was it. There was no turning back now. No way to leap out and run back into her family's embrace.

Clanking of movement came from the front of the ship, Sansa glanced over to see Myles walking towards them, the door he came from sliding close with a hiss, completely at ease in the moving ship. Then again, it ran a lot smoothly than a cart or ship.

“Hyperspace will be coming in a few, so brace yourself until we lock onto our path. From there, you can move.” Myles informed them.

Frowning, Jeyne questioned, “But you're moving about. Is that not dangerous?”

The man shook his head, “Ships are pretty damn stable to move about in when entering space. We just thought it would be best to have you sitting down for your first time leaving orbit.”

“Thank you.”

Nodding at their gratitude, Myles reached up to grip a length of pole overhead in a practised motion, and with a sharp jerk, there was nothing but white lines filling the view outside the window. “Okay, we're good. You can walk about now.”

Sansa wondered at how he knew when to hold on but at that moment, Jaster comes, the door hissing open again. Glancing between them, still with his helmet on, the man asked, “Alright you two?”

Sansa nodded slowly, as Jeyne shrugged indifferently.

“I can show you somewhere to rest, if you want.” Jaster then offered.

“Can we stay with Lady in the hold?” The red head asked, “She's calm typically, but this is her first time too.”

“That works.” Jaster agreed, “Best keep the massive fluffball calm.” The helmet made it difficult to tell what he was feeling, only his tone of voice and emphasised movements of his body were the only indications. She hoped that when they arrived, he would take it off again.

Weakly smiling, Sansa unbuckled herself, and after pausing to wait for Jeyne, they headed back the way they came alone. When spotted, Lady's tail lightly thumped, a whine like groan escaping the animal.

“I think she hates flying.” Jeyne commented, a wry tilt to her lips. A breath of laughter was Sansa's response as she sat down in front of her direwolf, the creature nuzzling into her stomach.

As she gave some scratches and pets, Jeyne went to their travel bag, packed with some light sewing and a few books for something to do. They pulled out the data pad from Jango and jumped back into the Mando'a module they had started to work on. It was basic pronunciations of their letters and some simple words. Though she hadn't had the time to search up the words Jaster used last night, Sansa still had that goal in mind for the near future.

Sansa kept up the calming motions of stroking Lady, which helped soothe the animal in turn, as Jeyne tugged out some sewing. Both hands preoccupied, their minds were fixed onto the lesson and not the leaving of their home and planet.

At least, that was until perhaps an hour or so, the lesson ending and before they started the next one, Sansa finally asked, “What did your father give you?”

Glancing up from the beginnings of a corset shifting into working stays, Jeyne replied, “He got me a blaster.”

Sansa's eyebrows flew to her hair line, astonished. “Truly?”

Shyly, Jeyne admitted, “I want to learn how to shoot. I know the basics of a sword as well as a bow thanks to Arya and my training, but I figured there wasn't much use for it away from Westeros. I had talked to father after we heard the news of your marriage, and he procured one.”

“How in the seven hells did he do that?”

Jeyne gave her a sly smirk, “A Poole never reveals their secrets.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. My mistake. I forgot your family was sneaky like that.”

Laughing lightly, Jeyne turned back to her sewing, changing the subject. “I was thinking on Jaster's words. How we will be doing some light labour. I thought perhaps if we could adjust some of our dress skirts into hidden trousers.”

“Hm.” Sansa hummed in consideration. “So they would appear like skirts but have a larger range of movement just in case.”

“Exactly. And this way, it wouldn't be a large waste in fabrics if we have to cut dresses into different garments.”

Smiling at her friend proudly, Sansa complimented, “Well done, Jeyne. A very practical idea.”

Bashful, her friend added, “And it still keeps up the illusion that we are wearing skirts like proper ladies.”

Sansa snorted, “Not like many would care any more. Not where we're going.”

That sobered them up. Taking her eyes off her friend to glance down at Lady, Sansa worried her lip. Jeyne's hand had stilled in her sewing. For a long moment, quiet reigned around them, with only the humming of the ship to fill it.

“You don't think,” Jeyne started, hesitant, “That they'll be...unwelcoming?”

Cupping Lady's jaw, Sansa raised the direwolf's head up to place a soft kiss onto her nose. Lady licked her face in return, a delicate kiss. “I can only hope not. Either way,” And here, Sansa tried to sound confident with her next words, “We will be calm and poised. We've been through Joffrey's court, suffered through the mockery and pain together. Their judgement will not tear us down.”

Firmly, Jeyne nodded in agreement. “We've got one another, if nothing else. And that's got us through everything the gods have thrown our way.”

Releasing Lady's head, Sansa curled over her, running her hands through the thick coat of fur. Jeyne was right. Sansa had to trust the Jaster was right in his assessment of his people. They would either accept them or not, but she knew he wouldn't allow them to come to harm. And if none of them liked Sansa or Jeyne, that was okay. Because they had one another.

Born but months apart, they had been together since Jeyne came from her mother's womb, sharing a wet nurse and sometimes a cradle. A highborn lady or princess and her companions were always raised close in order to encourage loyalty and trust. Jeyne was with Sansa every step, and she in turn. They had watched one another's backs and saved the other multiple times. If no one wanted to be around them after arriving to Jaster's planet, then that was fine. Sansa could live her life with just Jeyne and Lady if it came to that. She could live just fine that way.

Meeting Jeyne's gaze, Sansa knew they shared that exact same thought.

Settling back down into the pilot's seat, Jaster sighed heavily.

“Alright there, alor?” Myles asked, amused.

Taking off his buy'ce just to rub at his tired eyes, the man muttered, “She's known as a king-maker, apparently. And still seemed to have a civil relationship with her first husband's family. I'm so kriffing confused, vod.”

Laughing, Zaran reached from the co-pilot speech to jostle his shoulder, “Just ask her out-right. She trusts you a lot more right?” At Jaster's nod, the zabrak continued, “So there you go. She seems forthwith in answering questions.”

“Yeah, and when I asked her about the scar on her neck, she had a flash back.” Jaster snarked, that previous anger flaring.

Myles hummed, scratching at his neck, “Then just be gentle. You know your own triggers, so figure out what hers are and work around them.”

Leaning back in his seat, Zaran added lightly, “Jeyne has her own story too.”

Both of his men seemed to have garnered a heavy dose of respect for Jeyne and her devotion. Madokarla at it's finest. Side eyeing them, Jaster warned, “Don't kark up like I did. They both are to be admired for their strength.”

Holding his hands up in surrender, Zaran replied, “And I agree with you. Just...find Jeyne interesting.”

Jango gagged, “Ugh, don't, Zaran.”

Though his buy'ce covered his face, all of them could see the shit-eating grin behind the metal as the zabrak teased, “Awww, he's bashful.”

With another noise of disgust, Jango stomped out of the cock-pit, teenage disgruntlement in all it's glory. Jaster shot both men a glare as they chuckled, “Thanks for that. He's going to be a nightmare the rest of the trip.”

Their lack of remorse had Jaster shoving his helmet back on. Folding his arms, he leant back in the chair to get a few hours of shut eye. For a few seconds, it was like he could feel Sansa's fingers across his facial scars.

Chapter Text

The planet that the True Mandalorians had settled on was Vorpa'ya. With only nerf herders – the settlers on the other side of the planet – the Mandalorians had pretty much free range with what they did. Still within the Mandalorian sector, but out of the jurisdiction of Concord Dawn, seeing as he was still technically banished and with allegations of murder.

He still held firm that killing that corrupt superior officer was within the Mandalorian Creed, even before he restructured it into the Super Commando Codex.

Either way, Vorpa'ya was a perfect place to really settle his people down, letting them rebuild homes and find a foot hold. With the New Mandalorians having the backing of the Republic, for now it was safer to gather more numbers and strength, until they were truly ready to push their power forward.

Jaster had no interest in the Republic, except for maybe getting a chance to finally get into the Jedi Archives. The amount of history they held but baring the public from reading was shameful. He sometime would just sit and think about all the past knowledge they must have on the Mandalorians of old. Maybe they would help with this king osik.

However, if things went well, they could maybe get some voice on the Republic's Senate. Particularly, Sansa. Outsiders did not understand that an arranged marriage was practically an insult on Mandalorian culture, as to choose a riduur was a serious and life long choice, politics should never be involved.

His own people were very vocal in their disapproval, but with how the nerf herders had nearly over grazed Vorpa'ya, they were low on any king of buildable material. The North was a blessing from the Ka'ra in Jaster's eyes, and seeing as Sansa wasn't a terrible person, he was sure that his people would get over themselves. He was fine with the marriage, and so was Sansa. That was all that mattered, seeing as marriage was a private affair with no outsiders influence allowed. Hence the dislike for arranged unions.

The flight to Vorpa'ya was peaceful, hyperdrive a hum around the vessel, and no complaints arising from the two women in the back. Jaster hadn't expected any, but it was still their first flight in space, so he wouldn't have blamed them for any discomfort. However, they were quiet when he peeked in on them two hours in, sat across from one another as they were surrounded by fabric and varying bits and pieces of clothing. Lady was sleeping behind Sansa, his wife leaning back into the soft fur. His hand twitched with the want to pet the creature again.

They glanced up at his entrance, Jaster giving them a greeting nod. “Everything alright back here?”

Sansa nodded, appearing weirdly tight-lipped as Jeyne piped up and gained his attention, “Is there any available warm drinks? It is a bit cold back here.”

“Thought you two were used to the cold?” Jaster couldn't help but tease, and Sansa cracked a little smile, a melancholy for her departure from their home still lingering, “Yes, but it's typically acknowledged that we try to stay warm, even used to the colder temperatures.”

Huffing softly, Jaster stepped back from the door way, “I've got some teas on the ship, if that works?”

Both women dipped their heads in gratitude, so Jaster took his leave. They looked like they were still adjusting to leaving their home world, so he didn't want to hover. He had suggested tea, and not just because it was soothing for the nerves, but also because from first hand knowledge the North had no caf, and figured the bitterness was not to their liking. He had seen the amount of sweet tarts and lemon cakes the two consumed, and figured their sweet tooth would not agree with his favoured drink.

Making up the tea in the small kitchen, Jango joined him a minute later. “Are they busy back there?”

Jaster shrugged, “In the middle of sewing some stuff, but didn't seem adverse to other company.” the boy had a way of making Sansa brighten up with genuine delight, perhaps reminding her of her brothers, so maybe that would help her feel less sad. Jango took that as confirmation he could go hang out back there, and turned around to leave.

“Hang on!” The man stopped him, a fond smile on his lips at the boy's eagerness. Jango stalled in his leaving, letting Jaster hand over the teas, “Give them this, Jan'ika.” And then ruffled Jango's curls just because he could.

The boy huffed irritably, unable to swat Jaster's hand away, “Kay.” And Jaster watch the boy depart finally, drinks in hand. It was good to know, that Jango didn't mind Sansa much, and seemed to actively seek her out at times. It made the transition of their family being two becoming three easier.

He paused. Or was it four, seeing as Jeyne was a package deal when it came to marrying Sansa. Sister- in-law, perhaps? He knew that on their world, it was blood that mattered more than any bonds outside of relation, but to Mandalorians, the two women would be seen as sisters just the same as Arya and Sansa were. Jaster shrugged at that thought process, taking a sip of his caf as he made his way back to the cockpit. A thought for another time. However, it hit him that he still hadn't told Sansa about the decision to marry her the Mandalorian way, and felt some sweat break out on his brow. He was severely running out of time.

Sansa let out a relieved breath, heart pounding as Jaster left the room. Having heard his footsteps approaching, thought she didn't know who at the time, Sansa was quick to stuff the leather work under her skirts just as the door slid open. It was only due to years with Joffrey and the royal court that she managed to keep her expression calm and placid, with Jeyne doing most of the talking in that short moment, always ready to cover up and distract for Sansa.

They shared a glance, Jeyne smirking as she worked on a shortened hem of a dress, making Sansa poke her tongue out in defence at the silent mocking. Pulling the leather back out, Sansa was lucky she hadn't been working on the staining of the material, otherwise that would've been a horrible stain on her skirts that she did not wish to deal with.

However, just as she was getting back into the process of working the edges, smoothing them out, more footsteps approached and Sansa fumbled with the leather, stuffing them back under her dress. Jeyne cracked up at her flailing just as the door slid open, revealing Jango holding two steaming mugs.

He cast a bewildered glance from the laughing Jeyne to the flushed and embarrassed Sansa, stepping into the room. The door slid close as he ventured, “Alright?”

Sansa sighed, hard, “Jeyne is just being ridiculous, don't concern yourself over it, Jango.”

Though still confused, the boy nodded, setting the teas down for them as he sat down himself. Wonderful. She would either have to finish it in front of him, wheedling out a promise to keep it a secret from his father, or wait until later when she was alone to do so. Silently sighing, Sansa took the offered drink and breathed in the warm steam. It smelt of something sweet, some fruit or flower, and Sansa took a tentative sip. The liquid was hot on her tongue, but the taste was delightful.

“This is lovely, Jango. Please give Jaster my thanks.”

The boy nodded, glancing curiously over at their organised mess. “What are you doing?”

Jeyne, having caught her breath and also taking some small sips of her tea, answered, “We're adjusting our wardrobes.”

Jango cocked his head to the side, “Because the skirts are too long?” He guessed, and Sansa gave a nod, “More or less, yes. We know there will be labour to help with, not much sitting about like most high born ladies do. Though I know some common born women can till the land in skirts, we haven't had much practise in that skill.” Sansa chuckled a little, “And we figured that it would be more practical to have the hems not dragging across the ground.”

The boy made a face, “Why would you have them dragging to begin with? Isn't it nice fabric, or whatever? Why get it dirty?”

“Because, as high born, we don't have to wash them.” Jeyne stated factually, “We had people who would do that for us.”

At that, Jango made an unimpressed expression, “That's not fair to the workers.”

Jeyne and Sansa shared a glance. They both knew that things and society were different outside of Westeros, and that Mandalorians didn't have much need for servants, as they did their own housekeeping and labour. Cultural differences were sometimes hard to grasp, so Sansa offered, “You're right, but it's also a job for them. However, we are aware of the fact we won't be having others clean our clothes, so we're making it easier for ourselves in the future.”

“Plus,” Jeyne added with a snort, “I'm sure we would look very silly and out of place, wandering in full court gowns in the middle of a Mandalorian camp site.”

Jango grinned, “Oh definitely. But you would at least look pretty doing it.”

The women cooed, Jeyne leaning towards him, “You think we're pretty, Jango?”

The boy spluttered, hastily standing up and beating a retreat out of the room, the women's laughter following him out.

Getting back to work, the two went back and forth with general conversation and even singing a couple of their favourite songs to fill the silence. It was as she setting the vambrace to the side, perhaps about an hour after Jango left, to reach for a simple blue linen dress that there was another approach of foot steps.

Sighing hard, and valiantly ignoring Jeyne's snort, Sansa tossed her finished corset over the leather to look up at the door. It was Jaster again, and there was some tension in his shoulders. Immediately both when went on their guard, “What's wrong?”

Jaster waved away her concern quickly, “Nothing, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just- uh...I had a question.”

The strange nervousness in the typically collected man did nothing to dissuade their caution as he stepped in a crouched down before them. Glancing over at Sansa, Jaster cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck, “Would you do me the honour of marrying me, Sansa?”

Sansa blinked, bewildered, “Aren't we already married?”

“Not my way.”

She was taken off guard with how vulnerable his eyes were, like he was trying to put on a brave face but some insecurity was underneath and coming through. Smiling, Sansa gave him a nod, “I would be honoured to marry you again, Jaster. I'm correct on it being an exchanging of vows in mando'a?”

Jaster slumped in relief, “Thank the stars. And yeah, do you know them or...?” She nodded again and he let out a grateful breath.

Amused, Sansa wondered at his reaction, and if he really thought she would say no. She knew that marriage was something only done with someone you share a deep bond with, going by the information Jango gave her, and it was a little piece of her heart that hoped he would want to marry her that way too. That he cared for her to that degree. Maybe, there was a possibility that he...

“I thought that if we married before my people, it can secure your place here, and give my protection over you, just in case anyone was unhappy your presence.”

And just like that, the hope withered away. Of course. It wasn't for any possible affection but for practical purposes. Sansa kept her smile fixed as he continued, “We'll exchange the vows two days after arriving, as that should give you enough time to settle in, alright?”

Sansa dipped her head in agreement, “Of course, Jaster.”

He gave her a small grin, one that obviously meant he could not see her disappointment, before leaving the room. As the door slid shut with a hiss, Sansa's false smile dropped, lips pursing.

“Sansa...” Jeyne hesitated, hand coming out to rest on her arm.

“It's fine, Jeyne. We are at the very least friends, and I should not be searching for more from that.” Her words sounded hollow to her ears.

“Even if you want more?” Her friend ventured.

“Even then.” Sansa confirmed, nodding curtly. “We are here to try and make a new life. I am married in our people's eyes, and to do so in the True Mandalorian's is as Jaster said, a way to offer protection.”

“But,” Jeyne protested, “Didn't you say that they only make love bonds? Couldn't he be wanting to genuinely marry you?”

Sansa did not dare let herself hope again, and shook her head. “Maybe it's different this time around. Either way, I will not complain or back out.” And in a show of ending this conversation, Sansa went back to her sewing. It was good that she had made the vambrace for the wedding exchange, even if it wasn't because they were marrying for the typical reason.

It was years of practise that made it easy for her to push down her upset and resignation. A tiny voice nagged, saying that all those private moments and stolen kisses had to mean more, but Sansa dutifully ignored them. Those same thoughts were what led her into not seeing Joffrey for who he truly was until it was too late. She would not be fooled again.

When Myles informed them that they were dropping out of hyperdrive in a few minutes, Sansa and Jeyne put away their things. They were successful in adjusting their corsets for better movement, as well as shortening a few skirts and dresses. There was more work to be done, but for now they had a few change of clothing for the foreseeable future until they had time to do more adjustment.

After patting Lady in reassurance, the poor direwolf greatly disliking the trip despite how clam she managed to stay, Sansa led their way back to where they were sat when taking off, making sure to stop by the kitchen to drop off their empty mugs before buckling down just in time for the ship to shudder faintly, the rhythmic humming of what Sansa learnt to be the hyperdrive turning off.

As one, the two women peered out a window to see a planet. Green and dusty brown interspersed around large blue. Nothing seemed unusual or particularly special about the planet, but Sansa decided that was for the best for Jaster's people to settle down with ease. Jango mentioned that they were still within Mandalorian space, not too far from Mandalore, their ancestral home.

Sansa wondered if one day she would see it, or if the rest of her life would now be on this planet. She didn't know whether to feel happy about that or disappointed, and decided not to linger too long on the mixed feelings. She had to prepare herself for the judgement to come from Jaster's people, knowing that they would be finding her wanting from just the first glance, no matter how practical she tried to dress.

But she had faced criticism and sneers from Joffrey's court. She would not allow them to force her to shrink in on herself and appear weak. Sansa may not be a trained warrior, but she was not weak.

A hand slipped into hers and Sansa glanced to Jeyne. Her dearest friend gave her a steadfast look, firm and brave. In the judgement to come, Sansa knew she would not be alone, and that was enough to fully fortify her spine and determination. She would do what she could to prove herself, even though she felt it was insulting to do so. With the abuse in her past, no matter how downtrodden she was, Sansa knew her place in the world, knew her own self-worth, and she would keep that in mind as the future unfolded. She was a queen, even stripped from her crown, and a queen endured, just like the Starks and the North endured.

Jaster tried to not show any nerves he held for the soon introduction of Sansa to his people. He wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt that they would not look upon the woman with derision and unimpressed frowns, but knew that he couldn't do much to stop their initial reactions. But Jaster could only hope that Sansa would be able to weather through it until they came around to her. He knew her strong enough, but she was correct in it being unfair at having to prove herself and worth.

Sighing hard, ignoring the glance his men and son sent his way, Jaster led them into a landing near their largest ship, where most of the community interacted and held their meals, if they weren't eating outside that was. Already, Jaster could see the True Mandalorians gathering close to greet him and the others, and swallowed down the anxiety once more. It would be fine. Everything will be fine.

It was growing harder to convince himself of that as he met Sansa and Jeyne by the ship's door, the large metal entrance ready to be lowered into a ramp. He met Sansa's gaze, and behind the calm resolve she radiated, Jaster spotted the tension in her shoulders, and reached out. Resting a calming hand on her shoulder, Jaster leant down to bump a kov'nynir to her forehead now that he knew he could, and she closed her eyes after a moment of hesitation as she pressed back. It was a short exchange, but a silent reassurance that worked well in easing some of the tightness of her posture.

Stepping back, Jaster gave a nod to Zaran, who pressed the button to unlatch the hatch, the ramp lowering to reveal the gathered crowd of his people. With his buy'ce on, Jaster stepped out as the people thumped their fist to their chest in salute, and he grinned, stripping the helmet off. In response, they followed, familiar faces a welcoming sight.

After Myles and Zaran, the next in command was Thrane, the male stepping forward so they could clasp arms, “Welcome back, Jaster. Was the mission successful?”

Jaster nodded, “There's logistics to plan and discuss, but yes. Materials will be secured soon and we can begin construction.”

The man stepped back, “And the other part of the agreement?” And here, Jaster saw the way Thrane glanced over his shoulder, and he wasn't the only one that Jaster could see doing the same.

Clearing his throat to gain their attentions, Jaster turned to where Sansa and Jeyne were slowly coming down the ramp, Jango in front and looking ready to glare at anyone who disapproved of the women. Their shoulders were rolled back, poised and showing none of the nerves early as Jaster gestured Sansa over. The woman did so gracefully, and there was a faint twitch in her form where Jaster recognised as her holding back a curtsey. Instead, she dipped her head in greeting to the crowd as Jaster announced, “This is Sansa Stark, and her sister in arms Jeyne Poole.” Both women darted their gaze to him, surprised but it was a barely seen expression, immediately disappearing into cool passivity.

Facing his people, he continued, “By the North's traditions, we are wed, and I intend to perform the riduurok in two days time, with Sansa as my chosen partner.”

That caused murmurings and movement within the crowd, many no doubt shocked as Jaster had not mentioned that plan. To be honest, Jaster hadn't thought to marry her the Mandalorian way either, until he met and began to understand Sansa. He complied to the marriage for his people, but to marry by their standards meant the marriage wasn't just a political one. It told his people that the arrangement was now more personal.

And so, the scrutinising began, many wondering if Sansa would be good enough for their leader. The woman was silent through his announcement, showing no flicker of emotion, up until there was scratching of claws on mental and all attention was directed to where Lady was bounding out of the ship.

Weapons were drawn and Sansa rushed forward to collide into Lady's chest and neck, a surprising strength in the woman as she held back her companion from darting into the group of armed warriors. Jeyne followed in suit, helping to calm the excited animal as Jaster barked out to his people, “Hold your fire!”

“Alor-”

“The animal is Sansa's companion and is not to be harmed.” He ordered at the bubbling arguments. Arms drooped in shock, eyeing the massive furry beast, towering over the slight figure of Sansa, who was watching them with wariness. With one hand settled onto Lady's neck, Sansa spoke up, “Apologies for the commotion. She was just desperate for a chance to explore and run.”

Jaster gave an open gesture, “And she is free to.”

However, Sansa did not urge Lady on, instead she added further, more for his people than him, “She won't cause any harm, nor damage to anyone unless she is attacked first.” Then, after what Jaster – and also his people - understood to be a subtle warning, Sansa stepped away to allow the direwolf to press her nose to the woman's cheek before bolting off into the nearby forest, gleaming silver fur a streak as she ran.

Thrane coughed after an awkward silence, eyeing Sansa as he asked, “Do your people typically have such creatures as pets?”

When Sansa turned her gaze back to them, she only replied with a soft, “No.” And that was it. The Mandalorians looked unsure then at her short answer, and he could see some gearing up for another few questions, but he stepped in.

There was discomfort in her frame, and Jaster decided it was time to show her where she would be staying. With a sharp, “Dismissed!” To his people, and hearing them scatter reluctantly as he approached the women, Jaster held out his arm to his wife.

For a second, it looked as if she was going to refuse, but swallowed instead, offering an agreeable smile and she easily slipped her hand into the crook, now a familiar and warm weight that he was growing to enjoy. However, that hesitation was not forgotten, and suddenly Jaster realised that from leaving the North to arriving, something went wrong. He hoped he hadn't misspoken again, and that she was just uncomfortable in the unfamiliar area. Jaster would have to do what he could to help her ease into this new life. Next to her, Jeyne stepped forward to tangle her fingers with Sansa, eyeing the campsite as many got back to work but still watching the newcomers.

“Are we staying in a tent or ship?” Sansa wondered, no inflection on either, so Jaster couldn't tell if she was unhappy with one of the other.

“A ship. It's not as large as the cargo one,” To which he pointed towards for them, “But it's where Jango and I, along with a few others bunk. A room was recently cleared out for you, but Jeyne is an unexpected addition.”

Jeyne shrugged, eyeing the trees as they started on their trek to their quarters. They were naturally orange, leaves golden and shining in the afternoon sunlight. He couldn't wait for the reaction to how they glowed blue at night, a natural light around the campsite. “We've shared a bed many times as children, and as adults. This will feel no different.”

Jaster's mind immediately leapt to that soft wonder of whether or not there was some romantic entanglement between the women, and he was reminded how Sansa requested no fidelity on their first proper conversation.

He wasn't unfamiliar to polygamy, and decided that if, yes, his wife and her best friend were in fact together, then he would have to just find away to confirm that before continuing his plans to woo Sansa, as he knew that just that exchange of vows would not be enough in getting her to understand the length of his budding affections. Cultural difference, even with some of the studying she had done, would cause a lack of proper understanding of just how important a riduurok was to Mandalorians. As both women had mentioned, the two were a package deal. He had hoped that the offering of marriage would open up the opportunity to learn more on the two's relationship, but unfortunately not. So he would still need to find out what the situation was.

Keeping those thoughts to himself for now, Jaster replied, “The space should be big enough for you both, and your things will be brought there. Will Lady be sharing the space too?”

“She might for the first week,” Sansa answered, looking towards the distant ocean with interest, “But once familiar she will just find anywhere to sleep if not in the way or unwelcome.”

Myles snorted from where he was walking behind them, Jango having run off to meet up with some of his friends, “I'm sure none will find her unwelcome. If you thought Jango's reaction to her was excited, wait until you meet the younglings. They'll be begging to pet and to ride her.”

Sansa tossed a smile back at the man, “She might not be adversed to such attention. And she's not unused to having a rider.”

On the first interaction with Lady, Jaster didn't fully comprehend the fact that Sansa had ridden the direwolf, so to hear her reaffirm it made something in his stomach twist pleasantly, “I still can't believe you've ridden Lady.”

Jeyne muffled her laughter and Sansa hid her own amusement behind a delicate hand, “Of course, Jaster. If my brother rode Grey Wind during the war, then of course I and the rest of my siblings were going to do the same.”

His mind went to Mandalorian history, how the ancestors rode and tamed the giant mythosaurs before hunting them to extinction. If any of his people saw her doing the same with Lady, she might rise in their respect.

“What is the weather and seasons like here?” Sansa then asked, drawing him from his musings.

“Warm weather in the spring and summer, though we haven't been here long enough to go through a winter.”

Sansa tilted her head to the side in contemplation, “Should we ask the locals? You said they were farmers correct? They must know how hard the winters could possibly get, so that we can prepare for them in the future.”

“That would be a good idea,” Myles added in, coming up to walk beside Jaster, “We didn't talk much to the nerf herders besides trade and protection.”

