Chapter Text
Sansa Stark was once a disciplined young lady, always courteous and charming. Her family had been honorable and well respected, they were the oldest house in the North after all, but as the long war plagued the wide lands of the realm, everything changed.
Her father and older brother died in battle while fighting alongside the former King, Robert Baratheon. They were all betrayed by their so-called allies from the South. Her mother passed away in childbirth along with the babe that was supposed to be her first younger brother. Her sister fell ill shortly after and died of the fever, despite being such a strong and willful soul, and so was Sansa the only one left.
She stopped grieving rather quickly. She realized that there was no point in doing so. She had people to take care of, and winter was coming. Her father’s bannermen pledged allegiance to her without question. They asked her if they should keep fighting to avenge her father, but she declined.
The war was practically over and the new King was to be crowned. She sent a raven pledging her allegiance to him and it was quickly accepted, despite not having a meeting in person.
She ruled the North as Wardeness, appointed by the King whom she would never meet. She sometimes got the feeling that the cold, vast, North was like its own kingdom, separated from the rest of the realm and could only be tamed by true northerners.
It appeared her people thought so too and she sometimes heard how they called her Queen in the North whenever they thought she didn’t hear. Perhaps she should’ve tried to stop those whispers but she did nothing. She didn’t exactly care if the people called her a Queen. She wasn’t one.
But clearly the King cared. When her scouts came riding, warning her of a hundred soldiers approaching from the South, she had gathered her council. They didn’t like her idea, not at all, but she simply told them they had no choice. She would not fight another silly war only to be defeated.
She ordered her men to open the gates and the small army rode in carefully with the King’s banner flapping in the wind. Her council had suggested her to prepare for a siege, and the soldiers had probably expected her to do so as well, but she found that it was better to face this problem head on.
She greeted them without much formality or courtesy. She had been a well behaved girl before the war but now she knew that there was no point. Her family had been respected. Her family had been honorable. Her family had died. There was no escaping death, so why should she care for silly courtesies? She was sick of such things.
The soldiers told her they were to escort her to King’s Landing for an audience with the King. She knew there would be no point in fighting it, so she simply accepted and offered them to stay the night but they refused. They had strict orders from the King and they would head back as soon as possible.
Slightly annoyed by their stubbornness, she headed back inside and ordered the maids to pack her belongings and draw a bath. The soldiers would have to wait for her. She would not leave until she was ready to.
When she was bathed and dressed properly for travels, she sent for her council again and left them in charge while she was absent. They seemed worried that she would only bring a few guards with her but she told them it would be all right.
They left early in the afternoon and she was frustrated over the fact that the soldiers insisted on leaving immediately. It would be dark in only a few hours and it would have been better to leave in the early morning.
Nevertheless, she rode with them, because the King had given a command.
They traveled for three weeks with only a few days of rest in between. The climate was warmer each day and Sansa went from wearing thick furs to light chiffon gowns.
They stopped by on a street in the city of King’s Landing and Sansa bought some things from the common people on the market; fabric, jewelry, fruit and gowns. The soldiers looked at her like she was a mad woman when she paid most of the people extra in gold. She didn’t care for their opinion.
They could look all they wanted. She had more than enough gold, and the people appreciated her generosity. Some of the orphans on the street started calling ‘mother’ after her as she passed.
It was early afternoon when she rode into the Red Keep on her white mare with her guards behind her, the grey and white Stark banner held high. A servant boy clad in fine silks greeted them and she was showed to her private chambers where a bath had already been set up.
She washed her body and hair with the fragranced oils and soaps that were provided. It was clear that the new King had no problem with spending the wealth that he apparently had, at least on his guests.
Later, there was a sharp knock on the door and the servant boy announced that the King would receive her within the hour in the throne room. She replied with a ‘thank you’ and walked over to her trunk that was filled with her belongings.
She picked out a long chiffon gown; her finest attire that she had never had the opportunity to wear in the North. It had a halter neckpiece of silver, engraved with the direwolf sigil of House Stark. The fabric was light gray with snow white embroideries fading onto the skirt.
With her arms bare, she looked rather out of place in King’s Landing where long clocked sleeves were the preferable look, but she thought her appearance should make an unspoken statement. She wasn’t like them. She would not dress to please anyone, not even the mysterious King.
