Archive of Our Own

Many Years Ago…

“Please” he whispered, holding her tightly as she weakly lifted a hand to cup his cheek. “Please, don’t leave me.” Her hand was ice-cold, and he raised one of his own to cover it, holding it to his cheek.

“I’m so sorry” she whispered, her voice weak and hoarse from hours of screaming. She was nearly as white as the linen of her shift now, the bruising beneath her eyes heavy as she blinked away tears.

The servants and nurses had gone, leaving them to this private moment. The castle had fallen to a hush, all of them preparing for the mourning to come.

“Don’t you dare” he did his best to hold back tears of his own, but failed miserably. “Don’t you fucking dare--”

“I’m sorry, my love,” she said as tears escaped her eyes, running into her hair as he held her.

“No” he refused to accept this, he would not. He could not. “Please, you have to fight--”

“I cannot” she took a ragged breath. “I have already failed you once today, but I fear I will do so again…”

“You have not failed, no, please” he begged. “Please, I love you, please, my Queen.”

“I love you” she promised, her voice growing weaker.

“No” he choked on a sob as he felt the strength leave her hand against his cheek. He released her hand and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her to his chest, crying softly in the darkness of the morning. In the distance, wolves could be heard howling from the forest, as if their souls were mourning alongside his.

He leaned down to kiss her forehead, the feel of her cool skin against his lips tearing his heart out. He had not cried since he was a little boy, but now there was nothing to stop the onslaught of sorrow.

He loved her, more than he ever thought it possible to love another, he loved the Queen that politics had demanded he marry. And by some miracle, she loved him too. They had tried for years to have a child, and they had been overjoyed when the maester had confirmed her condition.

Fool he cursed himself as he cried. A damned fool.

He held his Queen tightly, crying into her fire-red hair. Her shift was soaked in blood--her blood and at the foot of the bed, wrapped neatly, was the son that would never know life. Today, The Stranger had taken them both from him, and with them, his heart.

He could give anything to have her back.

“Anything” he sobbed.

A cold wind filled the room and he held her unmoving form tighter, as if to protect her soul from death itself.

“Roose Bolton” a dark voice said and he looked up from his Queen’s hair to see a slender man in all black standing before him. His hair was greying at the temples, as was his mustache and goatee.

“Get out” Roose glared.

“Oh, but I think you’ll wish to speak with me,” the man stated. “It concerns her” he motioned to the woman in Roose’s arms.

“You’ve already taken her from me--taken them both, what more do you demand?” Roose glared, deducing that The Stranger had come to collect her himself.

“Ah, but I am here to make a deal.”

“A deal?” Roose questioned.

“You’d give anything to have her back” The Stranger moved to sit in the chair beside the bed, crossing an ankle over a knee. “And I am in need of a man with your skills.”

After a lengthy pause, Roose spoke, “I’m listening.”

“You agree to work for me for say, 250 years, and I will return her to you” The Stranger paused. “At the end of your sentence.”

“What is the catch?” Roose asked.

“She is already in the care of The Mother, her soul in Elysium. When I return her, she won’t remember you, or this life” The Stranger said. “You will have to woo her all over again.”

“Is that all?”

“If you do not woo her” The Stranger smirked. “Successfully, that is, and she does not choose you, she will die.”

“Hardly seems fair” Roose glared.

“Necromancy has its price, Your Grace” The Stranger shrugged. “250 years. Then you will have her chance to win her again.”

“Promise me she won’t suffer,” Roose said.

“The Mother will keep her in her care” The Stranger nodded.

“No” Roose shook his head. “I mean that this fate,” he looked to her bloodied shift and the bundle at the foot of the bed. “This never happens again.”

The Stranger smirked, “Very keen, you are.”

“When she chooses me, we live long healthy lives. Together,” Roose demanded. “No more of this.”

“And in return, you’ll put your skills with those Bolton blades to work for me” The Stranger said. “Without question.”

Roose nodded, “Anything, for her.”

“Well then” The Stranger stood, smoothing his black tunic. “Shall we begin?”

Roose sat atop the war horse, watching the vanguard approach on the horizon. He was surprised that no carriage or cart accompanied them. He had expected the Lady Sansa Stark to arrive in style, surrounded by jewels and blankets to keep her comfortable amidst the cold.

“Your Grace” his advisor and oldest friend, Lord Yohn Royce nodded to the hill to their right and Roose turned to watch a stunning vision appear over the snow-covered hill.

She rode with elegance and grace, even as her mount's legs ate of the distance between them. Roose found that he could not look away, his eyes were drawn to the fire of her hair as it waved behind her and the deep black of her dress and cloak.

“Lord Stark” Roose heard Royce greet the arriving vanguard but he was still watching the woman, the siren, as she approached.

“The Lady Sansa Stark” someone said and she smiled, reining to a stop across from him. She was breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed from the bitter cold and eyes bright with happiness.

This woman, this was the one he was to marry? Could the Gods have been so merciful and kind as to give him such perfection?

“Your Grace” she said with a bright smile and a nod of her head, “Might I compliment you on your gorgeous land, for I believe it to be the finest I have ever seen.”

“You are most kind, Lady Sansa” he drank in every detail of her. “Would it be presumptuous to offer to personally escort you the rest of the way?”

Her lips curled into a devious smirk, “We are betrothed, Your Grace,” she guided her mare closer, the fabric of her dress brushing against his thigh. She boldly looked him over, as if measuring his weight as a man. He knew what he was, a conquering King with rivers of blood on his hand. He’d once been a lower Lord, but with his uprising and victory over the dragons, he was now the most feared man in the realm.

Not, however, to her. She showed not a speck of fear or hesitation as she examined his person.

“Sansa” her father hissed and her eyes fell guarded as she turned back to the older man.

A moment passed and she turned back to him with a sedate nod, “I would be honored, Your Grace,” she said demurely and turned her mount away.

“Stop” Roose commanded, sparing a glare for Lord Stark before he turned back to Lady Sansa. “I’ll need you to be a Queen, not a beaten dog” he reached out to place a gloved finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “My throne is not one of bloodline and succession, I took it with force. With war. I killed thousands for it. Strength, cunning and intelligence are my values, I will need those in my wife. Is that clear?”

Her eyes met his, searching for what he did not know, but after several tense moments, she finally spoke, “As you wish, Your Grace.”

“Lady Sansa” the deep, sinfully dark voice called to her and she turned to see the King approach.

He had not been what she expected from the tales she had heard of the violent warlord Roose Bolton. Rather than a man who spewed vitriol, Roose Bolton was more composed than any man she had ever seen.

He’d sat tall and broad on the back of the black stallion, watching her intently as she had ridden to greet him this afternoon. She hadn’t been able to resist letting her mare stretch her legs, letting the cold of the North sting her face and clear her mind.

Of course, her father disapproved, as he did everything else she did. But she wanted to experience a little life before she was sold like chattel to a kingly husband. But perhaps, she met his assessing eyes as he neared, the cold, pale blue watching her just as intently. Perhaps, she would be able to enjoy her marriage.

“Your Grace” she curtsied as he stood beside her, both of them looking out the large tower window and over the sunset. She had been admiring the way the sun’s fire reflected on the rolling foothills of snow.

“It is done,” he said, his deep voice passing through her like the headiest wine.

She gave a nod, “I am sure my father has retired somewhere to gloat.”

The King gave an odd scoff, “I had nearly forgotten just how honorable Lord Stark was.”

“Honorable” Sansa repeated. “Naive.”

“How do you mean, Lady Sansa?”

“He was quick to judge your war” Sansa explained. “But the tyranny and corruption of the Targaryen reign could not endure. If not for your war, the common folk would have started a revolution regardless as they watched their loved ones starve to death.”

“They told me that you were bright, but I didn’t quite realize what they meant” she felt his form move closer, the warmth of his body sinking into hers, reminding her that she had long since discarded her heavy cloak.

“I believe they think that they have pulled the wool over your eyes” she looked up to hold his gaze. “Or lace as it were.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve already made Lord Willas Tyrell and Lord Viserys Targaryen cry, Your Grace,” she nearly gasped as she felt his fingers twine with hers, his flesh rough, calloused but gentle. He did not lift their hands, merely let them hang at their sides, clasped together.

“And shall you try to make me cry, Sansa?” he asked softly.

“I don’t believe it possible” she admitted.

“Tomorrow I will make you my Queen” he assured her. “And the only sobs will be of pleasure, that I can promise you.”

She raised a brow, even as her cheeks flushed at the idea of being taken by this man. This powerful, imposing man who had slayed kings and beasts alike. “I do not know how to be a Queen, Roose” she met his familiarity with her own.

“Like with pleasure, I will teach you” he promised, stepping closer and lowering his mouth to hers. She gasped, then a soft, whimpering sound escaped her as he devoured her lips. She tightened her hand around his, the other coming up to hold to the leather of his soft armor, her thumb tracing over the flayed man embossed there.

She had never been kissed before, had never imagined the race of her blood, the pounding of her heart and the ache between her legs that began to consume her as he moved. She felt the warmth of his tongue as it traced across her lower lip, his arm pulled her closer, banding around her waist.

Tomorrow this man would become her husband as well as her king, and tomorrow night he would be her lover. She found, suddenly, that she could not wait.

Present Day...

Roose stared down at the piece of paper in his hand, the address of the bookshop printed below a logo of an antique ship with some sort of scroll. Not an hour ago, The Stranger himself had handed it to Roose with a nod and his heart raced at the idea of what it could be.

What it finally might be.

He had spent the last two and a half centuries doing things, unspeakable things, in the name of The Stranger. But he had bourn them all in silence. For her.

He glanced back to the business card and the tattoo around the base of his left ring finger caught his eye. It had sat there for many years, the small crown identical to the one Sansa wore in the portrait he’d had commissioned to celebrate their first year of marriage. The painting that still hung in his home today.

She was, and always would be, his Queen.

The brick building was unassuming, and most would have walked by it without a second thought. But the more he stared at it, the more picturesque it looked. From the dark-trimmed windows, bright orange leaves on the trees and the bicycle with a basket on the front sitting out front, it looked like something from a movie.

Waiting for the cars to pass, he jogged across the street and to the door of the ‘Fables Bookshop’. Nervously he adjusted his tie as he opened the door and stepped inside. The scent of books and coffee bombarded him as he moved into the softly lit shop.

“Be right out” a soft voice called from the office behind the counter and his heart began to race. He had not heard that voice in so long. Turning, he faced the counter and watched as she emerged.

“Sansa” he couldn’t help but whisper, the ache in his chest sharp as she smiled and rounded the counter. She wore a green plaid dress with a belt at the waist, knee high brown boots and a cream oversized sweater, her fiery hair loose to her waist.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. His chest constricted and his arms ached to hold her, it took every ounce of his strength to prevent himself from doing just that. It nearly killed him, to see her look at him without an ounce of recognition, but he had been prepared for that.

Now, he girded himself, he had to win her love.

“Hello, welcome to 'Fables',” she beamed, watching him with her vibrant blue eyes.

“Hello” he said softly.

“Oh” she stepped closer and reached up to pull a leaf from his jacket. “It snuck in with you” she smiled as she twirled it between her fingers.

“A hazard of the season,” he replied.

“Indeed” she tucked the leaf in her pocket. “Can I help you find anything specific?”

“No, I was just going to look around,” he said.

“Alright” she extended her hand. “I’m Sansa, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask.”

“Sansa” he reached out and took her hand, wrapping his around it. “Roose.”

