Freia

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Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Category: F/M
Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Relationship: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon Snow &
Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon Snow & Aegon Targaryen & Rhaenys
Targaryen, Robb Stark/Rhaenys Targaryen
Character: Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Ned Stark, Catelyn Tully Stark, Robb Stark,
Rhaegar Targaryen, Viserys Targaryen, Daenerys Targaryen, Tywin
Lannister, Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Benjen
Stark, Samwell Tarly, Arya Stark, Bran Stark, Rickon Stark, Aegon
Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen, Joffrey Baratheon, Myrcella Baratheon,
Tommen Baratheon, Maester Aemon, Jeyne Poole, Septa Mordane,
Theon Greyjoy, Petyr Baelish, Varys (ASoIaF), Arianne Martell, Oberyn
Martell, Jonsa baby 1.0, Jonsa baby 2.0, Margaery Tyrell, Olenna
Tyrell, Barristan Selmy, Brienne of Tarth, Melisandre of Asshai, Ghost
(ASoIaF)
Additional Tags: Arranged Marriage, R Plus L Equals J, Rhaegar Lives, Rhaegar wins,
POV Multiple, Angst, Miscarriage, Endgame, Happy Ending, Suicide,
Parents Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Jon,
Parenthood, Motherhood, Past Daenerys Targaryen/Jon Snow, Cousin
Incest, Alternate Universe - Jon Snow didn't go to The Wall, Rhaenys
and Aegon live
Language: English
Collections: Best Song of Ice and Fire Fanfction, Da leggere all'occorrenza
Stats: Published: 2016-09-11 Updated: 2022-11-15 Chapters: 71/72 Words:
635321

Freia
by Winterfelland

Summary

Sansa has never heard so much sadness and regret in simply a name, ‘Lyanna... Lyanna’s
boy. I tried.’

She desperately wants to leave and for a second she fears he might die and she will be the
only one to witness it. Then, he finds his breath again and shakes his head as if he himself
does not understand his own foolishness.

‘Why didn’t you love him?’ Sansa asks, finding boldness in his silence, ‘He is so terribly
easy to love.’

Notes
I know exactly what I want this to become but I highly doubt it will, if that makes any
sense. It has been so long since I last wrote a fanfic and this has not been beta'd so I'm sorry
about errors.
 Salt

Epilogue

As Ned reads the letter multiple times he tries to imagine what Jon Snow may look like now. He
still often thinks of the day they took the boy away, remembers it as if it happened this very
morning, not six years ago. When he closes his eyes, he can still see Jon stand there, in the
courtyard, dressed like a proper Northerner, his little face frightened and incapable of hiding his
discomfort and incomprehension.

Promise me, Ned.

He kept his promise for twelve years. Lyanna used her last breath to make him promise and he
kept it.

His name is Jon, and he will be a Snow, a son of the North, born at Winterfell. My blood runs
through his veins, he is my sister’s boy and I will raise him as my own.

At two and ten years old, still a child, he was maturing rapidly, perhaps a bit too much, faster than
most, like all bastards do. His face was long, solemn and guarded, it gave nothing away. He was
handsome, some called him pretty, but Ned knew that when he grew up, the prettiness would fade
away. Jon was tall and skinny too. with his dark hair and grey eyes he looked like his mother, he
looked like a Stark. Ned knew and knows that it did and does not matter what he looked like back
then or looks like now, for Jon Snow was and is not a Stark, as in the end, all that matters is the
name. No matter how much Stark blood runs through his veins, he will never have the name.

The time has come for my son to be returned to me.

It was never returning. For over ten years, Rhaegar Targaryen tried his best to pretend Jon Snow
did not exist. He never travelled north, never left his pretty, red castle and his crowded stinking
capital to meet the bastard he fathered. He never wrote, not to Jon nor to Ned. He did not care, he
did not even pretend to. He never asked, never seemed to wonder, always ignorant, always
indifferent.

When Ned wrote to him once, so long ago, to tell him he wanted the babe to remain in Winterfell
where he was born, his mother's home, the king responded with nothing but a short, written
agreement, offering settlements of payment, with carefully chosen words written in the most
elegant of handwritings. Ned did not care about gold, he cared about the boy, about his promise.

He betrayed Robert to keep his promise.

Robert will kill him, you know he will. She said.

He bend the knee and swore fealty to the family that watched his father and brother burn. He held
Lyanna’s hand when Robert fell in battle and watched her die in a bed of blood when the
Kingslayer pressed his sword through the mad king's back. Ned remained in the North when
Rhaegar was crowned, when he wedded the Lannister girl. There must always be a Stark in
Winterfell and the last time a Stark rode south, he never returned.

There is only one thing the king ever said to Ned as he looked into his eyes, when they met that
day, shortly after a shared victory over the Greyjoy Rebellion, and they caused him more sleepless
nights than any words spoken to his face before or after.

Be loyal to me, Eddard Stark. If you choose to be loyal to me, I shall be loyal to you. We are bound
by blood, he is my son, always remember that.

Nearly 15 moons after the end of Robert's war, Catelyn gave him a son of his own. They named
him Robb, for his closest friend, always his companion, died at the trident, Where Ned should
have been by his side. It might have been a great insult to name a son, his first, after an usurper but
if Rhaegar was insulted nobody ever knew about it.

Then Cat gave him two daughters. The eldest they named Sansa, for Sansa Stark, the she-wolf of
Winterfell his grandmother used to so often tell him stories about. They named another daughter
Arya, after that grandmother. Then, two more sons came, Brandon for his brother, Rickon for his
father. He asked the Gods to let them love and protect each other. Let them grow up to become a
pack of wolves.

Ned was watching Jon and Robb swing their wooden swords at each other in the summer sun when
the letter was placed in his hands. He recognized the three-headed dragon as instantly as any man
would.

My son shall be accompanied by my men as he travels south. The time has come for him to be
where he belongs.

Jon belonged in the north, at Winterfell, with his family who loved him, who would protect him.
He belonged with his pack of wolves. But Ned knew there was nothing he could do. He kept his
promise to Lyanna and now Rheagar once again had come to claim what was not his to claim and
there was no one to stop him, nobody ever did, nobody could.

It was early in the morrow, winter left long before, not able to protect them. Ned knew he raised
Jon to one day become a fine man and he would make him proud when they would meet again.
Ned had placed his hands on Jon’s shoulders, squeezed them and tried to smile reassuringly, ‘Son,’
He said, ‘listen to me, listen carefully.’

Jon nodded, firmly, surprisingly confident.

‘Your king calls for you and you shall obey him. We must do things we’d rather not in the name of
duty, but you will always find a home in Winterfell and we shall always be your family. Do you
understand me, boy?’

‘Yes, uncle.’ He said, but Ned knew he did not.

Now, six years after taking Jon Snow away, Rhaegar has written to Ned again, and it no longer
concerns Jon Snow only.

Eddard
‘How do you plan on telling her?’ Cat looks at him, a deep frown on her face.

‘Sansa?’

‘Yes, Sansa! Who else?’ She crosses her arms after throwing the letter back at him.

‘I never believed he would ever accept.’ Ned stares at the letter he must’ve looked at a dozen times
since it arrived this morning.

‘You were wrong.’ Cat says, she shakes her head and starts to pace around their bedroom.

‘I don’t understand.’ Ned says, ‘I never did anything to deserve this. He has no reason to trust me.’

‘You practically raised his boy.’ Cat says, ‘Maybe this is his way of showing you his gratitude? If
it is, I demand you to tell him no!’

‘I cannot say no. I gave him my conditions, he accepted.’

‘Then there you have it!’ She throws her arms in the air, ‘That was your mistake.’

‘It’s as if he’s offering me a trade,’ Ned stares at the words in his hands, 'As if he's saying; you will
travel south, serve as Hand in the capital, where I can control and watch you, and I'll give you Jon
Snow back.'

‘But he won’t give you Jon Snow back, will he? I’ll be stuck with the boy as you ride south,
leaving me.’

‘Don’t speak of him in such a way.’ Ned's voice is calm, but the warning as serious as any.

Cat shakes her head in disbelief, ‘This cannot be, this cannot be...’ She continues her pacing, ‘He
planned on marrying our daughter to a son of his since the day she was born, we both knew it, you
agreed even when we never knew which one she'd end up with!’ Ned says nothing and he can see
his silence annoys her when she adds, ‘Now, instead of a real prince, we can give her a bastard.’

‘Her cousin.’ Ned says, ‘She is marrying her cousin, my sister's boy, a king’s son.'

‘A bastard all the same.’ Cat says, ‘She won’t like it Ned, you know she won’t.’

‘She can stay home.’ Ned says, knowing it won’t mean a thing to Sansa, but perhaps it will be of
value to her mother, ‘They will marry here, in the godswood, by the old gods, she can stay in her
home, in Winterfell, with her family.’

‘She’s been dreaming of southron princes, knights in the capital, Dornish wine and Tyroshi silks!’
Ned knows his lady wife speaks the truth when she coldly decides, ‘She’ll be disappointed when
she finds out she is marrying a landless bastard with no name and nothing to inherit. She deserves
far better than that Ned, she deserves a title, at least. It is insulting.'

Of all his children, who can still remember Jon, Sansa speaks of him the least. Jon grew up with
Robb as rivals and brothers, Arya loved him like a true sibling and even though Bran was still in
his swaddling clothes when Jon left, Jon helped teach Bran how to walk and talk. They all
remember him fondly, all of them but Sansa who, much like his father, is indifferent about Jon
Snow. The poor boy is doomed to have those most important in his life feel indifferent about him.
‘They may grow to care for each other.’ He tries, ‘As we did.’

'And if they will not?' Catelyn logically suggests, 'She'll be unhappily married to a boy who offers
her nothing but a life in a dreary holdfast somewhere in the Gift. Is that what you want for her? For
her to be humiliated and unhappy? She has so much potential, she deserves to see her dreams come
true.'

Ned wishes he could tell her not to be so very dramatic, but he knows he can't, because she's not
dramatizing, she's only saying what he does not dare think of, 'I raised him, he will be... I believe he
shall be good to her.'

Catelyn shakes her head, because it does not reassure her, and he understands, because he cannot
even reassure himself. He is only glad she has not yet mentioned aloud how this is the second time,
that Rhaegar takes the Stark betrothed of another, and does whatever he pleases. Stark, Lannister,
Targaryen, Tyrell... they're all pawns on a board game, and Rhaegar decided to play with Sansa.

'He is still a king's son with Targaryen and Stark blood.'

‘What about Aegon?’ Cat ignores his tries, ‘Who will he marry now that his bastard half-brother
has stolen his bride?’

‘The girl from Highgarden.’ Ned says and she knows this will anger her even more.

‘Margaery Tyrell?’ Her voice is high and he can hear his own humiliation in her words when she
says, ‘He takes Robb’s betrothed and gives her to Sansa’s?’ She shakes her head in utter disbelieve,
‘The nerve!’

‘He is the king, Cat!’ He says and it's the first time he raises his voice, ‘He is the king and does
what he likes, he always has.’

Cat stares at him, her eyes fiercely try to kill him with her stare, ‘Of course.’ She says, ‘I think you
should be the one to tell her.’ She makes a head gesture towards the door, ‘Tell our daughter she
won’t marry the crown prince but her bastard cousin instead.’

Sansa

‘Am I disturbing you?’ Sansa shakes her head as she looks at her father through the mirror.

She does that often lately, stare at her own face in her mirror. Not to admire herself, no, she is not
as vain as Arya believes she is. She looks at her own face and wonders what other people may
think when they see her. She wonders how it is possible that so many ideas, believes and dreams,
all those desires, could hide behind that one face, in that small head, and she hopes it will shield
them carefully. She stares at her own face and lets her daydreams take her to places where she
cannot guide them.

Ned closes the door behind him and moves to peck the top of her head, ‘Awful news from the
capital came some time ago... Jon Arryn is dead.’

Sansa knows who that is, ‘Aunt Lysa’s husband?’

Ned nods, ‘Yes, a fever took him.’

‘I am so sorry father.’ She knows her father was practically raised by the man, ‘How is aunt Lysa?’
Sansa tries hard to sound as if she cares but she knows she doesn’t. She has never met her mother’s
sister in her life, ever.

‘She is well, she and her boy, they are both well.’ Sansa nods as if the news relieves her, ‘The king
rides for Winterfell, with the queen, the princes, princesses and their households.’

Sansa can feel her heart flutter and she gasps, ‘Prince Aegon too?’

‘Yes, prince Aegon too.’

‘Why are they coming?’ He is avoiding her eyes and Sansa does not understand, ‘Should we not
travel south?’

‘I will be traveling south with them when they leave again.’ Her father says, ‘I will serve as Hand
of the king, take Jon Arryn’s place.’

‘Will I be going with you?’ Sansa asks, she cannot help it when she sees all her dreams come true
in just mere seconds. Sansa has been dreaming for this moment to come for years, she knew it
would one day, perhaps not so soon and she feels a disbelieve as much as utter joy.

‘No.’ Father says and Sansa frowns at the word, ‘You will stay here with your mother, Robb and
Rickon, nobody but Arya and Bran will join me.’

‘Arya?’ Sansa does not understand, out of all her siblings, Arya will be the least likely one to be of
any use in the capital, she will just embarrass herself and her family most of all. Sansa’s sister Arya
is no proper lady.

‘Sansa,’ her father says and he kneels in front of her so their eyes meet, ‘The king has offered you
his son’s hand in marriage and I have accepted. You will marry his second son, Jon, here at
Winterfell, after your seventeenth nameday. The royal family is coming to the North to attend your
wedding, it is a great honor for all of them to travel so far for the occasion only.’