And that seemed to be a mistake on his part, to which he replied a bit defensively, “I was more focused on the immediate future than seasons.”

The hand on his elbow squeezed gently, his gaze moving back to Sansa as she softly assured him, “And that is understandable, Jaster. I just wished to know so that we could prepare if it's a harsh season or not. It would a great loss if your people managed to get fully settled only, to lose what ever progress they had made due to weather they were not prepared for.”

The way she soothed him told Jaster of experience with far more volatile people, and he breathed out the small amount of irritation that was growing. “You're right. I'll see about speaking with them when I find the time-”

“I can, if you would like.” Sansa cut in. He paused in his steps, arching a brow at her offer. She tilted her chin up, “I've experience running a kingdom, Jaster. Let yourself focus on maintaining the military strength and the materials from the North, I will gather what information you will need. After all,” And she and Jeyne shared another one of those glances that spoke of years of interaction and familiarity, “I know what to ask when it comes to cold weather.”

Jaster gave another huff, a smile twitching on his lips. “Very well. We can organise a trip in a weeks time. Lets just getting you two settled first.”

“And the pair of you married again as well.” Jeyne chimed in, but her expression wasn't the usual levity when she was teasing. There was a heaviness, something assessing him and Jaster once more was realising he had definitely karked up somehow.

“That too.” The Mand'alor agreed. He hoped in two days time his people would have come to some positive conclusion on Sansa's person, finding her good enough or wanting in their eyes. He hoped they would come to admiring her just as he. However, he also hoped that in the next two days he would be able to figure out exactly what was going on with Sansa and why she was suddenly guarded again like their first couple of interactions. Something had regressed and he would get to the bottom of it.

Chapter Text

Jaster was hovering in the door way of what would be Sansa and Jeyne's new room, watching and waiting for their verdict. It was a decent size, perhaps a little bit smaller compared to her room back in Winterfell, but large enough for the pair of them. The bed could hold two people, there was a connecting 'fresher, and a work table next to a large dresser. A closet was available too, the door sliding to the side to reveal a rack and some hangers.

Her friend hummed thoughtfully, taking it all in before catching Sansa's eyes. In seconds she could tell that Jeyne approved just as Sansa did. Glancing over at her husband, Sansa stated, “This is perfect, Jaster. Thank you.”

A mixture of pleased and relieved, Jaster replied, “No worries. I think your things are being brought over soon, so you can begin to unpack and get yourselves situated.”

“Afterwards, would we be allowed to wander around?” Jeyne asked.

The man nodded, “Yeah, I can give you a tour-”

“That won't be necessary.” Sansa cut in gently, and added after seeing his frown, soothed further, “I'm sure your people will want to talk with you, so we don't want to take you away from your duties.”

For a moment, it looked as if he was going to argue, but closed his mouth. Instead, he eyed Sansa pensively, searching for something, however she didn't know what. What he was looking for, he must have found because after a curt nod, Jaster stepped back, “Alright. I'll see you around dinner time, it's in the cargo ship, the largest one here. If you need any directions or help, ask anyone.”

And with that, he gave a parting wave as he turned down the hallway. The door slid shut a few seconds after him. Left in silence, Sansa let out a heavy breath. “This is going to be just like Casterly Rock. All eyes on us.”

Jeyne glared at the floor, “Ridiculous.” She grumbled. “To think we got out of such situations, only to be thrown back into a new one. I felt like a mouse with a flock of hawks circling us out there.”

Coming over, Sansa took her friend's hand, meeting her brown eyes with an encouraging smile, “We know that at the very least, Jaster would not let any harm come to us. Hostility is fine until they try to physically hurt us. So we handle any scorn and derision with the same amount of poise and manner as we have always done.”

Still appearing unhappy, even as she nodded mutinously, Jeyne added, “And if they try anything I will shoot them.”

Laughing a little, Sansa wrapped the other woman up into an embrace, Jeyne returning it with familiar ease. Whatever may come, they had each other. And that was all they needed in this universe to stay strong.

Zaran arrived some minutes later with their things, three large, deep trunks, one for each woman and the third being some miscellaneous items they wished the bring with. After thanking him, they got to work unpacking, their longest dresses and skirts hung up as the tunics, blouses, and trousers were folded into the dresser draws. With their sizes being similar, Sansa being a bit taller than Jeyne, they were able to share quite a lot of their clothes and had no need to designate space in them for one another. The only thing they didn't share, of course, were under things.

A couple of the quilts and furs from Winterfell were laid out onto the bed, and Sansa began to hang up the little crystals Jaster had suggested she bring with onto the ceiling as Jeyne went about putting the tapestry up on their largest wall. It hung above the headboard of their bed, and they slid two trunks to rest against the foot of it. Placing some blankets over the top of the now empty trunks, they had a little seating area. The third was on one side of the bed as a table.

“Maybe some flowers would be nice.” Jeyne suggested, straightening out the quilts and pillows on the bed. Tying off the last of the crystals, Sansa hopped down from the desk to agree, “Did you see the trees and their leaves? I wonder if the glow would stay if we cut off a few branches.”

As they went back and forth on the possible final touches, there was a knock on their door. Exchanging glances, as one they slid on their courtly masks of accommodating and polite, Jeyne opening the door.

It was Jango. Their smiles became genuine as the boy asked as he took a curious look around their room, “You want a tour?”

Sansa glanced down at herself, still in the same tunic dress and trousers as when she arrived. It was simple, far more than she typically wore, but it would be presentable enough to walk around the campsite. Looking back up, she agreed, “That would be appreciated.”

“Yeah, I thought buir would've offered.” Jango said with a some confusion.

“He did,” Sansa explained, “But I didn't want to keep him away from any tasks or meetings. I'm sure many people want his attention since his return.”

“I guess. Makes sense.” He shrugged nonchalantly then gestured for them to follow. With him facing away, Jeyne murmured to Sansa, “I think you should talk to Jaster later in private.” Before following after the boy, giving Sansa no time to respond.

Clicking her tongue in annoyance, Sansa took quick steps to catch up, once more her mask sliding to place.

She had no issue with talking with Jaster. Even after informing her that their second wedding was more to do with protection than any kind of affection, the man was still the same as he had been on Westeros. If anything, he was far more relaxed now back with his people, and Sansa was interested to see how he was a leader when in a familiar environment. Would he be less on guard, more free with his words? Or, would things go bad, now that Sansa and Jeyne were off the planet with no allies in sight beside one another? Lady never reacted badly around him, and Sansa trusted her companion's instincts, so as they exited the ship, she forced herself to not think of such bad possibilities.

But beyond that, Sansa wasn't sure of her own emotions towards his people. Myles and Zaran were polite, and Jango was sweet under his grumpy exterior that he had. However, she knew even having them see her in a positive light would not be enough for her insecurity. It was going to be exhausting, keeping calm surrounded by skilled warriors, especially ones who would look down on her for her lack of weaponry prowess, something that had never occurred back in Westeros as it was more the norm for a woman to not wield a sword. She could only hope, that if not her fitting in, Jeyne could. Her friend would be more than willing to be trained, and Jaster already stated in the beginning that the other woman would be welcome.

They were not Mandalorians, and she had read up on how exactly one becomes one, swearing in with the Resol'nare along with being at the very least a decent fighter. And seeing as she hadn't done that, Sansa was an outsider. One who would more than likely be seen as inadequate for the True Mandalorian's leader.

And even with Jaster stating she would somehow be able to charm them all, Sansa was not confident in that opinion. Her mind was a mess with all this uncertainty and unfamiliarity, but knew she could not show it. Unlike the nobles and courtiers, Sansa was seeing that Mandalorians were far more straight forward, unlikely to hide behind manipulative lies and false niceties, and that was a cold comfort. That they would be honest in their dislike. But she still would not being willing to show how any insult or disdain would affect her, not if she wanted to keep the peace. What she feared the most, past any of them attacking her, would be their dislike possibly making Jaster caught in the middle. Between her and his people, she knew which one he would choose, but could also see that he didn't want to choose. Not because he had any honest affection for her, but because he had promised to keep her safe. And Sansa did not want him to be in such a situation.

On top of all that, were her slow budding feelings for Jaster. It was simple infatuation at the moment, already knowing she could trust him which made it easier to begin a descent to deeper emotions. Despite her love and kindness being used against her in the past, Sansa still loved hard, still dreamt of romance for herself. She wanted it so deeply, that it terrified her, causing her to retreat sharply if Sansa showed any slightest inclination. Last night, where Jaster gently comforted her, said words of endearment and encouragement, her face was becoming flushed just thinking about. But she would not be hasty, not if he hasn't the same affections. A companionable relationship would have to be enough for now.

Taking deep breaths as they began their tour, Sansa focused on Jango's words closely in order to distract from the people beginning to watch her and her overwhelming thoughts. She was almost tempted to call over Lady for some comfort, but knew that her direwolf would want to get familiar with her new environment. Instead, she aimed for casual as she linked her arm with Jeyne. The other woman was just as tightly wound despite how relaxed she may appear and leant her shoulder against Sansa's in a show of support.

Jango pointed towards where the small forests nearby were, mentioning the game they hunted and how they didn't use any for timber because resources here were already too low. It made sense for why they agreed for help from the North when offered. Jango then showed them the large fire pit, where sometimes they would cook dinner for everyone if it was a nice night out though stating that most meals were taken in the cargo ship, as the vessel had the largest kitchen available for usage. The boy then told them that the ship they were bunking in had it's own small kitchen too for private meals. Sansa filed that information away, knowing that she would like to eat without scrutiny in the coming days.

He talked about the sea that was at the far end of the camp sit, far enough distance that when the tide came in it didn't wash up onto any tents. Sansa admired the organisation of the settlement, how the ships were in a semi circle around the tent, protection from any harsh winds or any curious animals. A blockade. “We also have a distortion field around the campsite about about a mile radius further out. That way, if anyone was searching for us and meant to harm, they would have a harder time doing so, and we'd get the chance to prepare sooner.” Jango informed them, to which led to Jeyne asking in confusion of what a distortion field was. As he described it in a way that they would understand, a droid connected to a small hovering cart whirled passed them, Sansa noting a couple of baskets of laundry in them.

At their glances, Jango quickly added, barely taking a breath after his previous explanation, “Like we said, we do our own laundry, and the droids are helpful for carrying large loads about.” Jeyne hummed in acknowledgement as Sansa's eyes followed the route the droid was taking, pausing by each tent where occupants were tossing their own baskets or balled up clothes onto the cart. It appeared to be laundry day for some.

As the boy then began to point to where the practice range and fighting ring was set up, a little ways away from the main campsite, a small group of children came running over, chatting and laughing with one another. The mixture of different species was still something that took Sansa off-guard, and she saw that Jeyne's own subtle widening of her eyes that she too was adjusting just the same. But they smiled as the children swarmed Jango, demanding him to play or tell them a story, until one blue child with large dark eyes looked in their direction.

The child stared for a long second before pointing at Sansa, and loudly proclaimed, “Your hair is weird!”

Lips twitching with amusement at the unabashed honesty of a child, even as Jango chided the child, Sansa crouched down, “Is it weird because you've never seen hair this colour before?”

The child nodded, and added, matter-of-fact, “And it's really long! My buir says long hair is im-pract-cal.”

“Impractical, ad'ika.” Jango corrected the child with exasperation, who wasn't listening, instead staring at Sansa still. Moving the thick braid over her shoulder, she presented the length to them, “Would you like to touch it?”

Nodding eagerly, they touched it was surprising gentleness for their excitement, and it garnered the attention of the other children, swarming around Sansa's hair, and a few glancing at Jeyne's, which though not the most striking of colours, was still well kept and long as well. Her friend knelt down as well and allowed a child with frog-like features curiously poke at her own braid.

Smiling, Sansa explained, “I suppose it could be impractical for a strong warrior like yourselves,” A few giggled, some others puffing up with pride, at her compliment, “However, where I am from, women pride themselves in their hair length, and sometimes it can take hours to do particularly elaborate styles.” Eyes widened in astonishment, audible awe resounding around the crowd.

“There is also a culture on one of our moons, Essos, calle the Dothraki.” Jeyne decided to join in, “They're warriors and braid their hair with every battle won. The longer and more braids they have lets you know just how strong and undefeated they are.”

The children 'oo'ed and 'ah'ed, exchanging rapid sentences of excitement in mando'a with one another.

“You're the Mand'alor's riduur, right?” A slightly older child asked then, butting in over the discussion. Sansa would put him at eleven, with bright green fluffy hair and had a faint scowl on his face. “I am,” She answered delicately, “I understand that many of you might not be happy with that.”

“He should marry someone who can fight. Whose strong.” He sneered, but something about his words felt more like a repeat of what they've heard from others. The smile earlier finally left her face, though she remained calm with her response, “I may not be able to hold up in a combative situation, however, I wouldn't call myself weak. There are many different kinds of strength, not just the way you are familiar with.”

The boy's eyes narrowed, challengingly, “Yeah. Like what?”

Jango snapped something in mando'a, lightly smacking the back of the boy's head, however Sansa met the question head on without faltering at the rudeness and elaborated, “Survival in the middle of enemy territory. I couldn't fight my way out, but I did what I could to survive. That's a type of strength.”

Though unhappy with her answer, more confused than angry, the boy said nothing else as Jango ushered the children away. When they dispersed, Sansa and Jeyne standing back up, the young man muttered, “Sorry for them. They're just-”

“Repeating what their parents told them.” Jeyne finished for him, a wry smile on her face. “Children are generally harmless, and I can say with confidence that Sansa and I were like that when we were younger, saying what we heard the adults in our life had said. It's normal.”

He huffed, “Still. It's not okay.”

Sansa settled a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and gave him a smile when he looked up, “We're not offended, as it takes far more than you would think to truly insult us. Now, weren't you showing us the practice range? I'm sure Jeyne would like to know to learn how to use her blaster.”

Perking up, and also knowing when Sansa was trying to divert a conversation, Jeyne added, “Yes! It was a gift from my father...”

Sansa walked behind them as Jeyne and Jango talked, content to watch her friend's face light up at the topic of her father. Vayon Poole was a good man, and sometimes Sansa was envious of Jeyne, wishing her father was like hers.

Taking more of the land in, Sansa found the planet to be lovely, a soft and natural beauty, and hoped that soon she could explore the woodlands. Maybe have a ride with Lady in a day or two, as well as talk to someone on the plant life, what was dangerous and not. They still needed to gther some flowers for their room.

The hair on the back of neck prickled then, and Sansa felt eyes on her once again now not distracted by Jango or the other children. Scanning the settlement, Sansa noted a few Mandalorians standing nearby, looking to be discussing something with one another, their gazes on her. She gave a small, polite nod in greeting before turning to face forward again after they responded with a moment of hesitance. A small fire of determination lit in her chest. It would be an uphill battle, but Sansa would do her best to win them all over, and manners were a lady's armour. They didn't have to love her, like when she was a queen and trying desperately to gain allies, but if they could tolerate her presence, then that would be good enough for her.

Jango ran off after awhile, stating he was going to find Jaster, so Sansa and Jeyne headed their way to the dining area within the cargo ship. They followed the smell of food, air full of delicious spices, which led them to a large hall, a small line of people to the left where people were serving up food into their own bowls or plates on trays.

On their tour, Jango had told them that the cleaning and cooking duties around the camp shifted with different schedules of those who could do them, as well as those who have a skill in making meals or whatnot. The Mandalorians were not just warriors, they had other talents and crafts they could do, as not everyday was spent fighting a battle or training. It was nice to know that there was more to them then just combat, Sansa thought to herself as they hesitantly made their way over to the line.

The person in front of them, helmet off and clipped to their belt, glanced behind at the two women. They appeared female, though Sansa could be wrong in her assessment, and she was also orange with strange blue and white horn-like appendages on her head and down her shoulders and back. The woman arched a brow, “Didn't know princesses dined with us common folk.”

A drawl of mocking humour was inflected on her words, however Sansa gave her a polite smile in return, “Typically, no. However, one must adapt to their new lives and circumstances, and I am not a princess here.”

A soft snort was her response, the woman stepping forward to collect an empty bowl, “Got any food preferences?” It appeared she was going to provide some assistance, and Sansa glanced over the warm counters, food laid out to be dished up. She and Jeyne eyed the insect and worm like platters, and did her best to hide back a grimace of disgust as Sansa replied, “Neither of us are fond of the insects. However, that red sliced meat and those vegetables look pleasing.”

With a couple of bowls on a tray, the woman dished up what Sansa and Jeyne pointed at, commenting, “I'm only doing this once for you two, so you can do it yourselves next time without looking like little lost tookas.”

The animal she must be referring to was unfamiliar, but Sansa knew not to show confusion, and nodded politely. “Of course, we don't wish to be served on or be seen as burdensome. Thank you for your help.”

After getting her own food, the woman guided them to a table, “No problem. I'm Ka'iala. A Togruta, in case you haven't seen a species like me.”

Jeyne confirmed as they sat down, “On our world, there aren't that many other species besides ours, so we are very unfamiliar.” And then glanced over to Sansa as she scooped up what appeared to be pink mashed potatoes, directing her next words to the red head, “Mayhaps Jango could put some modules onto your datapad, like he did with mando'a.”

Nodding in agreement, Sansa took a bite and nearly melted at the sweet and buttery flavour of her pink mash. It was wonderful, like butternut squash.

“And how are you getting on with Jan'ika?” Ka'iala asked, as she stabbed a dark meat and flashed a bit of sharp canines as she took a bite.

A tiny, once more genuine smile crept onto her lips at the mention of Jango. He was a good child, faithful to his buir and people. Fearsome and stubborn, Sansa found him similar to Rickon, which made sense seeing as they got on like a house on fire. “He is good company. Strong, even with the loss of his family.”

At that mention, the woman's gaze sharpened, “He told you about them?”

“Grief knows grief.” Was Sansa's simple response, and after an assessing stare, Ka'iala nodded silently.

They continued to eat in peace. Jeyne didn't like the square vegetables that reminded Sansa of beetroot, exasperatedly accepting them when the brunette spooned them into her bowl. In retaliation, she added some of her own vegetables back into Jeyne's bowl, commanding lightly, “Eat these vegetables, you need the nutrients.”

Jeyne rolled her eyes but did as Sansa commanded, “I'm not as bad as I was before, Sansa. You don't need to watch my eating any more.”

“And you don't have to put yourself in danger for me, but yet, here we are.” Sansa retorted, a little snidely, and poked at the scar on Jeyne's face. The other woman batted her hand away with another roll of her eyes, “Shut up and eat your gross vegetables, your majesty.” Jeyne teased.

It was the wrong address but Sansa knew Jeyne said it on purpose, and instead stuck out her tongue, a weak retort.

Across from them, Ka'iala huffed with amusement, “So Jeyne isn't your maid then? You're both too casual for that and the Mand'alor said you two were sisters in arms

Jeyne shook her head, beaming, “We were raised together, like sisters. I was born a few months after Sansa, and as my father was Sansa's father's Steward, it made sense that we took lessons together and were playmates. Technically, yes I would have a lower position to Sansa, her lady in waiting, but that never mattered to us.”

“Where I go, Jeyne goes.” Was Sansa added explanation, “She's been with me for my whole life and I would die for her, no matter that I am royalty and that is frowned upon on our world.” Jeyne sent her a fond look in response to that declaration.

Subtly impressed, the woman's brows raised, “Didn't know stuffy nobles like you would care enough for other below your station.”

“It's not normal, no.” Sansa conceded, “However, I may have the teachings of a noble, but I know enough that ranking doesn't always protect you from harm. And someone who would give their life for you, is someone who you should give similar loyalty back to in return.”

Opening her mouth to add something, the Togruta was cut off by a Mandalorian loudly clattering his tray down next to her. This man was humanoid, blond hair closely shaved to his head and a thick nose. He commented, with a hint of mockery, “So, you're able to use that blade, or is it decoration, princess.”

Sansa's lips pursed at the sneer around her title as she set her spoon down. “I've used it before, yes.”

Both Mandalorians were surprised, the newcomer leaning closer to jape, “For what, cutting some string when you couldn't find your little sewing shears or something?”

Under the table, her fists clenched over her lap. Sansa stared coldly at the man in silence, until Jeyne's hand slipped over one of hers, easing some of the growing tension. Wilh a cool tone, Sansa stated, “My last two husbands, actually.”

His eyes narrowed, leaning back as his voice dropped low, “Is that a threat to our Mand'alor?”

Jeyne scoffed, “It's a warning.” Her words sharp, “I'm sure you know what those are, right?”

The glare was sent in the direction of Jeyne now, and Sansa's hackles rose, “It means that I've only killed when I was harmed, and that I would do so again if pushed.”

A dry chuckle escaped his chest, a deep roll of a sound, “Your last two husbands were weak, if someone like you could kill them. Or maybe, you killed them dishonourably, when they were asleep, because you know just how weak you are.” He glanced to a frowning Ka'iala, haphazardly gesturing to Sansa, “Can you believe this is what our leader marries?” His gaze then moved back to Sansa, sneering, “Some fragile little princess who thinks she can stand beside us. Let me tell you, girl. You wouldn't last two seconds in a fight.”

“When Jaster told me of his people, he said that you were all strong warriors. I must have left out that some were missing any hint of intelligence.” Was Sansa's cold response. She stood up and left the table, Jeyne following a half second after.

Her hands were shaking, heart pounding loud in her ears, and Sansa needed to get away from all these eyes on her. It was like Casterly Rock all over again. The guards, lords, and ladies all watching her, sneering behind hands, mocking her pain, laughing over her cries. None of them would've been able to survive being Joffrey's wife, and they thought her weak for not being able to fight back. And maybe they're true. But Sansa found her own ways to attack, to insult. And in the years, Sansa played the long game, patient until she had the right opportunity to get not only her revenge, but to get both Jeyne and herself a safe passage home as well as secure a treaty with the North and end the war. How's that for weak?

However, it was hard to remind herself in that moment, feeling small like the first few months of being queen, jumping at every shadow and trying to appear confident as she walked to her humiliation in the throne room. Her cheeks were heating up now, and she knew a flush a shame was welling up just as Jaster stepped into the dining hall, Sansa steps away from exiting.

His face lit up at the sight of her, until it dropped. She hadn't managed to cover up her expression quick enough as he approached her in quick steps. Behind her, she knew the man and Ka'iala were watching, and she would not look weak, running to Jaster for safety. Instead, she waved off his concern before he could ask anything, “We're going to turn in for the evening, Jaster. It's been a long day for the both of us.”

Eyes narrowing, Jaster tried, “Now hang on, I know what it looks like when you're upset, Sansa. It may have only been a week that we've known one another but-”

Sansa couldn't handle this. She needed to leave. Luckily, Jeyne could read her like a book, jumping in with a firm, “Leave it, Jaster.” Before lightly tugging Sansa past the baffled man and out of the hall, away from the stares and judgement.

In the darker hallway, the sun having set whilst they were eating, Sansa could hear how her breathing was changing in rhythm, coming out in quick pants, taking longer to inhale in any air and everything was getting fuzzy, ears buzzing but deafening and-

Hands guided her shoulders back and down, and the sudden touch of coldness on her back shocked Sansa into the present once again, gasping hard, her head now pounding. There was a gentle guidance as her head was soon guided to hang between her legs, and Sansa did her best to even the tempo of her breathing.

Soon, sound came filtering back, no longer muffled, and a familiar voice humming was on her right. Cracking her eyes open, Sansa looked over to see Jeyne. Brown eyes full of concern and sympathy stared back. Sansa could accept such an expression from but a handful of people, and even then it would be barely tolerated. Jeyne's was the only one that didn't make Sansa's skin shiver and crawl with irritation or shame.

Sighing out hard, Sansa slumped to the side and knew that Jeyne would be there to catch her. Everything was spinning a little, but she was able to see that their surroundings were outside. The coldness at her back was the outside of a ship.

Over Jeyne's soothing humming, Sansa heard familiar steps of large paws, and looked into the darkness to catch the sight of Lady trotting over. The animal whined, licking a few times daintily at Sansa's cheek, before laying down on her other side. The softness of her fur was reassuring under her hand, and it helped to ground Sansa back into the present fully.

“This,” Sansa croaked, all decorum having fled in that moment, “Is going to fucking suck, Jeyne.”

Her friend snorted, “You can say that again.”

“It's like- like the court all over again. The s-stares, and-”

Jeyne cut off her words, hearing them become higher and filling with panic once again, “Hey, Sansa. We're not there. And it's not going to be like that place again. Jaster wouldn't allow that, remember? It's just- just cruel words.”

Sniffling, Sansa burrowed her head into Jeyne's shoulder, “I miss Winterfell. It was easier, the stares and whispers.”

There was a deep sigh from Jeyne, one of understanding. “Yeah,” She whispered, “It was.”

Come tomorrow, Sansa would have the pieces of her shattered being placed back together again, ready to face a new day of judgement. She also knew, that Jaster would want to talk, but that was something for Sansa of tomorrow. The Sansa of now was just happy to slump into her friend's embrace, petting Lady, and staring at the lovely trees, the leaves a gentle glowing hue of blue and purple in the night time.

Jaster watched as the women left the dining hall, catching the way Sansa was less sure with her foot steps. His riduur's face was fragile when he saw it, something having broken past her tight walls. It was the same expression from their wedding night when she talked about the scar on her neck, and her subsequent flashback. And then with Jeyne's protectiveness a moment ago, it was all an immediate red flag that someone had hurt her friend. Narrowing his eyes, Jaster scanned the hall and noted the way a pair at a table were very firmly looking away from him, two bowls across from them, abandoned.

Jaw clenching, Jaster marched his way over to them, and as he got closer their names came to him. Ka'iala and Amon-to. They had both joined him early on in his rallying of the Haat Mandolorians and were skilled fighters, with Ka'iala being a proficient sniper.

At his approach, they had to acknowledge him, standing up to salute him, and unlike how he would usually wave away such formalities, this time Jaster had them keep the rigid posture. After a few seconds of staring them down, Ka'iala immediately pointed to Amon-to, “It was him. He called her weak and doubted your choice in partner.”

“Ka'iala!” The blond cried out, betrayed, as he looked to her, before catching Jaster's deepening glare and turned back to face him. A bead of sweat dripped from his hair line the longer Jaster stayed silent. Around them, the dining hall grew quiet, watching them.

“Why,” Jaster's voice came out with a false casualness, too light for the anger simmering low in his stomach, “Do you doubt my decision, Amon-to? Speak.”

At his command, Amon-to rushed out, “It's not your decision, 'alor! I swear. But, you have to be blind to not see that she isn't mandokarla, and she said she killed her past husbands! That's warning enough that she is a risk-”

“Be silent.”

His voice rumbled through the hall, and Amon-to snapped his mouth shut. “I will say this only once, do you understand?”

The man nodded quickly, and he knew the rest of them were listening too. “You may judge her for her actions she commits while she lives with us, whether they reflect on her person and how they affect the mando'ade. But do not, decide who she is based on rumours or theories that have no basis to stand on. I know enough of her past circumstances that I can say she is not a threat to me or to anyone here, unless they harm her first. Understood?”

“Elek, Mand'alor!” The hall shouted, saluting. Nodding shortly in acknowledgement, Jaster sent one last lingering glare on Amon-to before making a heel turn out of the hall, hunger from before disappearing into nausea. If he needs to eat, he'll search their ship kitchen or his bunk for dry rations. He couldn't stomach anything now.

He had to take some time wandering the camp to cool down. By the time he got back to the ship, it was late enough that the second night watch was taking their turn. Jaster's feet took him to Sansa and Jeyne's door, and after a moment of hesitation, he knocked lightly.

