...
An hour later, the atmosphere in the enclosed palace gardens was warm, humid, and entirely celebratory.
Alaric sat on the wide stone bench by the trickling fountain. Sansa sat close to his left side, while Margaery and Roslin occupied his right. The three women were in exceptionally high spirits, congratulating Sansa and sharing quiet, joyful murmurs about their shared future.
Alaric let them have their moment before clearing his throat, his deep voice easily cutting through the chatter.
"Since all three of you are now with child," Alaric began, his tone shifting to absolute, unyielding authority, "your administrative duties are officially suspended. I don't want you stressing over merchant taxes, dock disputes, or supply lines. Your only job now is to rest and keep our children's safe."
Sansa frowned slightly. "Alaric, we can't just abandon the city's logistics. The capital will fall apart if no one is running it while you march."
"It won't fall apart," Alaric replied smoothly. "Because I have called someone to handle the palace and the city in my absence. His name is Dae."
Margaery raised a delicate eyebrow. "Dae? Can a single servant manage the entire capital?"
"He isn't just a servant," Alaric said, a dark amusement touching his eyes. "He is the one who completely conquered the Iron Islands and broke the Greyjoy fleet for me. Alone."
Dead silence fell over the garden. The three women stared at him, the sheer scale of that statement sinking in. If this 'Dae' could single-handedly crush the Ironborn, managing a pacified city would be effortless for him.
"He will protect this palace and run the bureaucracy," Alaric finalized. "You three will relax."
Margaery recovered from her shock first. A slow, highly calculating, and deeply wicked smile spread across her face. She exchanged a subtle, knowing nod with Roslin, who immediately bit her lip and looked down, her cheeks turning bright red.
Margaery shifted her weight, leaning her soft curves flush against Alaric's arm. She looked past him, her clever brown eyes locking onto Sansa and Roslin.
"Well," Margaery purred, her voice dropping into a smooth, velvety register. "Since you will be leaving us so soon, husband... and we have absolutely no idea how long you will be gone..."
She trailed her fingers lightly down Alaric's chest, her gaze daring the other two women. "And since our stomachs haven't started to show yet... how about we give our King a proper send-off? All four of us. Sharing one bed, enjoying each other as much as possible before you ride to war."
Alaric raised an eyebrow. He turned his head, his dark, heavy gaze landing directly on Sansa.
The Lady of Winterfell's face was burning a brilliant shade of crimson. She looked at Margaery, then at the blushing Roslin, and finally up at Alaric's demanding, expectant eyes.
She swallowed hard, her practical Northern mind warring with the overwhelming heat pooling in her stomach.
Sansa nervously smoothed the fabric of her dark dress, her voice barely a whisper. "The pregnancies are still very early." She looked up, her blue eyes darkening with sudden, uninhibited submission. "It should be perfectly safe... to do it."
A low, vibrating rumble of pure satisfaction echoed deep in Alaric's chest. He leaned back against the cool stone of the fountain, crossing his massive arms over his chest as he looked at the three of them.
"So, the plan is already made behind my back," Alaric said, a slow, teasing drawl in his voice. His dark eyes danced with amusement as they flicked from Margaery's wicked smirk to Sansa's deeply flushed face.
"Tell me, when exactly does this grand send-off begin? Are we waiting for tonight, or should I just tell the guards to lock the garden doors right now?"
Roslin let out a tiny, breathless gasp, her hands flying up to cover her burning cheeks, though she didn't look away. Margaery simply laughed, a melodic, completely unabashed sound that echoed lightly off the marble walls.
"Tonight, husband," Margaery purred, reaching out to lightly trace the heavy buckle of his sword belt. "We need a little time to prepare. Besides, it gives you something to look forward to while you finalize your marching orders this afternoon."
Sansa took a steadying breath, the deep crimson flush on her cheeks slowly fading as the practical, Northern side of her mind took over.
"Speaking of your march..." She looked up at him, her blue eyes turning serious. "You are leaving soon, and Margaery is right. We cannot travel with you, nor can we keep your bed warm while we are confined to the palace."
"We were discussing it earlier," Margaery chimed in, smoothly picking up Sansa's line of thought.
"You will be taking the Lannister girl with you, won't you? Myrcella is sweet, she is eager to please you, and taking her on the march keeps Tywin's prized granddaughter firmly under your thumb. She is perfect for warming your tent and keeping you... focused."
"Besides," Margaery added, her voice dropping into a knowing, conspiratorial purr. She reached out, her fingertips lightly tracing the dark fabric of his tunic over his chest.
"You just took her maidenhead. A girl's first time with a man like you awakens things she never knew she had. She is going to be burning for more, Alaric."
Roslin nodded sympathetically, her own cheeks flushing a deep, pretty pink as she undoubtedly remembered her own intense awakening in that freezing hollow on the road North.
"It's true," Roslin murmured, looking up at him with wide, earnest eyes. "It wouldn't be kind to awaken a girl like that and then just abandon her in the palace for months. She would go completely mad missing you. Pacing the halls, craving your touch... it would be torture for her."
Sansa crossed her arms, her practical Northern logic easily overriding any petty jealousy. In the brutal game they were playing, a satisfied hostage was a safe hostage.
"Exactly," Sansa agreed, her blue eyes sharp. "If you leave her here, frustrated and desperate for an intimacy she can't have, her mind might wander.
She might start listening to the wrong whispers from the servants, or do something foolish trying to find a way to follow you. Keep her in your camp. Keep her satisfied. She'll be perfectly docile on the road."