“Roose” she repeated. “It’s very nice to meet you, Roose.”

“And you, Sansa” he reluctantly released her hand, his palm tingling as he did. She returned to the counter and he slowly wandered the shop, looking back at her every few minutes to make sure that she was still there.

That she was real.

When he looked back again, he caught her staring at him and she blushed, “Coffee, Roose?” she asked, motioning to the coffee bar behind him.

“Sure” he nodded and she rounded the counter once more, her modest high heels clicking on the hardwood as she crossed the shop.

“You look like an espresso guy to me,” she said.

“Do I?”

“Strong profile, expressive eyes” she paused and glanced at him once more. “Well dressed but not showy.”

“I’ll take whatever you’ll give me” he replied, the words more true than she knew.

“Oh really?” she smiled. “That’s brave of you.”

“I trust you” he moved to the bar and watched as she deftly operated the rather complicated piece of machinery. He’d been on the earth for so long, he’d watch man and machine evolve, not necessarily for the better. Instead of watching the machine, he watched her. The way her slender hands worked with deft efficiency, the way she bit her lower lip as she poured the dark liquid. It was all he could do to hold himself together.

“Where are you from, Roose?” she asked as she worked and he was so focused on watching her that he nearly missed the question.

“The North” he said after he realized she was waiting for his reply. “An old family estate there.”

“I hear it’s beautiful in the North” she smiled, pushing a small cup and saucer towards him on the countertop. “This one’s on me. You have to let me know if you like it.”

“Thank you” he felt his lips twitch into a smile for the first time in centuries. “You never been North then?”

“No” she gave a small frown before her eyes brightened once more and she smiled. “But I will, someday. I just know it. The snow, the castles, it just seems so...romantic.”

He watched as her cheeks flushed in the most becoming way. He remembered a time, some time ago, that he’d delight in watching the flush spread across her porcelain skin. Watch as it spread from her cheeks to her shoulders and the upper curves of her breasts. As the flush spread with her cries of pleasure, all of them imprinted on his mind forever.

Gods he’d missed her.

“Romantic?” he smiled.

“A girl can dream, right?”

“Absolutely” he agreed reaching for the cup.

It was then that her eyes went to his left hand in a quick action that he’d have missed if he wasn’t watching her so closely. Her smile faltered as she looked at his hand, at his tattooed finger, and she bit her lower lip once more as she forced her eyes away.

Interesting, he sipped his coffee, surprised at how delicious it was.

“This is quite good” he stated.

“I made you my favorite; espresso with just a hint of chocolate, cinnamon and cayenne,” she explained.

“It’s very good, thank you” he assured her, taking another drink.

“I’m glad” she stepped back around the counter and motioned over her shoulder toward the front. “I should...go...back.”

“You don’t have to, Sansa, I was enjoying speaking with you,” he stated. Her eyes darted to his hand around the cup once more and she stepped back again. “Sansa—”

The door chimed as it opened and an older man stepped inside, carrying a box of books and mumbling to himself.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Cressen” Sansa greeted.

“Oh! Hello dear” he said and then continued mumbling as he vanished behind the counter and into the office. “You can go to lunch now, I will cover the shop for a bit” he called as he vanished.

Sansa turned back to him, looking expectant as she toyed with the sleeve of her sweater.

“It's your lunch hour then” Roose said softly.

“So it seems” she replied.

“I’m not married, Sansa--at least, not anymore,” he explained before he could stop himself. “My wife passed away many years ago.”

“Oh” her shoulders lost their previous tension and her eyes grew softer. “I am very sorry.”

“Thank you” he finished his espresso. “May I take you to lunch?”

“I hardly know you” she whispered.

“I’d like to remedy that” he reasoned.

She bit her lower lip once more and gave a small nod, “I’ll get my purse” she smiled. “There’s a cafe up the road that serves Northern food” she smiled brightly.

“Perfect.”

Roose pulled the tie at the waist of her robe, allowing the soft material to part and reveal the nudity beneath. His wife had not bothered with enticing night clothes or covered up with a plain shift, but had met their wedding night boldly, as herself.

A few short hours ago they had spoken the words in the Godswood, becoming man and wife, King and Queen, for the rest of their days. Sansa looked stunning in the ivory and grey gown, her hair tamed into a series of braids that he was grateful had been undone. He found that he had a fondness for red hair, one that he did not realize he’d had before now.

He felt her eyes on his face as he raked his own over the sight of her porcelain body. Every inch of this woman called to him. From the spark of intelligence in her eyes to the barbs of her tongue, from the silky fire of her hair to the outer curve of her hip, she was perfection.

“You’re beautiful” he whispered, trailing a finger up the flesh of her abdomen, between her breasts to cup her jaw.

“I would see you” she reached for his robe, one he had donned before entering their shared rooms from his dressing room.

“Would you?” he smirked, moving closer and leaning down to kiss her softly. He nearly smiled when she followed his lips as he pulled back, prolonging their kiss.

He felt her hand at his waist a second before the material of his robe gaped, the cool air of the bedroom hitting his bare flesh. He moved closer to her, pulling her bare flesh against his own, her sigh and his growl echoing in the room.

He guided her back, walking her towards the large bed that dominated their bedroom. She was lost in their kiss, not realizing that he had moved her until he lifted her and crawled onto the bed to lay her across the coverlet.

She broke their kiss, looking up at him with only a tinge of uncertainty in her eyes, the arrogant tilt of her jaw letting him know that she would never let him see how afraid she was.

“My Queen” he whispered, kissing along the line of her jaw, pausing only to gently nibble on the lobe of her ear before resuming his path. He shucked his robe and tossed it to the floor as he moved further, kissing her collarbone, shoulder and the upper swells of her breasts.

“My King” Sansa sighed as he pulled a jeweled nipple into his mouth, suckling it deeply as she arched beneath him.

He released her breast, briefly nuzzling against the peak before kissing the underside and continuing. He watched as the flush from her cheeks spread across her neck, shoulders and breasts, her porcelain skin ruddy with desire as she began to pant.

He swirled his tongue across her belly button before kissing below it and reaching the fiery thatch of curls at the apex of her long legs. She cried out as he parted her thighs, holding her wide to bury his face in her folds. His Queen was already soaked for him, the lust in her blood rising to meet his own.

“Gods” she cried as he lapped, licked and sucked her most intimate place, allowing her juices to soak his beard and jaw. He could smell on her now, the musky tang of her arousal, her pants and cries filling his ears. Her hands, holding to the bed at first, found purchase in his short hair, the blunted nails dragging across his scalp as she screamed in pleasure.

Even as he felt the pulses of her climax against his tongue, he did not relent, driving her higher and holding her thighs pinned as he worked her. He wanted his wife’s cries of pleasure to echo in the keep, for every Lord and Lady gathered here for their wedding to know that King Roose Bolton was not only a man capable of great violence, but that he was a man who openly worshipped his Queen.

Politics had forced their marriage, but none would ever say it was a cold, vacant union.

As her body crested a second time, he slowed his movements, turning to wipe his beard onto the sheets as he released her thighs. The red imprints of his hands on the creamy flesh made him smile. Though they would fade, he would always be branded on her in some small way.

“My Queen” he whispered, kissing her lax lips softly. She seemed to snap back to reality then, her body still recovering as she kissed him deeply.

He lowered a hand between their bodies as he settled into the cradle of her thighs. Taking himself in hand, he stroked the solid flesh, his cock aching to be buried inside of her.

“Roose” she gasped as he dragged the head of his cock across the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden in her folds.

“You are mine, Sansa” he promised her, notching himself at her opening. “Mine.”

“Show me” she met him with that damned sexy tilt of her jaw and he slid home, tearing through her barrier and sheathing himself into the soaked heat of her cunt. “Fuck” she hissed, clinging to his shoulders as he filled her, stretched her.

“Don’t move” he warned, holding his control with a frayed thread, the clench of her body wreaking havoc on him.

“Husband” she watched his face, reaching up to run her fingers across his brow and down his nose. The soft touch shot through him and he roughly grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face, pinning it above her head.

“Mine” he promised her as he rocked his hips, holding her pinned by her wrist and with his hips. Never one to back down, Sansa’s free hand ran down his back to the muscle of his ass, grabbing it roughly and filling her hand with it.

“I don’t share” she warned, clenching her inner muscles around his cock. “If I am yours, then you are mine. Mine.”

He punctuated her words by slowly dragging his cock back down her channel before filling her with a snap of his hips, “Is that so?”

“King or not, take another to your bed, Roose” she hissed as he filled her over and over. “I’ll kill her. Slowly. In front of you.”

“Fuck” he growled, taking her lips in a brutal, bruising kiss as he fucked her. He should have been gentle, slow and taken her virginal body into consideration, but as he held her pinned and she held the curve of his ass, guiding him into her body, he was lost.

Roose fucked her wildly, her soaked body locked around his as her whines of pain melted to pleasure. The bed shook with the force of it, her breasts bounced with each movement, her hardened nipples dragging against the wall of his chest.

He felt her body bow and then her scream vibrated against his mouth as he felt her come, pulsing around his cock in hard, pulses. He bit her lower lip as his own release slammed into him, his hips slapping against hers over and over as he spurted his pleasure into her womb.

He collapsed across her, his head pillowed on her breasts as he tried to catch his breath. He could feel her trembling beneath him as she too tired to breath. Moving onto his elbows, he saw the trickle of blood at her bottom lip, where he had bitten her. He watched, unable to look away as her tongue peaked out and cleaned the drop away.

“My King” she whispered.

“My Queen” he replied as his body slipped from hers, the sticky mess of their coupling spilling onto the robe he hadn’t bothered to remove from her person.

“Mine” she released his ass and dragged her nails up his back, hard enough to leave welts and send shivers through him.

“Mine” he moved to kiss her once more, losing himself to the vixen he had married.

Sansa couldn’t help but watch the mysterious man out of the corner of her eye as he escorted her up the street. He had surprised her, inside the bookshop, when he offered his arm to guide her to the restaurant.

She had noticed him the moment he appeared on the sidewalk outside her work. His tall, broad form clad in an impeccable black suit and overcoat, the brown-silver of his hair a compliment to strong features and sharp eyes.

It was as if he had appeared out of a dream, her dreams, and she could hardly believe that he was real.

For as long as she could remember, she had dreamed of a man, a man from another time and place with broad shoulders clad in leather armor and a greatsword with a flayed man at the hilt. His face, however, was forever unclear, always just out of reach. Every time she tried to reach for him, he vanished from her mind’s eye.

But the moment she saw this man appear on the sidewalk, she knew his frame. The clothing might be different, but she knew those shoulders, that angular jaw and she knew that this face was the only face that mattered.

As he crossed the street, she raced to the back office, checking her hair and making sure she didn’t have any poppy seeds in her teeth from her morning muffin, and as the door chimed, she felt her heart race. He was here.

She had tried her best to remain calm as they talked, even when she saw the crown tattooed around his left ring finger. An ancient crown that he wore as a ring, a wedded ring. She had never felt more disappointment in her life.

But now, she smiled as they rounded the corner and he guided her up the steps to ‘The Melting Pot’, a small cafe that served hearty Northern food, perfect for the chilly autumn day, now they were together.

“Hi San!” Hotpie greeted as they entered.

“Good afternoon” she smiled, her hand still holding to Roose’s arm. “Come” she guided Roose to the table in the window, her favorite place to sit and watch the world.

Roose helped her to her chair before he sat across from her, both of them settling in, neither moving as their knees touched beneath the table.

