Hot Coffee Part 34
Title: Hot Coffee Part 34
Author:Louisa
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Pairing: Sansa/Daenerys
Author's note: Well, it's been a while since I last posted. Sorry about that. I'm hoping to keep to a more regular update schedule from now on.
I could just ask her.
I mean, she’s my friend. At worst, all she’ll say is that it’s none of my beeswax, and she doesn’t want to talk about it. And she’d probably phrase it more politely than that. I doubt she’ll mind me asking a question, even if it’s one she doesn’t want to answer. I should just ask her and get it out of the way. She probably won’t tell me, but then again she might. There’s a chance I’d actually be able to assuage the curiosity that’s pretty much eating me alive.
What on earth is going on between Daenerys and Asha?
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Daenerys’ voice makes me jump a little. I try to cover my startled reaction with a smile. (Honestly, it isn’t hard to smile when I look at her. It never is.)
“Oh, um, nothing exciting.” The question hovers on the tip of my tongue, waiting to be given voice. “Just wondering if I’ve forgotten anything.”
Yes, I chicken out. I guess I’ll just have to cope with the curiosity. Who knows? Maybe she’ll volunteer the information sometime. I place the odds of that only slightly higher than Asha spilling the beans, which is a little higher than the probability of hell freezing over. Neither Asha nor Daenerys are exactly the type to reveal someone else’s secrets.
“Have you?” Daenerys sounds amused.
“Um…” I look at my luggage, going over everything in my head, trying to figure out whether I really remember packing all the important things, or if I just think I do. My response wasn’t *precisely* a fib. Whenever I travel anywhere, no matter how certain I think I am, or how many times I check, I always worry that I’ve forgotten something vital. I *think* I’ve got everything I need, but… I guess it can’t hurt to check. Okay: train tickets, laptop, purse, phone, iPod, lecture notes… Yep, everything seems to be there. And clothes, of course, but I’m not really worried about those. I have plenty of stuff still at home. Home. Huh. It almost seems strange to be going back to Sheffield; to my family. I wonder if I’ll feel different when I get there. (I wonder if I’ll revert to the person I was before.) I put that thought aside for now and give Daenerys a relieved smile. “No, it doesn’t look like it.”
She laughs now.
“With all the double and triple-checking you did, I’d be surprised if you had,” she teases gently, briefly resting her hand on my shoulder. I blush.
“I just worry, that’s all,” I say, feeling a little self-conscious.
(Part of me - a small part - is still waiting for the sneer, for the humour to turn mean and mocking, but I push that part aside with barely any effort at all. I wonder if it will ever disappear completely, or if it’s always going to be lurking there at the back of my mind, oozing doubt and fear and distrust. For the moment, I don’t think it matters. I trust Daenerys, and I know she’s never going to hurt me. The rest… That’s just going to take time. I’ve come so far already, and as long as I have friends like Daenerys by my side, I know I can make it the rest of the way. I just need to be patient.)
“It wouldn’t be the end of the world if you had,” she says cheerfully. “There’s plenty of time before your train. I could always take your keys and nip back to retrieve anything important. Assuming you trust me with your keys, that is.”
“Of course I do,” I say immediately, feeling strangely choked up. She really is such a good friend. “Thanks for the offer. And thank you for helping me to the station.” It’s not like I couldn’t have managed to lug all my bags here by myself, but it would have been pretty awkward. It’s just so much easier with two people.
“You’re very welcome,” Daenerys says. “It’s really no trouble. I had a few things to do in town anyway.” Her voice softens as she continues: “Besides, this way I get to say a proper goodbye to you.”
“Well, I appreciate it,” I tell her, wondering when it got so warm in here. I guess the station staff must have turned the heating up or something. Maybe that’s why my face feels so hot. Even Daenerys is looking a little flushed - I guess she must be feeling the heat too. Without really intending to move, I reach out and take her hand. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” I say, marvelling at my own boldness. My heart is pounding, but I don’t think it’s embarrassment I’m feeling right now. It’s just… She’s such a good friend, and it’s suddenly vitally important that I make sure she knows how much she means to me. Especially when I’m not going to see her until the new year. I know it’s not that long, not really, but right now that’s starting to feel like an age, and I… I’m really going to miss her. “I’m so glad I met you.”
“I’m glad I met you, too,” she says, almost whispering the words, and her eyes are so, so wide as she looks at me with an expression I can’t quite decipher. There’s something startled, something fond there. (Something deeper than the sea.) Instinctively, I take a step towards her, as if decreasing the distance between us will bring some strange form of enlightenment.
“I…” I begin, and then stop, not sure where I was going to go from there. I meet her gaze helplessly, hoping she can somehow, miraculously, tell me what’s going through my head.
She draws a sharp breath, almost a gasp, leaning in as if she’s going to whisper secrets in my ear. My skin practically tingles with anticipation…
(I don’t understand what’s happening to me. Why does it feel like the whole world is holding its breath? Am I coming down with something? Is that why I feel like a stiff breeze could bowl me over? Is that why I feel like I’m standing on the surface of the sun?)
But then she pulls back again, practically tearing her hand from mine and running it through her already perfect hair. She gives me a distracted smile, her expression a little strained around the edges.
“So,” she says, and it might be my imagination, but I half-fancy she sounds a little breathless. (I guess it really is hot in here - it’s not just that I’m in the grip of some strange fever.) “Do you have any plans to meet up with Margaery over the holidays?”
“Oh!” I feel a jolt, like gravity has just reasserted its hold on me, slamming me back down to earth with a thump. “Um, no definite plans at the moment, but she said she might be up north for a New Year’s party. If so, she’ll probably stop by. She’s going to let me know.”
I feel oddly guilty, probably because I haven’t really thought about Margaery at all over the last couple of days. I’ve just been so busy, what with uni and work and packing and stuff. And spending time with my friends, of course. I resolve to text her when I’m on the train. And to spend some time working on her Christmas present. If she does come up sometime over the holidays, I really need to get it finished.
