Chapter Text
A familiar song was heard as she wandered down the halls of Casterly Rock, falling from her own lips. The only time Joffrey did not bother her was when he heard that song. He knew it was because of-
Sansa took a shuddering breath in as she woke up suddenly, something beside her dream dragging her to the waking world. The dawn had not broken the sky when Jaster knocked at the door was enough to jar both women from their sleep, an ingrained instinct after the years of fear from living in Casterly Rock. However, once their sleep fogged minds realised where they were, Jeyne slumped back into her pillow with a tired, “Have a good trip.”
Settling her heart at realising it was Jaster to brought her to wakefulness, Sansa sighed hard, running a hand down her face. Memories continued to haunt her after all these years, even in her dreams. Pressing a kiss to her friend's head, Sansa climbed out of bed and went to the door. Stood with no armour for a change, was Jaster. He looked just as tired as she felt, and the man gave a crooked smile, “Morning, San'ika, nice bed hair.”
Scowling, Sansa felt how the hair was falling out of it's braid, and muttered, “I just woke up. Giving me a few to get dressed.”
The man nodded, “I'll wait for you outside.” And then he turned to go down the hall. Before closing the door, Sansa noticed the leather vambrace around his arm despite not wearing his other armour, and struggled with the warmth in her chest as she closed the door.
Getting dressed in a long skirt, trousers, and blouse, Sansa ran a comb through her hair and re-braided it. With a shawl over her shoulders, Sansa then reattached Jaster's vambrace, her thumb lingering on some of the groves before returning to her task at hand. Hefting her bag over her shoulder after lacing up her boots, Sansa quietly left the room with a last glance back at a sleeping Jeyne.
She wondered if blankets or pillows would be needed, but Sansa decided to trust that Jaster had everything prepared.
The dark sky, gently lit up by the glowing trees, greeted Sansa as she walked down the ship's ramp, Jaster off to the side. Lady was sat next to him, accepting gentle strokes with her usual calm dignity. The bonfire was a soft smoulder of smoke and embers, some people currently asleep on the ground, though she caught sight of a few sentries wandering about, so the settlement was still protected.
Looking up at her exit, Jaster smiled and jerked his head for her to follow. “We'll be taking my smaller ship, as the other one is still being used for meetings and I don't want to ruin the set up we have.”
“You have two vessels then?” Sansa wondered, falling into step beside him.
“Lek. The one we're using is similar to Myles' one, but the below deck is a little bit bigger. We'll be sleeping in there, not outside.”
Privately, Sansa was relieved. Just because she had stayed awhile in a tent when visiting Skagos, doesn't mean she overly enjoyed it. Approaching his ship, the ramp was open and Sansa took in the small space. About eight foot from wall to wall, with a ladder up to the cock pit. Some things were stored in cupboards built into the ship walls, and she noted a pile of bedding as well as a large sack. At her curious glance, Jaster explained, taking her bag for her to set it next to the pile, “That'll be my stuff and a few other things. We've got a futon to lay on the floor so we won't be sleeping on metal.”
She realised then that they would be sharing a bed again for this trip, and was startled at how much that didn't bother her as it did for their first night together. Looking over at him, Sansa saw that there was some trepidation in his expression, waiting to see if she would be upset by that, but gave him a smile and nod, “It will be nice to continue sleeping on something soft. A hard ground is not my favoured cushioning.”
Relief was apparent in his returned smile but said nothing on the topic, instead gesturing to the ladder. “Go ahead and climb up, Lady can stay down here as we fly.”
“How long is the journey?”
“No more than twenty minutes. We're just going to the other side of the mountains, so it shouldn't take too long.”
Lady seemed to appreciate that, coming into the hold, which became a tight fit now due to her large form. Sansa gave her direwolf a short kiss and a murmur of reassurance before climbing up. Jaster followed up after she stepped fully into the cock pit. Two seats were there, next to one another unlike how Myles had one behind the pilot's seat. Jaster took the one on the right, and Sansa settled into hers, buckling herself in.
Curling up in the seat, Sansa, still tired, dozed off as that familiar hum of the ship turning on began. She hadn't even realised she had fallen back to sleep – barking hounds, a wide grin, Jeyne clutching her bleeding face – until there was a hand on her shoulder, softly shaking her, “Sansa?”
Having expected Jeyne – always Jeyne who woke her up these days – her heart leapt in her throat as she tried to jerk away from the man. The hand withdrew quickly, and Sansa whipped her head around to see Jaster. He had his hands held up to show a lack of threat, soothing her fear, “You're alright, San'ika. I was just waking you up.”
Rapidly blinking a little, Sansa realised where she was and slumped a little, rubbing a hand over her face. “Apologies, Jaster.” She must have been very tired to have fallen asleep in an unfamiliar place. Or felt safe enough to... Sansa forced herself to not show the surprise on her face, deciding to think about all of that later.
Jaster waved her off, unbeknownst to her gentle but no less startling realisation, “Don't worry about. I just figured if you want to sleep a little more, I've made up the futon below.”
Decorum stated that Sansa would gracefully turn down his offer, but even with it being a few days, Sansa knew that decorum didn't mean much to Mandalorians. Instead, she unbuckled from the seat with a relieved nod, “Thank you. I did not sleep that well last night.”
He hesitated for a second, “Nightmares?”
“Not really,” Sansa hedged, glancing out the window where it was still dark out, “Memories, mostly.”
The man surveyed her, before letting out a thoughtful noise, changing the subject, “Well, lets head on down. Lady is already running about, and I'm going to set up a fire pit for later. And, we can go on a short hunt so you can show me how to gut an animal, if you're still alright with that.”
“I am.” Sansa confirmed, beginning to climb down the ladder. There was only a foot length of space on the floor before it was taken up by the futon. Layers of blankets and a few of some furs Sansa spied to be from her own room. It didn't matter, because she found it completely inviting and eagerly climbed under the covers. Sleeping with a corset was not the most comfortable, but she could deal with it for a few hours. To the sound of Jaster moving about outside, Sansa once more fell into a slumber, no memories or any nightmares to be found thankfully.
The next time she rose was with the birds chirping and faint sunlight on her face. Scrunching her nose, Sansa turned away from the light to blink her eyes open. Staring into the ship, Sansa turned back around to squint out into the daylight. She must have been asleep for a few hours, and felt far more rested than she did earlier. Taking in the clearing they had landed in from the bed, she stared. Hard.