“Usual for you San?” Hotpie asked, bringing two glasses of water to them.

“Yes, please” she replied, looking to Roose. “I always get the beef stew with extra potatoes” she explained.

“I’ll have the same” Roose nodded, not even bothering to grab his menu. “And do you have any iced lemon cakes?”

“Always, they’re Sansa’s favorite” Hotpie chuckled. “I will bring you a few” he nodded, vanishing behind the counter.

“Those are my absolute favorite” Sansa smiled.

“They are quite good, I haven’t had them in years” he gave a small smile, the action transforming his face. She busied herself with her straw wrapper, uncovering the plastic and placing it in her glass so that he could not see the flush on her cheeks.

Never before had she been so aware of a man, both as a man and a powerful force. And there was no mistaking that this man was a powerful force. He seemed to exude power and confidence.

Her life had been quiet, for the most part. Especially in terms of dealing with the opposite sex. She hadn’t dated in high school choosing to focus on her studies and she continued to do so at the local community college here, learning library science before she started working with Cressen on the antique books and their restoration.

She enjoyed her quiet, small life and never met a man who had tempted her to change that. After all, they had never been the warrior that had haunted her nights for so long. And so she remained aloof, living in a small apartment a few blocks from the bookshop, riding her bicycle back and forth to work.

“Tell me about yourself, Roose” she prompted when she finally had her thoughts under control.

“There isn’t much to tell, I’m afraid” he said softly. “I work in medieval weaponry, their location and restoration, and in the past I have traveled quite a bit for it. I am hoping that is over with now.”

“If you don't mind my asking,” she said. “How old are you?”

“Forty-two” he replied without hesitation.

“I am twenty-four” she offered with a small shrug.

“Does it bother you?” he asked.

“Not at all” she replied.

“That’s good” he gave a small smile and she could have melted in that very chair.

“What is your last name?” she asked as she sipped her water.

“Bolton” he replied and she choked, moving the straw away to cover her mouth with her napkin.

“Sansa, are you alright?”

She nodded, clearing her throat, “I am well” she assured him. “Any relation to the Red King?”

Roose’s form went still and he gave a curt not, “A distant ancestor.”

“I often wondered what he looked like” she examined his features. “I have read about him before, many times. I restore old books with Mr. Cressen, you see, and King Bolton is mentioned so many times in the old war tomes.”

“He is, yes” Roose agreed.

“I found him fascinating,” she explained. “I was named for his wife, actually” she felt her cheeks warm and she looked away. “Or at least that is the only other occasion the name Sansa has been used in history and I assumed that is where my name came from.”

“You do not know where your name came from?”

“No” she shook her head. “I grew up in foster care before I was adopted. I never knew my parents or the origin of my name. Queen Sansa Bolton was the only other woman to have this name, I admit I was intrigued.”

“So your last name---?” he asked.

“Royce” she smiled as Hotpie brought their stew bowls over, both of them filled to the brim and smelled delicious. “Thank you, Hotpie.”

“You’re very welcome” Hotpie replied. “I will bring the cakes once you’re done.”

“Perfect” she said as she picked up her spoon. Roose did the same and she watched him closely.

It was unique, she decided, that the warrior she had so often dreamed of was named for the great Northern king that she had been so fascinated with. Through all of the books and poems she had read about the couple, there were never any paintings or drawings of them that she could see.

It was documented that the Red Queen died shortly after her twenty-fourth name day, her body unable to survive the childbed as she and their first born died only four years into her marriage. It was heart-breaking to read, and when she went on to learn that the Red King vanished immediately after, his love for her too much to survive without her, Sansa had wept for her namesake.

The Red King, a man documented to be bloodthirsty, a warmonger and one who never spared violence, had loved so deeply that he hadn’t wished to continue without his wife. It had firmly cemented the North as the most romantic region in her heart. The Red King must have looked something like Roose, if they shared a bloodline and she found that she found his appearance fitting. He would have made an imposing King.

“So you restore old books then?” Roose prompted as they ate.

“I do--well, Mr. Cressen is teaching me to” she paused in between spoonfuls. “I studied library science, and hand-restoring old books is a unique craft. Mr. Cressen offered to teach me when I started working for him at the shop. I love it.”

“Books are important,” Roose said, his deep voice thoughtful. “They hold our histories, the lessons humanity has already learned.”

Sansa nodded, “Absolutely, I agree. The poems and fairy tales are, of course, my favorite.”

“Of course” he chuckled and she enjoyed the sound.

“And you, you restore old weapons?” she asked, anxious to hear more about him.

“I do,” he replied. “I locate and acquire antique weapons and restore them for museums or private collections.”

“Another lost art” she noted and they lapsed into a comfortable science as they ate.

Sansa couldn’t help but smile as she stole glances at Roose from across the small table. Beyond the window, autumn was in full swing and the vibrant orange of leaves covered everything insight, but here in the warmth of the restaurant, she felt a bone-deep contentment that she had not felt before.

Seeing that Roose was ignoring several pieces of potato in his bowl, she reached across to steal one with her spoon, shoving it into her mouth with a guilty smile.

“Your favorite part, I presume” he said with a small smirk, taking a piece of meat from her stew. “And mine” he stated as he ate the meat.

She felt a pang in her chest as pain echoed behind her right eye, as if she were trying to remember something that was just beyond reach.

“Sansa, are you well?” Roose’s voice broke in.

“Yes” she assured him. “Just the oddest feeling of deja-vu.”

Roose didn’t reply, merely smiled as they continued eating.

“What have you done?” The Stranger demanded, opening the door to her private chambers so roughly that it bounced off the wall behind it, the slam echoing in her realm.

“Me?” she smiled innocently, standing to face him.

“Yes!” The Stranger glared. “It can only be you.”

“Of course it was me, you ignorant twat” she chuckled, pouring herself a glass of wine.

“You were supposed to wipe her memory, cleanse the soul” The Stranger yelled.

“And let you win this little game you’ve started, so easily?” she laughed. “Not a chance.”

“Roose Bolton belongs to me” he moved closer, his hands clenching.

“Careful” she warned as a guard moved away from the wall. “You may be The Stranger, Petyr, but I am still more powerful than you.”

“I own him---”

“No, you do not” she countered. “Your deal with him ended with the last full moon.”

“I will kill her then” he stated.

“You do, and I will restore her, immediately.”

“You don't have that kind of power!”

“You know very well that I do” she sipped from her goblet. “The entire pantheon tires of your games, Petyr. I tire of them. You tore history apart once with your untimely killing of Sansa Bolton. It will not happen again.”

“You….poisonous bitch!”

“That’s Mother bitch to you, thanks to you” she glared. “Sansa’s memory remains intact, whole and will be untouched. She will have the life you stole from her before.”

“How dare--”

“Now get out.”

Sansa heard the heavy footfalls in the hallway and quickly wiped her cheeks as the door swung open and her husband moved inside. She sniffled and made sure she took a deep breath before she faced him.

“Roose---”

He discarded his cloak and moved closer, tossing the heavy material across the bed, “Sansa” he cupped her cheeks and looked to her eyes, the emotion in his pale blue orbs breaking her heart.

“I’m sorry” she choked out, covering her mouth with her ungloved hand as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Don’t you dare apologize” he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly to his chest. “Not to men, not to that cunt of a maester, not to anyone.”

“I have done nothing but fail you, My King” she sobbed, her body shaking with the force. Her arms wound around his waist, hands splayed across the muscles of his back through his doublet.

“You have never failed me” he promised.

“I hear the whispers” she said, burying her face into the warmth of his neck. “I hear what they say of me. I have been your wife for eleven moons, and yet I cannot give you a son. Each moon they believe more and more that I am barren, they plan to ask you to set me aside---”

She felt him pull her from his chest, his eyes looking to hers, “Absolutely fucking not” he shook his head. “You are my wife, my Queen. I will not set you aside, never.”

“Roose” she cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones. “You need an heir.”

“If that heir does not come from your body, then he will come through trial by combat” he smoothed his hands up her back and carded them into her hair. “I will have none at my side, none in my bed but you, Sansa.”

“You would thrust the realm into chaos, for this” she gave a watery laugh.

“I would do much worse, for you.”

“My King” she whispered, heart racing as she kissed him softly.

“In a fortnight's time a man will be arriving” he told her. “This man is a painter and he will be painting your portrait.”

“Mine?” she asked.

“To commemorate our wedding and for me to keep in my private offices, forever” he kissed the tip of her nose. “I believe that you will rather like the dress I have ordered.”

“My King, ordering dresses and paintings” she laughed softly.

“Only for you” he said. “Politics and alliances may have brought you to my side, Sansa, but I mean to keep you here with love.”

“Love” she whispered, a fresh wave of tears filling her eyes.

“Love” he kissed her forehead. “I may rule this realm, but you, My Queen, rule me.”

“I love you” she sighed, snuggling into his broad form, her hands holding on to his neck. “I love you so much. I promise you, I will find a way, some way, to give you an heir.”

“All I need is you” he tilted their heads to kiss her softly, holding her in front of the large fireplace in their rooms.

“I would like to see you again, Sansa” Roose said as their feet stopped on the sidewalk in front of the bookshop. He couldn’t remember the last time he shared a meal with anyone, and the last time he had shared a meal with her had been 250 years ago, the night that she had gone into labor.

Shaking away the pain that lingered in his chest, he refocused on her form in front of him.

“I would like that” she pulled out her phone, typing quickly and then turning it towards him. “Your number?” He typed in his mobile number and saved it before she turned it back to herself, typing quickly again. “I sent you a text, so you’ll have mine, too.”

“Perfect” he smoothed his hand over the back of hers where it lay on his arm. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

She nodded, “I would love to” she went on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, her own face delightfully flushed as she pulled back.

Raising her hand in his own, he kissed her knuckles. “Until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow” she agreed. “Bye, Roose” she stepped back and he watched her go into the bookshop, giving him a small wave through the large window as she went.

Roose made his way back down the street to where he had parked his black SUV earlier that day. Unlocking it, he slid behind the wheel and started the motor, his lips curving into a smile as the smell of her perfume lingered around him.

She was real, after so many lifetimes without her, she was finally here.

Piloting his car onto the road, he drove to the outskirts of town and to the large estate he had purchased nearly twenty years ago. The large house was situated on the edge of the forest, surrounded by great trees that ensured it was private.

He parked as he always did and made his way to his offices, his feet not stopping until he was staring up at the larger than life portrait of his beloved.

For 252 years he had had this portrait behind his desk in one home or another, the beauty of his bride watching over him at all times.

Leaning against his desk, he glanced to her crown and the two snarling direwolves that formed the front of her crown. While he was born of the flayed men, his wife was a fierce she-wolf through and through, and he had wanted that to shine in her crown.

She also wore a wolf’s pelt across her shoulder, the beast around her body as a trophy, falling down her side in a deep inky black. The seamstresses had spent months on the gown, following his requirements and details perfectly. The branches of the Weirwood tree protected her chest, their bright red leaves glittering from her sleeve and skirt.

And at her waist was the silver chain he had given her on their wedded first anniversary, a simple decoration that could be turned and used as a barbed garrote should she ever be in danger. He would have done anything to protect her, but in the end it had been his seed that killed her.

He turned away from the painting and crossed to the window, looking out at the forest. They had wanted to badly to have a child, Sansa had prayed daily for The Mother to bless her with a son, but if he had known, Roose would have never allowed it to happen. He would never allowed her to pray again.