“That’s good,” Daenerys says, still sounding a little dazed. She pulls herself together with a visible effort, recovering something like her usual composure as she abruptly starts fishing around in her bag. “Speaking of the holidays, I hope you don’t mind, but I, uh, got you a little something.” When she pulls her hand out of her bag, she’s clutching a neatly-wrapped parcel. She holds it out a little awkwardly. “Happy christmas,” she says brightly.
I stare at the parcel, utterly flummoxed. The wrapping paper features cheerful-looking dragons wearing festive hats and toasting what I think are chestnuts in their flames. The whole thing is tied up with silver ribbon.
Belatedly, it occurs to me that I should probably take the offered package from her outstretched hand. Honestly! Where are my manners?
“Oh, um, thank you.” I shift bags around so I can clutch her present with both hands, resisting the urge to shake it and prod at it to try to figure out what it is. Daenerys got me a christmas present? Warmth kindles in my chest, and I find myself smiling so broadly I can feel the tension in my cheeks. Daenerys got me a christmas present! “Thank you so much!” I manage to say, and then a horrible realisation crashes through my mind. “But I didn’t get you anything! Well, I kind of started something, but I left it too late and it’s not finished, and… and…”
“Breathe, Sansa,” Daenerys says, her voice gentle. I take her advice. After a moment or two, she continues speaking.“It’s alright - I wasn’t expecting anything in return. Honestly, this was a spur of the moment purchase. I just saw it and, well…” She takes a breath. “I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will,” I say, managing to recover some of my equilibrium. I take a deep breath, and then ask: “Do you mind if I open it now?”
“Not at all,” she says, although a touch of apprehension shows in her eyes. Maybe it would be more proper to wait until I’m on the train, or at least until she’s no longer standing right there in front of me, but I just don’t know if I can hang on that long. I’m absolutely *dying* to know what it is. After a brief interlude of dithering, I push my hesitation aside and dive right in.
Well, okay; not *quite* dive in. No matter how curious I am, I can’t quite bring myself to just tear through the wrapping paper. Not after the effort she’s made. Besides, I really like the design. I think I want to keep it. I carefully ease off the ribbon and slide the edge of my thumbnail along the sellotape to lift it before slowly unfolding the paper. My anticipation mounts as I peel it back to reveal… a book? A large hard-backed book; beautifully finished and illustrated. I turn it over in my hands, studying it. I rub my thumb over the embossed title and author’s name.
“The Kushiel’s Legacy omnibus edition,” I breathe, my tone somewhere between question and observation.
“You seemed to enjoy the ones you’ve read so far,” she says, sounding a little apprehensive. “I saw this and I thought you might like to have your own copy.” She pauses a moment, and then continues all in a rush. “I hope it’s okay. I-“
“It’s wonderful,” I say firmly, looking up at her with a smile that falters as a realisation hits me. “But it must have…” It must have cost a *bomb*. “I mean, I love it, I really do, but I don’t know if I can accept it.” Although even as I say the words, my hands are curling possessively around the book and I honestly don’t know if I actually have the willpower to hand it back again.
“It was in the sale,” she says quickly. “And of course you can accept it.” Her resolve wavers visibly, uncertainty filling her eyes. “If you want to, of course.”
“I do,” I say helplessly, unable to stop myself from clutching it to my chest. “It’s *gorgeous*.”
She relaxes at the sincerity of my admiration (and possibly at my obvious possessiveness), looking at me in a way that makes me catch my breath.
“Then you should definitely keep it,” she says decisively. “I’m so glad you like it.”
“I really do,” I say fervently. “Thank you so much. It’s a wonderful present.”
“You’re very welcome,” she says, her eyes twinkling with happiness. “Happy christmas, Sansa.”
“Happy christmas,” I echo.
Somehow, I resist the urge to crack the cover right away and start reading, held in check by nothing more than the vestiges of politeness. (Well, and the fact that as much as I’ll undoubtedly enjoy savouring the book, I’m enjoying Daenerys’ company more.) I guess I can wait until I get on the train. Maybe. Hopefully. And then I’ll have the whole holiday. Although I’m not sure I really want to risk any of my family asking me what it is I’m reading. God, how would I even begin to explain? Especially to my mum! My face heats just thinking about it. (Well, heats up even more than it already was.)
Pushing aside my ridiculous embarrassment over something that hasn’t even happened yet (and resolving to take every precaution to keep it from the prying eyes of my family) I carefully stow the book in my satchel, wrapping it in a carrier bag to protect it from scratches and scrapes. The wrapping paper I tuck into a pocket of my backpack. Daenerys watches the whole production with obvious amusement, but forbears to comment.
“Right,” she says when I’ve finished, her tone decisive. “Let’s find somewhere to sit.” Casting about for somewhere suitable, her gaze lights on something that makes her eyes twinkle. “Want to check out Hot Coffee’s competition?”
A coffee would go down pretty well right now; especially a coffee that someone else makes while I put my feet up and relax. More than that, though, I’m pleased and slightly touched that she apparently really does intend to stick around to see me off. Even though, thanks to my paranoid over-preparedness, we got here *way* too early for my train.
“I’d love that,” I say. “As long as I’m not keeping you from your errands.”
She waves a hand airily. “You’re not, don’t worry. I don’t have all that much to do.” She leans in and snags the handle of my suitcase, tugging it along before I can so much as protest, let alone take it myself. “Besides,” she says, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Spending time with you is much more fun than tending to errands. Trust me, you’re doing me a favour.”
Her good humour is infectious. I grin back at her, snatching up my sports bag (inherited from Rob) before she can reach for that too.
“Oh, well. In that case, carry on.”
And as we make our merry way towards the coffee shop, it hits me all over again: I’m really going to miss her. I’m going to miss all of them; all my newfound friends. (But she’s the one I’m going to miss the most.) I miss my family too, though, and I’m really looking forward to seeing them, even though I can hardly believe that in a couple of hours or so I’m going to be back in Sheffield.
I’m just glad I have the chance to spend a little more time with my friend - my good friend; no, my *best* friend - before I go.
