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The day she wed, Sansa Stark kept her head high. 

What else was she to do?

She wishes desperately she could run. That she had been like Arya, that she had left this place long before.  But all the songs she had been taught.  They spoke of patience. They spoke of love and righteousness of lovers, of brothers and kin- 

You have been disinherited. Ravens sent throughout the Realm, she is no heir to the Winter Crown. 

Traitor. 

That was what her eldest brother said to her. An aching rejection she had never felt before she went South. She had watched Tywin Lannister move mountains for Tyrion, whom he hated, and  Jaime, whom he loved. All she had ever heard from her family was how much they loved her, how much they esteemed her, good Sansa. Perfect Sansa. Dutiful Sansa. 

Traitor. 

Disinherited. 

Not a Stark. 

You are not enough. Songs never speak of the maidens who are not saved . Never speak of abandonment with nothing but scorn. She thinks she deserves it, for speaking with the Queen like a fool, she was and making her father loose his head.  

She wishes to scream. 

She wishes to scream. 

She, as she chirped and sang to her captor's was a traitor’s daughter, an abused hostage in a lion's claws. Yet she is not a princess, not an heir to the crown she has bled for. The Raven that Cersei has shown her had been in her brother's own hand. The triumph in the Queen Mother’s gaze had felt like a blow. 

Would Robb even care to know that her back is covered in the scars of his victories?

Would he even flinch to know that she has bled for him, that she has been sent to be his sacrifice upon the altar of his enemies? As the nobles of the South of Westroes looked on her in her awful, golden gown of a splendor she had once dreamed of, back and thighs still freshly hurt by swords of the Noble Kingsguard, with a pauper's cloak mocking House Stark around her shoulders, she knew she found no allies, no aid amongst these people. 

She felt like elbowing Joffrey in the side and making for the great doors. 

She knew she would be dragged by her hair, if need be, to the altar. Hadn't Lord Tywin told her? She is not the first unwilling bride. She will wed, bed, and marry the lowest Lannister, because her womb is worth more as a mare than anything else.

She had thought to be released for Joffery, she would-She does not know. She had been stupid. A stupid girl who did not want to understand that the Lannisters would not release her. Willas Tyrell and High Garden are a wisp of a dream of salvation. She should have known. With this mandate from Tywin Lannister, she knows she will never, never leave the capital until she is round with a Lannister Cub. 

Raped into her. 

Not that her Kin has even tried to negotiate for her, or Arya, who has fled. 

We are just girls, she thinks in despair. In the eyes of the Realm, her own kin, her and Arya's lives were not equal to the Vengeance of their Father’s death. She is no princess, she is nothing to her own family . 

Even as Joffery whispered vile things in her ear, Sansa did not allow herself to flinch, to run screaming from the room. 

She was a Stark. 

No matter what Robb declared. Her blood was of Rulers, of Kings and Queens, a line unbroken for eight thousand years. 

She could be brave.

When she reached Tyrion, horrible, kind Tyrion who looked at her with eyes that lingered on her hips, her legs, her breasts, she did not allow herself to give him the kindness of kneeling when the Septon asked for the cloaks to change. She simply turns around, chin held high, her pauper's cloak about her, her face stone, her eyes forward. 

She is a Stark. 

She has not broken when they beat her. 

She will not break here, not even for Tyrion’s half-hearted kindness. 

For he was still marrying her, for all his bluster, for all his eyes followed Shae with adoration. Because they looked at her, and she thinks he sees what he has been denied as a man for his deformities, and he wants it all. 

It was then that her gaze caught the statue of the Stranger. 

No candles lit.

Not one prayer at his altar.

It is such a contrast to the other six.

Do the gods feel sorrow? Do the gods feel this aching loneliness in their chest as well, being abandoned, unsung? Sansa knows enough not to pity a god. 

But…

In that moment, as the Lords and Ladies of the South openly laughed at her one of her captor's deformities, she did not feel pity-

Yet instead of an aching kinship. It was like an arrow to her heart. 

And … for the first time since her Father’s head left his shoulders, Sansa Stark prayed. 

I pray to you, she beseeches, Take me. Make a bride of me instead, let me take your vows of love, of silence, I would never leave your side, I would be yours.

Beside her, as if in answer, a horror and a miracle all at once.

It starts with a blazing red that illuminates the Stranger’s face. 

Sansa turns, eyes widen as it seems as if a star has come to be with them.

Swirling, growing, like a whirlpool of light. It is like blood, it is like lightning, crackling across the field of her vision until it consumes the Sept’s space from floor to vaulted ceiling.    

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He knew he shouldn't be angry at the girl. 

She was an unwilling bride. He knew that. Yet the fact that she would not be kind enough to kneel before him to save them both the ridicule of their height difference made his teeth clench. Made his jaw work. Had he not been good to her? Had he not prevented her torment? Would she not do the same to him?  Yet cursed yet.  It isn't even a moment before hell itself breaks her mockery of him.

Tyrion Lannister is many things. 

He is no warrior. 

When the first enormous Beast steps through the swirling star, this doorway of hell , and Tyrion quite easily forgets his child bride. Even as she turns and bolts on the spot. For Tyrion is too busy trying to escape himself to pay her any mind. And then. A weight on his back. He sees Sansa Stark, his would-be wife, gather her skirts and her cloak in her arms even as people around them scream.  

Then. 

A maw around his head. 

Tyrion Lannister, a man of thought and the cause of the wildfire of the Blackwater, thinks enough to feel terror, to realize agony, and then he thinks of nothing else at all. 

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I want Jaime, she thinks desperately. 

She wishes to scream as her family, her kin, the nearest to the altars of the gods, are attacked by Beasts never seen in living memory. But she barely has the breath, running, trying, desperately, to climb over people to get out. She has a moment to register that yes, indeed, it is the Great Tywin Lannister’s is really missing his leg, stabbing desperately with his sword against another monster, and Aunt Genna really is being devoured, mouth parted in death-

The Stark chit was the smartest of them. 

One hint of the queer light, the first claw of a beast through it, and she had been lunging for the front doors. Sprinting, full tilt, most of her skirts and wedding cloak in her arms, within the next second the first Beast had excited the maw of hell. She is remarkably fast, she thinks, halfway back down the aisle before anyone else so much as thinks to move. Cersei wishes she had done the same, even as her gaze looks desperately for her son. Joffrey had been the nearest to the altar, and she had not seen him nor Clegane since the screaming had started. She carries Tommen in her arms, clutching her son’s small head to her chest with a desperate, crushing strength. 

Three golden shrouds for three golden crowns.  

Tyrion had not made it to the third row before he was mauled by one of the Beasts. Head, bitten clean off.

She would have laughed if she were not so afraid, so sure she and her children would be next. 

But so it was. 

A slaughter. 

And the noblest of Southern blood touched the stones of the Great Sept as the Stark girl fled. 

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She does not make it to the doors.

Somehow, she is not surprised. 

Sansa holds in a scream as a beast, the head of a lion and a goat, a spitting serpent for a tail, the size of a large wheel house, bounds over her to reach the doors first. Cutting off escape for everyone in the Sept from the Great doors. 

The beasts are thinking, she realizes.

There are side doors. Sansa had checked, last she had been allowed in the Great Sept. Sansa learned her lesson for the Tower of the Hand. 

Keep moving. Do not hid, do not falter.  

 She had learned her lesson from the Bread Riots. 

Don't be caught alone. Do not allow them to drag you to your death. 

She turns in the same second she realizes there will be no escape from the Great Doors. Slamming into a person desperately trying to escape the aisle seat, throwing herself at the crush of bodies. Elbows hit her, knees, hands. It is agonizing like the Bread Riots. It makes her nearly laugh, to know just like then the Nobles of the South acted so surprised when something hurts them. She had learned that lesson, so long ago. She ignores screams, she ignores the sound of death, and the snarls of monsters. 

She does as Bran once had. 

She climbs at the top of the pews of the Sept. Lunges across heads, across bodies in a desperate attempt to reach the side doors. She stumbles. Clips someone in the head. She does not stop. Cannot. 

Survive, something in her snarls. 

Do not die, do not dare die. 

You are a Stark, you can be brave.

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It's a double dungeon, Sung Jin-Woo realizes.

Sneakers squealing, his two daggers shifting up automatically as a red gate appears in front of him. Underneath his shadow, he can feel Igris shift. The strongest of his summons… He feels restless. His heart speeds up. This has been his first dungeon since he gained Necromancy. The spawn reward key had seemed-

Well. 

Weird. 

The player screen had glitched out during the spawning, shifting through strange symbols, before shifting into a startlingly bright violet that reminded him of his summons. The object box had been black, with a curious violet sheen. The key itself was white metal, with ripples of colors in a sheen like an oil spill, and curiously shaped like a weird, seven-pointed Star. Within the star was a meticulously wrought wolf, snarling and running. 

The system, called the dungeon key, ‘Earthos’. From the flavor text, Sung Jin-Woo can admit to feeling unsettled.   

‘ Earthos, Realms of *Unknown* Children . The Realm of *Unknown* Children has been untouched by *Unknown* and *Unknown* for Eight Thousand Years. Gate of Earthos may open when ‘Earthos’ Key is used. 'Earthos’ Key, special item, status, Ultra Rare Spawn.’ 

Jin-Woo hadn’t known the system could not know. 

Didn’t know that the system didn’t name the dungeons or the quests themselves, could not know what it was giving him. 

That implied to him that the text wasn’t pre-generated, pre-written, but was being made in real time. Reactive. Which meant that the system itself was… Well. The system was being controlled by something that was conscious. And even worse, something Higher was controlling that. Jin-Woo was unsettled by the fact.  The key itself hadn’t disappeared when he used it. And when he had checked the description, the description had changed to include:

‘Uses: Infinite

Current Entry Point: Myeongdong Cathedral

Next Entry Point: *Unknown*’

There had never been a Key he could use again and again. Never been a Key that had multiple spawn points. 

But it didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep using the system to his advantage. To keep leveling up. He didn’t want to stop. Would not.

He tilts his head, watching curiously as the red gate spawns in the curiously gorgeous dungeon. The instant dungeon was much like his first in Hapjeong Subway station… A beast-heavy dungeon in the middle of the city. It wasn’t particularly hard. All the instant monsters were green to yellow at worst, and with his summons, he was blasting through them. It felt, to him, that something wasn’t quite right. He had yet to stumble on anything hinting at a dungeon boss, and he had searched the entity of the grounds of Myeongdong Cathedral in under an hour of arriving.  

In the middle of it, a real Dungeon Gate spawned. 

Red. 

His heart was beating double time in his chest. He looked at the tourists, and like at Hapjeong Subway station, no one reacted to anything involved with the system. So the gate, the real gate with the potential for summons, was only visible to him. It was up for grabs, without the Korean Hunter Association the wiser. Depending on the dungeon, he could make enough to squeak by on his mom’s hospital bills and Jin-Ah’s next school payment. 

‘ Urgent Quest, ‘Westori Dungeon Break: Protect’ Quest reward description pending until conditions are met. You must accept or the player’s heart will stop in ten seconds.’

Jin-Woo swears, startled. That was drastic. 

‘Accept ?’

Jin-Woo, unwilling to give up, unwilling to be anything but live and get stronger , rushes forward.

‘ Yes. ’ 

Slipping through the ‘Westori Gateway’ barely feels any different than any other gate. For a second, all he thinks is that it’s another room in the Cathedral. But it looks wrong, the shape isn’t like a cross, but seven-sided, and the windows are larger, almost covered, however, by seven Massive statues that make him flinch despite himself. 

But. 

That is secondary.

What meets him is a slaughter. He registers that there are people . A dungeon break quest? But no one on the other side of the gate had even seen it-  

But Jin-Woo knows that it doesn’t matter. 

His soldiers are moving with one word. 

“ Protect. ” 

Chapter Text

A man in a curiously bright, short, and vivid blue cloaked tunic and hood saves her life.

And Sansa Stark freezes for the first time since the Sept began to flood with monsters. For his canvas-clad feet slam into the head of one of the smaller lion, goat, and snake creatures with an ease that shocks a breath from her. He stands tall, long legs in a rough-spun blue fabric, his pale hands coming back spewing a stream of crimson from the Beast’s maned head. Around them, the din of screams, cries of agonies, and the snarls of beasts seems to dim. 

In each hand, he holds a wicked dagger, different from the other. She breathes. She breathes. Even as he looks down at her with a slow, languid blink.  

His face is handsome, is her first instinctual thought. 

It's the stupid, silly girl in her that somehow she cannot move past. The second is that his eyes are dark, nearly black, narrowed and almond-shaped, set in that handsome pale face. Curiously shaped, Essoian, if she would guess at first, uncultured, glanced. And they are-

They are shining, with a violet light.

Like they are Stars.  

She cannot describe it like anything else. His gaze seems to be a physical weight. He tilts his head. He frowns, just the smallest hint of downturned lips. Sansa cannot help it. She flinches, even as she reaches for her cloak pin, the closest thing she can use as a weapon, holding it out in shaking hands, locking her jaw in anticipation of a blow. 

He blinks at her. 

“Irgis,” he murmurs, and he says something else. 

It is a foreign language. Sansa knows the stilted Northern Old Tongue, Common, and a handful of phrases in High Valerian. Since she arrived in King’s Landing, she has heard so many different tongues from all over the world. 

She does not know the tongue this man speaks in. 

From the shadow beneath his feet, something shifts. She looks at it, lips parting in awe as she sees what seems to be knights, dozens of them living within this man’s shadow . One particular being, a knight, slips out of the shadow like a man from a shallow pool. He wears dark armor, with a furious fire, the loveliest shade of violet from the gaps of it, from his eyes, and a crimson ribbon streaming from his helm like a trail of blood. The knight kneels at the feet of the man with the stars for eyes. Is this handsome man with shining, glowing eyes his lord? He twists his hand, and yet another dagger, small, black, and orange blade, with a gray hilt, identical to one of them behind him, appears in his hands. The other two just… floating in midair.  

He holds it out, hilt first, to her. 

Sansa stares at him.

The Lord of Stars' Eyes gestures once, slowly, with the dagger. 

Sansa takes it after a stupefied moment. His hand is startlingly cold. His fingertips were calloused and so large in comparison to her own. The Lord with Stars for eyes smiles. Gently . A small, approving upturn of his lips. Nods to her with a regal dip of his head.  The Lord with Stars for eyes speaks. Voice deeper, firmer in his tongue. and the kneeling Knight salutes, before standing and unsheathing a sword longer than she is tall in a smooth movement. He moves. And-

He is standing in front of her in obvious defense.  

The irony of it is not lost upon her. She had thought all Knights nothing but lies, men wishing to kill and hurt and maim for the sake of it. 

Yet a dark knight of violet flame stands before her, ready to protect her from any harm as his beautiful, gentle Lord leaps, graceful as a dancer, impossibly high, and enters the fray of beasts once again with just another soft smile in her direction. 

And Sansa-

Sansa Stark holds the dagger to her heart like a prayer wheel. 

She hopes , again, the stupid girl she always is, as knights made of violet flames slaughter the beasts as they had slaughtered the people of the South that had mocked and watched her torment. 

Chapter Text

To make things easier on him, he directs about ten of his shadow knights to herd whoever is alive to Igris. Because out of all of them, he is the strongest, still, and the one that he can spare alone to get work done. He takes the rest of his summons to the beasts. The various people, dressed in silks and fine clothing, covered in blood and missing limbs and various pieces of themselves, join the girl with the soft blue eyes filled with a determination that Jin-Woo couldn't help but give her one of his first daggers from the shop inventory, quickly and absently buying it. There’s also… Something. A sort of haze around her heart. He can’t quite make out what it is, but the closest way he can compare it is maybe, maybe suppressed mana. But that doesn't seem quite right.

No one else seems to have it. At least at first glance. No one is Awakened.

This Temple is full of normal people. 

Statistically, considering the amount of remains he sees and the various prompts to revive around the cavernous temple around him, Sung Jin-Woo knows that is nearly impossible. Hunters are rare, sure, but not so rare that a crowd of a little under five hundred people wouldn’t have a single hunter among them. 

Something was weird. 

