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Nights like these were filled with uncertainty. The precariousness in them lived and breathed as if it was it’s own entity carried about by the air. The darkness of the night is not unsimilar to the Battle of Winterfell where hundreds, thousands, fell at the onslaught of the dead. The heaviness in the air was just as thick tonight as it had been then, though the chill was less bitter.

Winterfell was still recovering even all these long months after the Battle of Winterfell, the Great War. The walls were still being rebuilt brick by brick. The long cold winter nights had subsided, if only partially. People were free to return to their homes and rebuild as best they could, yet many stayed close to the heart of the North, close to Winterfell. 

Just beyond the slowly healing brick walls of Winterfell there was a small town. The Northerners too afraid to return to their secluded little towns or to the homes that had been destroyed by the army of the dead or the ferociousness of Winter, built new homes there. Even when that fear should have been conquered as there were now fewer threats that lay in the night as there had been before. Yet, no one begrudged those that stayed and created a city that was protected by the comforting shadow of Winterfell’s towers. The Night King and the army of the dead could once again be considered ghost stories told to children to frighten them into behaving, lest they get sent beyond the wall where the Wight Walkers dwelled, but it was still Winterfell that offered a beacon of hope to the people who’d lived through the atrocities of the Great War.

Sansa Stark, Queen of the North, stood upon the balcony overlooking Winterfell’s courtyard. Night had fallen some time ago. The area lit only by torches and the glow of the full blue moon above them. Shadows played along the stone surfaces as clouds crawled across the sky, blocking the moon’s pale light, casting ominous shadows over Winterfell.

As a newly independent Kingdom that was still recovering from the Great War and over a decade of war, Sansa saw no reason to turn away those individuals willing to stay, to build commerce here at Winterfell as a trading post. As it provided able bodied men to help rebuild the castle and create and start anew in her beloved home.

Normally there were dozens of people loitering out and about in the courtyard, whose gate was always open these days, though always guarded as well. They could still not be too careful. Sansa would always be vigilant, a force of necessity she could not outgrow. One day it would save her, as it had in the past.

Tonight was different though. 

There were not groups of commoners loitering about enjoying the night air. The only ones Sansa could see were the guards manning their posts and a straggler that moved quickly back to where they came from or where they were going.

Sansa shivered, the wind suddenly picking up around the open courtyard. The strength of the wind caused a howl and whistle to reverberate off the stone walls around her. Something was looming in the air. It was thick and heavy and held a ghoulish touch. The merest graze of the breeze upon skin causing the hairs along the back of the neck to stand erect. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

Feeling that ghostly touch Sansa immediately withdrew into the safety of the castle. Feeling unnaturally perturbed by the bitter wind. The red-headed Queen pulled her cloak around her tighter, still shivering as she made her way through the familiar halls of her castle. There were far more people in the halls than Sansa was accustomed to at this late hour. All probably seeking comfort and safety from the monstrous wind. 

All those that she passed bowed their heads, stopping their own treks to show her a sign of respect that she was now owed as their Queen. Most nights Sansa would have waved off their respect, but tonight she took full advantage of her station, as it cleared the hallways for her and allowed her a faster retreat into her own rooms where there was surely to be a lit fireplace and the warmth she was suddenly lacking. Her steps were swift but heavy, her heart pounding against her chest as if she were racing away from an unseen threat behind her.

Her heart thumped painfully against her ribs even as she leaned heavily against the closed and locked doors of her chambers. That feeling, that prickly feeling at the back of her neck that had her entire body alert would not leave her. No matter how she rubbed at her arms she could not get the chill in her skin to dissipate. Her eyes swiveled around the darkened corners of her solar as if she expected something or someone to be there lurking, waiting, for her.

No wonder no one stood out within the elements. There was a strength and peculiar nature to the wind tonight. It was as if it held a spark inside it that left many seeking shelter, as it elicited an immediate reaction from their baser instincts, it pulled forth the need to seek shelter, to seek safety. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.”

“It’s just the wind…” Sansa repeated to herself. For the first time in several moons, wishing that she could sneak away to Jon or Arya’s rooms and find comfort in their presence. Just as she once had while they were children. But Jon was not here. Nor was Arya. Or Bran.

Sansa was alone in Winterfell. 
The last Stark. 
The last wolf. 
The lone wolf.

Arya had long since sailed off to the unknown to map the uncharted world West of Westeros. Sansa still sent ravens to her in an effort to keep track of her whereabouts. But the longer Arya remained at sea, the farther and farther she traveled from land, the harder it would become. Then were was Jon, the former King in the North. Jon was somewhere beyond the Wall with what remained of the Free Folk. Sansa had not heard from him since his exile and she feared she never would. 

The only one to remain with Sansa was Ser Brienne of Tarth. Podrick Payne had left and joined Bran, now King of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros, as his Captain of the Kingsguard. An offer originally extended to Brienne, one the loyal knight had  respectfully refused as her loyalty and place was with Sansa, with Catelyn Stark’s daughters. And as Sansa was the last that remained in Westeros, Brienne too stayed with her. 

Sansa thought for a moment to seek out Brienne, the woman's quarters were directly across the hall from her own, but she refrained. She was no longer the scared child with whom Brienne had rescued. Sansa was no longer just Catelyn Stark’s eldest daughter, nor just the Lady of Winterfell, she was Queen of the North . 

A Queen could not rush to their loyal knights room, at this late an hour, at the merest of frights. Especially when Sansa herself could not understand what she was afraid of.

It was just a feeling . The uncertainty around why her heart raced and her skin was slick in a cold sweat. It was like something from the darkness was trying to reach out and grab hold of her, devour her whole. It left her unbearably uncomfortable.

Winter wine, which was abundant throughout Winterfell and could always be found in her rooms, did nothing to calm her nerves as she drank glass after glass. The longer the night wore on, the longer Sansa stared at the flames of her fireplace and the shadows that played upon the walls of her room, the more frightened she became. 

It was late when she finally retired to her large bed, one she shared with no one. Normally something she did not mind, but tonight felt like it was about time she found another to share her bed with. If only for the selfish reason to keep her company in her fear and warm her chilled form. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

The sound of the howling wind just outside of her window grew louder and louder as the night wore on. The sickly touch of the ghoulish breeze finding its way through the cracks and creaks of stone, over the cobblestone and rugged floors, up to tangle in the bedskirt of Sansa’s bed before finding the Queen in the North as she lay upon her bed. The shivers never seemed to cease, no matter how tightly she pulled the furs around her body, the chill in the air still found her, fell over her like a sea wave crashing against the rocks during a gale storm. 

It was only as Sansa’s eyes finally began to close--out of sheer exhaustion--that she heard something. Something carried upon the wind. Words she could not decipher, repeated in an ominous chant. The sound so faint that Sansa thought for sure she had imagined them. 

Yet the words drew forth memories. Memories she longed to forget, to escape, almost as much as she wished to escape from the bitter chill that chased after her. Memories of a deceased love, a lover, that could neither warm the bed and stave off the cold wind, nor ward off the cold bitter emptiness of her loneliness. 

The air above Sansa’s mouth turned into a white smokey cloud as she stuttered out a long drawn out breath. The breath holding within it the name she often shied away from when others uttered it, the pain it inflicted too painful even now, yet in the darkness of her room surrounded by cold merciless fear she whispered the name, the sound of it falling from her lips like a prayer,

“Daenerys…” 

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“Lady Sansa?”

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

“My Lady?” Lord Royce pulled Sansa’s attention back to the task at hand. They were going over the keep’s supplies. The food stores were dangerously low and the hunting parties were having a hard time competing with two large dragons for the available game. The Wildlings had already begun offering to go on hunting parties beyond what remained of the wall to bring back game meat. Sansa was considering it. Sending Northmen and Vale men with them so they could better learn the terrain. Now that the dead were not a threat there were less ominous creatures to worry about beyond the wall. Or so they would like to hope. 

That was what Sansa should have been focusing on. Instead of her duties she found herself hearing voices. Voices she needed to keep at bay. To keep quiet. 

“Forgive me, my Lord. What were you saying?” Sansa inquired as she pulled herself together and focused. Feeling odd as she looked around herself as if she had been here before. Yet, knowing she had not. The dejavu she shook off and listened as Lord Royce spoke. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

“The moment we can get the last infantryman out onto the field, we should shut the gates.”

“Keep them open for as long as you can. There are still people coming in from the countryside.”

The sound of the library door opening draws both Sansa and Royce’s attention. Lord Royce follows Sansa as they both slowly stand from their seats at the Queen’s unexpected presence. 

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

Lord Royce looked on Sansa with a worried countenance even as Sansa nodded to him, allowing him to exit. He bowed his head to Sansa and when he was close to Daenerys bowed fully to the Queen before making his exit. Catching Sansa’s eyes and that of Daenerys as the Queen watched him leave. Once he’d left the room Sansa was surprised to have the Targaryen Queen’s full attention. Sansa could only imagine that there were half a dozen reasons why Daenerys had sought her out, in private. Still, she would give the queen the attention she seemed to want and the privacy, but there was still much to be done. 

“I thought you and I were on the verge of agreement before. About Ser Jaime.” Ah, Sansa felt some of the tension leave her. This political discussion she could handle. 

"Brienne has been loyal to me, always. I trust her more than anyone. If she believes he will assist us, that he is trustworthy. I will listen to her.”

“I wish I could have that kind of faith in my advisors.” Sansa knew then that there was much to learn from Daenerys’ visit. It seemed the Queen did not trust her own advisors as much as she should. Which was not a position Sansa felt the Dragon should be telling her. She had to wonder why. Why was Daenerys being honest with her on this? Did the woman not recognize that they were not friends? Allies, but at what cost, to what length would they go for one another? 