The sight before her was not...displeasing. Jaster had been wearing a jacket earlier when they departed, but now he had shucked it off. Instead, in his loose shirt, sleeves rolled up and collar of it wide enough to show off his collar bones, Jaster was practising sword forms with a blade she had never seen before. His forearms flexed with every motion, muscles shifting with the grip on the hilt.
She barely thought about the strange black sword he had, instead far more interested in it's wielder. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his skin as he moved through controlled stances, making her wonder if it was the blade that was heavy, or if he was purposefully going slow, exerting more effort that way due to concentration.
Either way, Sansa thought as she reclined back on the pillows to watch, it was not a bad sight. From growing up sheltered, to then Joffrey, to then Ramsay, Sansa barely allowed herself to have thoughts on men and their bodies. In the past, they've only used it to cause her harm, so it was curiosity and a faint bit of enjoyment that had her watching so enraptured. It made her truly recognise that her husband was very handsome. Or perhaps that was her own affections that were getting her to see more than just the superficial.
The sunlight showed he had faint chestnut to his dark hair, what she had once thought to be just a simple deep brown, near black colour. His jaw line was sharp, nose crooked from more than likely a few breaks from fights. Thick brows, a scar bisecting one of them, and eyes that were looking at her.
Heat flooded her cheeks. Sansa looked away, sitting up to stretch and crawl out from the bedding with as much poise and dignity as she could. Straightening her clothes, Sansa frowned when she realised her boots were still on. How unpleasant. She busied herself with pulling back the blankets to brush out any dirt that may have come off her shoes. Luckily, there wasn't much, but that meant it wasn't much of a task to distract herself from having been caught staring at Jaster.
A throat cleared behind her. Closing her eyes for a split second to gather some strength and sanity, Sansa turned around with a tight smile, “Good morning, Jaster.”
Amused at her slightly strangled tone, Jaster returned the greeting and arched a brow, “Hungry?”
Unintentionally, her eyes narrowed, wondering if there was more to his question. Sansa may be experienced in being around lustful men and having heard plenty a jokes and innuendos of such nature, but that did not always mean she could catch them right away. Deciding to not look too deeply in case she embarrassed herself, Sansa nodded, “A little.”
He snorted. “Only a little?” Sansa bit the inside of her cheek, realising that he was not only asking her honestly about food, but was also teasing her. It seemed he was not going to blatantly address her staring, but would still tease her for it. Sansa wondered if she should tease back, and realised that would be considered flirting, and imply something she was not ready for.
Huffing, she flicked her dishevelled braid over her shoulder and sniped, “Seeing as you don't have anything of offer, I will go search for my own breakfast.” And turned around to her bag. She had a few dried meats and some bread that would do.
Chuckling, Jaster called out, “You mean you don't want what I've made up already? It's pretty tasty.”
Sansa shot him a glare at the drawl to his words, “You are terrible.”
“Alright,” He backed off with a smile, hands up in surrender, “I'll stop, but I'm not going to forget that look you gave me.”
Cheeks hot once more, Sansa snapped defensively, “What look? I gave no look.”
“Uh huh.” Jaster was not convinced but thankfully dropped it, turning to a small fire, where some pans were placed on the ground, faintly steaming from just having cooked the food on it. Though her pride told her to not give in, Sansa was very hungry and it smelt wonderful. Forcing back her embarrassment, Sansa strode over to the fire pit and sit with pursed lips.
Jaster only cast her one last amused glance before handing her a plate and fork. With a haughty sniff, Sansa accepted it and ate with her usual polite daintiness, ignoring his huff of laughter.
The meal passed in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable one, though Sansa was still a little flustered from being caught goggling Jaster. She had never reacted to a male body in such a way, never reacted to any man really. She was still young when she married Joffrey, caught up more in his handsome looks and ideas of chivalry. The idea of sex or physical attraction was far more innocent for her at the time. This...was a first. And she was relieved that Jaster was not the type to take advantage of that or even see it as consent.
When they finished eating, Jaster turned to her, “So, want to go for a hunt?”
Slowly finishing her mouthful, Sansa gave an uncertain nod. “Will I be...killing?”
His brows furrowed, tilting his head to the side. “I mean, not unless you wanted to. I mainly just want to see how to gut an animal.”
Relief coursing through her, Sansa stood up, placing her plate to the side where Lady crept over to lick at. Ignoring her with only a brief flash of fondness, she explained, “I've never been fond of hunting, nor taking an animal's life. I have...before. But I don't enjoy it.” It reminded her too much of Joffrey, even when she was with Rickon and Jeyne, knowing they didn't have such a taste for violence and torment.
Her husband shrugged in understanding, “That's fine. Want to get changed into something better suited for trekking in a forest?” And the teasing smile he sent her stomach a flutter. It was a handsome smile. At a glance down at herself, Sansa thought herself to have been dressed practically, she was wearing trousers under her skirt after all, and her blouse was one with loose sleeves, able to roll up. Frowning thoughtfully, Sansa hiked up the sides of skirt, tucking them into the waist band as she wandered to her bag in the ship. There, she tugged out a belt and began to hook on the hunting knives Jeyne brought with. It was a gift from Rickon to Jeyne, but the two women shared it between them.
Sliding the leather sheathed knives onto the belt, Sansa buckled it around her waist, making sure it all sat comfortably. Lastly, Sansa tugged out Jaster's vambrace and sealed over her arm, sleeves not yet pushed up. She would have to remove it when it came to field dressing the game, not wishing to get blood on it.
Stepping back out of the ship, Sansa re-braided her hair, tsking to herself at not having thought of doing so when she woke up. It was a sloppy braid, her mother would severely disapprove at the dishevelled appearance, however she would also think a princess tromping around in a forest to be horrifying. However, mother wasn't here and Sansa wanted to spend time with her husband.
Said husband watched her fondly, arching a brow at her skirts, “I didn't know you were wearing trousers.” And then presented his arm for her. Lacing her hand through it, Sansa replied factually, “Jeyne and I discussed it and made some for our new life here. We knew that in some cases they would be far more practical than skirts, but I still think I can do near anything in a dress.”
“Of course. Very practical” Jaster agreed readily, lips still tilted pleasantly. Sansa flicked her eyes away from them and their teasing words, focusing on Lady, who was already off silently prowling the woods.