Very, very off. Jin-Woo was, frankly, unsettled. The humans, what was left of them, also all looked shell-shocked, even some of the people, dressed in armor with white cloaks, fought against his soldiers. Yelling in a language that vaguely sounds like English. He isn’t sure. It’s western, alright, and that’s all he can tell. The girl’s gaze, he notices, stays on him. Holding herself slightly apart from everyone else, nearly flush with Igris’s back. In fact, he realizes that the girl has one hand carefully holding onto Igris’s red plume, and the other holding out his dagger in the direction of the other people. 

He blinks. Even as their eyes lock once again.  

He sees her thankfulness; he sees something strong and alive in her eyes. He flickers his gaze back to the Beasts. The Gate must be interwoven, perhaps split into three ways, that much he can understand. The Cathedral back in Seoul, this place, whatever it was called, and wherever the Chimera are spawning from. Either way. 

Experience. 

His eyes flicker up. 

‘ Enemies, 307 Chimeras.’

Jin-Woo gets to work.

And when he kills some of the larger Chimeras, he feels anticipation lifting in him. Follows the prompt immediately: 

“ Arise.”

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Is… Is the Lord a god? Sansa thinks, lips parting in shock. 

I pray to you, Stranger . Did you hear me? Did you hear me as no other Gods did? Did you take my vow to be your bride to heart?

He says one word. 

One word, and the dead beasts rise from their corpses as creatures of shadow and violet flame. 

Something shifts. Sansa hoped. Sansa holds a dagger given to her by a god, by a mage, by a woods witch, grumpkin, snark, an Other itself; she does not care. He had smiled. Given her a blade. a Knight-The knight, a warrior she realizes with wide eyes, must be dead as well. He is shadow and flame, the same as the rest that move with the Lord with Star eyes. He lived in the Lord’s shadow. Yet, in her palm, she feels the weight of a silken plume; if she shifts her legs, she feels the startlingly cold touch of his dark armor. He is real, arisen.  

“Little Dove,” a rasp. 

She jolts, hands tightening on the dagger. The Knight. His great plumed head tilted to look at her. She takes her gaze to the Queen Mother. 

She is holding little Tommen. 

Sansa has to hold in a breath to realize that the boy isn’t breathing, his little eyes wide and unseeing. His face is slack. He seemed to have just… Stopped breathing. Sansa sees no evidence of a wound. The Queen Mother grips his head tightly, brings him to her breast, and Sansa realizes in horror that Cersei Lannister has suffocated her second son in the chaos. 

She is unsure if the woman even realizes, as she is looking at Sansa with a distinct, unfocused gaze.  

“Queen Cersei?”    

“Where is the King?” she demands. And she half rises, her emerald eyes turning wilder, “Where is my son?!” 

Sansa’s grip tightens on the gifted dagger. 

“I do not know,” she says, simply. 

Even in her heart, she wishes truly that a beast had taken Joffrey’s head. The Queen Mother pushes her dead child to her chest, her beautiful lips pulling in a fierce snarl. 

“WHERE IS MY SON, YOU WHORE!?”

The knight shifts. Places his blade in front of Sansa in a deliberate movement of protection.

Her knight, she realizes, with wide eyes. 

“ She will not touch you. Shall I take her head for the insult ? ”

Sansa jolts. 

The knight’s voice is clear and perfectly spoken in Common. She looks at him. His gaze is only fire.

But-

It feels steady. Assuring and calm. 

“She is mad with grief,” she tells the knight, after a moment, “I find no offense, Ser… Ser Igris?”

The man? The knight of the Lord of Stars nods. 

“ Very well. But should you ask it, I shall follow your word, my Lady . ”

When was the last time a man treated her with the proper respect? 

“My thanks, Ser Igris.”

He studies her for a moment and then gently nods to her again, before he turns his attention back to watch his Lord’s back. 

Chapter Text

He ends all of the Chimera he can visibly see.  The Quest box, in front of him, however, states that he has ‘ 113 out of 307 ’. He frowns. Whatever ‘Temple’ he was in, it didn’t seem to have a lot of secret nooks and crannies for monsters to hide. He tilts his head. Closes it. 

“ Scout ahead , ” he commands.

Soldiers dispersed at his words. Carefully, Sung Jin-Woo turns to the people. There’s probably close to what must be a hundred or so left. He can see that the worst of it seems to be a man, missing both of his legs.

Jin-Woo, absently, brings out his inventory. Summons two more knights. Looks to Igris. 

“ Give anyone left alive a healing potion. ”

The knights salute and follow his words. Some people resist. Yet, when one doesn’t, and he is cured of his ailments, like a ripple through the crowd, the people start to drink. It won’t heal the worst of the injuries, but it’ll keep all these people alive until they get medical treatment… He spots the girl in gold, staring at him. When he approaches,  she dips in a perfect curtsey, slipping onto her knees, golden and bloody skirts in a beautiful arch around her. The strangely tattered cloak, white with ragged embroidery of a snarling wolf- like the key, following the movement. The girl lifts the Knight Killer dagger, carefully, hilt first, just as he had done to her. 

Jin-Woo blinks.

Because she stays that way, on her knees, head dipped down, shoulders shaking, and he doesn’t think it’s comfortable at all on the marble floor. Carefully, making sure to show his hands in her line of sight, Sung Jin-Woo lifts her off of her knees. She still flinches when he touches her elbows, still flinches when he gently presses the dagger back to her.

“It’s okay,” he tells her, softly, “It’s yours.”

She looks up. Her eyes are really, really blue, he realizes. He can see… Determination. She speaks. He has no idea what she says. Behind her, it seems to provoke a reaction. She flinches again. But doesn’t look back, doesn’t do anything but look at him. A man in white armor stands when another woman, holding a child’s corpse Jin-woo, will not even think about the prompt to bring the child to join his summons , speaks. Snarls really. Jin-Woo barely has time to frown, and the man in the white grabs the girl by the bulk of her vivid red hair, fists it tightly in his enormous hands, and starts to drag her back. 

The girl is drenched in his spewing blood. He is both impressed and a little taken aback when he realizes that the girl had lifted the dagger to stab into the man’s thigh, in the weak spot between the armor pieces. 

The man shrieks in pain. 

That man wrenches the girl to the side, straining her neck. Jin-Woo moves. 

Then the man loses the hand, quite easily.    

Jin-Woo then backhands him away from the girl. And the man, he realized, quickly, had his neck snapped by the slap. He frowns. He hadn’t even used that much force. Even though the man in armor was similar to a hunter, he was …

Weak. 

He frowns. He killed him. By accident. He makes sure to toss the corpse away from the girl. He ignores the prompt to summon him back. He was weak, as callous as it seemed, he did not need such a summons. The girl speaks again, a demand, Jin-Woo thinks. One man, in long, dragging robes in a curious crystal hat, stumbles out of the hoard of people. A girl, woman, in a blue and rose-covered gown does as well. From her waist, she removes a long rose-covered sash. Give it to the man in the robes. She looks at the girl in gold and says something, weepy, perhaps, but a touch serious. The girl in gold looks to him and smiles, nods. Bright. She speaks again, firmer, this time. Projecting and demanding. He doesn’t quite understand her. But he catches the end of her words.

“ Sansa … Stark. ”

She looks at him expectantly, her hand holding her dagger to her chest, as she dips again, quicker. She is introducing herself. Jin-Woo dips his head, respectfully, a casual bow to someone who looks a little younger or his age. Sansa Stark . A pretty sounding name, he thinks. Which was her name, and not her family, he had no clue. Westerns did their name, not their family name, first, didn't they? 

“Sung Jin-Woo.”

Chapter Text

It is a man in vivid orange that viciously removes a plain blue cloak from someone in the crowd, nearly matching Jin-Woo’s hoodie. He speaks firmly, his voice a drawl, and his gaze on the girl in gold looks to him. Nods when the girl responds in a firm voice. The man in Orange looks at him. 

Speaks again. Hard. Harsh. 

Jin-Woo frowns. It sounds… Almost? Almost like Mandrin. Not quite right. But the way it’s being pronounced is similar. He doesn’t understand a word he's saying, regardless. The man’s eyes are like a snake’s, aggressive and tracking every movement. Even his chest’s movements slight pace to breathe. But they aren't really aggressive, else the System would have gone off. The girl, swallowing thickly, reaches out and gently presses a hand on Jin-Woo’s wrist. She flinches as she makes contact. Automatically, Jin-Woo places a hand over hers. Ever mindful of how a slap had killed the man in armor. He looks at her. She looks at the man in Orange, and then looks back at him. 

Nods. 

She turns her back and waits. 

The man in Orange gestures, the man mimes, removing her cloak. Jin-Woo removes her long off a curiously ratty cloak with a careful blink. The man takes it from him, holding it over his arm, and jerks his chin, holding out the blue cloak. He blinks. He puts the plain blue cloak on the girl. The girl lets out a shaky breath as it settles around her shoulders. The man in the long robes speaks. Droaning, sort of lecture-like. Jin-Woo isn't really paying attention to him, only to the girl. The girl turns back around, beaming, gripping his hands after thrusting the ribbon towards the man in the long robes. He watches, befuddled, as they wrap his and the girl in gold’s hands with the rose-covered sash. She seems ultra-focused on the tying, speaks softly, repeating the words that the man in the long robes says. But it seems important to her, and his summons haven’t come back.  He doesn’t understand what's happening. A blessing of some sort? The girl seems happy about it, as far as he can see. 

Everyone else seems dead silent. 

The man in Orange had simply slid around the girl to watch him, holding the ratty cloak draped on his arm. Jin-Woo ignores him. 

Her hands are shaking. 

He squeezes her hands automatically. 

Her breath hitches. And she looks up at him, blinking quickly. Her face is sort of stunning , he thinks, in a matter-of-fact way, beautiful enough to be almost unreal . Her skin was a perfect sort of white, she had a small face, heart-shaped with wide cheekbones and a plump mouth. Her eyes were, by far, though, what caught his attention the most. A deep, sort of arresting shade of deep blue. In the depths of them, he could … almost see a shimmer of something. He couldn't quite make it out. 

Mana? 

And the longer he stared at them to try to see it, the rosier her pale cheeks grew. 

He squeezes her hands again. 

And the girl took a steadying breath and smiled at him again. 

Jin-Woo feels his lips automatically lift slightly to return it. 

Chapter Text

The Stark girl weds the Warrior with the command of the dead, and Tywin knows he has no power to stop it. 

He is the foreigner's debt, the bleeding from the stump of his leg only staved off because of his potion. He swallows thickly when the girl presses an eager, desperate kiss to the man's lips. The man, barely passing a boy, jolts at the touch. His eyes close, for a moment, enjoying the sensation seemingly unconsciously before he pulls himself back with a startled blink. The Stark girl only drops to her knees before him in gentle respect, smiling. The Warrior lifts her off her feet again, even as the Septon quickly undoes their wedding ribbon, made of the Tyrell girl's dress sash. Gifts it to the girl, who brings it to her chest, along with her wicked dagger. 

And there. 

The blood and legitimacy of the Starks is suddenly out of his hands.  

He feels his teeth grind. 

“Lord Tywin,” the girl says. A cunning she-wolf, not a simpering dove as his daughter had sneered, the fool, simply waiting, bidding her time to act , “You have something that belongs to House Stark. My Lord husband and I want it back. ”

He grits his teeth. He had just dropped off the sword at the Blacksmith's just that morning to have it reforged.  He does not speak. The Stark girl tilts her head. 

“You owe my husband a debt,” she reminds him, simply.

He does not speak. She lifts her chin, parallel to the ground.

“You owe me a debt. Your own kin has spilt my blood within the great Hall, before the Iron Throne. You will tell me where my House's sword is, Lord Tywin, now .”

Bold thing. Bolder than he would have thought. He is reminded of his wife at that moment. And he does not know what makes him respond, really, other than that resemblance and the fact that she belongs to a man who had slaughtered magical beasts that tore through some of the greatest warriors in Westroes like wet parchment.  

“A blacksmith. I mean to have it reforged,” he tells her, simply, after an endless moment. 

Tywin Lannister knows when he will not win. 

He is utterly surprised when she storms to him and slaps him. Hard. His head jerks with the force. He is- Well. The respect for her gall rises, even as he turns furiously to glare at her for the insult. Cersei makes a desperate, infuriated noise. She stands, and he watches with horror as Tommen falls.

Dead weight. 

Cersei doesn't seem to notice. Her child, her thirdborn, is dead . She is only stopped in her furious lunge at the Stark girl by the large knight of blood red plume, appearing in a blink between them. The knight dangles his daughter by her neck, squeezing. Cersei desperately claws at his grip. The knight tilts his head, and-

Carelessly, Tywin watches his eldest’s body as it drops. And- His girl. His beautiful girl- she is-

Dead. 

The Knight draws his sword, his daughter’s head in his hand, and turns to kneel at the girl's feet. Presents the head. He speaks. Tywin does not understand a word he says. But when he slips a sword at the girl’s feet, it is evident that she has gained an impossibly powerful ally and husband. 

He has lost a Queen Mother, a King, and his heir, all in the span of less than a candle mark.

Even his own heir, unwanted as he was, lies dead.  

It is the first time, in near twenty something years that he realizes that his legacy is completely at risk.

Chapter Text

‘Cleric Sansa of House Stark, Lv.1, has been added to Player Party.’

Jin-Woo blinks at the notification window. Feels his brow furrow. 

Once. 

Twice. 

But it doesn't go away.  The ribbon thing. It had added the girl in gold…

It really is like a game. A party. 

“Player Party?” he prompts. 

‘New! Player Party expansion. Now that Player has been reclassified as ‘Necromancer’, new System features have been implemented. When certain conditions are met, people can be added to the Player System as Party Members. Limited access to the  System is enabled until certain conditions are met. Party Member System will default to Lead Player settings and language, and be under the control of Lead Player until conditions are met.’

I- I just accidentally tied someone to the System. And I’m in control of it!?

Jin-Woo nearly swears. He didn’t want anyone in his shoes, let alone being dependent on him beyond his sister and his mother. And now, the girl was tied to the fucking system- He jolts out of looking at the description, as he watches Igris kill one of the civilians, the woman who had been holding the dead child.  

‘System Alert, Deadly Hostile Against Party.’

‘System Alert, Deadly Hostile neutralized.’

He ignores the dead woman. He had seen her lunge for the girl, even as distracted at the window, he had seen the intent of harm in the woman’s face, alert or not. She aimed to kill, so Igris’s reaction was fair. Igris is kneeling. Kneeling on the floor, to the girl in gold, presenting her the woman’s head and his sword.

And-

He talks. 

Jin-Woo blinks. He doesn't understand his summon’s words at all.  He shifts. Looks at the girl. She tilts her head. Blinks rapidly, and then looks at him and- Jin-woo feels his breath still. She speaks. And- her voice shakes, just a little. He doesn't understand. He wishes he did. But, as she looks at him, eyes wide and holding back tears, he realizes she's asking for permission. 

Jin-Woo looks above her. 

Violet letters above her head. ‘Cleric Sansa of House Stark, Lv.1.’ She's… His now. His party member until he can figure out something. 

He nods, hesitantly.

She closes her eyes for a second, clutching her dagger to her heart and the ribbon. She dips her head and turns to Igris. Speaks calmly, gently, and even, stashing her dagger by wrapping it quickly in the ribbon, and then around her waist in a makeshift belt. She moves and struggles as she tries to lift Igris’s sword. She buckles with the weight. 

Sung Jin-Woo feels himself move.

Igris tenses, even as he steadily helps the girl hold the blade in her hands. 

She is small. 

Not height-wise, she's just to his collarbone. Her limbs are thin, almost skeletal, he realizes, as he looks at her; her wrists are protruding slightly, and he realizes with a jolt that despite her golden gown, the girl must be on rations or a very poor eater. Considering the way the knots of her spine hit his chest, he guesses the first. 

He remembers the ache all too well, trying to make sure Jin-Ah is well-fed when he barely makes rent. 

Jin-Woo steadies her hold, bearing the weight of the sword.

“Steady,” he tells her, softly. 

She nods. 

Looks at the still kneeling Igris and speaks, calm, projecting, touching each tip of Igris’s shoulders with his sword. 

Knighting? 

Igris speaks. His voice is deep, calm and-

Revenant.  

A notification window. 

‘Party member Cleric Sansa of House Stark uses the passive ability, ‘Light Speak’, regardless of summon level, within the Player Party, communication is possible.’ 

He blinked quickly. 

His summons could talk?

He blinked again. His summons would eventually talk to him once they leveled up enough?

