medicalling | Open Post

"No, I have never heard of such a thing," Sansa says. She takes a seat at the table but she still has a clear view of the kitchen and by extension, Rowan, and she is more than appreciative of what she sees.

"You spoil me. You've spoiled me from the moment you met me, actually."

"That is my privilege," he said, flipping the waffle and then plating up the two he'd already made. He came over with the plate and a bowl of whipped cream. He set them down in front of her, bending down and kissing her quickly on the lips before he went to grab the rest of the additives to her breakfast. "Whipped cream, fresh fruit and berries, maple syrup. I was tempted to make bacon, but it's a fool that cooks that with no shirt on."

"And I do not wish you to burn yourself," Sansa says, cutting the waffle into tiny bites before trying one. It's unlike anything she's ever had before and she closes her eyes and makes a sound of sheer pleasure.

"Gods, this is absolutely perfect," she murmurs. "I'm going to want one of these every day for the rest of my life."

"Try it with the cream. That... well. I could try that off you later." He grinned and pulled out the next waffle, setting it on another plate, then starting a fourth. "Food is an indulgence here. People eat to soothe themselves, so they've made some of it an artform. This? Simple enough that I can make here, but if we were to go to a place that specialized in them, these would pale in comparison."

"Is that something people do?" Sansa asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow. She puts the cream on the waffle, though, and when she tries it she is not disappointed. The combination of everything makes this more of a confection than a breakfast.

"I want to learn to cook," she admits. "Will you teach me how your oven works? I cannot get my head around it because there is no fire."

"I'm not the best chef myself. I can feed myself and make something decent, but I wouldn't consider myself good at it. That said, there are plenty of places that teach cooking to anyone who wishes to know, and if you like, I can sign either us or yourself up for classes." It pleased him that she was eating his food and enjoying it, a simple thing that he did but supplying for his mate was so... satisfying.

"I would like to learn," Sansa says. "I want to know how to be a good mate and a good wife and it looks different here than it would back in Westeros. You do not need me to be a fine lady in your castle nor do you need me to wear a crown and dispense justice. You need me to do other things."

Sansa gives him a smile, a bright one. "So I have a chance to become someone new. I wish to do that."

"I would rather you learn how to be a good you. To find what makes you happy." He pulled out the other waffle, adding it to the plate and bringing it over. He picked up the one at the bottom himself, dipping it in the cream and taking a bite before he kissed her cheek. "There's time aplenty for all of it, love."

"I have never had an opportunity to seek something so selfish," Sansa says, giving Rowan a tender look. "No one has ever let me have such a thing in my life. I've always been too important politically."

Sansa has had so few mornings like this where she could eat a leisurely breakfast, in naught but her skin besides, and spend time with someone she cares about.

"You're no less important here, but that might be limited to me, and it's certainly not political." He picked up a raspberry and lifted it to her lips to feed her. Providing for his mate was making him feel a strange sense of pride that he didn't normally feel, and he was enjoying watching her eat his food. In the nude.

Sansa closes her eyes in bliss when she takes the raspberry between her lips and she knows there's a bit of a blush staining her cheeks when he mentions that she's important to him. She likes knowing that.

"I think I could get used to a lack of politics in my life if you replace it with this instead."

He liked the blush, the back of his finger brushing her cheek before he sat back, picking up a wedge of his waffle and dipping it in the cream. "I'd like you to get used to being happy."

"I am currently very happy. I think I would be even happier with half a dozen children running around pulling at my skirts but I believe that is the difference in my time versus yours," Sansa says.

"Happiness for a woman like me looks very different than happiness does in a world like this, I think."

"Half a dozen what now?" Had he paled at the thought of it? Slightly. He'd just found her. He was selfishly not ready to share her with anyone yet. Least of all children.

"Children," Sansa says, giving him somewhat of a blank look. "I presumed that we would have children. Is that not the way of things between mates? We don't have them in Westeros the way this has happened, I don't know how it's supposed to go."

Is she unable to have them now because she'll be a part of him? Sansa isn't sure.

"No, no, it's... well, it is, yes. Just a moment." He blinked quickly, then moved to go to the kitchen to start the kettle. This talk needed tea. "Children. I honestly hadn't thought that far ahead. Now? Do you mean to want to try for them now?" Was the room spinning? No, that was just his head.

“I imagined they would just be a natural consequence of being together. I know how children are made, Rowan. You didn’t expect me to take moon tea every month, did you?”

Sansa swallows a bit. “I did with Ramsay. It’s possibly I cannot even have children with as many times I used moon tea to keep him from fathering one on me. Tansy isn’t good for a woman.”

His mind was flitting through the words she said and the future, but it latched onto one thing. "If anything has been done to your body, it's easily undone by my hands. You're not infertile."

He pulled out the tea, putting it in the pot while waiting for the water. He was trying to sort through his feelings regarding children, since it hadn't been anything he'd ever truly sat and thought through.

"Oh," Sansa says, slightly astounded at that particular bit of news. It seems that he can heal anything, even a barren womb. Her dream of children isn't lost, then, unless Rowan doesn't want them.

"Well, we do not have to have children," she says cautiously. "If it troubles you to think of it."

The water boiled and he was quiet as he poured the water into the pot, then set the kettle down, lifting his gaze to her before he let out a soft sigh. He came over to the table, coming up behind her and carefully draping his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I'm not against the idea of children. I have to admit I just haven't really given littles of my own any real thought. But I'm not troubled by it... not entirely."

He kissed her cheek, arms gentle around her. "Not entirely. I'm troubled by the idea of it immediately. I just found you, love. I'm a selfish, selfish man, and I want you all to myself for some time before I'm to share you with children. I want to have vacations with you, spend time in bed just talking with you, showing you the world and where you can fit into it without the responsibility of also having to take care of children. I want us to have time for ourselves. Then, aye, I'd be happy to talk about children."

"Well, I'll have to do something to prevent conception, then," Sansa says. The onus is always upon the woman to prevent such things and she isn't unused to that, considering her previous situation. She just simply has to know what is available here and use it.

"Then we won't have to worry about it at all."

"There are a variety of methods that can be used. I'm also aware of when you'll be fertile," he said, tapping his nose, "so precautions can be managed then. Or we could abstain." He had to offer, even if he didn't like it. But he wouldn't expect or demand her to go through things for his benefit when it was her body being affected. He'd get a vasectomy if that wouldn't put a whole world of issues into the mix. Not to mention that his father might just kill him if he thought he was incapable of breeding. A half breed would be acceptable. An infertile son would not.

"You can smell it?" Sansa hadn't been aware of such a thing and it makes her blush deeply. It is absolutely personal, knowing when her body is doing what, and knowing it won't be private makes her feel shy about the whole thing.

"I suppose that's rather useful," she says awkwardly. "Even if it is...a bit strange for me. I am glad my husband couldn't do that."

"Humans can pick up on it slightly, but it's usually subconscious. There's a subtle shift in your scent. I've noticed that some paired couples wind up being a bit more amorous during that time, and it's likely a subconscious reaction to the scent. And I'm also very glad your previous unworthy bastard couldn't pick up on it." What humans could discern and what they couldn't varied. They could do more than most of them realized, but that would require them willing to embrace the animal part of them, which so many were keen to leave behind.

"Well, I hope it isn't a bad scent," Sansa says primly. "Because it isn't as if I can control such things. I try to make myself smell pleasant no matter what time of the month it may be."

Smelling her is new and she'll just have to get used to it just like she's getting used to so many things.

"How do I prevent conception, then? We only had two ways back home. The man could pull away at the last moment or the woman could take tansy. I did the latter, naturally."

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