Fic: No Time For Wolves (A Song of Ice and Fire) [08/08]
Title: No Time For Wolves
Author: girlupnorth
Rating: strong PG-13
Pairings: Jon/Sansa; Petyr/Sansa; Jon/Daenerys
Disclaimer: A song of ice and fire belongs to George RR Martin, and I am not making any profit off this story.
Length: 2,419 words (~19,000 total)
Spoilers: Including A Feast for Crows
Summary: In which Daenerys makes an unlikely friend.
Warnings: incest, adultery, angst, dubious morality, Littlefinger
Notes: This is for miss_magrat, who wanted me to write Jon/Sansa. Many thanks to novin_ha for beta reading.
Previous :: Table of Contents ::
Epilogue. Daenerys
She had assumed that once she acceded to the throne, running the court would come naturally to her.
It did not, and still does not. She makes mistakes, one after another. She does not understand the customs. More importantly, she does not understand the people, and people seem not to understand her.
The failures to make the court work make her angry and impatient. That, in turn, makes her even more likely to blunder.
Daenerys feels in her element when she talks politics with Jon or someone from their Small Council, or one of her Eastern advisors. Ruling and making decisions is not difficult for her. However, she notices that even though the lords of the Small Council treat her ever with reverence, they ask Jon’s advice before settling to do anything.
They do not like women to rule here, in the West. She had realized as much by the time when she was wedding Jon. Questionable from the legal standpoint though his claim to the throne might have been, they preferred him, rather than her, to take the crown. She can joke about it, sometimes, but the thought still angers her.
Every now and then, she invites the ladies to her chambers, trying to make the court something more than just a void name. The meetings, however, never go quite as she would like them to. It may be because Daenerys cannot make herself enjoy the ladies’ company. They all seem so very bland to her, all preoccupied only with their children and dresses. Daenerys does not even understand their gossip, because she does not know whom and what their stories are about.
The gatherings never fail to bore her, but even so, she feels angered when during one of them the ladies, instead of trying to prolong the meeting as usual, quite soon start begging her permission to leave.
“Very well, you may all go,” says Daenerys, unable to keep her temper, when yet another lady begins to pose her the question. The women hasten out, and only Lady Sansa Baelish lingers a moment. She never hurries, that one. And especially not now, when she is several months with a child.
“Where are they all running to?” demands Daenerys, and Lady Sansa turns to her, surprised.
“It is the eve of Mother’s holy day, and they are all going to the sept to pray for their families,” she says. Another custom I know nothing about. “ I should go too.”
Still, she lingers a while more, and then, with some uncertainty in her voice, asks,
“Would you come with me, Your Grace?”
The question takes Daenerys aback. “I don’t go to the sept,” she tells the other woman.
“I know that,” says Lady Sansa. Under her long, unnervingly calm look Daenerys feels compelled to add,
“I don’t even believe in the Seven.” She has been introduced to several religions, both in the East and in the West, the Faith included, but none of them managed to lure her into worship.
“Still, the smallfolk might be happy to see their queen appear in the sept sometimes,” says Lady Sansa thoughtfully. She gives Daenerys a smile. “But forgive me, Your Grace. I presume too much.”
“No, wait,” says Daenerys quickly. She has not given a thought to how religious her subjects might expect her to be, but Lady Sansa’s words ring true in her head. “I’ll be glad to go to the sept with you, my lady.”
Daenerys has the litter prepared, and while they are waiting, she asks Lady Sansa to tell her more of this particular holy day. How obvious she must find it all, thinks Daenerys, listening to the other woman’s explanations.
“You should make your servants take some small money to give to the poor before the sept, Your Grace,” says Lady Sansa before they leave. “They are always happy to see the ladies care for them.”
“I don’t need to give the poor money to care for them,” tells her Daenerys, but, again, the other woman’s words make sense to her.
In the time that follows, Daenerys has many an occasion to meet Sansa, to talk with her, and, as she admits to herself, to learn from her. To Daenerys’ surprise, the last thing does not bother her very much, and does not stop her from enjoying the other woman’s company. Lady Sansa is, if anything, charming and gracious, and it seems very natural to follow her lead when she behaves like a lady in every moment of her life.