The thing that Bran and Rickon taught her, as Robb was too busy and Arya was running about with her own wolf, was that when it came to warging, there were different levels in terms of fully connecting and sinking into the skin of the animal. Bran stated that you could technically warg into people if your will and control was stronger than theirs. Rickon explained that you could go part way into the animal, still in control of your body, but it was a half way point, where your senses were the animal's and not your own. It took lots of practice, but Sansa could now instinctively settle her senses into Lady, familiar with her mind as her own, smelling the thick earthy scent of the forest around, animal musk everywhere.
And Lady caught a fresh trail of an animal the smelt distinctively prey not too long in their trek. Needing to slip out of Lady's mind before she got too far into that predatory need to hunt, Sansa turned to Jaster, “Lady has a scent.” And gently released his arm to follow after her companion.
Jaster followed wordlessly after them. There was a weight of his gaze on her back, where she knew he had questions. It was a familiar weight, and Sansa wondered if he would finally ask all those questions he was keeping in. She also wondered if she would actually answer them.
The forest was not as dense as she had expected of a mountainous one, but the tree were still large, still rose tall into the sky. There was a faint mist of fog settling low over the canopy, obscuring what she knew to be a blue sky from the clearing they were camped in. It was peaceful. It reminded her of Skagos.
Focusing back on Lady, Sansa noted that her posture was rigid, completely still where she crouched on a small but steep incline. Sinking into her mind, Sansa caught the scent of prey and saw it half-way hidden by a bush, grazing. In her own body, Sansa froze, and heard the shift of fabric as Jaster did a second after her.
Turning to glance back at him, Sansa mouthed, 'Prey.' And he gave a short nod. Taking out his blaster, Jaster's foot steps were careful and silent as he walked past her to Lady's side, Sansa stopping briefly to murmur, “Aim for the head.” The heart was an organ that was tough, but juicy when cooked right. Or eaten raw, if you're Lady. Her senses were still partly in her companion and Sansa's mouth began to salivate at the thought of fresh meat. Twisting deeper into Lady's mind, Sansa urged her to stay back, to not attack. Food would be provided soon, and she could hunt on her own later. There was a feeling of displeasure, but Lady accepted, body lowering to lay down tensely.
Sansa stayed there, in Lady's mind, as Jaster came to their side. The man eyed the prey, weapon in hand and aiming at the prey. It's head was now lifted up, ears flicking about. Just as it began to turn towards them, there was the high sound of a blaster being fired and it dropped. Blood filled the air, their fur standing on end at the thought of a fresh meal, before Sansa once more slipped back out of Lady's mind. Hurrying over, Sansa laid a soothing hand on the direwolf's back. “Easy, girl. You'll eat soon.”
She let out a grumbling whine and stalked off, most likely searching for her own prey to take down. Rolling her eyes at the attitude, Sansa turned to Jaster, who was once more eyeing her curiously with that familiar weight. When she caught him looking, he turned away, straightening up from his crouch to collect their kill.
As they weren't too far from the ship it didn't take them that long to carry the prey back. It had six legs, furred and mammalian like a particularly heavy coated deer. No antlers, whether that meant it was female or it's species didn't have them, Sansa didn't know. But it had something like curved horns or tusks coming out of it's neck, possibly a defence trait like with stags. There were two on either side. It's neck was longer than a stag as well, but it was nearly the size of a boar, it's mass leaner however.
With some rope from Jaster's pack and a particularly thick branch, they strung the animal up and carried back to the camp. It was certainly a struggle, the beast nothing but dead weight, however they managed. From there, Sansa began issuing soft commands. “Hold it's legs open, we want it on it's back as we cut it open. Once done, lay it on it's side. We'll need a tarp under the body so the innards don't get covered in dirt.”
The man followed them without complaint, spreading out a tarp on the ground so they could readjust the animal onto it. Untying the legs, Jaster let out a quiet grunt as he rolled it over, using his legs on either side to brace the torso, keeping it steady as he spread out the legs as best as he could.
Rolling up her sleeves, after unbuckling the vambrace to lay off to the side, Sansa unsheathed one of her knives, a thinner one to work around the anus, cutting the skin completely around it to remove it from the rectum. While she does it, Sansa explained every step. “First, you disconnect the rectum from the anus, making it easier to take out the intestines later. Don't damage it, because it could spoil it the meat.” Once it was free, Sansa set that blade to the side and pulled out her skinning blade, hovering over the anus before glancing up at Jaster. He was watching intently as Sansa continued, “Next, we begin the gutting incision. We don't want to pierce the abdominal wall, so you have to watch how deeply you slice, just through hide so we can access the skin.” He nodded, watching her as she began to slowly cut the animal open.
She had to let him readjust himself, so that she wasn't ducking down under his legs to continue up to the neck. Then, she lightly tugged some of the hide on either side to free up more space to cut open the animal. Blowing a strand out of her face, Sansa had to hold back the urge to flinch when Jaster used a hand to tuck it out of the way. Smiling up at him gratefully, Sansa turned back to the animal, this time pulling out the third blade, a gutting knife which was lightly curved and had a sharp hook at the top.
Using her fingers, Sansa felt along the top middle of the animal, searching for the sternum. “We need to find the abdominal wall for the actual gutting, not wanting to pierce too deep and stab anything we don't want to stab.”
Jaster snorted at her dry instructions. Sansa sent him a tiny smirk.
Once she found it, Sansa began to use the hook to slowly slice down, gently lifting the wall away from the organs, “Use two fingers to create a separation to prevent puncturing the stomach and intestines. That will spill out onto the other edible organs and meat, spoiling it as well.”
“A lot of careful cutting.” Jaster murmured to himself, “I think I see where a lot of us were going wrong.”
“Let me guess,” Sansa chuckled, “They were just stabbing in deep and spilling the guts out?”
He gave a sheepish shrug, “We can gut but not for the purpose of eating them.”
Humming in acknowledgment, Sansa found the pelvis and began sawing through it to access the lower intestines. From there, she had Jaster lower the animal carefully on it's side. He came around to crouch next to her to watch as she moved upwards to saw through the sternum, using the first knife to do so, then slicing away the diaphragm away from the rib cage neatly. Then, carefully, she severed the oesophagus and wind pipe above the heart.
Placing the knife to the side again, Jaster watched as she stuck her hands into the still warm body and began the process of gently tugging the guts free, placing them to the side. The thick wetness of the blood had her thinking back to Skagos, with Rickon where Jaster was, watching her and gently instructing her through the process. It was a nice memory.
It was Sansa's own preference, but she preferred to take out the intestines and organs that one did not eat, piling them to one side, careful with the bladder and stomach, not wishing to deal with the smell if she punctured them. She was briefly thrown off though when assessing the organs. “Two stomachs?”