* * * * *
By the time the train is pulling into the station, I’m already standing at the door, waiting impatiently for it to unlock and let me off. (I’ve already checked, double-checked and triple-checked to make sure I’m not about to leave anything on the train.) It started when the ticket inspector came around calling out “Tickets and passes please,” in a broad Yorkshire accent, the feeling building within me as the train carried me closer and closer to my destination. Now, seeing all those familiar nearly-there places passing by and receding into the distance, I actually, really, *truly* feel like I’m coming home.
I’ve already pushed down the little window in the door, and as the platform comes into view I reach through it - even though you’re supposed to wait until the train has come to a complete stop before doing so - and wrap my fingers around the door handle. Somehow, I’m unwilling to waste even so much as the couple of seconds it would take if I waited until the proper time. How rebellious of me! I find myself gripping the cold metal tightly, as if that can somehow communicate my sudden urgency to the driver, or even to the train itself; like that can somehow speed the process up. I know it’s silly, but I do it anyway. I just can’t help it.
I just want to be *home*!
The train drifts lazily to a halt, and it seems like half an eternity goes by before the doors unlock with a loud thunk. I push the handle down and start to fling the door wide open, checking the motion as I belatedly remember to make sure that no one’s standing in its path. Fortunately, no one is. I’d feel absolutely *horrible* if I managed to hurt someone. With that thought comes a certain caution - the return of my natural caution, perhaps - and, no matter how much I want to rush off full tilt, I make myself step down slowly and carefully from the train. It really wouldn’t do to fall and break something, or to lose one of my many bags down the gap between the train and the platform, or any one of the other horrible things that would put a damper on the holidays.
I spot a familiar figure waiting on the platform and try to wave, but almost end up destabilising my precariously balanced load. I think maybe I should wait until I’m down on solid ground before trying to attract my brother’s attention. However seems to have spotted me anyway, because he starts to head in my direction.
“Hey there, little sister,” Rob says as he draws near, reaching past me to grab the more precariously balanced of my bags. I let him take them, impulsively stepping into his arms and giving him a quick hug. I feel him start a little, perhaps in surprise, but he dutifully hugs me back loosely. “Welcome home.”
“It’s so good to be back,” I sigh with feeling. I’ve missed you. All of you.”
“We’ve all missed you, too,” he says, and in that moment, he sounds so much like Dad that it almost brings a tear to my eye. But I swallow back the pang of sadness, determined not to let anything spoil my homecoming. He steps back and gives me a slightly lopsided grin. “Although you might want to see just how glad you are when you step into the Winterfell war zone.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Is it really that bad?”
He grimaces. “Not really, but… Let’s just say there have been a few differences of opinion here and there. Nothing to worry about, but consider yourself warned.”
“Alright, I will.” Dire as the warning sounds, it doesn’t quench my enthusiasm one bit. I doubt it’s as bad as he’s making out. Nice as it would be if everyone just got along, you’ve got to expect a *few* spats here and there when you gather together a bunch of relatives who haven’t seen each other in a while. Especially when those people are as, ah, possessed of strong opinions as the Starks and the Tullys.
I’m sure everything will be fine.
Even if a pang goes through me at the thought of the one family member who won’t be there. Who will never be there again. I try not to dwell on that thought.
Having dutifully delivered his warning, Rob looks me up and down.
“Have you gotten taller?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with humour. It’s a long-running ‘joke’ of his. I roll my own eyes.
“Maybe you’ve just gotten shorter,” I retort.
He laughs. “Maybe I have. It must be all that hunching over business plans and the like.” He wrests the sports bag from my grasp and pretends to stumble as he takes the full weight. “Jesus, Sansa!” he exclaims, his eyebrows shooting up as he hefts it onto his shoulder. “What have you got in here? Rocks?”
“Books,” I say, shrugging. “Clothes. My sewing kit. The usual.”
“Well, it weighs a tonne,” he mock-grumbles. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can even lift it.”
“I’m not a weakling,” I say, feeling obscurely - and strangely - offended by the implication that I’m not capable of carrying my own bags.
“I didn’t say you were,” he replies, and if he thinks anything of the fact that I’m actually loudly arguing the point with him, rather than merely ducking my head and mumbling, it doesn’t show in his genially amused expression. “Just that this is bloody heavy. Why didn’t you pack the books in your suitcase? At least that thing has wheels.”
“I did!” I protest, perhaps a little too defensively. “But they wouldn’t all fit. Well, they would, but then I wouldn’t have been able to lift the thing. I thought it was better to spread the load a little.”
“Alright, alright,” he says placatingly, giving me a look I can’t quite interpret. “They’re your bags; you can pack them however you want.” He puts on a long-suffering expression and sighs heavily. “Don’t mind your poor aged brother and his creaking bones.”
“Clown,” I accuse, laughing.
“I’ll have you know I am the epitome of sober dignity,” he says loftily, proceeding to completely undermine his words by pulling the most horrendous face at me; crossed-eyes and all.
“If the wind changes, you’ll be stuck like that,” I warn.
“Arya did say Winterfell would look better with a few gargoyles,” he muses, mock-seriously. “But… I don’t think Talisa would appreciate my new look.”
Huh?
“Talisa?” I repeat, confused. I don’t think I know anyone by that name…
“Oh,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking away briefly before he meets my eyes with what can only be described as a slightly sheepish grin. “Well, this is as good a time as any, I suppose. I’ve, ah, met someone. A woman, I mean.” His grin broadens, and I swear it’s like the sun comes out behind his eyes, lighting up his whole face. “We’re together.”
“Congratulations!” I say, the sight of his unalloyed happiness bringing a smile to my own lips. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks, Sis.”
There’s a hint of something in his voice that might be wonder. Like he can’t believe his good fortune. And the look in his eyes… That’s the look of a man in love.
“So, tell me about her. What’s she like? How did you meet? How long have you been together?”
It’s suddenly vital to me that I know everything about this woman who’s apparently captured my brother’s heart. I wonder what she’s like; what sort of a person she is. I wonder if I’ll ever get to meet her. I hope we get along. (I hope she likes me.)