He had planted a child within her, and they had watched it grow, marvelling at the miracle that had finally been gifted to them. He remembered laying beside her in bed, their hands on her swollen stomach as she tried to decide what to name their son or daughter when they arrived.

Sansa had smiled when her waters came, anxious to meet their child and he had watched her go into the birthing chamber with the midwife. He waited in the hall outside the door, listening to every whimper, every scream and then when the room went silent, he could wait no longer.

He had barged in to find the midwife praying, the nurses wrapping the unmoving babe whose grey skin and dark hair would haunt his nightmares forever.

He crawled onto the bed beside her, ordering everyone from the room, all of them running away at the fury in his voice.

He held his wife as she bled to death, drawing her last breaths in a battle that he could never hope to help her win. He could hardly close his eyes without seeing the blood, hearing her apologize for failing him. Hearing her promise her love.

He pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off a fresh batch of tears just as his phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it free, he felt a smile pull at his lips as he read the number and unlocked his phone.

‘Thank you for lunch, Roose’ it read, the end having a cake and knife emoji that made him chuckle.

‘Anytime. See you tomorrow’ he typed, adding a smiling emoji and sending it.

She was alive, his Red Queen. And he was never going to fail her again.

Never.

Sansa hurried through the castle, holding her skirts away from her boots as she hurried up the steps and to her husband’s study. Knocking quickly, his voice bid her to enter and she ducked inside.

“My Queen” he set his quil aside as she entered, hurrying around his desk. He sat behind the ancient wood and stone desk, the portrait of her handing behind him. She had sat for hours and hours for that portrait, her dress the most beautiful piece of clothing that she had ever worn as the artist worked to immortalize her image.

It was larger than life, a fact that had embarrassed her but only made Roose smile as he declared that it would hang behind his desk for all to see. His ‘Red Queen’ he had called her with pride.

“It’s happened” she sank onto his lap, holding him tightly.

“What’s happened? What’s wrong?” he smoothed her hair.

“I did not dare to believe that it was real” she whispered against his neck. “That perhaps there was some other reason that I had missed my moon’s blood.”

“Sansa” he pulled back to look into her eyes as she blinked away tears. “Are we…”

She nodded, smiling brightly, “I am with child” she beamed. “Finally, after all these years, I can give you the son that I promised you.”

“Gods” he sighed, kissing her deeply. Sansa held to her husband, returning his kiss with every bit of affection he gave her. She had never felt more at home, or more loved than she did in her husband’s embrace.

She giggled when he lifted her, shoving his papers to the floor before he set her on the great desk. He lifted her skirts easily and parted her legs to step into the cradle of her body, his lips returning to hers. She loved the way his hands felt as they ran across the bare flesh of her legs, teasing her in the most delightful ways.

“Roose” she gasped as he ran a finger across her folds, knowing that she was already more than wet enough for him. He circled her clit with his thumb, drawing cries and moans from her body until she was so close that she could feel her peak coming. “Roose, I’m going---”

“No” he smirked, removing his hands from her legs to unlace his breeches, pulling his cock free. Had she gotten a good look at his cock on their wedding night, she would have been terrified at the long, thick length and the swollen head that almost seemed angry with arousal. But now she knew how wonderful it felt to have his cock buried so deeply within her that she couldn’t think.

He stepped closer, teasing her folds with the head of his cock as he gave her brief, sinful kisses.

“Damn it” she hissed as he teased her. “Please…”

“What does my Queen desire?” he asked.

“Please, My King” she whimpered as he allowed the head of himself to slip inside before pulling back. “Please give me your cock” she pleaded.

“As my Queen orders” he stepped against her and sank into her with a smooth movement, her body clenching around his as she sighed.

“My King” she kissed him softly, the tickle of his beard making her smile. Even in the years that they had been married, the grey in his beard and hair and seemed to expand, making him look more distinguished and intimidating. She loved it.

She held her to her husband’s shoulders as he made love to her, slowly and deeply, right there in his study. She would never tire of the way it felt to have his body joined with hers. His body that had given her a child, finally, after all this time she had been able to give him the one thing that she knew he needed to secure his legacy in this realm.

“I love you” she whispered against his mouth as he moved.

“My Queen” he kissed her deeply and she felt her body begin is race toward the peak he had denied her only minutes ago. “My beautiful Queen, my love.”

“Oh Gods, Roose” she whimpered and pulled back, their foreheads pressed together as she came, her body trembling in his arms as he followed her moments later, spilling into her with a possessive growl.

“I cannot wait to meet our child” he whispered, kissing her temple.

“Nor can I.”

Sansa sat up with a gasp, her brain screaming in pain as the memories of her dream lingered in her mind. She tried to catch her breath but as she moved a wave of dizziness hit her and she ran to the bathroom, barely making it as her stomach heaved and rolled.

She wretched her lunch up and wiped her mouth with a shaking hand. Standing, she flushed the toilet and washed her hands before she brushed her teeth, thoroughly. Once the awful taste was gone from her mouth, she took two aspirin, hoping to stem the pounding pain behind her eyes.

Leaning against the bathroom counter, she stared at her reflection, the memory of the portrait still vivid and clear. The Red Queen, Sansa Bolton, had been her---no, that was impossible, she felt her stomach roll and she squeezed her eyes shut, the face of Roose Bolton, King Roose Bolton waiting there for her.

She touched her stomach, hoping to quell the nausea and she felt another sensation of deja-vu, another haunting almost-memory escaping her. She had dreamed of the mysterious warrior for years, but now, now the dreams had changed. Now they were of her and him, together, them in love---clearly in love.

She looked back at her reflection, her fiery red hair and porcelain skin, her bright blue eyes and the mole on her cheek. She had no idea whose face she wore, which ancestor she resembled. She never would. Her parents were never found and her adoptive parents were little to no help in locating any information before they too passed away.

Her own face was a mystery to her. She had no idea who she was, beneath the skin and she felt a tremor pass through her body at the idea that she somehow knew who she was. Who she had always been.

But that wasn’t possible, was it?

Glancing at the time, she sighed and rushed to get ready. Roose would be here soon to pick her up, her body having fallen asleep on the couch after a long day at work. She put on a little bit of makeup, and brushed out her hair, taming it into a simple up-do before she pulled on the simple black sheath dress and tights.

She hadn’t been on a date, a real date before and she wanted to make sure that she looked her best. Roose had been well-dressed yesterday and she didn’t want to embarrass him. Pausing at her jewelry box, she opened the lid and pulled out the earrings her mother had given her on her sixteenth name day, the silver and red Weirwood leaves glittering back at her.

She had never worn them before, having never felt right about it. But tonight, tonight felt right. She slipped them into ears as she glanced around for her only pair of black high heels, finding them in the closet on the floor.

The intercom buzzed as she slipped on the heels and grabbed a red peacoat to chase off the chill.

“Come on up!” she said as she buzzed him in, grabbing her purse as she opened the door.

“Good evening” Roose greeted and her heart nearly stopped at the sight of him in the all-black suit with bright red tie.

Oh Gods she nearly swallowed her tongue.

“Good evening,” she replied.

“You’re stunning” he said softly and she felt her cheeks heat.

“I don’t date, so I don’t have many nice dresses--” she stopped herself. “I don’t know why I said that” she shook her head, closing her apartment door and locking it.

“You look lovely, Sansa. And the fact that you do not date, makes our dinner all the more special” he offered his arm and she smiled as she took it as she had yesterday. He escorted her down the stairs and out to where a sleek black SUV waited, surprised when he opened the passenger door for her.

“Thank you” she smiled as she slipped onto the leather seats, buckling herself in. Once certain she was secured, he closed the door and rounded the hood to slip behind the wheel. Like the man himself, his car was tidy and smelled fresh and clean, how she imagined that the forest would smell.

Sansa watched his profile in the light of sunset as he drove, admiring the strength of his features and how he held the look of another time in his eyes.

“You trimmed your beard” she whispered as he turned down the main street.

“A bit” he smirked. “You noticed.”

She felt her cheeks heat, “I suppose I did.”

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about” he assured her, reaching across the console to take her hand. “You’re wearing mascara” he confessed.

“I am” she smiled, relaxing against the seat as he pulled into a parking lot. “I feel as if I have known you for far longer than I have,” she admitted into the now-silent car.

“Perhaps our souls knew each other in another life” he replied and she felt her smile falter.

“Do you believe in previous lives?”

“I must” he said resolutely. “Or I’d have given up hope a very long time ago.”

She squeezed his hand gently, “Sometimes, I worry that this life is nothing more than going through the motions, the day to day. Days blur into each other, one into the next and all I have are dreams---”

“Dreams?” he asked.

“Dreams that seem like memories of a life I never had” she turned away. “And I fear this is more than you had in mind for a first date.”

“Second” he correct with a soft smile, raising her knuckles to his lips and kissing them softly. “I will forever count the stew as our first date.”

Sansa laughed softly, “Second, then.”

“Come” he nodded to the door of the restaurant. “We can continue our conversation inside.”

Roose watched her, her porcelain skin illuminated in the candlelight as she laughed. He had chosen the restaurant for their candlelight and the chance to see her surrounded by such once more. She was every inch as vibrant as she had been, perhaps more so as she tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear and nursed her single glass of red wine.

In the car, she alluded to remembering him, remembering things that she should not be able to and he was curious if there was more to her dreams than she knew. He couldn’t help but wonder what else was locked away in her mind.

The possibility that she may remember him, remember their life together, was nearly enough to overwhelm him and bring forth all the tears that he had struggled so long to hold back. Centuries of service to The Stranger had made him a hard, cold man but with only a few hours back in her company, he felt his heart melting once more.

With this hope, however, came terror. The idea of losing her again was terrifying, the idea of her choosing to live her life without him even more so.

“Roose” she said softly, reaching across the table to cover his hand with her own. “You look so serious all of the sudden.”

“I fear I have always been a rather serious man” he lifted his thumb to cover her index finger.

“I suppose it is an elephant in the room” she glanced to his left hand where it lay beneath her own. “But your wife--” she broke off as their food arrived, large plates of pasta for both of them.

“That is a very long and” he paused. “Complicated story.”

“You must have loved her, to have such a ring tattoo” she said softly.

“It is a crown, but yes” he nodded, picking up his fork.

“Crown?” she repeated and he saw the color fade from her cheeks.

“Sansa? Sansa?” he asked as she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before she opened them and picked up her fork.

“I am fine” she told him, smiling across the table. The smile did not reach her eyes and he knew that something was amiss. “Tell me about your work” she changed the subject and he allowed it, their conversation flowing easily as they ate. She did not touch her wine, he noticed, the glass remaining as the waiter took their plates away.

“Are you alright?” he asked her.

“I think so” she nodded, laughing as she placed her napkin in her lap. “Are you a religious man, Roose?” she asked as he placed a bit of cash in the billfold the waiter had brought.

“I was once” he replied. “But there have been many things that have tested my faith in the Old Gods and The Seven alike.”

“That is understandable” she glanced to her wine and sipped it slowly. “I used to follow The Seven, as a girl. My adoptive parents were religious but I never felt the desire that they did to worship.”

“Perhaps you are a soul of the Old Gods” he mused and raised a brow when she finished her wine. “Come” he offered his arm, sending her unease as it frizzled across his spine. He took her hand and led her from the restaurant.

She followed, her high heels clicking on the asphalt as they walked through the moonlight and to his SUV.

Abruptly, so much so that he couldn’t stop her, she grabbed his left hand and looked at the tattoo that lay there, “How?” she demanded.

“Sansa?” he questioned.