Sansa picked at the papers she had been working through with Lord Royce, needing to do something with her hands as Daenerys remained standing half a room away from her. It was better that way, Sansa found. She was less distracted by Daenerys when she was farther away. 

Thankfully there was always someone or something between them. A table, a person--Jon in particular. It helped Sansa focus her mind on what was important and not on the trivial matters such as the Dragon Queen’s jewel-like eyes, the spicy scent of her skin that Sansa had never smelled before or how her hair seemed like a living entity, it’s liquid silver reflecting the sun and candle light in equally distracting ways. 

“Tyrion is a good man. He was never anything but decent towards me.” Sana’a felt she had to offer defense to her once husband. 

“I didn't ask him to be my Hand simply because he was good.” Sansa felt her breath catch as Daenerys started to draw closer. “I asked him to be my Hand because he was good, and intelligent, and ruthless when he had to be. He never should have trusted Cersei.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow, “You never should have either.”

"I thought he knew his sister.”

Sansa had to smile at that. Knowing from experience how little a sibling could truly know another. Her family being prime examples of that. One was a crow, the other a three-eyed raven and the last a faceless (wo)man. 

“Families are complicated.”

“Ours certainly have been.”

Sansa shuffled just a few inches back towards her chair, giving herself some space as Daenerys had come to stand directly before her. Right before the chair that Royce had vacated, and had been seated in rather closely as they’d both pillaged over the papers spread out across the table. Without much of a word, they both sat and Sansa folded her hands upon her lap. They itched to do something foolish. 

“A sad thing to have in common.”

“We have other things in common. We've both known what it means to lead people who aren't inclined to accept a woman's rule. And we've both done a damn good job of it, from what I can tell.”

Sansa swallowed as the similarities between them were listed from the very lips of the woman who’d consumed much of Sansa’s thoughts since Jon’s raven had arrived with word of his bending the knee. 

“And yet, I can't help but feel we're at odds with one another. Why is that?”

“Your brother?” Oh how wrong Daenerys was. And yet, Sansa couldn’t help but be glad the woman did not know her innermost thoughts. At least outwardly she appeared as she should. Cold. Withdrawn. It would be better this way. It would protect her already scarred heart from anymore pain. 

“He loves you, you know that.” Sansa informed, as if it were news to either of them.

“That bothers you.” Daenerys seemed genuinely curious to know why that would bother her. If only she knew. 

“Men do stupid things for women. They're easily manipulated.” Sansa had known the power of a woman over a man. But she’d never thought she’d find a woman who had the same power over men that she did over Sansa herself. Whose heart, she’d like to think, had been frozen long ago. But since meeting Daenerys’ eyes in the courtyard those weeks ago for the first time, she’d felt her heart warm and thump painfully against her chest. As if it were coming back to life all over again, the icicles that had grown around it breaking as it beat once more. Warmed by the Targareyn’s purple eyes and silver hair. 

“All my life, I've known one goal: the Iron Throne. Taking it back from the people who destroyed my family, and almost destroyed yours. My war was against them. Until I met Jon. Now I'm here, half a world away, fighting Jon's war alongside him. Tell me, who manipulated whom?”

Sansa considered Daenerys’ words seriously. Knowing how driven a woman like Daenerys Targaryen was. It was a drive they both shared. It lived and breathed in their chests and roared and growled with the same intensity. And yet, she spoke the truth. Daenerys was half a world away from the throne she sought to fight a war for Jon. It both made her truly consider the woman before her, for what she did, and that she might love Jon as much as Jon seemed to love her. 

“I should have thanked you the moment you arrived. That was a mistake.” Sansa admitted, her hand twitching in her lap as she leaned forward and dared to reach her hand across the table to touch Daenerys’ lonely one. Sansa forced herself to ignore how her heart leapt when Daenerys put her own hand on top of hers. This was the first time they were touching in weeks. And it left her feeling light headed. The heat from the Dragon Queen’s hands were immense against her cold ones. Always cold. 

“I'm here because I love your brother and I trust him, and I know he's true to his word. He's only the second man in my life I can say that about.”

How ironic it was to be more wounded that Daenerys did love Jon. Now, there was less reason to despise the woman. Sansa’s eyes looked to how Daenerys rested her folded hands on the tabletop between them. How she leaned forward, opened herself up, her eyes clear. But there was something there. Something Sansa could see lurking beneath the surface. Something familiar, something she’d seen before. 

“Who was the first?” Sansa asked, her curiosity and perhaps jealousy getting the better of her. Wondering how lucky this woman was to have two men in her life that were trustworthy and lovable. 

There was a sparkle in Daenerys’ purple eyes, “Someone taller.”

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

The air between them was light. Boyant. It was comfortable. For a short time there was warmth, it surrounded them like a blanket. They could just be in this singular moment, in the bubble of warmth and camaraderie, of female friendship and laughter. A shared laugh at Jon’s expense. But the cold was always there. 

The wind was always wicked in its ability to shatter and destroy the comfortability of warmth. How it could penetrate it with little worry of injury to itself. The weight of it always weighed heavy on Sansa’s shoulders as her very body exuded the cold. Her very heart as frozen as the tundra beyond the wall. Because it had to be. Because she could not allow herself weakness. Ever. 

“And what happens afterwards? We defeat the dead, we destroy Cersei. What happens then?”

There seemed to be genuine confusion over the question as Daenerys explained the simple answer. “I take the Iron Throne.”

But there was never a simple answer to Sansa’s question. And Daenerys would learn that there was no warmth to be found here. Not anymore. No matter how much Sansa wanted there to be. “What about the North? It was taken from us, and we took it back. And we said we'd never bow to anyone else again. What about the North?”

Sansa felt the sudden lack of warmth from Daenerys’ hand against her own like a stab to her chest. But it had to be done. Her eyes watched as the Dragon Queen’s hand slid away from her. The warmth that had shone in her eyes hardening as the Targaryen seemed to realize she wasn’t in the presence of a lamb, but of a Wolf. 

“A promise was made. The army of the dead, and then Cersei.”

“I agree that the North pledged to fight for you against Cersei. We will honor that pledge. But…” Sansa added and tried not to let the sudden shifting of those loyal to Daenerys bother her or distract her. No, she held the Queen’s eyes as she spoke. “...there is much more to be discussed on what happens after that pledge has been honored.” 

Daenerys stood from her chair in frustration, her cheeks flushed in her sudden anger. Sansa slowly stood from her chair as well. “What happens after the pledge has been honored is the North remains part of the Seven Kingdoms. As it’s King bent the knee!” Daenerys looked towards the door, as if expecting someone to come in and part them, to stop this argument from taking place. It would be such a shame to have to kill her future husband’s sister. “Unless, you wish to rule from the Iron Throne?”

Sansa shook her head, “I have no desire for the Iron Throne. It is cursed. It is not meant to be held outside of your family. That has been made abundantly clear with how many it has killed.” As if it was the throne that had been what killed the people who longed for it, when it was always the other people who wanted it that killed themselves and their opposers. Human greed for power was responsible for all the death and blood that had been spilled over the last decade. “Everyone who has ever longed for it, who has fought for it, has died. Just as it will kill Cersei for holding it. If you wish for the Iron Throne as badly as you do, take it back and end this. The North will support you in the campaign against Cersie. But then it needs to end. The death and the killing and the wars. They need to end. The Northmen need to be released from this unending hell.”

Daenerys looked Sansa up and down as the woman moved closer. Had Sansa always been taller than her? She frowned slightly at the realization and it somehow made her despise the woman even more. Stunningly beautiful, taller than her, and a pain in her ass. She could feel the tension in the room as if violence would cut through it any moment.

“I am glad to hear that you are so willing to support my claim. It is clear you have no more love for me than I do you. But alliances have to have trust. Even political ones. And I do not trust you. Regardless of your intentions and reasoning. You say you want the North to be independent. How can I trust an independent North with you leading hundreds of miles away when I can’t even trust you when you are under the same roof?” 

Daenerys took a step toward Sansa, leaving little distance between the two, her eyes looking up to meet those of the taller woman. Her tone grew more stern as she spoke again. “I am the Queen. The wars will come to an end. We will uproot Cersei from King’s Landing and the Seven Kingdoms will know peace. The North will know peace and its men can finally rest, as a part of the Seven Kingdoms.”

The fire crackled behind them but neither paid it any mind. Sansa’s eyes glowed with the fiery embers just beside them, her gaze locked with Daenerys’ as at her sides her hands grew into tight fists. “You would do well to remember that you may be the Queen in Essos, but you rule no lands here. You have those loyal to you. The Ironborn and Dorne. Two islands miles off the main coast of Westeros. You lost the Reach’s army in a folly of miscalculation and have no Dornish spearman as there awaits a fleet three times the size of your own between them and the mainland.” Sansa’s voice was low, anger simmering beneath the surface and coming out in her every breath, every syllable spoken as she straightened her back and stood a head taller than the so called Queen. 

“You speak of trust. That I must gain yours. Therein lie your mistake. You must gain mine . You must gain the trust of the Vale, of the Eyrie, of the North. For what makes you any different from the Kings that have slaughtered and betrayed and led these Kingdoms to ruin? You say you bring peace and you want a greater world, a better one. And Jon trusted you, and I trust him. But he’s...he’s blind to you.” Sansa’s voice wavered as she spoke of Jon, but her glare remained pressed and ironed upon her face, hands shaking with her anger. “My reach with the remaining great houses scares you. The loyalty Jon and I hold. It scares your advisors. The talk that simmers in the halls.” Sansa knew that they were both aware of the talk of the other Lords. Why hide it? 