‘Status swornshield in pending effect: Summon Igris has sworn to protect Party Member. Priority of protection of Party Member will take effect. Allow? Fifteen-second window to accept. Yes or no?’ 

He shifts. And then he realizes Sansa Stark is looking at the notification window, her red brows drawn together. She could see them. Judging by the way she was studying the Korean, she couldn't read it, but she could see it. She was tied to him, a part of his system because of the blessing thing. He hadn’t meant to-

He looks at her, her wide, trusting eyes looking at Igris. She was, better or for worse, now attached to Jin-woo’s player system. 

She was level one.

Jin-Woo presses ‘Yes.’

Chapter Text

Ser Irgis stands. 

“My Queen, I am yours. Our King has accepted,” he tells her, simply, voice firm and regal.

Sansa Stark jolts in her husband's arms. He slowly lowers them and slips back a couple of feet, holding Ser Igris’s enormous sword. He stares at them both, a curious expression on his face. Tosses the Great sword back to Ser Igris, who catches it one-handed. Places it on his broad back. He is easily as tall as the Mountain, whose remains, she notes with some distant feeling of pleasure, are scattered against the floor. She sees, absently in the carnage, Jofferey’s half-bitten head. Dead. As simple as that. Her back aches. 

She looks down at Cersei’s head. 

Her death face is that of stunned disbelief. Ugly wretched. All her beauty, so admired, so envied, would be nothing within days by the same rot her wretched son had caused in her beloved father. Sansa would weep with joy if she were not so aware of Star Eyes upon her.   

Her husband, the King. The king of what?

“My thanks, Ser Igris … King? I have wed a King?”

Igris tilts his head. One of the eyes in his helm, she notes, is cracked, a scar of fire pulled upwards, like a slash. One of the horns of his helm seems to have been ripped right off.   

“Your Husband is the King of The Realm of Shadows. You have wed the Monarch of Shadows, the current holder of the Dark Heart, of the Greatest Fragment of Brilliant Light. You, Queen Sansa of House Stark, daughter of the North in Earthos, have been chosen to share a fraction of his burden.”

She felt dizzy. 

So I have wed someone powerful. 

She understood none of his titles, as grand as they seemed, but in the end, Sansa Stark has wed a King. Perhaps a god was not far off. King. God. Grumpkin. Snark. Other-it made no real difference to her now. 

She…

I have acted impulsively. 

She feels a laugh, building in her. She pushes it down. She is a Queen. Her ardent swornshield has called her such. She must hold her dignity. 

“I see, Ser.” 

“Will you command me, your grace?” 

“... I am with my Lord Husband, I am safe. There is a sword, Ser Igris. It is an ancestral relic of my family. I cannot in good mind allow myself to leave it in the hands of my enemies, as I leave to follow our King… Will you look for it?” 

“At your word, my Queen. Shall I strike the curs down for the insults laid against you?” 

He moves his sword in a large arch to the Southern Nobles. They who had watched her beatings, her humiliations. 

She swallows. 

The girl in her, well. She hesitates. Then sighs. Looks at the slaughter. Looks at the people who hurt her.

Fear looks back at her. 

The most ugly, awful part of her- she can see what Cersei meant. Now that she has wed a god, a King, whatever all he is, now that she is no longer a captive in their eyes, well. It is different.  It is more than different. She feels fury rise and shift within her, like a creature. A creature that was born the day her father lifted Ice to kill her Lady. It would feel so good to throw back all the cruelty that they have shown me. 

But. 

Margaery Tyrell’s sweet brown eyes look at her. Who had tried for her, who had given her a wedding ribbon. Prince Oberyn Martell looks at her with triumph and pleasure at her actions. Who had brought her a Wedding Cloak to be wed.

They too fear. 

I would make them love me, she remembers.

“The sword, ser. That is all I want,” She looks at the nobles of the South. Lifts her chin. She is a Queen now. Though they are not her subjects, but she would be merciful, she would be good, unlike the queen she had seen, “I will not cause harm upon you, though you have caused harm upon me and humiliations that no child nor Lady should endure. For that, I shall forgive all of the Traitorous House Lannister. For those of you who did no harm yet moved not a hand for a child nor a lady at the mercy of the royal house, I will pray for you. The North may not remember me, may not call me its rightful Princess, but I will not forget.” 

She swallows. Turns from them. To her sworn shield.

“Ser Igris? Please retrieve Ice.” 

“Anything else? I shall retrieve everything they have taken from you. You need not worry, I will follow your essence to the sword. Anything you ask, I will bring it forth, Queen Sansa of House Stark, consort to the Monarch of Shadows.”

She remembers her father's rotting head. He would follow my essence? Am I not made of them, the people who came here by my side?

“The bones of my father. My household. They deserve more than what they received. They once were suspended from the Red Keep’s walls, traitors when they did nothing but serve King’s Landing and my father, truthfully, honorably, and with love.” 

He kneels to her, then to her husband, “My Queen. My King.” 

Ser Igris throws himself past the corpses of the Beasts and into the city. Faster than she can blink. She knows, with a certainty, he would not fail her. Her husband's gaze follows him, brow slightly furrowed, before he looks back at her carefully. 

She smiles and nods.  He nods back.

“Lady Sansa,” a soft, slightly unsettled voice. 

She turns. 

Lord Baelish is looking at her. His eyes are a curious shade of grey-green, and Sansa is unsettled by the sheer focus he has on her person. 

“Lady Sansa, may I ask how you… That's it, you now command the creature?”

She frowns.

“Ser Igris is my swornshield, Lord Baelish. A gift of my Lord husband.”

He shifts forward, his eyes flickering to her husband with fearful, but narrowed, calculating eyes.

Sansa has learned. 

Slowly. 

But that gaze is now enough set her hackles rising. He had whispered to her once, in the Hand’s  Tourney, so cheerfully, of a childhood friendship to Mother. Yet every time I was beaten at Court and he was present, the Master of the Coin, this Littlefinger made no move for me.

“My lady, I offer you and your… husband shelter, with your Aunt, Lady Lysa Arryn, in-”

The Eyrie. Her Aunt, someone she had never met. Family, Duty, Honor- yet no family had made a move for me. No, they have given me silence and stricken me from my birthright. 

What is family if it abandons you? 

Sung Jin-Woo moves. Some shadow knights have returned. Then he kneels in front of her, palms facing back. 

Distant memories of Arya upon Jon Snow’s back, laughing as Sansa tutted at them both, because Arya’s stockings were visible, she is a Lady-

He wishes-

He wishes for her to climb atop his back? She blinks, and he looks back at her expectantly. She squares her shoulders. Sansa carefully slips atop her husband’s back, locking ankles and her arms tentatively around him. He gently pats at her ankles, settling his palms on her calves and hiking her up higher on his shoulders. Sansa takes a deeper, shaper, steadier breath at the movement. His hands are cold, she notices, again, nearly searing through her silk stockings, cold and calloused, littered with knicks and scars she could still feel through the thin material. His hand wraps nearly completely around her calf, nearly touching the entire span of it. Her husband, she knows, is a warrior, a King. She is not sure if she would call him a knight, with his daggers as weapons, his fighting like a brawl, but so queerly elegant, incredibly fast, she could barely track his movement. He murmurs something in his soft, deep voice before letting go of her calves and resummoning his daggers from nothing. She holds on tighter, and her husband, the King of Shadows, looks back and smiles over his shoulder. 

Gentle. 

Full.

She smiles back. 

“Lady Sansa!” Lord Baelish. 

Sansa pays Lord Baelish no mind. For her husband is in the air, and moving. 

And as she rises to the skies, unburdened from her captors, Queen Sansa of House Stark, a woman wed, cannot help but laugh in sheer delight.

Chapter Text

The girl laughs, softly, in a burst of sweet giggles against his neck, not at all startled by the sheer force and speed as he flickers about the city, heading straight out of the large doors, his shadow summons in tune with him as he jumps across rooftops. People point, people scream as they flicker across rooftops. 

‘System Quest, Westori Dungeon Break, still in effect. Protect the city! System rewards pending.’

And like the System says, the city is crawling with Chimeras. 

Larger. 

Anticipation thrums through him. 

The weight of his new party member is minuscule, his daily quests making her an easy burden. What must only be forty-five kilograms, at best. Maybe even as low as forty. For her height, she was abnormally thin. She must be around 175 cm, or maybe 176 cm, without her tall heels. He felt the delicate bones of her ankles, the lack of fat on her calves, as he carefully released his daggers to float after them as he reached a high point. He observed, eyes flickering. Still no dungeon boss. He hiked her up on his back again as she slipped a little down. She squeezed slightly on his neck in response. There was a strange weight to her, something that made his back itch. Uncomfortable. It was like his Perception was sensing something, but not quite from the girl. He wonders if she feels it, as well. She does high perception, after all. 

He hums. 

“Party Member Window?” he tries, even as he starts heading to the biggest Chimera he can see. Far off. Towards one of the City walls. It looked like a massive weight had been dragged through the city. Collapsed buildings.

He hums. A screen pops up. His party member gasps. He glances over his window, nodding in acceptance to his level 51, out of habit, before he looks at the near identical one next to it. 

He blinks.

{‘Player Party:’}

{Name: Sansa of House Stark}      {Level: 1}         

{Job: Cleric}                                {Title: *Unknown* & Porcelain, Bone, & Steel(+20 Perception +10 Resilience)}

{HP: 10/20}                               {MP: *Status Effect*}

{Fatigue: 19}

“Stats Window, Party Member.” 

{STATS}

Strength: 1    Stamina: 5  Agility: 7   Intelligence: 50    Perception: 30+20

Jin-Woo blinked. 

A really high intelligence, perception for a level one. I was ten across the board… But, she is someone else, and it sort of makes sense, I guess, maybe it’s because she already has a Job? A cleric. Is that like a healer? Spell caster, for sure, I guess, considering her Intelligence. Good agility too. She dodged really well, despite her poofy dress… 

“Skills, Party Member."

{SKILLS}

{Passive Skill: Light Speak Lv. Max, Faith Lv. 2, Will Power LV. 1} 

{Active Skill: Spellcast Lv. 1, Chant Lv. 1, Prayer Lv. 2, & Healing Lv. 1} 

{Assign Stat Points (0)}

{Strength:             Attack 5+25+35}

{Vitality:              Defense: 4

                Health 10 of 20}    

{Agility:              Critical Hit Rate 10

                          Critical Hit Damage 20}

{Intelligence:     Additional MP *Status Effect*

  Cool Down Reduction *Status Effect*}

So it is like mage. And a healer?

“Status Effect, Party Member?”

{Status Effect: Soul Link Interruption, Starvation}

He frowned. Skidding to a stop, causing Sansa to let out a startled little ‘Oh’ before she stayed still on his back. The unknown title makes him wary, but the effect on the girl caught the most of his attention. The lack of health, since he saw no visible injuries nor blood on her dress, which was around a shred or that didn’t belong to a monster, must be down to the fact that the girl hadn’t eaten anything. He pulled a health potion from his inventory. Gave it to the girl over his shoulder. He waited, and she carefully drank down the potion. The girl sagged against him, a sigh of relief coming from her.

{Party Member, Cleric Sansa of House Stark, has been fully restored to Max HP. Status Effects 'Starvation’ and ‘Soul Link Interruption’ are still in effect.}   

“Status Effect,  ‘Starvation and ‘Soul Link Interruption’?” he demands. That. That he had no idea what it was. 

“Sung Jin-Woo?” Mummers his new Cleric, she shifts on his back. 

‘Starvation, Negative Status Effect: In situations of prolonged of little to no food, player or party members endure +15 Fatigue each day.’ 

Absently, he pats her calves again. I’ll feed her as soon as we take care of the chimeras…

She stills. 

He looks at the next Status Effect description. 

{Soul Link Interruption, Negative Status Effect: In emerging Awakenings, sudden loss of a Soul Link Companion can stall or freeze Mana growth and development in the midst of Awakening. Continued effect can cause loss of can cause slow deterioration of mental state, permanent loss of consciousness in Eternal Sleep, and eventual death if left on the individual. No levels may rise when under this condition.}

‘Notice! Terms of revealing Quest Reward met.’

He pats her calves again. 

“System Quest Reward.”

‘Urgent System Quest, Westori Dungeon Break, Quest Reward: Special Summoning! Player will be able to attempt Special Party Summon, ‘Lady’.’ 

He hums. 

Lady? 

Flickers his gaze to the quest again. 

‘Urgent System Quest, Westori Dungeon Break, Protect the City!.’

“Sung Jin-Woo?” Asked Cleric Sansa. 

Eternal Sleep.

“Party Member Inventory,” he asks, because he needs to see if the girl has anything on her. It’s what he would have done, as well, honestly, if he were playing a video game with a new player in his party. 

{Cleric Sansa of House Stark Inventory: Dragonfly silver necklace}

“Party Member Equipment?”

{Cleric Sansa of House Stark, Equipment:

{Weapons: Knight Killer Dagger +75 attack, Deals an extra +25% damage against armored opponents.  

{Armor:

Headgear: Baelish and Tyrell Strangler Silver Hair-Net, +35 Attack, +70 Poison   

Body: Lannister Silk Wedding Gown, -15 mobility, +15 kgs weight, Binding Tyrell Ribbon, Binding Cloak    

Feet: Lannister Silk Heels, -5 mobility

Accessories: Lannister Gold Sigil Necklace, -2 mobility & Lannister Ruby Hairpins, -5 mobility}

Jin-Woo blinks.

She had poison in her hair? That strong of a poison?!

“Baelish and Tyrell Strangler Silver Hair-Net, description?” he mutters, stumbling on the pronunciation of the names.

The girl jolts as he says the names. 

“Sung Jin-Woo? Baelish? Tyrell?”

He sighs and pats her calves again.  

{Baelish and Tyrell Strangler Silver Hair-Net, Class A Item: Rarity, Common, Rare, Rank C. A deadly hair accessory given under false pretenses, decorated with 'Strangler'. Stranger is a deadly poison that interferes with the body's ability to use oxygen at the cellular level, leading to rapid cell death. The poison is made from plants that are only found on islands in the Jade Sea of Earthos, with rare spices from the Summer Isles. Crystallization causes the poison to form a dark purple stone that can dissolve in liquid.} 

Jin-Woo squeezes her calves again. Looks back. She looks at him with trust in her wide, blue eyes. She doesn’t know. Doesn’t know at all. 

What trouble are you in, Sansa Stark that someone gives you poisoned hair accessories?

“You’re my party member now,” he tells her, softly, “I’ll make sure to make sure that nothing happens to you.” 

She gives him a smile. Soft and trusting. 

He tries his best to return it. Even as his heart speeds up, even as summons more soldiers. Absently, when he has her in a good place, he’s going to take that hairnet thingy out of her hair.   

‘Urgent Quest! Recover Party Member’s belongings. Quest Reward: Additional Trust with Party Member, 50,000 Gold, and Blessing Reward Box for all Party Members.  Find Party Player's Rooms in the Red Keep. Accept?’

Jin-Woo blinked. That’s a lot of gold for grabbing her things. Hummed.  Looked at the Big Red Building in the distance. That seemed right. 

He clicks ‘Yes’.  

Summons as many soldiers as he can. 

“Protect the city.”

Chapter Text

A man with Lady Sansa on his back arrives, smashing through her room doors, knocking them clear off the hinges. Shae cannot help her shriek at the crash, even as she lifts her stolen dagger under her skirts. The man stares at her, tilting his narrowed eyes with a frightfully blank look on his face. 

“Shae!”

She swallows down the automatic resentment that rises in her. Lady Sansa slips off the man’s back, and-

Shae jolts when the girl throws herself into her arms.

“I am so sorry for Lord Tyrion.”

Shae stares at her. 

The girl is covered in blood. 

“Lady Sansa-”

Had she killed her giant of Lannister-

“Beasts. Beast, Shae, have invaded the City-”

She stares at her. 

“I- I ran. I am so sorry, Shae. Lord Tyrion is gone.” 

Shae’s heart shuddered. She squashes down the stupid sentiment. She is smarter than that, always has been. 

“You knew?” she asked, even as grief shook through her. 

Sansa Stark is many things, Shae had found. A survivor. Tenacious. Smarter than anyone has given her credit for. 

A child so frightened that even Shae, calloused, self-serving as she was, felt a strong urge to protect, to try, even as her resentment of her youth, her beauty, her position made her ache. 

