Chapter Text
1. Golden Lover, Northern Souls
The first time Harry hits her, Sansa rationalises that he doesn’t mean it. He’s very drunk and she convinces herself it won’t happen again. It helps that in the morning he feels terrible about it. He looks pitiful, standing with his head hung in shame. Behind him is his mother, Elaine Waynwood, waiting for him to get on with it. She dislikes anything that would cause a scene. Her son and his new bride fighting is certainly to cause a few tongues to wag.
She waits for them to make up.
He begs for her forgiveness with flowers in hand and tears in his eyes. The promise that it won’t happen again spills over and over from his lips. She wants to believe him.
So, Sansa forgives him.
He does it again.
And again.
It shouldn’t surprise her but it does. She feels almost stupid for believing it wouldn’t. But he’s always sorry the next morning. A pitiful sight at her feet with tears in his eyes and a gift of some sort in hand. She realises the more bruises he leaves, the bigger the gifts get. She buys more make up and learns to cover them up better, hating that she has to.
But she doesn’t hate him. Not yet. Because as much as he has a temper, he is still her Harry. Sweet charming Harry. And he knows how to charm her. He still makes her laugh, though now its lost some of its sincerity. She doesn’t just watch him because she’s in love with him but more like she is always trying to gauge his reaction. So, she can be prepared. She looks at him no longer with just stars in her eyes. But she can’t seem to hold it against him. Because he’s still a good husband.
Her friends notice. Myrcella has always been so perceptive to her moods. Margery is no better.
She’s almost grateful when Myrcella moves north. It might be easier to hide it from one friend than two. But she does not fool them. They see that the make-up gets thicker and the sleeves on her clothes get longer.
They’re at tea one day, Myrcella visiting from the North, when she grabs her arm. Sansa flinches and tries to pull it back but Myrcella won’t let go. She hasn’t done a very good job today of hiding the purpling bruise.
Both girls gasp and Sansa yanks her arm back. Quickly she pulls the sleeve down.
“I fell,” she stupidly tells them.
“Bullshit,” Margery snaps.
There’s venom in her voice and it was tickles at something inside of Sansa. Her carefully constructed mirage cannot have cracks in it. They must believe her if she is to carry on.
“It’s not. What else would it be?” She snaps.
“How long has he been doing this to you?” Margery simply asks.
Sansa scowls. “Doing what? What are you talking about Marg?”
“Lovely ...” Myrcella whispers that sweet nickname. Sansa shuts her eyes in shame. She can’t look at her friends.
“It’s not ... It's okay. He didn’t mean it,” she quickly rationalises. “Just let it go. Please.” Her voice is an urgent whisper.
“Sans! You can’t for one second believe that!” Margery says. She looks angry - but not at her. “You have to do something -”
“What? Fight back?” Sansa interrupts bitterly. She knows that doesn’t work. It makes him angrier. He’s stronger than her. He’s always so much stronger than her.
“Then leave.” Myrcella begs. “You don’t deserve this. No one does.” She reaches for Sansa’s hand, taking it in her own.
For a fleeting moment, Sansa wants to pull away. She does not deserve the kindness of her friends. But they are all she has left and she is too scared to turn them away.
“I can’t.” It’s a pathetic whisper.
“Yea you can. Call Robb, tell him -”
“No!” Sansa quickly cries. She looks between her two friends. “You have to promise me you cannot say a word. Promise me!”
“I will not!” It’s Margery than so vehemently objects but Myrcella looks just as adamant. “You can’t except us to sit here and watch ... this!”
“Margie is right. We can’t do nothing. Please. Call Robb… or I can speak to him if you want. You know he’ll be down here in a second,” Myrcella says.
Sansa knows she is right. And not just because Myrcella is married to her brother, but because her brother has always been her biggest protector. He would assemble the whole damn north if he had too. But she can’t leave now. She tells the girls as much. There are tears pooling in her eyes and she looks down into her tea cup.
“Why not?” They ask back.
“I’m pregnant.” She whispers. It’s the first time she’s said the words out loud to anyone but herself and Harry.
They sit in silence for a beat before Myrcella squeezes her hand. She can feel the gentle stroking against her hair and Sansa lets a tear fall.
Just the one before she quickly wipes it away.
“Then you absolutely have to leave. You can’t stay ...”
“I can’t leave! Not with his child. His heir.” She reminds them. “He won’t ... it’ll be okay. Once the baby is here, he’ll be different.” She tells them. “He has always wanted this. He’s so happy about it. Really, it’s already changing things.” She glances down to her arms, “this was an old one... it will be different...” she repeats more for her sake.
They do not look like they believe here. Truthfully neither does Sansa. But she can’t walk away now. She has cut too many ties, burnt too many bridges for her to walk away now. Harry is all she has and she prays that her words come true.