“I hold no wish for the Seven bloody Kingdoms or the cursed Iron Throne. I want the North’s freedom.” Sansa stepped closer to the woman, her blood boiling beneath her skin. “You want the loyalty I already have. But I earned that loyalty. I bled for it. You’ll get that loyalty for nothing through your union with Jon and his bending the knee. But let me make this very clear to you.” Sansa dipped her head just a bit lower, a snarl on her lips. “If you are playing my brother. If you are using him. I will be your greatest enemy. When I could have been your fiercest alley.”

Daenerys was not surprised Sansa didn’t like what she said. She, however, was surprised at the amount of anger the woman summoned. She didn’t know Sansa was capable of much more than scheming and snarky one-liners. But Sansa was not cowering or backing down at her comments. She was standing up, showing a fire that usually the Targaryens are known for. But the worst part was how much it was getting to Daenerys. Something about this woman drove her crazy. Every word crawled through her skin, every threat just sparking the rage Daenerys had been holding back.

Daenerys held her glare as Sansa recounted her situation, her army, her losses so far, rubbing her miscalculation in her face. Then, of course, she started flexing her own power, all the northern lords loyal to her. Daenerys gritted her teeth as the woman moved closer. It was all she could do to keep herself from grabbing that perfect red hair and ripping it out. But it was Sansa’s last comment that set her off. The promise of the threat she was. The same thing she had feared but pushed aside at the assurance of her advisors. Now here this woman was trying to intimidate her. She would not have it. 

Daenerys felt herself finally snap, her anger surging through her like a wildfire. She glared at the woman for a moment. Their faces only inches apart before she growled, raising both of her hands planting them on the woman’s shoulders and pushing her back as hard as she could. She continued to step forward as the taller woman stumbled back a couple of steps. 

“You want to talk about armies? Fine. You would do good to remember the air you breathe is thanks to me. If I had not brought my army north with my dragons Winterfell would be a pile of rubble, and you soon will be just another rotting face in the army of the dead.” She placed her hands on Sansa and shoved her again. Her purple eyes dug into the woman harshly, whatever control that had been there before Sansa had provoked out of her was gone. There was a need in her. A need for her hands to be on the redhead. To feel the cool touch of the taller woman’s skin beneath her own. To make the fire burning inside her ignite within the younger woman. To burn her from the inside out. To spark the flames she knew were there. Waiting. Waiting to be released. 

“You have repaid my trust with deceit at every turn.” Daenerys’ voice echoing slightly in the empty room even as she remained controlled in her tone of voice. 

Daenerys closed the distance between them again but she did not shove Sansa this time. Instead her eyes looked straight into those of the taller woman. “You want to talk about threats? Fine.” Her voice was quieter, more of a growl. “You talk about your loyal lords and houses. All the men you can summon. Well, I am here. Now. How do you feel about your chances against my armies right now? Even if I was foolish enough to let you stay up here while I dealt with Cersei and then came back for you. You summon your loyal lords and all of their men. Make an army of thousands. What are those thousands against a dragon? What about two of them? Will all those Lords and Ladies stay loyal to you when fire is raining down upon them and their houses, while the Dothraki and Unsullied kill their men in the field? Will they die for you just because you are the beautiful daughter of Lord Stark?” Daenerys paused for a moment. She felt her voice shaking a bit, even her hands quivering with rage. 

“I’ll make you a promise. The same one I made your brother. I will take back what is mine. With fire and blood. If you are so determined for that blood to be from the North, so be it. But the North will be a part of the seven kingdoms. Either after we defeat the dead and ride together to take it, or after yet another war. One way or another.”

Sansa felt the room crackle with the tension, the anger they were both releasing. The flames behind them sparking and dancing with a fury neither one seemed to notice. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

Their eyes are too drawn to the other. Sansa’s chest rose and fell in quick succession, pulse beating roughly against her chest and beneath her neck, her muscles stiff as she towered over the shorter woman. She should have expected it. Maybe a small part of her had hoped it wouldn’t come to physical blows, that they could dish their blows with words and underhanded comments and slights. Disparaging remarks and veiled or full on threats. But physicality, Sansa was almost a bit disappointed it had amounted to physicality. It had been so long since she’d had a decent verbal sparring partner. And although Daenerys was far from her partner in anything, she was still one of the best she’d ever ‘dueled’ with. 

For a small woman Daenerys was stronger than she appeared. The sudden touch of her hands upon Sansa’s shoulders and the forceful shove backwards making Sansa stumble backwards to keep her balance. Her fisted hands moving to the skirt of her dress to keep it moving and from tangling in her legs as she was forced to continue her backward gait as Daenerys advanced on her. 

The room vibrated with the anger coming off of the Dragon Queen. The heat in the room seeming to become stifling as her voice echoed but did not rise. Sansa knew with one word, a single sound of dismay or call for help would have Brienne running into the room to aid her if she truly felt like she was in danger. Perhaps she was, but not immediate danger. The woman before her held no weapon and although she was strong, Sansa knew she could be stronger. Could plant her feet upon the floor and force the silver haired demi-goddess to stop in her tracks or be forced to plow into her. 

Blood rushed so strongly through her body that she could hear it echoing loudly in her ears, the sound more like a raging ocean during a storm, the water churning faster and faster as the thunder rang out and shook the earth below. 

“You’ve given me no choice!” Sansa grabbed hold of Daenerys hand before it could land upon her shoulder once more. Their eyes locked as she huffed and puffed as if she’d just run from Winterfell to White Harbor. Her grip upon the Queen’s wrist was tight as she finally stepped forward, her left hand skimming forward to grab at the back of Daenerys’ neck as she closed all space between them. Their bodies pressed together tightly as Sansa’s fingers slid into the thick silver main of hair and scrunched it tight in her grasp to keep control over the shorter woman’s movements. 

“You are here. Now…” Sansa eyed the woman. “Where are your armies and your dragons now, your Grace?” Sansa looked around the pointedly empty room as she advanced, twisting them in a turn so she had Daenerys pinned between her body and the table she’d almost ended up pressed against herself if Daenerys had continued a few steps more. 

Sansa slowly released the hold she had in Daenerys’ hair, her breathing ragged as her eyes flittered back and forth between the Targaryen’s eyes and her lips. Sansa’s own lips parted as she tried to catch her breath. 

“Who is here for you now?” Sansa questioned, her voice growing softer as she dipped her head just enough that if she wanted her forehead could touch Daenerys’. She knew the threat she was issuing. Knew if she had to she could subdue the woman before her, though she suspected it would not be easy. “I do not want to be your enemy. I do not want to see countless die because of our stubbornness.” Sansa’s tense shoulders seemed to deflate at that. They had only been in a room together alone for less than a candlemark and they were already at each other’s throat. 

“I want…” Sansa’s gaze drifted to Daenerys’ lips, her fingers releasing their grip within the Queen’s hair, her fingers now just unconsciously, gently scratching the tips of her nails over the back of Daenerys’ neck. Her skin was as warm as it had been before when they’d just merely touched hands upon the table. And the queen smelled of...firestone and lilacs and...Sansa shivered as the scent enveloped her. Her heart thumping painfully against her chest as she licked her suddenly dry lips. 

What did she want? 

“I...I want peace for the North.  More than I want its independence." 

Daenerys offered her a choice. One way...or the other. Sansa would pick the way that best suited her people, her family, those she cared for. Even if that same choice was the one that damned herself. It was all so hard to focus on as she could practically taste the other woman's breath they were so close. Feel the swell of her breasts and the grip of her hands upon her body, how warm she was. How much warmer she probably was beneath the clothes. It was all so much to process that she felt like she was drowning under it all.

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

Daenerys was still breathing heavily from her own threat. She had honestly expected that to be the end of the discussion. One would think the threat of dragons burning your people by the thousands would be enough to end a conversation. But not with Sansa. The woman had a fire and tenacity that rivaled even Daenerys’ own. She did not back down as much as Danerys hated it, she couldn’t help but admire it so.

But Sansa’s next move caught the fiery queen off guard. Her soft hands suddenly grabbed Daenerys’ hand in a rough grip. Her other hand shooting behind her neck, grabbing her by her hair and pulling her close. Daenerys let out a sharp gasp through her gritted teeth, both from the surprise and the pain of this northern barbarian grabbing her hair. Sansa was surprisingly strong, but no one touched her like this. Those around her would hardly rest their hand on her, much less wrap her up in a tight grip like this. The only person to treat her like this was her brother. But this felt different. Viserys had always been cruel. When he grabbed her and slapped her it was out of rage and to anger her, or to silence her, and she always hated it. But this felt different. The redhead was making her point, showing her strength, but her soft hands grabbing her so tightly, holding her so close, Daenerys didn’t hate this. Instead, she found heat in her chest as their two bodies rubbed so closely together. A feeling of something more primal inside her, desire for the woman perhaps.

Sansa’s threat was well made. The two were very alone and Sansa was clearly the stronger one physically. Even if she yelled for advisors it was unlikely Tyrion would last very long in combat with Brienne. Daenerys still held her glare against the woman, refusing to show any weakness even as she was pinned roughly against the table. But Sansa finally seemed to soften up, releasing her death grip in Daenerys’ hair. Her fingernails rubbing gently against Daenerys’ neck sending shivers down her spine.

Daenerys listened to her words quietly. Finally, in their anger, the two had finally been honest with each other. They had said all the threats and vicious thoughts they had been harboring towards each other. While this didn’t help calm Daenerys now, at least they weren’t hiding behind false promises and advisors now. Her eyes burned into the eyes of the taller woman as she listened to her speak. About wanting peace for the North, about but even the gentler words did not calm Daenerys down. She was too far gone to reel her fury in now.