“How is that possible?” she held his hand up to his eyes. “HOW!?”

“I do not understand---”

“I’ve seen this crown a hundred times” she said frantically. “How!?”

“Sansa” he said softly, moving to cup her cheek, his heart aching when she turned away.

“Enough games” she shook her head. “What the hell is going on?” she demanded, her manners fading away to reveal the strength of her core, his she-wolf.

“Can I ask you to trust me?” he asked. “For an hour, to trust me.”

“Roose---”

“I promise I can explain everything” he moved closer, grateful when she did not move. “Perhaps even the dreams…”

“What do you know of the dreams?” she snapped and in that moment he saw his Red Queen, his true Queen shining through.

“Everything” he promised. “I know everything.”

“Your Grace,” the man bowed before her and Roose watched his wife as she turned to the Lord with little amusement.

“Lord Mormont” she greeted.

“You are looking lovely, Your Grace” he said smoothly, tilting his blonde head in deference. “I wish you humble greetings on this fine Yule.”

“Thank you, Lord Mormont” she replied. “I trust you are having a lovely Yule celebration with your new wife” she glanced behind him to see Lady Mormont’s silvery hair gleaming in the candlelight.

Roose hid his smirk with his water glass, watching as she examined the two closely. Aside from his own bloody history with the Targaryens, he knew that his wife was once intended to be Lady Targaryen and wife of Viserys, but that she had been too much woman for him. Now, Viserys’ sister stood with her Northern husband in the hall to celebrate the Yule. He wondered if there was bad blood between them, as the women exchanged silent conversation. Violent and Blue eyes battling without words.

“Please, Lord Mormont, I bid you take your place and join us in the feast” Sansa said, glancing back to the petite woman. “You as well, Lady Mormont.”

The feast resumed and Roose leaned closer to his wife, placing his hand over her knee as he turned to speak into her ear, “If looks could kill, my love, you would be dead as a stone.”

Sansa’s expression never faltered as she sipped her water and placed her hand over his, guiding it to the slight swell of her stomach, “It takes more than looks to kill me, my dearest, and I fear that Lady Mormont has always lacked the spine to kill.”

His fingers flexed over their child, a possessive gesture that he was not ashamed of, “My she-wolf” he whispered.

His Queen smiled, her eyes watching the Great Hall as their people celebrated the Yule. All of their bannermen had joined them, coming together to rejoice at the season and the announcement that their Queen was with child, at long last.

He had seen Sansa’s struggles, as they tried for a child and each month that her body did not show signs of the seed taking root, she would cry. In the privacy of their chambers or the solitude of the Godswood, he would hold her as she wept. As she mourned the children that she could not give him.

And in turn, tonight as they had dressed for dinner, he watched her as she stood before the mirror, in nothing but a beaded hairnet, admiring the swell of her stomach. While barely visible while dressed, he could easily see the changes in her nude form.

Sansa had been nervous, anxious and determined to face their people with a smile. To show them how wrong they had been to demand he set her aside, to demand he take a second wife and send Lady Sansa Stark away in shame. Tonight she was every inch the Queen she had been born to be.

It was glorious.

Sansa sat in silence as Roose piloted his SUV through the backroads, trees and secluded houses blurring past them as he drove.

She had ignored the voice in her head for too long, and as their dinner went on, she realized with more and more certainty that there was something else going on. Something that couldn't be ignored.

The crown she had dreamed of, that had been on the portrait behind Roose’s desk in her dreams, was an exact replica for the tattoo on his finger, a tattoo she had not gotten a good look at during their previous lunch.

The feeling that she had known him forever, had only grown and it now, frankly, terrified her. Roose seemed so wholly at ease, so content to watch her as they spoke that she had the distinct feeling that he knew far more than he let on.

A fact that he confirmed as he asked her to trust him, asked her to allow him to explain.

She watched his profile, illuminated in the interior lights of the car’s dash and she wondered what secrets were hidden behind his pale eyes and sharp jaw. What had this man endured? Why did she care so much…

He pulled into a tree-lined driveway that gave way to a large house where he parked outside the front door and shut off the engine.

“This is my home,” he explained. “Or rather, it is now.”

“Now?” she asked.

“It wasn’t” he turned to face her in the darkness of the car. “For many, many years I lived in the North, Sansa.”

“Many” she repeated, swallowing thickly. “How many?”

“Nearly three hundred--”

She opened the car door and got out, walking back down the driveway and away from him.

“Sansa, wait!” he called, following her and grabbing her hand to halt her.

“No!” she pulled her hand away. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“I am Roose Bolton, as I have always been” he replied and she searched his expression for any sign of guile or deceit.

“I don’t believe you” she turned away but he moved in front of her.

“Your dreams” he said quickly. “What are they of? Give me a hint and I---”

“They’re just dreams” she shook her head.

“No, I don’t believe they are” he said and she stepped around him to continue down the driveway. “My Queen.” Her body froze, unable to move further away and she turned to watch him move to her side. “My Red Queen.” Those words. That voice.

“How” she whispered.

“I ask that you trust me” he offered his hand. “As you did once, many years ago.”

She looked at his hand for several minutes before she placed her own into it, his fingers wrapping around hers, “Roose…”

“The first time I met you, you rode over the snow like a warrior” he whispered. “You were so wild and beautiful, I thought that the Gods had unintentionally blessed me with such a perfect wife.”

“Wife” she choked on the word as he turned her around and guided her back to the house.

“In this life, you may not know your parents” he continued as they passed the car and reached the front door to his home. “But in your previous life you were Sansa Stark, daughter to Eddard and Catelyn and every inch the fiery Riverland beauty.”

“Riverlands” she whispered as he opened the door and lead her inside. She knew that some in the Riverlands held red hair and blue eyes, but she had never imagined that her family was from there.

“You were my wife” he escorted her inside and pushed the door closed behind them. “You were the being I loved more than anything in this world” he guided her down a dim hallway to a closed door.

“Roose” she swallowed and met his eyes, the sincerity and emotion in his nearly bringing her to tears. This was all so unreal, so impossible---

“On the first anniversary of our wedding I treated myself to a gift,” he continued. “Something I could keep forever---”

“The portrait” she exhaled, her heart racing.

“The portrait” he nodded. “The world may not know what Queen Sansa Bolton looked like, what unworldly beauty she held that brought the world's most notorious warmonger to heel” he opened the door and guided her inside. “But I do. I always have” he flicked on the lights and Sansa choked on a cry as she looked up at the portrait, one that nearly consumed the wall behind his desk.

“That desk” she choked, gasping for breath as she staggered backwards. “No...it’s not...they’re not real” she gasped.

She could hardly believe that the portrait, one she had only dreamed of, was hanging on the wall behind a desk she clearly remembered fucking Roose on. But that wasn’t her….was it?

“Breathe, Sansa” he caught her as she swayed on her feet. “Breathe” he soothed.

“No---NO!!” she screamed, squeezing her eyes shut as pain exploded in her mind, in her head. She felt the agony of a million memories as they tore through her, as they tore through her mind and body.

“Breathe” Roose’s voice echoed and she felt the world around her spin and then she fell, head-long into darkness.

“Have a seat” a woman’s voice broke into the darkness and Sansa turned to see an opulently decorated room and a woman with gorgeous golden blonde hair and a red dress sitting at a small table. “Sit, Little Dove, we have much to discuss.”

“Who--who are you?” Sansa asked as she gingerly sat on the plush red velvet chair.

“You may call me ‘Mother’,” she said, pouring each of them a glass of wine.

Sansa watched as the woman filled each stemless wine glass with the blood red liquid before pushing one closer to her. Sansa took the glass in her hands and held it, uncertain of where she was or who this woman truly was.

“Where am I?”

“Currently, unconscious as your man carries you to bed” the woman replied.

“What?” Sansa paled.

“I have seen men go to war for women, I have seen women deceive and burn down realms for a man--hells, I have even seen a man wage war over a racehorse,” the women sipped from her glass, her tone almost resentful. “But none of them have come close to what King Roose Bolton did for the soul of his Red Queen.”

“What?” Sansa felt her world go foggy as she stared at the woman.

“By now I am sure you’ve at least figured that out, Little Dove” the woman smiled, her emerald eyes alight with intelligence and mirth.

“Roose was---”

“Not was, Little Dove, is” the woman corrected.

“Is” Sansa looked to the red liquid in her cup as if it held all the answers she sought.

The woman gave a slightly-exasperated sigh, “Roose Bolton, the Roose that you know now, has been in servitude to The Stranger for just a hair over two hundred and fifty years,” she said. “He has murdered, tortured and laid waste to kingdoms at the order of The Stranger. All for one reason.”

“And what is that?” Sansa asked when she found her voice.

“You, Little Dove” she sipped from her goblet once more. “There have been many great loves in this universe, but none can come close to the love that King Roose Bolton held for his Queen, Queen Sansa Bolton, the Red Queen.”

“I don’t…..understand.”

“The dreams, the memories that are racing through your mind as you try to sort them all out, are real. I was supposed to wipe them clean but I didn’t want to. But they were too much to give all at once, so I gave them in pieces. In dreams” she explained, tucking a bit of golden hair behind her shoulder. “That man” she said, leaning closer. “Loves you more than any man has loved any woman in the history of man” she shook her head, looking over Sansa from head to toe. “So much so, that he sold himself into slavery for the chance that you would return to him.”

“Me” Sansa stood, pacing away to the window that seemed to have fogged over and then turning back to the blonde woman. “The portrait, that’s me?”

She nodded, “Painted a very long time ago, it has hung in his home for nearly three hundred years. He has held you above all others, men and women alike.”

Sansa shook her head against an onslaught of memories, this time pain flooding her body as she relived them, “No” she dropped the glass, the blood red liquid splashing across her black pantyhose and soaking her dress. “No” she leaned against the wall and slid to her knees.

“You were supposed to live” the woman stood, her skirts swishing as she moved closer. “You were supposed to have a great many children” she knelt beside her.

“Rogar” Sansa choked on the name, her eyes burning and she slammed them shut to ward off the memories. But it did not work, it only made the pain more vivid, more real. She reached out to grab onto the stone floor, the masonry biting into her nails as she tried to cling to it.

“The Stranger came for you, but I stole your soul the moment it broke loose from your body” the woman whispered. “Just as I stole Rogar’s. I lied to The Stranger. I have kept you both safe with me, protected and guarded. You were not meant to die, Little Dove, and I kept you both in my care for a very long time.”

“And now?” Sansa gasped as tears flooded her eyes.

“Now, Roose has served his sentence and you will live again” the woman reached out to cup her cheek, guiding Sansa’s eyes to her own. “You and your son, will live.”

“My son” Sansa sobbed, covering her mouth with both of her hands. Nothing in her life had hurt has much as everything did now. Her brain and body both were protesting against every breath she took, every small movement was excruciating.

“Rogar was meant to defeat the Targaryens” the woman said. “He was meant for a great many things, but The Stranger had his own agenda and I was almost too late. He wanted Roose in his control, he did what he had to to ensure that.”

“My soul” Sansa said. “My soul is Queen Sansa Bolton…”

“No, you are Queen Sansa Bolton” the woman explained. “Just as Roose is King Roose Bolton. He has lived dozens of lives, each of them alone, waiting to get back to you.”

“He loves a memory” Sansa sobbed.

“You are the memory” the woman placed her hands under Sansa’s chin and guided her to meet her eyes, the bright emerald filled with peace and assurance. “You are her and she is you.”