Silence. Inwardly he smack himself, because of course, they were probably sleeping now. However, there was muffled foot steps after some long seconds, and the door hissed open. It was Jeyne. She was in the same styles night gown that Sansa had worn the night before, and by the Kaar had it really only been a day that they were married? It felt far longer than that.

The brunette watched Jaster blankly, and he hastened to take his buy'ce off. Earnest and quiet, mindful of the sleeping figure on the bed, Jaster asked, “Is everything alright with Sansa?”

She observed him for a pause, before letting out an explosive sigh. Stepping through the door way into the hall, she pressed the door button, and it hissed close behind her. Jeyne then leant against it, arms crossed as she began, “Listen, Jaster.” Her words were firm though not harsh, “What you need to understand is that this will not be the first time she is in a place filled with potential enemies and people watching for any small mistake. I won't tell you her secrets, but what I can say is that you need to give her the space she needs to do what she must to gain whatever respect she can from your people. The moment you step it, it destroys whatever progress she might have made in gaining that.”

“But-”

“No.” Jeyne cut him off sharply, “You're not listening to me, Jaster. If anyone gets physical, then yes, we will come to you for help. But that's it. So, just let Sansa accommodate and adjust.”

Frustration welled up as he muttered, “It seems that's all she does, accommodate for others.” Sometimes, he forgot the place they were raised, where the women were taught to say silent, and that they outspoken were looked down upon. Right now, Sansa would be deemed the perfect wife with how she was silently bearing his people's scrutiny.

“It's her way of surviving.” Jeyne said, words softening at his words, “She's stressed, but she knows how to handle tense situations.”

“She shouldn't have to.”

A wry smile flickered onto her face, making the scar crinkle with her cheek, “No. She shouldn't.”

Letting out a breath, Jaster forced out as much tension as he could. Tomorrow, he would be commanding a round in the ring with Amon-to, having gotten off to lightly tonight. Running a tired hand through his hair, Jaster glanced up at Jeyne and took the woman's appearance in. There wasn't any dark circles under her eyes, but there was an exhausted quality to her features. “And you?” He tried, tentative, “How are adjusting?”

Uncrossing her arms, Jeyne used her hands to play with her braid. An anxious habit, he noted instinctively. “I'm stressed too.” The woman admitted quietly, “And in the past, that's never been good for me. But as I'm keeping an eye out for Sansa, she's doing the same for me. It's how we...deal with our problems.”

His lips twitched, “Sounds like co-dependency.” Jaster was personally familiar with such relationships and couldn't fault them for it. If they were all they had in enemy territory, it was obvious they would've created such a tight lifeline between each other.

“What do you expect?” Jeyne snorted, “We only had each other for three years when with Joffrey, and Ramsay truly solidified how bad things can get when separated. We know we can rely on one another if we can't on anyone else.”

Taking a deep breath, Jaster reached out a slow hand, and settled it onto Jeyne's shoulder when she didn't deny the gesture. Squeezing it once, the man sincerely reminded her, “I would hope, that you know that if not me, you have Jango. As well as Myles and Zaran. They understand some what of you and Sansa's past so you can go to them too. If you need a friendly face.”

The tautness in her frame faded away, a grateful smile gracing her lips. “Thank you, Jaster. Like I said, we'll adjust.”

“...Alright. Good night.”

A took a step back, dropping his arms and watched her go back into the room. Once the door hissed shut, Jaster's shoulders slumped, one hand rubbing at his eyes. He tried to remind himself that he knew things would be tense and difficult for awhile. He just hadn't expected it so soon. Hopefully, tomorrow brought a better, kinder day. And a satisfying fight against Amon-to. Even with knowing that Sansa could handle himself, the man still disrespected his riduur and his Mand'alor. That called for a major ass beating my Mandalorian standards.

Chapter Text

The cold air was cleansing, sharp in her lungs. With every breath it was like the ice was reaching deep into her chest, further into her stomach, and removed the tainted darkness within her with her every exhale. Her feet ached, sore and growing numb, and she was no longer shivering. It was a bad sign. Curled up on the rocks, the frozen dirt providing no comfort, she laid there and stared at the clouds surrounding the mountain peak. She wasn't anywhere close to the top yet, and just wanted to sink into the earth and sleep forever.

Sansa opened her eyes sharply, the deep inhale was just the same. It took her a second to realise the cold she felt was due to Jeyne having stolen most of the blankets, and that dragged her fully away from her sleep-addled mind. Without any windows and the lights off, Sansa knew instinctively that it was early morning. Even with a relatively peaceful dream, she woke up exhausted. Her first coherent thought was of how this day would play out, if it would be the same as yesterday or if it would be better. Or worse. Turning her head to her left, Sansa could make out Jeyne's sleeping face in the dark. The other woman had spent the night holding Sansa close until she fell asleep, and would need all the rest she could get.

Carefully, Sansa climbed out of bed, not wanting to disturb Jeyne, and pulled on the first dress she found in the closet. It was an unaltered one, woollen brown sarafan pulled over the top of her night gown. Then, with a shawl to add some modesty around her shoulders, Sansa pulled on her boots and left the room. Last night she hadn't bothered to do her usual routine with her hair, just taking it out of a braid, so it was unbound, messy, and moving in the light morning breeze when she stepped out of the ship.

Lady, who had slept in the entrance area after having a late night run last night, perked up, trotting after her as Sansa made her way to the shoreline. The sky was a grey blue, the sun not having risen yet but it was on it's way up. Night's dew clung to the grass, and the air smelt fresher as it tend to do in the mornings and nights, the scent of smoke from the burnt down fire mingling in to create the most comforting smell.

Running a hand down Lady's neck, scratching deep into her thick coat to reach her skin, Sansa spotted a pair of Mandalorians on watch. For a second, she hesitated when they noticed her approach – they had sat themselves on some of the large rocks by the ocean – but then decided that it was too early for her to begin to care about what they thought of her. She loved the ocean, the sound having always calmed her, kept her sane sometimes, during her stay in Casterly Rock, and needed some of that peace before the start of her day.

Dipping her head in greeting, Sansa continued her path forward. They were some distance from her and seemed unlikely to bother her. When she reached the waterline, Sansa used Lady to balance as she took off her boots, sighing as she dipped her feet into the night-chilled water. Uncaring of the hems of her dress getting wet, Sansa moved further in until the ocean reached just below her knees.

Lady took that as an incentive to go running into the water, Sansa covering her mouth as a giggled escaped, her companion splashing her in her exuberance. Smiling wide, Sansa spun lightly in place, casting glances down into the water to see if maybe she could find some pretty rocks or seashells.

“Be careful not to go too deep.” A deep voice called out. Snapping her head up, she noticed that one of the Mandalorians had come closer.

Tilting her head to the side, Sansa called back, “Is the current dangerous?”

He stopped at the shoreline, shaking his head. “Currents are not bad, but we've had sightings of some large creatures in the water. Just warning you, princess.”

The title sat uncomfortably in her stomach in a way it never did. “You don't need to call me that.” Sansa offered.

The man then hummed thoughtfully, “Isn't that what you are though?”

Stepping closer a little, after casting a glance back to where Lady was in the midst of trying to dig under water, Sansa replied with a tentative smile, “I am on my planet, but I know that it doesn't mean much to you all.”

“We have nobility.” Was his frank statement, and her eyes widened. “You do?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, “Sure. Old houses, many who can trace back to the first Mandalorians have some high ranking to it. Though I hate them, House Kryze, the ones in charge of the pacifist section, were Dukes and Duchesses before they had this wild hair scheme to destroy all our traditions and culture. They still are, but we don't see them as Mandalorians anymore.”

That was all news to her, and she would have to think more on it later. However, she still repeated decidedly, “You don't need to use my title. None of you do, if you don't wish to.”

He shrugged indifferently, “What ever you say. Hey, what's Westeros like?” The man then asked, completely changing the subject. Bemused, Sansa replied, “In what respect?”

Suddenly appearing eager, the men stepped closer, “Is it true about the ice zombies? 'Alor told us about them.”

Overhearing them, the other Mandalorian hopped off the rock, jogging over to add, “Yeah! He also said something about unicorns?”

Amused, Sansa nodded, “Yes to both of those.”

“Dank farrik, that's insane!” The first one muttered, the other nodding furiously. Sansa wondered if they were young warriors, going by their enthusiasm. Stepping further to the shore line, now just ankles deep in the water, Sansa decided to elaborate, always loving to tell stories when she could, “The unicorns inhabit only a singular island of Westeros, a place called Skaggos. My youngest brother spent most of his time there growing up, and Jeyne and I visited briefly for a year, where we came across a herd of them.”

Leaning in, the second urged, “What were they like?”

“Massive.” Sansa described, recalling the encounter, using her hands to demonstrate, “Huge, like horses.” At their confused head tilt in unison, Sansa explained, “Horses are four legged, and a flat enough back for people to ride on. But these kind are like those that we would use typically for work, pulling heavy equipment or carts. Their horns are thick like a tree branch, and not as sharp as you would think. However, I've seen a unicorn gore another and the strength behind the animal is enough to pierce flesh.”

They let out sounds of awe. Giddy at their attention to her story, Sansa moved onto the wights and the white walkers. “As for the ice zombies,” She started with a humoured smile, “I never saw them besides the head one of the Night's Watch guard brought back as proof of their existence. It was still alive, in the way it shouldn't be, it's jaw moving, and snarling silently. With the proof, we managed to rally a large number of other kingdoms' forces for help against this horde. They were 100,000 strong, led by the older and far more intelligent White Walkers, the wights shrieks in the night were something no one could ever forget. It would send the primal fear down even the most courageous of men's back.”

“How do you kill them?” The first one asked in a hushed tone, both enraptured in the weaving of her words.

“Only three ways can kill them,” Sansa said, lowering her tone to fully immerse herself into the tale, “Fire is the easiest way to kill a large number, but that only kills the wights. Their leaders could only be killed with two materials: Valyrian steel, rare after the volcanic moon erupted and was destroyed, uninhabitable and only the mad would ever venture there for long.”

“And the other material?” The second one demanded. Sansa had a feeling their eyes were wide under their helmets.

Reaching for the neck of her night gown, Sansa pulled out the small shard of Dragonglass that was given to her by Robb after the battle was over. It's dark red colouring shimmered on it's leather string, Sansa presenting it to the men. “This is called Dragonglass. They say it's made from the fire of a dragon's belly, scorching the earth until it becomes glass.”

The first one then took off his helmet, peering closer and frowning, “Wait a second. That's obsidian.”

Stifling a laugh at the obvious disappointment, Sansa added, “However, many know that Dragonglass is volcanic glass, and there was a large ore of it on Westeros, where we mined it for weapons. But it's not as fun when you tell the story to say it's naturally made.”

“Then how does either defeat the ice zombies?” The second whined. “Aren't they like, magic, or something?”

“It's true, yes.” Sansa conceded, “The wights and White Walkers are magic, deep blood magic made in sacrifice. However, they are creatures of the cold and dark. Of ice. Obsidian and Valyrian steel are made from volcanoes, from the hottest moon, Valyria. Valyria itself was an old empire, where the dragons came from. Magic was entrenched into it's very core, and it's so far from the likes of the ice and cold, that it could defeat the Others.”

There was a long pause, the one without their helmet – skin a burnt orange and eyes a bright green – took that all in. Before the second one bluntly stated, “The Mand'alor was right. Your people are kriffing weird.”

The first one smacked him over the head and hissed, “Don't be rude.”

Sansa laughed, “We are very strange, even to our own people at times.”

He stuck a hand out, “I'm Yeniv, this is Gott.”

Happy to finally have names, Sansa clasped her hand to his forearm in greeting, “I'm just Sansa. Thank you for listening to me, you didn't have to.”

Gott shrugged, taking off his own helmet too, revealing dark brown skin and hair. Only his eyes were a bright gold, full of humour. “It was a fun way to end our patrol shift, and you finally answered our questions we've had since Myles mentioned the weird kark on your planet.”

As she had assumed, they were young men, maybe her age if a few years younger. They reminded her a little of Bran, their obvious interest in stories was similar to her younger brother.

Lady then came bounding over, fur sopping wet, and Sansa mocked glared at her as she scolded her, “You silly creature. You will not be allowed inside until your dry, I hope you know that.”

The direwolf huffed, panting and mouth stretched almost like a grin. The Mandalorians traded uncertain glances with how close Lady now was, Gott commenting, “Didn't you say that not everyone where you're from has a pet like her?”

“Lady isn't a pet.” Sansa firmly corrected, “She is a companion, and very intelligent. And the sigil of my house is a direwolf, her species. It's an honour to have a creature such as herself to have decided to give her loyalty to me.”

Abashed, Gott looked away, “Sorry.”

“It's alright.” Sansa assured him, “I'm just informing that you should interact with Lady like you would with anyone here, as she has the same intelligence. She understands more than you think.” And here Lady sneezed, before shaking off, water splashing everywhere. Having expected this, Sansa closed her eyes and mouth, before giving another scowl, “You did that on purpose.”

Lady trotted off, tail lightly wagging. The menace.

As she watched her depart, Sansa spotted Jaster approaching them, and greeted him with a polite nod, “Jaster.” With his helmet off, she could see his relaxed expression, dark hair ruffled from either waking up or having had the helmet on beforehand.

The two men immediately saluted, Jaster waving them off, “You two best go get some sleep, next patrol will be changing in a few.”

As they hurried off, Gott tossing a wave at her over his shoulder, Sansa smiled to herself. It seemed that maybe today will be a nicer one. Then, she focused back on Jaster, who had a curious expression on his face. “Good talk?”

“They were curious about Westeros.” Sansa replied easily, tucking her shard of Dragonglass back into her dress. His eyes followed the movement before meeting her eyes, “I wanted to talk. Do you have the time?”

With a glance behind her, Sansa noted the golden glow as the sun broke over the horizon. Faintly, she heard the settlement begin to wake up, and gave him a nod. “I do.” There was trepidation on exactly what he wished to discuss, his face unreadable, but there wasn't any kind of anger in his posture.

“I wanted to first apologise, for Amon-to. What he said or implied was out of line. He will be getting his punishment.”

Her eyes widened, “Punishment?”

“He not only doubted his Mand'alor in a way that was unbefitting of a Mandalorian, but also insulted my riduur.” The man replied factually, a flash of something dark in his eyes, “Even to the most common of Mandalorians that is something that could earn a blaster to the face. I'm just going to throw him around the sparring ring for a few rounds, and he should learn his lesson.”

“That's not needed, Jaster-” Sansa went to protest, not wishing to stir resentment up within the ranks, however he held up a hand firmly, “Sansa. I know what I'm doing. If you want, you can be there to watch-”

“No.” She rushed out, “That's unnecessary. I don't want to have him think I am gloating. He had all right to judge me out of concern for you.”

“I'm going to have to disagree with you there,” Jaster said wryly, “But if you don't want to be there, then I'm not forcing you.”

Sansa let out a breath, “Thank you.” Punishments were never something she enjoyed watching, primarily because Joffrey's were cruel. If it wasn't her, it was some other poor soul without her noble blood and political station that kept her alive. Even if this punishment wasn't sounding as bad as Joffrey's she still did not prefer to watch.

Jaster then continued, an distinct uncertainty in his tone, “And the second thing I wanted to talk with you, is if I've done something wrong.”

Her mind went still, blinking up at him in confusion. “Did something wrong?”

With a sigh, Jaster hung his head for a second, then, when he glanced back up at her, his hazel eyes were sad, holding a hint of desperation. “I feel like some kind of wall has been put back up between us, just when I thought we were beginning to understand each other. And it started some time on our flight here so-” The man cut himself off, eyes widening in realisation, “The Riduurok.”

Sansa, taut with dread, watched as he rubbed at his face, “Kriff, if I knew you didn't want to do that, I would never have asked.”

“I don't understand.” She hesitantly replied, hands wringing together, “I thought- you said you were marrying me your for protection. I know it's typically a love bond, but understand that circumstances are different with us, so-”

“I honestly don't think you do understand.” Jaster bluntly cut in, running a hand through his hair, aggravated. Sansa tried not to show her offence as he continued on to explain, almost beseechingly, “Sansa. There are no other circumstances. A Riduurok is not made carelessly or without much thought. You said it yourself, it's a love bond.”

“But you don't...” Her words trailed off, something sliding into place in her mind.

There was a heavy silence as Sansa tried not to gape at Jaster, the man nervously looking away. “It's only been a week.” She whispered, astonished, “That's not enough time...”

“And I'm not saying I am there yet.” Jaster rushed out, “But, I know myself, and I know that I do want to spend the rest of my life with you, Sansa. I do care deeply for you, even if it isn't fully...love.” He whispered the last word, staring at Sansa with something she dared not discern in that moment, terror flooding her stomach.

Breathless, Sansa turned away and walked past him up the beach to her boots, mind stuffed with wool at the implication of someone loving her. Ramsay and Joffrey didn't. But she had already grown to understand that Jaster wasn't like them. However, there wasn't much to love about Sansa outside of her political weight.

Before she got to her shoes however, she wheeled around mouth open to demand why, but it got caught in her throat at the sight of Jaster. Haloed by the rising sun, dark hair messy, she saw with vividness the resignation and growing heart break at her lack of response. Her perceived rejection. What she had refused to see, Sansa could see clearly now, and didn't know what to do about someone loving her truly. It was something she had wanted when a child, but she was a child no longer. And it was terrifying.

“I don't know if I love you yet, either.” Sansa confessed, and there, hope bloomed in his eyes at her wording. Heat touched her cheeks, not the mortification from last night but something gentler. Shyness. She hadn't felt this way since she first thought herself in love with Joffrey, her heart kickstarting into a rapid beat. “I still don't know my place here, nor in the universe. Winterfell was familiar, and I was some kind of pariah to most of my people, some kind of hero to the Westerlands from freeing them of a tyrant. There's also so much I need to heal from, and I'm not ready yet to pursue love.”

Taking a deep breath, that courage that always took so long to drag up finally appeared, and she took a few steps back to his side, water sloshing around her bare feet. Closer, Sansa was able to cup his cheek, feeling those scars again, finding the imperfection of his skin far more beautiful than anything else in the world, “I just thought that, you only wanted to make me feel safe, marrying me this way. To let me feel secured in this new place.”

He leant into her hand, coming up to hold it closer to his face. There was amusement on his face, lips quirking, “I think you read too much into what I say, when I'm just speaking plainly. To marry a Mandalorian means that protection and safety are an automatic requirement. An expectation. I wanted to reinforce that for you, because that last two marriages, where your husbands were meant to protect you, didn't.” He reached out, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, gaze fond. “I wanted you to know that I'm not going to be like them. You married into House Mereel. But now, you'll marry me. And I, will never hurt you. But you have to also talk to me, anytime I say or do something that you don't like. I'm brilliant, but I'm not a mind-reader.”

Sansa let out a breath of laughter, and went up onto her toes to lightly bonk her head to Jaster's. He made a face, amusement dancing in his eyes, “Are you giving me kov'nynir, my wife? I know you're talented but I can assure you, you won't win.”

Biting her lip to hide a smile, she pressed forward again, a softer tap and a press against his forehead. A mirshmure'cya. “Punishment for not speaking plainly.”

He let out a dramatic gasp, drawing back a little, “It's your fault for you and your people hiding triple meanings behind words! Honestly, I ask how your day is, you say 'good', and that could mean a range of things! From being upset to possibly planning a murder-”

Sansa shoved him away with a laugh, “Then I'll strive to speak more plainly too. And not look too deep into your words.” Jaster caught her hand before she could get too far from his side, vowing, “And I promise that nothing I say to you, will hold manipulation or falsity. Remember, respect and honesty.”

Softening, Sansa repeated, “Respect and honesty.”

For a long moment, they basked in the morning light and each other's presence. A weight had lifted from her chest, knowing that Jaster was not marrying her out of obligation, but out of genuine affection. They had a long way to go, mostly due to still being strangers in some ways and because of Sansa's past trauma. But it was a few steps forward, instead of going back.

Then, she remembered something from the day before. “When can I meet the nerf herders? Is there a way I can go to their settlement?”

“Right,” Jaster led her back to the beach where she stooped down to pick up her boots. Her feet would need a wipe down so she would wait until back on the ship. “I can have Myles go with you. He's in charge of most of the finer details of the camp organisation and it's logistics. Granted, he hates it, but as my second in command, he kinda has to do the work I can't do.”

Her mind went to the idea of offering herself up for such work, as it was what she was taught since she was a child, as both princess and a future queen to another kingdom., but refrained. Best not to be too hasty and talk to Myles first. Instead, she nodded, “Alright. But it won't be seen as inappropriate?”

His eyebrow arched, looking over to her, “Inappropriate?” Jaster repeated.

“Well,” Sansa began, “I am a married woman, going off alone with another man without any kind of escort or supervision. Though I trust Myles in his decorum, would others be suspicious?”

The burst of laughter from her husband was unexpected, the man clutching at his stomach as he wheezed, “No one would expect that from him!”

“Are you sure?”

“Sansa.” Jaster sent her a wide smile, “Myles has no interest in woman. At all. No one would expect him to flirt or try anything with you. I promise you that.”

It took her a long second, enough time for Jaster to collect himself, though he continued to chuckle a couple of times under his breath, for Sansa to realise the implications of his state and flushed. She knew that some men did lay together, and had nothing wrong with it, but it was generally frowned upon in Westeros. It was good to know that it was different here. Love was love, and she thought they needed more of it in the galaxy.

The first thing he knew, when waking up and thinking of how the day would go, was that first, Amon-to was going to have a bad time. The next, was that he needed to have a proper talk with Sansa, to clear the air of whatever had gone wrong between them yesterday. It couldn't be just the stress of adjusting, like Jeyne had implied.

After getting prepared for the day, Jaster knocked on the ladies door, only for a disgruntled Jeyne to greet him. Her hair was loosely falling out of her braid and she glared as she grunted, “Sansa's not here.” Before sealing the door once more.

Jaster wondered if he should panic, that Sansa wasn't with Jeyne, which could mean anything from she's in the 'fresher, to she's missing entirely. However, if Jeyne wasn't panicking, then Jaster shouldn't be. Yet. So with quick steps, he made his way out and scanned the campsite.

It was only because of how distinctive her hair was that Jaster caught sight of Sansa by the shore line, talking to a pair who were probably finishing up their early morning patrol shift. He wondered if this was going to be another dining hall incident, and hastened his strides. However, to closer he got, the more he noticed that Sansa was completely relaxed, smiling kindly at the pair.

Taking a deep breath in to calm his panic, Jaster slowed his pace and took in their conversation. She was in the middle of talking about Lady, the giant animal by her side and holding a strangely mischievous air about her, despite it being a very strange thing for an animal to have.

But the sight of Sansa getting along with two of his people, and being completely relaxed had Jaster smiling upon nearing them. Lady departed from their side, giving a huffed greeting to Jaster as she passed him by, with Sansa following her movement to then catch sight of Jaster.

The drop of her expression, smoothing over to neutral-polite, stung more than he would like to admit. And it continued to sting with their following conversation, especially when she began to walk away after he admitted to his own growing affections.

Jaster cared about the Haat Mandalorians, about the cause, about wanting to make a safe home for all of them. But it took a lot more to make him love someone. Jango was his child, and would always hold a place in his heart no matter what. To find that, in such a short time, Sansa was making her own spot next to his ade was terrifying.

The rejection was so close to suffocating him, watching her leave without a response, until Sansa turned back at him, and the sudden open expression on her face showed shock, terror, and a myriad of other emotions he couldn't fully place. She returned to his side in the end, painful vulnerability with every word she confessed, touching his cheek, butting her head against his. It had his heart stuttering.

“I don't know if I love you yet, either.”

It echoed in his ears throughout the rest of the conversation. Elation and hope was almost as all consuming at the previous resigned acceptance of her lack of returned feelings. It felt ridiculous, to be so caught up in his emotions. He was Mand'alor. A Journeyman Protector, and had killed in the past with no remorse. Sansa, unknowingly, held the trigger to a bomb strapped to his heart. She could press it at any moment and would not know until afterwards how much it would kill him. It was melodramatic, if he was being honest. However, at this point in his life, to have possible love come into his life and wave a potential promise of forever was too good to pass up. He was grasping at it with both hands and a vulnerable heart, hoping and hoping.

And he needed her to understand that he would do anything for her.

There was hope for them, though. Sansa being unsure of the trajectory of her life now, along with her own feelings was completely understandable. After trust being betrayed by those who should've loved her made loving difficult, and he would not pressure her. But fuck, if she would just communicate they wouldn't be caught in the circle of dancing around a topic, Jaster saying one thing, and Sansa finding a different meaning from it entirely.

She was both exasperating and breathtaking in everything she did, standing there in the water, bare foot and hair loose curls around her form. It was lit up like a fire from the sunrise.

Jaster still couldn't believe it's only been a week.

Parting ways, Jaster headed to where he knew Myles was, near one of the storage rooms on the cargo ship, counting supplies. At his entrance, the man glanced towards him briefly before sighing, “Do you think Death Watch would take me in, on the account that my leader had forced me to be a glorified quarter-master?”

Jaster snorted, “It's not quarter-master, Myles. You keep tally and stock on our supplies and what we need.”

“You're right.” He deadpanned, “Nothing about this is glorified.”

Chuckling, Jaster slapped him on the back, “Well, I've got good news.”

The desperate hope in his eyes burnt brightly, “You're giving this job to someone else?”

“Nope! Field trip with Sansa. She wants to talk with the herders.”

Tossing the datapad onto a shelf, Myles immediately headed towards the door with relief, “That's amazing news!” He cheered as he fled like a nexu was chasing him.

Following him out with another laugh, Jaster continued, “I'll also be throwing Amon-to around in the ring, but unfortunately you'll be missing out on that.”

Myles rolled his eyes, “Like I care about watching you throw down your own people, Jaster. Besides, what did the poor man do to deserve an ass beating?” The man had crashed early last night, meaning that he hadn't heard about what happened last night in the dining hall.

Surveying the campsite, Jaster locked onto the deep green and brown armour that Amon-to wore and narrowed his eyes. “Insulted Sansa.” Was his short response.

The other man paused in his steps, siding eyeing Jaster before following his gaze, then replied with an understanding, “Ah.” Myles unhooked his buy'ce off his belt and gave Jaster a punch to the arm, “Make sure he's still alive, 'lek?”

Jaster grunted in begrudging agreement, nodding at Myles as the man took off to find Sansa. Straightening his shoulders, Jaster stalked towards Amon-to, the other man in the middle of a conversation who then froze, eyes widening at the sight of his approach.

A cold smile curled on Jaster's lips as he ordered, “The ring, Amon-to.” With a sharp heel turn, Jaster started in that direction. When no foot steps continued after him, he barked over his shoulder, “Now!”

There was a scramble of the man following his command. He had no need for an actual audience, however, no Mandalorian in their right mind would turn down the sight of the Mand'alor kicking the shit out of another's shebs. Within minutes, word had spread and Jaster was in the ring, cracking his neck in preparation as Amon-to shifted in place across the ring from him.

Just behind him and leaning against the haphazard fencing, Ka'iala asked with coming to stand Thrane next to her, “Is your riduur not going to watch?” Glancing back at her, Jaster shook his head as he informed, “She doesn't like violence used as a punishment, and has more important things to do.”

Her lips curled, amusement flashing in her eyes. He took another glance around and saw a near blood thirsty and excited Jeyne next to Zaran. The Zabrak was watching the woman with a hidden fondness. Something to think about later he decided, Jaster facing forward to stalk further into the ring. Amon-to doing the same after a moment of hesitation. Under his buy'ce, Jaster let his mouth twist into a feral grin. He was going to enjoy this.