Casting Jaster a curious look, the man shrugged in response, “Some animals got 'em.” He didn't look at her as she spoke, instead his eyes were focused hard on her arms, now getting soaked with blood and viscera. She wondered if he was similar to her past two husbands, enjoying the sight of blood on others. However, there wasn't a mad or crazed gleam in his eyes like the other two had. It was heavy, but not dark.
She decided not to think about it, instead continued to take out the innards. “We can eat the liver, heart, and kidneys. The lungs too if people like them but I find them, personally, chewy.”
Jaster laughed, “And after you finish gutting it?”
“Then we begin the process of skinning and remove the meat from the bones. The bones will be good for stews and broths, the ribs with the meat still connected are good for marinating and grilling.”
“Stop you're making me hungry.” Jaster jokingly whined and gave her shoulder a little nudge with his own, making Sansa giggle a little, unable to hide behind her mouth with the blood staining them. The man stilled, staring at her.
“You're breath taking, right now.”
His blurted compliment took her off guard, baffled as she glanced down at her hands, “Really?” this wasn't really a sight she would call breath taking, arm deep into the cavity of a gutted animal.
It was his turn to be embarrassed, scratching his neck as he defended himself, “Listen, Mandalorians generally find people attractive when in a fight and covered in the blood of their enemies. Courting practically consists of sparring and getting punched in the face, with you complimenting their form in return. You gutting the animal is...very attractive.”
There was an awkwardness in his tone, unable to completely look her in the eye, which worked well for her because Sansa's face was burning hot and she herself couldn't look at him. Turning back to the animal, Sansa quietly replied, “Thank you...”
So, not completely like Joffrey or Ramsay. That was good information to have. Now it made her wonder if Jaster would have liked her appearance after she killed them, then she banished that thought. “Can you get me some water to clean my hands with please?” Sansa asked softly, changing the topic.
Jaster was quick to comply as Sansa went about bundling up the organs they would keep and gathering the others to march into the woods a little, tossing them for any scavenger. She was sure they wouldn't be needing the intestines for making sausages right now. Maybe next time, she enjoyed a well grilled and seasoned sausage link.
Back at the camp, Jaster presented her with a metal container filled with water, to which she happily dunked her arms in, washing off the blood. Though unaffected by it, she certainly preferred her hands clean.
Next, skinning the animal, Sansa was quick about it, only pausing at having to work around six legs and some neck tusks before figuring out the best way to cut around them. The tusks, once removed, could be turned into some decent knives if sharpened. She told Jaster so, handing them to him as he turned them over in his hands speculatively. After the pelt was hung off to the side on a rack Jaster had made from some branches, Sansa began the process of cutting the game apart, sawing around the meat of the limbs to pop the joints out of place, cutting off the head as well, though Jaster made a face when she suggested they keep it for the eyes or brain. “I don't think anyone, back at camp, eats those things.”
Sansa snorted, “How fussy. You should've seen what I ate when on Skagos.”
He sent her a speculative look as she went back to finishing up sectioning off the meat. “You mentioned Skagos, about having been there.”
Shrugging, Sansa replied, “It was a year there with Rickon and Jeyne. A year after Ramsay, my brother suggested a change of view, and took us to the island.”
“What did you do there,” He asked, settling down across from her as she finished up with the meat, “Besides learning to gut and skin an animal like a pro?”
Stifling a laugh at his teasing, the woman began to wrap up the meat into cloth and waterproof sacks that Jaster had provided as she elaborated, “Well, I learnt all about how to turn raw fleece into fabric, I spent nearly a year in either a tent or a hut learning that unicorns were terrifying and you didn't want to get on the wrong end of their horns, and climbed a mountain.”
Jaster blinked, bewildered, “Why did you climb a mountain?”
Washing her hands once more, along with her blades, Sansa stared down at them during the cleaning process. She heard the drums in her head, the wind a soft rush as it wound through the trees. The chanting song that sang in the early morn before her climb, the cold hitting her skin in a way that the North never did.
To herself, she softly sang the second to last verse of the song in the Old Tongue, the only language spoken on Skagos, “Healing-mountain stands for eternity, it comforts the sick and the sore, each and every one who assails that rock will find their lifelong ailment cured.”
When she glanced back up at Jaster he was watching with a confused but intent gaze. “That's not a language I've heard of.”
This time, she did let out a laugh, but it wasn't particularly humorous. “The Old Tongue is what we call it. Not spoken much besides those further north past the Wall and Skagosi. Near forgotten language it is, but we had to learn to speak it or else we would've been very lost on that island.”
Taking her hands out of the water, she used the edges of her skirt to dry her knives and hands. Jaster stayed silent, waiting. Nibbling her lip, wondering if she should expand further on her story, Sansa decided to continue, “There is a mountain, on Skagos. Healing Mountain, or Lyfjaberg, in Skagosi. There is a song they sing, that instructs you on the journey. It tells the climber to leave behind their pains, their sickness, as they ascend. Step by step, you shed your clothes, then then time and thoughts, then lastly, all fears and emotions that linger with your ailment. And once you reach the peak, naked and laid bare before the mountain and sky, your ailment is cleansed from your body and soul. Then, you take a river that is at the top, all the way back down. You sink into the water and it...it holds you. Cradles you. It was comforting, telling you that the worst of your journey, your pain, was over. And that it would lead you safely back home. And it did. I came out into the ocean and swam back to shore.”
There was a long silence, Jaster taking in her words with solemnity. “And you took that journey?” He asked softly. Sansa met his gaze, a deep understanding behind them, giving him a short dip of her head, “Jeyne and I both did, but separately. You have to do it alone.”
From where he sat across from her, Jaster leant back, his hands bracing him as he cocked his head to the side, considering her story, “Did it work?”
Recalling the freezing cold air on her naked body, thinking she would die of frost before she reached the top, Sansa wondered to herself sometimes too, if it did work. The memories, and the pain that came from them, lingered still, but that first year after Ramsay, she was far worse off than after she returned from Skagos. Then, she remembered the shadow-women, wise healers of the clans of Skagos, that helped her stumble out from the sea, shivering and blue, bundling her up in furs to place her in front of the fire. Shaggydog was surprisingly gentle that evening, curling up next to her and Lady, helping to warm her chilled body. Even cold and her mind feeling so terribly stripped of all she knew, Sansa had felt this lack of weight on her heart. Maybe, it didn't cure fully, the mind and what trauma it retained, but it lessened the burden.