“You know how to have peace for the north.” Daenerys finally said coldly.

If Daenerys fought dirty she could take the giant down. But another part of Daenerys was getting increasingly hard to push Sansa away. The heat of the two close together. Sansa’s cool hand against her warm skin, like fire and ice. Sansa’s toned body pressed against hers holding her in a dominant grip. The flowery smell coming from the woman, filling Daenerys’ head with a sweet scent she did not know. 

It was becoming painfully hard to ignore Sansa’s beauty now. She knew the woman was beautiful, anyone with eyes could see that from a mile away, but now? This close to the flame haired woman it was impossible to ignore or push aside. The beautiful blue eyes looking down at her, her perfect red hair slightly messed up now from the scuffle. Her chest pressed against her, forcing Daenerys to wonder what the pale skin underneath her dress looked like. Daenerys found herself feeling jealous of Sansa’s beauty.

Daenerys still felt her fury raging through her like a fire out of control. But now with this intimate moment, she was having to fight off the desire for the gorgeous woman in front of her too. There was a brief moment where Daenerys’ glare turned into a look of confusion, the conflicting emotions messing with her head. 

She wanted to yell, to push the woman again. Tell her that swearing fealty to her was the only way to save the North. But the words were stuck like a knot in her throat. The conflict between anger, rage, wanting a peaceful solution and wanting something else entirely raged through Daenerys for several quiet moments.

Before Daenerys even realized what she was doing her free hand wrapped around the side of Sansa’s head, her fingers landing gently on her throat, her thumb resting against her cheek. The queen’s mind couldn’t catch up to what she was doing, it was as if her body was acting on pure instinct alone.  She held for only a moment before she pulled herself closer to Sansa. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips against those of the taller woman. The kiss was just a peck at first before her lips parted and forced the woman into a more intimate kiss. 

Sansa’s wet lips meeting her dry ones. The taste of the woman sending sparks through her, a heat she thought she’d long since lost rushing through her body once again. Daenerys held her grip gently on the woman’s face as she pulled closer. All the emotions she had been feeling channeling into this passionate kiss, without her mind quite realizing what she had done just yet. For a brief moment without her senses, it just felt good to have Sansa’s lips against hers.

Sansa’s eyes widened as she noted a sudden change in the purple eyes staring into her own. She could not read what the change meant, but it was quick. Too quick to quantify or explain. There was so much swirling around in both their minds, they could see it surely as they could see the flecks of color in the other’s eyes. 

Sansa had never been this close to Daenerys. Never been close enough to smell the heady scent unquie to the Queen. She found herself getting lost in the amethyst eyes, how they practically swirled with the Queen’s emotions like looking into a melting pot of fluorite.

Sansa did not touch people often. She was reserved in that regard. It was only those she was closest with that she touched on a regular basis and that list was short, had grown shorter since still. And here she was, in the span of a few hours touching the Dragon Queen. Feeling the heat of her skin beneath the tips of her fingers. The warmth was enticing in a way that Sansa didn’t understand fully.

Sansa saw Daenerys’ hand rising up and she felt her muscles tense, expecting a firm slap to the cheek or for the shorter woman’s fingers to grasp tightly into her own braided hair as Sansa had grabbed hers. Instead there was a surprising gentleness to the touch as Daenerys’ palm rested upon the side of her neck, her thumb brushing over her cheek. The touch was so unexpected in it’s soft nature that Sansa gasped, lips slightly parted with her surprise. 

Sansa realized a moment too late what Daenerys’ intentions seemed to be. Her eyes wide in shock as the shorter woman pulled slightly down on her neck as she stepped up and pressed their lips together. 

Sansa’s mind reeling as she stared at the face against her own, felt the soft lips against her own, her heart practically freezing in it’s duty of keeping her alive as it skipped several beats at the touch. The kiss started off like nothing more than a simple peck and yet after a moment Sansa’s eyes fluttered as Daenerys’s mouth pressed firmly against her own. Sansa made a “mphmm…” noise in honest surprise of the moment. She could not recall the last time she had kissed anyone, willingly. Could not recall when she had found her body warming with unfamiliar energy that sizzled and sparked just under the surface of her skin. Her face and neck and entire upper body--anywhere that touched the Targaryen Queen--lit with a fission of energy that made her tremble internally. The tension and anger and fear all culminating and shifting, changing, morphing into this peculiar heat that settled in her belly and spread to the tips of her fingers and toes.

The kiss was like being coaxed into allowing someone to conquer her. The touch and taste too sweet, too tempting, to resist for long. Even as every muscle in Sansa’s body remained strung like a bow string, tight and ready to flee at the slightest perception of danger. But wasn’t this all dangerous? Hadn’t just her very words been dangerous enough? What made this kiss more dangerous then issuing threats to the woman before her? She was after all, learning to play with fire, and just realized how burned she could become.

Her fingers tightened once more around the back of Daenerys’ neck, ducking herself down so Daenerys did not need to strain to reach her. Some of the tension that had filled her muscles eased away as she pressed herself closer to the Dragon Queen. The table behind the woman keeping them locked in a tight, intimate embrace. Each holding some form of control as their hands remained tangled upon the other’s neck. It was disconcerting how lost she so easily became in the older woman’s lips. 

Sansa only withdrew when she found her lungs beginning to burn with their need for air. Her eyes slowly opening to stare, wide eyed and dumbfounded at the face still centimeters from her own. 

What….Sansa gasped, was that!?

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

Daenerys found herself completely lost in the moment. All of her anger, her rage, the lust she could no longer deny she felt for Sansa. All of it clouding her mind. Pushing out any thoughts the woman had. The only thing she cared about right then was the woman's lips she was kissing.

The hand on Sansa's neck tightened as she tried to keep her balance on the tips of her toes. She pulled her deeper into the kiss. Enjoying the sweet taste of the northerners lips against hers. It had been so long since she had felt the attention of another woman. The gentle hands against her and this was every bit as overwhelming as it was back when she was the inexperienced khaleesi in Drogo’s camp.

Her fingers rubbed gently against the pale soft skin of the northern girl. Daenerys couldn't help but let out a quiet sigh of relief as Sansa leaned down for her, letting her fall back onto the soles of her feet. Something felt twistedly right about this. It even felt sweeter than it did with Jon. As if this was always where her and Sansa would end up. Pressed together like this with a fire raging behind them that could burn the whole world to ash if they let it.

Daenerys’ body was on fire. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Her stomach had butterflies, encouraging the burning warmth of desire coursing through every inch of her body. As Sansa's fingers dug into her she felt her whole body shiver wishing Sansa was holding somewhere more intimate.

Daenerys completely lost herself in the moment passionately kissing the girl, her tongue teasing Sansa's lips. Not worrying about anything else until Sansa pulled away from her. Daenerys felt a bit of disappointment. Completely silent minus her heavy breaths as she slowly opened her eyes. But when she was met by the confused stare of Sansa the clouds in her mind quickly parted and she realized what she had just done.

For a moment Daenerys’ face turned a bright shade of red. Instead of the dragon queen in front of Sansa it was just a girl who had clearly embarrassed herself. But Daenerys quickly broke eye contact with Sansa. Her face trying to snap back to its usual stern glare. She brought her hands back and tried to remove herself from Sansa. She felt humiliated, they both knew who had started that kiss. But what was more embarrassing for Daenerys was the warmth she felt as she reflected on it. How Sansa felt against her, how the stunning redhead had kissed her back. The sweet smell of the woman filling her nose as their soft lips touched.

“What’s possessed you, Lady Stark?!” Daenerys snapped quickly stumbling over her words as she tried to push blame for what happened on to Sansa. 

Sansa stumbled back as if she could be swallowed whole by the floor as Daenerys’ anger rose all around them. The heat scorching even through her icey defenses. The slap of rejection resonating throughout her entire being. 

“I…” Sansa fumbled, unsure if there was anything she could say. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

The flames from the fire behind them slithered back into the fire unseen as the world around them seemed to come back into itself. 

The sound of Maester Wolkan clearing his throat as he stood at the door broke them fully apart, their eyes finally snapping away to stare at the good Maester. 

“Apologies, my lady. Your Grace.”

Daenerys pulled at the dress, glaring at Wolkan, but not even daring to look at Sansa again. 

“What is it?”

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sansa had barely been able to close her eyes for a candlemark at a time. The sounds of the celebration had finally come to an end. The halls of Winterfell were quiet, save for the wind blowing against the stone walls and the heavy sounds of the survivors relishing in the fact that they were alive. That they got to live another day. At least until the next battle.

Sansa’s thoughts were of Daenerys. They were always of the Dragon Queen. Ever since she had arrived Sansa had been consumed by thoughts of the older woman. There was something magnetic about her that drew Sansa to her like a moth to a flame. 

It was new for Sansa to recognize desire in herself. To feel it as it centered and pooled in the lower part of her belly and caused her folds to slicken with a growing need she did not wish to indulge in. How could she? When the woman who caused such feelings in her body was surely now enjoying the pleasures her brother could bestow upon her. Whatever fancy she had for Daenerys was one sided. The Queen had made that very clear when she’d pushed Sansa away in the library. Left in a hurry, hardly able to meet Sansa’s eyes since. Even as they both knew it had been Daenerys that had kissed her. It had been the Dragon that had tempted fate and nipped at the wolf’s lips.

Yet, Sansa could not help but imagine what could have happened had they allowed themselves to indulge. If Daenerys had felt the same for her, what could they have gotten up to in that room? 