Things are different. He’s different now that she’s pregnant. It’s not that he hurts her less ... simply that he is around less. She does not find it in her to complain, taking the reprieve as a blessing from the gods.
Still Margery and Myrcella insist that she leave. Myrcella calls her from the North every other day and at least once a week she reassures Sansa she still has a home in Winterfell. Margery is adamant Sansa leave no matter the consequences. But Sansa knows she can’t. Her whole life is tied up with Harry. He was there when things feel apart with Joffrey. She cannot forget that.
Harry’s distant in all the months she’s pregnant. Sansa knows it’s his mother’s doing. Elaine Waynwood knows the type of man her son is but she doesn’t say much. She hasn’t gotten involved until now. And even then, it’s more of a subtle word of caution than a fierce scolding, or blatant disapproval.
“She’s more fragile now, my dear boy.” Sansa hears her say one day. “She carries your heir. The least you can do is control that beastly temper of yours.”
So, Harry puts some distance between them. He finds new ways to distract himself. She doesn’t approve - she never had but she says nothing too. Sansa feels like they’re on a timeline waiting for something to implode. She clutches to her belly, silently praying to keep her daughter safe in there.
Somehow, she knows it’s a girl. But she doesn’t tell anyone. Not even the girls. It feels like something far too precious to share with anyone else.
The months move along and so does her pregnancy. She tells her parents and they’re happy for her, she knows but she also suspects her mother senses there is something more. Her mother never misses a thing. But without Sansa saying anything and continuously insisting she is well and ‘they’re all okay,’ there is very little Catelyn Stark can do.
She panics when Harry says they should find out the sex of the baby. She doesn’t want him to know what she knows. She’s not sure how he will take it. All he ever talks about are the things he will teach his son. If it weren’t for the morning sickness, she’d be sick to her stomach again. There must be something in her eyes when he says it because his mother looks at her in understanding. It unsettles Sansa.
“You know in my time we couldn’t find out the sex until after the baby was born. It did make for a lovely little surprise and I think it will make an even better tradition.”
Harry is contemplative. Sansa knows he’s impatient to know but his mother is imploring to the proud side of him. The side that likes traditions and legacies and the such.
“Fine! Fine! We can wait.” He eventually agrees and Sansa relaxes a little.
He gives her a little more breathing room as he continues to disappear again. She doesn’t question it. Nothing informative or good comes from that. Instead, she focuses on building up the nursery.
Elaine is mortified when Sansa insists on painting it herself. Sansa does not back down and one weekend, Margery comes over to help. They shop for baby clothes and pick out a dozen little rompers. Sansa crochets the perfect baby blanket and even Elaine looks a little impressed. It all comes together in small pieces, rather smoothly, that for a moment Sansa forgets.
Harry is not at home when she goes into labour. She suspects where he might be but they can’t get a hold of him. It’s Margery and Myrcella that take her to the hospital. (Myrcella decided a last visit before the baby was born was in order so she came down to Kings landing for a few days. She gets lucky that Sansa’s water breaks soon after her arrival).
Harry is absent but she’s got her girls and they take her to the hospital. Margery is spitting fire in the driver’s seat as she swerves through traffic. Myrcella is in the back with her and for the first time, Sansa is afraid. The baby is a little early and that causes Sansa to think of the worst possible outcomes.
“It’s going to be okay, lovely,” Myrcella tells her. “We’re going to be here all the way.”
She screams in agony and they race to the hospital. But it’s not the physical pain of labour that bears down on her. She can barely remember it all. Just the pain and tears and she’s sure she was pleading to some god. Or perhaps to them all.
In the end, Sansa has a daughter. A perfectly healthy, tiny little girl, she names Penelope. But her godmothers insist she be called Poppy and Sansa loves that even more.
Poppy is sweet and the most beautiful little girl they’ve ever seen. She coos gently at them and manages to grasp Sansa’s finger tightly in her little hand. It’s a grip she will never forget and it does things to her. Sets a new fire within her.
She’s going to do whatever she can to protect her daughter.
Harry is only fairly pleased by the news of a daughter. He wanted a son but a daughter is better than no child. She hands over Poppy to him- she doesn’t want to but she does. He’s gentle with her, surprised by the slightness of the baby. It’s almost enduring and Sansa allows herself that one moment to believe this is how it’s supposed to be. Harry smiles down at their daughter and while it’s not he wanted; she can tell he is still happy. It makes her think things will change - at last. He will be different now, just like she promised the girls. They have a reason for things to be different.
And he is - for a time. He is once again his sweet and charming self. They bring Poppy home and settle into a new routine. Sansa is left completely responsible for Poppy’s care but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Harry is there, lingering about. She gets the sense that he is very uncertain of himself when it comes to the baby. Her small form is a bit of a startling revelation for him. But he eases himself into it, she helps.