Chapter Text

Sansa came into the shared room to the sight of Jeyne scrambling to get dressed, rushing out an explanation, “Jango told me Jaster was going to fight that dickhead from last night! See you later.” And she hurried past the red head, a giddy smile on her face.

A bit windswept, Sansa blinked a few times, then laughed softly to herself. It was good that Jeyne was getting comfortable here. Taking time to change into a day shift, a thick and warm cotton, Sansa laced up her corset and tugged a drier, short sarafan. Forest green colour with delicate pink flowers sewn on the neck line, that fell to her knees. From what she had gathered, they were in the warmer months right now, but then again, she could be wrong. The True Mandalorians have only been here a few months themselves, and didn't know what the weather pattern and temperatures were like. Which was exactly what she was going to figure out herself today. If there was one thing Sansa knew, was preparations and planning for any event to come.

Slipping on socks after drying her feet and then her boots once more, Sansa glanced at where a brush of exposed skin was presented between where the top of the shoes ended and the hem of the dress started. The pale flesh of below her knees was on show, and though on Westeros that would be scandalous, Sansa knew it was not an issue here, from what she had seen.

Smoothing down her skirts, Sansa quickly ran a brush through her hair and tied it back deftly into a single braid. She did not have the time nor the help for anything more elaborate. Resettling the Dragonglass shard under her collar, Sansa thumbed across the scar for a second, before refocusing back on the present.

In a small satchel, she next placed the datapad Jango had lent her, the stylus pen because she preferred writing over typing on the 'pad, a canteen of water, some dried fruits to snack on, and then her knife.

For a long moment, Sansa eyed the cursed blade, her reflection murky in the metal. She's only done enough to maintain the metal and keep it sharp. Polishing it to shine was unnecessary in her eyes. The handle was still unfamiliar, even after all these years, as she slipped the sheath back over the blade, and tucked it into the bag.

A knock at the door then came, and Sansa called out, “Come in!”

It was Myles, the man giving her a greeting nod, “We got a trip, I'm told.”

“Yes, if that's no bother to you.”

“You kidding me?” He replied back in disbelief, “Anything to get out of taking stock of our stores and supplies. I barely know anything to do with this kind of thing, yet I'm in charge of it!”

At his exclamation, Sansa hide a smile behind her hand, “Then why did Jaster giving you that duty?”

“Second in command.” He bemoaned.

For a split second, the woman nearly offered to take up the task herself, but refrained. Though he might not enjoy it, Myles could still be insulted by her presumption and did not want that. Instead, she asked, “How long will the journey take?”

“Oh, not too long. About 45 minutes to an hour.”

Nodding to herself, Sansa went over to the desk area, where Jeyne and her had dumped their sewing supplies, not quite organised yet, and found her travelling sewing kit. Tucking that into her bag, she picked a random unaltered skirt and folded that in as well. Idle hands won't do when she has the time.

Shouldering the bag, Sansa and Myles exited the ship, the man leading her to where she figured the ships that were used more frequently for travelling were. The small vessel had enough room to get in, and then take one of the two seats at the front, the door sealing behind them.

Taking the one further back and not by the control panel, Sansa strapped in and questioned, “Is their settlement not far from us then?”

“More like the ship is fast.” Myles explained, flicking some switches and beginning their flight, the ship humming to life. “They're on the other side of the planet, having moved there as they first settled where we are to begin with. Don't know why they moved but they gave us a little information on what to expect by being near the ocean. Just the large aquatic creatures to be wary of, and that there's no storms to worry about.”

Sansa frowned thoughtfully. “And you never pried further on what to expect?”

“If there's one thing to know about Mandalorians,” Myles stated wryly, “Is that we are more prepared for a fight, then for weather conditions. So, yeah, we never asked beyond the basics of what to expect right now.”

Biting her tongue on how foolish that was, Sansa instead took out her sewing as Myles lifted off, the low rumbling of the ship around them filling the silence. The man didn't seem to have the need to fill it, instead he quietly hummed under his breath, controlling the ship as it moved through the air. Sansa cast a short glance out one of the windows, seeing trees below them that they were speeding past as well as some mountains in the distance. They looked similar to the ones in Skagos.

After she finished taking in the scenery blurring past, Sansa began with her sewing. She was just folding up the hem of the skirt, wanting to keep that length in case she would need to let it out in the future. The mindless, peaceful rhythm of felling down the seam lulled her into a state of blissful nothingness. Her mind completely empty except for the focus on the task at hand. To the point that as she was coming close to finishing up her tiny stitches on the first round the ship had to shudder and come to halt for her to notice that time had passed.

Glancing up, Sansa noted as Myles began to unstrap his belt, and quickly put away her things to follow him out of the ship.

The land before her was rolling hills, trees speckled about like freckles across the bright green fields. A large river could be heard in the distance, a steady rush of water on it's journey. The settlement was of stout homes built onto stilts, people milling about, though most pausing to watch their approach.

“Is there a leader we talk to?” Sansa softly asked as she kept a step behind Myles. The man nodded, waving at someone who was jogging over.

Dark brown hair, shaggy with a blue cloth wrapped around the top to keep stray strands off his bright face. He grinned at Myles, giving a short bow, “Mandalorian! To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Dak,” Myles voice was equally warm as he dipped his head in greeting, “We're here just to have a bit of a talk.” And then turned to Sansa, waving her forward. She dipped into a curtsey, having noted the exchange of bows, “I'm Sansa, and I was wondering if you could spare some time to answer some of my questions?”

Dak gave Sansa a queer look, but nodded, joviality not dropping one bit. Gesturing them to follow, Dak led them through the settlement over to one of the stilted huts, villagers milling about, what she assumed to be nerfs grazing in a large wooden paddock. They looked well organised and peaceful to her, politely nodding at them in greeting as they passed by. When Dak reached a stilted house, he hopped up the stairs. Sansa and Myles shared a glance, with him going first into the home.

The inside was warm, a nice change from just how windy and chilled it was compared to the Mandalorian's side of the planet. She wondered if their seasons were different here on this part of the hemisphere. Sitting down on the thick cushions presented to them, Sansa took a second to admire the home. She could spot easily the amount of woollen based materials that made up the blankets, clothes, curtains, and even the cushions they sat upon. All made with expert ease by her assessment.

Dak offered some warm refreshments, an earthy tea that sat pleasantly in her stomach, before sitting across from them. Looking to Sansa, Dak encouraged, “So, your questions?”

Sansa went straight to business, pulling out her datapad and stylus, opening a blank page to write on. “Right. First thing I must ask is, what are the lengths of your seasons and months here? And the days, what are your hours?”

Cocking his head to the side thoughtfully, Dak replied, “Well, for a day, we count about 15 hours from sunrise to sunset, and the nights are around 13 hours. Of course, that changes with the winter and summers days or nights being longer depending on the rotation of the planet. And about a week in the summer there's nothing but day light on your side, when we would have a week of just darkness on our side, then when the seasons swap, you would get it the other way around.” Dak took a pause to sip his tea, “We've been here for around seven years, and the best we've counted is ten months, with each month being around thirty days, but when you rely more on purely when to plant the harvest or when the storms come, you don't really count, now do ya?”

Humming in agreement, Sansa penned that down. They did the same on Westeros, following the stages from sowing to the harvesting of the grain. “And what are the seasons like? Both here and where we've settled?”

“Here, we get a rainy season, last about two to three months, with a long dry spell following afterwards. It's why we're on stilts, get some large flooding, and we've built the barns for the nerfs to be on the hills less likely to be flooded. We hafta collect as much water as we can during that time so as not to die of thirst when the drought follows. Then we go into the colder months, mainly some frost and cold winds. It's pretty harsh, the wind, with the flat plains. We've been slowly planting trees around the village to help create a barrier, but well, trees grow slow.” He gave a helpless but casual shrug, “But a sure lot better than the snows on your side, though your summers are nice, and I think you're all currently at the beginning of your spring, where we're going into our harvesting season...”

Her focus latched onto a particular part of his description, Sansa's head snapped up from where she was writing all this down. “The snows?”

Dak sipped his tea, bobbing his head, “Yeah. We lost a good chunk of our herd that first winter, made us relocate on this side. The poor creatures may have thick fleeces, but not enough to stand that cold.”

The woman leant forward a little. “And how cold does it get?”

“Cold enough that any bare skin exposed gets frostbite within five to ten minutes.”

Sansa's lips pursed, sending a sharp look to Myles, “Did you know of this?”

The man slowly shook his head, sheepishly offering, “We thought our ships would be fine if we get bad weather?”

Clucking her tongue in disappointment, she focused back onto Dak who also had a twist of disapproval on his features. “How long does the winter on our end last? What of the snow? How many feet should we expect?”

Though he looked a bit startled by her rapidly shot out questions, Dak answered without much pause, “I would say a good three months, of the harshest of cold. Before and after that is bearable. You get a bit of a frost in the beginning, not much to fuss about. But then you get the rains, freezing they are. And then you see these heavy clouds, things looking foggy in the distance until the trees disappear. That's when the snow storm is a coming. Gotta get inside within the next ten minutes I would say, before the snow starts coming down heavy. Then, the storm is on and off for a month or so. When it dies down, you'll have about maybe 20 to 25 feet of snow. It was packed over the top of our homes that first winter, locked inside and food slowly dwindling. I would say, prepare on food and warm clothes. You got ships, yeah?”

Myles nodded.

“Good, they'll be better than tents. But make sure the generators are the best and can keep going for a long while. You don't want the power to go out and then not be able to start a fire. Heard fires aren't good on ships.” Dak cracked a smile, and Sansa huffed in wry amusement.

“Where I lived before this planet got heavy snow storms, living so far north. They would last about a few months too, with snow being nearly all year round.”

Dak brightened, turning the Myles, “Then you're in luck! A lady like this knows how to handle that cold. Better listen to what she hasta say.”

Myles sighed hard, but gave no response beyond that. So Sansa redirected Dak back to her. “Do you know about where we could get wool? I heard that the Mandalorians trade with you.”

Here, Dak made a face, a resigned amusement. “You'll find we offered them some of our fleeces. Actually, a large amount of them, in fact. We have a lot of nerfs, and sometimes not enough people. You're welcome to go through what we have a take what you need. Most of the nerf have been through their first sheering of the year, and we're in the process of cleaning it right now.”

Sansa slowly turned to Myles in disbelief. “You turned down free wool?”

The man threw his arms up in the air, exasperated, “What would we do with wool!? We don't even know how to use it!” For a long moment, Sansa burrowed her face into her hands, further disappointed with their lack of foresight on this situation.

Dak laughed heartily, “Don't blame them, Sansa. It's no biggie, really. But I'm guessin' you know a thing or two about wool?”

Glancing up, Sansa arched a brow, “If it works the same as sheep wool, then you'll find I'm an expert with wool.”

The man scratched the back of his neck, “Depends on what this sheep wool is like.” Sansa was quick to dive into the explanation, listing it's traits, Dak nodding along with the air of someone long experienced with fibre craft. Turned out, nerf wool was exactly like sheep wool, primarily that it kept a person warm when wet. She was giddy over this near open access of wool, and turned to excitedly shake Myles' arm. “Do you know what this means?”

“That we have a lot of wool now?”

“That we can make blankets and clothes for the winter!”

“Aren't we going to be in our ship though?”

Sansa huffed and rolled her eyes, an unfortunate habit she picked up from Jeyne, “It will be cold before it snows, and after I'm sure no one wants to wait until all that snow completely melts before leaving the ships.” To herself she muttered, “Jeyne would be far more excited over this.”

Dak showed them the wool store room, piles of different shades of brown fleeces, along with some black and a few splattering of white too mixed in. From the divide, she noted the ones that were already cleaned and ready for combing, and the rest that wasn't.

Turning to Dak, Sansa questioned, “How do you treat and clean it?”

“Well, soap we make and keep for ourselves, so the usual hot water and urine.”

Myles made a disgusted sound behind her. Sansa nodded in understanding however. “Of course, good to know some techniques are the same across worlds.”

From there, Dak gave them the chance to take their pick of the cleaned wool. There were at least a good 10 to 15 fleeces, more than enough, Sansa hoped. Turning to Myles, Dak stepped back to let them talk logistics while also being called away for a moment.

The first thing the man did was take off his helmet to scrunch up his nose, eyeing the wool dubiously. “Urine?”

Understanding his disgust, Sansa gave a half shrug, not personally bothered herself any more. “Soaps are used mainly for people, and it takes time to make them. Urine helps get rid of the grease on the wool, and after the first wash, the next few washes are just done in water, and maybe a bit of soap if you have any to spare.”

“And you learnt all this where?” Myles arched an incredulous brow, “I can't imagine your parents letting their royal daughter work with urine.”

Crouching down to feel the wool, a nice thickness to the fleeces, and they weren't too greasy so the villagers did a good job at cleaning them, Sansa replied absent-mindedly, “I did some work under spinners and weavers after my second husband, and I learnt the entire process of turning fleece into clothe or yarn. It was all on Skagos, I was there for a year with Rickon and Jeyne. It was...healing.”

A flash of understanding and sympathy appeared in Myles eyes, before he turned his gaze back to the fleece, “So, are we taking all this then?”

Sansa nodded with finality, “This is free pickings, and it's their first shearing of the year. I'm sure that later on in the year, they will be kind enough to give us more when we need it.”

“More?”

“There's, what, 300 or so Mandalorians?”

Myles bobbed his head, “300 that's settled here, but we are about 1700 strong, and gathering more. Most of us are off planet, bounty hunting and doing jobs to gather money and provide for our community as a whole, and also trying to gather more to our cause when we can. But it's how we get the ability to buy food and supplies that we can't make here. And so far, there isn't much farming happening.”

“Start the harvesting season next year after the winter?” Sansa concluded, and Myles shrugged, “That's the plan. We have farmers and workers among all of us. We aren't just fighters, though that is who we are at heart.”

Folding her arms contemplatively, she then wondered, “Do you know of anyone whose worked fibre on this kind of scale?”

A helpless shrug was his response as he offered apologetically, “Going to have to ask around.”

Sighing, Sansa resigned to it being primarily her and Jeyne working through all this fleece. Taking out her datapad, she added more notes, particularly about asking her father for all of her and Jeyne's tools for this work. That meant spinning wheels, drop spindles, looms, knitting and crochet tools, and such others. After a second, she added about possibly getting flax and cotton to make over the winter, the cloth ready to be cut and sewn into spring and summer wear.

“I think we can fit all of this in the ship.” Was Myles mutter after a minute, gaze fixed on the fleeces.

Smiling to herself, Sansa dipped out of the shed to find Dak talking with a few others. Waving politely to gain his attention, the man hurried on over. “So,” He began, “What are you taking?”

“If it doesn't put you out of too much work, may we take all the cleaned fleece? We hope that perhaps, come next time around, we can take some dirtied ones. We are just on a time crunch.”

Dak waved away her concern, “That works for us! I was chatting with the others and some of them are relieved for that fleece to go. It's a little overwhelming, you understand.”

Laughing lightly, Sansa agreed, “I do. You have a lot of work ahead of you, and so do I, it seems.” An idea then struck, “Do you perchance have any way that I can communicate with you? For future trade?”

He did, in fact. A comm number, which Sansa would have to get one of her own once back in the campsite, she concluded, was given easily. It would mean that time and prep before hand would allow for smoother transactions, and hopefully next year, Sansa could have something to trade with the herders. They were kind and hard working folk, and she didn't want to take advantage of that and ruin this budding partnership.

With notes finished up and fleece stuffed into the ship, Sansa gave a deep curtsey to Dak, who replied with a low bow. “Good seasons to you, Sansa.”

She offered him a warm and grateful smile, “And a good harvest to you, Dak.”

Satisfied with how today had gone so far, Sansa climbed back into the ship after Myles and took out her sewing, humming cheerfully under her breath.

Breathing hard, not winded but still having worked up a sweat, Jaster ducked under a wild punch, Amon-to far more exhausted then him, and landed a solid hit to his exposed left. The man wheezed, stumbling back into a defensive position. This was their fourth go around, their audience still enraptured, cheering and hollering with every hit or quick manoeuvre made by either one of them. No one was really rooting for one or the other, just enjoying the fight.

From the beginning, it was decided to be purely hand to hand, Jaster not wanting to actually kill the man using the dark sabre. So far, he's won all his rounds, a few close calls, but Jaster had lesson to teach, and when Amon-to could no longer stand up and continue, Jaster would call an end.

Amon-to aimed a kick to his stomach, Jaster latching a hand around his ankle to shove upwards and unbalancing him. However, he caught himself, falling as dead weight only to sweep a leg out to try and make space between him and Jaster. Having lost their buy'ce after the third round, Jaster was able to flash Amon-to a sharp grin, “How're you doing there, vod? Ready to yield?”

Taking a hard breath in, Amon-to glared, “I yielded the last three times and you've made me fight anyways.”

Jaster laughed. He then dove back in, weaving around another sloppy punch, though it still managed to graze his shoulder, Jaster got around and into Amon-to's space. Behind the man, Jaster locked his arms around his waist, and hefted the larger man up and over, slamming him into the ground.

Rolling from the bridge he was in as the observers roared with delight, Jaster snaked over and locked his legs around Amon-to's neck. Thighs locked around the man's head, Jaster called out once more, “Yield?”

Amon-to wheezed, “Will you actually let me yield, 'Mand'alor?”

Leaning in closer for only him to hear, Jaster murmured, “Are you going to apologise to my riduur?”

Rushed nodding was his response, face slowly going redder from the tight hold. “I yield.”

Jaster released him, coming up to a crouch. “You fought well, vod.” And patted him on his chest. The man was at around 6 foot 5, thick muscle and brute force, though still managing to be fairly quick for his size. He was a good warrior, one of the first to join Jaster's cause but hadn't managed to get into his inner circle just because Amon-to preferred more fighting than proper planning of battles.

Standing up, and hiding a wince at the stretch to his stomach, he had taken a hard blow to it during the second round, Jaster held out a hand to help the other up. Amon-to took it gladly. Catching Thrane's eye, he jerked his head for his friend to come over. Jogging close, Jaster instructed Thrane, “Best get him to a medic, 'lek?”

The man rolled his eyes, already dragging one of Amon-to's arms over his shoulders, “If you didn't go so hard on his shebs, he wouldn't need one, 'Alor.”

Jaster snorted and waved them off.

When the ship that Myles and his riduur left it was spotted, Jaster was coming out of his own ship after having applied some bacta patches to the worst of his bruises. He watched as it came to a descent in it's now typical landing spot, jogging over to greet them only for the door to open and a bunch of different coloured fleeces came tumbling out, the two occupants clambering out after it. Pausing in his approach, Jaster rose a brow at the pair of them. There was a pleased flush to Sansa's face, and an exasperated one on Myles that Jaster was very familiar with, spotting Jaster and giving him a wide grin, “Jaster!” It was so far from their morning by the beach, so he gathered it was a good trip.

Bemused but no less happy that Sansa was greeting him in such away, Jaster finished his approach, “Sansa. Good hunting?”

Clutching a datapad in hand, Sansa practically shoved it into his face, babbling, “You would not believe to wealth of information I gathered! Did you know, that you are all practically fucked if I didn't get this knowledge?” She let out a delighted laugh and hurried further into the camp, probably looking for Jeyne, and leaving Jaster further baffled.

“Did she just swear?” He murmured, astonished. A pair of hand then tightly gripped his shoulders, spinning him around to face a deadly serious Myles. “If you love me, Jaster. You will make Sansa the one in charge of running the supplies and storage.”

“I-”

“Why didn't we do that to begin with!?” He hissed, hysteria creeping into his voice and looking particularly wild eyed. “It makes sense! I talked with the queen, wanting to gain some knowledge on how to run a place, because if that woman can organise kingdom, especially during a war, then she could give me pointers on a kriffing campsite! And then! I thought, well shit, Sansa was a queen! She was probably trained by her mother personally and can do this far better than I!” He gave Jaster a few hard shakes in emphasis as he demanded, “Make her do this role instead!”

Speechless from his normally calm second losing his proverbial marbles, Jaster slowly took Myles' hands off him. He gave them a loving pat before releasing them. “You think she can handle it?”

Myles' eyes burnt fiercely, “Give her the role, Jaster. You will have no one better at keeping us all alive and well-tended to than her. She's got the logistics and number down already, plus, she's made friends with the nerf herder leader, Dak. They bonded over wool.”

Glancing over Myles shoulder, Jaster took in the wool. “And, what are we meant to do with all that?”

“We,” Sansa sounded behind him, voice firm with determination, “Are going to make that into blankets and clothes.” He glanced behind just in time to catch the blur that was Jeyne running past with a gleeful squeal, diving on top of the fleece, “Sansa, this is brilliant!” And let out a loud laugh. They were starting to draw some attention, but Jaster could only watch with amused fondness as a few children scrambled to do the same.

Sansa came to stand next to him, calmer as she showed him the datapad again, and this time he caught the glimpse of her words. Blinking, Jaster then narrowed his eyes, trying to understand her hand writing. “Why is it like that?”

Confused, the woman glanced at her notes, “Like what?”

Myles peered down, “It's so...curly?”

“It's my handwriting.” Was Sansa's response, lips pulling downwards. There was a growing sense of insult in her tone as she continued, “I have some of the best penmanship in my family, I was praised heavily since I was five.”

“'Lek, of course it is.” Jaster soothed, “But we've never seen it before.”

Huffing hard, a red flush warming her cheeks, Sansa brought the 'padd back to her and stared at her writing, mumbling, “There's nothing wrong with it.” Then she whipped her head up to glare at them, “You two are just ill-taught and ignorant to the fine craft and penmanship.” Sansa declared, haughty, and a stated, “I will send this to you, and you can show my father. He understands my writing.” Then she stalked over to Jeyne and the children.

Jaster was stunned. It suddenly hit, a massive realisation in his that his wife, was a princess. A former queen. Though she was humble and kind, always ready to understand the other person's side and point of view, she was also royalty. And raised rich. There was certainly a snooty, imperious nature to her, proud of her accomplishments and talents that meant nothing to a Mandalorian but meant everything to other rich and noble types. It meant that in a political situation, Sansa would probably come out on top. He married the royal, well-bred equivalent of a Mandalorian with a deadly skill set and strength that could win in any gladiator ring. It...was very attractive.

Jaster sighed, besotted. “Isn't she amazing?”

Myles friend snorted, clapping him on the shoulder, “Well, glad you can handle what you've married, 'alor.”

Chapter Text

The moment Jaster informed Sansa of her new role, he watched as she snapped to it, “Do we have a large empty area for the wool? There is an entire process to turning it into yarn and cloth, and we will need the space. Where is the rest of your supplies?” Then turned to Myles, Sansa near demanded, “You keep records, correct? I'm going to need the exact amount of people who will be with us through the winter. If not exact then an estimate rounded up.”

Myles shot Jaster an overwhelmed, wide eyed glance, to which Jaster proverbially stepped back, hands raised in surrender, “You wanted her to take over. Best get her situated, vod.”

The glare he got could make beskar melt. Sansa glanced between them, not wavering in taking charge, but there was a hint of faltering. That she may have over stepped. To remedy this, Jaster leant down to bump his head against hers. “Go easy on him, San'ika. And we've got some time before winter.”

Though melting at his soft words, Sansa still rebuked, “We actually don't have enough time. I need people who can work fibre. It can't just be Jeyne and I, two people won't do.”

Taking an actual step back this time, Jaster nodded, “I'll ask around and add your notes to what I'm sending over to your father. It will be two weeks standard time when I head to Westeros again.”

Her lips twisted into a frown, but didn't argue at the wait. Instead she looked away as she murmured to herself, “Good thing we accepted the offered carders and combs from Dak.” Then turned away, gesturing for Myles to follow, “Where is the store rooms and supplies?” Jaster heard her question, Myles scrambling to hurry after her, shooting another glare over his shoulder at his smirking Mand'alor.

If Sansa was going to their Quartermaster – Jaster may have joked about Myles not being one, but that was basically the job, and very important at that – then she was going to need to take charge without trying not to be delicate about it. Mandalorians preferred people who had unwavering confidence in their abilities and were not uncertain all the time. His riduur would find her feet, and being completely in charge of their supplies, the distribution of said supplies, and making sure they stayed well-stocked with their general needs, was perfect for a former queen. It also gave her a military position within Mandalorian understanding that didn't have to do with combat.

He glanced to where Jeyne had commandeered a few of his people to start hefting the fleece, and Jaster decided that now would be a good time to provide the space Sansa requested. Jaster was some what familiar with what went into fibre work, and if he remembered how big looms could be, then a big space was necessary.

Striding over to the group, which was humorously made up of Jango, Gott, and a few ade, he directed, “To the cargo ship, bay five. That's pretty much empty space right now and will work.” Jeyne nodded, and followed after him. Jaster picked up a couple of fleeces, grimacing at the unsuspected weight of the fluff as well as recalling how he had gone a few rounds with one of the biggest of his people, his arms beginning to ache. Looking over his shoulder, he held back a coo at how adorable the children were, a fleece carried by a pair each, faces screwed up in determination.

Next to him, Jeyne huffed, “Sansa said you lot turned down free wool.”

If he could shrug, Jaster would've. Instead he nodded as best as he could with his armful, “It wasn't really on our mind, and we had no idea on what to do with it if we accepted. Good thing we have you two now.” And sent her a smile.

Her lips twitched, looking ahead. After a few moments, Jeyne then said, “I'm going to ask Ka'iala teach me to shoot, and Jango seemed interested in helping as well when I talked to him earlier.”

Jaster arched a brow, humming to show interest. “Sansa going to be alright with that?”

“Why wouldn't she?” Jeyne replied, rhetoric, “It means I can defend myself, and it's what I want. Sansa wouldn't stop me from doing what I wanted, just like I wouldn't for her.”

“You two are still somehow still amazing to me.” He muttered, “The breadth of your loyalty and support is something many warriors strive for.”

“You said it yourself,” Jeyne smiled something soft and warm, “We're sisters in arms.”

“True.” Jaster acknowledged with a nod.

Bay five was large. They went in through the main entrance of the cargo ship, the bays having individual open switches from the inside, and Jeyne approved of the space. There were a few crates of supplies, mainly bandages and dry ration bars for on the go eating. The woman directed the children and Gott to a pile in the corner and from Sansa's bag – which the woman had handed over to Jeyne at some point in their short reunion – Jeyne tugged out two pairs of wooden, rectangle paddles. Upon closer inspection, he noted the even rows of small straight wire bristles.

He gave Jeyne a confused eyebrow raise. “Carding brushes.” Jeyne explained, “You take chunks of fibre, put it onto one of them, and use the other the brush it, transferring it over. You go back and for until its soft and airy, with the fibres all going in one direction. From there, it's easier to spin into yarn.”

Jaster nodded, getting the general gist, then glanced over to the pile. “And...you two are going to be carding all of that?”

With a frown of determination, the woman nodded decisively. “Sansa gave me a short run down of the winters here, and we'll need all the warmth we can get. It's going to be tough, but we'll make do with what we can. We'll focus on blankets, as well as clothes for the children first. However, with sheep fleeces, it takes somewhere between four to five to make a single blanket, one to make an adult sweater. From what I've seen, these fleeces are twice the size of a typical sheep one, so perhaps it won't require that many fleeces for a single blanket, but we will have to see.”

He never thought that much thought went into something like clothes and blankets. Crossing his arms, Jaster hummed thoughtfully, mind racing over people he knew that had any interest or skill with fibre. No one came to mind, but he could definitely ask around. This was an endeavour he could wholly support, and didn't want his riduur and her best friend to be overworked.