“I can do better than that,” Rob, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve brought her home with me for the holidays. And, well, I wanted the two of you to have the chance to get to know each other a little bit before we get to the madhouse that is Winterfell right now. So, she’s waiting in the car.” He hesitates, his brows drawing together slightly in a not-quite-frown. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay,” I say, touched by his thoughtfulness. I wonder if it’s on my account or hers. Honestly, I suspect a little of both, and I can’t say that I blame him. It can’t be easy for her, thrust into the middle of a raucous family gathering like this.
“Good.” He sounds relieved. “Shall we head for the car, then?”
“Yes, let’s!” I nod enthusiastically, driven by a heady mix of curiosity about Talisa and impatience to be on our way to Winterfell.
He laughs softly clearly amused at me, but all he says aloud is: “Okay, it’s this way.”
* * * * *
The car door opens as we draw near, and a woman steps out, striding determinedly towards us. She’s tall, although not as tall as me, with dark hair that falls to her shoulders in a mass of waves. Her body is swathed in a heavy winter coat of bright, cheery letter-box red. Somehow, it manages to look striking, rather than garish.
“I was starting to wonder if I should send out a search party,” my brother’s girlfriend says, sounding amused. Before Rob can reply, she embraces him - somehow managing to not to dislodge the bags he’s carrying for me - and kisses him familiarly on the lips. I politely avert my gaze.
“I wasn’t that long,” Rob protests.
“Maybe I just missed you,” she murmurs back, and I find myself blushing at the low, smoky note in her voice. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all… Rob coughs; perhaps embarrassment, perhaps reminding her that they’re not alone. Or, perhaps he just has a cough. In any case, Talisa says: “And you must be Sansa.”
“Nice to-” I start to say, turning to her with what I hope isn’t too awkward a smile, but before I can finish the sentence, I find myself wrapped in an enthusiastic hug. A small, startled noise escapes my lips (okay, it’s a squeak; I totally squeak in surprise), but I recover my composure as best as I can, returning the hug a little stiffly. “Meet you,” I finish, my voice a little muffled by her hair. (Her hair smells nice; hints of jasmine and something else I can’t identify. Absently, I wonder what shampoo she uses.)
“Nice to meet you too!” she replies, squeezing me tightly (so tightly that her breasts press against mine, the full-body contact making me jump; making me think of those hugs from Daenerys that, while just as close, fell nowhere near as *awkward*), before releasing me again to take Rob’s hand. I fight - unsuccessfully - to keep the flush from my cheeks.
“Sansa’s not really one for hugs,” Rob tells Talisa, his tone almost apologetic.
“Oh! I’m sorry, Sansa,” Talisa says. She gives me a rueful grin as she releases me. “I’m afraid I’m an inveterate hugger: I hug pretty much everyone. I’ll try to rein it in around you, though.”
“That’s alright,” I say, her easy manner defusing some of my embarrassed awkwardness. “No need to stop on my account. Anyway,” I add, addressing the remark more to Rob than to her. “I don’t mind hugs so much these days.” Thinking of the Nottingham crowd - and when did I start thinking of my new friends that way? - I find myself relaxing even more. “It turns out that many of my new friends are also inveterate huggers.”
“That’s alright, then,” Talisa says, beaming. She nudges Rob in the side. “Do you think your mother’s forgiven me for hugging her yet?”
Rob winces. I try to gasp and chuckle at the same time, and nearly end up choking myself.
“Maybe give it a day or two,” He advises her, taking her hand in his. Twining their fingers together, he brings it to his lips to plant a kiss on the back of her glove. It’s a fond gesture; a comforting one. And one that’s completely and utterly uncharacteristic of him.
Well. Actually, I guess I don’t *know* that it’s uncharacteristic of him. I just know that I haven’t seen such gestures from him before. An easy smile, yes. The odd clap or touch to the shoulder, yes. Even a firm, manly hug if he’s really feeling expressive. But nothing quite so… so tender.
I guess I’ve never really seen him with a girlfriend before, though.
Curious, I watch Rob and Talisa together, mentally cataloguing every little detail. Anything to better help me understand the situation between them.
(Anything to better help me understand love.)
Despite the tenderness of Rob’s gesture, and the obvious delight with which Talisa receives it, there’s a tension in the set of his mouth and around her eyes. That tension speaks of greater cause for concern than an unwanted, badly-received hug. Do Talisa and Mum… not get on? I almost wonder that aloud, but catch myself before the tactless question passes my lips. Let’s *not* start this holiday off by putting my foot squarely in my mouth. I’m sure there’ll be ample opportunity for that later.
And to figure out how Talisa and Mum are getting along. If they’re not, well, that’s going to be pretty obvious.
A particularly fierce gust of wind interrupts my thoughts, knifing right through me despite my many layers of winter armour, making me shiver.
“Shall we get in the car?” I say, half-surprised that my teeth aren’t chattering with cold.
“Fantastic idea,” Talisa says, disentangling herself from Rob. Giving me a wink, she continues. “I don’t know why you’re keeping us standing around out here, Rob. I mean, the car is right there!”
“You’re the one who got out of the car in the first place!” Rob protests, but I can hear the laughter in his voice; see the fond smile hovering over his lips as he heaves a long-suffering sigh. For Jane’s part, she sneaks a glance back over her shoulder at him as she tosses her hair imperiously, and there’s something soft in her eyes that belies the wry twist of her lips.
I feel my own eyes widen as the realisation hits me; as I take all those little details I’ve been cataloguing and follow them through to their logical conclusion.
They’re in love. Like, for real, forever, *true* love; the kind that leads from ‘once upon a time’ to ‘happily ever after.’ It’s just like me and… and Margaery.
Wow.
That’s amazing. That’s fantastic. That’s *wonderful*. I’m so very happy for them.
(And I dismiss the brief, sharp pang of something that can’t possibly be jealousy. It just can’t be. I mean, I’ve found my true love. It doesn’t matter that she’s a woman. It doesn’t matter that it can’t lead to anything in the long-term. I’ve found love, and that’s enough. It’s enough for me.)