So, for a while, things are different. He’s better, much like he was at the start of their marriage. He’s the husband she remembers and a good father. They pass the time in that fashion. Her hours are consumed taking care of her daughter and it’s enough for her.
She demands nothing of Harry. Still, every once in a while, he surprises her. He’s there ... until he’s not.
The rumours have been spreading like wild fire. The women Harry keeps are a something of a badly kept secret in the capital. At the start of it she did her best to ignore them. And it worked. Sansa focuses her energies on their daughter Poppy. She doesn’t pay the rumours any mind. Naturally, she knows asking Harry will only further incur his wrath. So, she doesn’t say anything.
They soon slip back into an all too familiar pattern. The reverting back to old habits become more frequent but it’s the habits themselves that she has trouble keeping up with.
His temper grows worse, and once again he’s suddenly snapping at her all the time. She’s careful to keep Poppy out of sight every night he comes home smelling of whisky and cheap perfume. Poppy too, stops asking where her dad is. She learns to fear his footsteps too ... and that breaks Sansa’s heart. Both girls learn to grow quietly in Harry’s angry shadow. She thinks about going home - back to Winterfell- all the time but doesn’t. Harry makes it impossible for her to do just about anything. He strong arms her into quitting her job because Poppy needs her at home. He’s strong armed her into more decisions than she cares to admit.
Of all the rumours she hears, it’s one that stands out. Harry’s got a girl - not that isn’t new- but it’s the child he has with this girl that renders her heartbroken.
Alys Stone.
Another daughter. Nearly the same age as her Poppy.
The rumours that spread are cruel. They prey on her insecurities. They all insinuate the same thing, “Harry is besotted with Alys in a way he is not with Penelope.”
Sansa can’t help but think that it certainly can’t help matters Poppy looks more Stark than Tully or Hardyng. As she grows into her features, she carries the same curls like her brother Robb, only darker in colour and the same pout of lips like Sansa. Poppy’s curls are not so red like hers but Sansa thinks that might change as Poppy gets older. But her eyes are the most reminiscent of her father. A soft blue that looks almost like glass in the sunlight. She’s got her father’s dimples too. Sansa had hoped that would be enough for him but then she sees Cissy and Alys for the first time and she considers it might not be.
Alys Stone is a near copy of her father. Her sandy blonde hair and deep blue eyes are an almost exact copy of her father’s.
Sansa is with Margery at a restaurant. Harry is out of town and his mother (her keeper) hadn’t put up much of a fuss when she mentioned going out.
Sansa freezes in the restaurant. Her grip on her tea cup so tight it threatens to shatter the brittle china.
Cissy comes over. With Alys.
She greets them with enough such faux pleasantry it threatens to choke Margery.
“Dreadful weather we’re having,” Cissy sighs.
Sansa can’t focus on anything beyond the little girl at her side. She so wanted to hate them for what they’ve done to her family. But now as she looks at them, she can’t. At least not Alys. Who is innocent in all this. Just like her Poppy.
Cissy catches her starring.
“Oh, that’s right. You haven’t met.” She says with a smile. “Sweetie. This is Ms Stark. Say hello.”
“Mrs Hardyng,” Margery immediately corrects with a raised brow. “She’s Harry’s wife. Or did you mean to forget?”
Cissy sucks in a breath and her lips purse together. “Not at all.”
Sansa gathers enough wits to wave at the little girl. She thinks she manages a smile. She hopes she didn’t scar the poor child.
“Well, we best get going. Lots to get done before our trip,” Cissy says.
“Finally leaving the capital, are you?” Margery snips. “I’d say I’ll miss you … but honestly, it’s not like you were hardly around.”
Sansa hides her smile behind her teacup. She doesn’t mean to but sometimes Margaery’s sarcasm cannot be ignored.
“Guess you’ll be missed.” Margery adds taking a delicate sip.
“Oh no,” Cissy laughs and it irks them all. “Just a little trip. The weather has been so dreadful here lately. So, we’re heading to Dorne for a little while.”
Sansa’s stomach sinks. She looks up to catch the cruel smirk on Cissy’s face.
Harry is in Dorne.
“We always have such a wonderful time down there. Alys just loves it.”
Sansa bites down on her tongue. Cissy bids them goodbye but all Sansa sees is little Alys following after her mother.
It’s a memory that haunts her in the absence of Harry.
Poppy turns two and Sansa throws a party. Her parents and siblings do not come. She’s been cut off from them for a while. Harry’s doing. She wishes she had them with her. Still, she bears the rumours like an armour as the women of Kings Landing come to their home and look at her with pity. But she’s got enough bruises underneath the make-up and Harry’s mood is good for once so she suffers through it. They sing and cut cake and nobody really notices the way Poppy clings to Sansa or that when Harry asks her a question all she does is nod. Everyone just assumes she’s a shy little girl. Sansa Stark really is raising the perfect little lady. It breaks her heart all over again
Her parents are in a tragic car accident. They don’t make it. When Robb calls her with the news, she goes quiet, crying into the phone.