Sansa Stark smiled. Tragic. Soft and good. The tragic Lady-like songs and mummers paid worship too. 

Shae felt so-

“Yes. How could I not? I thank you, Shae, for your protection, truly.”

Shae felt her heart rend in two. 

“You will go, then?” She looks at the foreigner. Covered in strange garments and blood. 

“I must follow my Lord Husband.” 

Shae blinked. 

Sansa laughed. Looked, eyes wet and hopeful, to the curious warrior. 

“I- he saved me. No one has truly saved me, Shae.”

Shae looks at the man, staring at them with curious, dark eyes. 

“Husband?” 

“It was him or the next Lannister alive enough to rape me.” 

Shae shudders. Look at the man. His gaze is on a curious key, in his palm, curious, with the Seven’s star and the girl’s sigil. 

“You will be good to her,” she spits, in Yi-Ti. She knew those features anywhere. And she knows many languages. 

The man furrowed his brow. But otherwise his expression did not change. She swallowed. 

“I will get your things together, my Lady.”

“Shae? What will become of you?”

Shae does not know. Part of her wishes to follow Sansa- the girl was throwing herself at a man she had just met, with hope in her eyes. 

She could not go with her. Not until she knew from a non-biased answer on what had simply occurred to her Tyrion. She swallows. She would not blame, Sansa, really, if she killed him after all. 

Because in her place?

Shae would have, no matter how kind Tyrion thought himself. She had seen his gaze. She had seen his want. She would have killed him in Sansa’s place. She has no doubt.  

“I will leave the city.” What else is there for me? She thinks shrewdly, “Do not worry for me, my Lady. Go. Free yourself.” 

Lady Sansa embraced her again. 

“Thank you. For everything you could do. And again, I am so sorry for your Lord.”

When she put together the Lady’s trunk, she made sure to back the small doll of china that had been a gift from her poor father, as well as the majority of the items of worth, including jewelry the girl didn’t dare wear, fearing the bitch of Queen’s scorn. The man, the girl’s husband, makes it disappear with a wave of his hand once Shae drags it out to them. Shae blinks. And then Sansa reaches for her neck. Removes the thin chain around her neck. Fine gold. A Lannister necklace. She presses it into Shae’s hands.  

“It is not much, but it will get you some coin to flee, Shae.”

Gods. Must she be so kind?

Shae kisses her forehead in thanks. Tears slip down her face despite herself. There is love in her heart for this girl, even if she had been so close to hating her. She gives the girl the stolen dagger in response. She has more, after all. She always has at least two when she is dressed.   

“Goodbye, my lady.” 

And that is the last Shae of Lys saw of Sansa Stark in a long time. 

Chapter Text

He leaves the woman with the sharp, dark eyes, clutching at the necklace from Sansa’s neck. He is befuddled when she switches it for a simpler one, with a silver dragonfly charm touching it gently with closed eyes for a second. He eyes the dagger with some interest, as she simply ties it herself to her makeshift ribbon belt. He nods, and carefully takes her arm. Gathers his quest reward, catching the box easily. 

The same box does not appear in front of Sansa. He frowns.  He banishes his own to his inventory. 

“Party Inventory,” he murmurs. 

{Sansa of House Stark Inventory: Empty}

“Shared Inventory?”

{Shared Inventory: 

Rare Reward Box*Party Member, Locked*

Sansa’s Trousseau: 1 silver silk dress, 1 purple linen dress, 1 grey linen dress, 1 pink linen dress, 1 light-blue linen dress, 5 linen shifts, 1 blue linen dressing gown, 5 sets of small clothes, 5 pairs of silk stockings, 5 pairs of stays, White Northern Mink Fur Spread, Minisa Whent’s Quilt, Catelyn Tulley’s Quilt, Lyrra Stark’s handkerchiefs, Myrish Lace Ribbons, Yi-ti Silk Ribbons, Bolts of Northern White Ermine furs, Bolts of Riverland Dyed Blue Silks, Bolts of White Northern Wool, Bolts of Black Northern Wool, Bolts of Dornish Linen, Northern Sweet Oils Soaps, Southern Bar Soap, Embroidery Loom, Embroidery Hoops, Embroidery scissors, Embroidery needles, Large Bundle of Embroidery silk thread, Large Bundle of Embroidery beads, Tyrell lap Harp, Onyx Butterfly Necklace, Dragonglass Stark Rings, Tully Silver Bangles, Whent Yellow Diamond Pins, Tully Pearl Parure & Stark Garnet Parure

Eddard Stark’s Last Gift

50,000 G*Party Member, Locked*} 

“Party Member Equipment?”

{Equipment:

Weapons: Knight Killer Dagger +75 attack, Deals an extra +25% damage against armored opponents & Targaryen Dagger +150 attack, +50% damage against Others 

{Armor:

Headgear: Baelish and Tyrell Strangler Silver Hair-Net, +35 Attack, +70 Poison   

Body: Lannister Silk Gown, -15 mobility, +15 kls weight, Binding Tyrell Ribbon, Binding Cloak 

Feet: Lannister Silk Heels, -5 mobility

Accessories: Lannister Ruby Hairpins, -5 mobility,  Dragonfly necklace}

“Well,” he blinks, quickly, and then he closes the window, wondering what a ‘Trousseau’ is, or an ‘Other’ for that matter,  “That’s a thing. Locked reward box huh? It might be because you can’t access the Player Window yourself yet. That sucks.”

He tries to pull it from the shared inventory. 

‘Error! That is not Player’s Reward item, inaccessible.’

He sighs. Sansa carefully squeezes his elbow. She has no idea what he’s saying, but she’s looking at him with gentle, quiet focus. He hums. Doesn’t like the makeshift ribbon belt around her waist.

“Shop?”

He finds a nicish, leather belt. It even has ‘customized’ sheathes. He purchases. Sansa jumps as he produces the belt. He hands it to her. She stares at it, and then quickly unwinds the ribbon belt and puts it on the belt. Sheathes her daggers with the air of someone who has never used one until today. He looks at her heels, peeking out of her dress. Purchases a small set of light boots. She jumps when he produces that, too. He is somewhat amused when she hurls her heels, tall, spindly things, as hard as she can down the corridor. 

They don’t get that far. 

“Gonna have to work on that,” he mutters to himself. 

She dons the boots.

He grins at her. She smiles back. He indicates the cloak. She blinks at him. Carefully removes the cloak, and he banishes it to her inventory, even as she twists the binding ribbon around her belt to stash it. He shrugs. Gestures to her head. Jin-Woo touches carefully at the place the knight had shoved his hand into her once carefully crafted braids. She freezes. Blue eyes, wide and blue and so bright, widen ever so slightly. Jin-Woo is the older brother of a little sister he half raised. Even if he’s never braided anything so complicated, he knows how to take it apart. He bets her head is aching something fierce, even more so when he realizes that the braided, constructed loops are held together with what must be hundreds of jeweled pins. He sees the Strangler thingy must be the purple stones. 

He dons leather gloves because, well, he’s not dumb.  

“Just taking these out,” he murmurs. He mimes removing the pins from his own head. 

She looks at him for a moment, eyes searching. 

“Sung Jin-Woo,” she says, mimicking his pronunciation very well for having heard him say his name once. Says something else in her own language. Soft, but he can also hear her thankfulness.  

He nods, even if he doesn’t understand her. She relaxes slightly and turns her back to him for easier access. 

He gently takes out the pins, absently sending the dozens of pins into her inventory. Maybe he will try to find a way to clean them.  He wonders if the rubies are real.

When he slips out the sliver, net thingy, he banishes it to his own personal inventory, along with the gloves.  

No way is he letting a lv. 1 handle that. 

“Jin-Woo,” he tells her, after a second, running his fingers carefully through the snarls and the matted blood. Nothing to do but to wash it out now. But they don’t have time. He squints at the Shop. And is amused.

‘Violet Onyx Binyeo +30 defense!’ 

He purchases the binyeo…And squints at the variety in the suddenly expanded shop. Must be to suit his party member. He remembers helping his mom do up her hair, sometimes, very badly, right after his dad disappeared. He remembers burning her with boiling water, even as she had tried to reassure him… His hands are better now, steadier, and he slips Sansa’s thick, silky hair into a traditional bun relatively simply, and slips in the binyeo with a slight flourish. He ignores the matted bits just to get it out of her face. 

She looks back at him. He points to his chest. 

“Jin-Woo.”

She tilts her head. 

“Sung?”

He frowns. How the hell is he supposed to convey a surname? He remembers, vaguely, that westerners say their surname second, instead of first… He throws up two fingers. She tilts her head. 

“Sansa. Sansa Stark,” she tells him. Points to her chest, “Sansa.”

Points to his chest.

“Jin-Woo.”

“Stark,”  she lifts fingers in a two-gesture. 

He nods. Her surname, he guesses, that she was saying it in the Western way. Stark Sansa. Sansa. It's a pretty name. He wonders what it means. 

“Sung,” she sings out, sweetly. She holds up two fingers. 

He nods. Amused, slightly, that a girl in such an elaborate and expensive dress is reduced to Tarzan gestures to communicate. And impressed that she got his meaning. He gestures to her dress. Mims ripping it. 

The girl beams. Grips the dagger he gave her, pulls the long train, and shears it off with a surprisingly steady hand. Blushing, she lifts her skirts and starts to sheer at her under skirts. There looks to be several layers.  He tries to remember the name of petti-something. Shrugs and turns his back, deliberately. He hears her shimmying out of several extra layers. He counts about four hitting the ground as he stares absently out the window. 

“Jin-Woo?” She prompts. 

He turns back. She is tying her golden skirt, slightly above her ankles, for easier movement. She pulls at the strange, overall large collar of her dress with her knife, causing her top to fray loosely around her neck, gapping oddly as she drops the collar with lions embroidered on it with a pleased, even smile. He tilts his head. Nods. She looks lighter. Not that it matters to him, but if he has to set her down after this, he would rather have her have more mobility.

A shadow soldier slinks up. Kneels. Then does a thumbs up. Sansa jumps. Mummers something. The soldier speaks back. Freaky. He wished he could understand either of them.   

Sung Jin-Woo nods. 

“Right. Dungeon boss.”

He kneels and gestures softly for Sansa to hop back on his back. 

This time, she does so without hesitation. Like before, he squeezes her calves in thanks, and then he’s off.   

Chapter Text

Ser Igris returns, meets them halfway to where the soldier, a self-proclaimed ‘Soldier of the Shadow Monarch, I have no name, as I was not strong enough in death to retain it, My Queen!’ was leading them. 

Ser Igris kneels before them, and her husband, her Lord Jin-Woo, stops short. Says something, vaguely confused, even as he sets her on her feet. King’s Landing is still unbearably hot, still smelling ill of unwashed bodies, feces, and muck, but it is cooler beside her husband in the Autumn air. There is comfort in that. And, from her frantic breathing while he all but flew through the air, he smelled delightful. Like soap and something cool and- 

“Ser,” she murmurs. 

“Your kin and household bones, my Queen,” His voice is calm, even.

Something in her shakes.

Her Lord Jin-Woo says something, his voice confused.  

Gently, carefully, Sansa kneels before the banner. She is grateful, at least, that Igris has gathered the bones in the Baratheon banner, as it did not truly belong to her tormentors. 

“Which is my father’s?” she whispers. 

They…They all look alike. There are symbols, above them, the same text that appears in all of her husband’s strange light tapestries, but Sansa does not understand them. Gently, Ser Igris brings forth a weathered, yellowed skull in his gauntlets. Brings it to her shaking hands. His hold is soft, but it craddles the sun-bleached skull well. 

“This skull feels the most like you, My Queen.” 

She wishes to cry. 

Has she ever been compared to her father? Called anything like him? Good Sansa. Southern Sansa. More fish than wolf- But. Here. By some magic or means, Ser Igris holds the skull of her father and sees her. 

She wishes to scream. 

But she is a Stark. She can be brave. She simply places her father’s skull upon her forehead for a moment and takes a deep, steadying breath. Holds him in her palms. Bone against flesh. He is truly and utterly gone. 

Murdered by an unworthy King, born of incest. 

“Father,” she whispers, “I will always be sorry for what hand I played in your fate. But I am safe now. I am wed. And we will no longer linger here amongst our enemies. I know not when you will lie to rest within Winterfell’s crypts, but I promise, I will do my best to bring us both home. Yet, I must follow where my husband leads, and I have a strange sensation that my journey has yet to begin.”

And she knows it.

Jin-Woo, her husband, will not take her home. 

But what is home? The burned stones? A grave for Bran and Ricken, for my sweet Lady? At Robb's side, where he will trade and barter me with the right House, same as the Lannisters? 

She lowers her father’s skull, presses a gentle kiss on its brow, like the last kiss her father had given her before she had unwittingly led him to death. She places it gently back in the banner. If she did not focus upon it, she doubts she could pick it out from the rest. She counts. It is the right number of heads. But gods, she did not know that the human body had so many different bones. All of this had been people. Her septa, her guards, people who had held her hand and taught her dances and made her laugh or made her smile with silly games and songs. All of them. Killed, for a lie, a lie her father had been willing to say at the chance he could keep her safe. 

“Is this all of him? All of them?”

“All bones that felt of the North, of you, Queen Sansa, were gathered. They are here, complete. None escaped my search.”

“Thank you, Ser.”

He nods. Slips out Ice from its place on her back. 

Her husband, behind her, gasps. Leans forward to examine the blade. She looks at him. 

“It is my brother’s by right,” she tells him, even if he does not understand her, she needs to say this,  “Yet this too, he did not fight for. Not even the legacy of our House. I wonder, my husband, if he deserves it at all? I am cruel enough to think not. My precious, good Lady bled on this blade. My father bled on this blade. I have bled on this blade when Ilyn Payne beat me with it. Robb has never bled upon this blade. Where you bid, this blade and I will follow.”

She gestures, faintly, to the bones. To the blade. Makes a vague gesture, cupping her hands as if to cradle. 

Jin-Woo nods, eying the blade one last time, before he snaps his fingertips. 

The bones. 

The blade. 

They disappear. Sansa takes a shuddering breath. 

“They have been added to your shared inventory, My Queen. All is safe. Our King will protect them. As all of your belongings until you are fully Awakened.”

Sansa had wondered… And wonders again. ‘Awakened?’

But strangely, she had not worried. She looks up at her husband, rises. Leans forward and kisses gently at the highest point she can reach, just underneath the jut of his chin. 

He blinks. Stares at her with his Star eyes. 

And she is amused. 

God or no, even her husband, well, he can turn pink and shy-faced as any other boy. 

Chapter Text

“Westerners really do casually kiss, huh,” he mutters to himself, embarrassed, despite himself. 

Because. 

Sansa had kissed him twice, and he didn’t avoid it. Even though he could. Once on the lips! He wasn’t sure if it was because he hadn’t had much time to… Well. Date. The closest to experience he had ever had was Lee Joo-Hee inviting him for sushi in Busan, if he was ever around. A very startlingly pretty girl being this tactile was a little out of his… Wheelhouse. 

He sighs. 

He sounds lame even in his head. But, well, he doesn’t think the girl means much about it. The blessing thing had been a soft, gentle press of her lips, barely more than three seconds. This second kiss had been longer, and with more emotion, he thinks, but he didn’t sense… 

Intent behind it. Just a soft thanks, he thinks. It doesn’t help that he had been utterly distracted by the frankly awesome sword that Igris had dragged up from somewhere. It instantly looked high rank to him, and he had been itching to pick up until Sansa had softly held the skull.    

“Item Description, Legendary Item, ‘Ice’,” he murmurs, even as he feels the full weight of Sansa on his back, slipping her onto his back easily. 

He started to run cold after accepting his new job position. But Sansa, it seemed, was the opposite. She was startlingly warm. Not hot, just… Warm. A balm on his back, despite the weird weight of what must be her status effect, felt like against him. Like an open sore, Jin-Woo couldn’t help but hate it. 

{Ice Legendary Item, Rank S, Spellforge Status: A., Attack +1500, Mana Effect: Chant +1000, Prayer +1000, +100%  against Mana Holding Beings & Others, ‘The Start of a Promised Blade’: The long-sword of House Stark, held by the blood of House Stark for Eight thousand years, a gift of *Unknown*. Remade four centuries ago from the remains of the original ‘Ice’, a mixture of dragon-glass and Valyrian steel, this ancient greatsword was spell-forged in Valyria of Earthos. A scared blade that has the ability to be spellforged.}

Jin-woo blinks. 