“He loves me?” Sansa whispered.

“He has held you in his heart for two hundred and fifty three years” the woman chuckled. “I would say that he loves you, yes” she tucked Sansa’s hair behind her ears, setting her goblet aside. “When you wake, Little Dove, you will remember everything. Both lives, and your death. It is up to you to be strong. I have kept your soul in safeguard, but it is your time now to keep it safe. The Stranger, he may come for you, come for Roose” she cautioned. “And you need to be ready. You must watch for the mockingbird.”

“And Roose…?”

“That man will love you until his bones have turned to dust” the woman promised. “As he always has. And your children” she shook her head. “Your children will be adored.”

“Children” Sansa’s hands went to her stomach, as they had earlier that day and she cupped the vacant womb to fight against deja-vu.

“Children” the woman leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “You and I are too much alike to have ever been friends” she smiled. “But if there was ever a mortal woman I can respect, it’s you.”

“Who are you?” Sansa asked as the world around her grew foggy.

“The Mother” she could have sworn the woman said as everything faded into darkness once more.

“I can feel him” Roose whispered into the firelight of their bedroom. They lay face-to-face, holding each other with the large swell of her stomach between them.

“Him” Sansa smiled and he admired the beauty of her in this moment. He had never seen a woman, a mother so beautiful. She seemed to glow with life, with beauty, and he marvelled as their son pushed against his hand as it sat over her stomach.

“Him” he agreed. “Rogar Bolton, second of his name” he decided, leaning forward to kiss her softly.

Each day they were the Red King and Queen, the fierce, impassive rulers who kept the world around them in line. They sat side-by-side each day, her hand in his as they met with common folk and Lords alike, Sansa’s political mind a perfect balance to his sharp blade.

Sometimes, he suspected that he would be remembered for giving the people of his realm Queen Sansa. They worshipped her, painting her crude pictures and bringing tribute each day to their Queen’s feet, all of them hoping to be rewarded with one of her stunning smiles.

He had brought down a dynasty of dragons, but Sansa was their Goddess. As, of course, she was his Goddess.

“And what if it is a girl” Sansa prompted, nuzzling against his bearded chin.

“Rogar isn’t a girls name?” he teased and she laughed, her eyes crinkling in the way he loved most as she kissed him once more.

“I still like Domeric” Sansa reasoned. “But if it is a girl, then perhaps--”

“Minisa, for her mother” Roose cut in. “As she will surely be as beautiful as her mother.”

“With her father’s pale eyes” Sansa cupped his jaw. “Minisa” she smiled. “I like it.”

“I never wanted to marry” Roose admitted softly. “But then you came over that hill” he laughed, shaking his head. “And I would have been a damned fool to refuse you.”

“I was going to try to force you to break the betrothal” she admitted, kissing him softly as her fingers trailed through his hair.

“But you changed your mind.”

She nodded, “I did, the moment you told me that you would not have a beaten dog, I knew that I had found my home.”

“And home you are” he wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her as close as her stomach would allow. “And always shall be.”

“Roose” she whimpered, meeting his lips with her own, sighing as their kiss melted into passion. He hauled her against his chest, determined to show her with his person how much he loved her.

Roose sat beside the bed, his head in his hands as Sansa lay unmoving atop of the covers. After she had screamed in the study, her nose bleeding as she squeezed her eyes shut and her body had given way, he carried her to bed and cleaned her up, hating the sight of her blood more than anything in this world.

He sat beside the massive bed, his mind a mess as she refused to respond to his voice and any touch.

Standing abruptly, he paced away, shrugging out of his suit jacket and tie, he tossed them onto the chair near the window before he took up residence beside her. He sat at the ready, guarding her and keeping her in his sight.

“She’s just as beautiful” The Stranger’s voice sounded and Roose looked up to see the man standing near the doorway.

“Get out” he hissed.

“I mean no harm” The Stranger assured him.

“I don’t believe you” Roose countered. “I served my time, I did your bidding. Leave Sansa and I be.”

“The Mother has taken a liking to her” The Stranger stated. “A great liking. And to your son--”

“Our time is done” Roose glared at the man. “Our bargain fulfilled.”

The Stranger gave a nod, “Of course.”

Roose turned away as the man vanished, his eyes watching Sansa as she whimpered on the bed. Before he could reach for her, a scream tore through the bedroom and she sat bolt upright, her hands covering her stomach as she panted for breath.

“Sansa” he moved to the bedside, reaching for her but stopping just short of touching her.

“Roose” she sighed in relief, her eyes meeting his even as fresh blood trickled from her nostril. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket he wiped it away. “I remember” she whispered, his hand going still working to clean her face.

“Sansa….”

“I remember all of it” Sansa said, reaching up to smooth a hand through his hair. “The woman--Mother, she told me--”

“Mother?”

“She told me everything” Sansa ran her fingers across a thin scar along the side of his neck. “Rogar...”

Roose felt his heart twist in pain, “Our son. I buried him in your arms, no other place seemed worthy.”

“He was supposed to live” Sansa blinked and tears flooded her cheeks. He wiped them and the last of the blood away before discarding his handkerchief. “We were supposed to live.”

“The Stranger stole you from me” Roose said and she nodded. He did his best to control his emotions, even as he wanted to scream. Rage coursed through him at the realization that he had played into The Strangers hand. He had rushed into slavery, serving the very man who had killed his wife and son.

“I am so sorry” she said, echoing the words that she spoke as he held her dying body.

“Don’t say that” he crawled onto the mattress, moving to her side. “Don’t ever say that.”

“Roose” she said, directing his eyes back to hers. Once he was looking at her, she spoke. “I never meant to leave you---”

“No” he choked, looking away.

“I never wanted to” she assured him, leaning closer and nuzzling against the side of his face.

“I would have never let you go” he whispered.

“Roose” she called for his attention once more and when he opened his eyes she smiled, that heart-stopping smile that made him her slave. “My King.”

“Sansa” he whispered, his voice broken and rough. “I have loved none but you--”

“I know,” she assured him and his eyes snapped open, meeting hers. “I know.”

He did not reply, merely tilted his face to meet hers, their lips meeting in their first kiss in over two-hundred years. Sansa’s sigh nearly undid him and he wrapped his arms around her, shaky hands tunneling into her hair. Her lips parted, allowing their tongues to tangle and tease each other as he moved over her on the bed. Her hands worked his shirt from the waistband of his pants, her hands stroking across his bare flesh, nails teasing him.

“Sansa” he muttered, kissing across her jaw. “My Sansa” he promised.

“Mine” she whispered back, holding tightly to him. “Please, I need you.”

“And you’ll have me. Always” he promised, returning to kiss her deeply.

As her hands worked his shirt free, his own wandering the length of her legs as he lowered himself over her. He braced on an elbow, never wanting to break their kiss. Finally, after lifetimes of waiting, she was his.

She kicked her high heels off, the shoes landing with thuds they barely registered and he helped her out of her stockings as his dress shirt fell away. Piece by piece their clothes were discarded until finally he tossed her black bra away and unpinned her hair, the fiery mass unfurling around her.

“Roose” she whispered as he ran his hands through her hair. “In this body, I’ve never…”

“Mine” he assured her, smirking as he descended her body, his lips working her flesh until he found her slit and he dove in once more. The rich taste of her flooded his mouth and her whimpers drove him on. Drove him wild.

“Oh Gods!” Sansa cried out, her hands threading through his silver hair as he lapped at her core. He was undeterred, teasing her until a deep suckle of her clit had her screaming out in pleasure.

This house that had long sat silent and dark, was now filled with life and he never wanted to go back. He couldn’t.

“Roose” she pulled him back to her lips by her hold on his hair. He returned her kiss, uncaring that her juices still clung to his beard and mouth. Sansa didn’t seem to mind. “Please” she begged.

He took the opportunity to tease her, running himself across her channel a few times before notching himself within her.

“Please” she begged.

“I love you” he promised, pushing deep and filling her completely.

She sobbed in pain, her fingers locking onto his biceps in an attempt to quell the pain of her maidenhead being torn away. Roose held still, sparing her as much pain as he could. He gave her time, letting her grow accustomed to the invasion, to the stretch of him within her and when he felt her finally relax he kissed her softly.

“I love you” he repeated, rocking against her in small increments.

“It’s always been you” she promised, wrapping her legs around him. “Always. Even when I didn’t know it was you, I dreamed of you” he felt her arms wrap around him as her hips tilted to welcome him further into her core.

“Always” he whispered, his body beginning the age old rhythm that would bring them both pleasure. He moved without another word, rocking deeply within her and finally making love to her. His wife, his love, his Queen.

They made love for hours, the night passing around them and when they finally lay together in the early light of morning, momentarily sated, sweaty and exhausted, Roose held her close, his face buried in her hair. Sansa’s fingers were writing lazy love letters on his chest as she snuggled to his side, occasionally turning to give him a soft kiss.

“What did he make you do?”

“Who?”

“The Stranger,” she said and felt his body stiffen.

“His bidding” Roose’s deep voice tumbled through her and she smiled at the memories of conjured. “I have killed more people than I can remember. Flayed even more. I worked with demons and shades, waged war and burned cities. I did what I had to do. The only other option was to let you go and I refused to accept that. He stole you from me, I won’t let it happen again.”

“Time passed in the blink of an eye for me, but you’ve been fighting for hundreds of years” her hand ran through the coarse hair on his chest to the broad muscle of his shoulders and then down to settle over his abdomen.

“I did what I had to” he turned to face her, his hands running through her hair and over her body. “I love you, My Queen.”

“I love you” she nuzzled against his bearded cheek as she always had and she felt the last of the tension in his body melt away. In their lives before, she had always been able to calm and soothe him, even when he was in his worst moods.

“Marry me, Sansa, be my wife once more.”

“I will” she smiled. “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“We name one of our sons Domeric” she smiled as Roose laughed, the deep, throaty sound one she has missed, its happiness soaking into her bones.

“It will be a fine middle name” he smirked, pulling her across his body to kiss her. As she returned his kiss, she adjusted her legs, sitting astride him to rock against his cock. “My Queen” he held her hips, guiding her as she brought his cock to life.

“My King” she purred as she ground her hips to his. She was sore, sticky and exhausted, but she didn’t care. She had her husband back, her king.

“Inside” he pleaded, his fingers digging into her hips as he clenched his jaw.

“Beg” she smirked, leaning forward to trail her nails down his chest.

“Please…” he growled and tilted his hips in an attempt to align the head of his cock with her opening.

“The deadliest King in Westeros’ history” she gently traced one of his nipples with her fingernail. “Begging for his Queen’s pussy.”

“A King is nothing without his Queen” Roose stated.

“Beg” she pushed him further, reaching behind her back to cup his balls, gently toying with them.

“Fuck” his hissed, the sound nearly feral and she watched with delight as the control behind his eyes snapped.

She was on her back before she knew it, Roose looming over her and a flash later she was filled with his cock, the burn and stretch of him more delicious than anything in memory. He held her hips pinned with his own as he grabbed her wrist and held it over her head, his other hand wrapping around her throat. He didn’t tighten his grip, merely held her captive as he fucked her.

And, oh, did he fuck her.

She felt his body possess hers, taking her and imprinting himself on every fiber of her being.

She held onto his forearm as he moved over her, his eyes dark with lust and filled with passion. Her body was teetering on the edge, strung tight as a bow and desperately racing towards climax. Just as she felt that her body would explode, Roose’s thrusts slowed and he dragged his lips from hers to her ear, biting the lobe briefly.