“Sans ... you’ll be here, right? For the ... funeral?”
She tells him of course she will. She tells Harry.
He refuses at first, cruelly saying, “They’re already dead. They won’t know if you’re there or not.”
But Sansa won’t take no for answer. He gets angry and they fight more than they ever had. There is something so unsettling about Sansa going back to Winterfell to Harry. Eventually he relents, but with conditions. Sansa can go only if Harry goes too. Poppy will stay behind with his mother in Kings Landing. She almost refuses. Sansa knows what this is now. Poppy is a hostage, a safety measure to ensure she comes back. She doesn’t want to leave her daughter but she needs to say goodbye to her parents. To say sorry and ... that they were right.
So, they leave for Winterfell. The sight of Poppy crying as they drive away follows her all the way home to the North. They arrive so late; she knows her family must think she’s not coming at all. Arya does not look please and Robb is barely holding it together. Rickon - their sweet baby brother looks lost and immediately rushes to her upon her arrival.
It’s at the funeral that she sees Jon Snow for the first time in years. Arya is standing at his side, a hard look on her face. In his arms is a toddler she has not met yet but seen plenty of because Myrcella is a gem when it comes to these kinds of things. He’s holding, Aurora, Robb and Myrcella’s youngest, she is sure. The little girl clings to him, her head resting on his shoulder. She tips her head to him but she can’t force a smile. There’s a sympathetic look on his face but before she can do anything more, Harry is pulling her away, to meet someone else.
“Petyr,” she breathes. She had not thought to see him this far North. Or at her parents’ funeral. He had only ever been around when they were down South. It makes her stomach twist to think some parts of the South have followed her back home.
“I was good friends with your mother,” Petyr says. It makes Sansa uncomfortable for some reason. “I was saddened to hear of their passing.”
“Thank you,” she mutters. Sansa glances over to the picture of her parents, happy and smiling and her heart breaks all over again. She wants to get away from Petyr ... and Harry she thinks.
It’s all too much suddenly. She quickly excuses herself and walks away before Harry can object.
She walks back into the house, into the kitchen and sucks in a deep shaky breath. She pictures her mum puttering around in the space. Cooking up all their favourites. The Christmas dinners and thanksgiving feasts. The cookies she used to make in abundance for them all. It’s a thousand memories all at once but the worst part is that she is alone in relieving them. Her siblings all know the distance she has put between in the past years. Her relationship with all of them, (especially Robb and Arya) is strained at best and non-existent at worse.
“You okay?” a voice asks.
Sansa jumps and whirls around. For a moment, she worries that Harry or Petyr has followed her back into the house. But a second later, the deep Northern voice registers and she recognises the figure lingering at the door.
Jon winces a beat later. “Stupid question I know.”
She almost wishes she could smile. “Not all that stupid.”
They stand, alone in a stiff silence. Sansa wonders what he’s waiting for, shifts uncomfortably as he gazes over at her. She’s always had this feeling around Jon. That he saw her more deeply than the others. She couldn’t imagine he must have liked whatever her saw. She certainly never liked those parts of herself.
“I’m sorry,” he says. He doesn’t need to add the ‘for your loss’, but she hears it all the same. His voice is muffled with helplessness and absolutely sincerity.
She wants to cry, now more than ever. Sansa has allowed herself small moments to grieve her parents. It did not seem like a smart choice breaking down before coming to Winterfell. She does not think she will make it through if she allows herself to feel it all now.
When they’re back in the capital, and things go back to the way it was, perhaps then she will allow herself a few moments to truly grieve.
She only nods and looks away because Jon is looking at her full of concern. It almost shatters her steel resolve.
“I have missed this kitchen so much,” she chooses to say instead. It seems like the safest thing really.
She sees him register the sharp change in conversation before a small smile settles on his lips. Only then does she actually notice the full beard or the long length of his hair. It’s been years since she’s last seen him and he has changed as much as she has. He’s taller than she remembers too.
“Yeah, I remember Rickon taking his first steps right there,” Jon points out and Sansa is now smiling too.
“Are you going to stay?”
His question, Sansa is sure is something all her siblings are wondering. She hates to have to disappoint them but explaining why would be even worse. Still, there is something about lying to Jon that so deeply unsettles her.
“Not for very long,” Sansa says. “Just until it’s all over.”
Jon nods. “I’m sure you have a lot waiting back for you in Kings Landing.”
Her heart leaps as she thinks of her Poppy. She can’t help the delicate smile on her lips.
“Just one,” she admits.
