[52] What a Disappointment
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“Hey, you’re out…” she said, a trace of nerves lacing her words.
The dark stones of Winterfell flickered with torchlit stones that felt deceptively peaceful after the day’s turmoil. Each gust of night air carried the faint scent of ash and old dust—remnants of the Ironborn’s short-lived occupation.
I offered her a small, warm smile. “Why the long face?”
Despite my success in stabilizing the castle and learning the Ironborn’s next moves, there was much yet to do, and I had one more task tonight.
Sansa's cheeks bore a soft redness, and I could sense some tension in the air. She caught my eye and cleared her throat, a memory of our earlier display before Theon’s eyes still evident in her posture.
“Long face? No, I was just thinking about some things…” she said. She didn't look like she minded our earlier actions.
“I see,” I looked up at the darkening sky. Night was here. “Let’s go somewhere private, Sansa. We need to talk.”
Her gaze flickered with curiosity and perhaps a flicker of worry. She nodded, guiding me along the corridor.
We passed a scattering of northern guards who quickly averted their eyes; the news of a Targaryen commandeering Winterfell was received with mixed feelings. Nobody showed disrespect to me since I did kill the Ironborn, but they weren't very welcoming either.
Our footsteps were the only sound that exchanged between us. The torches lining the walls cast shadows that seemed to shrink away from us as we went, and I could feel Sansa’s closeness as she walked just ahead of me. Her red hair caught occasional glimmers from the flames.
Sansa came to a stop before a sturdy oak door. “This,” she cleared her throat, “this is my room. Come in,” she said softly and opened it, stepping inside, the room beyond dimly lit by the faint glow of embers in a hearth.
Must be fun, having servants prepare the hearth even before you tell them to. I was not particularly rich in my previous life, and even as Viserys, I barely got to enjoy wealth because of the rebellion.
I planned to make up for all that once I take the throne.
I followed her in, the door clicking shut behind me. The chamber was small and oddly intimate, the walls draped in an artwork of the Stark sigil. The furniture was a simple table, a low bench, and a curtained bed. They spoke of comfort rather than opulence. Winterfell was created for survival, not luxury.
Nevermind, maybe it's not that fun to be a Lord in this world. I noted and she spoke, “Ah, give me a moment.” Sansa set to work at once, tending to the hearth.
Within moments, newer flames danced, chasing away the corners of darkness. It heated up the chamber well.
Orange light flickered across her face, and her auburn hair gleamed like polished copper. When she turned to me, her blue eyes held both warmth and hesitance. “Viserys… is something the matter? No, because you wanted to talk in private…”
I allowed myself a brief, practiced smile. “Nothing’s wrong exactly. I just wanted us some private time,” I crossed the room and sat beside her on a low bench.
Even through her uncertainty, she seemed relieved at my calm tone. “Mhm… Well, we're alone now, hehe…”
We began with a gentle conversation and discussed how the day had finally brought peace to Winterfell, and how the city’s residents were learning to breathe again without the Ironborn’s shadow looming over every stone.
“I'm… still scared, though?” she said, her eyes full of doubt as she looked at me. I was confused about what she was so worried for.
“About what?”
“About what Theon said.”
Despite riding on top of a dragon, Sansa was worried that this peace will end. That Asha Greyjoy will put an end to it all. I couldn't help but chuckle.
“Seriously, Sansa?” I asked, “What are some stupid Ironborn against me and my dragon? You saw me beat the shit out of the Hound. You saw Viserion murder a dozen.”
She cleared her throat at that, looking away in embarrassment as she realised how stupid she sounded.
I gave her the time to think it through, both of us sitting beside the fire, the crackling flames creating a lovely atmosphere.
“...You know,” A minute later, she spoke up. “All this still seems like a dream. Its hard to believe I'm back home, whereas, just a few days ago, I was crying from Joffrey's torture. It's all thanks to you.”
“You're saying it like I had nothing to gain from it,” I laughed, throwing a piece of wood into the fire, and resting my shoulder against hers. “I got myself an alliance out of it.”