“Don't forget the Riduurok tomorrow.” Jaster then reminded Jeyne, who stilled in the middle of waving the children good bye, Jaster nodded to Gott as the man departed. With only Jango, the boy was surreptitiously pretending to not listen in as he laid on the fleeces, the nosey child.

Quieting his words for only Jeyne, Jaster continued, “It's going to be a public ceremony, only because I am the Mand'alor. If it was anyone else, it would be only between the pair, and maybe their closest friends. I'm letting you know so that you can tell Sansa if I don't manage to catch her for the rest of the day. Alright?”

The woman met his gaze head on, staring for a moment, before nodding firmly. “I'll inform Sansa. Will she be allowed to wear her cloak if she wants to?”

His eyebrows rose at the question. “The maiden cloak from our wedding? Of course, if that's what she wants.” Jaster was near desperate to get a better look of it, and the ceremony will be in the daylight, which meant he could take it in fully this time.

From there, they departed, Jeyne heading in the direction of the shoreline as Jaster exited after her with Jango on his heels. After a moment, the boy piped up, “Did you two sort yourselves out? You and Sansa?”

“And how do you know anything was wrong?” Jaster drawled, sending a amused expression towards his son. Jango stuffed his hands into his pockets, “I'm sneaky like that.” A pause. “Also, pretty much everyone knows of you moment at the beach this morning. Very romantic, buir.”

Lightly shoving Jango to the side once he noticed the wagging eyebrows, the boy snickering, Jaster answered, “I think we're finally getting on the same page. But we'll have to see. I have a feeling we're not out of the battle yet with this one.”

“She's...different. From how we expected.” Was Jango's soft, contemplative statement, frowning at the ground as they walked to the command ship – which was just his ship where he took meetings with his inner circle – and Jaster tilted his head back and up to the sky. His ad'ika wasn't wrong. Sansa was not what they expected. In some cases, yes, she did behaviour how a royal princess was generally assumed to behave. And then on the other hand, her past and trauma affected who she must have been before, changing her to be more guarded, more aware of the dangerous of the world, and so terribly sad almost all the time.

For a moment, Jaster wondered at the girl she was before. Would she have smiled more freely? Expressed her thoughts more openly? Would she have taken things as they were, and not look for a deeper meaning? Would Jaster love her as she would have been without the trauma, or would he not? It was hard to say, and hard to think about. He didn't want to contemplate a universe where he married a Sansa that wasn't the one he knew now, and it turned out they never got along. That they never were going to fall in-

He dragged his thoughts out of that spiral and stated broadly, “I don't think she is what anyone really expects at first glance.”

“Or even second or third.” Jango joked. Jaster ruffled his curly hair in agreement. “But you don't mind her?” The man wanted to reaffirm. He had asked so whilst they were on Westeros, but it was still good to check in again.

Jango nodded firmly. “She's still secretive a times, but I don't see it harming anyone. I get it though, with her rough past. And some of the kids seem to be coming around to her too. Especially her and Jeyne's hair.”

They shared a smile before Jaster urged Jango to make himself busy with training. It was that hour of the day right now and he should be in lessons.

Stepping into his ship, the space below the cock pit was filled with his inner circle, besides Myles who was with Sansa. There was Zaran, Thrane, Ka'iala, and Jan'ilma, a Twi'lek woman. They nodded at his entrance and sat down at their make-shift table: a few crates surrounding a folded out metal table.

“Right,” Jaster began, “Got a bit of change in position now.”

He had informed them of what went on during his stay in the North, along with the treaty and agreement. All that political and logistical talk was primarily over with after yesterday's long meeting once he returned. There had also been a couple of them raising their curiosity on him marrying Sansa the Mandalorian way, but mainly stayed their tongue.

However, with this being now a meeting that discussed Sansa, he knew they would be stating their questions they had held in on the first day.

“Sansa will be taking over as our Quartermaster. As we all know,” Jaster couldn't help but chuckle at recalling all the complaints from his friend, “Myles was none-to-happy with that position, though I thought he faired well enough with it, but Sansa has a far better grasp at handling it.”

Thrane tilted his head as he asked, “In what way, 'alor? Has she had experience in a war camp?”

Scratching at his neck, Jaster replied, “I wouldn't say a war camp, and please remember Thrane we aren't a war camp.” The man gave a sheepish shrug at Jaster amused but pointed glance, “And she ruled a large portion of a kingdom during a war for three years. I'm also pretty sure she staged a coup that killed her first husband, but I'm still blurry on the details.”

“Okay,” Ka'iala cut in, “Does this mean we can finally drop the pretence and just ask you what the fuck is up with your wife, Jaster? Because, that woman is just bizarre. Her and her friend.”

Jan snorted, leaning back against the wall, “The way 'Iala heard it, she killed her two husbands and now you're telling us she over-threw one of them?”

Releasing any bit of formality that he had, Jaster slumped over in his seat, burying his head into his hands. “Her brother said she fed the other one to his dogs! I'm afraid to ask for more details because she's so heavily traumatised.”

“Oh, I got that.” Ka'iala drawled, “But when you told us you were going to marry a princess, you said nothing about her being a previous queen.”

Zaran commented, dry as a bone, “You're just as surprised as we were. But at least we know she's capable.”

“And not likely to over throw you, Jaster?” Thrane softly asked. That had Jaster glancing up at the man. He was 29, but Jaster still saw him as the little boy he helped raise on the streets, and could read his concern and mild alarm like a book.

Jaster shook his head. “For one, I'm very assured of the Haat Mandalorian's loyalty to me. We've had no information leaks since Montross, correct?” He turned to Zaran, who nodded in confirmation. With that confirmed Jaster continued, “Which means that Montross was the only one betraying us, so I'm certain that no one here is wanting to overthrow me in a dishonourable way. After all, anyone is welcome to try and challenge me for the position.”

The others snorted or rolled their eyes. Jaster was declared their leader once he created the Super-commando codex and began gaining traction, and this was before he had ideas of becoming Mand'alor. It just became practical, to win the blade as fairly as he could to secure his position. He didn't want to be king for the sake of power, but to create a unified and stable faction of Mandalorians. The politics that came with it though was frustrating and headache inducing. Anyone with a brain cell could tell that this position was not one of endless glory, but exhausting. If a better leader wanted to try their hand, they were free to.

“On a second note, to clarify, Sansa killed the last two because they were abusive. One slaughtered her entire household, and the other was planning treason so close to an end of the war. Besides the personal harm inflicted onto her person, they were threats to her kingdom and family, so I have no problem with Sansa's kill count. I'm sure you all would've done something similar or worse in her position. She also knows she hasn't gained many of our people's trust or even respect currently, so she wouldn't even consider overthrowing me. If anything, Sansa and Jeyne would just run away if things got bad, and they already warned me ahead of time on that.”

That had them all sitting back and looking thoughtful. It put a couple of things in perspective hopefully, easing any doubts they had with this union and arrangement. And hopefully, it would put a stop to the strange glances Thrane had started to send Jaster when the topic of Sansa was brought up. Jan then piped up, breaking the contemplative silence. “So, she's the Quartermaster, now?”

Glad they were circling back around to the main reason for the meeting, Jaster nodded to her in thanks, “Yeah. She was raised to run a castle, which from my estimate, was from 500 to a 1,000 people within one building. Perhaps more, I'm not too sure, I didn't really count. But she knows food stores, knows rationing, and knows how to prepare and keep everyone well-provided for.”

“And what's with all that fleece earlier?” Ka'iala then asked.

A breath of laughter left Jaster, “Preparing us for winter. From what I understand, we get hit hard on this side of the planet. So when the time comes, I might be deferring to her on such matters. Don't be alarmed when that happens, alright? She knows to follow my say so if it impacts my leadership, and she's learning fast in terms of our customs and culture. If she does anything wrong or misunderstands out of ignorance, don't be afraid to correct her, but don't be a dick about it. Got it?”

Scribbling on the datapadd, Sansa listened as Myles directed her around one of the major storage units of the cargo ship. It was freezing in the room, storing frozen foods, preserving them instead of them going to waste. “...And we generally have to use up the meat as soon as possible because it just goes wasted. Freezing only does so much until it's unsafe to eat.”

Sansa tapped the stylus to her lips. “What of smoking and drying the meats? They can last up to six months without the moisture in them.”

Myles paused, staring at her. “Is there some secret Northern technique that does that? Because when we do that, it only lasts a week or so.”

“Are you using salt? Do you soak it in a salt solution for a full day? Because that's what we do before any drying. Then we have a room specifically kept warm and dry to stop any moisture to get to it once it's been either dried raw or smoked.”

The man nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “We do something similar, but maybe your way is different? We only managed about a few weeks at the most. Then again, our meat comes from off planet currently, so we don't always get to cure or smoke it the way we need it to be.”

Tapping her lip some more, Sansa wondered, “What's the game like here?”

Sighing in thought, Myles leant against one of the shelves. “Got some four and six legged herbivores within the mountains, but you'd be surprised how many Mandalorians actually don't know how to hunt game properly.” Then, with a considering glance, Myles asked, “Do...you know how to field dress animals?”

Glancing off to the side, Sansa recalled that year with Rickon, which right now, was becoming the most useful year of her life to her surprise. At the time, it was just finding new things in order to forget the past five years. After a year after Ramsay, everything in Winterfell was smothering, suffocating. The open and wild plains and mountains of Skagos were a surprisingly relaxing breath of fresh air. Even with some of the clans there that were a bit...old fashioned with their practises, Rickon steered her and Jeyne clear of them, and kept them to the safer clans. Still, with the hunting, the weaving, and a carious other activities most noble women would have balked at, Sansa had enjoyed her time and was considering sending Rickon some thank you gift with the knowledge coming in handy now.

“I've got some experience.” Sansa demurred, “Though Jeyne did the actual felling of the animals, I learnt the field dressing. If some skilled hunters went with me, I can show them how to properly take care of game.”

Myles watched her for a long moment, a hint of impressed admiration in his eyes, before he looked down at his own 'padd, tapping on it. “I'll make a note of it. I'm still in charge of setting up patrol shifts and some operatives off world, as well as keeping shit peaceful here. Mandalorians, though we can get along generally, get into fights a lot. Even over the simplest of things.” He then chuckled, “We even have a saying: Munit tome'tayl, skotah iisa. Means 'long memory, short fuse'.”

Her lips turned in amusement, “Hold grudges and quick to fight.” She turned the phrase over in her head, slowly nodding, “I can...certainly see that.”

“Yeah. Hey, I have a question.” He straightened up from the shelf, “Why did you curtsy so low to Dak?”

At the sudden change of topic, it took Sansa a second to recall what he was referring to. Then she arched a brow, “Why do you ask?”

Exasperated, Myles replied, “I'm not accusing you of anything, Sansa. It's just odd. You curtsied for Jaster, not for the Haat Mandalorians, and then you do so for a nerf herder. Just wanted to understand your reasoning.”

Turning off the datapadd, Sansa tucked it under her arm as she crossed them, head tilting to the side as she thought about it. Most of the time, manners were ingrained and she barely thought when giving people of different stations various curtseys. It was split second decisions, made either to show respect, to show deference, or sometimes to slightly insult. For example, if she saw Cersei again, Sansa would give a deeper than required curtsey to the woman. Not because of a large amount of admiration or deference, but because the woman wasn't queen and knew that Sansa was mocking her for giving her a deeper than necessary curtsey. A silent insult. Not like they hadn't traded such gestures and snubs over the years to begin with, their relationship mutual antagonism and reluctant respect. However, in the end, there were just many factors that went into her manners and courtesies.

“Well,” Sansa began thoughtfully, “With Jaster, he was to be my husband and is a king. I wanted to be respectful of his station so as not acquire his ire. You know my past with husbands, I didn't want to insult him in case he reacted violently later on to the slight. I generally however give deep nods to people within the castle, showing my gratitude to their service. Kindness goes further than cruelty in gaining peoples approval. I did with you and Zaran when you were stood guard, because I wanted to be kind to my future people.”

The man stayed silent, listening to her and focus completely on her. Uncrossing her arms, she used one hand to smooth back her braid. “As for the others, I knew that such manners and decorum were not generally cared about. I wanted to fit in, so I did not use my typical courtesies.” Sansa gave a wry smile then, “Also, by technicality, they are all below my station, so you could factor that into it. Though I don't look down on people just because I was lucky – or unlucky depending on your point of view – to be born into royalty. It's just ingrained in me to notice those things.”

“And for Dak?”

“I would not have curtsied to him, if hadn't bowed first.”

Myles brows flew up. “Really?”

With an elegant shrug, Sansa elaborated, “I don't know his culture or traditions, but he bowed. Whether that is something before or because of his current life style, he knows and understands such gestures. I wished to convey my sincere gratitude for the help he provided.”

“Huh. Neat.” Myles scratched at his jaw, “Never really thought that much thought process went into bows and stuff.”

“Nobility is very...particular.” Her lips twitched with amusement, “A different kind of language, I guess.”

Grabbing his datapadd from where he set it aside earlier, Myles gestured for her to exit the room, stating, “It will certainly come in handy if we interact with any high society sorts. We'll be looking to you, princess.”

The usage of her title was not said to be insulting, or to mock. Myles' tone was appreciative, respectful. It settled something within her. Myles was Jaster's right hand. Vayon Poole and Maester Luwin to her father. He had much sway over both his leader and his people. To have Myles genuine approval was a relief. And a shield just in case something occurs in the future. Though in no way was she wanting to manipulate anyone here, it was hard to turn off such instincts, having lived most of her life doing such things to stay alive and as safe as possible. Sansa hoped one day it wouldn't be such a constant and instinctive thought process. It was endlessly exhausting.

Having returned to her room for some peace and quiet so that she could finish typing up a report for Jaster on the state of supplies and what they may need in the coming future – as well as her notes on her meeting with Dak seeing as her handwriting was too neat for them to understand – Sansa lounged on the bed, humming as she worked. Boots kicked off to the side of the door, Sansa was sat comfortable and using her own notebook to record her notes. The datapadd was handy, but she still preferred and was used to written copies. And, it was nice to add her own subjective thoughts instead of keeping a factual and objective tone to her reports.

Penning down some ideas and estimates on how much can be made per fleece, Jeyne came into the room. There was a slight hop to her step, an air of excitement as she greeted Sansa with a chirped, “Sansa! I've just arranged to have Ka'iala to teach me how to use a blaster.”

Sitting up, Sansa grinned, “Really? That's wonderful, Jeyne!” The woman had mentioned wanting to beforehand, so it was good to have someone agreeing to teach her.

Flopping onto her back on the bed, hands settling on her stomach, her friend grinned in return, “We're going to start small, but she mentioned other blaster models, as well as these old fashioned models called slug-throwers. But we'll work our way around the different types. Just going to first focus on using the one my father got me.”

Humming to show she was listening, Sansa silently prompted Jeyne to sit back up so that she could brush her friend's hair. Hopping off the bed to get a brush before settling back down, Sansa paid attention as Jeyne rambled some more, particularly about a type of shooting style called sniping. It reminded Sansa of longbow men.

Then, Jeyne diverged into the fight from this morning, how Jaster won all four rounds against Amon-to. Running the brush through the thick brown curls, Sansa bit her lip at the thought of Jaster defending her. She knew, realistically, it was also about how the man doubted him so severely as to insult Jaster, but Sansa warmed at the knowledge that it was also about the insult to her too. No man had ever defended her on such a small slight. What Amon-to said was gentle in comparison to some of the past filth that was flung her way by Joffrey and his guards. By Ramsay and his men. Hells, even the Lords of the North and some of Winterfell's servants had said some horrid things behind her back. This was nothing. But Jaster took offence, and dealt with it.

Smiling to herself, Sansa almost wished she had been there to watch, but knew she was doing far more important things than boosting her own self-importance in Jaster's life.

Braiding Jeyne's hair into a crown, Sansa spoke when her friend came to a lull in her words, “So, you are liking it here?”

Jeyne was quiet for a couple of seconds, before she glanced over her shoulder to Sansa was a teasing tone, “Some what. I do miss the lemon cakes and dresses, however.” Sansa giggled a little, wrapping her arms around Jeyne's shoulders as she added, “Yes, I do miss my sweeping skirts. But it's not too bad here. That first night was not the best, but it could've been worse.”

Her friend gently clutched Sansa's arms, leaning back into the embrace. They shared a content silence, both ruminating over their own thoughts. Then, Jeyne stated quietly, “You are marrying again tomorrow.”

Something stilled within Sansa. In all the excitement of today, she had forgotten. “...Yes. I am.”

“I believe Jaster wants you to wear your maiden cloak again.”

“Really?” Was Sansa's incredulous response, leaning over one of Jeyne's shoulder to catch her eye. The other woman nodded. “He wanted me to tell you in case he didn't get to you today that you're marrying tomorrow. And I mentioned that you might want to wear the cloak, to see if he was alight with that. I think he likes it too, so he probably wants you to wear it.” It made Sansa flush a little, that Jaster liked her work as Jeyne then asked, “Is the vambrace ready?”

Peeling off of Jeyne's back, Sansa laid down on the bed on her side, plucking at the furs, “It's finished. I hope...it will be good enough.”

Jeyne scoffed, “He would be an idiot to not accept it. It's very obvious you've put a lot of thought into it. Maybe it's not metal or anything, but it's the care and thought that matters more, right?”

Sighing, Sansa rolled onto her back staring up at the ceiling. “Hopefully.”

Though her tongue clicked with mild annoyance, Jeyne stayed silent. Instead, she crawled further onto the bed to lay down next to Sansa, on her side and facing the red head. Turning her head to meet Jeyne's gaze, Sansa reached out to clasp one of her hands. “We talked this morning.”

“How did it go?”

Bashful, Sansa admitted, “I...I think he really likes me, Jeyne. Like...romantically.”

A slow growing smile spread over Jeyne's face, “That's wonderful! And what did you say?”

Swallowing hard, Sansa let her own smile creep up, tiny and hopeful, “That I was learning to as well. It's going to take time for us, I think. But, I truly believe that more affection will grow between us.”

This time, Jeyne sighed. It was a wistful sound however, snuggling her head into Sansa's neck. “What I wouldn't give for a romance.”

Nudging her lightly, Sansa teased, “I'm sure there are plenty of Mandalorians you can choose from. Many very...willing, to show you how to use a blaster.”

Jeyne muffled a shriek of laughter, aghast, “Sansa! That's a terribly innuendo! How dare you!”

Laughing openly, the red head pointed out, “But your blushing, Jeyne! So whose more terrible in this instance?”

“I'll show you terrible.” Jeyne threatened as she grabbed a pillow, Sansa yelping as she rolled away from the dull thump that hit just where her head was. Face bright red, Jeyne continued with her assault as Sansa dodged and tried to find her own weapon to fight back with, wild laughter filling the room.

Chapter Text

The datapadd told her it's an hour before sunrise. It was starting to be a bit of a struggle, adjusting to the strange time differences, especially because an hour was around ninety minutes here and not the typical sixty she was used to. Sansa noted that only a few things had set times, like when breakfast and dinner were made and ready to be eaten, or patrol times, which were set in place and did not waver in their rigidity. However, everything else was to the person's preferences, such as lunch or when they did their laundry. No one, that she knew of, needed to sleep a full thirteen hours. And it was sometimes a struggle to try and keep active for a full fifteen hours before sundown, and with it being spring-turning-to-summer, the days were getting longer. She had no idea how they were going to deal with that entire week of just sunlight.

Either way, she knew she was up before most of the settlement were besides an odd few of early birds and the pre-sunrise morning patrol. Turning over where she laid, Sansa looked at where Jeyne was still burrowed deep into the blankets, fast asleep. She had been snuggled up to Sansa's back, and the sensation of a familiar body in her bed was a comforting one. Back in Winterfell, after Ramsay, Jeyne and Sansa shared a bed every night, despite many people's disapproval. But they didn't understand. They couldn't comprehend the thought of being separate from the one person who they knew was completely safe. Sansa and Jeyne didn't need to pretend around one another, didn't need to doubt the loyalty and devotion shared between them. Sansa spent so long sharing a bed with monsters, that she needed a friend instead. And Sansa knew that Jeyne also found a security in being near one another too.

Reaching out, Sansa tucked some hair behind Jeyne's ear before climbing out of bed. She was to be married again today, though with someone she actually wanted to spend a life with. Two weddings with the same person was strange, but the thought of marrying Jaster by his own culture's standards was heartening. It gave her a stable ground to stand upon, knowing that this was going to be permanent. She was not going to be removed from his side easily.

However, it still was daunting. Last night, with Jeyne, Sansa was practising the pronunciations for the vows, wanting it to flow smoothly. She didn't want to be looked down upon just because she couldn't say them correctly. But it would be hours until then, and her heart was racing with an anticipation that wasn't dread nor excitement. It was just a sped up pulse and she had a desperate need for solitude.

Casting a glance over to an empty corner, where only one object laid, Sansa had just the idea of what would ease her nerves this morning. Clambering out of bed, Sansa put on some trousers, newly made and never worn, before tugging off her night gown. Instead, with a short shift and a long tunic, Sansa was prepared for a ride.

She did not bother with redoing her braid, it was going to be styled differently later for the ceremony anyways, and instead sat on the bed as she pulled on socks and boots. Grabbing a pair of gloves and the saddle, Sansa quietly slipped out of the room.

The trees were still in their glowing blue and purple stage, not yet dimming. Birds chirped however and the clean air was perfect in releasing some tension. From the entry way, Lady perked up, tail thumping.

Crouching down, Sansa scratched at her companion's head, “Up for a ride, Lady?”

The direwolf got up to stretch in response, and Sansa took that as an agreement to tug on her saddle. It sat differently to a typical horse one, like a harness around the front legs to keep the rider on and steady. Instead of sitting on the middle back, Sansa would be further up near the shoulder blades, where the animal had better balance and strength.

Swinging her leg up and settling her feet into the stirrups, Sansa leant forward and grasped the handle on the front of the saddle, as a direwolf would never allow any kind of reins to control it. Instead, the pair were so in-tuned with one another that it only took a slight press of Sansa's intentions into Lady's mind for them to communicate on where to go.

Sat comfortably, the rider urged Lady forward with a soft word of encouragement. Lady started slow, adjusting to the weight and sniffing at the air. Then with a shake of her back legs and tail, a final stretch, the direwolf tore off out of the ship and out of the camp. The lopping running motions of a wolf meant that sitting up straight could unbalance the rider and wolf, meaning that only when Lady slowed down could Sansa sit up to look around. But there was no slowing down right now. Instead, Sansa relaxed fully forward, keeping a tight grip on the handle, and rested her cheek on her arms, watching the dark blur of the world move by. Utter peace settled in her chest.

She did not know how long they ran for, sounds of rustling bushes at Lady's movement and birds flying off at the disturbance was all Sansa knew. She knew the feeling of the direwolf's breathing, her chest moving in short pants, could feel the joy from their connection, and found herself submerging deeper into the animal's mind. Smell heightened, sounds louder, and everything was simple. Just the new land to explore and possible game to hunt.

However, as the sun rose, heating their fur, they came to a pause, their head turning back to the direction of the campsite. Up on higher ground, it was a distant speck near the glimmering blue sea. Scenting the air, they smelt the meals being cooked, distantly heard more people moving about, and decided it was time to go back to their home.

Slowly, as ground was eaten up under their paws as they ran, Sansa retreated from Lady's mind and came fully back to herself and body. It meant that as they reached the camp, Lady slowing down to a walk, Sansa could sit up. Her back cracked a little from the prolonged hold of such a position, and had to roll her shoulders a few times to settle the ache. As she did so, releasing one hand to brush back her windswept hair, Sansa caught sight of the Mandalorians that were up and about. There...was a lot of staring.

Swallowing back the nerves that wished to reappear, Sansa looked forward and pretended that the attention wasn't affecting her as much as it was. In Winterfell, it wasn't an uncommon sight to see a Stark sibling on their wolf, so she hadn't thought twice about the reactions from the Mandalorians. She just wanted some time alone and take her mind off of everything. This was not helping.

Still, she faced worse with worse audiences, and guided Lady towards the shoreline so that the animal could drink. Dismounting to begin taking off the saddle, Sansa heard a call, and turned to see some of the children led by Jango running over.

Stroking Lady's neck ruff, promising the direwolf she will have a nice groom soon, Sansa smiled at them. “Sansa! That was wicked! Can I ride her one day?”

At Jango's question, the other children chimed in on their desire, to which the woman let out a giggle, hiding behind her hand as she replied, “I don't think any of you will be riding her alone, but perhaps one day, if Lady is up for it, we can take some turns around the campsite, hm? One at a time of course.”

That got some cheers, a few coming close to pet Lady. However, Sansa was quick to halt their touch, grasping one hand that was too close to Lady. “Don't.” She ordered. The sudden change in her demeanour, going stern, had the children faltering. After glancing around to make sure none were going to try again, Sansa looked back to Lady.

The direwolf blinked slowly, deceptively passive. But Sansa noted the hackles in Lady's fur, a faint rising of her lips into a tiny snarl. The run had got her excitement up and an unfamiliar touch could set her off with how high strung she currently was. She may be the calmest of her litter, she was still a wild animal, only placid by her own choice.

“Don't touch Lady without her permission.” Sansa started to lecture, Lady huffing and turning back to her drinking, though her ears were tuned to them and her gaze flicking over every now and then. Turning to the children, she caught the sight of fear in a few of them, and released the hand in her grasp. Soothingly, Sansa rubbed the hand, gentling the firmness from before.

“She may listen to me and not attack people, but she is still a wild creature, and will react violently if caught off guard. The first sign an animal is not in a mood for interaction is obvious if you know it's tells. For example,” Sansa pointed at the raised fur on Lady's back and faint flicking of her tail. Agitated. “That means that she is not alright with being approached suddenly. If you want her attention, get into her eyeline and hold out a hand. If she is fine with you, she will approach. Not you. If not interested, Lady will either walk away or stay in place. If she doesn't come to you, don't go to her. Understood?”

The severe lesson had them nodding rapidly, the children far more timid with Lady now, some even taking a few steps back. Sighing, Sansa stood up and assured them, “That doesn't mean she is unfriendly. It's just good to know the signs, because even if she won't attack to kill, she'll still lash out to get you to back off.”

That didn't do much in easing their nerves either, and a many decided to leave, sending uncertain glances back at Lady, who had now laid down by the shoreline with a huff, head resting on her paws. All that was left was Jango and the child who Sansa had grabbed earlier. There was a bit of fear in her gaze, but her chin was tilted up in determination. It was the same blue child from the first day. Her dark eyes were wide, blinking up at Sansa as she asked quietly, “Can I try petting her now?”

“Well,” Sansa replied calmly, looking to Lady, “Lets see if she's up for it.”

The girl glanced to Lady, staring for a long moment, before pointing out, “Her tail isn't wagging, and her fur is flat.”

“That's right, good job.” Sansa softly praised the child. “Want to do the next step?”

Nodding, the child shuffled slightly closer, still within Sansa's grabbing range just in case, and tentatively stretched out her hand. Lady blinked, before getting up, taking a few slow steps to come closer, nose twitching as she smelt the child's hand. Then, the direwolf came closer to bump her muzzle into the tiny blue hand. Giggling, the little girl looked the Sansa, who nodded with approval, “Go ahead and pet her now. Don't grab or tug at her ears because that hurts. If she starts to back away, let her, don't chase. And if her lips draw back a little, step away, alright?”

Sansa didn't want to scare the children, that was never her intention. She just wanted to make sure no one got hurt and everyone was safe. She loved Lady dearly, and wouldn't be able to bear it if she had to send her back to Winterfell. Lady was a good girl, always has been.