“Beg” he whispered against the shell of her ear. “Beg for it.”

“Please” she whimpered, his hand flexing around her throat. “Please let me cum, I want to cum for you.”

“If I let you cum” his lips ghosted across the curve of her ear. “Will you be a good wife and take your husband’s seed? All of it?”

“Yes” she all but sobbed as he slowly pulled back, only to slide back into her sheath, just as slowly. “Please” she watched as he pulled back to look into her eyes. “Please…”

He kissed her, his mouth smothering her screams as his hips began their punishing pace, spinning her back up and sending her into bliss, her body shaking with each wave of her orgasm. She felt Roose’s growl, rather than heard it, and he slid deep, spilling into her as her body pulsed around him.

He released her mouth and let her wrist go, but did not move away, instead he tilted her hips up as he finished pouring into her. She whimpered, knowing that he was doing his best to fill her with his cum, her heart racing at the thought that she could very well already carry their child.

When his body slipped from hers, Roose ran his fingers across her slit and through the seed he’d left there. He coated his fingers, pushing them into her sensitive channel, fucking her slowly with them.

“Good girl” he nibbled her chin, slowly bringing her down. “So beautiful.”

“My King” she smiled, running her hands through his hair to the muscles of his shoulders. “Mine” she purred.

Roose observed his wife as she stood on the ramparts, her eyes scanning the horizon as her hands rested over the swell of her stomach. She would give birth any day now, according to the maester, and he knew that she would be grateful to have her balance and energy back.

He was worried that the birth would be painful for her, but he knew her strength and determination would guide her through. His Red Queen was a she-wolf at heart, powerful in her own right and he knew she would be a fantastic mother.

He stood beside her, comfortable silence surrounding them.

“The North is so beautiful” Sansa said, reaching to take his hand and entwining their fingers. From the day before their wedding onward, they had taken strength in each other with the simplest touch. Often as they stood together, their fingers would gravitate towards each others’, a reassuring connection.

“It is all the more beautiful with you in it” he replied and she gave a soft laugh.

“My husband, the flatterer” she smirked.

“I would make you smile before I deliver somber news” he said, tightening his grip on her fingers.

“Somber?”

“Lord Mormont has been discovered as a slave trader” Roose explained. “Your father learned of it, and it has cost him his life.”

“Mormont” Sansa turned to face him. “He’s killed my father?”

Roose nodded, “I am very sorry, Sansa.”

“And the Targaryen woman?” Sansa asked. “She cannot be innocent in this.”

“She and her brother have been causing a bit of trouble, yes” Roose nodded. “After our child arrives, I will likely have to defend our realm once more.”

“You’ll be away?” she frowned, her eyes sadder at this news than at the news of her father. Of course, her relationship with her parents had always been strained at best.

“For a short time, yes” he raised their joined hands, kissing the back of her hand. “I will never stay away from you a second longer than I must.”

“Good” she replied simply, leaning into his side.

Roose wrapped his free arm around her, holding her to him as they watched the last of the sun set. Soon duty would likely call him away, force him to return to the cold warlord he had to be to keep his realm in peace. War was never something he enjoyed, but he had always been quite good at it.

War had made him king once, and because of it, Sansa was his Queen. Now he would have to defend that crown, and his family. Perhaps, he mused, protecting his family was a far better reason to go to war than any he could imagine.

“Oh” Sansa took their joined hands, laying it over where their child was kicking and he smiled. “He’s ready to meet us. Soon” she said.

“Soon” he agreed with a smile.

Sansa was back at work, working to unpack a few boxes of antique books that Mr. Cressen had found at an estate sale. While Roose had been reluctant to let her out of his sight, she had an obligation to ‘Fables’ and didn’t want to leave her boss in the lurch.

Roose had driven her to work this morning and would be here to pick her up in a half-hour when her shift ended. She didn’t have much in her small apartment, but they were going to begin packing her things and moving them to the house in the forest. They were, at last, going to start their lives together, their new lives, and she couldn’t wait.

She hummed to herself as she worked, her eyes continually drawn to the ring on her left hand, the white gold band and grey diamond solitaire shining back at her. Her engagement ring, she smiled, one that Roose had slipped onto her finger after their first morning together.

They had spent the weekend hidden away from the world, making love and fucking like rabid animals throughout the house. Her new favorite activity may just be showering with her fiance, sharing languid kisses in the steamy warmth of the water and watching as it sluiced over his body. Definitely a favorite.

The door chime rang out, breaking her from her musing and Sansa descended the ladder and walked to meet the customer, smoothing the skirt of her navy blue shirt dress as she went.

“Welcome into ‘Fables’,” she smiled at the shorter man, but when he turned she felt unease settle into her stomach.

“Thank you, that is very kind,” he said, tilting his head in greeting. He was a few inches shorter than herself, his dark hair and goatee liberally threaded with silver. He wore all black, his suit well-fitted and at the center of his black tie was a silver mockingbird pin.

“You’re him” she said plainly.

“My my, you are very sharp” he clicked his tongue as he paced across the store. “I must say, you’re just as beautiful as you were all those years ago.”

“Forgive me if I do not appreciate the compliment” she replied.

“And just as strong” he smiled. “As a Queen you were worshipped, your death was mourned for years by all under your rule. Even more so when the Targaryen’s took back the throne and ruled with fire and blood.”

“Let’s cut through the bullshit” she crossed her arms, pulling her cardigan tighter around her person. “Why are you here?”

“I was hoping to speak with you regarding your husband” he began. “He is very good at what he does, and I would like him to continue doing that for me.”

“No” she replied without pause. “Roose paid his debt, a debt that you tricked him into.”

“Tricked?” he raised a brow. “My dear, I am The Stranger, that is simply what I do.”

“What trick are you working on now?” she reached for her necklace, smoothing her fingers over the charm of The Mother.

She had bought the necklace earlier today after spotting it in the window of the shop across the street on her lunch break. She had been instantly taken with the simple golden chain and coin-like image. It was the only one in the store, the cashier said, and it had only been in display a few minutes. Sansa had smiled deeply, knowing that she was meant to have this charm. It was too coincidental.

“I suppose that killing you would be too obvious,” he admitted.

“And you’ve already done that once” she countered. “How passe.”

He chuckled, smoothing his tie as he produced a syringe from his coat’s pocket. It held a blue liquid, glittering in the afternoon light as he upcapped the needle.

“What is that?” she whispered.

“Killing you would be too obvious, of course” he repeated as he situated the syringe in his hand. “But the child…”

“No” she covered her womb with her hands, walking backwards. As she moved, she bumped into the warm, soft body of another and she nearly screamed until she turned and saw the golden haired woman, The Mother, behind her. Today she wore a red pantsuit, only a golden lace bra under the buttoned jacket. She looked as if she had stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine, her emerald eyes filled with fury.

“Cersei” The Stranger gave an uneasy smile, moving the syringe behind his leg. “What a surprise.”

“Is it though?” the woman asked, her accent clipped and angry. “You’re a broken record, Petyr.”

“I was simply having a conversation with dear Sansa here” he said.

“Conversation, forced abortion” Cersei shrugged. “They sound similar enough, I suppose.”

“Cersei---”

“The Boltons are protected” Cersei continued, her eyes going to a tall, golden blonde man who entered the front of the shop, one hand made entirely of gold as he moved behind The Stranger. Sansa slipped behind Cersei, hiding behind the Goddess and hoping that she was safe.

“Jaime---”

“You always were a useless cunt” a deep, angry voice appeared behind the coffee bar and Sansa turned to look at the largest man she had ever seen. He was scarred on one half of his face, the other side twisted into an expression of fury.

“The Mother,” Cersei smirked. “The Warrior. The Smith. And at last…”

Booted footfalls sounded on the hardwood and Sansa felt a large presence behind her. She turned to see a tall, golden haired man with the sharpest eyes she had ever seen. They seemed to cut through her, even as he gave her a soft smile.

“Petyr” the man said as he moved around where she stood and faced him.

“The Father” Cersei smirked. “Who, might I add, is still very upset over the death of my Mother--The Mother.”

“Tywin” Petyr seemed to shrink into himself. He moved to step back, but the man with the golden hand, The Warrior, moved behind him, halting his movement.

“We have unfinished business, you and I” The Father stated. “You’ve been elusive, but I knew you would come for her and the child as soon as you could.”

“You used me as bait?” Sansa whispered, suddenly angry. “You used my child as bait?”

“My apologies, my dear, but it seems that The Stranger just cannot resist you” The Father said without facing her. “He took someone very precious from me once, something that I can never get back, and I have a debt to settle.”

“Tywin, please---” The Stranger said.

“Daddy’s home” Cersei said as the door to the bookshop opened and Roose moved inside, a long, silver blade appearing in his hand.

“The Red King” The Father said, bowing his head slightly. “I am honored to meet you face to face.”

“The Father, then” Roose said, his voice cold and even.

“Indeed” The Father said. “We’re all here, except for The Crone and The Maiden, they’re seeing to Petyr’s offices.”

“What?” The Stranger gaped.

“We’ve been waiting a long time” The Mother said. “A very long time.”

“But we always pay our debts” The Warrior moved closer, grabbing the back of The Stranger’s neck.

“Take him” The Father said and The Warrior used the side of his golden hand to render The Stranger unconscious, the syringe falling to the wooden floor and shattering. Sansa watched as the two men vanished and all that was left was a pile of broken glass and blue liquid. “Sandor” The Father prompted and he rounded the coffee bar, producing a leather bag and setting it on the floor at Roose’s feet.

“What is this?”

“A peace offering” The Father said. “And a promise.”

“A promise?” Roose asked.

“That your family will always be protected” The Father said. “You were meant to finish the Targaryen dynasty forever, to kill every last dragon, but The Stranger had more fun destroying everything. I promise you now, that you, your wife and children will be safe.”

“And if they aren’t?” Roose glared.

“I will let you burn the world to the ground” The Father stated.

“I will hold you to that” Roose said, looking to Sansa. She gave him the best smile she could muster, even as her heart raced and she was scrambling to come to terms with the fact that the bookshop was filled with Gods.

“I will be with you when your time comes” The Mother turned to her, cupping her cheek. “I will personally escort Rogar Domeric Bolton, second of his name, into this world.”

“Thank you” Sansa said. “And thank you, for the necklace.”

The Mother smiled, “It suits you. Now then, I will see you in eight months or so.”

“Shall we?” The Father prompted and in the blink of an eye, The Smith vanished. The Mother stepped back and to The Father’s side as he nodded, “You have my promise” he said once more and then they vanished too.

“Roose” Sansa rushed into his arms, holding him tightly as his blade clattered to the floor. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.

“Thank the Gods, you’re safe” he whispered.

“I’m pregnant” she whispered back. “I’m pregnant!”

“Gods” he held her tighter, both of them shaking with emotion. “I love you.”

“I love you” she said against the warmth of his neck, clinging to him as the adrenaline coursed through her body.

Roose stared at the leather bag on his desk, uncertain if he should open it or not. The Father had said it was a gift and a peace offering, but he hadn’t the slightest idea what it could be.

Sansa stood near the window, clad only in one of his sweaters, the fabric hanging nearly to her knees. She had been shaking on the ride home and he had helped her to run a bubble bath so she could relax. Now she looked impossibly young and incredibly beautiful, her hair piled atop her head and wearing his clothes.

“Open it” Sansa said, turning to face him.

“Alright” he unzipped the bag to see several items inside. The first he recognized well, opening the leather flap to see where he and Sansa had signed their names all those years ago. Their wedding contract, complete with their wedded date and the blood red Bolton seal.