A tiny smile crept over her lips, honestly saying, “Yes, I think in some ways, it did.” Then, a wry puff of laughter escaped her chest, “If you thought our first wedding night, where I broke down on you like that was bad, you should've seen the state I was in before I went to Skagos.”
Something in his eyes softened. “I'm happy for you. That you got some form of healing.”
“Time has helped too.” Sansa had to add, “And, being here, away from all the things that remind me of then, will also do me some more good.”
He reached out and cupped her cheek. Sansa leant into the warmth, her eyelids fluttering before closing completely. “I'll do everything I can, Sansa, to keep you on that road of healing. Understood?”
Resting her own hand on his, Sansa turned her face to press her lips to the palm of his hand. She heard the way his breath caught at the gesture, and opened her eyes once more. He was staring at her hard, a piercing expression as she met his gaze, pressing one last kiss to the rough skin before pulling away. “Will you show me that sword you were training with?”
Jaster jolted out of some sort of daze he was in. “Yeah, of course.” Then, standing up in, not a quite a scramble but there was a bit of hastiness in his motions, Jaster offered his hand to her. The hand she kissed. Sansa took it.
There were...many things going on in his brain at the moment. And all of them were revolving around the enigma that was his riduur. First, there was a bit of smugness at catching Sansa staring, satisfied that she found him attractive. He wasn't oblivious, he knew what that look was. It wasn't like with his previous partners though, where there was lust mixed into the attraction, it was interest in him but not for potential sex. Which meant that they were on the right track for their relationship becoming deeper.
And her being flustered about getting caught in the act was hilarious.
Secondly, he was absolutely correct. Sansa's scarred arms covered in blood and giving him a shy smile was just as attractive as he thought it would be, no longer a daydream but an actual memory he would now store and keep firmly in his mind forever.
However, the third thing percolating in his thoughts were, what the kriff was up with her and Lady. Jango told him about Sansa mentioning having a connection with the animal, but she was evasive. He needed to ask her about it.
For now, he complied to Sansa's request. Once they got the meat stored away on the ship, he took out the darksaber. Rolling it between his hands, Jaster wondered if it was okay for her to hold it. Jango had in the past, the boy eager to hold the legendary weapon. But his ad was a Mandalorian, and he didn't know if the dark saber would take offence to Sansa holding it, even for a brief moment. The weapon had a strange sentience – another reason for him to try and break into the Jedi Archives again sometime soon – and even when not ignited he felt it hum in the back of his mind. Felt it even when he wasn't even holding it, an irritating itch. Jaster hoped once more that it wouldn't react badly in Sansa's hands as he passed it to her, making sure to stand on the non-lethal side of the saber.
Jaster wondered if he could get away pulling off some flirting moves, and decided to say kriff it. If she was uncomfortable he would back off immediately. With a loose hold on her arms, Jaster stood behind Sansa, guiding her on how to place her hands correctly on the weapon, explaining, “A lightsaber is a plasma blade, powered by a kyber crystal inside the hilt. This means that it has no weight.” And then pressing the button near the top of the hilt, the darksaber ignited. The darkness sucked in all light, a white aura surrounding it.
The woman let out a breath of awe, “It's as you said. There is no weight at all.” And she lightly swung it from side to side, the plasma humming. She wasn't pulling away from his touch, even seemed to minutely sink into it as he moved with her. In the back of his mind, where he felt the sentience of the blade, it itched that familiar itch. Not painful, and he got no feeling of it being unhappy, held by Sansa. It was calm, watchful. Curious.
Shifting, Jaster gently nudged Sansa into a ready stance. He heard the way her breath hitched, but other than that, he saw nor felt any discomfort. To her statement, Jaster replied, “Jedi, beings who can feel something called the Force, wield these.”
“What's the Force?”
Stepping back a little to come and stand by her left side, Jaster gave a small shrug, “I've done some research into them, but they're very tight-lipped on any knowledge. But the Force, from what I understand, is the universe. It's life. It's every where. I don't know if I particularly believe in it, but it's mentioned enough of that a large majority of people do think it's real.”
“And Jedi...I don't think I've heard of them either.” Sansa's face was twisted into a thoughtful one, confused and searching her memories.
Crossing his arms casually, watching as she continued to observe the blade, Jaster explained, “Mandalorians and Jedi have a rough history. The Mandalorians of old, and the Jedi of the time, had fought. There is... a lot of history, if I'm being honest. A lot of bloody history, too. When I was creating the Super-commando codex, I had to really dive deep into our past. See, people aren't wrong, about Mandalorians being brutal. We were conquerors, and there was a lot of violence. However, unlike the True Mandalorians,” He couldn't stop the sneer creeping onto his lips at the name, “Passivity would never be a way to unite our people. You can't call yourself a Mandalorian and then refuse to hold a weapon or even fight what you believe in. And they believe that anyone who does is immediately part of Death Watch, declaring them Mandalorians no more and kicking them off of their own planet. It's disgusting.”
Unintentionally, Jaster had found himself in a spiral of irritation falling onto a different topic instead of the one requested, voicing his thoughts to Sansa, who stood there calmly, listening. In fact, she turned off the saber and stepped closer, laying a hand on his arm as he continued, “I've been trying to get the other houses and clans to be part of our fraction. There are many who dislike what the Duke Kryze is doing, destroying our culture and traditions. It's making us weak, and the Republic are just happy to take advantage of that, accepting the pacifistic section because that means that Mandalorians wouldn't be a threat any more if our more 'violent' ways were persecuted by our own people.”
The righteous fury he always felt when it came to such topics was blazing in his chest. Ans Sansa remained steady and silent through it all. Jaster took a breath, not wanting to ruin this trip with his ranting, “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-”
Sansa gently cut him off, “Jaster.” And she gazed up at him, unwavering and a sharpness behind her eyes as she spoke, “You have every right, to be furious. I can't say I understand, what it's like to watch your culture be stripped away or vilified, but I know what it's like to have who you are be judged unkindly by those who deem themselves superior.”
The validation settled that anger, a predator licking it's wounds, and Jaster exhaled heavily as he leant down to rest his head on Sansa's. She continued to speak to him, her words soft but no less firm, “You will need to tell me more, of these fake Mandalorians. If we are to deal with them in the future, then I must be aware of everything you know. And, if what you say is true, that they are firmly against any sort of violence, then I can be of much help, I believe. I am not a fighter myself, so words are what I have as a weapon. And I promise to use them in any way that I can, to keep your people safe.”
