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Gods, he’s beautiful, Sansa thinks. A dragon prince, the blood of old Valyria, with silver hair and purple eyes that seem like the fanciful creation of a bard. But he’s too naïve and idealistic. He thinks he’s won, just as the songs would always have him win, and that the game is over. He doesn’t yet realize he’s only won a tilt and that the tournament is still on, that the tournament will never end.
He reminds her of herself, all those years ago when being betrothed to Joffrey was a dream instead of a nightmare, when she believed the world to be as beautiful as the man that lays beneath her.
He’s going to have to learn. She can teach him. She will have to teach him if he is to keep his throne and she her place beside him when she becomes his queen. After all that has been taken from her, Sansa is determined to never lose anything again.
Her lessons were harsh, her teachers cruel. They beat the knowledge into her, put the truth on the edge of a knife or buried it in lies woven so thickly that they threatened to choke her. Through it all, she survived. She endured. She learned. And her favorite lesson learned, the lesson that caught her tutors so unaware, was that her father was right all along - true loyalty is won with love, not bought with fear.
She has knowledge to impart and loyalty to win. Love, she thinks, will be the best way. It will certainly be the most fun way.
Patience is the first subject to master. He reaches for the laces of her bodice and she has to grasp his hands. “Not yet,” she purrs. “Rewards must be earned.” There’s a look of petulant disappointment in Aegon’s eyes, but he lets her lean forward to pin his arms to the bed.
She starts by having him recite the lords and ladies at court. He’s used to this sort of thing though Sansa doubts Haldon ever offered the incentives she gives. All answers correct, she lets go of one of his hands to work the laces herself. Just enough to loosen them, to offer a glimpse of her breasts as she leans over to pin him fully once more.
Now she wants more than names. She wants the hopes and dreams, the rivalries and grudges and everything else that can be used to their advantage. New to court, it’s an unfair question for him. Aegon can only give a few rumors he’s heard, mostly from her. But it shows he’s been listening, she tells him, and she takes the laces out completely.
“Time to listen again,” she instructs, though it’s unnecessary. When she leans forward again, her breasts move with her, pushing the fabric of the top of her dress apart so that her nipples peek out from the edges. Right now, there is nothing else in Aegon’s world but Sansa.
Sansa was a good listener too. Back when she was the favored target of Joffrey’s ire, the people of King’s Landing did all they could to avoid associations with her. With no reason to speak, all Sansa did was hear. She thought it would be painful to relive that, but as she relates what she heard to Aegon, she knows that’s in the past now. It can no longer hurt her. It can only help her. It can only help them.
He tries very hard with his lessons. She asks him to repeat her words, find what they mean for himself. He’s not naturally cunning - a relief for her for when they are alone but a concern for when they are at court - so while her words come back to her exactly, some conclusions come only with her hinting. They do come though and the days when Sansa needed someone to give her cues are not so long in the past.
So a small reward to encourage him and perhaps something for herself. Not all teachers can claim such rapt students.
He protests as she sits up and pulls away from him but is quickly agreeable again when she settles on his thighs and gives a tug on the laces of his breeches. There’s even more of the damned things there than on her gown. She gives him easy questions about the Lords of Westeros and their current alliances. One lace undone with each answer and Sansa has to laugh when she pauses to think of a seventh question and Aegon just begins reciting every lord high and low that he can think of. She notes they’ll have to work on patience a little more.
She might benefit from the same lesson. She resumes questioning but once the laces are gone, she finds she is more interested in peeling his breeches open and down. She can see the outline of his cock, already hard for her, beneath his smallclothes. It would take little effort to pull the smallclothes off as well and after the moan he gives when she strokes him through the thin fabric, she’s sorely tempted to do just that.
But Sansa wouldn’t be a very good player of the Game if she gave in. It’s better tactically that Aegon long for her, become desperate for her. She remembers Cersei’s talk of a woman’s weapon. She remembers Littlefinger’s advice. When you know what a man wants you know who he is, and how to move him. And then she remembers all that they did to her, all that she doesn’t wish to be.
Sansa has one more question. It is for herself. She nudges forward on Aegon’s thighs and draws out more moans from him as she grinds against him. It’s a wonderful feeling and all thoughts of lessons and games fly from her mind as the pleasure spreads through her.
This is her answer. This is another lesson learned. The Game is treacherous and oft cruel, but it is not all there is and it need not be played alone.