She combed her hair and braided it delicately on the top, letting the rest of the copper waves fall down her back. Right when she finished, Brienne knocked on the door to follow her to the throne room. Brienne was her most trusted knight and advisor. She was immensely loyal and Sansa knew that the woman would fight until her last breath if she was commanded to.
The doors to the throne room were closed and so she waited patiently outside. She had a feeling that the King wanted to frustrate her and, seeing through the ruse, commanded Brienne to wait outside. She wanted to show the King that she had no fear of him.
The doors finally opened and she held her gaze forward and her head high. She walked with long and elegant steps towards the mighty iron throne — made of the thousand blades of Aegon’s enemies. It was an ugly thing really, why anyone would ever want to sit on such an uncomfortable throne was beyond her understanding.
The crowd was on either side of her as she strode past. Green and silver banners hung the walls along with fine silk draperies, making the room look more inviting than the King.
He was an older man, as shown by the greying hairs on his temples and the fine lines around his eyes, but it didn’t exactly make him look bad. The old King had looked worse.
He did not wear a crown, instead he wore a mockingbird pin by the collar of his silk coat. Silver rings were like armor on his slender fingers, clasped together in front of him. His back was straight, his position poised, and every hair in place. He was every inch a King appearance wise.
His kingsguard was standing in their silver armor, as grim as ever. There were ten of them; five on each side of the stairs that led to the throne.
His dark eyes never left hers as she approached and he had a strange smirk on his face. She couldn’t tell if he was amused by her or if he was plotting to kill her; it seemed like both but she was not afraid. She was intrigued. She had never been faced with a situation like this before. It became a game to her.
“Your Grace,” she said sweetly, almost in a mocking tone, and curtsied without breaking eye contact with him as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She didn’t even dip very low. She was challenging him, and none in the court seemed to notice anything amiss with her actions. They didn’t pay attention like it was apparent he did.
“Lady Stark,” he greeted back. His voice was husky, unlike anything she had heard before, but it only seemed to fit him.
“It has come to my attention that you have proclaimed yourself Queen in the North,” he said calmly, still smirking devilishly, and the crowd started to whisper to each other. Of course, something like that was scandalous.
“I have not proclaimed myself anything and my people have not proclaimed me anything. You’ve heard mere whispers, Your Grace, nothing more,” she said and glared at him. His eyes were like deep pools of smoke and moss.
“Your people? I’m sure you are aware that you have sworn your allegiance to me, Lady Stark,” he said threateningly, his expression more intimidating, but she refused to cower. If he wanted her to be scared, he would have to fight a lot harder.
“I am of the North, just like my people. You are an outsider. Forgive me, Your Grace, but experience had made us weary of outsiders,” she said with a sweet voice, only the faintest of frost exposing the ice behind her words. She stepped onto the first level of the stairs and the kingsguard stirred, warning her to not go any closer to the King. However, she didn’t look at them. Her gaze was fixed on the King.
He nodded slowly, the smirk never leaving his lips. The game she had recently discovered was addicting. Perhaps it was stupid, idiotic even, but so exhilarating. Her life was changing finally. For better or worse, she did not know, but it was changing.
“I suggest you keep your tongue tied, my Lady,” he said and twisted a ring around his finger. The crowd was still whispering nervously, ready to gossip of what scandals occurred in the throne room. If they want a scandal, I’ll give them one.
It was such a small move she made, but it caused such a big reaction. She merely took a step up again, getting into eye level with the seated king, and two longswords clanged together to form a cross in front of her.
She didn’t even flinch, as she had been more than prepared. She wasn’t exactly sure what made her so unafraid, but she guessed it was the desire to provoke him, to get a reaction. He didn’t seem like a person many people would challenge like this, and that made it all the more exiting.
“And you should keep your feet still,” he warned her, but strangely enough, he didn’t sound very angry. He almost sounded impressed.
“What if I don’t, Your Grace?” she said, almost mockingly.
He swallowed lightly and seemed to lick the inside of his teeth behind the closed smirk.
“Perhaps I’ll have you executed?” he announced daringly but she did not believe he would truly do that, not for one second. It would be a poorly planned move, one that would send the North into raging war against him. He wouldn’t risk that. The North was the largest area of the Seven Kingdoms.
“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,” she repeated the words her father had always said. He had always followed that rule, and she was now subtly asking the King if he could do the same.