‘My cousin?’ Sansa means to spit out the word but she can’t, she whispers it instead, barely able to
pronounce it correctly.

‘Yes.’ Sansa can hardly believe it when her father continues, ‘You will get married in the
godswood and stay here, at Winterfell, where Jon will assist Robb as lord of Winterfell while I am
gone.’

Sansa realizes her mouth is opened in a silent gasp and she hurriedly closes it, ‘I do not
understand.’ She says eventually, she has no idea what just happened, one moment everything she
ever dreamed of seemed to come true, the next nothing makes any sense, ‘Is the king cross with
you?’

‘No.’ Ned says, ‘He is not, he is naming me Hand of the King, it is a great honor.’

Sansa shakes her head, ‘Then why would he make you marry me off to a bastard?’

‘Jon is his father's son, prince in all but name. I agreed to the match, I was not forced to do
anything. I believe he will be a good husband to you-’

‘I don’t want to marry him!’ Sansa finally finds her voice back and she means to use it, ‘You can’t
make me!’

Her father rises to his feet again, towering above her as she sits, still in front of the mirror, her eyes
watering with spiteful tears, ‘We shall not argue about it.’ He says.

‘I don’t want to father, please, please! I am supposed to marry Aegon, become his queen and give
him silver-haired children!’

Her father sighs, ‘My sweet girl, there are very few things meant to be in life.’

Sansa feels tears escape her eyes as she clenches her fists, she gets up from her stool, ‘Please father,
don't make me!’

But her father all but looks at her, his eyes apologetic but his mouth firmly closed. He continues to
just look and not say a thing for days as she begs, screams, yells and mostly, constantly cries, day
and night it seems. She cries soundlessly, she weeps in her pillow and sobs like a child. At one
point, she threatens to run away, far away to some place where they won’t be able to find her, some
place where Jon Snow won’t ever marry her. She doesn’t mean it, her father knows it, everyone
knows it.

It is all so unfair. All she ever wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they are in the
songs. Sansa knows of not one song where a lady is rescued by a bastard.

Robb rubs her back when her tears give her hiccups and he holds her in his arms, ‘Hush little sister,
not all is lost.’ He says, ‘You can stay home, here, at Winterfell, with me and mother and Rickon.
It is far too hot anyway down south, you would never have liked it there!’ But Robb doesn’t
understand, he never did, especially not when Jon Snow was concerned.

Her friend Jeyne is the only one who somewhat pities her. She holds Sansa’s hand and presses her
lips firmly together, realizing this is a serious matter, a dark tunnel without bright lightening at the
end, ‘I know of no one who was, or is, married to a bastard.’ She says, ‘I mean, I have met a few,
as have you, but they were never married...’

Sansa glares at her, ‘They say bastards are dangerous, Jeyne!’ Her voice is desperate as she realizes
her situation is hopeless, there is not going to be a happy ending, her life is over, all that remains
for her is to wait and see it all crash down in ruins upon her, devour her, press her to the ground
until she can no longer breathe, just cry, sob and accept her fate, thank the Gods for giving her
what she never deserved, ‘They say you should stay away from bastards, they are born from lust,
lies and weakness, there is no honor is bastards.’ Sansa wants to save her tears for her pillow but
yet again she can’t, ‘They are wanton and treacherous by nature. Tell me Jeyne, how can they give
me a lord husband who is all that? How can I marry him? How?’

Jeyne looks said, ‘I hear bastards smell of salt.’ She says and she combs through Sansa’s auburn
hair with her fingers, ‘You will be finding out very soon, you must tell me when you know!’

That makes Sansa frown. She didn't even know salt has a scent. Her tears are salty, perhaps Jeyne
misheard and do bastards not smell but taste of salt. How can he taste like anything? It would be
quite a thing, for him to smell like the tears she spilled on him.

The response she hates most is that of her sister, ‘Jon is coming home!’

Sansa wants to wrap her hands around Arya’s throat and squeeze it as her sister happily jumps
around when she's told of the news. Why can’t Arya be the one who'll wed Jon if she likes him so
much? Arya always looked much like him, Sansa remembers, they looked so alike Sansa once
asked her lady mother if Arya was mayhaps a bastard too. Her mother laughed then, and promised
her that Arya was her one true sister.

Sansa's lady mother does not laugh now but looks away when Sansa makes the suggestion and
simply informs her crying daughter that, ‘Arya is too young to be wedded.’

‘Will she marry Joffrey then?’ Sansa asks, ‘Or Tommen? How? Why do I get the bastard when
Arya-‘

‘Sansa that is quite enough!’ Sansa cries some more when her mother scolds her, ‘Your father has
put much effort and great care in finding you a proper husband, he has made his choice and you
shall be grateful and you shall obey him, like a good dutiful daughter and true lady is ought to do.
Don’t disappoint me, Sansa.’

Her mother either does not see or does not recognize her tears when Sansa begs one last time,
‘Please mother, I don’t want to.’

‘We hardly ever get what we want in life.’ Catelyn says and Sansa wants to curse her, because
Catelyn Tully married a lord, she married the warden of the North. She is a southron lady who
wedded a well-respected, honorable and highborn man. Catelyn Stark should not speak of duty nor
disappointment.

Yet, as Sansa Stark watches her lady mother walk away, she does not curse her, she curses Jon
Snow. If only he had never been born then she would not ever have to marry him, she could marry
Joffrey or Tommen, mayhaps even Aegon still. Sansa curses Jon Snow and prays he may never
reach Winterfell.
 Songs About Bastards
Chapter Summary

That’s enough!’ The king firmly puts his cup down and glares at every single person
sitting around the dining table. Jon always imagines how much his father must hate it
to have this many children. Rhaegar Targaryen should not have been blessed with a big
family, it gives him too many headaches and makes him irritated.

Chapter Notes

This is one of those chapters you don't want to write because you know you can never
get it right but you need it for the plot so you still have to. Beforehand, my sincere
apologies.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jon

Jon watches in stunned disbelief as the king explains the whole matter succinctly to their family.
Rhaegar makes it sound like an everyday affair, it means nothing, no big deal. The man manages to
make it sound boring. Rhaegar had the same attitude when he told Jon that same afternoon.

‘Do you understand what I am telling you boy?’ he asked eventually, his voice calm.

Jon had blinked and realized he was staring at the man in dismay, ‘Yes.’ He said and Rhaegar
nodded.

Jon then opened his mouth to ask why, why in the name of all the gods? But his father didn’t give
him time to gather enough breath to speak.

‘Good.’ Rhaegar simply said before standing up and turning on his heels to leave Jon there, in that
dreadful throne room. Jon stared at one of the dragonskulls along the walls, wide-eyed, and then
realized he had never been alone in that room before.

When he thinks about it now, he is surprised his father even called for him in there, he usually
sends his requests and informs by messenger. The person who had been told to get Jon Snow
must’ve been utterly stunned.

Jon starts imagining how that conversation went and it nearly amuses him.

‘Where is he? Where is Jon Snow?’

‘Jon Snow, the bastard, your grace?’

‘Yes, that one, I need to speak to him in person.’

‘In person? Won't his grace prefer it if we send him a message instead?’
‘No, in person. As much as I hate it I will have to be alone with him when I tell him I’m making
him marry Sansa Stark.’

‘Marry Sansa Stark? But she is a noblewoman, he’s not good enough, Jon Snow is a bastard! Why
would you ever make him marry the daughter of the most powerful man in the North?’

Jon knows nobody has or ever will question his father's actions like that. As much as Rhaegar
chooses his advisors wisely and listens to them carefully, Jon highly doubts this unexpected
wedding thing that feels like it came from nowhere and for no obvious reason, is something people
will dare to question, no matter how ridiculous it seems. If only someone questioned it because no
matter how often Jon has turned it over, flipped it upside down and moved it around in his head, it
won’t make sense, no sense whatsoever. He simply doesn’t understand.

‘I don’t understand.’ Jon says.

‘Well, you see, when a lord and a lady are wedded and bedded-‘

‘Aegon.’ Rhaegar does not look at his eldest son when he warns him, does not even turn his head in
his way, ‘That is unnecessary.’

‘Isn’t it what you wanted?’ Cersei always manages to look down at him, even when he stands right
in front of her, nearly a head taller, or, like now, when they're both seated at the same round table,
‘You have been whining about going back ever since you came here.’ She always pouts a bit too,
when she looks at him, as if he is wasting her time by simply existing, ‘You should be grateful.’
Jon doesn’t recall whining, never mind in the queen’s presence, but he ignores the comment. He
always ignores her comments. Cersei must have been extremely pleased with the news, she must be
delighted to finally get rid of him.

‘Sansa Stark is a match you must be proud of.’ Jon's sister Rhaenys says, her voice is hoarse for a
woman’s, many people believe it sounds nice and Jon agrees, except the things she says, are hardly
ever nice. He looks at her, meets her blue eyes and feels almost hopefull, because sometimes she
saves him, sometimes she says just the right thing to release him from torture, but today is not such
a day, ‘Once she was promised to your crown prince brother, you should be grateful.’

‘I never meant to sound ungrateful.’ Jon says, glancing at his father, who refuses to look at him
like he always does. Ungrateful is not the right word at all, but as much as he should be grateful, he
feels he can’t be, because this is not a gift, or a token of his father’s care and favor. His father
never grants him anything, not without specific reasons, and if king Rhaegar has decided to make
his useless bastard son marry a lady far above him in status, blood and name, just to keep him in his
control or use him as a pawn in his games, then Jon is not going to be grateful.

‘Of course not.’ Cersei can mock him with just her eyebrows and, unlike her husband, she never
avoids his eyes. Jon is no longer the little twelve-year-old boy who was once afraid of staring back.

‘Your grace.’ He then says, he hopes it is evident in his voice he does not mean it when he adds, ‘I
am truly grateful. If I ever-’

‘So you should be,’ Jon always prefers to forget Joffrey exists, yet it's excruciatingly difficult, ‘I
hear she is reasonably looking, I’d say reasonably looking is far better than-’

Rhaenys finally decides to make an effort at lightening Jon's pain, she loudly sighs and rolls her
eyes, 'Oh seven hells, nobody cares about what you've heard.'

'I heard it too.' Myrcella suddenly says, she looks at her father when she adds, 'Rosalind told me
the Stark girl has the Tully auburn hair, red like shiny copper, she said northmen who travelled
down the Kingsroad call her beautiful, willful and obedient... will be travel down the Kingsroad
too, father?

Rhaegar nods, 'Yes, we shall, from the capital to Winterfell. Do you know where the Kingsroad
ends?'

'Castle Black!' Myrcella says and Rhaegar has only half a moment to nod when Joffrey opens his
mouth again.

'It's true! I heard it too. They say she has her mother's coloring, they say she looks nothing like a
Stark, nothing like the bastard.'

'Is this your idea of reasonable? Well, Joffrey sweetling, I must say, that explains some behavior of
yours that has given me reason to wonder.' Rhaenys never calls anyone sweetling, only when she
means to mock, and she loves mocking Joffrey, she calls him her easiest target.

'Rhaenys,' Cersei warns her daughter-in-law with her green eyes narrowed, 'We wouldn't want you
to wonder too much, it might cause you headaches.'

Rhaenys doesn't like many people, Jon often wonders if she only likes Aegon and their father, and
sees the rest of the world as a waste of her precious time, but least of all, she likes Cersei, 'Your
concern humbles me, dear mother, but I'm perfectly capable of using my wits without harming
anyone, least of all myself.'

Calling Cersei dear mother, is perhaps the worst thing Rhaenys could possibly ever say to the
queen, and this is why she says it often and loud, with a proud, self-satisfied smile on her defiant,
resillient and smug face.

Joffrey seems bored by the turn of conversation and brings it back to his original point,
'Reasonable seems better than what he deserves, usually bastards get nothing... bastards are not
supposed to wed, least of all royal bastards, they always end up rebelling against the throne.'

Aegon laughs, 'Jon won't rebel, he's far too occupied with feeling sorry for himself.'

Rhaegar's warning eyes silence Aegon's laughing and Jon keeps his eyes on his food as he clenches
his jaw.

'His offspring might! The Blackfyres rebelled until-'

'If anyone will rebel it shall be me.' Rhaenys decides, she grins at Joffrey, 'You'll be my first kill,
are you afraid of me?'

'You're a woman.' Joffrey looks at Rhaenys with disgust in his eyes, 'Why should I fear you?
Women are weak, no one follows them, they're of no value to any lord.'

The insult does not insult Rhaenys, it only makes her laugh and Jon looks up to fully enjoy her
response when she asks, 'Not even the reasonable ones?'

'You're not reasonable.'

Rhaenys opens her mouth but Jon's too quick when he spits, 'You know nothing of reasonable, you
wouldn't recognize it if it took of it's clothes and danced around in front of your face, naked and
obvious.'
'I know bastards don't deserve reasonably looking wives, you don't even deserve any woman,
you're only-'

‘Since I am listening to you right now, I can't say reasonable is-‘

‘That’s enough!’ The king puts his cup down firmly and glares at every single person sitting
around the dining table. Jon always imagines how much his father must hate it to have so many
children. Rhaegar Targaryen should not have been blessed with a big family, it gives him too many
headaches and makes him irritated, ‘I want to eat my food in peace.’

‘My love, perhaps we should discuss-‘

‘There is nothing to discuss.’ Rhaegar picks up his cup again, ‘We told them everything they needs
to know. We will all ride north, Jon weds the Stark girl, then everyone rides back south as he stays.
Once Eddard Stark becomes my Hand and leaves his home, Jon can be of use to his family there.’
It is a summary, insensible and unfeeling, as callous as only summaries can be.