She finds that she envies Sansa the innocence that the other woman seems to have retained through the war, her ability to remain calm no matter what she is being told, and her kindness. Lady Egen deemed Sansa foolish, but the more Daenerys knows her, the more she realizes that Sansa is very clever indeed. In the matters concerning the rules of appropriate behaviour, the customs, managing the household - in short, all the knowledge that ladies of noble birth needs to possess to move within their world - Sansa certainly shows more wisdom than Daenerys would ever be able to acquire.
Her only fault is that she does not understand that Daenerys’ first concern is still ruling.
“It seems that I’ll never have time to really take care of the court,” says Daenerys to Sansa one day, after the envoys from the Free Cities have arrived in King’s Landing, “There’s always something going on. I don’t understand how the kings of the past could feast and hunt all the time, like the songs make us believe.”
On Sansa’s suggestion, she found a minstrel to add to her court. His songs are very pretty and sweet, but not much besides that; still, his presence seems to please the ladies.
“Well, the Baratheons ruled through Hands,” says Sansa, resting her hands on her belly. It seems so round that Daenerys expects her to disappear within her chambers to give birth any day now.
“The Baratheons were no kings, but usurpers,” says Daenerys coldly, but all Sansa gives her, as always, is a very calm look.
“I know of it, my lady,” she says. “As for taking care of the court-” she pauses. “Under Cersei Lannister I have seen how powerful a tool the court might be in adequate hands.” She smiles at Daenerys. “And she was an usurper, too. Perhaps running the court isn’t after all a task to be dismissed, my lady?”
For a moment Daenerys wants to scold Sansa for her insolence, however, she manages to stop herself in time. She may have a point. I’ve never thought about it like that, but she may have a point.
Sansa indeed stops leaving her chambers in the following days. Daenerys sends her Maester Marwyn, but hardly has a moment to grow concerned for her friend. This time, it is her dragons that need her attention, not the matters of the kingdom. The egg that Rhaegal laid during Daenerys’ absence in the early days of summer is finally hatching, and she worries. They know so little of breeding dragons that she is not even able to tell how they should proceed with the egg; and they could do with another dragon.
Thankfully, the shell breaks within a day, and without much trouble. The little dragon’s scales are green like its mother’s. It keeps to Rhaegal, and watches Daenerys with curious, yellow eyes. Well, we have a dragon for Aemon, then.
It is an eventful day, it seems: upon returning to her chambers, Daenerys is informed that the Free Cities envoys requested again for the debts to be paid, that another letter came from Highgarden, and that Lady Sansa has given birth to a girl.
As soon as she has read the letter from the Tyrrells, Daenerys’ mood falls.
“We should settle this matter once and for all,” she tells Jon. This, obviously, sets off a quarrel. It continues for a couple more days, every reappearance of the subject ending with Daenerys’ slamming the door, and leaving for the dragon pit.
On one of such walks, she encounters Lord Baelish.
“Lord Petyr, what a pleasant surprise,” says Daenerys, and thinks that Sansa would be proud to see her managing such composure, when all she wants is to scream and kill. “We’re very pleased to hear of your daughter’s birth - but tell me, how is Lady Sansa?”
“She seems to be very well, Your Grace,” replies Lord Baelish with a smile. Daenerys finds that she likes the man; he is ever pleasant and easy in conversation. “The maester thinks she will not have to stay abed beyond the usual time.”
“I’m very glad to hear it,” says Daenerys, and then sighs, for a moment envying Sansa the possibility of isolating herself in her chambers, and not having to take care of politics.
“Is something amiss, Your Grace?” asks Lord Baelish at once.
“Oh, it’s the Tyrrells again,” says Daenerys. “We cannot manage to deter them from the idea of getting the Reach back.”
Lord Baelish strokes his beard. “Perhaps I could be of help, Your Grace? I know the Tyrrells a little, from the - usurpers’ times.”
