Oathkeeper

Chapter 77: Claim

Keep calm, don't fret, everything will work out the way it's supposed to.

Those were the words Sansa repeated to herself. From the moment Brienne set out to the Harbor, to the moment she read every letter written by Lady Karstark. Her mind lapped the sentence during her argument with the Hand, who urged her to send her to Winterfell instead. Just as it did during her fight with Rickon, who begged to accompany her when she refused to obey the Lady Hand. She said it while she dressed, then while she sat quietly in the long ride in the disguised carriage and when its wheel rolled through the Harbors gate. She said it when she briefed a feign smile at all the men, women, soldiers, and children waiting to hear something more concrete about the state of their city from one of the Queens mouths. Until finally, she stood outside New Castle's guest chambers, uttering the words in broken fragments.

Keep calm.

She reminded herself of that as she painted on her feigned smile once more. After giving Ser Tiberius the command to open the door in one nod, it washed from her face and turned into the worried scowl she'd worn ever since she received the raven. Sansa hoisted her royal skirt and would hold her breath until she saw Brienne in the flesh. Even if that meant she'd faint.

Don't fret.

The pure white curtains whisked in the breeze curated by the open window placed just above the large bed where Brienne sat upright. Her legs were tucked tightly underneath the teal bed sheets and gold embroidered comforter. Her hands were linked and neatly thrown over her lap, and the pigmentation around her eyes was darker than the night sky. Maester Yoren hovered close to Brienne's face. He tracked her eye movements by slowly dragging a short stick back and forth. Sansa's chest fell in a big relieving exhale; it could have toppled a tree. It was clear, something was wrong, but her wife was not dead and she didn't appear to be on the verge of it either.

Everything will work out the way it's supposed to.

Maester Yoren was distracted by the childish grin beaming across Brienne's face. He traced her diverted eyes towards the doorway, where Sansa stood frozen. He dropped his arms and bowed while humbly asserting a 'Your Grace,' into it. Instead of properly greeting him, she rushed to her wife's bedside as she was barely able to acknowledge his presence or anyone else's for that matter.

"Sansa," Brienne said almost dreamily.

She looked much worse up close. Both of her eyes were surrounded with blackish purple skin and held large amounts of swelling. They might as well have been shut tight. As for her arms, they were tattered with bruises too, but none of them looked as bad as her face. Sansa didn't even want to imagine what her abdomen might have looked like, or her beautifully long legs. Still, she stared up at Sansa through the small cracks, smiling as if she was falling in love with her all over again. Sansa hesitated to touch her. She couldn't see every injury and the contents of the raven's message summoned her here, which meant there had to be something else. Something worse.

"Brie," Her eyes welled with tears as she finally gave into the crave of Brienne's skin and took her hand.. She sat down on the edge of the bed before turning to face the Maester briefly, "Give us a moment alone,"

"Your Grace, if we could speak for a brief moment . . . I'm afrai-"

"Not now," Sansa interrupted.

Maester Yoren held his finger up in protest. A stunted word fell out of his mouth, then he turned and retreated by the door. He was afraid to defy his Queen's order, but he also knew she would not take what would happen next too well. She was well aware of the man's lingering presence but she'd settle for the space, for now.

"How are you feeling, my love? They sent a raven saying they needed me here . . . something about you being unable to make decisions?" She caressed her face. "Are you alright?"