Jon looks around the table, at his father, dressed in black, as always, it makes him look even paler
and his hair even whiter. His mother-in-law dresses in Lannister red today, her embroidered silk is
a stark contrast to both her husband’s hair and clothing.

Aegon is looking extremely amused, if there is anything he enjoys in life it is Jon feeling awkward,
and Jon has not felt this awkward in a long time. Rhaenys is sitting next to him, looking so much
like her younger brother Jon can still hardly keep them apart. When Jon just knew them he had
difficulty recognizing who was who, especially because of the hair. He will never let his own hair
grow as long as the Targaryens usually do, why would he? Jon does not have the Targaryen hair
anyway, why put in effort to pretend? His hair is the Stark’s darkbrown, the same color as Arya's,
the same curls as Robb's.

Rhaenys' blue and lilac eyes find his and she raises an eyebrow at him as if she doesn't understand
what his problem is, he's used to that, Rhaenys doesn't like it when people pity themselves. Jon's
older half-sister is never mean to him, she has never been cruel, viscious or contemptuous either,
not like Aegon or Cersei, but she is cold and arrogant, as arrogant as her father, possibly even more
so and when Jon came to the capital, years ago, she showed Jon her sharp dissatisfaction with his
existence by not speaking to him much. Jon sometimes wants to thank her for it, because her
silence then came as a longed for diversification. Rhaenys doesn't love him like she loves Aegon,
she definetely doesn't like him like she likes Aegon, but she doesn't seem to hate or dislike him
either. She's a cold woman, cunning and clever with a determination that outwits even Rhaegar
sometimes. Jon doesn't enjoy her company and she can irritate him to no end, but out of all his
family members, she is the one he respects most. Everyone always seems to respect Rhaenys,
though not everyone always listens to what she says.

She is 21 already and not too long ago her engagement to Quentyn Martell came to an end. Jon
knows she never wanted to marry him. Jon saw Quentyn when he was in Dorne two years ago and
he understands why Rhaenys didn't want him. He was short and plain and Daenerys told Jon that,
in Dorne, they called him the frog prince. Daenerys is not here, she lives with her brother Viserys
at Dragonstone. He likes Daenerys, far better than he likes Viserys, but then everybody likes
Daenerys far better than they like Viserys.

Myrcella looks exactly like her mother and nothing like her at the same time, she is smarter and
kinder than Joffrey, her wit is faster and she does not fear him, unlike the youngest of them all,
Tommen, just a boy of seven. When Jon came to King’s Landing, Tommen was just a babe that
reminded him a bit of Bran, but Tommen is nothing like Bran. Tommen is plump and has white
blond hair. He has cheeks his father always used to squeeze and Jon kind of understands why, they
look very squeezable. He is a good, decent thing and Jon does not recognize Cersei nor Rhaegar in
him.

Tommen is watching Jon carefully now, he does that often, it sometimes makes Jon feel uneasy,
he’d rather not have Cersei think he is having some sort of influence on her precious pumpkin.

Myrcella is watching Rhaenys, who is watching Cersei, who is watching Rhaegar who carefully
keeps his eyes on Aegon. Aegon stares at his plate while Joffrey keeps looking from one person to
the other, waiting for someone to say something, to hopefully continue this conversation about the
new developments concerning Jon’s marital status.

Cersei is perhaps the only person in the world whose company Rhaegar does not prefer over Jon’s,
it is because the king is forced to be around the queen at least once a day while he can pretend Jon
does not exists for weeks.

There is a certain pride in Cersei’s attitude that used to frighten him in the past but not anymore.
There is no one in the seven kingdoms as convinced of Cersei Lannister’s brilliance as Cersei
Lannister. Her choice of judgement never fails to amaze him and he has found her to be as
fascinating as she is comical, funny in a sad way. He will never laugh at her in her face, for what
it's worth he cares about his head a little too much to do so. He never shies away from laughing at
Joff though.

Once upon a time Jon and Joffrey enjoyed the same swordsmaster, but that situation was not meant
to last. They would never share a teacher again, not after Cersei wanted to have Jon whipped for
pushing his half-brother off the docks. Joff came to her, bawling his eyes out after he’d fallen down
the wall, into the water, almost drowning in the salty sea, unable to swim.

He didn’t think Cersei meant it until he saw the hound appear with a rope in hand.

‘Boys who don’t want to listen will have to feel.’ Cersei said and Jon had already accepted his fate
when Jaime Lannister, of all people, walked in, looking somewhat astonished at the sight in front
of him, ‘His grace would like to speak to his son.’

‘Which one?’ Cersei asked.

‘The bastard.’ Ser Jaime answered.

‘His grace will have to wait.’

‘The king never has to wait.’

Jon has never seen Joff look that dissapointed again.

He cried himself to sleep that night, dreaming of winterfell, of the stone castle and the cold wind.
He dreamed of kind faces, smiles, laughter and joy. He thought of Robb, Robb would have gladly
dived in the water. If Robb were at King’s landing they would go swimming everyday. They
would have swam to the bottom to collect peddles and shells that they would gift to lady Stark, like
they had once gone into the woods to shoot birds from their trees and rabbits from their holes.
Catelyn would always pretend to be angry with them for ruining their clothes but would still make
them a bath every time and mend their shirts with precise and careful fingers. Robb would hate
Kings Landing, he would hate the summer heat and he would hate Joffrey.

When Jon was a little boy, Lady Stark used to wash his hair and lord Stark kissed the top of his
head like they did with all of their children. Jon would wear his grey cotton night shirt to bed where
he wouldn’t be able to sleep because old Nan told them a bedtime story about a massive green
dragon below the castle, its fire warming walls and floors so the Starks would not freeze to death
during winter.

Dragons frightened him then, the idea of them, the sight of their skulls in the throne room. He
knows them all by name, knows who they belonged to, knows who rode them and knows who
killed them, it was the first thing they taught him when he came to live with the royal family in the
red keep.

Jon has never been beaten during his time at king’s landing, instead he got a swordsmaster of his
own and only has to see Joffrey at family dinners, boring receptions and feasts. Sometimes he
walks past him in the hallway, his smug face trying to look down on Jon like his mother always
does. He is a little shit, Joffrey Targaryen, but he isn’t the brother Jon dislikes the most.

‘I still don’t understand.’ Jon usually knows better than to press matters in front of his father, but
considering this is about getting married, he is willing to wake the dragon.

‘What do you want to to understand?’

‘Should I explain to you why men take wives?’ Joffrey hardly ever laughs at Aegon’s jokes, he
only laughs when the particular joke is mocking Jon.

‘She was supposed to marry Aegon.’ Jon says.

‘They were never officially betrothed.’ Cersei says and when she looks sideways at Rhaegar Jon
realizes she is not as pleased with all this as he expected her to be, in fact, he is quite certain she’s
pissed. Aegon is getting the Tyrell girl, Jon is marrying the eldest Stark daughter and Joffrey? Jon
prays to the gods Joffrey will never marry, save the soul of the poor girl that ever has to become
his wife.

‘Maybe something's wrong with her.’ Joffrey says, ‘Maybe the Starks are glad they have found
someone who wants her, even when it's a bastard. Maybe she has eleven fingers, maybe she misses
a tongue or perhaps she is now bald. What if she actually looks like a wolf?’

‘I have not heard a thing about her looking reasonable but I can assure you she has ten fingers, a
tongue and hair.’ Rhaegar says, ‘There is nothing wrong with Sansa Stark. I don’t want to hear one
more word about Sansa Stark.’

Jon stares angrily at his plate and his stupid golden fork but keeps his mouth shut.

Afterwards, in these days before their departure, Jon never mentions Sansa Stark, not once, to no
one, but from that day on he is thinking of her constantly. He remembers her well, how could he
not? She was barely nine when he left, a tall girl with blue eyes and auburn Tully hair. She had ten
fingers and he remembers she used her tongue to often scold him and Robb, how she scolded Arya
even more.

People called her pretty but he supposes he didn’t care about prettiness enough back then to notice.
As far as he can remember he never noticed Sansa in general, nor did she notice him for that
matter. She liked boring things, things his father likes, things Aegon is good at. Sansa liked poetry,
she will love his father’s harp music for sure and he knows she always created her own clothes
with care and dedication. Most of all, Sansa liked songs and there are no songs written about
bastards.

He also remembers how she expressed disdain for outdoor activities, she was always making her
mother proud with her talent in dancing, singing, sewing and all these things. He tries to think of
things they can perhaps talk about, but he realizes he cannot remember one single proper
conversation with her ever and it makes him anxious. How awful it must be to expect Aegon
Targaryen but get Jon Snow.

Jon remembers how Robb told him once, ‘Sansa is going to marry your brother.’ Jon had never met
his brother back then, Robb was his brother. ‘Sansa wants to travel south and see King's Landing
after dark.’

Jon never understood why she wanted to see the capital, Winterfell was such a nice place, bigger
than the Red Keep, why would anyone want to leave it? He never wanted to leave, they made him.
Now he has seen the capital and many other parts of Westeros too, he is certain no one should ever
want to leave Winterfell to come here, people who did were absolute idiots.

He is finally returning home but there is no one he can share his thrill and jubilance with, nobody
is exited to make the whole trip to the far North just to see their sullen and sulking half-brother
marry a girl in front of a tree.

They are all happy to see him go. Cersei most of all, but Aegon too. Jon has always annoyed him,
reminds him of the woman who somehow caused his mother’s untimely death. It shall be a
peaceful change to Aegon’s eyes once they will no longer have to roll at everything Jon says.

The most irritating thing Jon could possibly ever do to Aegon is make him ride all the way North,
just to be present at this wedding he can’t care less about. Aegon isn’t the man for travelling, he is
attached to his comfort. It doesn't matter that Jon doesn't want Aegon to come, or that it is their
father who made the decision to have half the court join them. Aegon always believes it's Jon's
fault.

'Just so you know, the only reason I am making this little trip is because I am comforted by the
idea that we will leave your wortless bastard ass out there in no man's land with the northern
savages where you can't embarrass any of us ever again, no matter how hard you try.'

Aegon doesn't care about Jon marrying Sansa Stark, he doesn't care about marrying Margaery
Tyrell either. Aegon does not care about politics or about the family. He thinks the dragon skulls
are ugly and when his father gets angry with him he does not blink an eye. Aegon never cares.
Everybody loves Aegon and he does not even care about that. He is inteligent, good at poetry and
songs, charming, extremely handsome and the perfect Targaryen prince, an exact replica of his
father to everyone who does not look beyond his deep indigo eyes.

He once cared about the last remaining Baratheon. Jon knows that, everyone knows that. Once the
king knew about it too he made sure Aegon went straight back to not caring about anything. People
do not pretend they have forgotten, sometimes they are still speaking of it. The last Baratheon has
never been seen at court since and frankly Jon doesn’t even know what became of him. He is sure
Aegon knows, and Rheanys too, because Rhaenys knows everything about everyone.

Since then Aegon likes wine more than he did before, and he likes being alone. As much as people
enjoy his company, Aegon enjoys silence and loneliness. Or perhaps he just likes being alone
better than being forced to spend his time with people he calls ‘a waste of worthless space’. To
Aegon, Jon is the biggest waste of worthless space to ever walk around in the Seven Kingdoms.

Aegon likes to hunt too, sometimes he forces Jon to join him. It isn’t the hunting Jon dislikes, it's
having to listen to Aegon singing constantly, for hours. When they go on a ‘proper hunt’ it
sometimes lasts for three days or more and Aegon always tries his best to make it feel like three
years.
When they return they present their father and his queen with a white deer or a boar and Jon has to
act like their new experience was as exciting as Aegon's storytelling can make it seem. Jon used to
dream of going on a real hunt back at Winterfell, the way men hunt in the North is exactly as
exiting as they make it seem. But here in the south, with all the people, the wine, the laughter, the
lack of horses, the music and the singing (damn Aegon’s singing), it is as dangerous as one of
Rhaenys’ tea parties.

Jon remembers that one time he shot a swan from the sky. It was soaring in the wind, beautiful,
graceful, white. You have to keep both your eyes open, they taught him that at Winterfell. In the
south they close one eye so they can focus on the beast they want to kill, but in the North you aim
with one eye looking at the target and the other watching your surroundings. He hit the beast with
one try and it fell down looking as unrefined as Jon does in a ballroom, as unsophisticated as
Aegon looks on a horse. Jon was so pleased with himself for shooting that swan.

Maybe he can go on a real hunt when he is back at Winterfell. He had never been able to because
of his age but he is definitely old enough now. He’ll pay good money to see Aegon try and fail at
looking like a dragon while riding a stallion.

Jon hopes as little as possible has changed. How about the castle, the people, the food, the wind,
the towers, the birds in the sky and snow falling in your hair? In the past six years he has feared he
will never see any of it back again in his life. Now he is going and he thinks about writing his
uncle, asking him if he can maybe get his old room back. It will be a stupid thing to ask, especially
in a letter, he can easily wait to find out about that when he is actually back at Winterfell.

He is afraid that maybe nobody is happy about him coming back. Maybe Ned Stark doesn’t trust
him anymore, maybe he thinks that after all these years in the capital they have turned him in a
southroner, maybe Ned hates the idea of a Targaryen bastard at Winterfell married to his daughter
while he has to go south and pretend he cares all about the issues of lands below the Neck.

What if Catelyn is as humiliated by this alliance as Joffrey says she has to be? What if Robb has
stopped missing him sometime since he left? Maybe Arya can’t even remember what he looks like.
Bran certainly can't remember what he looks like. He has never met Rickon, the youngest of them
all, he imagines that Rickon looks a bit like Tommen, but then he realizes it must be practically
impossible for Rickon Stark to look anything like Tommen Targaryen.