He flicked out his fingers in a quick motion and the guards lowered their swords immediately. Sansa smirked, not so unlike him, in triumph. She took stepped up the two remaining levels and now towered over him right in front of the throne. He looked up at her through his dark lashes. She found herself liking the sight of him like that.
She waited for him to speak now, as it was his turn to counter the move, but instead of speaking, he rose elegantly. He was now looking down at her again and she was the one to look up.
Their chests were close, far too close than what would be deemed appropriate but neither of them seemed to care about the gossip that would haunt the halls late at night.
Distantly, she caught the scent of mint coming from his breath.
“Lady Brienne, you may escort Lady Sansa back to her chamber,” he husked, his voice echoing around the hall with hidden power. He spoke to her trusted knight but his eyes never left hers. That is, until Sansa broke contact and turned around, descending the stairs to join Brienne who had disobeyed the orders to stay outside.
Sansa didn’t blame her. It was Brienne’s job to protect her and it surely must’ve looked, and sounded like, she was in danger. Brienne walked by her side as she exited the throne room just as elegantly as she had entered.
She made herself comfortable in her chamber in the evening, resting on the chaise by the window that overlooked King’s Landing. She wondered who had won the round by the throne. Had she, or him? All she knew was that she wanted a rematch.
Someone knocked on the door and she told them to come in. It was Brienne, with a deep frown on her face. She had worn that expression quite a lot lately.
“My Lady, the King requires your presence in his study,” she announced and Sansa couldn’t stop her eyebrows from arching in surprise. Perhaps he wanted a rematch too then. She thanked Brienne and dismissed her, explaining that she would do just fine on her own.
The walk to the King’s study wasn’t long and when she approached, the guards stationed outside opened the door for her without question. She stepped in, looking around the room.
There was a desk in the center of the room and a door to the side. She assumed that it led to a connecting chamber, most likely a washroom or bedroom.
The King himself was sitting on a chair, his elbows resting on the desk in front of him with his fingers clasped together. The guards closed the door behind her and his lips instantly dragged into a devilish smirk.
“Lady Sansa,” he greeted.
“Your Grace,” she said, this time without a curtsy and strode closer to him to stand on the opposite side of the desk. His eyes studied her closely when she reached down and grazed the surface of the wood with her fingertips.
“I sent for you to ask how you would like to be executed. So?” He asked with a raised eyebrow and she couldn’t stop the slight giggle that escaped her lips.
“You know just as well as I that executing me would be foolish. The North would never follow you, or anyone else, and they would never forget what you did to the last Stark. The North always remembers,” she said, a knowing smile grazing lips. Now he was the one to laugh, a deep chuckle timbering through his chest.
“The North does not have the numbers, and when they do, years will have passed. They won’t remember what happened,” he said while standing up, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards for half a second. His fingertips grazed the wood, just like hers had, when he moved around the table slowly.
She raised an eyebrow at him daringly.
“They won’t? Perhaps I should confess that when your 100 men approached, my counselors told me to prepare for a siege simply because you did not fight on my father’s side during the war four years ago. Oh, and let’s not forget, even you were prepared for a fight. Otherwise you wouldn’t have sent 100 men. 20 would have been enough if you were so sure the North had forgotten.”
They now stood just as close as they had by the throne, his scent filling her lungs once again and his eyes locked onto hers.
“You’re awfully confident,” he muttered, the sweet scent of mint so strong she could almost taste it. She wanted to taste it.
“Are you going to do something about it, Your Grace?” she challenged, almost too quiet for it to be considered a whisper. He reached up and grabbed a lock of her copper hair, twisting it between his fingers.
She tried to keep her breathing steady but it was difficult with him so close. She ought to be afraid. He let go of her hair and let his fingers trace her collarbone only to travel up along her neck. He stopped right by her jaw and pressed his thumb under her chin; dragging it over her throat.
Her eyes fluttered at the overwhelming sensation. It was almost a chokehold, but she wasn’t frightened the slightest. How strange.
She let out a ragged breath and his eyes flashed in desire, becoming impossibly darker. He moved closer to her, his lips open slightly, making them even more appealing than they had been before.
“Call me Petyr,” he growled low in his throat and pressed his lips against hers. It was rough, it was hard, and she loved it.