He agrees with Daenerys’ opinion that it may be the time they stopped reasoning with the Tyrrells, and subdued them by force. His final advice is, however, for a different solution, a subtler one.
The conversation with him makes Daenerys wonder whether the time has not come they allowed someone to help them with the ruling. The Master of the Coin suggested recently that they might want to appoint a Hand to relieve them from some of their extensive duties. Daenerys thought he meant himself, and dismissed the matter without further consideration. Now, however, she begins to seriously ponder appointing a Hand, especially when the Small Council is reluctant to follow on the idea for solving the Tyrrell business that she proposes.
They do not like women to rule here, in the West, but she will be damned before she lets them forget that she is the queen and that she has her say in the matters of ruling. If it takes to have someone loyal to her appointed the Hand, she will have someone loyal to her appointed the Hand.
Lord Baelish seems to her a very good choice: he has some experience in the matters of the politics and the court, he is of none of the great houses, so choosing him will not enrage the great lords like favouring one of them could. At the same time, being related to Jon through Sansa, he should be loyal to them; and since Sansa is her friend, Daenerys supposes he may be loyal to her.
She turns the matter in her head for quite some time, but when during another chance meeting Lord Baelish remarks to her that he is thinking of leaving for his castle at the border of the Reach, and taking Sansa and the children with him, Daenerys acts at once.
Settling the matter takes but one conversation with Jon, and she emerges victorious, if a little surprised by how little her lord husband protested. Afterwards, Daenerys goes straight to Sansa’s chambers.
She finds her friend out of bed, sitting by a cradle where her younger daughter lies, and telling some story to the elder girl, Sanny.
“Sansa,” she says, excited, when they have exchanged the greetings, “I have a surprise for you.”
“What is it, my lady?” asks Sansa, a little amused by Daenerys’ state.
“I am making your lord husband our Hand,” says Daenerys, and laughs at the shock at Sansa’s face. “Really, I am! I have talked with the king, and he agrees that it is a good idea.”
Sansa blinks several times. “I - thank you, my lady,” she says at last. “It is a surprise.”
“Lord Petyr will agree, won’t he?” asks Daenerys, suddenly realizing that she has never considered asking this question before. “I don’t think we may find someone better-suited for this post than him. You will convince him for me, won’t you, Sansa?”
“If you consider it so important, my lady,” says Sansa after a short moment, and smiles weakly. “I’ll do my best.”
“It is settled, then,” says Daenerys.
The baby girl in the cradle begins to cry. Sansa takes her out, and, after a short inspection, hands over to the nurse, who has appeared in the room at the sound of the baby’s voice. Under Sansa’s watchful eye, the woman feeds the girl until she calms down.
After a moment of hesitation, Daenerys gets up, and takes the baby out of the nurse’s arms. The girl lifts her eyelids sleepily, and for a moment looks at Daenerys with deeply blue eyes.
“She looks so much like you,” says Daenerys to Sansa, curling a lock of the girl’s auburn hair around her finger. “You should have kept Sansa for this one.”
“Oh, no, Alayne is absolutely perfect for her,” says Sansa with a small smile. Daenerys pauses; she recalls no Alayne in songs and stories she has heard so far. I’ll have to ask about it later.
Daenerys holds Alayne for a moment more, before putting her back into her cradle.
I wish I could have a baby like her again. The thought surprises her; she would never expect to envy another woman her children. But she does envy Sansa: not only does her friend have three children already, but she may have more still. They judge a woman’s usefulness by her fertility here, just like they do in the East. If Daenerys believed in any gods, she would have thanked them for allowing her to give birth to an heir at least, and one as wonderful as Aemon at that.
It worried her that Aemon had no contact with children his age, and that he might have become a little recluse; but she does not need to trouble herself anymore. Aemon and Jon Baelish seem to have become best of friends, and they always play together, be it in the castle or in the gardens. She recalls with a smile that Aemon begged to be allowed to learn swordplay a few days ago, and for his friend to be included in the lessons. He is ever so enthusiastic, that son of mine.
She glances down at the cradle. Alayne is sleeping soundly, red hair scattered around her head. You will be meeting the Prince very often as well, I promise, she thinks, and strokes the girl’s cheek.