In her dreams Daenerys had no qualms with their shared affections and returned Sansa’s passion with an ardor ten times that of Sansa’s. The Queen’s skilled hands and mouth would have driven her to pure madness, Sansa was sure of that. Margarey had once said that the sweetest pleasure a woman could feel was another woman’s lips. Sansa now knew the sweetness of two female lips and knew the fire it could ignite in her. 

In Sansa’s dreams she was so so close to something that had eluded her for ages. Her body vibrating with how near she was to that needed peak as her dream lover brought her to inexplicable pleasure. Always a woman. For years it had been Margaery’s visage above her. Deep dark curls curtaining them away from the horrors of the world. But now, now the woman above her had silver hair as liquid and pure as the moonlight with deep purple eyes. It was while looking into those deep amethyst eyes that Sansa gasped at the start of that feeling, the tightening of her muscles and the promise of pure pleasure, that her dream lover disappeared.  

No…. Sansa whined as she came back to consciousness. Her heart thumping roughly against her chest. Her cheeks flushed and her thighs slick with need. Need she had been so close to feeling sated, even if it was just in a dream. 

With shaking limbs Sansa stood from her bed and grabbed her wool robe which had fallen off her shoulders in her sleep. She listened to the sounds around her. There was someone making the way into their rooms across the hall.

Sansa made her way to her door, her curiosity getting the better of her. Opening the door she watched as Jon snuck back into his rooms. What was he doing in his own rooms? Sansa knew he had gone to visit the Dragon Queen. Why was he not with Daenerys? 

Looking down both hallways Sansa pulled her robe tighter around her and went to Jon’s door. Her hand raised to knock and draw him back to the hallway, so she might ask why he was not with his lover the night of their victory celebration over the dead. 

Something stopped her. Her hand fell away from Jon’s door and Sansa looked towards the hallway he’d come from. The hall that led to the quarters Daenerys and her court kept here in the keep. Her blood raced through her as her feet brought her step by step through Winterfell and she came to stand before Daenerys’ door. 

It felt like a dream. Standing here, knowing she should return back to her rooms. To see to Jon. Not to Daenerys. But something kept her rooted here. The chill of the night blew up the loose bottom of her robe. Something prickled at the back of her neck and instead of turning and making her way back to her rooms her knuckles rapped against the wood of Daenerys’ door. 

Where were the guards? Where was Brienne? Or Greyworm? Were they truly alone? 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

Sansa felt her skin begin to sweat as if she were under the summer sun. Her hand shaking as it fell to her side and she watched as the door slowly opened. Those amethyst eyes from her dream staring into her very soul. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the shorter woman. Her hands suddenly clammy as her eyes greedily looked the woman over. She noted the red rims around her eyes, the stiffness in her shoulders, but there was clear surprise to see Sansa before her. Sansa’s own gaze fixating on the exposed skin of the Queen’s unnaturally beautiful skin and the blue silk of her dress. How the color complimented even the red around her eyes, that was no doubt the result of her brother’s stupidity. 

“Lady Sansa…” Daenerys seemed as surprised as Sansa was. Sansa noted the way the Queen’s eyes fell to her chest and the visible green silk dress beneath the heavy woolen robe. Sanssa’s hands automatically, self consciously, pulled the wool of her robe closed and tied it at the waist while her hand came up to rest along her clavicle and held the material of the robe closed up that high as well. Her fingers brushing on nervous instinct over her bird necklace as she stared at the Dragon Queen. 

“Your Grace.” Sansa was proud of herself for speaking without a tremor in her voice. She held still, waiting in the silence. The chill caused her to pull her robe a little closer.

They both knew this was not where Sansa should be. That in this moment there was a choice. Daenerys could send Sansa away and they would go on as they had been. Or...she could step aside and allow Sansa entry. Sansa held her breath as she waited for Daenerys to make her decision. The conflict waged on in the Queen’s eyes. Until the battle was won and Daenerys stepped aside and allowed Sansa in. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

End Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Revival 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 
Blood.  
“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

There was always so much blood. The smell of it was acidic and rancid like an animal corpse left out in the sun too long to rot. Or how the people of King's Landing smelled when there wasn’t enough food and dead bodies were littering the streets. How the streets and air of an entire city and castle could smell of human filth made it impossible not to think of how the stench matched how that city was the worst of all places on earth. The memory of the stench was always how Sansa’s nightmares began.

She was almost accustomed to them now. After so many years of suffering through them. It was more tiresome to have them repeat over and over again, and yet even when she knew the beginning, middle and end, she was always frightened. Always breathless from her panic and fear. 

It was hard not to be. When nights like these where Sansa’s dreamself stood upon the walls of Winterfell and there were rivers of blood that soaked into the snow. The memory of the unnatural sounds of the dead just out of sight reaching her ears only moments after the stench did. The darkness was only illuminated with the pulsing firelight given off by torches or lit swords just off in the distance. The moon high above offering sporadic blue haze as the dark clouds of winter covered the stars from sight. 

The clouds themselves seemed to hide the nameless faces of man from the gods. For what god would allow such travesties to befall their subjects, their faithful servants, if not a vengeful one?

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 
Pain.
“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

The sounds of death were always loudest on nights where the full moon hung high in the sky. The echoes from a time long since passed still echoing through the world at large. As if the past still had the right to linger in the present. As if it could one day overshadow not only the here and now but the future as well. On nights like tonight Sansa Stark felt like it could, felt as trapped as she had been as a girl first in Joffrey and Cersei Lannister’s grasps, then in Lord Baelish’s and lastly in...no. She would not think of him. Not him. For it seemed just the thought of him transformed her nightmares from one night terror to another. 

The sounds of the approaching dead and the dying were enough for one night. She did not need to see the countenance of her abuser as well.

These nightmares always began with blood and pain. Pain that emanated from everywhere and everyone. Every single soul that perished this night and the nights that followed seemed to bombard Sansa. She could never find where it started, where it ended, or what was causing it. It just resonated in every fiber of her being from every direction. It throbbed and crashed against her like a wave that drowned her in its depths, suffocating her with the agony of her own pain and faceless men she could never give names to. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 
Scars. 
“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

The blood and pain never truly went away, not when there were physical reminders of each and every blow, every injury, in the raised discolored skin. Scars littered her once pristine unblemished body. Her back and legs were covered in them. Her chest a mix of burns and striped scars. All proof that she had healed. That she had survived and yet still a constant reminder of all she had endured.

Winterfell and the North were no different. There were visible scars left upon the earth. Just as there were in Kings Landing. Burns from the fires breath that had incinerated the dead. The ground appearing salted for nothing would grow in the soil since. The walls of Winterfell still brandished the claw marks of the dead, the broken pillars and rebuilt walls of glass only recently fully healed.  

“Hello Sansa…” The sound of his voice made her scream. It always did. Sansa Stark, Queen of the North, the eldest remaining true born Stark, was strong and proud and the true visage of her house--but only on the outside where people could see her. Behind closed doors she was a frightened, damaged, woman who knew nothing but fear, and loss, and pain. Such pain. 

Running never helped her escape. Not from the dead or from her long deceased husband. 

There was nowhere to run to. No safety to be found in a physical place. It was within her mind. And she was trapped within it. Unable to escape, just as she had been unable to escape these horrors in the wakeful world. 

Here in her dreams where there were blurred images of places and people she knew. She ran from the walls of Winterfell and found herself racing through the halls of her home. Afraid to look behind her and see who was there, who was chasing her.

Was it the living dead? 
Was it Ramsay? 
Was it Joffrey or Cersei?
Or any of her long dead tormentors and foes? 

Sansa ran from his dark ominous visage, but her feet brought her nowhere. She thrashed and kicked and screamed but she could not escape. 

Soon she was not running through the darkened halls of Winterfell but the blackened soot ridden rubble of Kings Landing. Sansa dared to look behind her, feeling the cold of the dead reaching out towards her shoulder. 

It was close. 

So close that she shivered and dared look behind her to see her assailant. Except, no one was there and with her eyes focused behind her, Sansa tripped over fallen rubble. She sprawled out before the Iron Throne, a cloud of dust that made her cough floating around her. Her heart raced beneath her chest as she stared up at the Iron Throne. The Iron Throne which no longer existed. 

It was all a figment of her imagination. Just as this all was. 

Yet she still felt as if something was reaching for her. Trying to grab her, pull her close, yank her into its deadly clutches. 

This room, this shadow of an opulent space where she’d been tortured and ridiculed and mocked. It was broken and looked as dingy as it should. But there was something there. Something lingering in the air around this place. It made Sansa shiver. Her breath forming a cloud as if the air itself were as cold here as in the North. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 
“AHHHH” 
“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

Sansa twisted her head as she heard the echoes of agonized screams bouncing around this broken and tattered hall. Her eyes peering out the broken wall towards a besieged city, the air outside still dark and clouded with ash. Sansa saw a swooping shadow cross over the opening that made her heart thump painfully against her chest. 

Drogon. 

The sound of his heavy wings as the beat downward began to match the thump-thump-thump of her heart. The ash in the air spiraled into a funnel that raced right to where Sansa was struggling to stand. Her lungs rejecting the ash as she covered her mouth and closed her eyes and looked away from the horror that had been caused by the supposed Savior of the downtrodden, the Mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains. Now more known as the Slaughterer of Children, the Mad Queen, the Queen of Ash and Ember. 

Sansa coughed, her body heaving as she inhaled the dusted remains of millions as she blindly stumbled forward to escape the cloud of ash. To find breathable air and escape the horrors of her past. 