Lady deigned for a few more pets, before she moved away from the child to duck in close to give Sansa a few licks, then the direwolf moved away. She paused once more to brush against Jango, who gave her a few pats before running off down the beach.

The child watched her leave, then turned to Sansa, “She's nice. I hope I can ride her with you one day.”

Laughing a little, Sansa wrapped an arm around the child to press her to her side for a brief hug, “Hopefully, we can soon, hm? We'll have to ask your buir though beforehand. Permission is always good to have.”

After nodding in very solemn agreement, the child waved good bye before running off. That was when Sansa noted the Mandalorian that was stood nearby, who the child ran too. Colliding with an armoured leg, the girl chattered excitedly as their parent stooped down to pick them up. In armour of white and green, the Mandalorian gave Sansa a short nod before walking away.

“Think that went well?” Sansa asked Jango, unsure.

The boy nodded, stepping closer to nudge his shoulder into her arm, a casual and reassuring gesture. Very familiar for them, but it was nice. “It was good. Those ade can be demanding and sometimes overstepping in boundaries. It's good they learn now, when you were here, instead of unsupervised and getting hurt.”

Folding her arms tightly, the woman murmured, “I hope I didn't upset anyone.”

Jango scoffed, “Mandalorians are all about harsh lessons when they're needed. That was soft in comparison, so don't worry. If anything, you gained some parental approval because you told them off.”

Laughing a little, instinct took over and Sansa ruffled Jango's hair before she realised what she was doing. Freezing, Sansa remembered that this wasn't Rickon, and quickly retracted her hand. Jango however gave her a half smile, “You're fine, Sansa. Don't worry about.” Before heading off in the direction of the cargo ship.

The sight of Sansa riding into the campsite on her massive fucking wolf was something that shouldn't have stopped Jaster in his tracks as it did. It was breathtaking, her straight back and cool demeanour, hair mused and cheeks flushed. Beside him, also watching as Sansa and Lady rode past, Myles and Jan groaned. “He's so embarrassing.” The man muttered, with Jan replying, “He's completely lovesick.”

“I can hear you both.” Jaster said mildly.

“Yeah,” Myles deadpanned, “We know. We're hoping that if you knew how gross your expression was you would learn to hide it better. Or put on you bucket.”

Without looking Jaster lashed out and grappled Myles into a head lock, the man yelping as Jaster dug his fist into his head. Jan snorted at their fighting, commenting, “Ready for the Riduurok?”

Still not releasing Myles, Jaster nodded, “Yeah. We got the food hall preparing for the feast afterwards?” Then he grunted in pain as Myles finally jabbed his elbow into his side, freeing himself. A little breathless, the man said, “Lek. And some of the others off planet who are nearby will be arriving soon to be here for the ceremony.”

“Good.”

After catching sight of his glorious wife riding her direwolf like the Mandalorian of old on their mythosaurs, Jaster decided it was a good omen. Today should go well. Jan said her goodbyes, heading off to do whatever she was off to do, as Myles asked, “Are you going to have a day off with Sansa tomorrow?”

Blinking, Jaster realised he hadn't thought of that. Typically, after a Riduurok, the pair would spend a day together alone after. Sometimes it was just a day of privacy in their room or even going on a trip. Depending on the pair, it could even be a week long, not just a day. And it was very obvious what the pair got up to when alone.

Coughing as he felt heat flick up his neck, Jaster tried to cover it up by replying, “I'll have to ask her what she wants to do.” He had not allusions to sex occurring, but time alone together would be nice. A date, even though they were doing everything in reverse.

That thought then hit him like a ton of beskar. Slowly, Jaster turned to his second, “Myles...”

A look of wariness fell over said man's face, “Jaster...?”

“We've never gone on a date together. And now, we're getting married.” Burying his head in his hands as his friend chuckled, Jaster bemoaned, “It's all backwards! I don't even know what her favourite colour is!”

At his dramatics, Myles punched his arm, “Respectfully, you're an idiot, 'alor. Just take her out camping or something. Ask her what you want to know and just get to know one another.”

Peeking up from his hands, Jaster wondered, “Would she even like camping?”

Myles shrugged, nonchalant, “I think she's alright with it. I know she's familiar was skinning and field dressing game, so maybe she's familiar with camping.”

Jaster paused. “She can skin an animal?” An image of Sansa, still in a delicate and pretty dress, with her hands halfway into the guts of a dead animal, should not be as attractive as he pictured it. In his mind's eye, Sansa turned and gave him one of those small, shy smiles. Myles smacked him over the head ruining the image. “You're terrible.”

Scowling, Jaster grunted, “Go away.” To which the man rolled his eyes and did so.

Rubbing at his face, Jaster stalked across the campsite and back to his room, having had made his own breakfast in the ship earlier, and proceeded to stand listlessly in his room.

He was already married to Sansa, technically. But to perform the Riduurok...was a show of devotion and knowing that there would be no divorce. A Mandalorian divorce was a rare and bloody sight, and Jaster prayed to the Ka'ra that this would be a good marriage.

Sighing, Jaster slumped on the edge of his bed, glancing down at his right vambrace. It would be Sansa's soon, but he wondered if that's what she would want. She didn't want to be a warrior, and to wear one might give her the implication that she had to be. Would he even give it to her, knowing that she didn't have one in return to give? Running an agitated hand through his hair, Jaster stood up. He needed to talk to Jeyne.

Heading to the women's room and giving a sharp knock, he was hit with a bit of deja vu as the door opened to a disgruntled Jeyne. Only, this time, she wasn't rudely awoken. Instead, he caught the sight of a room messy with clothes and fabrics strewn about. “Uh...” Jaster couldn't help but intone.

Jeyne rose a brow, “What do you need?”

Suddenly nervous, Jaster shuffled from one foot to another. Which led to Jeyne taking pity on him and inviting him in. “Mind the mess, I'm trying to find something.”

“And it led to a bomb in your room occurring?”

At his jape she snorted, facing him with arms crossed and hip cocked when they got further into the room. The door slid shut automatically when it sensed no one standing there. It felt like a trap. Reaffirming that he could absolutely take Jeyne in a fight if need be, Jaster cleared his throat and began, “Sansa knows that we exchange vambraces, right?”

“Yes. She's got something prepared.”

Surprise flared through him at that prompt response, straightening up. “She does?”

Jeyne shrugged, “Had something prepared once she read up on Mandalorian marriages. Thought that if it occurred then she would want to be ready and not left unprepared.”

“She's always a prepared person.” Jaster softly chuckled to himself.

“Well, she had to be.” Jeyne reminded him, before asking, “Was that all?”

“Ah, no.” He scratched the back of his neck, “Does Sansa know about the trip taken after marriage?”

Blinking slowly, Jeyne shook her head. That meant he had to explain it, and kriff. He wished sometimes that Sansa didn't make him so nervous even when she wasn't in the room. “Well,” Jaster quickly explained, watching as Jeyne's brows slowly rose with it, but gave nothing away in her expression.

“And you want to take her camping?”

He threw up his arms. “I don't know! I know I want to take her to Naboo but that's too far for a short journey and I don't want to leave so soon after arriving back here. Also, it means she's still on the planet and close to you, so your separation anxiety doesn't flare up too much.”

Jeyne rolled her shoulders back, looking offended, “What do you mean our separation anxiety?”

He barrelled on, “And camping is not a bad idea! We'll have a ship to sleep in so it's not really camping, but it's in the outdoors and she can bring Lady if she wants. I just-” Jaster then faltered, suddenly unsure, “I just want...to spend time together. Just us.”

Was he always like this when it came to relationships? He doesn't remember past ones filling him with so much anxiety and uncertainty. Maybe it was because this relationship was going to be permanent. That he chose it to be that way and wanted it to all work out well. Or maybe it was because Sansa deserved that effort in a way no one in the past tried. He wanted to genuinely win her heart.

Jeyne sighed in the silence, stepping closer to set a calming hand on his shoulder, “Sansa wouldn't mind it. Just ask her about it tonight, or if you want, I can tell her?”

He shook his head at her suggestion, wryly replying, “I should be the one asking her. She's my riduur after all. You shouldn't be playing the messenger.”

“Oh, so you don't want me to teach you how to dance with her?” Jeyne teased, and heat crept up the back of his neck. “Who told you that!?”

Flicking a lock of her hair over her shoulder, Jeyne sniffed, “Like I give away my sources.”

His eyes narrowed, “It was Zaran, wasn't it?”

Her face remained terrifyingly blank and unmoving. Their stand off held until the door opened, revealing Sansa, who paused at the sight of them. Jaster froze, wondering if she was going to take this the wrong way. Instead, she looked the Jeyne, who stated, “Jaster wanted to take a peek at your cloak. I'm trying to convince him to wait.”

Jaster slid his eyes over to the woman who was saving his shebs, watched her stare him down, and looked back to Sansa, putting on a sheepish smile, “I couldn't wait. I never got a good look on that night. It was too dark.”

She seemed to buy it, smiling in amusement, “Well, if the ceremony is in the daylight, then you will be able to take it all in. Besides, I've made some adjustments so it's a little different. Can you wait until...” Sansa trailed off, frowning. “What time are we marrying?”

His hand smacked his face, “Kark, I knew I forgot something. Things have just been a bit busy. It's at the seventh hour, so-”

“In two hours!?” The women both shrieked. Suddenly, Jaster was being manhandled out the door, hearing only frantic cries and moving about after the door promptly shut behind him. Standing in the empty hallway, Jaster stood, caught off guard, before sighing. Hard. It was one filled with fondness as well as exasperation. They were very much high maintenance, those two. He wondered if Zaran would be able to handle it like Jaster was with Sansa.

Turning away from their room, Jaster decided to check in with the cooks, see how the feast was going and if the others off planet had arrived yet.

Even though the actual Riduurok ceremony tend to be private, if they so wished, a celebration feast would occur afterwards with friends and family. Sansa and his ceremony would take place in the afternoon – by this planet's time – and the feasting and partying would take place for the rest of the day, and probably into the evening. With a hard exhale as he stepped out of the ship, Jaster hoped things would go well today.

Jeyne was muttering under her breath as she brushed Sansa's hair, the red head watching her friend in the mirror, amused. The muttering consisted of words fit for a sailor, no doubt Theon having taught her, about Mandalorians and their lack of courtesies and understanding of time.

Looking away from her irritated friend, Sansa glanced down at the leather vambrace, smoothing her thumb over the surface. She had done as the leather craftsman had suggested, using a darker stain to paint the symbol that was on Jaster's shoulder. From the information Jango had given her, it was the skull of a mythosaur, a great extinct creature from Mandalore history and legends. From the description, Sansa gathered they were as large – if not larger – than some of the dragons of Westeros' past. She hoped it was good enough.

“He wasn't here for the cloak, was he.” Sansa softly stated.

Jeyne paused in her brushing and muttering, “No, he wasn't.”

Glancing up at her reflection in the mirror, Sansa arched a brow, “Anything I should be concerned about?”

“Nothing bad,” Jeyne replied, shaking her head and resuming the brushing. “I'm sure he will talk to you about it later. If anything, he was nervous of your disapproval.”

Sansa hummed thoughtfully, setting the vambrace onto the make-shift vanity, and straightened her shoulders. “Then it's no matter. If you say there is nothing wrong, then there is nothing wrong. Lets try and...enjoy today.”

With an encouraging nod, Jeyne added, “Exactly. Now, braid or something different?”

Glancing down at some of the hair decorations and pins, Sansa picked up a delicate hair net. “How about this?”

“Perfect!'

Her dress was going to be far more simplistic than most of Westeros' typical styles, and the only elaborate things was the cloak, and now the hair net. A silver net with a mix of black and white pearls. It was a gift, from Tyrion to Sansa two years ago for her names day. It was kind of the man, to still send them and acknowledge her existence despite not having seen one another since she helped win him the throne and ended the war.

Once her hair was done, Sansa pushed Jeyne into the chair, and began the complicated braid and bun that her friend requested. There was even a few flowers Jeyne had picked earlier for them to use in her hair. Lovely little blue ones, reminding Sansa of cornflowers. As she finished the final touches, gently sticking and pinning the flowers into place, they had little less than an hour for dressing. The bathing and hair always took the longest and must be done first.

She wore another sarafan, far more embroidery on this one than the others, as she had the intention of wearing it to more formal occasions if they had them. In this case, the Riduurok. However, to stay with the Mandalorian practicality, it was shorter, coming to her knees, and she wore a pair of delicate slippers, once more only for rare events. With the white blouse dress underneath the dark grey dress. It, coincidently, matched Jaster's armour, who wore dark metal with red painted accents. The embroidery was of just a lighter shade of grey with some red mixed in, creating intricate designs of nature and animals all across the bodice and hems.

After helping Jeyne into her own dress, a blue long sleeve tunic dress that had geometric embroidery, circles and interlocking knots around the edges and collar, Sansa pulled on her cloak.

The adjustments were simple. Seams on the shoulder to create that divide of the front and back, but had slits for her arms to go through, no sleeves in order to keep that cloaked style. However, she had moved the cloak a little so that the two full moons of Westeros and the crescent Valyria entangled in a barren rowan tree settled over her heart. Brushing the stitching, Sansa felt a rock settled in her chest.

Jeyne interrupted her melancholic musings, coming the fluff up the fur collar, bringing her back to the present. There was a knowing gaze in her eyes, but Jeyne said nothing about it. Instead, she asked, “Are you ready? There are a few more minutes to go before we have to head out.”

Taking a deep, settling breath, Sansa headed to the vanity to pick up the vambrace. Under the belled white sleeves of the blouse, Sansa fixed it loosely there. The lacing of the leather would take a long few second to do up compared to the easy latches of the Mandalorian armour, and she wanted it come off as quick as possible.

Shaking the sleeve over the leather, Sansa took another deep breath. “Alright. I'm ready.”

Coming up, Jeyne linked arms with her, and gave an encouraging smile, “Don't worry, Sansa. At least you know who you're marrying this time. Think of it, I'm sure you're one of the only women from Westeros to be married four times!”

Shooting her an affectionate glance at that jape, Sansa retorted, “Yes, but two are with the same man.”

“How unique! Very innovative!” Jeyne proclaimed, a silliness to her tone that brought a larger smile to Sansa's lips.

The sun was at it's high point, a warmth settling around the campsite. The Mandalorians had gathered near the middle area of the settlement, where the bonfire would be lit later on in the evening. Jaster however was near the ship he bunked in, waiting to walk with Sansa to where his people gathered. They would walk together and trade vows there.

Foot steps had him glancing up, and at this point Jaster should be used to losing his breath at the sight of Sansa, but it took him by surprise again. The dark greys and red made her pale skin glow, her blue eyes standing out vividly as she made contact with his. He smiled gently as Sansa stepped away from Jeyne, who kept walking to be there to watch the ceremony, and he was left alone with his wife.

“You look beautiful, Sansa.” Jaster murmured, holding out his arm for her to take. She always enjoyed that gesture, he was learning, and wanted to continue to give her the things she liked. Taking his arm, Sansa's cheeks flushed a little, “And you look just as dashing as always.”

“As always?” Jaster repeated with a teasing smile. She couldn't see it under his buy'ce but he forced it into his tone for her to hear, “I'm always dashing? That's a first. Typically Myles would call me a disaster, or unkept.”

For a split second, Sansa smirked. “That too.”

Gasping dramatically, Jaster placed a hand over his heart, wounded, “But, my dear wife, I thought you thought I was handsome?”

Another flush overcame her cheeks, Sansa glancing away as she quietly corrected, “I never said handsome...”

Leaning closer, Jaster batted his eyelashes, pouting, “You don't think I'm pretty?”

Now completely flustered, Sansa spluttered, “You-you're ridiculous! Stop teasing me.”

Chuckling as he straightened up, Jaster gave her shoulder a gentle nudge as they continued their walk, “Was just playing, San'ika. I wanted to lighten the mood.”

She hummed faintly in acknowledgment, her face still a little flushed. “I just hope that I'm not...over dressed.”

The insecurity in her tone had him frowning, taking another glance at her clothes. Yes, compared to the rest of them, she would seem over dressed, but after the gowns he saw her in on Westeros, he noted that she was actually more simplistic in comparison. Which meant she toned down her typical style just to fit in and not receive any criticism from his people. Holding back a sigh, Jaster tugged her into a pause so that he could bump his head against hers. “You're perfect, Sansa. And I can't think of someone who would say otherwise.”

Her lips twitched, even as she pointed out, “You didn't say I wasn't over-dressed however.”

Grinning under his buy'ce, Jaster commented lightly, “Well, if you're not in armour, you're over-dressed. Or under-dressed, depending on the person.”

Sansa scoffed, rolling her eyes in a very Jeyne way, prompting them to continue their approach. The crowd was starting to get closer, those nearer turning to see their approach. Within seconds they parted to the side, giving a walk way for them to walk down. Sansa's hand tightened in the crook of his arm, however she showed no fear, her chin tilting up in a show of confidence.

Keeping his head facing forward, the helmet let him watch her from the corner of his eye with no one knowing any better. A warm flicker of pride burnt in his chest at the sight of her. His people may say what they want of Sansa's character, but she was no coward.

When they reached the front of the fire pit, before the crowd, Jaster and Sansa turned to one another. He hadn't managed to catch the sight of her cloak on the way here, but there were some fleeting expressions of impressed from some of the crowd at Sansa and her appearance. He burnt with a bit of smugness. That was his wife, a casual ease of beauty, knowing exactly how she looked.

That smugness disappeared to astonishment as Sansa pushed up her sleeve to reveal a leather vambrace, heart stilling in a disbelief at being able to trade as was traditional. Now all those doubters couldn't say they hadn't followed the marriage rite.

It was nerve wracking, far more than their first wedding. Taking a deep breath, Sansa pushed up the belled sleeve over her right arm and presented the leather arm brace she had made, pride rolling in her chest at having followed the Mandalorian traditions. However, as she caught the expression on his face, it wasn't the faintly pleased look she had expected when ever she did something that aligned with his culture. It was pure surprise. And it took her only a second to realise that he hadn't expected her to have presented him with an arm guard. A weight settled into a hollowness in her stomach, it tasted bitter. Sansa was prepared to take her offering back, however Jaster was quick to recover, fumbling for a short second with the latches on his vambrace and presented his exposed arm.

Humiliation welled up to a heat in her cheeks, ducking her head down as she whispered for only him to hear, “I'm sorry, I over stepped. I shouldn't have expected-”

He cut her off, just as quietly, as she began to lace up the leather, “No. I did not know you had one ready, but I was prepared to give you mine anyways.” When she finished lacing it up, Jaster immediately fitted his own around her presented arm. It was heavy, a little big, but he tightened it so the metal would not slip over her hand. Under his breath, Jaster continued, “Don't doubt yourself, Sansa. I'm just surprised, not upset.”

Releasing a shaky exhale, Sansa glanced up at him, imploring, “Promise?”

He nodded firmly, “Promise.”

And they clasped their right arms together. After all the practice, the vows flowed easily from her mouth, in time with his own.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

Then, they leant forward to seal their vow with a mirshmure'cya. Around them the crowds clapped and stomped their feet, a ruckus of celebration. A bright smile broke from Sansa's previously worried expression, the dread and disappointment from before dying a withering death. She really did need to stop doubting Jaster.

When the feasting began, Sansa stuck close to Jaster's side for awhile, still feeling that uncertainty that flared up and the man was happy to have her in his company as people came forward to congratulate. From some of the conversation, Sansa gathered that they were not on planet when she arrived, and all gave her curious glances, helmets off once Jaster removed his own.

Staying polite, Sansa gave them nods and words of greeting when they introduced themselves, and she did her best to remember names and faces. That always came in handy when she was with Ramsay and Joffrey. People liked when you remembered them.

However, she was getting hungry, and looked to her husband after a lull of congratulations, “I'm going to get something to eat. Will you be joining me?”

There was a warmth in his gaze, one she realised had been there for some time now, as he replied, “I've got a few more people to talk to, and then I will.”

Nodding, Sansa hesitated for a second before rising up on her toes to press a fleeting kiss to his cheek. The old scars and faint scruff of his stubble scratched at her lips. She didn't mind it. His hazel eyes widened at the contact. She fled before he could respond or react further.

Within seconds of departing from his side, Jeyne swooped in, locking arms. “And what was that during the ceremony, Sansa?” Her friend quietly asked.

Darting a glance at Jeyne's expression, she caught the subtle steel in her eyes, and did her best to soften it. “I misread his reaction. I thought he was not happy I had a vambrace ready. He was surprised though, but...gladdened, I believe.”

Eyeing for a few more seconds, Jeyne then nodded, reassured by Sansa's words. “Good. I told him you had something prepared, but maybe he wasn't expecting it still.”

Sansa hummed in response, ignoring how her lips still tingled from the contact as they approached the tables piled with food. Immediately they picked up the sharp and burning scent of spices, and shared a resigned glance. Mandalorians loved their spices, and for two Northern girls, spices were not in the typical taste palette. Still, they gathered what they could figure were the least spiciest of foods, and found a place to settle. Chairs, stools, and other things were set out around the camp for people to sit and enjoy their food. They found one not too far from the ocean, where Lady was happily napping in the sun. Jango joined them not a minute later with his own plate, settling down on the ground near Lady. The direwolf perked up at the smell of food, sniffing the air and giving the best whine of starvation that she could.

Sansa scowled at her, “You hunted earlier, and you won't like the spice, Lady.”

The animal was relentless with her begging, and Jango was the one who gave in. He shot Sansa a questioning look first, who rolled her eyes and waved him off. “If you must. She'll learn then that it's spicy and not for her.”

Grinning, the boy handed over a bit of bright red meat, no doubt cooked in heavy spices. Lady readily ate it up. Before sneezing and getting up to her feet quickly. They watched in amusement as she shook her head, using her paws the rub at her muzzle before running off into the sea. Sighing with an exasperated smile, Sansa called after Lady, “I told you!”

She got a gruff whine in response.

Sniggering to himself, Jango speared some food with a fork and happily ate his meal. Their own was spicy as expected, but probably not as bad as what he had. Lots of watering eyes and flushed faces occurred between the two women, but it was delicious even then.

Time carried on until the sun was starting to set. Jango had asked them what they were going to do with the fleece, Sansa and Jeyne answered and even dived into their own past lessons on Westeros. The Jeyne asked Jango about some of the new arrivals here, and he dove into some fun stories of past interactions and some missions he had been on. They went back a few times for some more food and drink, and each time Sansa couldn't find Jaster. Or is she did he was in the middle of a group of Mandalorians, and she didn't want to interrupt them.

However, as the sun hit the ocean, casting an orange glow, and the trees began to light up gently, Jaster finally managed to come over to them. There was exhaustion on his face as he collapsed next to Jango, bemoaning, “Why do people always want to talk to me? No one talked to you two.”

“It might be the giant dog that's prowling around us.” Was Jeyne's dry response. Said giant dog glanced up with a huff from where she was curled at Sansa's back, watchful and wary in all the excitement.

Jaster chuckled, “Most likely yeah.” He then turned his focus to Sansa, “Do you have a minute? I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Sharing a glance with Jeyne, Sansa nodded, handing her plate over to her friend's open hand. Standing up, Sansa brushed her skirts down to settle them back into place and took Jaster's proffered arm. She was grateful that during the creation of her cloak she had it cut to rest just at the mid point of her calves, not wishing the hem to become dirtied. With all this wandering about the camp, she was sure it would've been at this point.

They took a walk along the shore line, Jaster beginning with, “I don't know if you're aware, but typically the bonded couple would go on a trip the day after the ceremony.”

She easily caught onto his suggestion, but said nothing, letting him carry on. It was sweet, the slight nervousness in his tone and demeanour. “And, well, it would only be for a day and night, but I was thinking we could go on a trip. Into to mountains nearby. Myles mentioned something about hunting, and I'd like to spend time with just you. And of course, Lady could come!” He rushed to add, and Sansa couldn't stop the giggle that escaped, covering her mouth.

“That sounds wonderful, Jaster. Some time alone would allow us to talk more freely, without interruptions.”

Relieved at her agreement, Jaster smiled at her, “I'm glad. You'll have to pack later tonight, and I'll wake you up when we leave tomorrow morning?

“A sound plan.” The woman agreed, leaning a little onto him. Physical contact was a struggle, but Jaster made it easy with his lack of expectations and genuine joy when she initiated anything.

Once night time hit, the fire was lit and many of the settlement gathered near the warmth. Small groups branching off with their own discussions and more plates of food. For a moment Sansa worried about their food stores, but decided if Myles and Jaster were not bothered by it, then she wouldn't bring it up. Besides, after they got back from their trip, Sansa could fully immerse herself into her new role as Quarter-master and begin preparations for the winter.

Sat around with a group, Jeyne with another that consisted of Zaran and Ka'iala – more than likely discussing blasters – Sansa enjoyed the warmth of the fire as she listened to some of the other unknown Mandalorians talk about past fights and some scars they gained.

A familiar set of armour then settled on her right. The parent of the blue child. With her helmet off, Sansa noted the dark brown skin and thick corded braids. Sansa admired the metal clasps and beads in her hair, as the woman stated, “Thanks for talking to the ade. Tallie in particular. She's not always aware of boundaries and all too eager to jump into anything unknown.”

Filing away the name for the blue child, Sansa nodded to the stern faced woman, “Of course. As I told Jango, I don't want anyone to get harmed when it could be prevented.”

Her lips twitched, before holding out a hand which Sansa grasped, “I'm Morwen.” The woman then glanced over to her left, and Sansa followed her line of sight. Lady was laying down again, eyes half-lidded. Curled up by her stomach was Tallie, fast asleep. The festivities must have been tiring, as she was not the only child asleep somewhere nearby. But she was the only one laying with Lady. The direwolf, no matter her calm presence, was hyper focused on the surroundings. Sansa wouldn't be surprised if someone tried to grab Tallie and she would react protectively.

Letting go of Morwen's hand, Sansa smiled fondly, “Lady is lovely. I've had her since I was 11. My father had found an injured she-wolf with cubs. We couldn't save the mother, but the cubs were brought into the fold. As the sigil of our house, it would be an insult to kill them. Instead, there was enough for all the Stark children. Lady was the sweetest and calmest of the lot. Even my cousin Jon's wolf, Ghost, who is mute, was still rowdy.”

“You love her a lot.” The woman stated. Ducking her head a little, Sansa nodded, “We were separated for some time. I did not dare bring her when I was married because at first, I wanted her to stay in the North, where she belonged. I figured once I got settled, she could come. It turned out to be a boon that I left her behind, as I'm sure Joffrey would've found a way to kill her. He loved hunting and harming animals.” She softly explained. Beside her, on her left, Jaster shifted a little, listening in but not interrupting.

“One of the ones you killed?” Morwen asked, voice calm. There was no doubting or any kind of judgement. Just someone asking for more information on a story. Sansa nodded, hand instinctively coming up to touch the scar on her throat. She dropped it when Morwen followed the motion. Luckily, the woman said nothing.

However, some of the group, which were still discussing scars, had saw and one in particular asked, jovial and not noticing her discomfort, “What about your scar, princess? Where did you get that?”

The title was still not one she wished them to use, but it seemed many of them didn't want to use her name, so she kept her protest in, and gave a tight smile. “It's nothing as grand as how you gained your own.”

Another leant forward, and Sansa could see there was a flush to his cheeks. Drunk. “But I heard that there was a war not too long ago on your planet. Did you not fight?”

Jaster was growing very taut beside her, and in a casual ease Sansa reached out to set a hand on his knee as she replied to the other, “Yes, there was a war. But no, I did not fight. Females don't normally train to fight, though yes, there are exceptions. But they are few. My sister, for example.”