Sansa is not sure how much Jon knows about her life in the South, but she knows he’s aware of Poppy’s existence.
“How is she?”
“Amazing,” Sansa breathes. “She’s absolutely perfect Jon. Smart and beautiful and full of kindness.”
She can’t help but gush over her daughter. It’s the one bright light she has in her life.
“She sounds exactly like her mother.”
Jon’s compliment does not fall on deaf ears and Sansa is caught looking at him with a rearing blush and wide eyes. Her own shocks seems to embarrass him a little as he clears his throat, scratching at the back of his neck.
“You … you didn’t bring her?”
“N-no. The trip was too long and she was uh… unwell. Harry and I thought it best she stay home and rest.”
At the mention of Harry, Jon’s face hardens somewhat. She hates that is the instinctive reaction but more than anything she hates that he is not completely wrong for it.
“Are things well with you and Harry?”
His question causes the hairs on the back of her neck to stand. She turns defensive rather quickly.
“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” She snaps.
Jon merely shrugs. “He seems rather impatient to be gone is all.”
“He doesn’t like the North much,” Sansa weakly argues. “It’s too cold and I’m sure he is just missing being home with Poppy.”
Jon makes a humming noise that doesn’t sound quite like he agrees but smartly enough does not say outright.
“He’s been very busy recently,” Sansa finds herself say. “He’s just anxious to get back to work. All of this has come right in the middle of well… a lot.” She wants to stop, tells herself to shut up but Jon’s looking at her all concerned again and the only thing she thinks is she doesn’t want him to worry.
At least not about her. She doesn’t deserve it.
“Funerals never come at a good time Sansa,” Jon says frowning.
It irks her. It shouldn’t because it’s the truth, but it does.
“Yes, I am aware that my parents dying did not come at a good time but somehow I doubt being anymore prepared for it would make it hurt less.”
Jon has the good sense look ashamed. He looks down at his feet for a moment. She catches him biting down on his lip and she wonders what he’s holding back on saying.
She almost wishes he wouldn’t.
Instead he chooses to say, “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s fucking awful having to say goodbye and nothing ever prepares you for that.”
She’s so caught off guard with his swearing that she almost misses what he says. Instantly, she feels regretful. Of course, Jon would understand losing a parent too. How could she ever forget that? He’s lost both his parents too now.
“I didn’t mean … Jon I’m…-”
“No, don’t.” His voice is soft yet firm so unlike anything she’s ever heard from Harry. “You’re right.”
He says it this time like he really wants her to understand. But what exactly it is she doesn’t quite understand.
Jon reaches out and Sansa doesn’t quite know when they got so close to standing next to each other in the kitchen but she doesn’t question it either. His hand settles on hers, gently and full of warmth.
Like the true northerner that he is Jon’s touch is firm and full of warmth.
“I’m sorry you’ve lost them,” he says. His voice is near a whisper now. “But you’re not alone, no matter what.”
She looks up sharply at him ready to argue. But her words die on her tongue. Especially when his knuckles barely graze her chin.
“This will always be your home. Yours and your daughter’s.”
Sansa sucks in a deep breath at the mention of her daughter.
“I don’t think everyone would agree with you on that.”
He frowns before realisation dawns on him. “She’s just angry. They both are. But it doesn’t change anything. You’re a true northerner, Sansa Stark, this is your home and you can’t be scared.”
She wants to cry again. It’s been so long she’s been told anything remotely close to this. After all these years, Jon still believes in her and it does things to her that she did not know were possible. It makes her want to believe it can be different, like she really wants it to be. It’s such a sharp strange thought, Sansa almost believes it.
A heavy set of footsteps in the distance bring her crashing back to reality.
Harry.
She clears her throat and quickly steps away. Just in time as Harry rounds the corner. His gaze flickers between Sansa and Jon, narrowing on Jon and his mouth sets into an easy displeasure.
“There you are darling,” he drawls, walking into the kitchen.
Jon leans back against the counter, watching Harry’s every movement closely.
“Lord Snow,” Harry quips and Sansa wants to rebuke him for that.
She knows he does not mean it in any polite manner. So does Jon.
“Lord Hardyng,” Jon replies stiffly.
“How goes the patrol duty? I imagine the wildlings have been keeping you busy.” Harry smirks nastily.
Sansa is not sure how Harry knows so much about Jon but it does not surprise her either. Jon had joined the police force some time back. He’s one of their most trusted officers, Sansa knows because Myrcella has told her so.
There is a lot of shared history and politics between the Northern territories, Sansa knows. But she’s not quite how just how much of that Harry actually understands.
Sansa squeezes Harry’s arm, in a silent plea. He looks over at her and for a moment she thinks he might scold her right there, but he doesn’t. Never in the company of others. Rather, he smiles, a saccharine one that she knows means he is not entirely pleased.