I can’t wait to find out how they found each other.
Author:Louisa
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Pairing: Sansa/Daenerys
Author's note: Well, it's been a while since I last posted. Sorry about that. I'm hoping to keep to a more regular update schedule from now on.
I could just ask her.
I mean, she’s my friend. At worst, all she’ll say is that it’s none of my beeswax, and she doesn’t want to talk about it. And she’d probably phrase it more politely than that. I doubt she’ll mind me asking a question, even if it’s one she doesn’t want to answer. I should just ask her and get it out of the way. She probably won’t tell me, but then again she might. There’s a chance I’d actually be able to assuage the curiosity that’s pretty much eating me alive.
What on earth is going on between Daenerys and Asha?
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Daenerys’ voice makes me jump a little. I try to cover my startled reaction with a smile. (Honestly, it isn’t hard to smile when I look at her. It never is.)
“Oh, um, nothing exciting.” The question hovers on the tip of my tongue, waiting to be given voice. “Just wondering if I’ve forgotten anything.”
Yes, I chicken out. I guess I’ll just have to cope with the curiosity. Who knows? Maybe she’ll volunteer the information sometime. I place the odds of that only slightly higher than Asha spilling the beans, which is a little higher than the probability of hell freezing over. Neither Asha nor Daenerys are exactly the type to reveal someone else’s secrets.
“Have you?” Daenerys sounds amused.
“Um…” I look at my luggage, going over everything in my head, trying to figure out whether I really remember packing all the important things, or if I just think I do. My response wasn’t *precisely* a fib. Whenever I travel anywhere, no matter how certain I think I am, or how many times I check, I always worry that I’ve forgotten something vital. I *think* I’ve got everything I need, but… I guess it can’t hurt to check. Okay: train tickets, laptop, purse, phone, iPod, lecture notes… Yep, everything seems to be there. And clothes, of course, but I’m not really worried about those. I have plenty of stuff still at home. Home. Huh. It almost seems strange to be going back to Sheffield; to my family. I wonder if I’ll feel different when I get there. (I wonder if I’ll revert to the person I was before.) I put that thought aside for now and give Daenerys a relieved smile. “No, it doesn’t look like it.”
She laughs now.
“With all the double and triple-checking you did, I’d be surprised if you had,” she teases gently, briefly resting her hand on my shoulder. I blush.
“I just worry, that’s all,” I say, feeling a little self-conscious.
(Part of me - a small part - is still waiting for the sneer, for the humour to turn mean and mocking, but I push that part aside with barely any effort at all. I wonder if it will ever disappear completely, or if it’s always going to be lurking there at the back of my mind, oozing doubt and fear and distrust. For the moment, I don’t think it matters. I trust Daenerys, and I know she’s never going to hurt me. The rest… That’s just going to take time. I’ve come so far already, and as long as I have friends like Daenerys by my side, I know I can make it the rest of the way. I just need to be patient.)
“It wouldn’t be the end of the world if you had,” she says cheerfully. “There’s plenty of time before your train. I could always take your keys and nip back to retrieve anything important. Assuming you trust me with your keys, that is.”
“Of course I do,” I say immediately, feeling strangely choked up. She really is such a good friend. “Thanks for the offer. And thank you for helping me to the station.” It’s not like I couldn’t have managed to lug all my bags here by myself, but it would have been pretty awkward. It’s just so much easier with two people.
“You’re very welcome,” Daenerys says. “It’s really no trouble. I had a few things to do in town anyway.” Her voice softens as she continues: “Besides, this way I get to say a proper goodbye to you.”
“Well, I appreciate it,” I tell her, wondering when it got so warm in here. I guess the station staff must have turned the heating up or something. Maybe that’s why my face feels so hot. Even Daenerys is looking a little flushed - I guess she must be feeling the heat too. Without really intending to move, I reach out and take her hand. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” I say, marvelling at my own boldness. My heart is pounding, but I don’t think it’s embarrassment I’m feeling right now. It’s just… She’s such a good friend, and it’s suddenly vitally important that I make sure she knows how much she means to me. Especially when I’m not going to see her until the new year. I know it’s not that long, not really, but right now that’s starting to feel like an age, and I… I’m really going to miss her. “I’m so glad I met you.”
“I’m glad I met you, too,” she says, almost whispering the words, and her eyes are so, so wide as she looks at me with an expression I can’t quite decipher. There’s something startled, something fond there. (Something deeper than the sea.) Instinctively, I take a step towards her, as if decreasing the distance between us will bring some strange form of enlightenment.
“I…” I begin, and then stop, not sure where I was going to go from there. I meet her gaze helplessly, hoping she can somehow, miraculously, tell me what’s going through my head.
She draws a sharp breath, almost a gasp, leaning in as if she’s going to whisper secrets in my ear. My skin practically tingles with anticipation…
(I don’t understand what’s happening to me. Why does it feel like the whole world is holding its breath? Am I coming down with something? Is that why I feel like a stiff breeze could bowl me over? Is that why I feel like I’m standing on the surface of the sun?)
But then she pulls back again, practically tearing her hand from mine and running it through her already perfect hair. She gives me a distracted smile, her expression a little strained around the edges.
“So,” she says, and it might be my imagination, but I half-fancy she sounds a little breathless. (I guess it really is hot in here - it’s not just that I’m in the grip of some strange fever.) “Do you have any plans to meet up with Margaery over the holidays?”
“Oh!” I feel a jolt, like gravity has just reasserted its hold on me, slamming me back down to earth with a thump. “Um, no definite plans at the moment, but she said she might be up north for a New Year’s party. If so, she’ll probably stop by. She’s going to let me know.”
I feel oddly guilty, probably because I haven’t really thought about Margaery at all over the last couple of days. I’ve just been so busy, what with uni and work and packing and stuff. And spending time with my friends, of course. I resolve to text her when I’m on the train. And to spend some time working on her Christmas present. If she does come up sometime over the holidays, I really need to get it finished.