“Spellforge?”

{Spellforge certain legendary weapons, when meeting certain conditions, can be reforged stronger and to better suit there weilder.}

“A weapon that levels up, huh?” he murmurs, “Equip Ice?”

‘Error! Ice, Weapon Class: Cleric. Player is the wrong job class to equip.’

He smiles. 

“Figures. Well, I like daggers anyway… Item description, Household Stark bones?”

{Household Stark Bones: The bones of House Hold Stark in the South. Murdered unjustly by House Lannister. Gathered by Swornshield Igris. On the Day of the Slaughter of the Tower of Hand, all loyal retainers of House Stark were killed. Attempt summoning?}

He glances at Sansa. One of the names. One of the names above the skulls is ‘Warden Eddard Stark’.   That was the one that Sansa had held carefully. 

The 

Last Gift of Eddard Stark was in her trunk thing. A brother? A father? It was strange to see someone so gentle with a body. Kissing the skull and whispering it with a look that could only be sadness. Grief. 

Jin-Woo knew that look so well. 

He had first seen it in his mother’s expression when she had looked at the empty chair at their table.  He always saw it in Jin-Ah’s eyes every time she touched their sleeping mother's hand. 

He frowns. 

She’s wearing a Lannister dress. 

He thinks of the woman that Igris had beheaded with sheer force of his hands. Jin-Woo hadn’t felt much remorse because she had seemed intent on attacking Sansa. But her dress had been similar to Sansa’s current dress. When Sansa had been presented the woman’s head- her face had been even, unflinching. She had slapped one of the other men, the old man. The knight guy manhandling her. He doesn’t think Sansa was among friends.

Jin-Woo tightens his hold, for a second, on her calves.

The bones of her ‘Household’. She knew all these people. He had counted more than twenty skulls.

One of them, a skull marked ‘Jeyne Poole’ must’ve been a child when she died.  He had never seen a skull so small.  

“You’re not alone now,” he tells her. 

Again, despite the fact that she does not understand him, he feels compelled to say this out loud.   

He tries not to think about the fact that Sansa could talk to his spirits. What it would be to summon the spirits back. He... He has yet to cross that line.  

Now is not the time, he thinks, swallowing uneasily. 

The dungeon break is still happening. 

And he’s going to stop the fucking Status Effects on Sansa before the day is out. 

Chapter Text

House Lannister is ruined.

No. 

House Lannister is fucked.

Prince Oberyn Martell laughs, a bitter huff. Next to him, Elliria soothes gently at a sobbing Tyrell girl, holding her firmly against her chest. Willas’s little sister, a wreck of a child, once she had found her grandmother's remains in the pile of bodies. Next to her, her goodsister, Leonette, holds up Loras, whose left eye was gouged out by the ranking claws of another beast. The only reason he had survived the blow was that the Queen of Thorns had thrown herself atop her grandson and protected him from further harm. His eye was a scab now, with Princess Sansa’s… husband’s curious red elixir having stopped the worst of the bleeding and healed it in a near instant. 

They make a morbid mockery of a returning procession. Half maimed, half shocked herd, walking at a rabid clip to Red Keep. Distantly, Oberyn knew that he could hear screams. 

Roars. 

The Beasts had slipped into the city. Their corpses line the streets as they walk.  He grips tightly at his daggers.

Not that he would use them. 

Shadow and flame soldiers walk in time with their pitiful herd. Ten soldiers walk without making a sound.  

A boon of the Stark couple. 

Oberyn thinks he just helped wed the Stark girl to a God. He had to do it mostly for spite and because the girl had chosen it.

“Are you sure, my Lady, you do not know this man?”

A determined look that was as firm as steel, a light in Tully's blue eyes that shone like stars.

“I know of my fate with the Lannisters. I know that they have harmed me. I know that this man has only been kind and good to me in the barest moments he has known me. Yes, Prince Oberyn, I am sure.” 

Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken, his words had slipped into his mind in that moment as the Stark girl had looked at him. 

He had been so reminded of Elia that he had nearly sobbed. And in her ultimate kindness, she had given her tormentors and her mockers mercy. He had mocked her, a touch. Thought her foolish. Meek.

But perhaps she had been instead patient.

Waiting. 

She had no means to fight. Not like his sand snakes. So she had preached what the Lannisters would have wanted of her. And the second she had the chance, she seized it with both hands. He had seen her mad dash through the Sept as he had protected and been protected by his Elliria. She had wanted to live. She had fought and scrambled and moved to live. 

A God who had control of the dead. Oberyn is no pious man, for all that he had fucked a Septa in his wilder youth. 

But only one God rules and commands the dead. 

“He was the Stranger.” 

Tywin Lannister gives a noise. Half disbelief, half pained. Tywin Lannister half leans on the hold of his brother. Grief was always different. But it held its grip on anyone. Even cruel Tywin Lannister. It seems to have hit Tywin like age. He looks haggard. And for the first time in his sixty something years, bent and withered like the old man he was. 

“He was a warrior, as any other.”

Oberyn feels another laugh within him rise. 

“He healed us,” murmured a Kingsguard. Oberyn didn't quite know his name.

He looked half fearful, half awed. 

A mummer through them all.

“No. He is a man with elixirs, more advanced than our own,” the Old Lion murmured, half dazed voice like a lost child, “He cannot be a god.” 

And. A glimpse. A girl in gold. A man holding her on his back. Monsters. Monsters and knights lifted from his shadow like creatures from the pool. An army at his heels, and when he passed, Oberyn felt a thundering in his heart. Felt his knees buckle like a green boy’s during their first battle. 

Power, Oberyn thought. It rippled from the man like a storm cloud that held lightning. 

He was across the space above them in a second, the Stark girl’s ripped golden gown fluttering in the force of his leap. He murmured one thing as he jumped above them. From the corpses of the slain beasts, more creatures of shadows emerged. 

Like a butterfly from its cocoon. 

“Yes,” Oberyn replied to Tywin, voice scathing, “That is not the fucking Stranger. That is just a warrior who raises the dead.”

At that, the Old Lion said nothing at all, only looked after the fluttering of Sansa Stark's golden silk, fluttering in the wind in the distance.  

Chapter Text

Her husband is… Powerful.

She had understood that the second he had first saved her life. 

She has no context of this type strength. She had felt the pain of knights of the realm, the force they could produce in a swing. That was nothing to what her husband seemed to be able to do with his own strength. She does not think it is natural. For all he seems human. Rising the dead aside as his own army, her husband feels so strong. 

In sheer flick of his arm, the head of the beast shattered. She could feel the force of it, felt the muck of blood scatter across her once flawless silk. Crimson against gold. Fitting perhaps. She tightened her grip around Jin-Woo’s slender neck. He was saying beast after beast  

“Disgraceful form,” grumbles Ser Igris, “Our King would do well to straighten his wrist more.”

Sansa huffed a laugh. Watches as her Swornshield guards her husband's back with a graceful swing. He moved in parallel tandem with her husband..never letting his back, and hence her, within range of fang nor claw. 

“You critique your King? Is it the language barrier that allows you such liberty?” she wonders, softly. 

Igris snorts. 

“If he would but understand me, I would tell him much the same. Our King would want to do everything to improve. That is his ultimate goal. Always. To become stronger.”

“... but what is stronger than this?”

“Much. King Jin-Woo is so much less than what he could be.” 

Sansa has no measure of more. Has no concept of such unnatural strength. So what Ser Igris says next startles her even more. 

“Of course, you too have such potential, My Queen.”

She jolts. Her Lord Jin-Woo hitches her up higher on his back. And gently squeezes her calves as if to soothe. 

“I-” she sputters, "I could-" 

“So I say this with the utmost respect, but the next time you swing a dagger, Queen Sansa, keep your wrist straight, and push your weight into it.” 

Sansa stares. 

But Ser Igris just looks at her with utmost sincerity. 

What Lady would take arms? 

A Northern one, she thought ruefully. Arya would.

Perhaps it was time that Sansa did as well. 

“... I will endeavor to follow your tutelage?” She says, polite, if bewildered. 

In mid jump, Ser Igris bent half at the waist, hand on his chest plate to her. Jin-Woo murmurs something. 

Even in his tongue, Sansa can recognize his own confusion at Ser Igris. 

“It would be my honor and privilege to teach you, My Queen. I am your humble servant, protector, instructor, whatever you need of me, I will be by your side. As I once was one of the Wings of the Monarch of Shadows, so too shall I be to his heir's wife." 

Once, such words would be everything she would need to reassure her. Once she would have swooned into Ser Igris in girlish glee. 

But she is not as she was. 

She is a woman grown. She is wed. And this man is her subject. She is a Queen. As it was, stupid girl she was inside, she felt her heart lift on soft hope at them. 

The Queen she was simply inclinded her head in soft gratitude at the promise. At the vow.

"My thanks, Ser." 

Chapter Text

He had not wanted to accept a new Monarch.

Ser Igris, one of the Wings of the Shadow Monarch of King Ashborn, had chosen his allegiance when the Shadow Monarch had descended upon his former world in the wake of the Earthos’s once most terrible hour. 

When Ice and Fire came for the world, the offspring of Ice and Destruction, King Ashborn came to them, with his army and Igris had entered the first step of eternity with the knowledge that his world would be safe, his burning blade extinguished. Free of the yoke of the Children of Monarchs that had laid waste to their world. 

When King Ashborn had brought him forth from the Eternity, Igris had readily answered the call. His alligance eternal to the man that had saved his world, and so he had kneeled at the Monarch’s feet without hesitation. For King Ashborn’s hand in the sealing of such a terrible evil, Igris had sworn his eternal allegiance, and for eight thousand years at his call when he needed him. When it had come to his Choice, Igris had not understood it.

How can the Greastest Light fade? How can it grow tired, wary of a War that did not slow? 

He srill did not know how his liege could grow weary, grow tired, when his very Domain was of the Final Eternity. Irgis's grief at how he had faded, how he had constructed his potential succession, as if anyone could hold his Black Heart and bare the weight of Greatest Light. Igris could never put his sorrow into true words. But as his young Queen had said to him with such love and awe in her lovely expression, his King had given him hope. Speaking from the Throne that had been a mimic of what King Ashborn had once sat upon, for a single moment, Igris had seen the truth of King Ashborn’s wish.  

And, of course, his King had done the impossible, and surprised Igris in just the right moment to defeat him. 

In retrospect, if it had been any other but King Sung Jin-Woo, Igris would not have accepted such an easy defeat. He would have preferred to fade into the Shadow than serve someone unworthy when he had served the Most Brilliant Fragment of the Creator. And though their time together was but a blink to the eight thousand years he had served King Ashborn, he had not lied to his fair young queen when he had agreed to the hope that King Sung Jin-Woo brought to him. Arriving in Westeros, in the lands of his mortal birth, had been… A surprise. He had not seen it since the War for the Dawn. For in the end,this planet had once, so long ago, been like so many before it: one of many battlegrounds to Monarchs and Rulers alike.

Yet. 

He is... Not home. This place had long but since been left behind him. It was were his bones had surely turned to dust, it was were his conciousness had first awoken, but it was not home. 

His home was always at his Sovereign's side.  

To see a slaughter one what could be the descendants of what had been his to protect- Igris had been more than happy to set his blade in defense at his King’s words. And in the midst of it. Oh. Igris had seen it. In an instant, when the girl who would become his Queen, this young Sansa of House Stark… He had felt her power locked as it was behind the marrow of her Riverland eyes.   Felt her connection to King Sung Jin-Woo before she had even wed him. 

Felt the thread of her young heart connected to the Fragment of Light nestled within King Sung Jin-Woo’s chest, felt the steady thruming beat of the Black Heart echo within her chest. 

And as impossible as it seemed, Ser Igris felt his hope grow.

A burden shared is a burden halved, endured. 

And Irgis would ensure that while she came into her own power, his Queen would be protected until she could hold the blade of her kin without a shudder in her slender arms. 

He at her and their King’s feet until the Final Eternity consumed him at last. 

Chapter Text

What must be the Warrior himself strikes down an enormous monster, and Lila can only gape at the sheer force of it. She's been a Madam, paying tariff and secrets to that weasel of a Baelish for nearly ten years. She's seen and heard of depravities the like of which the fine Big Folk of Westeros will never admit to. She's seen Red Women, Wizards with blue lips, she's heard of Dothraki Khals smothered by Khalessi’s that gave forth to Dragons. 

And even she is shocked by the carnage that is prevented when The Warrior strikes down the Beast, at least the size of four homes, height, and width. 

Upon his back, she sees a girl, pretty as any fucking song and then some, with Red Hair and a golden dress worth four years' profit from her brothel. 

It's the Stark girl. The very same girl who had once been meant to wed their shit of a boy King. Madam Lila had been one of many of King's Landing to watch the small, little pomp procession for the little lion of Lannister man who had set the Black Water ablaze in green, devilish light against Stannis’s forces, of the girl who was, unmistakably, a Hostage in the Crown’s hold. Unlearned that she was, Lila knew a forced girl when she saw one, and she saw resignation and dignity in the bride as she had watched her pass by.

What a contrast she makes, beaming like a flower to the sun, clinging to the back of a tall, handsome foreign man, killing the monster with nothing but two daggers. 

Madam Lila watches with awe. For he says one word. One single word. Magic. Divine will. Another monster rises, a shadow made in violet flames.    

That is no man, she realizes, hands on her heart, that is a god. 

And the Stark Girl is with said god, with a smile on her face. 

And then. They are gone. Whispers come to them simply- Sansa Stark and her husband, husband, went to the Great Sept where a red star opened. When next seen, the Great Sept layed empty, save the bodies of Big Folk and the Beasts that slaughtered them. 

When news of what occurred in the Great Sept comes to light across the city in truth, the whispers that the Sansa Stark, comforter of the women of Red Keep during the Battle of Blackwater, Madame Lila cannot help but add her own words to the whispers: 

“Lady Sansa has wed a God, then,” she says, simply, keen gaze at the crushed building of the corpse of the Beast still rotted against, “Wonders what House Lannisters did wrong if a god himself came to pluck the Stark girl to his wedding bed and strike them down and the rest of us with Beasts of legend and ruin.”

“The same House Lannister that starved the Capitol!"

“The same House Lannister that burned the Riverlands!”

“The same House Lannister that has no heir now that the too blond cubs are gone! We know what happens when a Queen tries to hold the Iron Throne!” 

“It seems any action by a man will eventually damn them. Figures. With the Rains-”

“He has fallen asleep and has not awakened!”

So it goes.

The Wheel keeps turning.  

Chapter Text

The news of her only sister’s fate comes to Arya Stark like this:

“Sansa Stark has escaped King’s Landing.” 

The Hound jolts at the words. Arya, herself, well, she can’t help but feel her heart leap as the man at the table next to her says it. Because. As annoying as Sansa had always been to her, Arya thinks she will remember the way she had screamed as their Father lost his head until she is dead herself. Hopefully, old and grey in her own bed many years from now, her List done. She knew Sansa had always been the softest of them, the gentlest- she can’t help but think herself in this world, it is the miracle that it was Bran and Rickon that died first, not her. But then again, captive or not, Sansa was always the softest of them. The most eager to please. She cannot think of anything bad happening as long as that is true.    

“The Stranger’s Judgement came to House Lannister,” said the man, chewing around the mediocre pie.

Hot Pie’s was better, she thought, chewing around the roasted fish and too-short crust of it. It was salty, soggy. She bets they placed the fish raw, instead of pre-cooked, as Hot Pie had always told her was best. But what mattered most was that it was filling her up, after what felt like two moons on the road with the fucking Hound and shit bread and even shitter, watery stew. 

“What, is it true what’s been said?” said another man. 

“Aye,” said the first man, serious, and he seemed to sense that half the inn was listening in, for he shifted his body with a lazy sort of pleased grin, “The Stranger came to kill the Royal House.”

“Fucking bullshit-” calls out another man, nearly all the way across the Inn.

The first man smiled wider. 

“Tis true!” calls a woman, “King’s Landing felt the Stranger’s judgement! Good Queen Cersei herself even perished!”

“Couldn’t have been that Good, could she, if she felt the Stranger’s judgement?” 

“Think it's true the children were her brother’s?”

“Must be. Why else would the gods care?”