Author: girlupnorth
Rating: strong PG-13
Pairings: Jon/Sansa; Petyr/Sansa; Jon/Daenerys
Disclaimer: A song of ice and fire belongs to George RR Martin, and I am not making any profit off this story.
Length: 2,419 words (~19,000 total)
Spoilers: Including A Feast for Crows
Summary: In which Daenerys makes an unlikely friend.
Warnings: incest, adultery, angst, dubious morality, Littlefinger
Notes: This is for miss_magrat, who wanted me to write Jon/Sansa. Many thanks to novin_ha for beta reading.
Previous :: Table of Contents ::
Epilogue. Daenerys
She had assumed that once she acceded to the throne, running the court would come naturally to her.
It did not, and still does not. She makes mistakes, one after another. She does not understand the customs. More importantly, she does not understand the people, and people seem not to understand her.
The failures to make the court work make her angry and impatient. That, in turn, makes her even more likely to blunder.
Daenerys feels in her element when she talks politics with Jon or someone from their Small Council, or one of her Eastern advisors. Ruling and making decisions is not difficult for her. However, she notices that even though the lords of the Small Council treat her ever with reverence, they ask Jon’s advice before settling to do anything.
They do not like women to rule here, in the West. She had realized as much by the time when she was wedding Jon. Questionable from the legal standpoint though his claim to the throne might have been, they preferred him, rather than her, to take the crown. She can joke about it, sometimes, but the thought still angers her.
Every now and then, she invites the ladies to her chambers, trying to make the court something more than just a void name. The meetings, however, never go quite as she would like them to. It may be because Daenerys cannot make herself enjoy the ladies’ company. They all seem so very bland to her, all preoccupied only with their children and dresses. Daenerys does not even understand their gossip, because she does not know whom and what their stories are about.
The gatherings never fail to bore her, but even so, she feels angered when during one of them the ladies, instead of trying to prolong the meeting as usual, quite soon start begging her permission to leave.
“Very well, you may all go,” says Daenerys, unable to keep her temper, when yet another lady begins to pose her the question. The women hasten out, and only Lady Sansa Baelish lingers a moment. She never hurries, that one. And especially not now, when she is several months with a child.
“Where are they all running to?” demands Daenerys, and Lady Sansa turns to her, surprised.
“It is the eve of Mother’s holy day, and they are all going to the sept to pray for their families,” she says. Another custom I know nothing about. “ I should go too.”
Still, she lingers a while more, and then, with some uncertainty in her voice, asks,
“Would you come with me, Your Grace?”
The question takes Daenerys aback. “I don’t go to the sept,” she tells the other woman.
“I know that,” says Lady Sansa. Under her long, unnervingly calm look Daenerys feels compelled to add,
“I don’t even believe in the Seven.” She has been introduced to several religions, both in the East and in the West, the Faith included, but none of them managed to lure her into worship.
“Still, the smallfolk might be happy to see their queen appear in the sept sometimes,” says Lady Sansa thoughtfully. She gives Daenerys a smile. “But forgive me, Your Grace. I presume too much.”
“No, wait,” says Daenerys quickly. She has not given a thought to how religious her subjects might expect her to be, but Lady Sansa’s words ring true in her head. “I’ll be glad to go to the sept with you, my lady.”
Daenerys has the litter prepared, and while they are waiting, she asks Lady Sansa to tell her more of this particular holy day. How obvious she must find it all, thinks Daenerys, listening to the other woman’s explanations.
“You should make your servants take some small money to give to the poor before the sept, Your Grace,” says Lady Sansa before they leave. “They are always happy to see the ladies care for them.”
“I don’t need to give the poor money to care for them,” tells her Daenerys, but, again, the other woman’s words make sense to her.
In the time that follows, Daenerys has many an occasion to meet Sansa, to talk with her, and, as she admits to herself, to learn from her. To Daenerys’ surprise, the last thing does not bother her very much, and does not stop her from enjoying the other woman’s company. Lady Sansa is, if anything, charming and gracious, and it seems very natural to follow her lead when she behaves like a lady in every moment of her life.