His chest tightened and overwhelmed Jaster pressed forward to capture her lips with his own. It wasn't long, just enough to put behind a weight of gratitude and sheer affection he had for Sansa. The woman made a noise of surprise when they touched, going rigid, her hand tightening on his arm.
When he broke away, Jaster breathed, “Sorry, I- I'm sorry, Sansa I shouldn't've without asking-”
“Yes,” Sansa murmured, “You should've asked.”
Gritting his teeth, he tried to step back but her hand on him held firm. Jaster finally flicked his gaze up to her, to see her expression.
Red. Her cheeks were bright red and her eyes flicking back and forth between his face and the ground. The fear that he had severely fucked up slowly eased away, instead analysing her reaction. Shy.
Hesitantly, Jaster asked, “May I?”
Sansa seemed to draw up from invisible strength within herself in order to tilt her chin up proudly, and demand, “May you what, Jaster?”
Jaster smiled a little, the back of his fingers brushing her cheek, “May I kiss you, my wife? My riduur?”
Her eyes narrowed in pleasure at the title, tugging him closer as she replied, “You may.”
And he did. Just as passionate as the first, pouring emotions into the kiss as he looped an arm around her waist, the other winding itself around Sansa's braid. He heard an object drop moments before a hand buried into his hair, mind vaguely recognising that she had dropped the darksaber to hold him, and couldn't even be mad about it. Her lips were soft, and tiny noises escaped from her as they continued, Jaster swallowing them up greedily until Sansa pulled away with a soft gasp.
Eyes dazed, the blue glimmering brightly, Jaster couldn't help how smug he felt, taking in her reaction, her expression. Smirking a little, he moved his hand from her hair to her cheek, stroking a thumb across her high cheek bones. “Tell me honestly. You liked what you saw this morning, didn't you?”
Sansa rolled her eyes, exasperated as she huffed, “I would've had to have been blind and an idiot to not to.”
Grinning now, Jaster smacked a light kiss to her lips, then the tip of her nose, “I knew it.”
“You're smugness is unbecoming.” Sansa scolded, stepping out of his arms to stoop down and pick up the darksaber. He had a ridiculous thought of how cold he felt, without her pressed to him, and shoved that away to accept the hilt back, stuffing it into his belt. At the contact, Jaster felt that itch, a curious and pleased sensation from the saber before he focused back on Sansa.
She was very firmly not meeting his gaze, looking off into the forest. Jaster wondered if she was searching for Lady. He was tempted to bring the topic of their kiss up, but decided to let it lie for now. They took a big step forward in their relationship, to prod her for answers and her thoughts could lead to Sansa dragging her walls back up.
Instead, he found this as an opportunity to finally ask, “So, what's up with you and Lady? Jango said there was a connection there.”
Glancing back at him, Sansa shrugged, “There is one.”
And that was it. Squinting at her, and the humour dancing in her eyes, Jaster knew Sansa to be teasing him. Snorting, the man walked to the ship, climbing into to slump on the bed. Dragging his boots off, Jaster turned to look at Sansa where she was making her way to him.
“Why don't you tell me all about it as I clean my blasters. You brought some sewing to do, I'm assuming?”
The woman nodded. Coming into the ship, Sansa also took off her boots, Jaster handing over her bag to riffle through as he did the same with his own. “How about, I ask a question, and you can ask one in turn. But you also have to answer what I asked you. Sound fair?”
Sansa hummed in agreement. He beamed, “Great! Now, can you read Lady's mind?”
A giggle escaped her as she took out a skirt and her sewing supplies, him doing the same with his cleaning kit. Together, cross legged on the futon and busy with their own tasks, Jaster felt contentment settle around them.
“It's called warging, on Westeros. And only primarily known in the North, past the Wall, and on Skagos. To the rest of Westeros, it's an old story, a legend from the by-gone eras. A warg can go into another's mind, typically an animal, though Bran had told me about how a strong warg can go into person's mind and take control.”
Jaster felt a chill up his spine, but kept his cool as Sansa explained, “With Lady, and with the other direwolves, we have a strong connection with our companion because of how we raised them along side us. They took on personality traits of their human partner, and that's not unusual for wargs and their animal companion. With Lady, I feel her in the back of my mind, and sometimes, when I sleep, I subconsciously go into hers. I did it a lot, when with Joffrey and Ramsay...a way to stay sane.”
“Does it bother you,” Jaster had to ask in the heavy quiet, “To talk about them?”
There was a moment of contemplation, before she shook her head. “Not in the way you think. On the night of our wedding, in Winterfell, I was very...emotionally fragile. Stressed and scared you would go back on your word along with other factors of the past week. I'm normally alright, talking about what I went through, though sometimes depending on the subject or memory it's difficult. I have a far better control of my emotions, but no. With a small audience, like with just you, or a few others, I'm less emotional. With larger crowds, it's overwhelming. The expectations from your people, it made it hard last night, to explain my scars. I know, one day, I may tell my stories, but not so soon.”
He considered her words, sliding the new information into the part of his mind that was taken up by the mystery that was his wife. Observing Sansa, Jaster realised that yes, she was currently very calm and relaxed. “It doesn't bother you at all?”
Sansa grimaced, “It does a little. I know you're asking because you want to know more of me and my past. I know you wouldn't judgement, or at least I hope you wouldn't.”
Jaster gave a small reassuring smile, “I would never.”
Her expression brightened, “And that's why I'm far more comfortable talking to you about it. I know that what I say, will be accepted and you wouldn't go telling everyone about it.”
“I want to know what triggers you.” Jaster replied, elaborating at her confusion, “I want to know what topics, or words, or anything really, that can cause you to have a similar reaction to the wedding night. Like how you said pigeon pie, and it's scent bothers you. I don't want to upset you, so I want to make sure that you know, that you don't have to answer or can change the subject if you're uncomfortable. I want us to have a safe space together.” He ended with a half-shrug, staring down at his hands as they worked on rote, disassembling one of his blasters.
A small, elegant hand settled over his. Jaster looked back up and saw gratitude. “And I want the same with you, Jaster.”
He gave another shrug, easier and relaxed, “I'll let you know when I remember them. My memory of those things are pretty karked up, and I was really young, childhood fades with time. It was all either forgotten or purposefully blocked out by trauma. But 'lek, if there is anything, I promise to talk to you.”
It was that day in the godswood all over again, but now, it felt stronger, solidified into pure beskar. They knew where they stood with one another when it came to memories and trauma, and Jaster couldn't be any less happy than he was now with that.