It all haunted her. The memories of shared passions with a woman who murdered millions. The smile so sweet and real that it tore at her heart and soul. For that beautiful smile to become twisted and vile. To be as cruel a smile as Ramsay’s. How could that have happened? What could Sansa have done to save her. To stop her from feeling the only way to escape her pain was to cause such destruction and death? 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “
Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

There was sound now. Not screams. But chanting. Repeated words that Sansa did not understand. Stated over and over and over again. The thump-thump-thump of her heart sounded more like a drum as she fumbled forward, arm outstretched and eyes closed and mouth stiffly held shut, seeking refuge from this nightmare. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “
Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

The thick ashy cloud became cool, as if she finally found a break in the death, in the heat of destruction and the bitterness of the South. As Sansa blinked her eyes open, she found herself standing upon the precipice of the hill overlooking the valley before Winterfell. The same hilltop she had sat astride a horse and watched as Jon nearly lost them the Battle of the Bastards for his foolishness, for his love of his brother. For his need to save Riccon, even when Sansa had warned him it was useless. It nearly cost them their home, their very lives. How very noble her brother always tried to be.

This was the same hill that Jon had stood upon with Daenerys Targaryen and her two dragons the night of the Battle of Winterfell. The same woman, lover, that Jon had killed in the throne room Sansa had just escaped after she’d burned the people of Kings Landing. 

This hill held a great deal of history for Sansa, for the Starks. 

Sansa stood in nothing but her night shift, the wind blowing around her in strong gusts. This time though, the touch of it was not cold, though it made her shiver all the same.

It was warm, stifling. Made her feel like she had stepped into the caverns beneath Winterfell where the hot springs resided. The air was moist and heavy as she tried to breathe it in. The need to cough again, as if she were breathing in the ash of the dead, was overwhelming.  There was something heavy weighing down on her chest. Making it hard to breathe. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

Sansa felt like there were eyes upon her, someone or something staring at her. That thump-thump-thump growing louder and louder in her ears, resonating in her chest with each echo over the moonlight valley. The uncommon words that whispered in the back of her ears in a dialect she did not know grew frenzied. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 
“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.”
“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 
“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

Sansa turned to look over her shoulder but saw nothing but a hazy moonlight nightly darkness. The night sky above her shining with light from the moon and stars. But as Sansa stared out into the blue hued night shadows around her the clouds above covered the only source of light she had, and that breeze seemed to wrap around her like a snake, around and around, coiling up from her ankles to the top of her shoulders, making it impossible to move, barely possible to breathe.

“Sansa…hello my, Sansa.” The demonic voice of Ramsay Snow blew over her ears and she trembled in fright, her body thrashing against the invisible bonds that kept her trapped. 

“No, no….release me!” Sansa could not find the hands that suddenly held her down. Her sight seeing nothing but darkness, but she recognized she was no longer standing upon the hill overlooking Winterfell.

Sansa felt her body jerk, unable to cower tight enough into a ball to keep the imagined, but no less hurtful, punches or kicks from cracking a rib or leaving a massive bruise. Sansa whimpered. He was there even when he wasn’t. He was alive even when he wasn’t. 

She felt him. There against her. The weight of his body pressing down against her. But it wasn’t his voice that spoke above her. Not that she could see him. Something covered her eyes. Kept her in the dark. But it was him, wasn’t it? It was always him in these nightmares. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

But something was different. 
The room was not cold. 
It was warm. 
Too warm. 

The air was oppressive with the weight of the warmth. There were eyes on her. Multiple eyes on her. Yet they did nothing to free her. Just as no one had done anything to free her when Joffrey had his Kings Guard beat her. They’d just watched. Silently as he abused his power. Sansa had learned to play possum. To let her attackers think there was no fight in her, for the more fight that remained--even in her eyes--the crueler they would become. 

Monsters were all the same. They enjoyed beating you into submission. But this time was different. 

Sansa fought. 

She fought as much as her bindings would allow. They were course. Like ropes against her skin sure to leave marks if this were real and not her mind playing horrid tricks on her. It just...something didn’t feel right.

Sansa screamed anew within her dream, her cries piercing through the night air around her as she thrashed in her bed against a monster no one else could see or save her from. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.”
“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

Suddenly Sansa was in her own rooms back at Winterfell. The air was cold once more. But there was an oppressive heat coming for her. Coming in from the edges of the room. But she was safe for now. 

Sansa was alone with her thoughts, the fire and a jug of practically empty  ice wine. She wore a thick night robe around a thinner night dress. The heavy wool material helping keep the bitter chill of the night's winter air out, the smooth thin material of her night dress keeping the wool from itching and irritating her skin. 

Her thoughts were incapable of not recalling the day Daenerys had kissed her in the library. The images replaying over and over again in her mind's eyes. As if as she looked into the fireplace the flames were capable of showing her each moment on repeat. 

The images and recalled sounds making her belly warm with arousal. A warmth not even the ice cold wine could cool. She put the goblet down and reclined back into the large arm chair. Her own hand twitched as her eyes stared up at the ceiling, her skin shivering as she opened the robe a bit at her hips and allowed her own hand to skim over the flimsy material of her night dress. The chill night air causing her body to pebble. 

The wind howled out the window. A chanting silently whipping against the walls. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

Sansa’s eyes shot open and she sat up in her chair, slapping her hands away from her own body. In both fright and in shame. No. No. Now was not the time for this. Something was wrong. 

Except, was there anything wrong? Was it not natural for her to feel arousal when she thought of the Dragon Queen that plagued her dreams with her beauty and the tease of her touch?  

“Damn that woman.” Sansa growled as she grabbed up the goblet of ice wine and finished it before stalking towards her bed. Ready to slip into unconsciousness and find solace in her dreams. 

But there was no solace to be had. Not in her dreams. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

“Sansa…” The Queen in the North shivered at the sound of her name from that voice. That sweet sweet voice. The one she missed more than she should. 

“Lady Sansa…” How she wished she could hear Daenerys address her once more. Just once more. To see her beautiful purple eyes and the slight upturn of her smile. Once more feel the touch of her lips upon her skin. The palm of her hand as it slid over her body. Once more. Oh, just once more. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sansa stepped into Daenerys’ room and felt her heart hammer against her chest. 

“I should…” apologize. She should apologize for how was taking liberties she had no right to with the Queen. Yet she couldn’t. The words caught in her throat. She wasn’t nearly as sorry as she should be. “I’m not sorry.” Sansa admitted. “And I don’t think you are either.”

“Sorry for what, Lady Stark?” Daenerys asked, seeming coy as she went to pick up a glass of half finished ice wine. 

Sansa flushed, not wanting to be the one to speak of what had occured. They had both silently moved past their transgression, as if it never happened. But it had. Sansa recalled it vividly, and could not stop remembering the suppleness of Daenerys’ lips. The taste of her tongue against her own. The swell of her breasts pressing against her as they wrapped their arms tightly around one another. 

“You know what I speak of.” Sansa challenged back, finding a backbone within her that had been forced layer by layer, brick by brick upon her spine to help keep her alive. Sansa swallowed down her apprehension and went with the truth of the matter. “...I wanted you. And you wanted me. And I refuse to allow myself shame for that.” Even if she was terrified to know or come to find that Daenerys hadn’t wanted her. She’d never allowed herself a moment of passion like that with anyone. And she would be devastated to lose it, the good of it, if Daenerys hadn’t wanted her. 

“You are not bound to...to give in to my desires if they are not what you wish as well. I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t do that. But you’ve allowed me in.” Sansa pointed out as she took a hesitant step closer to Daenerys. Noting the wobbling in the older woman’s throat as she came a step closer. She found courage in it. “I believe you want me. Just as I want you.”

Daenerys was trying desperately. Desperately to hold on to the anger and frustration she felt towards Sansa. It was practically her default state since she had arrived to this land. It was far easier for her to be the distant, angry queen. One who didn’t show her emotions, one who only let precious few close to her. Even if it was far from the truth, trying to remain this hateful woman was easier, simpler. But Sansa, there was nothing simple when it came to her. Despite how angry, how irate the woman made Daenerys. Even now as Sansa challenged her. Dared her to deny the attraction between them. That the desire was not felt between them both. Even now as she tried to hold her glare on her woman, she could feel her heart thumping against her chest pumping a familiar feeling of desire through her.

Daenerys needed to keep her guard up. To force the woman from her mind, to keep the thought of how perfect it felt having their bodies together away. She wouldn’t let Sansa have that kind of control over her. 

How did Daenerys describe what they had done, how to try and convince Sansa and herself it couldn’t happen again? That it was a mistake, that Daenerys didn’t want it and Sansa needed to respect her as Queen. How could she form those words, much less say them to Sansa, when she didn’t even believe them herself? 

The prideful woman felt her lips part slightly, the glare from her face completely gone now. Her deep purple eyes wide as she looked at Sansa, her surprise and confusion clear on her face. Dany couldn’t stop the blush that came across her face as Sansa so boldly proclaimed how they wanted each other. How Sansa had desired her.

“I...” Daenerys slowly started to say but the words got caught in her throat. The anger wasn’t with Sansa. It never had been. Daenerys was angry with herself. With Jon. Here was a beautiful woman, admitting that she wanted her and Daenerys could not pretend she did not return that desire. But it would do them no good. Jon was to be her King. They were to rule Westeros together. He just needed time. Time to get past their familial relations and then they would rule. They would sit in Kings Landing on the Iron Throne and rule over Westeros as their ancestors before them.

But Jon was ruining that plan. He did not want her. He had rejected her. Over and over again. He could hardly stand to look at her anymore. It tore at her heart and had her seeking out comfort, love. 