“Yes, but still~” she scowled playfully. “It's the behaviour, you know? Someone else, and I can't imagine feeling this… blissful. It's all because of you.”
“Is that so…?” I trained off, and she didn't reply. We stared at each other, our eyes looking deep, and I leaned closer.
The space between us dwindled into something intimate.
My fingers found Sansa’s hand, and her breath caught. I could sense the tension that never fully left her, a tremor born from captivity and trauma. She didn’t pull away though, letting my touch linger. “You’ve been through so much,” I said softly. “You deserve better than this cold castle… better than these burdens on your shoulders.”
Her cheeks colored under the glow of the fire. “W-what… You’ve done so much for me already,” she whispered. “I don’t know what you're implying.”
“Don't you?”
She averted her eyes, cleaning her throat. “Hey.. I don't even know how to thank you, but now you're saying this…”
I let my hand rise to brush the curve of her jaw, feeling the heat of her skin. “You don’t need to thank me, Sansa,” I said. “I am almost offended you're considering it. Are we that distant that we need to say those fancy words to each other?”
“Uhm…”
I leaned in, letting my lips graze hers in a soft, lingering kiss—testing the waters. Sansa blinked. There was a moment’s hesitation, but then she responded, her hands lifting to rest against my chest, her eyes closing under my touch.
Time stretched as the kiss deepened. My hand slid down her side, the texture of her gown and the slight quiver in her stance telling me more than words ever could. I roamed her body, pulling her onto my lap, devouring her mouth while my hands went around her body, her curves.
“Mmph~” she whimpered as I bit her lips, moving to lick her long neck. It was tasty. I hit down on her shoulders, while my hands squeezed her ass under her skirt.
I lifted her up, holding her ass and raising her into the air. She gasped and I led to the bed, dropping her on her back. “Ahn!” She bounced on it as I loomed over her, my eyes appreciating her beauty.
Sansa Stark was ripe and ready, her curves spilling out, begging to be savoured.
I leaned forward, going for a kiss, our lips meeting once again, while my hands went into her skirt again. This time, they went between her legs, on her heat core.
“Ahng- wait!” Just as I started pressing a little further, her palms flattened against me, a gentle but firm barrier. She broke away, breath ragged, face flushed.
“Sansa?”
“W-we can’t, Vis,” she managed, voice trembling. “Not before… not before marriage, please. My mother, she’d… she’d never forgive me.”
I drew back, letting my expression darken just enough to feign a hint of hurt. Slowly, I stood up, turning away so she couldn’t see the flicker of… triumph in my eyes.
“I see,” I said, injecting a clipped tone. “I would’ve thought we had more than… just a political arrangement. Hah, forget it.”
Her eyes widened, and she reached for me in alarm. “No, please, I didn’t mean— Viserys, don’t be upset! I’m just—” She stumbled over her words, guilt and confusion knitting her brow.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, looking at her from my shoulder. “I shouldn’t have assumed.” Then I stepped away, letting the chamber’s door open behind me.
“Wait, please!”
I cast one final glance at her, making sure she saw the pain in my expression. “Rest well, Lady Stark.”
The door clicked shut, and I exhaled, the façade slipping from my face. A slow, pleased smile pulled at my lips.
Sansa’s reaction played exactly into my plans—fostering just enough guilt to keep her tethered. I couldn't be the King who'd rule it all if I shared a passionate night with her so easily. Things had to be more difficult, and follow my plans. Especially with Yara Greyjoy soon coming.
She’d spend the night second-guessing her decision, grappling with whether her reluctance had driven a wedge between us. That doubt would allow me to manipulate her and stamp her away.
‘Why’re you mad I slept with someone else? Wasn't it you who pushed me way?’ – that was the result I was going for. A gentle relationship with a highlord’s daughter wouldn't work.
I'd decided otherwise from the very day I touched Arianne Martell.
The corridor lay empty, save for the distant flicker of torches and the faint hum of night wind through the outer windows. My footsteps echoed softly on the worn stones as I moved away from Sansa’s chamber.
The Game of Thrones had multiple styles that one could choose to play from. I'd chosen the one where I'd dominate not only the kingdoms, but their families too.
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