And Sansa- He desperately tries to stop thinking about her after some time. He succeeds in it
somehow, helped by not knowing who she is or who she was when he last saw her. It's hard to
think of someone you don’t know and Jon doesn’t want to start fantasizing about her, no good can
come of that.

He does wonder if she thinks of him too and he supposes she must, she has to. Maybe she is a little
bit relieved that at least she won’t have to marry someone much older, or someone much younger.
Maybe she is happy that she will be able to stay home, maybe she's looking forward to it... maybe
having to marry him seems like the worst thing that could ever possibly happen to her.

Jon doesn’t remember knowing if Sansa ever looked forward to being married to Aegon, maybe
she did, it's likely considering her love for King’s Landing. But Jon knows that, even though he
himself is not any woman’s dream come true, it's much better that she isn't marrying Aegon.
Aegon may be charming, good-looking and the crown prince, but eventually he will see any lady
wife like his father sees Cersei Lannister; a burden. Aegon is incapable of loving women like
women should be loved, he will not be able to do it even if he tries.

Jon can’t know if he and Sansa will like each other, or if they'll have things to talk about. He can't
know if she is disappointed, though he believes she must be. Despite all that he still promises to
 himself that no matter how much of a miserable combination they may be, no matter how much
she may detest him, that he will never see her as a burden, even if he ends up disliking her.

He will take care of her in every way he can, he will protect her from any harm, he will listen to
her, talk to her, defend her at all times. He’ll make sure that she trusts him and swears that if
Joffrey ever dares say something to her that is in any way insulting he will personally make him
regret it. If Aegon ever tries to mock her he won’t accept it. If his father thinks that he can turn
Sansa Stark in his bastard son’s trophy wife he better think again.

She is going to be his responsibility and Jon plans on taking full responsibility, he has learned from
his father’s mistakes, you don’t let down the people who count on you and she will be able to
count on him always. Sansa Stark may be unhappy about his status, his bloodline, his lack of titles
and any enheritance whatsoever but she won’t be disappointed in his treatment of her, he will never
hurt her. Any brother of Jon’s may have been a better betrothed on paper, but Jon knows that paper
does not count when it comes to honor, he will be an honourable husband, he swears it, to the old
gods and even the new, if she'll want him to.

Chapter End Notes

So, got that out of the way. While I was crying over how much I hated writing this
chapter I wrote the third, fourth and fifth chapter, kinda, on my phone. So I plan on
making friday (maybe maybe sunday) my update day, so you can expect chapter three
this friday (or maybe sunday).

Also, thanks for reading!

 Reasonably Looking
Chapter Summary

Sansa Stark is not reasonably looking.

Chapter Notes

It took me some six hours (no joke) to get this file into whatever it is they use at
archiveofourown. It was horrible, truly. If there are errors (there always are) this is
why, pardonne-moi.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jon

It helps that they are all lined up when the royal family arrives.

It helps to recognize them and add names to their faces. He recognizes Robb immediately, and Ned
of course, Catelyn too. The rest of them seem to have changed into complete different human
beings. Or maybe he has just forgotten and in his desire to go home he gave them imaginary faces.

They all kneel when his father gets off his horse and walks over to stand in front of them. Rhaegar
looks around, at the Winterfell courtyard, his attitude imperturbable, indifferent and perhaps a bit
aloof.

‘Lord Stark.’

Ned raises at his name, ‘Your Grace- welcome to Winterfell.’

Catelyn stands up too as she greets the queen who looks like she just swallowed a rancid lemon.

The King’s party, three-hundred strong, won't fit in the courtyard, so not all of them have entered
through the South gate, it makes their whole party look shattered and as easy as it is for Jon to spot
everyone it must be difficult for them to understand what name belongs to what face. Will they
recognize him as easily as he recognizes them?

‘You stay here.’ Aegon told him, ‘On your horse. Don’t run to them like a madman, you’ll be
embarrassing.’

Jon never planned on running to them like a madman but he can see them scan their eyes over the
king’s traveling companions, overwhelmed by the numbers and the heavily painted armor, and he
knows they are looking for him. They are expecting him.

Rhaegar looks as regal as he always does while behind him his youngest children debark from the
wheelhouse. Jon watches while they are formally introduced along with Rhaenys and Aegon.

Stay on your horse Jon, don’t pretend like you are important enough to move your way to the front.
Remain where you are, wait until we tell you what to do. don't move because if you do people may
feel offended. You should stay there, don’t say anything, don’t embarrass us. Allow us the chance
to pretend you are not here, you do not exist. You are a nobody and no one cares about you.

His horse tenses his nervosity and has trouble standing still. His hands are sweaty and he can hear
his blood pump to his head while he vaguely notices how Aegon kisses Catelyn’s hand.

‘Jon.’

He closes his eyes when he hears his father call for him, then he lets himself glide of his horse, the
watchful eyes of Aegon piercing through his back. He gives the reins to Sir Malckom and slowly
walks towards his father, his brother, his family. Horrible images of him stumbling over something
and falling down poison his mind. He can only look at Ned, if he looks at Robb, Aegon, his father,
he may lose this control over himself that has kept him standing upright for many years now.

Eddard Stark, his uncle, his mother’s brother, the man who taught him all about honor, all about
duty and family, he is right there and it seems surreal. He bows his head the way he knows he
should, ‘Lord Stark.’

Ned’s hair has greyed, he has gained some weight and there is no youthful glimmer in his eyes
anymore, but apart from that his features are still the same and looking at his smile makes Jon feel
as at home as the towers of the castle had when they first appeared on the horizon. ‘Uncle.’ Ned
said, ‘I am your uncle.’

‘I am glad to be back.’ He should not have said that, he knows he shouldn’t, if people were not
watching him Aegon would almost certainly roll his eyes. Jon said it anyway, because somehow,
he feels like here, at Winterfell, he can say things he should not say.

‘We are glad to have you back.’ The way Ned studies him inquiringly, a bit inquisitively, makes
Jon wonder what he tries to see.

‘You look so well.’ Catelyn says and if she was an emotional woman there would be tears in her
eyes, ‘Just a little boy when you left and look at you now.’ Lady Stark’s hair has not greyed,
instead it turned a shade darker. Her face shows some wrinkles but her skin is as fair as he
remembers. In that moment, Jon still feels like a little boy, a child who would very much like it to
be told that everything will all be well very soon.

Jon looks at Robb and he sees excitement on his face covered up with uncertainty and then when
Jon nods at him he smirks and it is a wide, happy smile.

‘Cousin.’ He wants to hug him, hug him fiercely, but he can see his father in the corner of his eye.
How can Jon hug his cousin like a brother when his actual brother, just a few feet away, is
watching him with repugnance?

‘Jon,’ his father says, ‘You ought to greet your bride.’

Bride. What an awful word. He had almost forgotten she would be here too, with her family,
standing next to Robb, expecting the king, the queen, the crown prince and all the rest of them.
Almost.

She steps forward at his father’s words, as if she'd been standing in the shadows, hiding behind her
brother’s back. Jon hopes he is concealing his own anxiety and nervousness better than she is
because she can't stop looking at the ground beneath her feet, she avoids all eye-contact as her
hands play with the skirts of her dress and she seems to be clenching her teeth.
Sansa Stark is not reasonably looking.

There are many words that he comes up with when he tries to describe her to himself but
reasonable is not among them. If any man ever would call her reasonable she should take it as a
vile insult.

He has never seen a girl with more beautiful hair. The color is what Rhaenys will call intriguing
and so very rich. It frames her small face, emphasizes her high cheekbones and makes her eyes
pop. Her lips are full and round, her nose is straight and small, her forehead is perhaps a bit high
and she still has these full cheeks of a blooming teenage girl. If she used to be tall she definitely is
now, almost as tall as he is, skinny too and pale, very pale, even for a northern girl, because he can
still see it when her face is this flushed. Her neck is long and slim and she has tiny hands that
clutch each other as if her life depends on it, making her knuckles white.

He feels like a fool, a major, extreme idiot. His voice gets caught in his throat, he forgets how to
breathe for a moment and the hairs in his neck stand up when she looks at him, straight at him,
boldly almost, as if she is challenging him. Her eyes are red, bloodshot and big. Really very big,
and blue and pretty. The prettiest eyes he has ever seen. Their color reminds him of the sky at
King’s landing in the morning, when the sun just raises and shines brightly after heavy rainfall
during the night.

He feels like everyone is expectantly waiting for him to say something charming but he can’t come
up with anything and he didn’t think he would have had to prepare for this. Aegon would have
prepared for this, he would know exactly what to say.

‘M-m’lady.’

She doesn’t speak and turns her head sideways to her father as if she is asking him to confirm that
this really is the idiot she is going to be stuck with for the rest of her life. Ned says nothing and
then Jon’s father speaks, ‘Lord Stark, take me to your crypts, I want to pay my respects.’

Cersei objects but she is completely disregarded, which is to her, Jon suspects, possibly the worst
beginning imaginable for this visit.

Catelyn chooses this moment to escort the Queen and her brood inside, to the guest tower, where
they no doubt will be staying. He catches their eyes, Rhaenys frowns at him, probably because his
face is red, or maybe because he stares and she thinks he is behaving extremely indecent. Tommen
waves at him, excitement in his green eyes, and Jon wishes he could find the energy to wave back.

It’s just Aegon and his father now, they look so impressing, so powerful and mighty. So much
alike and yet complete opposites.

Jon tries to pull his eyes away from Sansa Stark but he can’t and he barely notices their fathers
leaving them there. Aegon does not stay either, he retreats to the horses and men, to be the proper
prince and watch their household settle. It means that Jon can think again.

Sansa must believe that this is a consent to leave too because she walks away from him and
everyone else without having spoken a single word. He is about to stare after her but manages to
stop himself just in time. When he turns and catches Aegon looking he knows that if Aegon could
kill him right there, with just his eyes, he would. Jon feels goosebumps tickle all over his body and
a sudden strike of fear.

He is lost for a moment when Robb walks over to him and they hug each other fervidly. He can
forget it now, all of them, the way they look at him, the way they speak to him, the way they hated
him from the moment he came into their lives.

‘Welcome home, cousin.’ Robb says and Jon nods, this is his home, it still is and he suddenly
doesn't understand how he ever could've doubted that.

Ned

The underground crypts are long and narrow and it's cold in there, the hot springs don’t do their
work as well as in the great keep and Ned shivers. All the dead Starks have a statue with a sword in
their lap and a wolf at their feet. It looks as daunting as it is impressive, much like the king, really.

‘Jon looks good.’ He says. he wants to say it before they arrive at the last three graves. 'Is he
pleased? About coming back here? About the wedding?’

‘I have not spoken to him about it.’

That seems unlikely and the answer catches Ned off guard, ‘I know he had little to do with all the
arrangements and I don't want him to feel forced.’ He knows how awful it is to say that, how he
dares to say it when he is forcing his own daughter is beyond himself.

‘Jon doesn't let anyone force him to do anything, least of all me.’ Ned smiles to himself at that
comment because it sounds like Lyanna. Jon looks like Lyanna too, as much as Ned remembers,
that has nog changed. The mere sight of him in the courtyard of the castle where he was born and
raised brought tears to Ned’s eyes. Lyanna’s boy has returned to his family, he is home again,
where he belongs.

‘We have all missed him.’ Ned says but the king does not respond.

Rhaegar does not speak until they reach the grave of Jon’s mother, it's the last grave, a woman next
to the statue of her father and her brother, ‘I never gave you permission to bury her here.’ Rhaegar
says and the comment infuriates Ned far more then he lets on.

‘She was my sister.’ Ned says, ‘She was a Stark born and lost at Winterfell, it was her wish to be
buried here.’

Rhaegar, again, does not respond and Ned remembers how Jon was never a hero with words. He
now knows where that comes from. Rhaegar places his hand on the statue’s cheek and Ned feels
entirely out of place, like he should not witness this, he feels like an invader. Rhaegar managed to
make him feel like an invader in his own castle.

‘How was your journey, your grace?’

‘Long,’ Rhaegar says, ‘The North is wide and seems endless.’

It's the first thing that Rhaegar says that does not make Ned’s blood boil. He wonders for a second
if the bodies of his father and brother, burned by the mad king, brutally killed by Aerys II, make
Rhaegar feel uncomfortable. He hopes it does, it was his father who killed them, killed them
because they demanded the return of their daughter and sister, the girl Rhaegar himself stole from
them. But as much as he wants it he knows it likely doesn’t. If anything, Rhaegar seems in another
world, in a different place, he seems unaware of Ned’s presence never mind the presence of
corpses with the exception of one.

‘How can there be snow in the middle of winter? No wonder it is so scarcely populated.’

'Is this why you took her with you all the way to Dorne?' Ned wants to ask, 'Because you don’t like
snow? Is this why I had to go to the other side of the realm to get her back and safe, why it took me
so long to bring her home?'

‘It has not snowed at Winterfell for some moons.’ Ned says.

‘When shall they be married?’

‘Her nameday.’ Ned answers, ‘My wife insists.’

Rhaegar nods and Ned is glad he does not question Cat’s insistence, Sansa is young and Cat has
been a witness to the consequences of young brides far too often, once Ned was too and the
memory of his sister dying in a pool of her own blood frightened Ned more than any battle ever
could, ‘When is this?’

‘Only a week from now, your Grace.’

‘We shall leave the next morning.’ He finally looks at Ned, ‘She seems in good health, if the gods
are good they may grant them a fruitful and happy union.’