“What are you doing hiding away in the kitchen?”
“Just needed a moment,” Sansa mumbles. “This was my mother’s favourite room in the house.”
“The kitchen?” Harry asks. Sansa can tell the idea perplexes him.
It’s an indication to the very different kind of upbringings they’ve had. Elaine would sooner keel over than have to step foot into a kitchen. The Hardyng’s have lived a pampered life. Not so much that they pamper each other but that they pay other people to see that they live in the highest form of luxury their gold coins can buy.
“If I recall, it was yours too,” Jon muses lightly.
Sansa smiles. “Yeah it is.”
Harry frowns. “Come along love. I’m sure your siblings want to see more of you before we leave.”
He’s not at all subtle but Sansa think’s Harry doesn’t really care right now. There is something that truly terrifies Harry about Jon. She knows because she sees the way Harry’s gaze constantly looks over to him.
Jon’s still leaning against the counter, arms folded across his chest as Harry tries to usher her out the door.
She doesn’t get to say goodbye to Jon. Doesn’t even get a last glance as Harry leads her back outside.
She wants to scold him for his rude behaviour but doesn’t. Outside is no better than inside, she quickly surmises. Her siblings give her a wide berth. They don’t speak much mostly, because Harry is always there, lingering in the background somehow. Arya is angry and hurting and Sansa wants nothing more than to stay and take care of them all. But Harry won’t let her. They will leave almost as soon as the funeral is over. She can see the hurt in her siblings’ eyes as Harry tells them.
They go back to Kings landing and the only thing that she can reconcile with is that she’s with Poppy again.
She tries not to think of Jon. Of the things he’s said to her in the kitchen of her childhood home. She desperately tries not to think about how true they might be. It would not bring about anything good, she convinces herself.
But his whispered words are harder to shake than she ever cares to admit.
The death of her parents leaves a hole in her heart. Harry hates that’s she’s ‘moping’. So, she puts herself back together and they move on with life. There are parties to attend. People to charm and schmooze. Harry is very good at that and he finds himself busier as business picks up. Sansa can’t say she complains much about it.
It gives her and Poppy more time to themselves. When Harry is not around, she finds her daughter to be less reserved. Silently she wishes for more time like that. Harry has enough on his plate to keep him distracted. Between Cissy and Alys, the new mergers with the company and the parties every other weekend. His time for them dwindles quite a bit.
She doesn’t hate the parties. She hates that he comes home smelling of whisky and the perfume she now associates with Cissy. He’s a little less handsy these days. With so much to occupy his time, he has no need to vent on Sansa.
So, she learns not to hate the parties.
But she does hate the company he keeps. It does not seem to improve the more he attends. She almost wishes for the days when it was just Cissy he was going to see.
The very first moment she meets Ramsay Bolton, Sansa feels a cold shiver run down her spine. His eyes track her movement hungrily all over the room. Despite his own infidelities, Harry has always been possessive of Sansa.
She is always expected to remain loyal. He is not.
But Harry doesn’t notice it this time. He fails to see a lot of red flags about Ramsay. Because the Boltons have sway and money and it will help his business in so many ways. Perhaps, in some ways, Harry chooses not to see it.
Ramsay comes round more. And he in tow brings Petyr Baelish and a handful of others. They’ve always lingered in the background, never threatening to encroach on their space. Something has changed. It unsettles Sansa and she’s extra careful with Poppy these days. Sansa doesn’t like the man Harry becomes around them but there is little she can do.
She tries to put more distance between Poppy and Harry. Which means she’s around Harry more. But it’s a sacrifice is she willing to make if it means Poppy is protected. Even Elaine doesn’t seem to complain all that much. Sansa gets the feeling that even her mother-in-law is not so comfortable with her son’s new friends.
They go to more parties. She’s forced to choke down her misgivings and put on her best smile.
They’re at another party. This one quite fancier than the rest. She takes extra care with her looks. Applies her make up more carefully to cover the bruise. Harry’s been a little rougher with her lately. She thinks it’s because Cissy is out of town (or upset with him if the rumour mill is to be believed).
She is not a great fan of these parties. When she had first arrived to Kings Landing, events like these were all she could dream of. The South has a way of flaunting wealth that she has come to understand as almost obscene. Its not done nearly as artfully or tastefully as they might like to believe, Sansa comes to think. They were very different to everything she had known about the North. A very long time ago, that seemed liked the only thing that mattered. But now she is older and more jaded. She knows better.
Truthfully, there is very little that she likes about the South these days. She yearns for the soft almost rustic comforts of the North. Her home.
Sansa grows tired of the party fairly quickly. The Tyrell’s and Lannisters are all here and a few members from Martell group. Roose Bolton is there too. She tries not to wonder if Ramsay is around.