“We’ll have been married two hundred and fifty five years next month” Sansa smirked, leaning on the desk beside him. “Perhaps a honeymoon is in order.”

“Anything you desire” he promised, setting the contract aside and pulled a roll of leather from the bag with a smirk. “My flaying blades” he chuckled, untying and unrolling the piece, all of the sinister blades gleaming back at him.

“If there’s a jar of leeches in there, I am throwing it away” Sansa stated.

“You will absolutely not” he chided, setting the blades aside.

The last piece was wrapped in white linen, and he pulled the large parcel free and tossed the bag aside to set the parcel on his desk. Untying the twine, he parted the linen and Sansa’s gasp was the only sound in the room.

There, folded neatly, complete with her crown on top, was the dress she wore for her portrait. The grey and black armored fabric a stark contrast to the glittering Weirwood leaves.

“Oh” she sighed as she lifted it and the dress unfurled. “It is just as beautiful as I remember” she held it to her body, rubbing the black wolf pelt against her cheek.

“Sansa” Roose said, looking to where Roose’s own crown sat on the linen, having been hidden by her dress.

“Oh” she marvelled, her lips melting into a smirk. “You looked so damn sexy in that crown.”

“Oh, really?” he smirked.

“I might have been a terrified young woman, but I knew a sexy man when I see it” she teased.

“A man nearly twice your age with grey hair and blood on his hands,” he replied.

“The blood of tyrants” Sansa lay her dress on the desk and took his crown in her hands. “Besides, you were a king--my king” she placed it over his brow and smiled. “It goes rather well with the suit.”

“Come here” he pulled her into his arms, kissing her soundly. “You know” he smirked, “I never did get to fuck you while you were in that dress. A shame, really. It was very expensive.”

Sansa pulled back with a laugh, holding on to him, “I wonder if it still fits.”

“It won't fit for long” he scooped her into his arms. “I plan to keep you pregnant for the next ten years or so” he set her on the desk, moving the dress and other items aside.

“Ten years” she scoffed. “Gods, I will eventually need to rest.”

“Eventually” he picked up her crown and set it atop her fiery hair. “Perfection, as you have always been.”

“I will remind you of that the next time you’re mad at me for leaving my dirty clothes on the floor” she teased.

“I will let you” he kissed her once more, moving into the cradle of her legs and letting his hands wander beneath the baggy sweater. His wife melted into his embrace, holding him tightly and he allowed himself to get lost in her kiss.

Roose parked in the driveway beside the black SUV, his cherished Land Rover now Sansa’s and perfect to haul around their growing family. He exited the silver sedan, his ‘Dad’ car and made his way to the front door.

“Dad!” a streak of dark hair flashed at the corner of his eye before his eldest, Dom, crawled up his back, hanging onto his neck.

“Dom” Roose chuckled. “You’ve escaped your mother again.”

“She let me go” Dom replied.

“Did she” Roose doubted.

True to her word, The Mother had appeared the moment Sansa went into labor, standing at Sansa’s side as she gave birth to a very healthy Rogar Domeric Bolton, ‘Dom’ for short. Once it was certain that both Sansa and Dom were safe, The Mother dismissed herself, leaving the new parents to cry over the beauty of their son.

And Roose had cried. Finally, after all that time, his son had a chance to live, to truly live. Dom was now a ball of energy, his 6-year old body either moving at top speed or completely passed out asleep. He was Roose’s double, his eyes pale and hair dark, every inch a Bolton and he would have been a fierce king.

Roose walked through the open front door and shut it behind him, turning back in time to see the small, red-haired body of his daughter as she launched herself at him.

“Daddy!” she beamed, holding to his front as Dom hung on his back.

“Princess” he kissed her cheek and Minisa Arya Bolton giggled with joy.

“I missed you,” she said, her bright blue eyes so like her mothers that it made him smile.

“I missed you too, but I was only gone a few hours” he reasoned.

“A few hours too long” Sansa’s voice sounded from the kitchen and he turned to smile at his wife, moving slowly with his children hanging onto his neck.

“Wife” he smirked.

“Husband” she replied, tossing the kitchen rag aside and moving closer. She lifted Minisa onto her hip and kissed him briefly.

“Careful” he cautioned as she carried their 3 year old daughter away.

“I am fine,” she assured him, knowing that anytime she was pregnant, his instincts were in overdrive and he was hyper aware of every danger.

Their third child, and second son, would arrive later in the winter, his wife’s body already showing no matter what she wore. He loved watching her body grow, nurture each of their children and could only marvel at her strength as she fought to bring each one into the world.

His she-wolf was a warrior, she always had been. And he had been right, she was a fierce and wonderful mother.

“What’s for dinner?” Dom asked as Roose followed her into the kitchen.

“You are gonna have mac and cheese, and you will eat your vegetables” Sansa smirked at their son, setting Minisa at the table. “You promised if I let you run out to greet Dad that you would eat them. Deal’s a deal, mister.”

Roose chuckled, carrying a pouting Dom to his place at the kitchen table. Family dinners were his favorite part of each day, and important to both him and Sansa. They never, for a second, took their family for granted and made sure to treasure all of their time together.

He watched Sansa as she helped Minisa to cut up her veggies and guided her with the fork for a few moments. As Queen, Sansa had been beautiful, but here in their kitchen, clad in a baggy shirt (one of his, if he wasn’t mistaken) and jeans, her hair braided and face free of makeup, she was perfect.

Sensing his gaze, she turned from their daughter to smile at him and his heart clenched as it always did. Their love story spanned centuries. He had sold his soul into servitude, committed heinous acts and would have committed worse just to have her back at his side. The woman that he had married in cold arrangement, was his everything.

Sansa turned away, looking to Dom who was pushing his veggies around his plate with a frown, “Deal’s a deal” she said again and with a great sigh, Dom began to eat the greenery. Sansa looked back to Roose and winked, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. She-wolf indeed.

“They’re finally asleep” Roose’s lips trailed across her neck as his arms banded around her.

“Little wildlings” she smiled, setting her brush on the bathroom counter and meeting his eyes in the mirror. He had discarded his dress shirt and wore only his slacks, the waist hanging low on his torso and looking sinfully delicious.

“You’re well?” he asked, cupping the swell of her stomach.

“I am well” she promised, covering his hands with her own. She knew that Roose worried every moment that she was with child, and their third was no different. Though she was only four moons along, her slender frame was already visibly pregnant. She leaned back against her husband’s strength and sighed as he nuzzled into her hair.

“You’re a Goddess” he kissed her collarbone.

“Don’t let Cersei hear you” she smirked, her eyes glancing at the golden coin she wore around her neck. She had worn it every day for 7 years, and she had seen The Mother several times throughout those years. The Mother had been right, they were very much alike, both stubborn and strong, but there was a mutual respect that had grown between them. An odd sort of rapport and friendship.

Roose smiled against her neck as his hands went to the tie of her robe, parting the fabric to run his hands over her body.

“How is my boy doing today” he cupped her stomach.

“He is taking all my energy” Sansa replied. “I just want to sleep all the time.”

“And now? Do you want to sleep now?” he asked.

“Absolutely not” she scoffed. “You leave me hanging and I will make you sleep on the couch.”

“Have I ever left you hanging, love?” he growled, his hands moving to cup her breasts. Where her portrait gown had fit her a few years ago, two children had ensured that she now had a bit too many curved for the gown. Her breasts had grown much larger and her hips were fuller, changes that her husband seemed to admire greatly.

“Never” she sighed, her head lolling back onto his shoulder.

“And I never will” he promised, rolling her nipples between his fingers. She shifted on her feet, arching back until her ass rubbed against the length of him, already rock hard beneath this slacks.

He groaned as she rubbed against him, one of his hands grabbing her hip and holding her against him as he sucked on the skin of her shoulder. She knew she would have a red mark there tomorrow, but fortunately a shirt would conceal it.

“Bed” she whimpered.

“No” he moved her robe from her shoulders and let the material fall away. “Here.”

“Roose” she said as he cupped her core, his fingers delving into her and making her legs weak. Her man had always been gifted when it came to his fingers and tongue and she had never gone unsatisfied in their marriage. Most arranged marriages were alliances of convenience or political necessity, but Sansa knew that she had lucked out in her marriage to Roose. Theirs had led to the deepest love imaginable, a marriage between true friends, spilling over with passion.

She felt his teeth as they nibbled on her ear lobe, his hand quickly moving her hair aside before moving to unbuckle his belt and push his slacks and underwear away. His cock burrowed between her legs and she shifted, allowing him to slide against her soaked body.

“My Queen is hungry for my cock” he said against the shell of her ear.

“I want it, baby” she pleaded.

“Put your hands on the counter” he instructed and she obeyd, holding onto the granite countertop as his lips trailed down her neck to her back. She loved the feel of his mouth against her skin, the way his tongue peeked out to taste her with each kiss as he moved to the base of her spine.

She couldn’t stop the moan from escaping her lips as he grabbed the cheeks of her ass and kneaded them in his hands. She gasped as he bit the left cheek, gently, but enough so surprise her, his smug eyes meeting hers in the mirror as he stood.

“Mine” he moved his hands to her hips and she wiggled her ass to tease him. “Woman--”

“Shut up and fuck me, husband” she raised a brow in challenge, his deep laughter making her smile.

“With pleasure” he winked at her, aligning himself with her body and sinking home.

“Fuck” she hissed, holding tightly to the counter as he filled her, his hands holding her hips as he moved in a slow, steady rhythm.

“I swear it feels better every time” he trailed his fingers along her spine to settle on the back of her neck, holding her captive as he fucked her.

“Shit” she reached out to cover his hand on her hip with his own. “Roose---”

“That’s my good girl” he soothed, slowing his hips, surging deep and holding for a few seconds before he withdrew. “So wet for me” he fisted his hand in her hair and she cried out. “You wake the kids and I have to stop” he chided her, tightening his hand in her hair.

“I’ll be good” she promised. “Please…” she pleaded, sighing in pleasure as he gave her what she needed, resuming his brutal pace. It was all she could to do remain standing as he wrung every ounce of pleasure from her, his cock hitting all the right places inside of her that soon had her panting his name.

He pulled her back against his chest, her back arched as he took her and they watched each other in the mirror. She loved the way his pale eyes darkened with desire and the way that he commanded every inch of her body.

His hand moved from her hip, leaving in imprint behind, and cupped her breasts, toying with the peaks until she convulsed around him, coming hard with a muffled scream. His pace never slowed, pushing her further and further until she felt her body break loose, her fluttering core covering them both with her cum.

“Beautiful” he growled against her temple, his hips moving away from hers and leaving her bereft. Stepping out of his slacks he lifted her and carried her to their bed, laying her across the sheets and crawling over her.

“Roose” she turned her lips to meet his, kissing him deeply as he settled between her legs and sank into her once more. She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him tight against her body. Her hands settled into his short, now all grey hair, allowing her to admire her handsome husband.

“My Queen” he rested his forehead against hers.

“My King” she whispered. Her man had unmade a dynasty, had waged war and survived servitude. He had come through them all strong and still pure of heart, as was evident in the way that he cared for their children, cared for her. She had once been angry that her father had sold her to the Bolton’s in marriage, but she knew now that it was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Happened to them.

“I love you” he promised, rocking against her.

“I love you, Roose, always have and I always will. Now make love to me.”

“As my Queen commands” he replied and Sansa clung to his strength as their passion built once more.