“The Stranger sent devils from the Seven hells, half-formed creatures of many beasts pulled together!”

Arya doesn’t care. 

Well. 

She is glad Cersei Lannister has been crossed off her List, even if she is furious that she hadn’t killed the woman herself. 

But she wants to know about her sister. 

“Don’t speak,” snaps the Hound, with a sharp kick to her shin. 

She bites down a shriek at the force. She sneers at him. 

“That’s my sister,” she hisses back, “Sansa was too soft. I want to know what-”

“Little Bird was stronger than you think, soft as she was. She was good at keeping her head, chirping what the Lannisters wanted to hear. If she’s left King’s Landing, she-”

“Sansa Stark wed the Stranger! He fell in love with her- took her from King’s Landing.”

“Oh! That’s the start of a good song- The Stranger and his Stark Bride!”

Arya blinks. 

And blinks again. 

Once, Sansa had wished with dreaming, shining eyes to be like a Song. A Jonquil and her Fool. The bad pie shifts in her stomach. She does not think her sister would have wanted the Stranger. She had wanted a golden knight. She had wanted babies. She had wanted a stupid, simple life as a lady. 

This does not seem like it at all. 

Because the Stranger took her sister, and that must mean she is dead. 

Sweet, annoyingly perfect Sansa, is dead. 

And Arya cannot help it. 

She starts to weep at the fact that her sister is gone.

And she only weeps harder when it's the fucking Hound who places a gentle hand on her shoulder while she bawls like a baby. 

Chapter Text

The second the gate closes behind her, the girl, Sansa, slumps against him, clutching his arm all in the span of her frail arms. She laughs, softly, a disbelief exhale that is so soft he almost misses it. Vaguely, he looks down at the clutch of her fingertips against his hoodie-covered arm. Her nails are jagged things, torn raw at some point. It’s a weird contrast to her elaborate ball gown. Around them, tourists are pointing. Her dress is eye-catching, as is her hair… Pretty foreigners in weird clothes alone would get attention, let alone someone as pretty as Sansa covered in monster guts and a partially ripped dress. She’s shaking, he realizes, eyes blinking up at the blazing lit Cathedral in the evening light with her lips parted slightly in curiosity. He lifts her to his arms, easily, which causes her to make an adorable sort of squeak, even as she easily encircles her arm around his neck.

They lock eyes. 

Blue to dark brown.

He nods. 

Jin-Woo pulls at the shadow soldier he had left constantly in his apartment, just for this reason. The dark of his room makes her squeak again and clutch at his neck desperately. Ever since he had gained the status of Necromancer, he’s noticed that darkness doesn’t really affect him. He’s fine enough to navigate to the light switch. Before, he would have stumbled in the familiar room. 

Sansa squeaks again and presses harder into him.  As light appears. 

He hums. 

Carefully, he sets her down. Her boots click on his floor. Squelch slightly with the still-drying blood lining the soles. He winces. He’s going to have to mop.  She looks up at him, eyes wide. She’s still covered in blood, still a mess of monster guts. Her hair may be the worst of it, matted with blood. 

“Ser Igris,” she murmurs, and he doesn’t quite understand what she said in front of Irgis’s name, as she looks down at her own shadow.  

The shadow moves in her own. Vaguely, Jin-Woo thinks the Knight is kneeling in the curious space his shadow had become. Nods to the girl.   

He hums. 

He still doesn't know how to feel that the girl can speak to the humanoid soldiers. That she can see the System windows. No one else beyond the Westori gate could see it, or had spoken to Igris at all. He wonders if it's because she’s a party member or because she’s Sansa? With her ability? 

“We should get you cleaned up,” he settled on, after a moment of her watching movement in his shadow, as if hypnotized. Can she see the soldiers and the chimera? 

He takes her to the bathroom, trying not to feel self-conscious about his rundown apartment. It's clean, at least. He snaps open his inventory. Like before, Sansa flinches at the appearance, squinting at the Korean characters as he spawns the trunk the dark-haired woman had hastily shoved together. 

She jumps as it appears. But looks up at him with wide, grateful eyes. He tenses, even as she throws her arms around his waist again. For a moment, he's anticipating another kiss, like she had done when the guy in the robes had wound their arms together in that ribbon, when he put away the bones, and Ice. She doesn't, only presses her head against his chest. He realizes she's quite tall, for a girl or Korean standards. Before the System, she would have been taller than him.

When she lets go, she gathers up a relatively simple gown from the trunk. Noting absently, but feeling for the shadow soldier left with her, that Jin-Ah must be studying at her friend's house, like she had mentioned absently when he had left for the quest. He would call after he got Sansa settled. It was nearly dinner time, and he needed to know if he had three mouths to cook for. When he shows Sansa the running, warm water of the shower head, then the tub, she gasps, and Jin-Woo gets another hug. When he goes to leave, all he hears is her call out what she had said when he had taken out the pins and the poisoned net thingy. 

A thank you?

Absently, he wonders what she would like to eat for dinner. The Starvation effect worries him.

Chapter Text

She is wed. 

Sansa has gambled, and somehow, by some god’s grace, perhaps the Stranger indeed, she has gambled well. 

I will find you a husband. Brave and gentle and strong. 

Her husband is brave. He had faced impossible odds with a blaze of determination in the depths of his star eyes. Strong. Impossibly so. He had destroyed Beasts of legend with two simple daggers and the force of his body. Her husband is a gentle, gentle man. She has not felt such a soft hand in her hair since her mother last brushed it. Shae, for all her virtues, never had a gentle hand. Too clumsy and eager to get the job done… And her husband had been so gentle to her. She had seen him slay beasts with a brutality akin to the Mountain, yet when he touched her, his calloused hands were good. 

In the soft, instant pool of her husband's curious and foreign home, Sansa laughs softly. 

Scrubs herself clean.

Marvels at the unfamiliar feeling of water not touching the wounds inflicted by the Kingsguards. The potion he had given her had caused all of her open wounds to heal, as if they had never been there at all. The only thing left is the scars… She places sweet oils in her bath from her trunk. Hopes he wouldn’t find the scars ugly.  

She wanted to be perfect for her Wedding Night. 

Even if it frightens her. Because her King Jin-Woo… She knows in her heart of hearts he would not hurt her. And in the quiet of her new home, Sansa weeps softly for what she had lost in the midst of a peace she had thought she would never have returned to her.The bath is wonderful, and the way the water drains and disappears reminds her of Winterfell. She dries her hair the best she can, wishing absently she had some iron rolls to try and dry it faster. Yet she does not see a hearth, for all the water was warm, so the wish is absently done.  

Is it like Winterfell? Does the water come from a warm lake beneath this Keep?

When her feet touch the tile, it is cold. So perhaps not like Winterfell that the clever Bran the Builder had made warm for his descendants. She marvels at the white of the title, wiggling her pale feet beneath her. Was it… Was it porcelain? Like her mother’s favored tea cups, so cherished and imported from Yi-Ti as a nameday present from her father, so long ago? Used on floors?

“Curious,” she murmurs. It is beautiful, however. She slips on her stockings, happy to choose a lovely silk ribbon to hold them up. Hopefully, her husband would approve of them.  

She feels her face blush, heavy with heat. Thanks to Shae, she has an expectation of what will happen. A day before her wedding to Tyrion, she had taken her aside with a look of furious resignation. 

“If he is generous, he will make you wet before he enters with his manhood. I hear tell that Lord Lannister is… Generous in that regard. If you cannot become wet, use… this oil, in your maiden’s place, it must be one without scent, or you can fester.”

Sansa swallows. She puts the thin vial given to her by Shae into her dress’s pocket.

She spirals her ties in the back of her chosen dress, before she slips it over her head. Practice before Shae makes it possible to tighten her dress firmly around her shoulders, if a little cumbersome. It is the last Northern dress she had. All the others she had outgrown, but this dress had had a long train, and over time she had taken that train to keep the length of the dress right for her height, used it to expand the chest piece of the silk, embroidered by her hand, so long ago. Carefully rendered snowflakes of the finest silver thread, snowdrops, interlaced with lily of the valley, her favorite flower of the Riverlands. Her hair, she chooses the simplest northern braid she can, interlaced with their wedding ribbon, and the curious hairpiece her husband had conjured for her.

She wanted to look like the Northern Princess she no longer was when she came to her wedding bed.  

She swallows. Presses slightly sweating hands against her cotton shift, underneath her dress. She pinches her cheeks for some color. She has no make-up, no cosmetics in her trousseau. She had been foolish when it had been time to leave for King’s Landing. She had thought to purchase the best and finest products of the South. The only thing she had bought was the sweet oils from the North. She had rationed it when her father died. Hoarded all she could find in the tower of the Hand. On her worst days, she would use her father’s. 

She could barely recall his face. So long had the memory of his rotting head overcome her dim memories of his smile, of the way his eyes would look when he felt love for her. How did he hold his mouth when he was stern? How would he look when he was laughing? She does not remember. But she knows his scent, knows he smelt of clean rosemary and soap berries, of the polish he used to make Ice shine. She debates, for a moment, if any of the jewelry would be appropriate, and decides against it. She donned her husband’s first gift of the belt, even if it clashed with her last piece of childhood.    

“Ser Igris?” 

From her shadow, her Swornshield slips out like a man emerging from a pool. He takes up so much space in the curious bath, titled from ceiling to floor. She adjusts her belt.  

“My Queen?” 

She swallows. 

“If you will escort me to my husband’s rooms? I wish to place my trousseau away.”

“At you’re word, My Queen.”

He dips, a bow at his waist, before Ser Igris lifts her Trousseau, with one hand atop his shoulder. He looked so comically large in the space. Sansa looked for her new boots. They were carefully gripped in Ser Igris’s palm.

“It is traditional in Korean households not to wear shoes within the household, my Lady. I will clean them and place them away until you have need of them.”

“Korean?” she asks, blinking. She sounds out the strange word. 

Ser Irgis offered his arm to her. She took it, mindful of the difference in height. He must be at least a head taller than the Mountain she realizes. He looks comically out of place in the bath. He settles his hand on top of hers, gauntlet completely swallowing it. Beneath her palm, it feels simply like metal. But… More. Perhaps. They left the bath, moving leisurely. She looked about curiously. The walls were made of what seemed to be seamless, curious white stone? Soft, yet firm when she reached out to touch it. Perhaps a very pale limestone? The floors were wooden, which she had never seen in any keep. Only in inns along the King’s Road and in Wheelhouses. Polished and soft, worn, perhaps, with age, beneath her stocking-clad feet. 

“The realm of our King’s birth. Currently, we stand in its capital, Seoul.”

“He is not of the Realm of Shadows?”

Ser Igris sighed. 

“Our King has yet to set foot in the Realm of Shadows.”

She blinked. Her stomach dropped. 

“Is my husband an exile?”

Like the Targaryen Prince and Princess in Essos?

“No. It is complex. Your husband is not of the Realm, but he has been chosen to rule it… The former Monarch, King Ashborn… He grew wary. The War took much from his spirit, unending as it was,” Grief. It is incredible, Sansa thinks, sadly, how universal it sounds, whoever King Ashborn had been, Ser Igris had loved him; she feels it every time he speaks of him, “He set conditions of inheritance when he fell to a deep sleep. King Sung Jin-Woo stumbled across those conditions. When he meets the rights of inheritance, he will Ascend completely. Our people await him, eagerly, my Queen. They will be glad of both of you, once it is done.”

She swallowed. Placed a second hand on the Shadow’s armored arm.  

“I am so sorry for your loss, Ser.”

If there is something that Sansa knows, it is grief. 

He did not seem to have a proper face. Only a helm. But somehow, Sansa felt his joy at the acknowledgement nonetheless. 

“King Sung Jin-Woo has brought me comfort. I waited endless years for him. I did not want him. Yet when he came to the trial King Ashborn had given me to give to his inheritor, our King did the impossible.”

And Sansa knew. 

“Because he is hope,” she whispered, repeating what she had said quietly to him when he had asked her, quietly, on his knees, what she had seen in the man cradling her in his arms, why she had wed him. 

Ser Igris laughs. Soft and deep. 

“As you have said, my Queen.”

“He has saved me when my own Kin made no move for me.”

“You were a captive. You watched your father’s Household die.”

It is not a question. She nods. A sharp, jerking movement. 

“I watched my Lord Father die. I begged for mercy. I was promised it. And they took his head before me.”

“I should have killed them all.”

Ser Igris’s fury was a controlled, cold thing. But it did not mean it was not righteous. It did not mean it was not true for her..

“I was meant to be their queen,” she tells the knight, simply, as he opens the curious door to a simply furnished room.

It was small. Smaller than even her tiny rooms in King’s Landing. But it didn’t disturb her. It was safe, with no threat of being dragged from her rooms to be beaten or rapped. It was paradise, even if the bed looked a little small for both she and her husband. She would make do. She removes her Mother’s quilt once Set Igris had set the chest down, and placed it carefully at the foot of her new bed. The bedding was plain, black, with no adornments. She would fix that. It would give her hands something to do. If her husband is not in his proper Keep, if they are in ‘Korea’ and not they’re true home, then that will give her time to prepare things for their future. 

“How so?”

“I was betrothed to the King of Westeros. He took my father’s head. But I was to be his wife, nonetheless.”

“I should have taken his head.”

“He was already dead when you arrived, Ser. No, I was meant to be their queen. I was at the mercy of the queen mother, treated cruelly. Humiliated, hurt. Yet I swore to myself when I was queen that I would not be like her. She used her body to make people fear her for her power. I swore to myself I would make them love me.”

He is quiet for a moment, and he quickly sets the chest down.

“A noble thing to wish. But we are at War, your Grace. Fear is needed in a Monarch in such a circumstance.”

She shook her head.

“Our Enemies can fear me. My subjects will love me, Ser.”

Igris looked at her. For a long moment, all he did was look at her. Blazing violet eyes. He bowed sharply, hand on his chest , gallantly.  Somehow, face or not, she knew he would have smiled at her if he could have. 

“I believe you are right, your grace.”

Chapter Text

There’s a girl sitting on their couch, dressed in a gown, and dainty stockings that are thin, sheer, but don’t quite look like pantyhose. The dress is white, long-sleeved. Embroidered with gorgeous flowers. It’s plain, satin or something, full of what looks like mended, precise stitches, and worn-looking. It’s a stark contrast to the girl in it, because well- Sung Jin-Ah stares. 

Stares a second longer, as the girl studies her. She is-

Well. 

Jin-Ah doesn’t think she’s seen such a pretty person, or a foreigner, really, in person. She blinks. The girl blinks back at her. Big blue eyes. She had seen it on Western celebrities, of course, but she’s never seen such a vivid color in person. In the girl’s lap, she fiddles with what looks like an embroidery hoop. Jin-Ah peeks. It’s a gorgeous wolf. Detailed. She’s making it, and it’s beautiful. 

Is… Is that embroidery thread? I've never seen someone do that except for little old ladies. 

“Oppa?!” she calls, even as she subconsciously tugs at her ripped-up hoodie. 

She feels scruffy in sweat pants and hair that hasn’t been washed since Friday night. Her study session with Han Song-Yi had been casual, and she hadn’t, well, expected any further company. Let alone a very pretty foreigner in a long, more formal-looking dress in her living room, even if it looks like it's been very well loved. Jin-Woo peeks his stupidly squared jaw from the kitchen. If she has to hear one more friend mention on her Snapchat how tall and handsome her brother has gotten, she’s going to put Nair in his shampoo. 

Or stop uploading pics of him, no matter how much her friends begged. 

She’s fifty-fifty at this point. 

“Ah, Jin-Ah, you’re home.”

“I’m home,” she replies, absently, “Why is there a girl on our couch?” 

The unspoken fact that this had never happened, because Jin-Woo wasn't one to date, was clear. Jin-Woo scratches his cheek. His hair was wet, and he was wearing sweats and a white t-shirt. 

“Ah. She was in trouble during a raid, and well… She’s sort of latched on to me. Um, she doesn’t really speak Korean.”

The girl kept staring at her, brows furrowed.

“... O-ookay..”

She didn’t ask why a foreigner was even near Korean raid. The Hunter's association kept those clear of civilians... Maybe it was a break, and she had been caught in it? Latched on to her ever-reliable brother? He would one hundred percent double back for someone, even if it meant getting hurt. She tried not to think much about Jin-Woo’s job, especially lately. The last-minute growth spurt had startled her and even scared her at times. As long as her big brother had no visible injuries, was more or less acting the same, she was content. She side-eyed him. No bandages. No cast. He was okay. That's what mattered.  