‘Yes.’ Ned breathes, Rhaegar has no idea how badly he hopes so, ‘I am glad that you agreed for
them to stay in Winterfell.’

‘It was your only request, and I expected it.’ Rhaegar says simply.

‘I did not believe you would accept.’ Ned admits.

‘I'm glad.’ Rhaegar says, ‘I always prefer to be unpredictable.’ It sounds like something Jon could
say and that makes him smile more than the comment itself. He wants to ask why he agreed, but
somehow, he knows that no matter what, Rhaegar won't tell him the truth anyway.

‘What about Jon Arryn?’ Ned asks instead, ‘What happened?’

‘I have never seen a man die so quickly.’ Rhaegar tells him, ‘From healthy to dead within a
fortnight.’

‘Lady Stark was upset, she fears for her sister. How is she bearing her grief?’

‘Lysa Arryn is no ordinary woman.’ Rhaegar does not mean it as a compliment, ‘She has taken her
son with her, back to the Eyrie, I wanted to have him fostered by Tywin Lannister but she refused,
left in the dead of the night.’

‘Perhaps I could foster the boy, your grace? He is my nephew.’

‘It would be an insult to Tywin.’ Rhaegar says, ‘He has already agreed.’

And, just like that, the subject is closed. Ned wonders how a man can do so little and still manage
to radiate this much power, it is as terrifying as it is impressive. Ned knows it is a typical
Targaryen quality, one Jon did not inherit, not really, it didn't seem like it when he was twelve and
Ned doubts that changed.

‘We ought to leave, the queen is waiting for me.’

Rhaegar turns to walk away but then Ned remembers, ‘We should discuss the Night’s Watch your
grace,’ He says, ‘The numbers of desertions have increased dramatically, five brothers have lost
their heads this summer only.’ It won’t be long till Ned will have to send his own men to the wall
to defend it from wildling invasions, the rumors about the size of Mance Raiders army are
threatening.

Rhaegar nods, ‘We shall speak about it, lord Stark.’ He promises.

‘One more thing, your grace,’ Ned says, he means to make the most of this time with the King,
alone, without his queen sitting next to him, he does not trust Cersei Lannister, ‘There was a dead
direwolf found south of the wall, attacked by a stag.’

‘How peculiar.’ Rhaegar says and Ned knows what he means by it, it stings as much as it angers
him.

‘The direwolf died but six pups were found with the body.’

‘Pups?’

‘I gave five of them to my children, I would like to give the sixth to your son.’

‘I was not aware direwolves are kept as pets.’

Ned wants to ask him what he knows of them exactly, but he doesn’t, instead he says, ‘Its an
albino, so very beautiful. I am sure Jon will be able to look after it very well. He was always a
responsible boy.’

Rhaegar looks at him for a moment, Ned can’t read his face and then he simply says, ‘It won’t
bother me either way.’ Before walking away, making Ned follow him like a servant, down in the
crypts of his own family in his own castle.

Sansa

‘He’s so handsome.’

Sansa looks at her fork when Jeyne coos over someone, ‘Yes.’ She says. She can’t look up, when
she looks up she may see him and she doesn’t want to see him, seeing him makes this all far too
real.

She did not want to go to this feast, she did not want to get dressed and look pretty. She wanted to
stay in bed and hide her head under her furs. She is not hungry and she does not want to smile.

‘You’re so lucky.’

‘What?’ Sansa looks up at her in confusion, finds that Jeyne is not looking at her but at someone
else and she follows her gaze right towards the thing she did not want to look at.

‘Don’t you think so?’ Sansa immediately looks down at her fork again, she does not want to think
about him, least of all she wants to talk about him, why is everyone forcing her to?

‘Maybe.’ She whispers.

Her cousin Jon Snow is handsome, undeniably so, yet he looks nothing like the husband she
always dreamed of, the one she expected her whole life to marry. His hair is dark not silver gold,
his eyes are grey not purple, his face has an evident jawline but no high cheekbones. Worst of all
he does not look like a prince, and by that Sansa means he does not impress her, he lacks the royal
posture in every way. He looks nice, kind and friendly. He makes people laugh but no one watches
and listens in awe when he speaks. Everyone seems in awe of Aegon.

Sansa can’t look at Aegon either, the humiliation and disappointment stings too much still, the
wound is too deep and she can’t afford to cry, not in front of everyone. The king, the queen... The
queen is so beautiful, she looks graceful and took Sansa's breath away when she first saw her. Her
hair is so wonderfully pretty and Sansa is sure her dress is made of the purest silks Winterfell has
ever seen.

Sansa is wearing a dress she made herself, she used to love it, she was so proud of it, but compared
to all the ladies of the court, compared to Rhaenys’ dress, the Queen’s dress and Myrcella... She
feels like a peasant girl.

‘Did he smell like salt?’ Jeyne asks.

‘I don’t know,’ Sansa says, ‘I’ve not been close enough.’ She doesn’t want to find out, who cares
what he smells like, it does not matter. What does salt even smell like? Maybe it is just a story
made up in the hope to keep girls away from bastards, for their own goodwill. If all bastards look
like Jon Snow she can understand why they have to make up such stories. Her betrothed attracts the
eyes of girls like honey attracts bees and she wonders if he pretends not to notice, like Robb always
does, or if he really doesn't. Maybe he is used to it, maybe girls from the capital are much prettier,
maybe he doesn't care, maybe he thinks Sansa's ugly too, in her stupid dress.

Sansa's face turns bright red and she looks away in the hope Jeyne won't see, ‘What does salt even
smell like?’

Jeyne giggles, ‘Like bastards, I suppose.’

‘Don’t say that word.’ Sansa hisses, she doesn’t know why it annoys her.

‘He’s looking at you.’ Sansa wants to run away, as fast as she can as soon as she can, as far away as
possible, and never ever come back too. ‘Don’t blush,’ Jeyne giggles some more, ‘Maybe he can
see.’

‘I don’t care about what he can or cannot see.’ Sansa hisses through her clenched teeth, throwing
her fork down on the table in an unladylike manner, ‘I don’t care what he looks like and I don’t
care where he looks at.’

‘I would if I were you.’ Jeyne seems a little stunned at her small outbreak.

Sansa quickly tries to change the subject, ‘Isn’t Rhaenys beautiful?’

‘Yes,’ Jeyne sighs, allowing the change of subject, ‘She is so beautiful, she is radiant.’

Radiant is not the word Sansa would pick to describe Princess Rhaenys but she is gorgeous. Her
hair is darker than the crown-prince's, it's golden, long and perfect and Sansa loves the way it's
braided at the top of her head, keeping a tiny tiara in place. Her eyes are wide and blue of color
with an evident strike of lilac. Despite the fierce look on her face, Sansa thinks she looks frail, like
she could break if someone would only dare touch her, she’s not tall at all and rather skinny, with
few curves. Sansa can imagine that if Rhaenys sleeps, she looks like a corpse. It doesn't matter, she
radiates a pride that matches Cersei's. She looks confident, arrogant and haughty. There really is
something in her eyes, and the way she scans the room and the way the king looks at her makes
Sansa wonder who really is the queen.

Sansa does not look at Rhaenys very long, her eyes drift off and she finds them looking at Robb,
who bursts out laughing and slams Theon on his back with a flat hand. Sansa hopes it's because he
was choking on his drink. Theon is disgusting. Robb is probably laughing at something disgusting
Theon said.
Jon Snow is not laughing, he doesn't even seem to listen. Her eyes meet his and he smiles at her.
Jon Snow has a sweet smile, they match his sweet eyes. His smile is uncertain and unassured, he
looks precarious.

Sansa takes a shaky breath and her hands clasp the fork she just threw down. She wants to smile
back but she can’t and she doesn’t know why. He deserves to be smiled at, especially when his
own looks so sweet.

‘Sansa?’

She looks up in terror, as if she is caught in an act that is extremely improper.

‘Your mother is asking for you.’ Septa Mordane tells her.

Sansa walks over to where her mother, Rhaenys Targaryen and Cersei Lannisters are seated. She
bows her head, ‘Your Grace.’

‘Hello little dove.’ The queen says and she smiles at Sansa, ‘But you are a beauty. Such a shame
you won’t come to the capital, you would do so well at court, beauties shouldn’t stay hidden.’

Sansa can feel her mother’s eyes burn, ‘Thank you, your grace.’

‘How old are you again?’

‘Sixteen your grace.’ Sansa answers.

‘Ah yes,’ Rhaenys says immediately, her voice is a peculiar one for a lady, it croaks but it sounds
rather pleasant and it's extremely smart, ‘That’s why we are staying for so long, she has to turn ten
and seven years first, remember?’ Sansa for a moment believes she sees something close to
suspicion in the princess’s eyes and it makes her feel uncomfortable, ‘You’re very pretty,’ Rhaenys
tells her, she does not sound like she means it, ‘My brother is a very lucky boy.’

‘Thank you, my princess.’

‘You’re tall.’ Cersei says, ‘Have you stopped growing?’

‘I think so, your grace.’

‘And your dress, did you make it?’

Sansa feels her face heat up and she looks at her mother, begging for help but Catelyn says nothing
and Sansa nods her head, ‘Yes, your grace.’

‘Such a talent,’ The Queen says and she smiles, it seems so very well-meant and gives Sansa some
self-assurance.

‘You must make something for me sometime.’ Rhaenys adds before giving Sansa a short but
assuring smile.

When Sansa walks back to her seat she feels like she can conquer the world and ride dragons if
they still lived to fly up and bring her to places far from here, far away from Jon Snow. She
realizes she fantasizes of the Queen urging the King to marry Aegon to her still.

You must, king husband, honestly, she is terribly lovely and she makes the prettiest dresses. Lady
Sansa behaves like a proper lady and she really ought to be at court, what a waste it would be.
Sansa knows it won’t happen. In the weeks waiting for the royal arrival she has come to terms with
her fate, but that does not mean she stopped dreaming, Sansa doubts she ever will, since it's all she
has ever done, and all she will ever have.

The rest of the night goes by before she knows it. She is introduced to the king too, by her father,
who seems proud of her when he does and that makes her happy. The king says very little to her,
nothing but ‘You look like a lovely lady, my son is fortunate.’ She meets Myrcella and Tommen,
they say even less.

Tommen is soon brought to his room, he falls asleep with his head on the table. Myrcella tells her
she is pleased that Sansa will marry her brother, ‘Nobody has been married yet! I’ve been waiting
for a wedding for so long.’

She meets everyone but Joffrey, who looks at her a lot but seems to avoid her and Aegon, who
never looks at her, just walks around a bit, whispers in Rhaenys’ ear, nudges Jon in his side (who
seems relatively annoyed with the gesture), introduces himself gallantly to Sansa’s mother for the
second time that day and mostly does not leave his father’s side. He looks arrogant but in a good
way. He is so very attractive and his eyes carefully observe the whole room. He is a dream.

Aegon leaves early, kissing Rhaenys on her cheek before he excuses himself.

Sansa feels a little giddy when she walks up to her room when her mother tells her it's bedtime.
Catelyn escorts her upstairs and helps her get undressed and brushes her hair, like she does so
often, all in silence. Then she tells Sansa to sit down on her bed, which Sansa does dutifully.

‘How are you my sweet girl?’

‘Good, mother, thank you.’

‘What do you make of him?’ Sansa thinks she asks after the king for a moment until she realizes
she must mean Jon Snow.

‘He looks...’ Sansa struggles to find the right word, ‘Nice.’

‘He does, doesn’t he?’ Catelyn sighs and looks at her hands, clasped together, ‘You must be nice to
him too, for your own sake. He is your cousin and your father cares a great deal about him, perhaps
you will care for him too, one day, as I have come to care for your father.’

Sansa looks up at her mother, she wants to promise that she will be nice to Jon Snow, but she
doesn't because all she wants to do is ignore him and she is not yet ready to give up on that plan no
matter how much she knows that she must and will.

‘I think he is a good man, he will be a good husband.’

‘I’m sure.’ Sansa says and she knows her mother can hear the obvious disbelieve in her voice.

Catelyn sighs again and moves to sit down next to Sansa on her bed, 'I have decided that the time
has come for me to prepare you for your marriage bed.'

Sansa does not quite understand what that means, she knows of the term, she knows how people
giggle and joke about it, but she always assumed women do not have to prepare for it, the man
probably knows all about it.

‘You see, when a man and woman are married,’ Catelyn stops to find the right phrase, ‘They will
have to try their best to make children, it is their duty. The man and the woman both, equally.’
Sansa nods, she knows that.

‘The man must touch the woman to do so.’

Sansa knows that too.

‘It will hurt, you won’t like it.’ Catelyn says and she takes a string of Sansa’s hair between her
fingers, ‘He won’t notice and you must not be angry with him for it. It is simply the way of things,
you see?’

Sansa nods again even though she did not know that, ‘How much will it hurt?’

Catelyn presses her lips together firmly before she says, ‘You must try not to cry. Maybe very soon
you shall give your husband a son and it will all be worth it.’

Sansa begins to greatly dislike this conversation, ‘Will it be messy?’ She asks, ‘Like when my
moonblood comes?’

‘Maybe. But not as messy, not like that.’ Sansa doesn’t want to go to her marriage bed, it sounds
awful, like something she should have been warned about much sooner. Catelyn pulls her fingers
through Sansa’s hair, ‘You will be alright, I promise.’

‘What..’ Sansa wants to ask what exactly will happen, what will be so messy, what will hurt
exactly? And where? But she knows her mother won’t tell her, 'I don't think I understand.'

‘He’ll know what to do, don’t you worry about that.’ Catelyn says, maybe she guesses what Sansa
wants to ask, ‘Perhaps he has done it before.’