Sansa went back to her sewing after a squeeze of his hand, “Back to wargs.”
Jaster perked up, “Yes! Tell me all about how you can control an animal with your mind. If you warged into a bird do you have the desire to eat worms and peck at dirt?”
Her laughter at his enthusiasm filled the air.
With the rest of the day spent talking or in companionable silence, it was a surprise when it grew dark. They shared a simple meal by the fire, watching the sunset over the land and the trees begin to glow their familiar blue. When food was consumed and Jaster made them both some warm drinks, Sansa tilted her head back to stare up at the unfamiliar constellations.
“Do you see that straight line of stars?” Jaster suddenly asked. She glanced to her right, where he had scooted closer, pressing his shoulder into hers. Taking in the glow of the fire light, dancing across his weathered and scarred skin, the way his hazel eyes appeared golden, Sansa then followed where his finger was pointed. It took her a second to search for the constellation, but found, giving him a hum of confirmation.
“It's called the beroya's spear. See, beroya is typically used to refer to a bounty hunter now, but before that, it was someone whose role in the clan was to hunt and provide for them. It's still technically the same, the role now, but....yeah.”
Sansa listened as he trailed off, a hint of embarrassment. However, she had no idea on what he was embarrassed for and replied, “It's a lesson that children tend to only learn in the North, and perhaps maybe those actually interested in the subject in the South, but we learn how to read the stars young. That way, if we're lost, we can find our way home. Arya and I, when we were little, used to argue all the time. Couldn't get along. But we enjoyed pointing out the stars together when we had the chance to.”
The warm expression on his face had her heart skipping. He leant over to press a kiss to her temple before pointing to another constellation, “That's the strill, those five brighter stars right there. The one where the heart is, is used for guidance when lost and wandering the wilderness. And then, over there, that cluster is called the Alori bes'bev. Now, a bes'bev is this instrument that is also used in combat...”
She relaxed against his side, Jaster's arm coming to wrap around her shoulders as he continued to tell her all about his people's stars and their stories. Sansa never noticed until now, how soothing his voice was. It had a roughness to it, a rumble from his chest like a thunder storm. But it was soft, the storm in the distance and you were safe behind closed doors. It was both a threat and a calming sound, depending on what it was used for. She was growing to love it.
Soon, they retired to bed. Sansa watched from where she was quickly changing as Jaster walked the perimeter, very carefully keeping his back to her for privacy, and set up some barrier. He explained it to be a type of shield, preventing anything coming in or out, an painful shock occurring if one touched the shield. Lady, who slunk back and looking distinctly pleased with herself – a good hunt Sansa noted – was watching him curiously, sprawled out and alert by the smouldering fire.
Under the blankets in her night gown, Sansa was on the further side from the door when Jaster came in. They eyed one another with a linger of trepidation, before Sansa realised he was wanting to change and with a flush she ducked under the covers. She had only seen his bare chest once, but she was so embroiled in her emotions at the time that it hadn't registered. Now, would she see it again?
Her face heated up some more.
“Will Lady be alright if I close up the ramp?”
At Jaster's question Sansa took a peek over the covers to see him, disappointingly, wearing a shirt and some soft trousers. Hiding that reaction, Sansa shook her head. “She won't mind.”
He closed up the ramp, and a warm orange glow flickered on, the dim light only enough to show a vague understanding of where they were as Jaster climbed into the bed, tugging the covers up. Laid on his back, his head turned to her, Sansa curled on her side, facing him in return.
A weighted silence blanketed them. Something unspoken rising. She thought of the kiss early, the memory starting her heart into a heavy beat, and wondered if he was expecting something more from her now. Would she want it? The idea was not completely unpleasant, but she didn't think she would be ready for that kind of touch.
“Do you have a favourite sibling?”
The question jolted her from her thoughts, Sansa giving him a strange look. He continued, “It's just, when I was on the street, and the kids I was looking after, I absolutely had a favourite. They were my family, maybe not blood related, but I saw them as both my younger siblings, but in some weird way, my own kids too.”
She eased further into the blankets, asking, “Which one was your favourite?”
“Oh it was absolutely Jan'ilma. Thrane was a nightmare of a kid. Gott and Yeniv were babies when we took them in, I was thirteen at that time. But Jan was a kriffing saint, helpful and never complained whether she was hungry or cold. She was strong.” And there was a sad kind of pride in his words, in the way his eyes softened at the memories. She never knew what it was like, to fight to survive on the streets. She had seen the poor and hungry in Casterly Rock, as the third year of the war dragged on. It was one of the first commands she ordered when she took the throne from Joffrey: food for the starving.
“Why were you on the streets?” Sansa quietly wondered.
Jaster's lips twisted, a wry smile as he turned to look up at the ceiling, “Who knows. I don't remember my parents, and no one adopted me. It's funny. I grew up on Concordia, Mandalore's moon. It was a mining community, and I'm guessing my parents either died on a hunt or in the mines. But the funny part is, that Mandalorians tend to be notorious for their protectiveness over children. Ade are the future, after all. But something about Concordia meant that there was a lack of care for children. Or, at least, children that weren't deemed interesting or strong enough to capture any adult's eye. It's why I made it one of the main rules for the codex. Take care of all children, whether they are Mandalorians or not.”
A breath was trapped in her lungs, listening to his story, and when it released it came out stuttering. Sansa's heart ached.
“Rickon.” She voiced.
Jaster turned to look at her, a wordless question in his eyes. “It's Rickon,” Sansa repeated. “He's my favourite. I love them all, even Arya. My sister and I struggled to get on when we were younger, and I'll admit I bullied her some what. I was so annoyed at why she couldn't be like me, and enjoy the things I liked. I wanted a little sister to play with and sew with, but instead I got a sister that preferred to run about in the mud with the boys. I helped mother raise Rickon when he was born, and he was as wild as Arya. When I was younger, Robb was my favourite, he could do no wrong in my eyes.”
“And now?” He gently urged. Sansa played with the edge of the blankets. “Arya helped rescue me from Ramsay, burnt the Dreadfort down with me and Jeyne. And I love her, and we've come to a truce now that we're older and less likely to pick on one another. However, there is a part of Arya that I know exists, where she looks at me and can't understand how I couldn't save myself. She's not able to understand why it took so long for me to get away from Joffrey, why I refuse to learn to fight. But Rickon...he doesn't have any of that hidden judgement or frustration. He's so...wild in his ways. He see people on a deeper level I think, and...I don't know.” Sansa sighed. It was hard for her to explain.