“That’s good,” Daenerys says, still sounding a little dazed. She pulls herself together with a visible effort, recovering something like her usual composure as she abruptly starts fishing around in her bag. “Speaking of the holidays, I hope you don’t mind, but I, uh, got you a little something.” When she pulls her hand out of her bag, she’s clutching a neatly-wrapped parcel. She holds it out a little awkwardly. “Happy christmas,” she says brightly.
I stare at the parcel, utterly flummoxed. The wrapping paper features cheerful-looking dragons wearing festive hats and toasting what I think are chestnuts in their flames. The whole thing is tied up with silver ribbon.
Belatedly, it occurs to me that I should probably take the offered package from her outstretched hand. Honestly! Where are my manners?
“Oh, um, thank you.” I shift bags around so I can clutch her present with both hands, resisting the urge to shake it and prod at it to try to figure out what it is. Daenerys got me a christmas present? Warmth kindles in my chest, and I find myself smiling so broadly I can feel the tension in my cheeks. Daenerys got me a christmas present! “Thank you so much!” I manage to say, and then a horrible realisation crashes through my mind. “But I didn’t get you anything! Well, I kind of started something, but I left it too late and it’s not finished, and… and…”
“Breathe, Sansa,” Daenerys says, her voice gentle. I take her advice. After a moment or two, she continues speaking.“It’s alright - I wasn’t expecting anything in return. Honestly, this was a spur of the moment purchase. I just saw it and, well…” She takes a breath. “I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will,” I say, managing to recover some of my equilibrium. I take a deep breath, and then ask: “Do you mind if I open it now?”
“Not at all,” she says, although a touch of apprehension shows in her eyes. Maybe it would be more proper to wait until I’m on the train, or at least until she’s no longer standing right there in front of me, but I just don’t know if I can hang on that long. I’m absolutely *dying* to know what it is. After a brief interlude of dithering, I push my hesitation aside and dive right in.
Well, okay; not *quite* dive in. No matter how curious I am, I can’t quite bring myself to just tear through the wrapping paper. Not after the effort she’s made. Besides, I really like the design. I think I want to keep it. I carefully ease off the ribbon and slide the edge of my thumbnail along the sellotape to lift it before slowly unfolding the paper. My anticipation mounts as I peel it back to reveal… a book? A large hard-backed book; beautifully finished and illustrated. I turn it over in my hands, studying it. I rub my thumb over the embossed title and author’s name.
“The Kushiel’s Legacy omnibus edition,” I breathe, my tone somewhere between question and observation.
“You seemed to enjoy the ones you’ve read so far,” she says, sounding a little apprehensive. “I saw this and I thought you might like to have your own copy.” She pauses a moment, and then continues all in a rush. “I hope it’s okay. I-“
“It’s wonderful,” I say firmly, looking up at her with a smile that falters as a realisation hits me. “But it must have…” It must have cost a *bomb*. “I mean, I love it, I really do, but I don’t know if I can accept it.” Although even as I say the words, my hands are curling possessively around the book and I honestly don’t know if I actually have the willpower to hand it back again.
“It was in the sale,” she says quickly. “And of course you can accept it.” Her resolve wavers visibly, uncertainty filling her eyes. “If you want to, of course.”
“I do,” I say helplessly, unable to stop myself from clutching it to my chest. “It’s *gorgeous*.”
She relaxes at the sincerity of my admiration (and possibly at my obvious possessiveness), looking at me in a way that makes me catch my breath.
“Then you should definitely keep it,” she says decisively. “I’m so glad you like it.”
“I really do,” I say fervently. “Thank you so much. It’s a wonderful present.”
“You’re very welcome,” she says, her eyes twinkling with happiness. “Happy christmas, Sansa.”
“Happy christmas,” I echo.
Somehow, I resist the urge to crack the cover right away and start reading, held in check by nothing more than the vestiges of politeness. (Well, and the fact that as much as I’ll undoubtedly enjoy savouring the book, I’m enjoying Daenerys’ company more.) I guess I can wait until I get on the train. Maybe. Hopefully. And then I’ll have the whole holiday. Although I’m not sure I really want to risk any of my family asking me what it is I’m reading. God, how would I even begin to explain? Especially to my mum! My face heats just thinking about it. (Well, heats up even more than it already was.)
Pushing aside my ridiculous embarrassment over something that hasn’t even happened yet (and resolving to take every precaution to keep it from the prying eyes of my family) I carefully stow the book in my satchel, wrapping it in a carrier bag to protect it from scratches and scrapes. The wrapping paper I tuck into a pocket of my backpack. Daenerys watches the whole production with obvious amusement, but forbears to comment.
“Right,” she says when I’ve finished, her tone decisive. “Let’s find somewhere to sit.” Casting about for somewhere suitable, her gaze lights on something that makes her eyes twinkle. “Want to check out Hot Coffee’s competition?”
A coffee would go down pretty well right now; especially a coffee that someone else makes while I put my feet up and relax. More than that, though, I’m pleased and slightly touched that she apparently really does intend to stick around to see me off. Even though, thanks to my paranoid over-preparedness, we got here *way* too early for my train.
“I’d love that,” I say. “As long as I’m not keeping you from your errands.”
She waves a hand airily. “You’re not, don’t worry. I don’t have all that much to do.” She leans in and snags the handle of my suitcase, tugging it along before I can so much as protest, let alone take it myself. “Besides,” she says, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Spending time with you is much more fun than tending to errands. Trust me, you’re doing me a favour.”
Her good humour is infectious. I grin back at her, snatching up my sports bag (inherited from Rob) before she can reach for that too.
“Oh, well. In that case, carry on.”
And as we make our merry way towards the coffee shop, it hits me all over again: I’m really going to miss her. I’m going to miss all of them; all my newfound friends. (But she’s the one I’m going to miss the most.) I miss my family too, though, and I’m really looking forward to seeing them, even though I can hardly believe that in a couple of hours or so I’m going to be back in Sheffield.
I’m just glad I have the chance to spend a little more time with my friend - my good friend; no, my *best* friend - before I go.