Her misfortunate that Margery is not at this particular party. It would certainly have made things so much more bearable.
She’s in the quiet library, hidden well enough in the dim lighting when Harry and Petyr Baelish come in. She knows Harry is frustrated and perhaps even a little afraid.
“You have to reign them in, Petyr,” Harry urges.
She can hear the desperation in his voice and for a brief moment she wants to smirk. It’s not so often she gets to hear Harry sounding so helpless. But it quickly register’s he’s said ‘them’ and quite suddenly she has an awful feeling about it.
Petyr barely reacts. “Whatever do you mean?”
Harry scoffs. “You know exactly what I mean. Those two are getting careless. If they don’t reel it in, someone is going to start asking questions.”
Petyr stands against the desk, with that smirk on his face that always leaves Sansa feeling so damn uncomfortable. It seems, that even know it unsettles her husband.
“Don’t lose your cool just yet Lord Hardyng,” Petyr mocks. “You wanted in. Now you’re in. Deal with it.”
“I will not be made to be the fall guy when they finally lose control,” Harry warns.
“You think they will?”
Harry snorts, his whisky swirling around in his glass. “Of course I do. They barely have control now.”
“Over the women or the party favours?”
Sansa is nearly sick to her stomach and suddenly very grateful for the dark corner she is hidden in.
“Both.” Harry throws back the rest of his drink. “They keep this up, someone is going to ask questions and –s”
“Your job is to make sure no one asks questions.” Petyr interrupts him. “They don’t play like we do, Harry.”
“We?” She can hear the disdain in his voice. “How are we alike, Little Finger?” He uses that clever nickname only to remind Petyr of the difference in their status. But Sansa is not so sure it has worked the way he wants.
Petyr laughs and she knows he is mocking her husband. "Perhaps you’re right, we are not alike, are we?” He doesn’t let Harry answer. “You might have been born into money, but money without power is useless.”
Sansa can tell Harry doesn’t like the implications of that. Petyr continues and it only works to sour Harry’s mood further.
“Please, you think I have any less sway that some coddled mama’s boy and a bastard?” Harry snaps.
She fears she knows exactly who it is he is talking about but she prays that he is wrong. For her to bright would mean her husband had gone and done something extremely foolish. Even for him, with his long stream of affairs and bad habits, that would be quite something.
“Those things they may be, but you would be a fool to doubt the reach of the power the Lannisters hold in the South or the sway the Boltons have in the North.” Petyr speaks slowly, clearly hoping Harry would understand more that the words he is saying. “You shouldn’t complain too hard Harry. You’re in a desirably unique place.”
She curls her hands into a fist, fighting the urge to scream. Damn Harry! Getting them tied up with the Lannisters is the very last thing Sansa ever wanted.
“So what I’ve become nothing better than their fucking keeper?” Harry is obliviously angry and she realises he does not fully comprehend the extent what he has done.
Petyr sighs, clearly surprised Harry has not yet understood what he has implied. “Like I said, it’s a unique position to be in.” Harry makes a derisive sound and Petyr has no choice but to go on. “Tell me Lord Hardyng, what do you think is the currency for power?”
“Money.” He immediately answers.
Sansa is almost disappointed at his unoriginal response.
“Hm,” Petyr hums, “most people would think that. But in reality, the currency for power is knowledge. More accurately, secrets.”
Harry huffs, an eyebrow raised. “So now I am a spy?”
Petyr doesn’t immediately acknowledge that. “If power within the right circles is what you seek, then yes.”
Harry is quiet for a moment and Sansa thinks he finally understands the depth of what he has drawn himself (and them) into. But he opens his mouth and disappoints her once more.
“That’s all very well but what do you expect me to do about them?”
Petyr nods slowly and Sansa knows he’s thinking what to do about Harry should he fail. He places a hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“You’re their friend, are you not?”
“Of course,” Harry scoffs.
“Then guide them to better distractions.”
With that, Petyr leaves Harry alone in the library. Well almost alone. For a moment, Sansa is tempted to reveal herself to her husband. To demand what it is he has gotten involved and if understands exactly what Petyr Baelish had implied.
But she doesn’t. She keeps this information to herself and vows to do exactly what Petyr has asked of her husband. She’s already halfway there.
She’s not going to trust Harry to collect anything worth knowing but that does not mean she can’t do it either. Not for Harry too, but for Poppy and herself.
It’s harder than she initially thought. Getting information that is worth anything. At first, she is overwhelmed with what is important and what is not. She gets the hang of it though, storing it away for a later plan.
Sansa is careful about what she keeps too. It’s too dangerous to keep anything that would seem like she is collecting information or purposefully snooping on her husband and his friends. She is grateful that Harry is rather careless with this himself.