She finds that she envies Sansa the innocence that the other woman seems to have retained through the war, her ability to remain calm no matter what she is being told, and her kindness. Lady Egen deemed Sansa foolish, but the more Daenerys knows her, the more she realizes that Sansa is very clever indeed. In the matters concerning the rules of appropriate behaviour, the customs, managing the household - in short, all the knowledge that ladies of noble birth needs to possess to move within their world - Sansa certainly shows more wisdom than Daenerys would ever be able to acquire.
Her only fault is that she does not understand that Daenerys’ first concern is still ruling.
“It seems that I’ll never have time to really take care of the court,” says Daenerys to Sansa one day, after the envoys from the Free Cities have arrived in King’s Landing, “There’s always something going on. I don’t understand how the kings of the past could feast and hunt all the time, like the songs make us believe.”
On Sansa’s suggestion, she found a minstrel to add to her court. His songs are very pretty and sweet, but not much besides that; still, his presence seems to please the ladies.
“Well, the Baratheons ruled through Hands,” says Sansa, resting her hands on her belly. It seems so round that Daenerys expects her to disappear within her chambers to give birth any day now.
“The Baratheons were no kings, but usurpers,” says Daenerys coldly, but all Sansa gives her, as always, is a very calm look.
“I know of it, my lady,” she says. “As for taking care of the court-” she pauses. “Under Cersei Lannister I have seen how powerful a tool the court might be in adequate hands.” She smiles at Daenerys. “And she was an usurper, too. Perhaps running the court isn’t after all a task to be dismissed, my lady?”
For a moment Daenerys wants to scold Sansa for her insolence, however, she manages to stop herself in time. She may have a point. I’ve never thought about it like that, but she may have a point.
Sansa indeed stops leaving her chambers in the following days. Daenerys sends her Maester Marwyn, but hardly has a moment to grow concerned for her friend. This time, it is her dragons that need her attention, not the matters of the kingdom. The egg that Rhaegal laid during Daenerys’ absence in the early days of summer is finally hatching, and she worries. They know so little of breeding dragons that she is not even able to tell how they should proceed with the egg; and they could do with another dragon.
Thankfully, the shell breaks within a day, and without much trouble. The little dragon’s scales are green like its mother’s. It keeps to Rhaegal, and watches Daenerys with curious, yellow eyes. Well, we have a dragon for Aemon, then.
It is an eventful day, it seems: upon returning to her chambers, Daenerys is informed that the Free Cities envoys requested again for the debts to be paid, that another letter came from Highgarden, and that Lady Sansa has given birth to a girl.
As soon as she has read the letter from the Tyrrells, Daenerys’ mood falls.
“We should settle this matter once and for all,” she tells Jon. This, obviously, sets off a quarrel. It continues for a couple more days, every reappearance of the subject ending with Daenerys’ slamming the door, and leaving for the dragon pit.
On one of such walks, she encounters Lord Baelish.
“Lord Petyr, what a pleasant surprise,” says Daenerys, and thinks that Sansa would be proud to see her managing such composure, when all she wants is to scream and kill. “We’re very pleased to hear of your daughter’s birth - but tell me, how is Lady Sansa?”
“She seems to be very well, Your Grace,” replies Lord Baelish with a smile. Daenerys finds that she likes the man; he is ever pleasant and easy in conversation. “The maester thinks she will not have to stay abed beyond the usual time.”
“I’m very glad to hear it,” says Daenerys, and then sighs, for a moment envying Sansa the possibility of isolating herself in her chambers, and not having to take care of politics.
“Is something amiss, Your Grace?” asks Lord Baelish at once.
“Oh, it’s the Tyrrells again,” says Daenerys. “We cannot manage to deter them from the idea of getting the Reach back.”
Lord Baelish strokes his beard. “Perhaps I could be of help, Your Grace? I know the Tyrrells a little, from the - usurpers’ times.”
He agrees with Daenerys’ opinion that it may be the time they stopped reasoning with the Tyrrells, and subdued them by force. His final advice is, however, for a different solution, a subtler one.