She knew how hard he worked for her and their Mom. 

“She’s staying with us until I can figure something out, Jin-Ah. I didn’t want to just leave her alone.”

The girl is following their conversation very carefully, but only because she seems to be trying to get the gist of their reactions, not because she can understand. 

Jin-Ah smiles at her. 

The girl tentatively smiles back. 

I need to shower, Jin-Ah thinks, taken aback at how much prettier the girl is when she smiles. 

She was made to smile. 

“Don’t be rude. Introduce yourself,” Jin-Woo scolds, “I’m making dinner… I hope you’re hungry.”

She hums.  

She walks up to the girl, carefully, and bows as she would for someone older. She must be Jin-Woo’s age, she thinks, judging by how tall she is. She has such a small face! And her skin. Jin-Ah had never seen someone so pale in real life. 

“Hello, I'm Jin-Ah.”

The girl rises. A smooth, gentle movement as she moves aside her hoop. She gathers her skirts and gives a soft curtsy. Shallow, but elegant. She’s way taller than Jin-Ah had guessed. She's got at least ten centimeters on her. She flickers her gaze to her feet for a second.   

“... Sansa,” she murmurs. A very pretty voice, too, soft, sweet, and calm. Jin-Ah has no idea what some of the words she says mean. 

Jin-Ah is hopelessly charmed by the curtsy. She reaches forward and clasps hands. The girl jumps slightly at the contact. But she squeezes Jin-Ah’s hands, gently, with all the strength of a kitten. She knows the girl can’t understand her, but something in the still look on her face makes Jin-Ah want to reassure her. 

“Jin-Woo is really good at taking care of people, you’re gonna be fine, Sansa-unnie.”

She flickers her gaze towards the Kitchen. 

Jin-Ah squeezes her hand.

Sansa-Unnie looks back and smiles.  

Chapter Text

Sansa is looking curiously at their small, but tidy kitchen, staring at him, really, as he carefully sets the table in front of her. She sits with a straight back, hands folded delicately in her lap. Her posture is perfect. She smiles, softly. She hasn’t touched the Coke that Jin-Ah had so generously given her. He feels his lips twitch at the fact that his sister has shared her stash when any movement by him to grab her soda is met with teasing hostility. She liked Sansa, which would make things easier. 

“She doesn’t have indoor shoes,” that’s Jin-Ah, frowning at Sansa’s sock-clad feet.  

Jin-Woo frowns. 

“We’ll get her a pair. In fact, we need to pick up a couple of things. Sansa doesn’t really have any um, normal clothes. She packed stuff from her country-”

Jin-Ah stared at the dress the girl wore. SansaSansa carefully shifted closer in her chair, draped her arm closer over to Jin-Ah, pointed at the elaborate stitching on it, and murmured something.

“Sorry, don’t understand, Sansa-unnie,” Jin-Ah said, softly, “But she’s latched onto you?”

“She was…” He thinks of the desperate grip on his arm. He didn’t want to scare his sister, but he didn’t like lying to her. “She was being harassed.”

“Oh. It’s because she’s so pretty, right?”

He thinks of the armored man’s grip in her hair. The deadly lunge that the Woman with the dead kid had done. Sansa hummed. Mimmed sewing, he thinks? And then placed a careful hand on her own chest. Smiling.

“Oh,” Jin-Ah said, turning her attention back to her Sansa, “You made this yourself? Like the wolf?”

Jin-Ah points to the living room. Sansa only kept smiling at her and nodding. Jin-Ah smiles widely. 

“Beautiful.”

“...Bea-” Sansa frowned, and swallowed thickly, “Beautfol?”

“Beau-ti-ful.”

“Beautiful,” Sansa repeated, perfectly. 

“So she’s staying a while, if we’re getting her some indoor shoes,” his little Sister says, matter-of-factly. She smiled again, narrowing her eyes as she turned to look over at him.  

Ah. ‘Party Member: Cleric Sansa of House Stark, Lv.1’

For better or worse, she was his responsibility. Even the System made him her guardian? Sorta, he wasn’t quite sure how the Party system worked quite yet. He didn’t know how long- he was tempted to try and get her off the System. He wondered if she would be subjected to his daily quests. He fought a frown. 

She was thin and starved.

He sighed.   

“Yeah, she’s staying a while,” he tells her, firmly. 

Jin-Ah nods.

“I’ll take her shopping! I know a great mall to get her some basics!”

“You’re the best.”

“Make sure to add money to my Debit card. What’s my budget?”

He sighed. 

“100,000 won?”

Jin-Ah frowned at him. 

He winced.

“150,000 won?” That was the last he had spent on some clothes when his clothing had been shredded to bits. That should be fine, right?

She lifted an eyebrow. He was used to being frugal. He knew he didn’t have to hold back as much, thanks to his C-Rank raids before his Job-Rank Quest. Maybe he should ask Yoo Jin-Ho to start up a couple more raids, now that he has a third person to feed in the house. He didn’t want to join the construction guild, but a little extra money and a chance for Sansa to train weren’t a terrible idea…He realized that Sansa didn't have a Hunter's license-

Or documentation. Oh, this is going to be a pain. Hmm. Maybe I should focus on Instant Gates with her for now and get her up a few levels before we even get near bigger gates. He thinks of the Earthos Key. It was an infinite spawn, so that was a good starting point, as long as it led to the next entrance. And they had two reward boxes. Hopefully, a lower rank key would spawn. 

“...Just take my credit card,” he sighed, reaching for his wallet. He had to remember he wasn’t that broke anymore. And Jin-Ah knew not to go crazy. He had plenty for Rent for the next two months, at least, and with the mana stones from the chimeras, he would be able to pay Jin-Ah’s next school deposit easily. 

The next biggest expense is his mom’s next round of maintenance bills, so some raids with Jin-Ho would do the trick. He just hoped the guy wouldn’t get any ideas about having him permanently join his company.    

Jin-Ah takes it with a grin and claps. Sansa jumps at that. But smiles when Jin-Ah smiles at her. 

"I'll take her tomorrow!"

Chapter Text

Her goodsister looks a good deal like her husband, Sansa concludes, even as the younger girl grips softly at her hand, chattering away to her Lord Jin-Woo. She has brought her a curiously shaped bottle, made of a strange, flexible glass that felt too soft in her hand. It’s liquid fizzed, and she made a mental note to keep an eye on her goodsister’s drinking- she was much too young, as she was, to be drinking the dark fizzing wine with such casual abandon. She had drunk two bottles already, retrieving them from the curious white cabinet at the edge of the kitchen. Sansa did not drink wine, as a habit, and only made casual gestures of lifting the flexible bottle to her lips to appease her goodsister’s obvious eagerness to be hospitable to her. The bottle was frightfully cold, and she wondered at how it was such when she saw no ice within the bottle.  

Her husband was in the kitchen. 

In the kitchen. 

Where he was cooking, fragrant and rich smells made her stomach clench at the thought of food, unrationed, uninfested with whatever Joffery thought would be amusing that day. With the ease of someone who has done such many times before. 

So my husband is a King, she thinks, slightly amused and bewildered, but not originally a noble, if he is used to making meals. What had Ser Igris said? Stumbled into the circumstances? Is he a Hedge-Knight, perhaps? A man of the city watch of Seoul?

“Ser Igris?”

Lady Jin-Ah jumps as Ser Irgis rises from her shadow. 

“Oppa!”

Sansa watches as Jin-Woo jolts, half turning, hands reaching for the cleaver in the curious wooden block. 

So Oppa is brother, Sansa concludes, tensing until her husband lowers the half-risen knife. Says something, voice relieved and a touch bewildered. Lady Jin-Ah says something sharply in return. They bicker, Lady Jin-Ah's voice questing.  Jin-Woo's voice returns in a soft, reluctant tone, explaining something. Jin-Ah was saying something back, her voice turning harder. Jin-Woo gave a helpless sort of shrug.  

Sansa frowns. 

Her heart racing.

But there seems to be no danger... 

“My Queen?”

She blinks and turns to her swornshield.

“I was simply going to ask if my husband is a guardsman, or a hedge-knight?” she asked, tentative. 

Ser Igris tilts his head. 

“He is a Hunter.”

“I see. So we are to eat of his efforts?” she shook off the uneasy feeling of consuming the meat of the mismatched Beasts her husband had slaughtered in Westeros. It did smell delicious, but she was not sure if she could stomach much of it. 

Ser Igris huffs. 

“Not of the game, your grace. No, our King is a Hunter of Monsters, for the protection of mankind. In this world, your Grace, the Gates like Red you saw in the Sept are a common occurrence. The Hunter Guilds were created to protect the people.”

Her stomach ached. The Star- or well, Gate, it was common here? And her husband’s profession was to protect people from them?

Well, he was certainly good at that. 

Sansa grabbed desperately at the wine that her goodsister had provided, and gulped at it. Hoping it would calm her nerves. 

The fizz she was prepared for. 

She had had sparkling wine before. The Tyrells seemed to have a fondness for it, despite the disdain it seemed to invoke in the Lannister Court. What she was not prepared for was the sweetness and the fact that it seemed to her that the alcohol was so fine that it had little to no taste at all. She coughed at the taste, felt it ache in her gums at the fizz.  

Hopefully, it is just weak.  

But she could see why her goodsister liked it. She had not expected the sweetness to be so high. It was a touch too sweet. 

“Ser?”

“My Queen?”

“Will you teach me to use my daggers?”

That seemed prudent, if these Gates appeared so readily in this strange new Realm. 

“At your word. It will be good practice on maneuvering until you build enough stamina to wield your sword, your Grace.”

She blinks. 

“It is longer than I am tall. It must be nearly two stones, Ser. You think I can wield it?”

“It is of your Blood. Of course you can.”

She swallows. That small bit of faith was… Heartening. Made her feel-

Well. 

Good. 

“As you say, ser.”

Chapter Text

“Oh!” Sansa made a curious noise of delight, but then of slight shock as she carefully lifted a tteokbokki piece to her mouth. She panted, covering her mouth. 

Her face turned a lovely shade of pink. 

“You made it less spicy, right? For a foreigner?”

“...Ah.”

Jin-Ah sighed, even as she deliberately pushed the pitcher of water Sansa-Unnie’s way. She knew that Jin-Woo knew she loved tteokbokki a lot. The only thing she liked better was take-out fried chicken, so he had deliberately made it for her, probably barely thinking that Sansa would mimic what Jin-Ah was doing when she was setting her food. The grateful look Sansa-Unnie made as she reached for the water was amusing, even as Sansa daintily gulped down the glass in three sips. She poured herself some more water, then, taking a deep breath, she went for another tteokbooki piece. Jin-Woo had gone for a filling, delicious, and diverse dinner. They didn’t normally eat so many dishes at once. She made a mental note that Jin-Woo seemed to want to impress Sansa-Unnie with such a large spread of different traditional fare. He had even made Janchi Guksu, which he only ever made for their birthdays.  

She pressed down a giggle.

She was annoyed at him. Still didn't quite connect this prim and careful girl as a Hunter. Maybe she was an E Ranker like Jin-Woo, before…

Just before.

She knew something had changed in her older brother when he went through his latest and scariest hospital scare. 

She wasn't stupid. 

But she knew her brother would tell her if it was bad. He tried to hide a lot, she knew. She knew he did. But he was always honest about money when things were especially bad. He tried to play it off, when it only ‘affected him’ but not when it was them. She was still mad at him for hiding the fact that Sansa-Unnie was a Hunter. At least strong enough to summon her Knight guy. What has she called him? Igris? 

She didn't know too much about mana, but she knew Summons was a rare talent. Maybe that's why Jin-Woo was serving so many different dishes. She didn’t think that Jin-Woo had ever deliberately wanted to impress anyone before.   

“You don’t have to,” Jin-Ah said gently. Placing a careful hand over her plate of tteokbokki. Sansa-Unnie shook her head and still went for another.  

She’s stubborn, Jin-Ah thought, smiling slightly. 

She held a spoon underneath the pair of take-out chopsticks that Jin-Woo had dug up for her, carefully not to spill the savory sauce on her chin. Jin-Ah made a mental note to add her own pair to her list. Their family set had broken up for one reason or another over the years.

And with Sansa in the house, maybe it would be time to buy some new ones for all of them. 

A set of six, she thinks, sadly. 

She doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that she’s settling on the fact that Sansa-Unnie would stay with them for a long time. She's latching on, she knows. But it's fair if that's what Sansa did to them, right? She watched as Jin-Woo arranged some Kimbap pieces and Bulgogi quickly on Sansa’s rice. He then pushed forward a small bowl of Janchi Guksu her way. Sansa smiled, gently, and said something soft and lyrical. Jin-Woo nods. A small, barely there smile on his face as he turned to his food. 

Jin-Ah squinted. 

Definitely trying to impress her. 

Chapter Text

He's exhausted. 

He realizes he's cleared away the plates of their food. It was sweet of Sansa to try and help, but she is a guest, and that's unacceptable. Yes, the last level up, level 65, cleared him of his fatigue, but there's something about this day that has completely settled in him, weighing him down and making him long for his bed. Maybe it's Irgis being outed, even slightly, to Jin-Ah that's weighing on his mind. That makes him long for his bed and not to think about it a lot. He had let Jin-Ah think Igris belonged to Sansa, which wasn't technically a lie at this point, but...  Sansa seems... Better, he thinks. When she had clocked the food, her blue eyes had lit up with a soft urgency that reminded him of the feeling of her spine on his chest. She had been brave to eat food that was obviously foreign to her, especially after the spice level clearly hadn't been right for her... He had never seen anyone so excited about his cooking other than his Mom and Jin-Ah, which was an odd feeling. He didn't necessarily like to cook, but a tight budget had meant he had become really good at it, not wanting to force Jin-Ah to take that role for them when their mom finally didn't wake up. She was the child in this situation; it didn't matter to Jin-Woo that she was the girl in this house. Sansa had eaten carefully, clumsy with chopsticks until she had stubbornly mastered them to some extent, refusing to use a fork or spoon if Jin-Ah and he hadn't used it on a dish. Watching his and Jin-Ah’s hands with determination. Jin-Ah had declared that ‘cute’.

Jin-Ah really liked her. That was good. They'd be sharing a bedroom for the foreseeable future. Jin-Ah had declared it happily. 

Neither of them talked about the empty room that belonged to their parents. 

Sansa was drooping, trying really hard to stay attentive to Jin-Ah. But her head was listing forward slightly even as Jin-Ah chattered softly to her, pointing at things and saying them slowly in Korean. Sansa chipped them back in a soft, measured voice that was obviously trying to stifile a yawn. He checked her status affect. Starvation was still in effect. He figured a couple of days of eating would clear that up. 

He started at the other effect. 

“Sansa?” 

She jolts at his voice. Straightens, her face furiously pink. She looked at him. She swallows. 

Embarrassed, she was caught dozing?

He wonders how to get her to follow him. Then he simply extends a hand. Sansa swallows again, nervously, and places her hand delicately in his. She smiles, and it's trembling. Automatically, he squeezes her hand. She breathes softly. Nods.  

“Oooh, Jin-Woo,” Jin-Ah’s voice turned teasing, “I should have guessed Sansa-unnie was your girlfriend-”

“Jin-Ah, she isn't my girlfriend. I have to give her something she lost. It's best done in private,” he said seriously.

Jin-Ah quieted. Looked at Sansa. Spoke softly, all teasing gone from her voice. 

“I’ll get a pair of pajamas ready for her, then.”

Chapter Text

Sansa Stark did not know what to do.

She would laugh if she were not so upset, if she were not so terrified of a man touching her that way again. 

Sansa feels her heart in her throat, feels her hands slick with sweat, tightly gripping the other as she sits delicately on what should be her marriage bed. She... She had expected- Well. When Jin-Woo had gently led her to their bed, made her sit, she had expected a kiss, a soothing hand down her arm, a slow unraveling of her gown. Of removing her small clothes. Of cold, calloused hands on her skin.  And when that had not happened, her mind, she can admit, went to a more violent turn. Of reaching, pressing hands that at first begged for food and then later demanded something else of her. Of a forced song and a shaking kiss in horrendous, monstrous green light.

Of a crying Lady Stokeworth and her belly rounding with child. 