Sansa hoped that would distract them, lead them over to a different topic. However, the first one was far more sober and frowned and repeated, “So how did you get that scar?

In some way, she wanted Jaster to say something, to stop them probing her for answers. However, she had to stand on her own two feet, and not hide behind her husband. But, on the other hand, the topic of scars was a sensitive one, and the one on her neck was a story she did not like to tell. Instead, Sansa replied, “It is not an interesting tale. However, I do have many others, if you are so deeply invested in knowing about all the torment and pain I went through at the hands of my past husbands. Would you like to name a part of my body so that I can give you a recount of my scars?”

That quietened them. Some from the other groups nearby, who had overheard, had also become silent. There was a focus on her, and she truly hated being the centre of attention when it was not in her complete control.

Sighing hard, Sansa quietly but clearly stated, “There is more to me, to a person, than the abuse they have suffered. You could always ask me questions of my childhood, or of my land. But instead, many of you wish to know more about the harm inflicted upon me and choose to stir up upsetting memories.”

Standing up, Sansa turned to Jaster, “I'll be heading to bed now.” And ran a soft hand over his tense shoulders as she walked past him and the groups. Hopefully, she got the message through to them. She was not ashamed of her scars, but she wished that they took more time learning about her outside of them. One day, Sansa would freely talk about the scars, but not so soon. And not to people she did not truly know. She could only hope, that Jeyne hadn't been receiving such rudeness. Then again, Jeyne's scar, though horrible, was not tied to constant abuse.

Back in her room, Sansa took her mind off of things by packing a bag for the trip, though she paused the undo the hair net and take out the pins. Wherever Jaster had planned for them to go, Sansa decided to trust him to choose a place she was going to enjoy. Her husband, her riduur, was starting to understand her nearly as deeply as Jeyne. He was quite observant in that way.

After Sansa's form disappeared into the darkness, Jaster sent a glare at the pair. They dutifully withered under it. He was not going to make another announcement like on that first night, any arrivals of today could get that information from the rest who were there. He also didn't want to undermine Sansa's own words in her defence, letting her speak for herself. She was correct, that there was more to her than what was obvious. And she had held up well, doing her best to divert the topic, but when it was clear they would not let up she shut them down with enough information for them to know that it was not a topic she would budge on. He was proud.

Rubbing at his face, Jaster decided it would be best to go to sleep too. He still had to wake up early and prepare for the trip. Standing up, not bothering to address anyone, Jaster turned to Morwen instead, “Are you alright with getting Tallie to bed, or do you need some help?”

The woman stared at him, assessing his reaction to what just occurred, and slid her eyes over to her child and Lady. She gave a silent nod and stood up. Jaster followed the woman over to the direwolf, whose head lifted at their approach.

Morwen stopped a few paces behind him as Jaster came to a crouch just out of arms reach. “Hey, girl. Think Morwen can have her ad back?”

With a slow blink, Lady settled her head back down on her paws, facing away with only one eye on him. That was enough of a confirmation for Jaster to slowly reach out and gently take the sleeping child into his arms. With a nod, Jaster left Lady in peace, handing Tallie over to her buir. The woman murmured a faint word of gratitude before heading off in the direction of her tent.

Glancing back over at Lady, Jaster approached once more to stroke a soft ear. Lady tilted her head up at him and lightly licked his hand. Lips twitching with affection, he murmured, “Night, Lady. We got a short journey tomorrow, but plenty of prey for you to hunt.”

Lady let out a short huff and went back to her silent observations. Jaster left her to it.

Though the ending of the day was frustrating and unpleasant. The rest of it wasn't. Jaster wrapped a hand around the leather vambrace. He had been admiring it all day, the mythosaur on the material, how well crafted it was. She must have been making it even before he decided to perform the Riduurok, and it warmed him at the thought. Some of the others had rose a brow at the non-metal armour, but he wore it proudly. She made it for him by her own hands, and he would not be ashamed or unhappy at it not being beskar.

Thumbing over the edge of the brace for one last time, Jaster caught the sight of Jeyne watching him from a distance. She was immersed in a group of some of his inner circle, but her gaze was frigid. She must have heard everything from earlier. She dipped him a nod and turned back to Zaran. Jango was half asleep by Jan and a few others.

Once noting where all his closest people were and their current states, Jaster finally went to bed, removing all his armour but the leather. It was not as cumbersome as the metal armour could be when trying to sleep, and liked how it fit around his arm. He prayed to the ancestors that tomorrow would bring a lighter mood for Sansa, washing away tonight's discomfort.

Laying down in bed, Jaster recalled with a sudden vividness that sight of her cloak as she walked off for some food. The design was as detailed and beautiful as he saw at a glance on their first wedding night, however once more he hadn't had the chance to have a prolonged look at it as she walked away. But the haunting gore of the images stuck in his mind, and had him thinking over the scar on Sansa's neck. Her first husband, who he knew to be the golden animal was beheaded, and thought of whether the man was killed that way. An eye for an eye type of situation. Turning over, he then remembered that Sansa said she killed him herself. And something hot curled in his stomach at that image in his brain.

He had some difficulty falling asleep that night.

Chapter Text

A familiar song was heard as she wandered down the halls of Casterly Rock, falling from her own lips. The only time Joffrey did not bother her was when he heard that song. He knew it was because of-

Sansa took a shuddering breath in as she woke up suddenly, something beside her dream dragging her to the waking world. The dawn had not broken the sky when Jaster knocked at the door was enough to jar both women from their sleep, an ingrained instinct after the years of fear from living in Casterly Rock. However, once their sleep fogged minds realised where they were, Jeyne slumped back into her pillow with a tired, “Have a good trip.”

Settling her heart at realising it was Jaster to brought her to wakefulness, Sansa sighed hard, running a hand down her face. Memories continued to haunt her after all these years, even in her dreams. Pressing a kiss to her friend's head, Sansa climbed out of bed and went to the door. Stood with no armour for a change, was Jaster. He looked just as tired as she felt, and the man gave a crooked smile, “Morning, San'ika, nice bed hair.”

Scowling, Sansa felt how the hair was falling out of it's braid, and muttered, “I just woke up. Giving me a few to get dressed.”

The man nodded, “I'll wait for you outside.” And then he turned to go down the hall. Before closing the door, Sansa noticed the leather vambrace around his arm despite not wearing his other armour, and struggled with the warmth in her chest as she closed the door.

Getting dressed in a long skirt, trousers, and blouse, Sansa ran a comb through her hair and re-braided it. With a shawl over her shoulders, Sansa then reattached Jaster's vambrace, her thumb lingering on some of the groves before returning to her task at hand. Hefting her bag over her shoulder after lacing up her boots, Sansa quietly left the room with a last glance back at a sleeping Jeyne.

She wondered if blankets or pillows would be needed, but Sansa decided to trust that Jaster had everything prepared.

The dark sky, gently lit up by the glowing trees, greeted Sansa as she walked down the ship's ramp, Jaster off to the side. Lady was sat next to him, accepting gentle strokes with her usual calm dignity. The bonfire was a soft smoulder of smoke and embers, some people currently asleep on the ground, though she caught sight of a few sentries wandering about, so the settlement was still protected.

Looking up at her exit, Jaster smiled and jerked his head for her to follow. “We'll be taking my smaller ship, as the other one is still being used for meetings and I don't want to ruin the set up we have.”

“You have two vessels then?” Sansa wondered, falling into step beside him.

“Lek. The one we're using is similar to Myles' one, but the below deck is a little bit bigger. We'll be sleeping in there, not outside.”

Privately, Sansa was relieved. Just because she had stayed awhile in a tent when visiting Skagos, doesn't mean she overly enjoyed it. Approaching his ship, the ramp was open and Sansa took in the small space. About eight foot from wall to wall, with a ladder up to the cock pit. Some things were stored in cupboards built into the ship walls, and she noted a pile of bedding as well as a large sack. At her curious glance, Jaster explained, taking her bag for her to set it next to the pile, “That'll be my stuff and a few other things. We've got a futon to lay on the floor so we won't be sleeping on metal.”

She realised then that they would be sharing a bed again for this trip, and was startled at how much that didn't bother her as it did for their first night together. Looking over at him, Sansa saw that there was some trepidation in his expression, waiting to see if she would be upset by that, but gave him a smile and nod, “It will be nice to continue sleeping on something soft. A hard ground is not my favoured cushioning.”

Relief was apparent in his returned smile but said nothing on the topic, instead gesturing to the ladder. “Go ahead and climb up, Lady can stay down here as we fly.”

“How long is the journey?”

“No more than twenty minutes. We're just going to the other side of the mountains, so it shouldn't take too long.”

Lady seemed to appreciate that, coming into the hold, which became a tight fit now due to her large form. Sansa gave her direwolf a short kiss and a murmur of reassurance before climbing up. Jaster followed up after she stepped fully into the cock pit. Two seats were there, next to one another unlike how Myles had one behind the pilot's seat. Jaster took the one on the right, and Sansa settled into hers, buckling herself in.

Curling up in the seat, Sansa, still tired, dozed off as that familiar hum of the ship turning on began. She hadn't even realised she had fallen back to sleep – barking hounds, a wide grin, Jeyne clutching her bleeding face – until there was a hand on her shoulder, softly shaking her, “Sansa?”

Having expected Jeyne – always Jeyne who woke her up these days – her heart leapt in her throat as she tried to jerk away from the man. The hand withdrew quickly, and Sansa whipped her head around to see Jaster. He had his hands held up to show a lack of threat, soothing her fear, “You're alright, San'ika. I was just waking you up.”

Rapidly blinking a little, Sansa realised where she was and slumped a little, rubbing a hand over her face. “Apologies, Jaster.” She must have been very tired to have fallen asleep in an unfamiliar place. Or felt safe enough to... Sansa forced herself to not show the surprise on her face, deciding to think about all of that later.

Jaster waved her off, unbeknownst to her gentle but no less startling realisation, “Don't worry about. I just figured if you want to sleep a little more, I've made up the futon below.”

Decorum stated that Sansa would gracefully turn down his offer, but even with it being a few days, Sansa knew that decorum didn't mean much to Mandalorians. Instead, she unbuckled from the seat with a relieved nod, “Thank you. I did not sleep that well last night.”

He hesitated for a second, “Nightmares?”

“Not really,” Sansa hedged, glancing out the window where it was still dark out, “Memories, mostly.”

The man surveyed her, before letting out a thoughtful noise, changing the subject, “Well, lets head on down. Lady is already running about, and I'm going to set up a fire pit for later. And, we can go on a short hunt so you can show me how to gut an animal, if you're still alright with that.”

“I am.” Sansa confirmed, beginning to climb down the ladder. There was only a foot length of space on the floor before it was taken up by the futon. Layers of blankets and a few of some furs Sansa spied to be from her own room. It didn't matter, because she found it completely inviting and eagerly climbed under the covers. Sleeping with a corset was not the most comfortable, but she could deal with it for a few hours. To the sound of Jaster moving about outside, Sansa once more fell into a slumber, no memories or any nightmares to be found thankfully.

The next time she rose was with the birds chirping and faint sunlight on her face. Scrunching her nose, Sansa turned away from the light to blink her eyes open. Staring into the ship, Sansa turned back around to squint out into the daylight. She must have been asleep for a few hours, and felt far more rested than she did earlier. Taking in the clearing they had landed in from the bed, she stared. Hard.

The sight before her was not...displeasing. Jaster had been wearing a jacket earlier when they departed, but now he had shucked it off. Instead, in his loose shirt, sleeves rolled up and collar of it wide enough to show off his collar bones, Jaster was practising sword forms with a blade she had never seen before. His forearms flexed with every motion, muscles shifting with the grip on the hilt.

She barely thought about the strange black sword he had, instead far more interested in it's wielder. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his skin as he moved through controlled stances, making her wonder if it was the blade that was heavy, or if he was purposefully going slow, exerting more effort that way due to concentration.

Either way, Sansa thought as she reclined back on the pillows to watch, it was not a bad sight. From growing up sheltered, to then Joffrey, to then Ramsay, Sansa barely allowed herself to have thoughts on men and their bodies. In the past, they've only used it to cause her harm, so it was curiosity and a faint bit of enjoyment that had her watching so enraptured. It made her truly recognise that her husband was very handsome. Or perhaps that was her own affections that were getting her to see more than just the superficial.

The sunlight showed he had faint chestnut to his dark hair, what she had once thought to be just a simple deep brown, near black colour. His jaw line was sharp, nose crooked from more than likely a few breaks from fights. Thick brows, a scar bisecting one of them, and eyes that were looking at her.

Heat flooded her cheeks. Sansa looked away, sitting up to stretch and crawl out from the bedding with as much poise and dignity as she could. Straightening her clothes, Sansa frowned when she realised her boots were still on. How unpleasant. She busied herself with pulling back the blankets to brush out any dirt that may have come off her shoes. Luckily, there wasn't much, but that meant it wasn't much of a task to distract herself from having been caught staring at Jaster.

A throat cleared behind her. Closing her eyes for a split second to gather some strength and sanity, Sansa turned around with a tight smile, “Good morning, Jaster.”

Amused at her slightly strangled tone, Jaster returned the greeting and arched a brow, “Hungry?”

Unintentionally, her eyes narrowed, wondering if there was more to his question. Sansa may be experienced in being around lustful men and having heard plenty a jokes and innuendos of such nature, but that did not always mean she could catch them right away. Deciding to not look too deeply in case she embarrassed herself, Sansa nodded, “A little.”

He snorted. “Only a little?” Sansa bit the inside of her cheek, realising that he was not only asking her honestly about food, but was also teasing her. It seemed he was not going to blatantly address her staring, but would still tease her for it. Sansa wondered if she should tease back, and realised that would be considered flirting, and imply something she was not ready for.

Huffing, she flicked her dishevelled braid over her shoulder and sniped, “Seeing as you don't have anything of offer, I will go search for my own breakfast.” And turned around to her bag. She had a few dried meats and some bread that would do.

Chuckling, Jaster called out, “You mean you don't want what I've made up already? It's pretty tasty.”

Sansa shot him a glare at the drawl to his words, “You are terrible.”

“Alright,” He backed off with a smile, hands up in surrender, “I'll stop, but I'm not going to forget that look you gave me.”

Cheeks hot once more, Sansa snapped defensively, “What look? I gave no look.”

“Uh huh.” Jaster was not convinced but thankfully dropped it, turning to a small fire, where some pans were placed on the ground, faintly steaming from just having cooked the food on it. Though her pride told her to not give in, Sansa was very hungry and it smelt wonderful. Forcing back her embarrassment, Sansa strode over to the fire pit and sit with pursed lips.

Jaster only cast her one last amused glance before handing her a plate and fork. With a haughty sniff, Sansa accepted it and ate with her usual polite daintiness, ignoring his huff of laughter.

The meal passed in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable one, though Sansa was still a little flustered from being caught goggling Jaster. She had never reacted to a male body in such a way, never reacted to any man really. She was still young when she married Joffrey, caught up more in his handsome looks and ideas of chivalry. The idea of sex or physical attraction was far more innocent for her at the time. This...was a first. And she was relieved that Jaster was not the type to take advantage of that or even see it as consent.

When they finished eating, Jaster turned to her, “So, want to go for a hunt?”

Slowly finishing her mouthful, Sansa gave an uncertain nod. “Will I be...killing?”

His brows furrowed, tilting his head to the side. “I mean, not unless you wanted to. I mainly just want to see how to gut an animal.”

Relief coursing through her, Sansa stood up, placing her plate to the side where Lady crept over to lick at. Ignoring her with only a brief flash of fondness, she explained, “I've never been fond of hunting, nor taking an animal's life. I have...before. But I don't enjoy it.” It reminded her too much of Joffrey, even when she was with Rickon and Jeyne, knowing they didn't have such a taste for violence and torment.

Her husband shrugged in understanding, “That's fine. Want to get changed into something better suited for trekking in a forest?” And the teasing smile he sent her stomach a flutter. It was a handsome smile. At a glance down at herself, Sansa thought herself to have been dressed practically, she was wearing trousers under her skirt after all, and her blouse was one with loose sleeves, able to roll up. Frowning thoughtfully, Sansa hiked up the sides of skirt, tucking them into the waist band as she wandered to her bag in the ship. There, she tugged out a belt and began to hook on the hunting knives Jeyne brought with. It was a gift from Rickon to Jeyne, but the two women shared it between them.

Sliding the leather sheathed knives onto the belt, Sansa buckled it around her waist, making sure it all sat comfortably. Lastly, Sansa tugged out Jaster's vambrace and sealed over her arm, sleeves not yet pushed up. She would have to remove it when it came to field dressing the game, not wishing to get blood on it.

Stepping back out of the ship, Sansa re-braided her hair, tsking to herself at not having thought of doing so when she woke up. It was a sloppy braid, her mother would severely disapprove at the dishevelled appearance, however she would also think a princess tromping around in a forest to be horrifying. However, mother wasn't here and Sansa wanted to spend time with her husband.

Said husband watched her fondly, arching a brow at her skirts, “I didn't know you were wearing trousers.” And then presented his arm for her. Lacing her hand through it, Sansa replied factually, “Jeyne and I discussed it and made some for our new life here. We knew that in some cases they would be far more practical than skirts, but I still think I can do near anything in a dress.”

“Of course. Very practical” Jaster agreed readily, lips still tilted pleasantly. Sansa flicked her eyes away from them and their teasing words, focusing on Lady, who was already off silently prowling the woods.

The thing that Bran and Rickon taught her, as Robb was too busy and Arya was running about with her own wolf, was that when it came to warging, there were different levels in terms of fully connecting and sinking into the skin of the animal. Bran stated that you could technically warg into people if your will and control was stronger than theirs. Rickon explained that you could go part way into the animal, still in control of your body, but it was a half way point, where your senses were the animal's and not your own. It took lots of practice, but Sansa could now instinctively settle her senses into Lady, familiar with her mind as her own, smelling the thick earthy scent of the forest around, animal musk everywhere.

And Lady caught a fresh trail of an animal the smelt distinctively prey not too long in their trek. Needing to slip out of Lady's mind before she got too far into that predatory need to hunt, Sansa turned to Jaster, “Lady has a scent.” And gently released his arm to follow after her companion.

Jaster followed wordlessly after them. There was a weight of his gaze on her back, where she knew he had questions. It was a familiar weight, and Sansa wondered if he would finally ask all those questions he was keeping in. She also wondered if she would actually answer them.

The forest was not as dense as she had expected of a mountainous one, but the tree were still large, still rose tall into the sky. There was a faint mist of fog settling low over the canopy, obscuring what she knew to be a blue sky from the clearing they were camped in. It was peaceful. It reminded her of Skagos.

Focusing back on Lady, Sansa noted that her posture was rigid, completely still where she crouched on a small but steep incline. Sinking into her mind, Sansa caught the scent of prey and saw it half-way hidden by a bush, grazing. In her own body, Sansa froze, and heard the shift of fabric as Jaster did a second after her.

Turning to glance back at him, Sansa mouthed, 'Prey.' And he gave a short nod. Taking out his blaster, Jaster's foot steps were careful and silent as he walked past her to Lady's side, Sansa stopping briefly to murmur, “Aim for the head.” The heart was an organ that was tough, but juicy when cooked right. Or eaten raw, if you're Lady. Her senses were still partly in her companion and Sansa's mouth began to salivate at the thought of fresh meat. Twisting deeper into Lady's mind, Sansa urged her to stay back, to not attack. Food would be provided soon, and she could hunt on her own later. There was a feeling of displeasure, but Lady accepted, body lowering to lay down tensely.

Sansa stayed there, in Lady's mind, as Jaster came to their side. The man eyed the prey, weapon in hand and aiming at the prey. It's head was now lifted up, ears flicking about. Just as it began to turn towards them, there was the high sound of a blaster being fired and it dropped. Blood filled the air, their fur standing on end at the thought of a fresh meal, before Sansa once more slipped back out of Lady's mind. Hurrying over, Sansa laid a soothing hand on the direwolf's back. “Easy, girl. You'll eat soon.”

She let out a grumbling whine and stalked off, most likely searching for her own prey to take down. Rolling her eyes at the attitude, Sansa turned to Jaster, who was once more eyeing her curiously with that familiar weight. When she caught him looking, he turned away, straightening up from his crouch to collect their kill.

As they weren't too far from the ship it didn't take them that long to carry the prey back. It had six legs, furred and mammalian like a particularly heavy coated deer. No antlers, whether that meant it was female or it's species didn't have them, Sansa didn't know. But it had something like curved horns or tusks coming out of it's neck, possibly a defence trait like with stags. There were two on either side. It's neck was longer than a stag as well, but it was nearly the size of a boar, it's mass leaner however.

With some rope from Jaster's pack and a particularly thick branch, they strung the animal up and carried back to the camp. It was certainly a struggle, the beast nothing but dead weight, however they managed. From there, Sansa began issuing soft commands. “Hold it's legs open, we want it on it's back as we cut it open. Once done, lay it on it's side. We'll need a tarp under the body so the innards don't get covered in dirt.”

The man followed them without complaint, spreading out a tarp on the ground so they could readjust the animal onto it. Untying the legs, Jaster let out a quiet grunt as he rolled it over, using his legs on either side to brace the torso, keeping it steady as he spread out the legs as best as he could.

Rolling up her sleeves, after unbuckling the vambrace to lay off to the side, Sansa unsheathed one of her knives, a thinner one to work around the anus, cutting the skin completely around it to remove it from the rectum. While she does it, Sansa explained every step. “First, you disconnect the rectum from the anus, making it easier to take out the intestines later. Don't damage it, because it could spoil it the meat.” Once it was free, Sansa set that blade to the side and pulled out her skinning blade, hovering over the anus before glancing up at Jaster. He was watching intently as Sansa continued, “Next, we begin the gutting incision. We don't want to pierce the abdominal wall, so you have to watch how deeply you slice, just through hide so we can access the skin.” He nodded, watching her as she began to slowly cut the animal open.

She had to let him readjust himself, so that she wasn't ducking down under his legs to continue up to the neck. Then, she lightly tugged some of the hide on either side to free up more space to cut open the animal. Blowing a strand out of her face, Sansa had to hold back the urge to flinch when Jaster used a hand to tuck it out of the way. Smiling up at him gratefully, Sansa turned back to the animal, this time pulling out the third blade, a gutting knife which was lightly curved and had a sharp hook at the top.

Using her fingers, Sansa felt along the top middle of the animal, searching for the sternum. “We need to find the abdominal wall for the actual gutting, not wanting to pierce too deep and stab anything we don't want to stab.”

Jaster snorted at her dry instructions. Sansa sent him a tiny smirk.

Once she found it, Sansa began to use the hook to slowly slice down, gently lifting the wall away from the organs, “Use two fingers to create a separation to prevent puncturing the stomach and intestines. That will spill out onto the other edible organs and meat, spoiling it as well.”

“A lot of careful cutting.” Jaster murmured to himself, “I think I see where a lot of us were going wrong.”

“Let me guess,” Sansa chuckled, “They were just stabbing in deep and spilling the guts out?”

He gave a sheepish shrug, “We can gut but not for the purpose of eating them.”

Humming in acknowledgment, Sansa found the pelvis and began sawing through it to access the lower intestines. From there, she had Jaster lower the animal carefully on it's side. He came around to crouch next to her to watch as she moved upwards to saw through the sternum, using the first knife to do so, then slicing away the diaphragm away from the rib cage neatly. Then, carefully, she severed the oesophagus and wind pipe above the heart.

Placing the knife to the side again, Jaster watched as she stuck her hands into the still warm body and began the process of gently tugging the guts free, placing them to the side. The thick wetness of the blood had her thinking back to Skagos, with Rickon where Jaster was, watching her and gently instructing her through the process. It was a nice memory.

It was Sansa's own preference, but she preferred to take out the intestines and organs that one did not eat, piling them to one side, careful with the bladder and stomach, not wishing to deal with the smell if she punctured them. She was briefly thrown off though when assessing the organs. “Two stomachs?”

Casting Jaster a curious look, the man shrugged in response, “Some animals got 'em.” He didn't look at her as she spoke, instead his eyes were focused hard on her arms, now getting soaked with blood and viscera. She wondered if he was similar to her past two husbands, enjoying the sight of blood on others. However, there wasn't a mad or crazed gleam in his eyes like the other two had. It was heavy, but not dark.

She decided not to think about it, instead continued to take out the innards. “We can eat the liver, heart, and kidneys. The lungs too if people like them but I find them, personally, chewy.”

Jaster laughed, “And after you finish gutting it?”

“Then we begin the process of skinning and remove the meat from the bones. The bones will be good for stews and broths, the ribs with the meat still connected are good for marinating and grilling.”

“Stop you're making me hungry.” Jaster jokingly whined and gave her shoulder a little nudge with his own, making Sansa giggle a little, unable to hide behind her mouth with the blood staining them. The man stilled, staring at her.

“You're breath taking, right now.”

His blurted compliment took her off guard, baffled as she glanced down at her hands, “Really?” this wasn't really a sight she would call breath taking, arm deep into the cavity of a gutted animal.

It was his turn to be embarrassed, scratching his neck as he defended himself, “Listen, Mandalorians generally find people attractive when in a fight and covered in the blood of their enemies. Courting practically consists of sparring and getting punched in the face, with you complimenting their form in return. You gutting the animal is...very attractive.”

There was an awkwardness in his tone, unable to completely look her in the eye, which worked well for her because Sansa's face was burning hot and she herself couldn't look at him. Turning back to the animal, Sansa quietly replied, “Thank you...”

So, not completely like Joffrey or Ramsay. That was good information to have. Now it made her wonder if Jaster would have liked her appearance after she killed them, then she banished that thought. “Can you get me some water to clean my hands with please?” Sansa asked softly, changing the topic.

Jaster was quick to comply as Sansa went about bundling up the organs they would keep and gathering the others to march into the woods a little, tossing them for any scavenger. She was sure they wouldn't be needing the intestines for making sausages right now. Maybe next time, she enjoyed a well grilled and seasoned sausage link.

Back at the camp, Jaster presented her with a metal container filled with water, to which she happily dunked her arms in, washing off the blood. Though unaffected by it, she certainly preferred her hands clean.

Next, skinning the animal, Sansa was quick about it, only pausing at having to work around six legs and some neck tusks before figuring out the best way to cut around them. The tusks, once removed, could be turned into some decent knives if sharpened. She told Jaster so, handing them to him as he turned them over in his hands speculatively. After the pelt was hung off to the side on a rack Jaster had made from some branches, Sansa began the process of cutting the game apart, sawing around the meat of the limbs to pop the joints out of place, cutting off the head as well, though Jaster made a face when she suggested they keep it for the eyes or brain. “I don't think anyone, back at camp, eats those things.”

Sansa snorted, “How fussy. You should've seen what I ate when on Skagos.”

He sent her a speculative look as she went back to finishing up sectioning off the meat. “You mentioned Skagos, about having been there.”

Shrugging, Sansa replied, “It was a year there with Rickon and Jeyne. A year after Ramsay, my brother suggested a change of view, and took us to the island.”

“What did you do there,” He asked, settling down across from her as she finished up with the meat, “Besides learning to gut and skin an animal like a pro?”

Stifling a laugh at his teasing, the woman began to wrap up the meat into cloth and waterproof sacks that Jaster had provided as she elaborated, “Well, I learnt all about how to turn raw fleece into fabric, I spent nearly a year in either a tent or a hut learning that unicorns were terrifying and you didn't want to get on the wrong end of their horns, and climbed a mountain.”

Jaster blinked, bewildered, “Why did you climb a mountain?”

Washing her hands once more, along with her blades, Sansa stared down at them during the cleaning process. She heard the drums in her head, the wind a soft rush as it wound through the trees. The chanting song that sang in the early morn before her climb, the cold hitting her skin in a way that the North never did.