The conversation with him makes Daenerys wonder whether the time has not come they allowed someone to help them with the ruling. The Master of the Coin suggested recently that they might want to appoint a Hand to relieve them from some of their extensive duties. Daenerys thought he meant himself, and dismissed the matter without further consideration. Now, however, she begins to seriously ponder appointing a Hand, especially when the Small Council is reluctant to follow on the idea for solving the Tyrrell business that she proposes.
They do not like women to rule here, in the West, but she will be damned before she lets them forget that she is the queen and that she has her say in the matters of ruling. If it takes to have someone loyal to her appointed the Hand, she will have someone loyal to her appointed the Hand.
Lord Baelish seems to her a very good choice: he has some experience in the matters of the politics and the court, he is of none of the great houses, so choosing him will not enrage the great lords like favouring one of them could. At the same time, being related to Jon through Sansa, he should be loyal to them; and since Sansa is her friend, Daenerys supposes he may be loyal to her.
She turns the matter in her head for quite some time, but when during another chance meeting Lord Baelish remarks to her that he is thinking of leaving for his castle at the border of the Reach, and taking Sansa and the children with him, Daenerys acts at once.
Settling the matter takes but one conversation with Jon, and she emerges victorious, if a little surprised by how little her lord husband protested. Afterwards, Daenerys goes straight to Sansa’s chambers.
She finds her friend out of bed, sitting by a cradle where her younger daughter lies, and telling some story to the elder girl, Sanny.
“Sansa,” she says, excited, when they have exchanged the greetings, “I have a surprise for you.”
“What is it, my lady?” asks Sansa, a little amused by Daenerys’ state.
“I am making your lord husband our Hand,” says Daenerys, and laughs at the shock at Sansa’s face. “Really, I am! I have talked with the king, and he agrees that it is a good idea.”
Sansa blinks several times. “I - thank you, my lady,” she says at last. “It is a surprise.”
“Lord Petyr will agree, won’t he?” asks Daenerys, suddenly realizing that she has never considered asking this question before. “I don’t think we may find someone better-suited for this post than him. You will convince him for me, won’t you, Sansa?”
“If you consider it so important, my lady,” says Sansa after a short moment, and smiles weakly. “I’ll do my best.”
“It is settled, then,” says Daenerys.
The baby girl in the cradle begins to cry. Sansa takes her out, and, after a short inspection, hands over to the nurse, who has appeared in the room at the sound of the baby’s voice. Under Sansa’s watchful eye, the woman feeds the girl until she calms down.
After a moment of hesitation, Daenerys gets up, and takes the baby out of the nurse’s arms. The girl lifts her eyelids sleepily, and for a moment looks at Daenerys with deeply blue eyes.
“She looks so much like you,” says Daenerys to Sansa, curling a lock of the girl’s auburn hair around her finger. “You should have kept Sansa for this one.”
“Oh, no, Alayne is absolutely perfect for her,” says Sansa with a small smile. Daenerys pauses; she recalls no Alayne in songs and stories she has heard so far. I’ll have to ask about it later.
Daenerys holds Alayne for a moment more, before putting her back into her cradle.
I wish I could have a baby like her again. The thought surprises her; she would never expect to envy another woman her children. But she does envy Sansa: not only does her friend have three children already, but she may have more still. They judge a woman’s usefulness by her fertility here, just like they do in the East. If Daenerys believed in any gods, she would have thanked them for allowing her to give birth to an heir at least, and one as wonderful as Aemon at that.
It worried her that Aemon had no contact with children his age, and that he might have become a little recluse; but she does not need to trouble herself anymore. Aemon and Jon Baelish seem to have become best of friends, and they always play together, be it in the castle or in the gardens. She recalls with a smile that Aemon begged to be allowed to learn swordplay a few days ago, and for his friend to be included in the lessons. He is ever so enthusiastic, that son of mine.
She glances down at the cradle. Alayne is sleeping soundly, red hair scattered around her head. You will be meeting the Prince very often as well, I promise, she thinks, and strokes the girl’s cheek.