Love from someone, or perhaps not love. But desire. And yet even as she sought it out she was angry. Angry that she had to find such affections from a spiteful cold woman who’d consumed her thoughts. If Daenerys gave in to her desires for the Lady of Winterfell any hope of restoring things with Jon would be gone. And yet, they had won the war. They had all almost died at the hands of the undead. But they had survived. Many, many others--dear ones, cherished ones, had not. But they had. And Daenerys wanted to feel alive again. Why could she not do so with someone who wanted to feel alive with her as well? When the person she’d wanted had turned his back on her. He was foolish. And perhaps she was as well. Because as he’d turned his back on her Daenerys finally seemed to realize that there was another, just beyond his broad brooding shoulders, who stood facing her, plainly, honestly, openly, who wanted her. Who saw faults in her, who despised what she stood for and what she might bring to the North and her people, and yet, still wished for her company. Had sought her out. Was offering herself up. 

Even now, Daenerys could feel that same burning lust for the woman flooding back over her. Even with the unkempt messy red hair, even without the accent that highlighted the annoyingly perfect features of the woman. She couldn’t bring herself to doubt Sansa was the most beautiful thing she had ever laid her eyes on, and she hated herself for it.

Daenerys took a deep breath she looked back up to Sansa, meeting her eyes now that they stood within arms reach of each other. 

What was she supposed to say to Sansa? Was she supposed to be honest? Tell her about the lust she felt for her. The lust she still felt burning inside her even now. Try and explain to her that despite how infuriating, how angry she made her, that when the two of them were alone all of that faded away, changing itself into a burning lust she didn’t even understand. That despite the humiliation and shame that she had felt afterwards, that she wouldn’t take back what happened between them for anything? How could she say any of this to Sansa without sounding like a complete lunatic. She couldn’t even admit it to herself, much less the source of it all.

Daenerys knew she should back away, retreat from the woman. Tell her that she was the queen, and all of her other titles and that this nonsense needed to end. But even as she tried to convince herself this, she felt herself take a step closer, meeting Sansa halfway.  

“I…” Dany started again, even as she tried to yell at her body it was moving in the wrong direction as she took another step, leaving just a foot between the two of them. Her eyes stayed locked on Sansa as she finally found her words. “I’m not sorry either.” Danerys finally admitted. 

“Sansa…” 

“Daenerys…” Sansa whispered, her voice caught in her throat as her body trembled at the touch of the Queen’s hand coming to rest on her hip and hold her. Whatever Sansa was going to say died as Daenerys continued, her voice and grip growing firmer, stronger with her confidence. 

“I’m your Queen.” Daenerys stated as she pulled Sansa closer. 

Sansa gasped outright as she was pulled closer to the shorter woman and nodded mutely. Her head dipping just enough to allow their eyes to meet. The look in them. The fiery desire that raged in them was everything Sansa needed to see in that moment. 

“I will return to Kings Landing and take what is mine and you will remain here. I will take Jon as my King.” Sansa’s breath stuck somewhere outside her body as she felt her legs quake as Daenerys stepped even closer. Her heart thumped painfully against her chest as she seemed incapable of taking in a breath. “If this is all we are to have? This one evening? Do you still want it? Still want me?”

Sansa whimpered suddenly as her eyes fell to Dany’s parted lips. Her hand shook as it fell to Daenerys’ hip and held her tightly. Afraid that if she didn’t ground herself she would somehow be swallowed by the floor itself, as her legs held no sustenance to them, they were soft jelly that wasn’t capable of holding her up. 

Could she take what Daenerys was offering her? Could she allow for this to happen only the once? To watch as Daenerys left with Jon and went to finish the war with Cersei. To know that this woman would only be hers tonight? Could she live with that knowledge? That all they would ever have together was here, in this room? 

“Yes…” Sansa croaked out her response. She finally found her breath again but now she couldn’t seem to catch up. Her breathing swift as she stared longingly at the lips that were so close to her own.  “Yes!” Sansa repeated, stronger. Yes to it all. Daenerys could be her Queen from afar, her sister in law, be anything she wanted. But she needed to kiss her. Needed to touch her. To put out this raging inferno inside herself that had only gotten bigger, stronger, wilder, with each passing moment. 

Sansa tried to kiss the Queen, but seemed to miss her lips when she tried. Daenerys’s lips spread in a devious smile. 

“Please…” Sansa begged as she dropped her head just a bit lower, again. Desperate to steal a kiss. Her grip on Daenerys’ hip growing stronger as her other hand slid around to cup the woman’s ass and pull her closer. Moaning at the way they seemed to fit when Daenerys was on the tips of her toes. 

“Please, Daenerys….” Sansa husked, eyes lidded as she begged for what she wanted. Who she wanted. “My Queen. Please..even if it is just tonight.” Sansa brushed her nose over Daenerys’ as she swayed her head just enough to make it clear that she wanted more. Wanted the kiss that Daenerys was teasing her with. The sweet taste of the other woman’s breath against her mouth and yet they were still apart. 

Sansa didn’t even care that she found herself begging Daenerys for a simple kiss. She needed the Queen. Needed her touch. She’d been burning alive for it since they first kissed. And it was different. Empowering even to beg for something she wanted, that would cause her pleasure.

Daenerys’ breath was heavy, stuttering against Sansa’s neck as Sansa sucked gently against the exposed skin of the Queen’s neck. 

Closing her eyes, Daenerys let herself focus on the electrifying noises Sansa was making as she tasted her skin. The way she gasped and moaned, crying out to whatever Gods she believed in, all because of her.

They both knew Sansa was the stronger woman. But here in this chair..Sansa’s eyes focused, for a moment to wonder. When had they made their way to the fireplace and the armchair before it? 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

Here, Daenerys had Sansa pinned down. All of that strength lost in the pleasure she was in. Here in her lap Daenerys had Sansa under her dominant grasp, under her control and it was incredible. 

“Sansa…” The Queen whispered quietly letting out another heavy, hot breath against Sansa’s skin. 

It was so strange to hear her name spoken in such a moment, to hear how someone else was taking pleasure from her pleasure, not just from her body. It was exhilarating, empowering, it was everything. The way they moved in sync with each other. How they seemed capable of drawing more and more pleasure from the other’s body as their hands, mouths, tongues, teeth, were given the opportunity to explore one another. To taste and touch and devour each other. 

Sansa whimpered as Daenerys’ fingers moved more surely within her. Stretching her apart, making her gasp, moan, writher, and buck like a harlot. Gods, if it meant she’d be called a harlot for the rest of her life she’d willingly accept the title, so long as Daenerys didn’t stop. 

It felt so good.
Too good to be real.
Almost as if she had slipped back into her dream and she was terrified she would be woken up once again before she’d been allowed to reach her peak, allowed to find that sweet ending.

“Close your eyes, Sansa.” Daenerys whispered, controlling her moans as best as she could long enough to talk to the girl sobbing in pleasure. 

Sansa whimpered, staring at the skin of her Queen’s neck for a moment longer before she followed Daenerys’ words, her instructions, even though it was hard. Hard to let herself feel this, to experience it, to give in so fully and become as vulnerable as she could be. To actually place her trust in the woman above her. Trust that she wouldn’t lead her astray, that the pleasure wasn’t a prelude to something sinister, something she should fear and keep her eyes upon at all times. And a part of her did. Surprisingly, trust the woman upon her.

“Give in, your queen commands it.” 

Sansa’s eyes peeled themselves open and she wanted to comment, she needed to say something. Anything. But gods, how could she? Her eyes fell closed as she hid her blushing cheeks against Daenerys’ neck, moaning in pleasure as Daenerys used her body like it was a beloved instrument. Drawing from it all sorts of symphonies.  

“I want to feel every moment of this, Sansa. To experience it with you…”

Sansa whimpered at the words, the honesty of them. Her own words stolen, lost, in the abyss of absolute pleasure she felt coursing through her. It was...everything. The thrust of Daenerys’ fingers within her, how they withdrew and pushed back, the rock of their bodies, the heat that they seemed to generate and feed each other, the sounds and moans, the slickness of her own thighs and how she could feel Daenerys arousal coating her leg. The warmth of the Queen’s breath against her skin, the pinch of her fingers about her nipples driving her mad, her body arching and arching and seeming to never stop as her muscles grew tighter and tighter, her body  clamping down around Daenerys’ fingers, begging them not to leave, not to stop. 

Sansa bit down on her bottom lip in an effort to stifle herself, the cry she could feel coming. Afraid, for a moment of what this all meant for them, for her. Sansa’s grip upon Daenerys hair tightening as she held them as close as she could, terrified she’d somehow lose the woman upon her if she let her go for a second.

“Please Sansa…” Daenerys pleaded. “Cum for your queen.”

Sansa’s entire body trembled at the plea, at the request, the command. It trembled and didn’t stop, her eyes shooting open wide and unseeing for a moment as her entire body arched up off the chair and locked in place, her jaw unlocked as her mouth opened and she released an unintelligible cry of pleasure. The syllables weren’t there, but the intentions of what she wanted to scream were. 

It was incredibly freeing for several long moments, the pleasure that pulsed through her, matching the frantic beat of her heart as her body, every muscle in her, squeezing and relaxing before tensing once more. Her sex literally grasping and flexing in a frantic pace that had Sansa groaning till she could make no further sound at all, even as she continued to crash through the pleasure. 

Slowly, her hips and back fell onto the armchair once more, and her fingers released their hold of Daenerys’ hair, but she sobbed softly as she kept her eyes squeezed shut. Unable to handle the waves of emotions and pleasure that seemed to crash around her. 

“Daenerys….” Sansa whispered her free hand falling to Dany’s shoulder to hold it, her fingers trembling as she felt her body jerk every few seconds in the last few remaining waves of her orgasm.