To herself, she softly sang the second to last verse of the song in the Old Tongue, the only language spoken on Skagos, “Healing-mountain stands for eternity, it comforts the sick and the sore, each and every one who assails that rock will find their lifelong ailment cured.”

When she glanced back up at Jaster he was watching with a confused but intent gaze. “That's not a language I've heard of.”

This time, she did let out a laugh, but it wasn't particularly humorous. “The Old Tongue is what we call it. Not spoken much besides those further north past the Wall and Skagosi. Near forgotten language it is, but we had to learn to speak it or else we would've been very lost on that island.”

Taking her hands out of the water, she used the edges of her skirt to dry her knives and hands. Jaster stayed silent, waiting. Nibbling her lip, wondering if she should expand further on her story, Sansa decided to continue, “There is a mountain, on Skagos. Healing Mountain, or Lyfjaberg, in Skagosi. There is a song they sing, that instructs you on the journey. It tells the climber to leave behind their pains, their sickness, as they ascend. Step by step, you shed your clothes, then then time and thoughts, then lastly, all fears and emotions that linger with your ailment. And once you reach the peak, naked and laid bare before the mountain and sky, your ailment is cleansed from your body and soul. Then, you take a river that is at the top, all the way back down. You sink into the water and it...it holds you. Cradles you. It was comforting, telling you that the worst of your journey, your pain, was over. And that it would lead you safely back home. And it did. I came out into the ocean and swam back to shore.”

There was a long silence, Jaster taking in her words with solemnity. “And you took that journey?” He asked softly. Sansa met his gaze, a deep understanding behind them, giving him a short dip of her head, “Jeyne and I both did, but separately. You have to do it alone.”

From where he sat across from her, Jaster leant back, his hands bracing him as he cocked his head to the side, considering her story, “Did it work?”

Recalling the freezing cold air on her naked body, thinking she would die of frost before she reached the top, Sansa wondered to herself sometimes too, if it did work. The memories, and the pain that came from them, lingered still, but that first year after Ramsay, she was far worse off than after she returned from Skagos. Then, she remembered the shadow-women, wise healers of the clans of Skagos, that helped her stumble out from the sea, shivering and blue, bundling her up in furs to place her in front of the fire. Shaggydog was surprisingly gentle that evening, curling up next to her and Lady, helping to warm her chilled body. Even cold and her mind feeling so terribly stripped of all she knew, Sansa had felt this lack of weight on her heart. Maybe, it didn't cure fully, the mind and what trauma it retained, but it lessened the burden.

A tiny smile crept over her lips, honestly saying, “Yes, I think in some ways, it did.” Then, a wry puff of laughter escaped her chest, “If you thought our first wedding night, where I broke down on you like that was bad, you should've seen the state I was in before I went to Skagos.”

Something in his eyes softened. “I'm happy for you. That you got some form of healing.”

“Time has helped too.” Sansa had to add, “And, being here, away from all the things that remind me of then, will also do me some more good.”

He reached out and cupped her cheek. Sansa leant into the warmth, her eyelids fluttering before closing completely. “I'll do everything I can, Sansa, to keep you on that road of healing. Understood?”

Resting her own hand on his, Sansa turned her face to press her lips to the palm of his hand. She heard the way his breath caught at the gesture, and opened her eyes once more. He was staring at her hard, a piercing expression as she met his gaze, pressing one last kiss to the rough skin before pulling away. “Will you show me that sword you were training with?”

Jaster jolted out of some sort of daze he was in. “Yeah, of course.” Then, standing up in, not a quite a scramble but there was a bit of hastiness in his motions, Jaster offered his hand to her. The hand she kissed. Sansa took it.

There were...many things going on in his brain at the moment. And all of them were revolving around the enigma that was his riduur. First, there was a bit of smugness at catching Sansa staring, satisfied that she found him attractive. He wasn't oblivious, he knew what that look was. It wasn't like with his previous partners though, where there was lust mixed into the attraction, it was interest in him but not for potential sex. Which meant that they were on the right track for their relationship becoming deeper.

And her being flustered about getting caught in the act was hilarious.

Secondly, he was absolutely correct. Sansa's scarred arms covered in blood and giving him a shy smile was just as attractive as he thought it would be, no longer a daydream but an actual memory he would now store and keep firmly in his mind forever.

However, the third thing percolating in his thoughts were, what the kriff was up with her and Lady. Jango told him about Sansa mentioning having a connection with the animal, but she was evasive. He needed to ask her about it.

For now, he complied to Sansa's request. Once they got the meat stored away on the ship, he took out the darksaber. Rolling it between his hands, Jaster wondered if it was okay for her to hold it. Jango had in the past, the boy eager to hold the legendary weapon. But his ad was a Mandalorian, and he didn't know if the dark saber would take offence to Sansa holding it, even for a brief moment. The weapon had a strange sentience – another reason for him to try and break into the Jedi Archives again sometime soon – and even when not ignited he felt it hum in the back of his mind. Felt it even when he wasn't even holding it, an irritating itch. Jaster hoped once more that it wouldn't react badly in Sansa's hands as he passed it to her, making sure to stand on the non-lethal side of the saber.

Jaster wondered if he could get away pulling off some flirting moves, and decided to say kriff it. If she was uncomfortable he would back off immediately. With a loose hold on her arms, Jaster stood behind Sansa, guiding her on how to place her hands correctly on the weapon, explaining, “A lightsaber is a plasma blade, powered by a kyber crystal inside the hilt. This means that it has no weight.” And then pressing the button near the top of the hilt, the darksaber ignited. The darkness sucked in all light, a white aura surrounding it.

The woman let out a breath of awe, “It's as you said. There is no weight at all.” And she lightly swung it from side to side, the plasma humming. She wasn't pulling away from his touch, even seemed to minutely sink into it as he moved with her. In the back of his mind, where he felt the sentience of the blade, it itched that familiar itch. Not painful, and he got no feeling of it being unhappy, held by Sansa. It was calm, watchful. Curious.

Shifting, Jaster gently nudged Sansa into a ready stance. He heard the way her breath hitched, but other than that, he saw nor felt any discomfort. To her statement, Jaster replied, “Jedi, beings who can feel something called the Force, wield these.”

“What's the Force?”

Stepping back a little to come and stand by her left side, Jaster gave a small shrug, “I've done some research into them, but they're very tight-lipped on any knowledge. But the Force, from what I understand, is the universe. It's life. It's every where. I don't know if I particularly believe in it, but it's mentioned enough of that a large majority of people do think it's real.”

“And Jedi...I don't think I've heard of them either.” Sansa's face was twisted into a thoughtful one, confused and searching her memories.

Crossing his arms casually, watching as she continued to observe the blade, Jaster explained, “Mandalorians and Jedi have a rough history. The Mandalorians of old, and the Jedi of the time, had fought. There is... a lot of history, if I'm being honest. A lot of bloody history, too. When I was creating the Super-commando codex, I had to really dive deep into our past. See, people aren't wrong, about Mandalorians being brutal. We were conquerors, and there was a lot of violence. However, unlike the True Mandalorians,” He couldn't stop the sneer creeping onto his lips at the name, “Passivity would never be a way to unite our people. You can't call yourself a Mandalorian and then refuse to hold a weapon or even fight what you believe in. And they believe that anyone who does is immediately part of Death Watch, declaring them Mandalorians no more and kicking them off of their own planet. It's disgusting.”

Unintentionally, Jaster had found himself in a spiral of irritation falling onto a different topic instead of the one requested, voicing his thoughts to Sansa, who stood there calmly, listening. In fact, she turned off the saber and stepped closer, laying a hand on his arm as he continued, “I've been trying to get the other houses and clans to be part of our fraction. There are many who dislike what the Duke Kryze is doing, destroying our culture and traditions. It's making us weak, and the Republic are just happy to take advantage of that, accepting the pacifistic section because that means that Mandalorians wouldn't be a threat any more if our more 'violent' ways were persecuted by our own people.”

The righteous fury he always felt when it came to such topics was blazing in his chest. Ans Sansa remained steady and silent through it all. Jaster took a breath, not wanting to ruin this trip with his ranting, “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-”

Sansa gently cut him off, “Jaster.” And she gazed up at him, unwavering and a sharpness behind her eyes as she spoke, “You have every right, to be furious. I can't say I understand, what it's like to watch your culture be stripped away or vilified, but I know what it's like to have who you are be judged unkindly by those who deem themselves superior.”

The validation settled that anger, a predator licking it's wounds, and Jaster exhaled heavily as he leant down to rest his head on Sansa's. She continued to speak to him, her words soft but no less firm, “You will need to tell me more, of these fake Mandalorians. If we are to deal with them in the future, then I must be aware of everything you know. And, if what you say is true, that they are firmly against any sort of violence, then I can be of much help, I believe. I am not a fighter myself, so words are what I have as a weapon. And I promise to use them in any way that I can, to keep your people safe.”

His chest tightened and overwhelmed Jaster pressed forward to capture her lips with his own. It wasn't long, just enough to put behind a weight of gratitude and sheer affection he had for Sansa. The woman made a noise of surprise when they touched, going rigid, her hand tightening on his arm.

When he broke away, Jaster breathed, “Sorry, I- I'm sorry, Sansa I shouldn't've without asking-”

“Yes,” Sansa murmured, “You should've asked.”

Gritting his teeth, he tried to step back but her hand on him held firm. Jaster finally flicked his gaze up to her, to see her expression.

Red. Her cheeks were bright red and her eyes flicking back and forth between his face and the ground. The fear that he had severely fucked up slowly eased away, instead analysing her reaction. Shy.

Hesitantly, Jaster asked, “May I?”

Sansa seemed to draw up from invisible strength within herself in order to tilt her chin up proudly, and demand, “May you what, Jaster?”

Jaster smiled a little, the back of his fingers brushing her cheek, “May I kiss you, my wife? My riduur?”

Her eyes narrowed in pleasure at the title, tugging him closer as she replied, “You may.”

And he did. Just as passionate as the first, pouring emotions into the kiss as he looped an arm around her waist, the other winding itself around Sansa's braid. He heard an object drop moments before a hand buried into his hair, mind vaguely recognising that she had dropped the darksaber to hold him, and couldn't even be mad about it. Her lips were soft, and tiny noises escaped from her as they continued, Jaster swallowing them up greedily until Sansa pulled away with a soft gasp.

Eyes dazed, the blue glimmering brightly, Jaster couldn't help how smug he felt, taking in her reaction, her expression. Smirking a little, he moved his hand from her hair to her cheek, stroking a thumb across her high cheek bones. “Tell me honestly. You liked what you saw this morning, didn't you?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, exasperated as she huffed, “I would've had to have been blind and an idiot to not to.”

Grinning now, Jaster smacked a light kiss to her lips, then the tip of her nose, “I knew it.”

“You're smugness is unbecoming.” Sansa scolded, stepping out of his arms to stoop down and pick up the darksaber. He had a ridiculous thought of how cold he felt, without her pressed to him, and shoved that away to accept the hilt back, stuffing it into his belt. At the contact, Jaster felt that itch, a curious and pleased sensation from the saber before he focused back on Sansa.

She was very firmly not meeting his gaze, looking off into the forest. Jaster wondered if she was searching for Lady. He was tempted to bring the topic of their kiss up, but decided to let it lie for now. They took a big step forward in their relationship, to prod her for answers and her thoughts could lead to Sansa dragging her walls back up.

Instead, he found this as an opportunity to finally ask, “So, what's up with you and Lady? Jango said there was a connection there.”

Glancing back at him, Sansa shrugged, “There is one.”

And that was it. Squinting at her, and the humour dancing in her eyes, Jaster knew Sansa to be teasing him. Snorting, the man walked to the ship, climbing into to slump on the bed. Dragging his boots off, Jaster turned to look at Sansa where she was making her way to him.

“Why don't you tell me all about it as I clean my blasters. You brought some sewing to do, I'm assuming?”

The woman nodded. Coming into the ship, Sansa also took off her boots, Jaster handing over her bag to riffle through as he did the same with his own. “How about, I ask a question, and you can ask one in turn. But you also have to answer what I asked you. Sound fair?”

Sansa hummed in agreement. He beamed, “Great! Now, can you read Lady's mind?”

A giggle escaped her as she took out a skirt and her sewing supplies, him doing the same with his cleaning kit. Together, cross legged on the futon and busy with their own tasks, Jaster felt contentment settle around them.

“It's called warging, on Westeros. And only primarily known in the North, past the Wall, and on Skagos. To the rest of Westeros, it's an old story, a legend from the by-gone eras. A warg can go into another's mind, typically an animal, though Bran had told me about how a strong warg can go into person's mind and take control.”

Jaster felt a chill up his spine, but kept his cool as Sansa explained, “With Lady, and with the other direwolves, we have a strong connection with our companion because of how we raised them along side us. They took on personality traits of their human partner, and that's not unusual for wargs and their animal companion. With Lady, I feel her in the back of my mind, and sometimes, when I sleep, I subconsciously go into hers. I did it a lot, when with Joffrey and Ramsay...a way to stay sane.”

“Does it bother you,” Jaster had to ask in the heavy quiet, “To talk about them?”

There was a moment of contemplation, before she shook her head. “Not in the way you think. On the night of our wedding, in Winterfell, I was very...emotionally fragile. Stressed and scared you would go back on your word along with other factors of the past week. I'm normally alright, talking about what I went through, though sometimes depending on the subject or memory it's difficult. I have a far better control of my emotions, but no. With a small audience, like with just you, or a few others, I'm less emotional. With larger crowds, it's overwhelming. The expectations from your people, it made it hard last night, to explain my scars. I know, one day, I may tell my stories, but not so soon.”

He considered her words, sliding the new information into the part of his mind that was taken up by the mystery that was his wife. Observing Sansa, Jaster realised that yes, she was currently very calm and relaxed. “It doesn't bother you at all?”

Sansa grimaced, “It does a little. I know you're asking because you want to know more of me and my past. I know you wouldn't judgement, or at least I hope you wouldn't.”

Jaster gave a small reassuring smile, “I would never.”

Her expression brightened, “And that's why I'm far more comfortable talking to you about it. I know that what I say, will be accepted and you wouldn't go telling everyone about it.”

“I want to know what triggers you.” Jaster replied, elaborating at her confusion, “I want to know what topics, or words, or anything really, that can cause you to have a similar reaction to the wedding night. Like how you said pigeon pie, and it's scent bothers you. I don't want to upset you, so I want to make sure that you know, that you don't have to answer or can change the subject if you're uncomfortable. I want us to have a safe space together.” He ended with a half-shrug, staring down at his hands as they worked on rote, disassembling one of his blasters.

A small, elegant hand settled over his. Jaster looked back up and saw gratitude. “And I want the same with you, Jaster.”

He gave another shrug, easier and relaxed, “I'll let you know when I remember them. My memory of those things are pretty karked up, and I was really young, childhood fades with time. It was all either forgotten or purposefully blocked out by trauma. But 'lek, if there is anything, I promise to talk to you.”

It was that day in the godswood all over again, but now, it felt stronger, solidified into pure beskar. They knew where they stood with one another when it came to memories and trauma, and Jaster couldn't be any less happy than he was now with that.

Sansa went back to her sewing after a squeeze of his hand, “Back to wargs.”

Jaster perked up, “Yes! Tell me all about how you can control an animal with your mind. If you warged into a bird do you have the desire to eat worms and peck at dirt?”

Her laughter at his enthusiasm filled the air.

With the rest of the day spent talking or in companionable silence, it was a surprise when it grew dark. They shared a simple meal by the fire, watching the sunset over the land and the trees begin to glow their familiar blue. When food was consumed and Jaster made them both some warm drinks, Sansa tilted her head back to stare up at the unfamiliar constellations.

“Do you see that straight line of stars?” Jaster suddenly asked. She glanced to her right, where he had scooted closer, pressing his shoulder into hers. Taking in the glow of the fire light, dancing across his weathered and scarred skin, the way his hazel eyes appeared golden, Sansa then followed where his finger was pointed. It took her a second to search for the constellation, but found, giving him a hum of confirmation.

“It's called the beroya's spear. See, beroya is typically used to refer to a bounty hunter now, but before that, it was someone whose role in the clan was to hunt and provide for them. It's still technically the same, the role now, but....yeah.”

Sansa listened as he trailed off, a hint of embarrassment. However, she had no idea on what he was embarrassed for and replied, “It's a lesson that children tend to only learn in the North, and perhaps maybe those actually interested in the subject in the South, but we learn how to read the stars young. That way, if we're lost, we can find our way home. Arya and I, when we were little, used to argue all the time. Couldn't get along. But we enjoyed pointing out the stars together when we had the chance to.”

The warm expression on his face had her heart skipping. He leant over to press a kiss to her temple before pointing to another constellation, “That's the strill, those five brighter stars right there. The one where the heart is, is used for guidance when lost and wandering the wilderness. And then, over there, that cluster is called the Alori bes'bev. Now, a bes'bev is this instrument that is also used in combat...”

She relaxed against his side, Jaster's arm coming to wrap around her shoulders as he continued to tell her all about his people's stars and their stories. Sansa never noticed until now, how soothing his voice was. It had a roughness to it, a rumble from his chest like a thunder storm. But it was soft, the storm in the distance and you were safe behind closed doors. It was both a threat and a calming sound, depending on what it was used for. She was growing to love it.

Soon, they retired to bed. Sansa watched from where she was quickly changing as Jaster walked the perimeter, very carefully keeping his back to her for privacy, and set up some barrier. He explained it to be a type of shield, preventing anything coming in or out, an painful shock occurring if one touched the shield. Lady, who slunk back and looking distinctly pleased with herself – a good hunt Sansa noted – was watching him curiously, sprawled out and alert by the smouldering fire.

Under the blankets in her night gown, Sansa was on the further side from the door when Jaster came in. They eyed one another with a linger of trepidation, before Sansa realised he was wanting to change and with a flush she ducked under the covers. She had only seen his bare chest once, but she was so embroiled in her emotions at the time that it hadn't registered. Now, would she see it again?

Her face heated up some more.

“Will Lady be alright if I close up the ramp?”

At Jaster's question Sansa took a peek over the covers to see him, disappointingly, wearing a shirt and some soft trousers. Hiding that reaction, Sansa shook her head. “She won't mind.”

He closed up the ramp, and a warm orange glow flickered on, the dim light only enough to show a vague understanding of where they were as Jaster climbed into the bed, tugging the covers up. Laid on his back, his head turned to her, Sansa curled on her side, facing him in return.

A weighted silence blanketed them. Something unspoken rising. She thought of the kiss early, the memory starting her heart into a heavy beat, and wondered if he was expecting something more from her now. Would she want it? The idea was not completely unpleasant, but she didn't think she would be ready for that kind of touch.

“Do you have a favourite sibling?”

The question jolted her from her thoughts, Sansa giving him a strange look. He continued, “It's just, when I was on the street, and the kids I was looking after, I absolutely had a favourite. They were my family, maybe not blood related, but I saw them as both my younger siblings, but in some weird way, my own kids too.”

She eased further into the blankets, asking, “Which one was your favourite?”

“Oh it was absolutely Jan'ilma. Thrane was a nightmare of a kid. Gott and Yeniv were babies when we took them in, I was thirteen at that time. But Jan was a kriffing saint, helpful and never complained whether she was hungry or cold. She was strong.” And there was a sad kind of pride in his words, in the way his eyes softened at the memories. She never knew what it was like, to fight to survive on the streets. She had seen the poor and hungry in Casterly Rock, as the third year of the war dragged on. It was one of the first commands she ordered when she took the throne from Joffrey: food for the starving.

“Why were you on the streets?” Sansa quietly wondered.

Jaster's lips twisted, a wry smile as he turned to look up at the ceiling, “Who knows. I don't remember my parents, and no one adopted me. It's funny. I grew up on Concordia, Mandalore's moon. It was a mining community, and I'm guessing my parents either died on a hunt or in the mines. But the funny part is, that Mandalorians tend to be notorious for their protectiveness over children. Ade are the future, after all. But something about Concordia meant that there was a lack of care for children. Or, at least, children that weren't deemed interesting or strong enough to capture any adult's eye. It's why I made it one of the main rules for the codex. Take care of all children, whether they are Mandalorians or not.”

A breath was trapped in her lungs, listening to his story, and when it released it came out stuttering. Sansa's heart ached.

“Rickon.” She voiced.

Jaster turned to look at her, a wordless question in his eyes. “It's Rickon,” Sansa repeated. “He's my favourite. I love them all, even Arya. My sister and I struggled to get on when we were younger, and I'll admit I bullied her some what. I was so annoyed at why she couldn't be like me, and enjoy the things I liked. I wanted a little sister to play with and sew with, but instead I got a sister that preferred to run about in the mud with the boys. I helped mother raise Rickon when he was born, and he was as wild as Arya. When I was younger, Robb was my favourite, he could do no wrong in my eyes.”

“And now?” He gently urged. Sansa played with the edge of the blankets. “Arya helped rescue me from Ramsay, burnt the Dreadfort down with me and Jeyne. And I love her, and we've come to a truce now that we're older and less likely to pick on one another. However, there is a part of Arya that I know exists, where she looks at me and can't understand how I couldn't save myself. She's not able to understand why it took so long for me to get away from Joffrey, why I refuse to learn to fight. But Rickon...he doesn't have any of that hidden judgement or frustration. He's so...wild in his ways. He see people on a deeper level I think, and...I don't know.” Sansa sighed. It was hard for her to explain.

“He said something interesting to me, when in Winterfell.” Jaster commented. “He said that there were animals that were brightly coloured, a warning to predators, and compared it to you. He also said, that a cornered animal was the most dangerous, even the softest of ones. I think, the reason he's your favourite, is that he can see you're not weak, like everyone else might. That even without a blade, you are a fighter.”

Sansa choked on a laugh, “He dragged me to Skagos because I spent an entire week in bed, barely sleeping or eating. He said that I needed a tent, not a castle, to heal. It made no sense at the time, and our parents protested, but he was right. When I came back from Skagos, I realised I really did need a tent, not a castle, to begin healing from everything. I spent so much time in pain in a castle, surrounded by nobles and courtiers with lavish decorations. In the wild, waking up to find a herd of deer or a nest of snakes nearby, was far easier to deal with than looks of disgust or pity.”

“And the mountain climbing helped too.” Jaster lightly joked. She snorted, sending him a playful glare, “If there is one thing that can put your pain into perspective, it's climbing up a mountain naked and screaming out into the clouds at the peak.”

He rubbed at his face, grumbling in disbelief, “How the kriff did you not freeze to death?”

Remembering a phrase Jaster had stated once, Sansa snarked, “We're just built different.”

A burst of surprised laughter rippled from his lungs, looking at her with bright eyes and it was infectious, Sansa ducking her head down into the pillow as she joined in.

When it died down, Sansa gazed up at him, and felt the need to confess, “I loved him. Joffrey.”

The previous humour was wiped clean from his face, and he turned to lay on his side, giving her his full attention.

Swallowing hard, the woman continued, “I had convinced myself that he loved me. Like I was his favourite toy. And I thought it was enough because sometimes, sometimes I thought I saw it. A-a flicker of compassion. Or some sort of affection. And it made me hold onto that hope, that he loved. It made dealing with the pain easier. He was a violent person, loved blood and pain, and when he hurt me, that meant he loved me.” Her hand came up, and she rubbed at her scar, “Until he slit my throat.”

To survive, Sansa had constructed this ideal of Joffrey and his emotions, had purposefully deluded herself into thinking that he cared, under all that torment. It was one of the ways she tried to stay alive, to stay sane. Unbeknownst to her that it was slowly driving her mad, thinking that all those bruises and welts were full of love. She thought, if they just got past all that violence and war, it would be better. He would become kinder. Until he slashed her throat with the very dagger he gave her. She was brought back to reality after that, and saw the hollowed out and broken doll she became.

With that confession out, Sansa felt more wishing to tumble out, and sat up. Her arms shook as she tugged at the collar of her night gown, already a loose fabric, and presented the top of valley between her breasts, where a thick white scar started. Jaster sat up with a jolt, a hand hovering instinctively in air, as if he could touch her scar and it would be healed away into nothing. Sansa smiled, but it felt like a grimace. “Ramsay wanted to give me a scar like the one Joffrey put on my neck. Something large and permanent. He used the same dagger that Joffrey gave me. It's a cursed blade,” Sansa couldn't help but spit, some dark glee in her words. “I used that dagger to take Joffrey's head, and I used it to gut Ramsay before throwing him to his starving hounds. He was still alive as they devoured him. I made sure to slash his face, like he did to Jeyne. I wanted to do far more to him, to Joffrey. But I wanted them dead more than I wanted further satisfaction. I wanted to cause them pain, I wanted them to feel the agony I felt, trapped and used and continuously on the brink of shattering into pieces-”

Jaster cupped her cheeks. Sansa stalled in her words, taking in the wetness in his eyes. It was a furious kind of sadness, and it was such a contrast to the cold anger she felt in that moment, eyes dry. “If any one who hurt you in the past is alive still, tell me now, San'ika. My cyar'ika. I would give you that satisfaction. I would do everything I could to them, keeping them just a step away from death so that they would hurt. I would do it.”

Sansa softened. His touch and words soothing her nerves. Leaning into one of the hands, Sansa murmured, “Unfortunately for you, all who have harmed me are gone. You'll just have to deal with anyone trying in the future.”

“Of course.” Jaster promised, pressing a gently kiss to her lips. It was such a sweet touch, only meant to give comfort and made her sigh with contentedness, and Sansa hoped to have more of them in the future.

“And what of you?” Sansa wondered. They parted and laid back down, closer than before. “Is there anyone who hurt you, that is still alive?”

He made a face, scratching at a scar on his brow, “Probably. I was basically a child prostitute, Sansa. And I didn't see the same people all the time. And when I got older, finding other jobs before becoming Journeyman Protector, I did meet some again. Put a blaster bolt through their skulls for having touched a child, but I don't doubt there are still out there.” Jaster gave her a wry smile. “You gotta understand that I had a lot of people who hurt me, a lot blurring together. Unlike with you, who you knew exactly who hurt you, I didn't remember most.”

“Then we have to ensure that something like that doesn't happen with the people under our care.” Sansa determined, reaching out to clasp one of his hands, squeezing the fingers tightly, “Nor can we let them go cold or starve. I will do what I can to keep them cared for.”

A soft smile crept onto his lips, “That's all I ask for.” And there was a brief but content lull into silence, before Jaster then asked, “What's your favourite colour?”

Caught off guard by the change of subject, it took Sansa a few seconds to answer, “I used to like pink, but that colour makes me think too much of Ramsay, the Bolton colour, along with red. I do like yellow too, but I lean towards greens, blues, and purples. I guess it depends on how I'm feeling each day.” The lighter question eased some of her previous melancholy.

Jaster groaned, “Way to make it difficult, Sansa.”

“Well, what's your favourite then?”

“Red. See? Simple.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “I should've figured, with the red on your armour.”

“Hey,” He shrugged, “I'm a simple man.”

A snort escaped her in response. “Apologies for being too complexed for you, Mand'alor.”

Their conversation continued back and forth, basic questions that didn't stir up too many darker memories. It was knowledge that people who were courting would learn, and Sansa once more found herself amused at how backwards their relationship was forming, but she loved it still. However, soon conversation dwindled away into a peaceful quiet, both falling asleep to the sounds of their breathing.

Before her mind fully slipped into her dreams, Sansa brushed against Lady's assuring she was alright before slumber took hold. Only with Jeyne or her siblings had she felt this comfortable sharing a bed with another.