* * * * *
By the time the train is pulling into the station, I’m already standing at the door, waiting impatiently for it to unlock and let me off. (I’ve already checked, double-checked and triple-checked to make sure I’m not about to leave anything on the train.) It started when the ticket inspector came around calling out “Tickets and passes please,” in a broad Yorkshire accent, the feeling building within me as the train carried me closer and closer to my destination. Now, seeing all those familiar nearly-there places passing by and receding into the distance, I actually, really, *truly* feel like I’m coming home.
I’ve already pushed down the little window in the door, and as the platform comes into view I reach through it - even though you’re supposed to wait until the train has come to a complete stop before doing so - and wrap my fingers around the door handle. Somehow, I’m unwilling to waste even so much as the couple of seconds it would take if I waited until the proper time. How rebellious of me! I find myself gripping the cold metal tightly, as if that can somehow communicate my sudden urgency to the driver, or even to the train itself; like that can somehow speed the process up. I know it’s silly, but I do it anyway. I just can’t help it.
I just want to be *home*!
The train drifts lazily to a halt, and it seems like half an eternity goes by before the doors unlock with a loud thunk. I push the handle down and start to fling the door wide open, checking the motion as I belatedly remember to make sure that no one’s standing in its path. Fortunately, no one is. I’d feel absolutely *horrible* if I managed to hurt someone. With that thought comes a certain caution - the return of my natural caution, perhaps - and, no matter how much I want to rush off full tilt, I make myself step down slowly and carefully from the train. It really wouldn’t do to fall and break something, or to lose one of my many bags down the gap between the train and the platform, or any one of the other horrible things that would put a damper on the holidays.
I spot a familiar figure waiting on the platform and try to wave, but almost end up destabilising my precariously balanced load. I think maybe I should wait until I’m down on solid ground before trying to attract my brother’s attention. However seems to have spotted me anyway, because he starts to head in my direction.
“Hey there, little sister,” Rob says as he draws near, reaching past me to grab the more precariously balanced of my bags. I let him take them, impulsively stepping into his arms and giving him a quick hug. I feel him start a little, perhaps in surprise, but he dutifully hugs me back loosely. “Welcome home.”
“It’s so good to be back,” I sigh with feeling. I’ve missed you. All of you.”
“We’ve all missed you, too,” he says, and in that moment, he sounds so much like Dad that it almost brings a tear to my eye. But I swallow back the pang of sadness, determined not to let anything spoil my homecoming. He steps back and gives me a slightly lopsided grin. “Although you might want to see just how glad you are when you step into the Winterfell war zone.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Is it really that bad?”
He grimaces. “Not really, but… Let’s just say there have been a few differences of opinion here and there. Nothing to worry about, but consider yourself warned.”
“Alright, I will.” Dire as the warning sounds, it doesn’t quench my enthusiasm one bit. I doubt it’s as bad as he’s making out. Nice as it would be if everyone just got along, you’ve got to expect a *few* spats here and there when you gather together a bunch of relatives who haven’t seen each other in a while. Especially when those people are as, ah, possessed of strong opinions as the Starks and the Tullys.
I’m sure everything will be fine.
Even if a pang goes through me at the thought of the one family member who won’t be there. Who will never be there again. I try not to dwell on that thought.
Having dutifully delivered his warning, Rob looks me up and down.
“Have you gotten taller?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with humour. It’s a long-running ‘joke’ of his. I roll my own eyes.
“Maybe you’ve just gotten shorter,” I retort.
He laughs. “Maybe I have. It must be all that hunching over business plans and the like.” He wrests the sports bag from my grasp and pretends to stumble as he takes the full weight. “Jesus, Sansa!” he exclaims, his eyebrows shooting up as he hefts it onto his shoulder. “What have you got in here? Rocks?”
“Books,” I say, shrugging. “Clothes. My sewing kit. The usual.”
“Well, it weighs a tonne,” he mock-grumbles. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can even lift it.”
“I’m not a weakling,” I say, feeling obscurely - and strangely - offended by the implication that I’m not capable of carrying my own bags.
“I didn’t say you were,” he replies, and if he thinks anything of the fact that I’m actually loudly arguing the point with him, rather than merely ducking my head and mumbling, it doesn’t show in his genially amused expression. “Just that this is bloody heavy. Why didn’t you pack the books in your suitcase? At least that thing has wheels.”
“I did!” I protest, perhaps a little too defensively. “But they wouldn’t all fit. Well, they would, but then I wouldn’t have been able to lift the thing. I thought it was better to spread the load a little.”
“Alright, alright,” he says placatingly, giving me a look I can’t quite interpret. “They’re your bags; you can pack them however you want.” He puts on a long-suffering expression and sighs heavily. “Don’t mind your poor aged brother and his creaking bones.”
“Clown,” I accuse, laughing.
“I’ll have you know I am the epitome of sober dignity,” he says loftily, proceeding to completely undermine his words by pulling the most horrendous face at me; crossed-eyes and all.
“If the wind changes, you’ll be stuck like that,” I warn.
“Arya did say Winterfell would look better with a few gargoyles,” he muses, mock-seriously. “But… I don’t think Talisa would appreciate my new look.”
Huh?
“Talisa?” I repeat, confused. I don’t think I know anyone by that name…
“Oh,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking away briefly before he meets my eyes with what can only be described as a slightly sheepish grin. “Well, this is as good a time as any, I suppose. I’ve, ah, met someone. A woman, I mean.” His grin broadens, and I swear it’s like the sun comes out behind his eyes, lighting up his whole face. “We’re together.”
“Congratulations!” I say, the sight of his unalloyed happiness bringing a smile to my own lips. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks, Sis.”
There’s a hint of something in his voice that might be wonder. Like he can’t believe his good fortune. And the look in his eyes… That’s the look of a man in love.
“So, tell me about her. What’s she like? How did you meet? How long have you been together?”
It’s suddenly vital to me that I know everything about this woman who’s apparently captured my brother’s heart. I wonder what she’s like; what sort of a person she is. I wonder if I’ll ever get to meet her. I hope we get along. (I hope she likes me.)