What has he done before? Sansa wants to know and she really doesn’t at the same time.

Catelyn kisses the top of Sansa’s head, ‘I am so very proud of you, my lovely girl, you looked
beautiful today.’

‘Thank you.’ Sansa says, her voice shaky and as hoarse as the voice of princess Rhaenys.

Catelyn stands up and moves to the door, ‘Don’t think about it too much, it will all be fine
eventually.’ She smiles reassuringly and Sansa tries to return it.

Eventually? When will that be?

‘Good night.’ Catelyn says before she turns and leaves Sansa alone with all her fear and agony.

Sansa brings her knees up to her chin and closes her eyes. She can feel a headache creep in as she
rocks herself back and forth, hugging her legs.

How is this happening to her? What has she ever done to deserve this? It is all so awfully unfair.
She never asked for any of this. She has always been a good daughter, has never given her parents
any reason for worry, not like Arya, or Bran with his climbing. She can feel the tears well up in her
eyes once again, the feeling has become far too familiar lately. She does not want to get married,
she does not want to go to her marriage bed, she does not want to feel pain and forgive him for
doing that to her.

She is not sure if she'll ever be able to forgive him for all the rest he is doing to her either. she hates
it that he looks at her as if he feels sorry for her, like he knows. He doesn't know, he can't possibly
understand and she doesn't want him to pity her. She wants to hate him, curse him like she has been
doing for weeks now, but as she lays her head down on her pillow and feels sleep take over she
knows she can't. Not anymore.

It was easy to hate Jon Snow when he was a ten and two years old boy from her vague memories
who seemed to be the sole reason for all her dreams to come crushing down on her.

It is impossible to hate a nine and ten years old grown-up Jon Snow, especially when he looks at
her with his kind eyes, a shy and timid smile on his handsome face looking at her apologetically
because he knows.

He knows she does not want him, he knows that marrying him feels like the greatest
disappointment of her life. She knows that he knows and somehow that makes her feel a little bit
guilty.

Jon

Jon wants to pretend he never left and at this feast it feels like he can.

Arya throws herself in his arms and while doing so she asks him, in his ear so no one else can hear
her, ‘Jon, where is the imp?’ He just laughs and ruffles her hair.

Bran introduces him to Rickon, ‘This is our cousin, Jon, he used to live with us before you came,
and now he is back. Father says you are going to stay forever, is it true?’

‘I don’t know about forever,’ Jon says, ‘but for the time being, I suppose.’

He can’t stop beaming, his jaw will be sore at the end of the day if this will last much longer, he
knows that Cersei is carefully keeping an eye on him, Rhaenys too, but it doesn't bother him, they
can't bother him, not now, not here.

‘How long have you been riding actually?’ Robb asks.

‘Since sunrise, we wanted to make sure we would arrive in the afternoon.’ He says, ‘We left
King’s Landing a moon's turn ago.’

‘You’ve been riding for a moon's turn?’ Arya looks up at him, she has grown since he last saw her,
naturally, but she is not tall, her face is long and her eyes are grey, just like his. She is clearly not a
natural beauty, but Jon finds her pretty, and her character seems to not have changed one bit. She
always used to be so bubbly and bold, he remembers how lady Stark once said that you should
never deny Arya anything because it will immediately become her heart’s desire.

‘Yes.’ He says, ‘It was not that bad really, could’ve been much worse, we reached the Neck sooner
than they expected.’ Jon drinks more wine than he usually allows himself while Robb keeps
talking and the combination gives Jon no opportunity to think, which is exactly what he wants.

Robb tells him about things they can do, things they are going to do, things that have happened.
Arya keeps asking him questions. Where is Ser Jaime? Where is Rhaenys? Is that the hound? Did
it hurt to ride for a moon's turn? Where did you sleep? In taverns or just outside? He tries to answer
them all.

When Arya, Bran and Rickon are forced to go to bed Theon starts telling them a story that ends
with a woman he claims came from the Westerlands. Jon knows what they say about the Ironborn,
in King’s landing they say they lay with children before bedtime. He never actually believed that
story but it suddenly became a lot more likely to him now, no matter how much of an idiot Theon
seems.
He remembers never liking him. Theon has been raised among the Starks as Jon was, despite not
being their family. He ate with them, played with them and fought with them. When the time came
for Jon to leave, Theon was allowed to stay. Jon was their cousin, half a Stark, yet still had to go.
Even after all these years it still makes Jon feel jealous.

Jon’s glad Theon waited with the story until after the children left for their beds, especially with
Arya asking so many questions. Robb laughs and Jon shakes his head when he can see a girl with
mousy brown hair stare at him.

He doesn't realize in what direction he’s looking when two blue eyes find his. He loses track of
Theon’s story and decides that he should definitely smile at her, because why not.

She doesn't smile back, he probably would not have either if he'd been her, but the freezing cold on
her face has melted and now she looks a little uncertain instead.

Seven hells she’s really pretty. How can she be so pretty? He’s not used to getting pretty things, it is
not exactly the way of things, good things are never meant for him. A mistake must've been made,
maybe a miscommunication or a misunderstanding. His father never makes a mistake and if
anyone knows that it's Jon.

She is prettier than Myrcella, more beautiful than Rhaenys too, he’s confident that with the right
demeanor she’ll make Cersei look ordinary. He thanks their seven gods and his own that she won't
have to marry Aegon, it would have definitely been a waste. Aegon would’ve made her miserable,
as miserable as he is himself, he would’ve preferred her that way.

She gets up from her chair and Jon can't see where she goes to because he freezes when someone
slaps him on his shoulder.

‘Uncle Benjen!’ Robb hugs the man in black and Jon follows his example.

‘What happened to you? Where is my little nephew? I want him back he was much prettier.’

Jon grins as his uncle joins them at their table, ‘They did not tell me you’d be here!’

‘Of course!’ Benjen ruffles Robb’s hair as if he is still a child, ‘I wouldn't want to miss my nephew
and niece tying the knot. I looked forward to Robb's wedding for so long, you can’t imagine my
disappointment when I found out it got cancelled.’

Robb shrugs, ‘I am in no rush, Jon is older than me.’

‘Aye, but cousin Jon is a bastard and they usually don't get married, so it’s not a very good
comparison to make.’

‘I'll leave it to Sansa to make up for my failures.’ Robb laughs.

Ben Stark slams Jon on his shoulder for the second time, ‘I have new disappointments now.’ He
says, ‘The Night's Watch could have used a man like you.’

‘What?’ Robb looks at Jon in confusion.

Jon stares at his plate, his dream of joining the knights in black was never allowed to become
anything more than one of his hopes to leave King’s Landing. ‘I'm afraid that won't happen now.’

Uncle Benjen just laughs, gets up again and walks over to Ned, 'Don't get drunk!'
‘The Night’s Watch?’ Robb asks him when their uncle can no longer hear them.

Jon shrugs, ‘It's like he said, bastards usually don't get married.’

‘You could have had a few bastards of your own.’

‘I'll never father bastards.’ Jon says and he clenches his teeth when he tries to keep his voice down,
‘Never.’

‘I think I will.’ Theon suddenly says and Robb grins in amusement, ‘Why wouldn't you join the
King's Guard? You have the connections.’

‘Do I?’ Jon stops himself from rolling his eyes.

‘The princess Myrcella seems to be quite smitten with you.’ Theon tells Robb, ‘Perhaps you can
marry her.’

‘Marry her yourself.’ Robb shakes his head, ‘I think the Targaryens will have seen enough of the
Starks for a long time after this week.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ Jon says and Robb laughs again before he remembers to inform him of his
sleeping conditions.

‘You are in your old room, did you know that?’

Jon nods.

‘We thought about giving you one of the rooms in the guesthouse like the rest of your family but
mother thought it made no sense, you are not a guest and you’re only going to sleep there for a
week anyway.’

‘A week?’

Robb and Theon both laugh this time, ‘Sansa’s not going to sleep in there, she’s accustomed to her
accommodations as they are right now,’ Robb takes a sip from his wine, ‘More space, that is.’

‘It’s fine.’ Jon says, suddenly no longer capable of looking at him, ‘It’s perfect, I don’t need
another room.’

He doesn't notice Theon leaving until he is already gone. Robb leans behind in his chair with his
arms crossed, ‘Are you happy to be back?’

‘Look at them. My brothers, the queen.’ Robb doesn’t look, ‘I can't wait until I'll never have to see
them again.’

Robb doesn’t ask more questions, he looks like he may understand, like he gets what Jon is trying
to tell him. Neither of them ever used to be good at talking, they are still comfortable in their
silence, not everything needs to be said aloud. When they were boys they could communicate
without opening their mouths and it seems like some things never change.

Then Robb smirks, ‘When father leaves I’ll be lord of Winterfell, he told me you are going to help
me. When you marry Sansa, you’ll be my brother-in-law, you’ll be my kin.’

Jon nods, ‘I’ll be your brother-in-law.’

Just like that their silent bubble bursts and Robb continues his rambling, ‘Father says we can go on
a hunt, before the wedding, I mean. It has already been arranged. We can spar together like we
used to, in the courtyard. We are teaching Bran to work with a bow and arrow, me and Theon, he’s
not much good now but he’s only twelve so he may get better. The weather has been good to us,
father says winter is coming but it has been a while since we saw snow. It's perfect for the hunt,
you will love the hunt! I saw your horse, he’ll do well. Or maybe you are tired? You must be tired,
you said you’ve been riding since the sun came up.’

‘No,’ Jon says, ‘I’m not tired.’ His back hurts though, his hands too, thanks to the steers, but the
pain is worth it. He wouldn’t have wanted to be on the road with Aegon at one side and Joffrey at
the other for one more single day.

‘You’ll get married on Sansa’s nameday because mother insisted.’ Robb suddenly says, ‘She
thinks Sansa’s too young, she wanted to wait ‘til she was eighteen.’

Jon doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t want to talk about Sansa, not with Robb, not when she is
sitting just at the other side of the hall. Except she isn't, not anymore. He can't find her in the hall,
she left, and so did her mother. ‘Where is she now?’ he doesn't really know why he asks.

‘Sansa?’ Robb shrugs, ‘I don’t know, probably in her room, brushing her hair.’

‘Brushing her hair?’

‘Well, you know what girls are like.’

Jon doesn’t really know what girls are like. In King’s Landing, they used to stay away from him, or
really, they used to drool too much over Aegon to ever notice his presence.

‘Sansa thinks her life is like the songs.’

Jon looks away from Robb’s face to his hands in his lap. He remembers Sansa’s songs, he
remembers she knew them all by heart, she was good at singing them, they were about knights,
princes, princesses and noble ladies in castles. He reminds himself, again, that there are no songs
written about bastards. The way she looked at him this afternoon, in the courtyard, when she
raised, will haunt him tonight because he knows that her eyes had been bloodshot for a reason.

‘Sansa is she-‘ He doesn’t know what he is going to ask when he opens his mouth and he doesn’t
finish his sentence.

Robb looks at him expectantly but there is some nervousness in his features as well as if he doesn’t
actually want to know.

‘How is she?’

‘You mean what is she like?’

‘She’s not happy about this at all, is she?’

Robb looks at him apologetically but says nothing.

‘It’s fine.’ Jon says, ‘I don't know why this is happening either. It’s fine, I don’t mind, I’m used to
it.’

‘Used to what?’ Robb asks.

‘I don’t know.’ Jon gets up, ‘I think I'll go to bed.’

 ‘What are you used to?’ Robb insists.

Jon wants to say being unwanted but he doesn’t because it will sound sad and he doesn’t want to
make it seem like he pities himself, so instead he says, ‘Not being exactly what people want me to
be.’

Robb gets up too, ‘Well that is a good thing because I don't think Sansa ever wants what is best for
her.

Chapter End Notes

I watched the arrival of King Robert season 1 episode 1 on yt while writing this
chapter and one comment said Cersei always looks like she swallowed a lemon, I
kinda stole the comment.
 The White Wedding
Chapter Summary

Ned was right when he said Jon will be an excellent husband. He might be a bastard
but somehow there is more honour and duty in him than in all his other siblings
combined.

Chapter Notes

Thanks everyone for reviewing and everything, it really means a lot!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Sansa

She can hardly remember what Jon Snow once looked like. It is like a twelve-year-old child left
and a complete stranger returned and took his place. She knows he looks just like his mother now
because everyone makes comments about it.

Sansa never knew Jon’s mother, just her statue in the crypt, but Lyanna Stark must’ve looked a lot
like her brother because Jon can easily pass by as one of Ned Stark’s own.

Jon never knew his mother either. Lady Lyanna died of childbed fever, not long after giving birth
to him. Everybody knows that. They say Sansa's aunt died in a pool of blood.

It is a sad story, the story of Prince Rhaegar and his lady Lyanna, sad and tragically romantic.
Sansa knows there are songs about them, sometimes she hears one, but her father never allows any
of these during feasts.

Rhaegar was married to Elia Martell, she loved him dearly and he cared for her deeply, but his
heart belonged to another.

Lyanna’s family was furious when she ran off with the prince, all the way to Dorne. Her eldest
brother, Brandon, went south, to King’s Landing, to demand her back, but he was thrown in one of
the black cells by the mad king's demand.

When Lyanna’s father asked for his son to be released, both of them were burned, by prince
Rhaegar’s father, in the throne room of the red keep, while all the court did nothing but watch.

Lyanna’s betrothed, Robert Baratheon, declared war on the Targaryens and marched to the
Crownlands, expecting the support of the Starks.

But instead of joining his friend and childhood companion in battle, Eddard Stark, Sansa’s own
father, the new lord of Winterfell, travelled south, where he found Lyanna, pregnant with prince
Rhaegar’s child.