But, her confusion takes over her fear, and Sansa stares at her husband with still-sweating palms and furrowed brows. Her husband is sitting away from her, hands on his knees, gripping, knuckles white, panting and out of breath atop her Trousseau. At his feet, he had conjured queer bones. Wrapped in Stark colors, a banner that she had longed to see for years.

He had said his magic. The one that raised the dead. 

Commanding. Forceful. 

Once. 

Twice. 

And now his hands were in his hair, and he looked- undone. 

He looked at her and said something, voice desperate and-

Sansa could not bear it. Could not stand not knowing what would happen to her as her husband grew more and more agitated. 

“Ser Igris? What is my husband doing?”

She had thought they would consummate. Instead, her husband was casting magic. 

“He is trying to Awaken you.” 

She blinked. Held up a gentle hand to Jin-Woo as he opened his mouth, seemingly to try one more time. He stares at her, jaw working, face twisting with a desperation, a fury that should have made her afraid. 

“I am awake?”

“No, my Queen, you are not.” 

She frowned. 

“What does he need?”

Igris half raised out of her shadow. His violet eyes, stars in their own right in his helm, bore into her. 

“He needs you.”

“But- what good am I to him? I have no power, nothing to offer-” 

And suddenly she doubts. 

What has she done? 

I have tricked a good man? A near god, to be my husband? Am I no better than Cersei? What do I have for him? A Trousseau of silks, a pittance of gold, myself? The very same self that her own Brother did not try for? 

Sansa shudders. 

“My Queen,” Igris lifted completely from her Shadow. Caught her gently as she swayed in the bed. 

Jin-Woo half raised from his seat.

“Sansa?” Her husband spoke, voice shaking with his exhaustion. She did not know his words, but she could see anxiety in his handsome face, the worry. 

When was the last time someone worried for her?

“My Queen. He needs you. You will do this together.” 

Quietly, Sansa nodded. Carefully, Igris escorted her to her husband’s side. Held her steady as she sat next to him. 

“Join your hands.” 

She carefully placed her hand into her husband’s. He stares at her. How could he be so good to worry for her? He squeezes her hand. Gentle and good. 

He needs this of me. To Awaken- 

“Say ‘Arise’.” 

Sansa blinked. 

“Arise.”

Sung Jin-Woo jolts. Stands. He stares down at her. Mouth parted in shock. And he brought her palm to touch his chest. 

His heart. 

It beats.

It races. 

A Song she finds so familiar.  Like an echo of something she had forgotten she had known. Within her, her own heart starts to dance.  Blue meets dark eyes that shine like stars. 

“Together,” Igris says, gently. 

Then he slips into her shadow to leave her with her husband. She looks into her husband's eyes, sees the shining, the... Care she can see for her in his brilliant eyes. The worry of something she does not know or understand. But it is honest, and for her, not against her, and Sansa cannot help it. She is a stupid girl. A stupid girl with once innocent thoughts and fanciful dreams. 

He has saved her. 

She had wed him as an escape. She had wed him as a defiance. She had wed him because it was him, or whoever next the Old Lion would have deemed enough to tie the North to his wretched House. And she had wed him because Sansa had seen the man that her father had always wanted for her. But she has also wed him because he had given her a weapon, she had wed him because he gave her a knight, and because his hands were good and soft and cold and gentle. 

"I am here, my King," she whispered, gently. Sansa lifts her hand. Presses her thumb and fingertip together, “Together.”

Jin-Woo, her husband, her strong, gentle, and brave husband, nods. Squeezes her palm against his heart. She lifts her other hand to cup his elegant face. His skin is soft. Cold to the touch. But it is her husband, and that is comfort enough. He even dips his head, gently, to make it easier for her. His eyes shine in his face. 

They speak as one.

They are one. 

Even their heartbeats, she thinks, form a single song within their chests. An echo of the other. 

“Arise.”

Chapter Text

When Sung Jin-Woo was very small, just before Gates, his fire-fighter of a father had taken him to the Planetarium, a rare chance he wasn’t on fire call, that he wasn’t away saving people. 

It was one of his best, easiest memories.  

In that indulgent, easy way of his, his father had allowed him to sit in his lap, so he could be closer to the stars. Even though he was six and should have been over such childish urges... While his mother leaned her head against his own head, gently running an had through his hair, her hand on the heavy stomach that held his little sister.  Quietly, above them in what he now knew were simply lights, a soothing voice had told them how stars were born. How they were born at the center of galaxies, in cradles so massive, so large, that earth itself was technically a cosmic spec, so very tiny in a universe so large that it was immeasurable. At the time he had only thought real stars had been caught, like fireflies, into that run-down planetarium, made small and almost reachable, and had felt an even larger miracle was above him.  

His father had smiled at his childish, impossible joy and awe. And quietly, he had simply said:

“Did you know, Jin-Woo?” in that soft, even and deep voice of his, lifting his hands towards the projection above them, “We are made of the same things that make up the stars. We are star dust, made alive.”

He doesn’t know why that comes to him. 

Why he thinks we are star dust made alive, when his Mana lifts within him, his heart dancing with a twin melody it hadn’t known it was missing. He feels it. In Sansa, feels the rush of her own Mana, feels lift in her, surge from her heart to answer his own. So small, so weak, trembling against his own massive pool, joining it, twisting together and complementing it in ways he had not known it was lacking. For a second, he is blinded by the sheer light that fills the space the small pile of bones in front of them. Like a star being born. In a caldera of his and Sansa’s making. He has to close his eyes. Has to shift his body and use his spare hand to cover Sansa’s eyes as it burns in front of them.  

It isn’t just a shadow, a soul, reaching from the Void to rise from her corpse.  

No. 

It's something else, something different, but similar.

Something new, and if he weren’t wary of the change, Jin-Woo would have felt sheer excitement at the fact that he was still discovering new heights to his powers. And then it stops. No light, no star birth. 

He blinks away afterimages, even as he’s turning.

It’s curled, head tucked underneath her tail. A small, dark form of shadow, like any other of his Arisen summons. Only, instinctualy, Jin-Woo realizes that though he gave it form, thought his mana had helped it along, this is not his own. It was why she had not come.

He is a stranger to her.

But she knew Sansa, knew her and loved her, he knew, without a doubt in his mind. When his Cleric had called to her to ‘Arise’, leaning on his Mana, the summon had answered.         

And it is a small form, curled shadows intermingled with brilliant blue and violet flames, not only his own mana, he realizes. Lady is a little dog? No, he was a Wolf Assassin, he knows a wolf when he see it as she tucks her head from her large, fluffy tail. Even as a puppy. A cub? A wolf cub summon. Sansa gasps. Bringing his hand to her mouth. Her lips shudder on the back of his hand. He shudders. He is gasping. 

His heart. 

He feels his heart. It must be an echo in her chest. 

Is this what it means to be in a Party? That was so strong and new. This summoning was so different. 

His Cleric slips out of his hold. His hands linger in the air, even as Sansa drops to her knees to reach for the wolf.

“Lady!” A soft, helpless, happy plea, edging on tears that Sansa held back.  

A happy bark.

Blue and violet fire and shadows… And a pure white light at the very center of her fluffy little chest. So different from his own summons. The small form crashes into his Cleric, even as she scoops it up without hesitation. 

He grins.

‘System Alert! Party Member cleared of Status Effect: Soul Link Interruption'

Damn straight. 

He feels like he's run for days.

“Player and Party Status?” He mummers. 

{Player Fatigue: 99}

{Player Party Fatigue: 91}

He blinks. Sansa gets to her feet, legs trembling, barely holding onto Lady’s small form to her chest, whirls around and-

He sees it. In her blue eyes. 

Mana.

Brillant. 

Shinning. 

Twin blue stars, strong in her face. 

She won't slip into Eternal Sleep. He’s saved her from that. He laughs. And he keeps laughing when Sansa flings herself into his arms, Lady and all. Even with the force of it to throws him to the ground completely.When she goes for a kiss, Jin-Woo lets her, because he knows she is thankful, and because he's unsure if he can lift his hands far enough to stop her. She doesn't just go for the lips. He jumps a little when she peppers his face with kisses, freely, happily, with a laughing voice repeating again and again what he thinks means thank you in her language. He feels her gratitude in each press of her lips to his cheek, his forehead, the corner of his mouth.

He swallows, so tired, so sleepy. 

And just smiles as Sansa presses herself in her arms, hugging tightly at his waist. 

Lady, her soul Link, is a comforting, easy little weight against his chest, as is Sansa. Warm and soothing. 

Jin-Woo slips into sleep just after he gently squeezes her waist in return.

Chapter Text

He wakes, and he feels a warm weight atop him. He nearly jolts, nearly summons a dagger. Would have, if it weren't for the fact that Lady the wolf summoned just…Licks his face. Bats at his face gently with her paws. Woofs a little noise at him, before she licks his face again. He blinks at her. She has a tongue, lolling out. Like an excited puppy.    

It's not a wet lick, which is weird. He expects it to be a wet lick.

But her tongue is made out of… Light? He guesses? Mana? It's similar enough to a tongue... Just not... Wet. 

It's the weirdest thing. 

He blinks. Sansa is the one lying atop him, too, that warm, comforting weight. Asleep, he thinks she looks much younger, her head lying directly across his heart, long red hair undone and feeling so soft draped over his arm. Her face was tilted his way as if she fell asleep watching him. She breathes softly, gently, barely breathing in. He had left his curtain open when he had left for the Earthos dungeon, a small silver of morning light was peaking through and touching her face. Highlight the impossible paleness of her skin, the way her red hair, brilliant and dark, shone around her small face. She looks... Vulnerable. Her soft pink lips parted gently, her red eyelashes trembling as she slept. She was trapped, he realized. He had trapped her, gripped her around her waist, and hadn't let go of her. He seems to have curled his limbs around her, held her tightly atop of him like the world's most awkward teddy bear. With her level, there's no way she could have escaped his grip. She had wrapped one of her hands to grip the edge of his t-shirt, soft and gentle against the skin of his stomach. He had seemed to have maneuvered one of her legs between his own, hooked his knee around her calf, and brought her higher to his torso. She was so fucking warm.  Awkwardly, Jin-Woo realized he was… Well. It was the morning, and a very pretty girl was on top of him, her leg pressed against him. Carefully, he wiggles out from under her. Absently patting the summon wolf cub ‘Lady’ on top of her little head. He nearly jumps five feet in the air. Igris is next to the bed, back to him, his great sword resting against his shoulder, ready to be taken out.

“You don’t have to do that,” he grumbles, whispering to not disturb Sansa, as she gently curled around Lady, “No one is going to attack us in our sleep.”

The knight looks at him. Even without a word, Jin-Woo can sense his disagreement. He huffs. He should have guessed that a man who taunted him in fighting on the same level as him, despite being stronger, would think his words easily dismissible. 

“Did…” He vaguely remembers passing out on the floor after summoning Lady, “Did you tuck us in?”

The Knight nods. Says something. It seems… Amused? It was the weirdest thing. It wasn’t like Irgis was speaking, per se. It’s not a different language, necessarily. Its… Just not something he understands.  

Jin-Woo blinks. 

His mouth tastes like death. 

I need to brush my teeth. 

Absently, he realizes that Sansa would need a toothbrush if she didn’t already have one.  

I should make a list for Jin-Ah. This might take all day today.

Chapter Text

She wakes the day after her wedding, and she is still a maid. 

But Sansa’s focus is not on that. No, her focus is on Lady, brought back by her and her husband. 

There are parts of herself that Sansa had lost and had not even realized. Some of them have been returned. It so queer to feel. To understand. That awful day of the Red Fork, Ned Stark had destroyed something of Sansa, unintentionally, unknowingly. She still does not know why Cersei would want to hurt something innocent, why her mind twisted things to claim the life of something good and without blame. Sansa would never be like her. That is a lesson she would take to heart, the innate urge to lash out at the world for hurts it had never laid onto her. 

She swallowed, ran her hands carefully around the shadow and flame that made up her Lady. Gentle. 

Sansa always wishes to be gentle. 

Lady’s eyes were not… Not as they were. No longer golden and sweet and perfect and good. No. They are pure light, pure magic. They are a Tulley Blue now, an echo of Sansa’s own eyes. She touches her dear direwolf, returned to her after so long. 

Lady feels…

Warm.  It sends a pleasing echo through her chest. 

Lady presses her head into her neck. Trusting. Soft and warm and-

Sansa tightened her hands on her. 

“I am so sorry I couldn’t protect you. You were good. You were good,” she whispered, gently, voice cracking slightly. 

Lady is the other half of her soul, and Sansa knows it. So when she mourns the lack of her strength, her helplessness… The fact that she had only acted as she had been taught- Lady snuggles deeper into her neck. She was no longer alive, no longer complete- Sansa knew that. She would never be the sweet Lady she had known for so little time. She, too, had changed. 

From Porcelain, to Bone, to Steel. 

“We will be better this time,” she tells Lady, running her hands through light and shadow, “We will be strong.”

Lady badked. No longer animalistic wolf song. A different melody. A strange, yet so familiar a melody that lifted Sansa’s heart.  

“Our King has risen. He makes your meals to break your fasts. Lady Jin-Ah is with him.”

Sansa rolls, slightly, in the tiny bed, turning to face Ser Igris, whose back was to her, hand on his great blade. Wiggling her stocking feet, Sansa smiled. Her chest aches slightly, for sleeping in her loose stays, but her husband’s careful hold of her had been… So gentle and good that Sansa could not bear to break it. She had whispered to Ser Igris to ease her laces, and the knight had done such without hesitation, helm pointedly looking away. Just like he had done in the bath, preserving her dignity and her peace. Only then did he stretch out her shadow to leave the room while she had her moment in bathing. 

For as poor as her husband seemed to be, the bed was divine. Warm and comfortable, especially with the quilt made by her mother’s hand covering her. And when she had tiredly set Igris to protect them, Sansa knew she was safe. Such a casual and once-unthought-of state for her. 

“Does he cook often?”

“Yes.”   

She smiles. Then shifts, uncomfortable truths pressing into her stomach. 

“Ser? I need to make water. Do we have a privy? Or is it only a chamber pot like in King’s Landing?”

“This way, My Queen.” 

He offered her a hand.

“A moment, ser, I wish to choose my toilet of the day.”

“Of course.”

She was careful. Hesitating before she gripped her southern soap. Surely her husband wouldn’t… Wouldn’t want to consummate so early? She swallowed nervously. 

“My Queen?”

She looked to her knight. He would be honest. She felt a heavy blush. Almost searing in her face.  

“Ser? How often… How often does our King have…. Uh, Carnel relations? I know my duty is t-”

“He does not.”

She blinks. 

Surely- Why, even old fat King Robert had women- would he not-

“But- But… Has he taken a vow of celibacy?”

“No,” the Knight’s voice was matter-of-fact. 

“What will he- So you do not know what he will expect of me?”

“My Queen? May I be frank?”

“Please.”

“I do not expect for the King to expect that of you.”

“But we are wed,” she said, voice small, feeling so much like a stupid girl, “Does he not- Does he not want me?”

“It is not a question of want. King Jin-Woo was ready just this morning. But, my Queen, have you not seen his way with you?”

“He is good,” she replied, instantly. No hesitation. 

Ser Igris nods. 

“That is your answer. When you are ready, he will choose that with you. I suspect that it is also a question of culture. Lady Jin-Ah, in my time with them, has not entertained a suitor, as King Jin-Woo has not brought in a paramour. That is not paramount to them, Queen Sansa. And it should not be your focus. With your possession of the Black Heart, you shall reign forevermore until you, too, grow tired as King Ashborn did before you both. An heir is not needed.”

Sansa worried her hands through Lady’s shadow and light again.

Reign forever?

“Forever?”

“I served King Ashborn for eight thousand years.”

She blinks.

“I will live that long?”

Igris shifted. 

“I hope for longer, your Grace,” he said quietly, “I do not… I am unsure if I will continue on to another Monarch. I do not believe my heart to be so large.”

She reached for him. Held his hand gently. He dipped his head.

“I see. So my husband was ready? How so?”

The Knight shifted. And for the first time, she believes that she has unsettled the Knight. He moves from foot to foot in clear agitation. 

“...He just… Was, my Queen.”

She blinked. 

“So I must simply wait for him to approach me?”

The Knight bowed deeply. 

“Yes, of course.”