“He said something interesting to me, when in Winterfell.” Jaster commented. “He said that there were animals that were brightly coloured, a warning to predators, and compared it to you. He also said, that a cornered animal was the most dangerous, even the softest of ones. I think, the reason he's your favourite, is that he can see you're not weak, like everyone else might. That even without a blade, you are a fighter.”
Sansa choked on a laugh, “He dragged me to Skagos because I spent an entire week in bed, barely sleeping or eating. He said that I needed a tent, not a castle, to heal. It made no sense at the time, and our parents protested, but he was right. When I came back from Skagos, I realised I really did need a tent, not a castle, to begin healing from everything. I spent so much time in pain in a castle, surrounded by nobles and courtiers with lavish decorations. In the wild, waking up to find a herd of deer or a nest of snakes nearby, was far easier to deal with than looks of disgust or pity.”
“And the mountain climbing helped too.” Jaster lightly joked. She snorted, sending him a playful glare, “If there is one thing that can put your pain into perspective, it's climbing up a mountain naked and screaming out into the clouds at the peak.”
He rubbed at his face, grumbling in disbelief, “How the kriff did you not freeze to death?”
Remembering a phrase Jaster had stated once, Sansa snarked, “We're just built different.”
A burst of surprised laughter rippled from his lungs, looking at her with bright eyes and it was infectious, Sansa ducking her head down into the pillow as she joined in.
When it died down, Sansa gazed up at him, and felt the need to confess, “I loved him. Joffrey.”
The previous humour was wiped clean from his face, and he turned to lay on his side, giving her his full attention.
Swallowing hard, the woman continued, “I had convinced myself that he loved me. Like I was his favourite toy. And I thought it was enough because sometimes, sometimes I thought I saw it. A-a flicker of compassion. Or some sort of affection. And it made me hold onto that hope, that he loved. It made dealing with the pain easier. He was a violent person, loved blood and pain, and when he hurt me, that meant he loved me.” Her hand came up, and she rubbed at her scar, “Until he slit my throat.”
To survive, Sansa had constructed this ideal of Joffrey and his emotions, had purposefully deluded herself into thinking that he cared, under all that torment. It was one of the ways she tried to stay alive, to stay sane. Unbeknownst to her that it was slowly driving her mad, thinking that all those bruises and welts were full of love. She thought, if they just got past all that violence and war, it would be better. He would become kinder. Until he slashed her throat with the very dagger he gave her. She was brought back to reality after that, and saw the hollowed out and broken doll she became.
With that confession out, Sansa felt more wishing to tumble out, and sat up. Her arms shook as she tugged at the collar of her night gown, already a loose fabric, and presented the top of valley between her breasts, where a thick white scar started. Jaster sat up with a jolt, a hand hovering instinctively in air, as if he could touch her scar and it would be healed away into nothing. Sansa smiled, but it felt like a grimace. “Ramsay wanted to give me a scar like the one Joffrey put on my neck. Something large and permanent. He used the same dagger that Joffrey gave me. It's a cursed blade,” Sansa couldn't help but spit, some dark glee in her words. “I used that dagger to take Joffrey's head, and I used it to gut Ramsay before throwing him to his starving hounds. He was still alive as they devoured him. I made sure to slash his face, like he did to Jeyne. I wanted to do far more to him, to Joffrey. But I wanted them dead more than I wanted further satisfaction. I wanted to cause them pain, I wanted them to feel the agony I felt, trapped and used and continuously on the brink of shattering into pieces-”
Jaster cupped her cheeks. Sansa stalled in her words, taking in the wetness in his eyes. It was a furious kind of sadness, and it was such a contrast to the cold anger she felt in that moment, eyes dry. “If any one who hurt you in the past is alive still, tell me now, San'ika. My cyar'ika. I would give you that satisfaction. I would do everything I could to them, keeping them just a step away from death so that they would hurt. I would do it.”
Sansa softened. His touch and words soothing her nerves. Leaning into one of the hands, Sansa murmured, “Unfortunately for you, all who have harmed me are gone. You'll just have to deal with anyone trying in the future.”
“Of course.” Jaster promised, pressing a gently kiss to her lips. It was such a sweet touch, only meant to give comfort and made her sigh with contentedness, and Sansa hoped to have more of them in the future.
“And what of you?” Sansa wondered. They parted and laid back down, closer than before. “Is there anyone who hurt you, that is still alive?”
He made a face, scratching at a scar on his brow, “Probably. I was basically a child prostitute, Sansa. And I didn't see the same people all the time. And when I got older, finding other jobs before becoming Journeyman Protector, I did meet some again. Put a blaster bolt through their skulls for having touched a child, but I don't doubt there are still out there.” Jaster gave her a wry smile. “You gotta understand that I had a lot of people who hurt me, a lot blurring together. Unlike with you, who you knew exactly who hurt you, I didn't remember most.”
“Then we have to ensure that something like that doesn't happen with the people under our care.” Sansa determined, reaching out to clasp one of his hands, squeezing the fingers tightly, “Nor can we let them go cold or starve. I will do what I can to keep them cared for.”
A soft smile crept onto his lips, “That's all I ask for.” And there was a brief but content lull into silence, before Jaster then asked, “What's your favourite colour?”
Caught off guard by the change of subject, it took Sansa a few seconds to answer, “I used to like pink, but that colour makes me think too much of Ramsay, the Bolton colour, along with red. I do like yellow too, but I lean towards greens, blues, and purples. I guess it depends on how I'm feeling each day.” The lighter question eased some of her previous melancholy.
Jaster groaned, “Way to make it difficult, Sansa.”
“Well, what's your favourite then?”
“Red. See? Simple.”
Sansa rolled her eyes, “I should've figured, with the red on your armour.”
“Hey,” He shrugged, “I'm a simple man.”
A snort escaped her in response. “Apologies for being too complexed for you, Mand'alor.”
Their conversation continued back and forth, basic questions that didn't stir up too many darker memories. It was knowledge that people who were courting would learn, and Sansa once more found herself amused at how backwards their relationship was forming, but she loved it still. However, soon conversation dwindled away into a peaceful quiet, both falling asleep to the sounds of their breathing.
Before her mind fully slipped into her dreams, Sansa brushed against Lady's assuring she was alright before slumber took hold. Only with Jeyne or her siblings had she felt this comfortable sharing a bed with another.