Ned brought his sister home to Winterfell where, the same day Rhaegar Targaryen killed Robert
Baratheon, a son was born.

The mad king wanted to set the capital on fire but he was stabbed and killed by the kingslayer.
When Rhaegar was crowned and his Martell wife died during the night, killed by Baratheon rebels,
he did not punish the Lannister family for their murder but married a lion instead to secure their
loyalty, one so fair every knight dedicated poems to her.

But Rhaegar never forgot his lady Lyanna and now, bound by blood, there is peace between the
North and the crown once more.

When Rhaegar asked what should become of his bastard son lord Stark told him:

His name is Jon, and he will be a Snow, a son of the North, born at Winterfell. My blood runs
through his veins, he is my sister’s boy and I will raise him as my own.

Lord Stark kept his word, and raised him as his own and among his own. A dragon among wolves
who became a wolf among lions when his king father, years later, demanded to have his son
returned to him.

Jon Snow is a bastard and made no claim to the throne, but he is the only son of the king who was
ever born from a true and tragic love and as Sansa watches him from a distance, she wonders if this
is why he seems so sad.

Septa Mordane helps her embroider her wedding dress. The Queen gifts her silks from the south as
a wedding gift and they are the most beautiful silks Sansa has ever seen.

Septa Mordane suggests they might embroider it with the Targaryen house sigil but Sansa refuses.
‘Snow,’ She says, ‘He is not a Targaryen, he is a Snow. I shall embroider it with snowflakes.’

She does not mean it as an insult, somehow, she knows her future husband won’t take it as one. She
likes the snowflakes and she knows they are far more beautiful than embroidered dragons could
ever be and they will look so very lovely in combination with her Stark cloak.

The silks are a soft blue, light grey and white, they slid through her hands and they remind her of
Lady’s coat. Lady is grey and white and so sweet and gentle, she knows Lady will protect her
everywhere and always, no matter from whom, Lady will protect her from Jon Snow too, if need
be.

Her mother told her not to worry, but it is all she does in the days leading up to her wedding, so
much her fingers sometimes tremble too much to embroider anything decent at all. She tries her
very best to avoid all contact with her future husband, but sometimes she fails terribly.

If there is one thing she learns about Jon Snow it is that he broods a lot, and he rarely ever smiles.
Sansa thinks that when he smiles, the look of it is a treat. He has smiled at her multiple times now,
and it makes her belly do funny things, it makes her nervous most of all.

She catches his eye or he catches hers and he smiles, sometimes she even smiles back. He never
comes to her to speak and she never goes to him either, but she sees him every day.

She catches pieces of conversations he has with his father, one of his brothers, Rhaenys, his uncle
and Robb. His voice has changed drastically in six years’ time, but that is normal of course, so has
Robb’s. Jon Snow’s voice is as pleasant as his sister’s, very hoarse and soft at the same time,
husky, like their father’s.

When she sees her lord father ruffle Jon’s hair she wonders how someone’s hair can look so messy
and so suitable at the same time.

Her mother has been kind to him, unsurprisingly so. She wasn’t happy at first, Sansa knows that,
but now she seems to have accepted and embraced the situation. She looks warmly at Jon, squeezes
his shoulder when he greets her.

Sansa and Jon exchange words, just simple and polite necessities. Only once they have an actual
conversation when no one else can hear them, in the morning, in the great hall. Before she goes to
break her fast, Sansa looks for Lady and finds the albino wolf that is his.

‘He is beautiful.’ Sansa says, she is just taken with the wolf, he is perfectly white and his eyes are
astonishing.

‘I know.’ Jon answers, ‘He is growing so fast.’

‘You did not see them when they came here,’ Sansa tells him, ‘They were very small. I could lift
them up and hold them.’

She looks up from the wolf and finds him watching her intently, immediately she turns her eyes
down, hoping her face will not heat up. He has looked at her that way before and she does not
know if she likes it or dislikes it, it is all terribly confusing.

‘Have you given him a name?’ Sansa asks, still avoiding his gaze, bowing down to stroke the
white fur.

‘Ghost.’ Jon says, ‘Because he is white and he never makes a sound.’

Sansa smiles a little at that, it is a lovely name, a good name, for a lovely wolf. She leaves
immediately when Robb walks in and she tries her best not to look back.

That same day she watches Jon and Robb sparring in the training yield from the covered bridge,
overlooking the courtyard.

The master at arms keeps his eye on a heavily-padded Bran fighting Prince Tommen and it makes
Jon laugh. Jon helps Tommen up when he falls flat on his face and wipes the dirt from his cheek
and somehow it looks endearing to Sansa. When Tommen falls again Jon pulls him up once more
and this time ruffles his hair like Ned ruffled his and Tommen says something that makes him
laugh again. She understands why it all makes him laugh, it looks rather ridiculous.

Jon Snow does not look ridiculous when he fights Sansa’s brother. She has held her father's
longsword once, they are terribly heavy, she does not understand how he manages to lift it up so
easily.

Then Sansa wonders how he can even be down in the yard. Septa Mordane taught her a bastard is
not allowed to damage princes, only trueborn swords can do that. Of course, Robb is not a prince
and if either of the two might be one it would be Jon, his father is the king.

‘Jon said Joffrey looks like a girl.’ Arya tells her and Sansa rolls her eyes, ‘He also said I could
never fight properly because I can’t lift a longsword.’

‘Well, he is right.’

‘If you could just talk to him as much as you stare at him you might actually like him.’

Sansa reddens at the comment, ‘Shut up Arya, you don’t know a thing about it!’
Arya doesn't have to marry Jon Snow, Arya doesn't have to marry anyone, she has no right to tell
Sansa what to do, she can’t possibly understand.

Arya starts to wonder what sigil Jon may use adding how it will be Sansa’s sigil too, ‘He said
ladies get all the sigils and no fighting while bastards get all the fighting and no sigils.’ this time
Sansa reddens out of anger, ‘Joffrey wears both the lion and the three-headed-dragon.’ Arya points
out, ‘Why would he?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t care, what does it matter? Could you shut up about sigils?’

‘I’m glad we don’t wear both out sigils,’ Arya goes on, ‘A wolf with a trout in his mouth will look
ridiculous.’

‘You look ridiculous.’ Sansa declares, ‘Did you even attempt to brush your hair this morning?’

Arya looks hurt at the comment, ‘Yes!’ She says, she wants to clearly say something else but she
doesn’t, instead just angrily storms off and her direwolf follows her.

Down below Bran knocks down Prince Tommen and Sir Rodrick calls Joffrey and Robb for a
fight.

Joffrey is acting as if it is beneath his dignity to fight Starks with practice swords.

Jon laughs at him, says something rude and it surprises Sansa, how he does it so easily.

Jon may be some years older and taller and a son of the king too, but compared to his other siblings
he tends to tell Joffrey the truth a bit too often, she fears.

Joffrey is angered now and makes a few condescending remarks but when Ser Rodrick Cassel says
there won’t be any more real sword fighting he feigns a yawn and leaves with Tommen.

It turns out this is exactly what Jon intended to happen when he happily declares he’s glad to be
‘finally rid of that little shit.’

Sansa frowns at his choice of words and realizes he probably does not know she’s watching them
because she has never heard him use words like these before, they surely must teach him at court
how to behave in front of ladies.

She can’t make herself walk away while she watches Jon and Robb, they look like they have so
much fun, like they enjoy each other’s company, as if they have never been apart. She remembers
them looking just the same, in this exact yard, six years ago.

Not exactly the same though. Rob’s hair used to be less auburn back then, they were not this tall,
they did not swear and their swords were smaller, less heavy and made of wood, like Bran’s is
now. Jon had Bran's age when he left.

He looks like such a Northerner, Sansa realizes. He looks strong and healthy, not arrogant at all,
not like his brothers. His cheeks are red and when he is with Robb in the yard, as he is now, he
grins a lot. But really, he often looks unhappy, very often. Especially when he is around his father,
or his brothers, Sansa knows he doesn’t like Joffrey because he is vocal about that, but he doesn’t
seem fond of Aegon either.

She remembers how she cried and begged when they told her she had to marry him. It makes her
feel bad when she remembers. She has not screamed or begged ever since the royal family arrived.
It seems so awful now, the way she behaved, as if her whole life was ending. As if she was
marrying the butcher’s son.

She is not marrying the butcher’s son. Jon Snow may be a bastard, but he is the king’s bastard. He
does not have the perfect posture and supercilious elegance of his two older siblings, but he has the
attitude of a king’s son nonetheless.

He may be nice to her now, but Sansa does wonder if he’ll still be, when he finds out what she is
like. He obviously enjoys Arya’s company. Sansa is nothing like Arya, not in a thousand years she
will be. What if he’ll find her boring? She can't have her husband, of all people, like Arya more
than he likes her. That seems like the worst thing that could ever happen to her.

The things her mother said go through her head constantly during the last day and night of her
sixteenth year.

Her mother spoke of pain, much pain, like when her moonblood comes but different- worse. It
frightens her even though her mother said it shouldn’t.

Her mother said he will hurt her without noticing and she doesn’t understand. How can you hurt
someone and not notice?

That sounds cruel. Jon Snow doesn’t seem cruel. She doesn’t want him to hurt her, she knows her
mother told her to forgive him but that does not take away her fear, least of all it does not help her
dread.

She can't sleep a wink the night before, no matter how hard she tries and her eyes are wide open as
she stares at the canopy. In the corner of her eyes she can see the white silk of her wedding dress, it
looks amazing lying there, bathed in moonlight.

She lets her hand rest on her belly.

A man has to touch a woman to put a child in her belly.

Touch her how? Her mother said Jon will know what to do, she said he has maybe done it before.

Done what before? Put a child in a woman’s belly? She cannot believe it. She hardly knows him
but somehow she cannot imagine that he would do that.

She has wanted to touch his hair, maybe his hand too, the other day, but no man has ever put a
child in a woman by letting her touch his hair, she is certain of that.

She wishes she asked some more questions, she knows her mother would have eventually answered
them if she pressed on.

Maybe she should have asked Septa Mordane, but she does not think it's very ladylike to do so and
she doesn’t want the Septa to tell her father. It is too late for all that now, anyway.

It’s too late for anything at all when she can see the sun come up and there is a knock on her door.

They have prepared a scented bath for her. She knows they will rub her skin so hard it may peel off
and they will brush her hair aggressively, making her feel like they want her bald. They will help
her get in her wedding dress and they will braid her hair.

When she pulls herself out of her bed to face the unavoidable she flexes all her sore muscles, rubs
through her sleepy eyes, swings her long braid over her shoulder, puts her feet on the cold floor and
peeks through the window.
It’s snowing.

Catelyn

Catelyn cries a little, when she helps prepare her daughter. She makes sure Sansa can't see but she
can’t help herself.

She is so beautiful and makes Catelyn very proud. Especially the last couple of days have proven to
her that her eldest girl is stronger than she lets people believe.

After crying for a month Sansa strengthened her back, put on her best dress and faced reality with
the bravery of a woman grown. Catelyn has seen the king’s please, has heard the queen’s praises
and is aware of the way those southroners look at Sansa with admiration.

It is indeed a shame that Sansa will stay hidden in the North for the time being because she would
do well in the capital.

Catelyn quickly came to terms with the arrangement, much sooner than Sansa, mostly because she
is glad about Sansa staying. Ned has allowed her to keep Rickon at Winterfell, because of his age,
and Robb will stay too, of course, but Bran and Arya will both follow their father south.

When Ned told her about the king’s request to become his hand, she believed it to be a good idea.
Ned intended to refuse but she feared it would insult Rhaegar and bring them all in danger.

After the letter from her sister Lysa arrived only a day ago she was certain he has to go. She read it
apprehensively and immediately burned it after. It was written in their secret language, telling her
Jon Arryn was killed by Queen Cersei and her family.

Ned has to become hand of the King, find the truth of these accusations.

The idea of Ned leaving makes her feel lonely already so she is glad Rickon and Robb can stay,
thankful Sansa will too, especially since she does not wholeheartedly agree with Bran going.

Catelyn loves her children all equally even though some are easier on her than others.

She hoped they may have one more but she knows she has to start giving up on that dream,
especially now that Sansa is getting married, and suddenly she feels so old. Perhaps she will even
become a grandmother soon.

Sansa seems to have taken their short talk rather well, she has not asked any more questions nor has
she seemed afraid. It was Ned who suggested she’d do it after the feast, Catelyn initially wanted to
wait until the evening before but Ned pushed her to do it sooner so Sansa could maybe have some
time to adjust to the idea.

Catelyn is certain she told her enough, too much may have scared her. She prepared her better than
Catelyn herself was ever prepared. She may have purposely made it seem worse than it will be, but
Catelyn prefers Sansa to have the absolute lowest of expectations, it is for the best.

When Catelyn woke up the morning of her daughter’s wedding and saw her husband, the first thing
that came to her mind was how he has not changed a thing since they themselves were married.

Jon looks a lot like his mother, he is a little Ned-replica and that used to sting a bit before, when he
was little, because all the trueborn children Catelyn gave him look after her. Sansa the most,
everybody always comments on it. Seeing Jon and Sansa together is like a step back in time and it
makes her long for her youth again.
She has not seen them together often, however, she is certain they are, at this moment at least,
pleased with the look of each other.

Jon can’t stop staring at Sansa while Sansa tries her best to pretend she does not notice but she fails
when she believes no one is watching. It is not much but it is a start.

If the gods are good their characters will match too. Catelyn has been praying to the seven, the
mother especially, to give her daughter a happy, secure and faithful marriage.