She reached up and grabbed the short hairs on the back of his head to press him closer. His hands weaved into her hair as well, gripping, pulling. He groaned low his throat and turned her against the desk, forcing her down onto it.
He pushed her legs apart and she lifted her hips to grind against his hardened manhood. The heat burned fiercely in her core and she wanted to extinguish it, or perhaps even spur it on. Inappropriate or not, she needed it.
He growled against her and bit her lower lip, enough to make it ache sweetly. His hands roamed her body, gripping her thighs so that she was sure it would leave bruises of his fingertips. He moved up along her frame, over her breasts, and up to her neck. He grabbed hold of the chiffon fabric and ripped it apart; leaving only the halter neckpiece of silver around her throat and her smallclothes covering the aching place between her legs.
It had been her finest gown but she paid it no mind in this moment. All she could feel was him. Her smallclothes were soaking wet, she was sure, and his fingers were pinching her nipples. It didn’t take long for them to harden under his touch and he caused the sweetest of pleasures, all while kissing her hungrily.
She could feel as he removed his hands to untie his breeches and she bit his lower lip hard, enough to taste iron, and pulled his face away so she could look at him.
His eyes were dark with desire and need, just like hers, and she smiled wickedly. It was a constant battle between them. She scraped her nails along his scalp and he made a guttural noise in response while gripping her thighs harshly again.
She took hold of the longer dark hair on his head and started to push him down, forcing him closer to her pulsing core. His lips dragged along her skin, leaving a small trail of red from his bleeding lip. She was no fool like many other girls, she knew what a man could do to pleasure a woman.
The thought of was she was doing sent her heart hammering wildly. He was the King, and she was commanding him.
His wicked tongue, moving in circles over her sweet spot, made her legs shake and her nails dig deeper into his scalp. She moaned and whined all while grinding against him.
She put her legs over his shoulders, pressing him against her even further. He looked up at her through his lashes, just like he had on the throne. She knew there was a reasons he liked him in that position and she grinned wickedly at the memory.
She could feel her wetness drip down between her legs and down on the desk. He groaned against her and the vibrations were the tipping point.
She moaned, her body quivering in waves of pleasure. She was still pulsating with sensation from her orgasm when he grabbed her legs harshly and wrapped them around his waist. She quickly held onto him, knowing that the roles had changed.
He lifted her off the desk and carried her over to the door. Her wetness was rubbing against him and soaking right through his breeches. He opened the door swiftly and kicked it close behind him before collapsing on the bed with her underneath.
He quickly undressed while kissing her, like he would go mad if he didn’t feel her lips. She could taste her own juices on him and she felt how it had soaked his trimmed beard. It made her grin.
Perhaps it was foolish of her to grant him access as he aligned himself at her entrance. Perhaps it was foolish to gift him her maidenhead, but it did not matter to her anymore.
She nodded at him as he silently asked permission and he slid inside her with ease. He groaned and filled her to the hilt.
He leaned over her and started kissing her neck, nipping, suckling. She moaned in response and his hips moved more furiously against her. She felt that familiar build up when she reached down between their bodies to touch herself.
“Call out my name,” he growled in her ear. That was the first time either of them had said a word in their needy lust. She rubbed herself faster, in the same rhythm as his cock moved inside her.
Her back arched as pleasure overwhelmed her and her release coursed through her body. She did as he had commanded, called out his name, and convinced herself it was not because he had commanded it.
“Petyr…” she gasped out, pulsating around him and it didn’t take long until she felt his seed spill inside her. He gasped out her name and she couldn’t imagine hearing a more satisfying sound coming from his lips.
He collapsed but he did not crush her. He merely leaned on his elbows, looming over her, his lips dragging over hers like he was still chasing release.
He slowly pulled out of her and rolled to the side; pulling a thin silk cover over them both. His arm snaked around her and pulled her closer to him. Unknowingly, she was lazily drawing shapes on his chest.
“So? Will you execute me?” she asked after a time of silence, a smile spreading on her lips.
“No,” he said simply, his fingers spreading over the bare skin on her waist. She pressed herself closer to him, wanting to feel more even though she had already felt so much.
“Will you make me the Queen in the North then?” she teased and glanced up at him as she rested her head on his shoulder. He met her gaze with a smirk on his face, matching the one she wore.
“No. I’ll make you the Queen of Everything.”
✦ Halsey - Castle ✦