“I can do better than that,” Rob, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve brought her home with me for the holidays. And, well, I wanted the two of you to have the chance to get to know each other a little bit before we get to the madhouse that is Winterfell right now. So, she’s waiting in the car.” He hesitates, his brows drawing together slightly in a not-quite-frown. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay,” I say, touched by his thoughtfulness. I wonder if it’s on my account or hers. Honestly, I suspect a little of both, and I can’t say that I blame him. It can’t be easy for her, thrust into the middle of a raucous family gathering like this.
“Good.” He sounds relieved. “Shall we head for the car, then?”
“Yes, let’s!” I nod enthusiastically, driven by a heady mix of curiosity about Talisa and impatience to be on our way to Winterfell.
He laughs softly clearly amused at me, but all he says aloud is: “Okay, it’s this way.”
* * * * *
The car door opens as we draw near, and a woman steps out, striding determinedly towards us. She’s tall, although not as tall as me, with dark hair that falls to her shoulders in a mass of waves. Her body is swathed in a heavy winter coat of bright, cheery letter-box red. Somehow, it manages to look striking, rather than garish.
“I was starting to wonder if I should send out a search party,” my brother’s girlfriend says, sounding amused. Before Rob can reply, she embraces him - somehow managing to not to dislodge the bags he’s carrying for me - and kisses him familiarly on the lips. I politely avert my gaze.
“I wasn’t that long,” Rob protests.
“Maybe I just missed you,” she murmurs back, and I find myself blushing at the low, smoky note in her voice. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all… Rob coughs; perhaps embarrassment, perhaps reminding her that they’re not alone. Or, perhaps he just has a cough. In any case, Talisa says: “And you must be Sansa.”
“Nice to-” I start to say, turning to her with what I hope isn’t too awkward a smile, but before I can finish the sentence, I find myself wrapped in an enthusiastic hug. A small, startled noise escapes my lips (okay, it’s a squeak; I totally squeak in surprise), but I recover my composure as best as I can, returning the hug a little stiffly. “Meet you,” I finish, my voice a little muffled by her hair. (Her hair smells nice; hints of jasmine and something else I can’t identify. Absently, I wonder what shampoo she uses.)
“Nice to meet you too!” she replies, squeezing me tightly (so tightly that her breasts press against mine, the full-body contact making me jump; making me think of those hugs from Daenerys that, while just as close, fell nowhere near as *awkward*), before releasing me again to take Rob’s hand. I fight - unsuccessfully - to keep the flush from my cheeks.
“Sansa’s not really one for hugs,” Rob tells Talisa, his tone almost apologetic.
“Oh! I’m sorry, Sansa,” Talisa says. She gives me a rueful grin as she releases me. “I’m afraid I’m an inveterate hugger: I hug pretty much everyone. I’ll try to rein it in around you, though.”
“That’s alright,” I say, her easy manner defusing some of my embarrassed awkwardness. “No need to stop on my account. Anyway,” I add, addressing the remark more to Rob than to her. “I don’t mind hugs so much these days.” Thinking of the Nottingham crowd - and when did I start thinking of my new friends that way? - I find myself relaxing even more. “It turns out that many of my new friends are also inveterate huggers.”
“That’s alright, then,” Talisa says, beaming. She nudges Rob in the side. “Do you think your mother’s forgiven me for hugging her yet?”
Rob winces. I try to gasp and chuckle at the same time, and nearly end up choking myself.
“Maybe give it a day or two,” He advises her, taking her hand in his. Twining their fingers together, he brings it to his lips to plant a kiss on the back of her glove. It’s a fond gesture; a comforting one. And one that’s completely and utterly uncharacteristic of him.
Well. Actually, I guess I don’t *know* that it’s uncharacteristic of him. I just know that I haven’t seen such gestures from him before. An easy smile, yes. The odd clap or touch to the shoulder, yes. Even a firm, manly hug if he’s really feeling expressive. But nothing quite so… so tender.
I guess I’ve never really seen him with a girlfriend before, though.
Curious, I watch Rob and Talisa together, mentally cataloguing every little detail. Anything to better help me understand the situation between them.
(Anything to better help me understand love.)
Despite the tenderness of Rob’s gesture, and the obvious delight with which Talisa receives it, there’s a tension in the set of his mouth and around her eyes. That tension speaks of greater cause for concern than an unwanted, badly-received hug. Do Talisa and Mum… not get on? I almost wonder that aloud, but catch myself before the tactless question passes my lips. Let’s *not* start this holiday off by putting my foot squarely in my mouth. I’m sure there’ll be ample opportunity for that later.
And to figure out how Talisa and Mum are getting along. If they’re not, well, that’s going to be pretty obvious.
A particularly fierce gust of wind interrupts my thoughts, knifing right through me despite my many layers of winter armour, making me shiver.
“Shall we get in the car?” I say, half-surprised that my teeth aren’t chattering with cold.
“Fantastic idea,” Talisa says, disentangling herself from Rob. Giving me a wink, she continues. “I don’t know why you’re keeping us standing around out here, Rob. I mean, the car is right there!”
“You’re the one who got out of the car in the first place!” Rob protests, but I can hear the laughter in his voice; see the fond smile hovering over his lips as he heaves a long-suffering sigh. For Jane’s part, she sneaks a glance back over her shoulder at him as she tosses her hair imperiously, and there’s something soft in her eyes that belies the wry twist of her lips.
I feel my own eyes widen as the realisation hits me; as I take all those little details I’ve been cataloguing and follow them through to their logical conclusion.
They’re in love. Like, for real, forever, *true* love; the kind that leads from ‘once upon a time’ to ‘happily ever after.’ It’s just like me and… and Margaery.
Wow.
That’s amazing. That’s fantastic. That’s *wonderful*. I’m so very happy for them.
(And I dismiss the brief, sharp pang of something that can’t possibly be jealousy. It just can’t be. I mean, I’ve found my true love. It doesn’t matter that she’s a woman. It doesn’t matter that it can’t lead to anything in the long-term. I’ve found love, and that’s enough. It’s enough for me.)
I can’t wait to find out how they found each other.