Alaric walked over to a heavy wooden chair near his map table and sat down. He let out a slow, tired breath and rested his hands on the armrests.
Sansa didn't take the other chair. She walked right up to him, stepped between his legs, and smoothly climbed onto his lap. She straddled him, her dark skirts settling over his legs. She reached up, grabbed the thick fabric of his black tunic collar, and pulled him in.
She kissed him firmly on the lips. It wasn't shy or rushed. It was deep and entirely confident.
When she finally pulled back, she kept her hands resting on his collar. She glanced over her shoulder at the sleeping Roslin, then looked back down into Alaric's glowing eyes. A small, thoughtful smile touched her face.
"You know," Sansa murmured, keeping her voice low so she wouldn't wake the girl on the bed. "Sharing you with two other women is not such a bad idea after all."
Alaric raised an eyebrow, a slow smirk spreading across his face. He rested his large hands comfortably on her waist. "Is that right?"
"Yes," Sansa said, her voice completely calm. "Roslin is sweet. She knows her limits and she doesn't have a jealous bone in her body. She just wants to feel safe."
Sansa smoothed her thumb over the edge of his tunic. "And Margaery... she is very understanding. She knows exactly how this game works. She wants to rule, but she knows she doesn't need to push me away to do it. We don't have to fight each other."
Alaric watched her closely. The naive, frightened girl who used to cry in the Winterfell courtyard was completely gone. She was looking at the board exactly the way he did—weighing her allies and understanding the power dynamics without letting petty emotions ruin the strategy.
"So you approve of my choices?" Alaric asked, his voice a low, teasing rumble.
Sansa leaned down and kissed him again, a little softer this time.
"I approve," Sansa whispered against his lips.
"I also talked to my father today," Sansa whispered against his lips. "I explained everything to him. About us, the Tyrells, and exactly why you did what you did."
Alaric leaned back just enough to look at her face. "And what did the honorable Ned Stark have to say about it?"
"He was angry at first," Sansa admitted, resting her hands flat against his chest. "But he isn't stupid. He knows you saved his life, and mine. He told me he won't object to us being together." She paused, a small, genuine smile breaking through. "He just said you have to officially marry me. Before a weirwood tree."
Alaric let out a low chuckle. "That's easy enough. I already told you I was going to make you my wife."
His hands slid lower, moving down from her waist and tracing over the thick, heavy fabric of her dark skirts. He gripped her bottom, his large hands squeezing gently as he pulled her hips firmly against his lap.
Sansa let out a soft, surprised gasp at the sudden pressure.
Alaric looked her up and down, feeling the soft, heavy curves under his hands. "You've changed," he murmured, his voice dropping into a rough, appreciative rumble. "You feel different than you did in the Wolfswood. You grew up while I was gone, Sansa. You feel much more mature."
The words, combined with his heavy touch, made Sansa's breath hitch. The calm, political mask she had worn all day completely shattered. She hadn't felt his hands on her in months. All the fear, the endless waiting in the Red Keep, and the sheer relief of being safe suddenly boiled over into pure, raw heat.
Her blue eyes darkened with deep, undeniable lust. She shifted her hips against him, feeling exactly how ready he was beneath his clothes.
"Do you want to see exactly how much I've grown?" Sansa whispered. Her voice was thick with need. She reached down, her fingers grabbing the hem of his black tunic, ready to pull it over his head.
But then she froze.
She looked over her shoulder at the large bed in the corner of the tent. Under the thick fur blankets, Roslin shifted in her sleep, letting out a soft, quiet sigh.
Sansa bit her lower lip, her shoulders dropping in frustration. She looked back at Alaric. "We can't," she muttered, disappointment clear in her voice. "It's too quiet in here. If we do this now, we'll wake her up."
Alaric didn't let go of her hips. A slow, wicked smirk spread across his face.
He reached over to the small wooden table next to his chair and picked up a folded, clean piece of linen cloth. He held it up between them.
"Then just keep quiet," Alaric said casually. He brushed the soft cloth gently against her lower lip. "You already know how to hold back your moans, Sansa. You did it perfectly back in Winterfell when the guards were right outside your door."
Sansa stared at the cloth. Her heart started to beat faster against her ribs. She looked at the sleeping girl, then back into Alaric's glowing eyes. The sheer risk of it only made the heat in her stomach burn hotter.
Sansa didn't hesitate. She took the folded linen cloth from his hand, opened her mouth, and bit down hard on the fabric. Her blue eyes never left his, shining with a mix of defiance and raw, pent-up desire.
Alaric didn't need any other answer. He stood up from the heavy wooden chair, lifting her easily by the waist. Her dark skirts fell to the floor in a quiet pile, followed quickly by his black tunic and belt. Moving with careful silence, he carried her to the very edge of the large bed, leaving the sleeping Roslin undisturbed on the far side.
An hour passed, completely burning away the cold tension of the last few months.
The air inside the tent grew thick and heavy, smelling of sweat and the burning iron brazier. The quiet was broken by the relentless, heavy slap of skin meeting skin. It was a constant, wet clapping noise that echoed softly against the canvas walls, accompanied by the deep creak of the wooden bedframe.
Sansa was pinned face-down against the mattress, her knees spread wide on the edge of the bed. Her hands gripped the thick fur blankets so tightly her knuckles were completely white. She was pushing herself to the absolute limit, taking every bit of his supernatural strength. Every time he drove his hips forward, a strained, desperate noise vibrated deep in her chest.
Mmph... mmmph...