“Daenerys…” Sansa whispered, stronger this time as she nuzzled against the shorter woman’s neck. Her breathing finally began to slow, to even out, as her heart continued to race against her chest as her sex pulsed around the Queen’s fingers, her hips finally stopping their rocking motion to settle more comfortably against the chair and relax. Her body suddenly feeling heavy. 

So very heavy…

“Daenerys…” 

“Olim succensi iterum lux. Olim succensi iterum lux. Olim succensi iterum lux.” 
“Olim succensi iterum lux. Olim succensi iterum lux. Olim succensi iterum lux.” 
“Olim succensi iterum lux. Olim succensi iterum lux. Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

Within her nightmare Sansa’s eyes widened as her neck strained and she stared around her. The room in which she’d just been, the feeling of Daenerys’ weight against her was replaced. 

The person suddenly astride her hips was not the Dragon Queen. She was not in the armchair before the fireplace of Daenerys’ room back in Winterfell. It was not the delicious feel of Daenerys Targaryen upon her waist holding her down and driving her towards unimaginable pleasure. Rather it was a Red Priest covered in head to toe garb, a sinister look in their black soulless eyes. She was not surrounded by the chill of Winterfell but in the oppressive heat of what looked like a cave. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux. Olim succensi iterum lux. Olim succensi iterum lux.” 
“Olim succensi iterum lux. Olim succensi iterum lux. Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

There was a burning fire some feet away and it took a great deal of effort to twist her head about. Her limbs were heavy and held down by straps. The thick leather binds holding her to a flat rock surface and there were dozens of people. Chanting. Dancing. Convulsing, all around the humid cave. The air putrid with enough heat that she felt sick breathing it in.  

“Olim succensi iterum lux.”
“What was once unburnt will rise again” 

“Get off me! Get off me!” Sansa demanded as she tried to buck the Red Priestess off of her. Her shock wearing off to be replaced with terror. The stone beneath her was hot. Too hot. It felt as if it were being warmed by flames and giving off the heat large stones put in the fire did before they were placed under the bed to keep people warm during the harshness of winter. 

“Sansa!” Sansa turned her head to the side at the sound of her name being called. That voice. She knew that voice. “Sansa is that you!?” 

Sansa saw upon a stone slab some twenty feet from her was another Red Priest kneeling over a scrambling body. This body was smaller than her own but was as violently thrashing as her. Her eyes locked with those of her former husband. Tyrion. The man was as surprised to see her as she was to see him. 

This was all just a nightmare. How could he be calling out to her in her nightmare and looking surprised to see her? It was all just a dream. A horrid terrifying dream. 

Except, a part of her knew it wasn’t. The heat was too real. The sweat that was pouring from her skin was too slick and too uncomfortable. The weight of the man on top of her was too heavy. The very air too oppressive for this to be a dream. 

But it had to be. It had to be!

“Sanguis litteræ, insidiatoris.”
“Blood of the traitor.” 

Sansa’s eyes widened as she saw the Priest above Tyrion raise a knife. The silver of it flickering orange from the flames that rose up from the center of the cave. 

“TYRION!” Sansa screamed as she watched the priest slam the knife down right into Tyrion’s chest. 

Sansa tried to fight against the bonds holding her down. Her throat was burning as she screamed for Tyrion. Watching as the man’s eyes seemed to fill with pain for a few moments before they glazed over. His cheek falling to rest upon the slab he was tied to. What made him so bright and clever, the very light in his eyes disappearing as she watched the color drain from him. 

“NAAAHOOOOOO!!!” 

“Sanguis litteraer parricidae.” 
“Blood of the murderer.”

“Sansa...Sansa!? What’s happening? Where are we?” 

Sansa hiccuped a sob as she turned to her right, finally looking away from Tyron’s unmoving body. Her tears drying upon her cheek almost as soon as they escaped, the heat was so oppressive. She felt as if she were being slowly burned alive, cooked alive upon this black rock slab. 

“Jah...Jon?” Sansa whimpered as she saw her brother laying upon a slab some twenty feet from her own as well. Hers apparently in the center of the other two. She sobbed even more when she realized there was a Priest above Jon as well. Above them all. The one that’s weight pressed down on her, making it harder and harder to breathe.

“Sansa…” Jon breathed as if relieved. There were tears in his eyes. 

“Jon…” Sansa whispered through the fear, the single name holding the fear and desperation of a scared little girl who needed her older brother to make everything better. To hold her in his arms and hold on to her tight enough until she could believe once more that she could be whole and safe and cherished. Just as he’d done before.  

Jon offered a grim smile, but said nothing. No words left his lips. But there was a pained groan as the knife the Red Priest had been holding above his chest was driven into his heart. 

Sansa could hardly utter a sound. The weight of her own priest was growing increasingly heavy against her lungs. The heat burning her throat. Leaving it blackened and closing in on her. Her eyes reddened from the lack of water left in them as she turned her head so she was staring up at the sinister mask of her own murderer. 

“Sanguis enim amans.”
“Blood of the beloved.”

Her vision began to swim before her body jerked as something was slammed into the center of her chest. The pain was so intense for one long, excruciating moment, that she was sure she must have blacked out. But she was still staring at the tilted mask above her. 

“Blood took her and blood shall make her rise.”
“Tulit eam, et sanguis sanguinem et dabo eam ortum.”

“What was once unburnt will rise again!” 
“Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 
“Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” “Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

Sansa felt weak. 
Everything ached and felt so heavy. 
Her lungs were too tired to breathe. 
Her heart too exhausted to beat. 
Her body too warm to even imagine what cold felt like.
Blood seeped out all around her, dampening her clothes and soaking into her night robe. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.”

The flames in the center of the cave grew large. They soared up to the top of the cave some fifty feet above them and lashed out against the molten looking rock. The jagged pieces of stone falling and crashing all around the cave. 

"Olim succensi iterum lux.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at the center of the flames a shadow slowly rose up from a prone position. The black outline growing as it seemed to struggle to stand. The movements slow, but fluid. The chanting growing in tempo, the people around them coming alive as the magic seared through the air. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.”“Olim succensi iterum lux.”“Olim succensi iterum lux.”
“Olim succensi iterum lux.”“Olim succensi iterum lux.”“Olim succensi iterum lux.”
“Olim succensi iterum lux.”“Olim succensi iterum lux.”“Olim succensi iterum lux.”

From the flames stepped alabaster skin, the form unmistakable, as was the liquid silver mane. 

The red, blue, and black flames seemed to swirl around her. Covering her like the flames were imitating the air, surrounding her. They looked as if they couldn’t be extinguished and yet they could not harm her. They were a part of her. The dark swirling colors part her of nature, her essence, manifesting itself in a physical living, breathing entity of flame. Daenerys’ naked form one that Sansa’s memories thrived off of for so long after she had died. For she had died. Jon had cut her down and been banished for it. 

When Sansa arrived to the still smoldering city it was to find her brother in chains and the Unsullied and Dothraki holding Tyrion and Jon prisoner. When she had visited the throne room and seen the molten remains of the Iron Throne, walked through the ash covered streets of a decaying city, she’d seen it. The blood. The grotesque stain of Daenerys blood upon the marble floor where Jon had stabbed her and laid her down before Drogon had carried her away. Sansa had stood in that throne room and stared at the blemish upon the marble for what felt like hours. Her heart was torn in ways she could not fathom. Daenerys Targaryen had awoken in her a passion she thought herself incapable of. The Dragon Queen had been the spark that brought her heart back to life. But she was a woman burned by fate. Twisted and dark and who lost her way and was betrayed by the person, the man she loved most for it. 

It had been a fate Sansa did not wish on anyone. Especially the woman who held a part of her heart that no one else would. 

Bran had been there. Wheeled in by Brienne and Podrick. He’d looked at the melted throne and the same spot upon the marble that Sansa could not tear her eyes from. He’d seen it all with eyes that had already seen it before. They held recognition and when he looked to Sansa, pity. She knew then that Bran had seen, had known, of Sansa’s affair with Daenerys. But he said nothing of it. Not then and not now, nearly a year later. 

It had been a year. A long year where the world learned it’s way passed the death and destruction of war and healed from the burns it had suffered. A year without Daenerys. Or Jon. Or Arya. A year where Sansa had been alone. All alone. Dreaming of a time where she wasn’t alone. Where her bed was not empty and her body not encased in ice and she felt alive. 

"Daenerys…” Sansa wanted to whisper, but no sound left her lips. 

Sansa had dreamed of what it might be like to see Daenerys again. To know the sound of her voice, to see and touch her. She had dreamed of it almost every night. Plagued by it. Guilted, shamed for it because she sought what the Queen had given her. What the Queen had made her feel. Warmth. Excitement. A spark unlike any other. 

And here she was, seeing her once again, but her body was too heavy to feel excitement. It was too hot to feel a spark or know the difference between warm and hot. Her blood spilling beneath her upon the heated black slab as she stared at the visage of her dead lover come back to life. 

Knowing she hadn’t spoken Daenerys’ name, knowing her mouth was too dry to speak it and her body too weak to push the air past her lips to utter a sound, somehow she heard it, and it seemed to carry across the cave as the Targaryen turned towards her. The normally beautifully colored purple eyes were black as coal. And Sansa felt sick at the sight. 

The heat and the blood loss slowly causing her vision to blur. Even as she tried to keep her eyes open. 

She knew she shouldn’t hear the words spoken from the parting lips, but as her vision began to darken she watched Daenerys’ lips part. 

“Sansa…” 

The softness in the single word made her shiver in pleasure even as she lost all consciousness and wished, wished, wished, that this was all but a dream that she could wake up from. 

Knowing that she never would. 

“Olim succensi iterum lux.” 

THE END