Still, Ramsay comes around the house just as much as before. He lingers longer within their boundaries and grows to unnerve Sansa even more. She holds Poppy closer to her each night. The Hardyng Manor is certainly not the largest in the capital but it is big enough that they can go about without running into each other. Which makes the fact that Ramsay somehow or the other manages to find her, unsettle her even more. He’s purposefully going out of his way to find her. On more than one occasion he orchestrates stumbling upon her when she is alone.
“You really are a Northern beauty,” he tells her once.
“It’s not hard to see why Harry keeps you to himself,” he says another time.
“You should join us. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of fun,” he whispers as he leans over her shoulder.
She makes a hasty escape each and every time. Time passes in the same it has always done.
Harry picks up a faster pace of everything. He does seem to take some of Petyr’s advice and keeps Ramsay and much to her dismay, Joffrey well distracted. As much as he loathes to share, he knows enough to understand that he will go much further if Joffrey and Ramsay are happy.
To both her and Elaine’s horror, they bring a new girl around the house. Sansa is almost to shocked to react the first time she sees Joffrey leading her into the den. She’s pretty Sansa notices and over the next few visits she learns more. A young, impressionable girl, named after some sort of spice.
“Saffron,” Elaine spits out. “Does he have to bring her here. It’s shameful.” She raises her tea cup to her lips and sips delicately.
Sansa bites down on her tongue, wondering if its only shameful that her son is having an affair now that he’s parading these women in front of her.
Wisely, neither of them say anything. They just watch. Though Sansa knows Elaine has tried to speak to her son.
She hears them, speaking in hushed voices, mother and son together in the family room. Dangerously, it sparks some hope in Sansa.
“You must be careful with these people, son.” Her voice is soft and but the warning is there all the same.
“I know what I am doing, mother.”
Sansa rolls her eyes, knowing that is not quite true. Harry is clueless.
And it appears Elaine knows it too.
“I’m afraid you don’t quite understand the depth of what you’ve pulled us into, darling.”
“Of course I do. I don’t think you understand what this would mean for us,” he counters.
“I do. And that’s what frightens me. These are dangerous people. Not to be trifled with. You must keep your wits about you,” Elaine stresses.
“I’m not stupid mother!” he snaps angrily.
“Then don’t bloody well act like it!” She loses composure only for a moment and it seems to shock Harry almost as much as it does Sansa.
He places a hand over hers. “Don’t worry mother. I won’t let us down.” For a moment, Elaine seems relieved but then he continues. “I am going to do what father failed to do for this family. I am going to pull us right to the top.”
Sansa might be impressed if she didn’t know Harry any better. He’s underestimated them and that is only his first mistake.
“Harry,” Elaine pleads. “You must think of our family.”
“That is the only reason I am doing this.”
Liar, Sansa thinks. Harry only ever does what is best for Harry.
“Do you think it wise to play such dangerous games?” Elaine questions. “Joffrey is a monster but he has the combined wealth and power of the Baratheon’s and Lannister’s. And that Bolton bastard is a beast. He’s too unpredictable. I beg you son, think this through.”
“These Lannister’s, Baratheon’s and Boltons think they own everyone but they don’t. They’ll be playing into my – our hand soon enough.” Harry promises.
“Harry, darling -”
“I know what I am doing mother. Trust me. I am doing what needs to be done for our family. For you and me.”
“And your girls,” Elaine adds.
Sansa’s breath hitches for a moment and some infernal hope creeps up. But then Harry smiles and she knows he is not thinking about her or Poppy.
Elaine knows it too because she frowns almost disapprovingly, but it’s gone too soon for Harry to notice.
Sansa steps away from the ajar door, leaving mother and son alone. She is resolute in her knowledge now. Far more than she has ever been. It is – as it has always been – up to her to keep Poppy safe. The reality is, Sansa is just not sure how much longer they can hold out in Kings Landing.
She watches broken-heartedly as Poppy withdraws more into herself when Harry is around. She grows tentative even around Elaine. As if she too now knows that her place in her father’s house is merely a matter of duty and not love.
Sansa starts making plans for herself. Hoping that sooner, the opportunity will come for her to get out.
It won’t be easy. That much she knows. Harry will not let her just leave but if she makes it far enough North, she will be safe from his reach. Harry had always underestimated her ties to the north and now she would see that he lived to regret it.
But the moment to leave doesn’t come for some time.
So together, Poppy and Sansa live on in a precious bubble that she’s created just for them. She fills it with love and laughter and soft hugs and a thousand little kisses. She whispers to her daughter every day and night all the important things she should never forget.
“I love you, baby,” Sansa says kissing her goodnight.
Poppy looks at her mother and smiles. Her small hands clutching the plushie toy to her. “I love you too mama.”
For a while, it’s just them and the world continues spinning on. The chaos burns around them and Sansa knows it won’t be too long before they’re caught in it.