Ned was right when he said Jon will be an excellent husband. He might be a bastard but somehow
there is more honor and duty in him than in all his other siblings combined.

She watched Aegon carefully, when he speaks to his family, his father, stepmother and Jon. He is
the crown prince and everything Sansa ever wanted, but Sansa never wants what is best for her.

Sansa seems nervous when she wakes, and tired most of all. She has clearly not slept a moment and
Catelyn urges her to press a cold wet cloth to her puffy and red eyes.

‘My sweet girl have you cried?’

‘No, I haven’t.’ Sansa says, and Catelyn believes her, Sansa will never lie to her, ‘I had trouble
finding sleep.’

Sansa will find trouble sleeping tonight as well, Catelyn fears and she feels almost sad when she
watches everyone ready the bride for her wedding, it reminds her of her own.

Catelyn too expected her whole life to marry someone else. Catelyn was also disappointed in her
eventual husband who turned out to be so different from what she always dreamed of. But Catelyn
could not have hoped for any better man and if Ned left anything of himself in the boy during the
long time he spend with their family, which he seems to have done, Catelyn has good faith in her
daughter’s wellbeing.

Jon

‘Don’t drink during the feast.’ Theon tells Jon, ‘I promise, you’ll regret it. You don’t want her to
start crying again, nobody does.’

Robb kicks Theon against his shins, ‘If you ever say something like that again with me near I will
squeeze your eyes from your skull.’

Theon just laughs, ‘Someone has to tell him.’

Robb glares while he gets his beard shaven and Jon tries to casually disappear through the wall.
It’s the first good advice he receives about this whole thing ever. Except it's not really good, just
well-meant.

‘Crying?’

Jon sees the way Robb warningly glares at Theon who has a look on his face that makes Jon
uncomfortable.

‘Oh well, you know what girls are like.’

Jon wishes people would stop saying that, especially regarding Sansa. He does not know what girls
are like and even if he did it wouldn’t help him because they all seem different to him, Sansa is
nothing like Arya and she’s nothing like Rhaenys or Myrcella either.

‘Why was she crying?’ He presses on and when Theon answers he wishes he hadn’t.

‘Because all Sansa ever wanted was to leave Winterfell, and after today, that won’t happen.’

He already knows that, he knows she loves the south and the queen’s hairstyle and the king’s harp
music. Jon isn't his father's fool and he has eyes and ears. He sees the way she looks at Aegon. He
hears her speak to everyone else in the world except him.

He knows but it still stings. It would've been nice to live under the impression that he is not a
complete disappointment to her.

In the week since arriving at Winterfell he has been slowly distancing himself from his father and
the royal family. He ignores Aegon, is as rude as ever to Joffrey, avoids the queen and lets his
father and Rhaenys avoid him.

It is all on purpose. He doesn’t want to be part of them, he doesn’t need them or anyone else to
think he is dreading their leave. Really, in all honesty, he prays he will never have to see any of
them again. It is a false hope but he hopes it all the same.

When he got plucked out of bed this morning by Robb, telling him they were getting a shave and
haircut by demand of the Lady Stark, for a moment he did not understand what he was talking
about.

‘Why?’ He’d asked.

Rob and Theon laughed at him, ‘Because it’s Sansa’s nameday, that’s why.’

Jon ignored their laughs while getting dresses and then he saw the sun that had already risen and he
could instantly see why it did not wake him up. It had been snowing all night, covering his
window, blocking all light.

‘It’s a good sign.’ Robb said when he caught Jon staring, ‘In the North we believe snow brings us
good fortune.’

Jon just stares at it whenever he can. The snow is beautiful, covers the courtyard and the towers
and the queen’s wheelhouse. Everything is white and it looks peaceful. He wonders what Myrcella
and Tommen may think, he knows they have both never seen snow before in their whole life.

‘She wants us to look pretty for the King, with his presence, this is the closest thing to a royal
wedding in a weirdwood since the King who knelt.’ Robb explains, as if Jon would not know that,
as if Rhaenys has not complained about how improper it is for over a month.

‘Maybe she wants us to look pretty for the queen.’ Theon suggests, ‘I have heard stories.’

‘Those stories are lies.’ Jon says, not knowing why he would ever defend queen Cersei.

He’s afraid this man is going to cut his hair and make him look ridiculous.

Aegon will love that, he always used to say Jon has never met a girl he likes better than his own
hair. It was hypocritical of him to say that and it still angers him and makes him frown when the
man who has just shaven Robb’s face starts pulling and cutting his hair.

Robb puts his shirt back on and looks outside the door, ‘I think Sansa’s awake, they’re probably
drowning her in a bath that smells like Highgarden right now, poor girl.’

‘Poor you, you’ll never drown in a bath that smells like Highgarden.’ Theon jokes and despite his
nerves and fear, Jon still manages to laugh.

He succeeds in avoiding all his brothers and sisters for the rest of the day without much effort. The
queen and the princesses are helping Sansa lift herself in her dress, or so Robb tells him, and as for
his brothers- they are either still in bed or moping in their rooms. Jon never has much trouble
avoiding his father, he expected no difference on his wedding day.

The second and last advice Jon gets comes from his uncle Tyrion. Tyrion Lannister is as much
Jon’s uncle as he is tall but he has always truly been Jon’s favorite family member in King’s
Landing. Tyrion always insists Jon calls him uncle, ‘You know how much I love my family.’

Everyone knows how much Tyrion loves his family, as much as his family loves him, naturally.
Not at all, that is.

They have always both been the outsiders in their own way. Tyrion is the imp, Jon the bastard.
They are complete opposites in every way possible and yet very much the same.

Jon will never forget what Tyrion told him at their first meeting.

Let me give you some advice, bastard. Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not.
Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never
be used to hurt you.

Back then Jon thought Tyrion was a drunken idiot, but he isn't, he really isn't.

The advice he gives Jon this early morning, is nothing like that first advice he gave him six years
ago and everything like all the advices he has given since, ‘Whatever you do boy, don’t fall asleep
before she does.’ He says and with a major grin he winks.

Jon has a terrible headache all day and he knows it's because he drank too much wine the night
before. Why did he do that? Did he try to drink his anxiety away? He can't even remember.

His nerves are taking over his entire body now. He can't seem to hear people who talk to him,
everything they say, every conversation he has passes by, except for one, when Ned comes to his
room, just before the ceremony, and hugs him.

‘Son,’ he says, he always used to call him that and has continued doing so, ‘Take good care of her.’

‘I will.’ Jon breathes and he wants to swear it to him.

Ned nods, opens his mouth, closes it again, looks down at the floor before he says, ‘Your mother
would be proud.’

Jon doesn’t know what to say. He doesn't know what to think either, or how he is supposed to
respond. No one has mentioned his mother to him in over six years, not someone who knew her,
‘Is this what she would have wanted for me?’ He asks, not because he thinks he should but because
he wants to know, ‘To be here?’

Ned places both his hands-on Jon’s shoulders, like he did that time in the courtyard, when they said
their goodbyes, ‘You are a Stark.’ He says, ‘You may not have my name but you have my blood
and you are a son of the North. You were born here, she wanted you to be raised here and it is only
fitting that you shall marry here.’
Jon is not a Stark but his mother was one and now his wife will be too. Winterfell is his home,
there is no place he’d rather be.

‘I wish she could see you now.’ Ned goes on and the conversations makes Jon dizzy, ‘I wish she’d
lived to know you.’

‘I'm glad I look like her. I'm glad I look nothing like my father.’ Jon admits.

Ned watches him for a second, as if he wants to object, but instead he says, ‘We should talk about
your mother. I’ll tell you about her, I promise.’

Jon nods, ‘I would like that, my lord.’

‘Uncle. I am your uncle.’

Rhaenys asked who the septon would be that was going to marry them. But the old gods know no
septons or septas.

There are no priests, no holy texts, no songs of worship. It is passed on from father to son, mother
to daughter. There are no houses of prayer and no rituals. None but the voices of the sacred trees
when the old gods speak back to worshippers with a sigh of the wind and the rustle of leaves.

Rhaenys cannot understand, she comes from the south, there are no sacred trees in the south and
there the old gods have lost all their power long ago. This alone should be reason enough for a
Stark never to travel down the neck.

The sacred trees in the weirwood have faces carved into them and they are often known as heart
trees. Those faces were carved in there by the children of the forest and no human ever quite
understood their meaning. weirdwoods live forever if they are left undisturbed.

Jon marries Sansa in front of the heart tree in the godswood at Winterfell.

The smooth barks on the wide trunks of the trees blend in with the snow and the red, five-pointed
leaves of the tree are the color of blood, just like its tears.

The snow blinds him and he has never before seen such a breathtaking scene as her when she
stands there, in the snow, the weirwood bathing in sunlight with the leaves of those trees the same
color as her hair.

The old gods can hear his prayers here, they can speak to him and he can ask them for forgiveness.

He doesn't realize he is holding his breath when she places her hand in his. It's small, soft, cold and
trembling.

He clasps his fingers around her palm and he tries to warm her skin with his own. He wishes his
hand could speak to hers, tell her that it will be alright, that he swears to never hurt her.

But he can't speak to her, he can do nothing but stand there and watch her. She looks terrified and
apprehensive as she avoids to meet his eyes.

She looks like she is cold too, or perhaps she is simply shaking with anxiety. He wants them to
wrap fur around her shoulders, large, warm and protective, but nobody does.

They let her stand there is her silk gown, white and the lightest shade of blue with some greyish
Stark tones. She looks like a princess, he wishes he could make her one. He can't, and the reason
for it is on her dress. Silver snowflakes ornament her gown, they are embroidered there, skillfully,
as they fall from her shoulders to her waist and become smaller but grow in numbers at her skirts. It
seems to fit well, those snowflakes, with the wolves on her cloak.

Real snow falls in her hair, it emphasizes the auburn color and in the light of the sun that reflects
the ice the auburn shines like copper.

At one point she squeezes his hand, it is only for a short moment, he barely notices, but he knows
that he’ll remember her doing that for the rest of his life.

Her pupils are wide and when he sits next to her, at their wedding feast, he can see the dark circles
under her eyes.

She does not speak to him, she does not eat and she refuses every proposal for a dance to the point
where Jon knows she is offending people. He thinks of urging her but decides against it. Why force
her to dance if she doesn't want to, he sees no point in it and frankly he doesn't think he cares about
her offending anyone.

What she does do is drink wine, more than he does, and she does not sip like usually but gulps
down one glass after another. He wants to pull them out of her hands because maybe she’ll get
sick, but he knows doing that might end up being a mistake.

He doesn't dance himself either while he successfully pretends to listen to Catelyn, to Robb,
Rhaenys, Cersei… their words go by and he can catch them if he wants to but chooses not to. Sansa
does not even pretend to listen, she does not nod her head in their direction and the only words that
come from her mouth are polite words of gratitude.

Her voice is hoarse and so very soft, he knows she says ‘thank you, my lord,’ because it is what
she is supposed to say, not because he can hear her say it.

Four times a lord stands in front of him and asks, 'Would you allow me to dance with your bride,
my lord?'

Four times he frowns and tells the man, 'I do think you ought to ask her, not me.'

Four times Sansa looks up and politely smiles as she says, 'Forgive me, my lord, I wish to finish
my baked apples first.'

He really doesn't think she's ever going to finish her baked apples.

The music is loud and it makes his headache worse, at one point it's all he can think about. People
laugh and talk and amuse themselves while he sits there, next to his wife, who has not spoken a
single word to him all day despite being no more but a few feet away from the moment he took her
hand in his.

She doesn't smile, she doesn't radiate happiness and she’s not beaming either. She is not gloriously
happy and he doesn't mind, because nor is he and he won't have to pretend if she’s not.

He wants to talk to her, he can actually think of things to say to her, he has tried to come up with
them these past couple of days, he's confident he came up with some good ones, all on his own, but
he keeps his mouth shut. It's because she doesn't seem to want him to speak to her, she clearly
prefers him silent and he agrees. He doesn't want to talk, he wants this to be over.

She eats a small piece of her pie before she shoves it away. He thinks of asking her if she’d like
some deer, but he decides against it, she knows where the deer is, she doesn't need him to tell her
what's in front of her nose.

Maybe she thinks he's super dumb, maybe that's why she says nothing, maybe this is what it's
going to be like for the rest of their lives together. Polite words and silence. Him feeling miserable
and her looking miserable. Him eating just because no one expects him to say anything when he's
chewing and her gulping down wine because... he's not sure why she's gulping down wine. Maybe
because it makes her lightheaded and keeps her from constantly realizing she just married a
landless bastard.

He doesn't want the rest of his life to be like that, he wants her to like him at least, trust him even,
maybe, because he feels he'll have failed her if she won’t and he does not, he cannot fail her. If he
fails her he'll betray not only his uncle, but his mother too. For her to like him he should be likable
and he truly has no idea how to manage that. He has never cared about people liking him before,
he simply accepted that they never would and decided he doesn't give a shit, because it was much
easier that way. Now he really gives a shit and that makes him feel vulnerable, and also a little
desperate, because how is he going to manage? Is he going to be super nice? He's definitely going
to be super nice. Should he try being funny? Rhaenys always says that the least funny people are
those who try the hardest. He agrees. She doesn't really look as if she wants to laugh, so maybe he's
not going to try to be funny. People always seem to laugh most at what he says when he's being
super serious anyway. He doesn't want her to think he's a fool. Maybe she already thinks that,
better not make it worse.

He keeps looking at her sideways and he feels rather worried, she looks nothing like her usual self.
Her shoulders are hanging forward and her eyes are glossy and somehow seem less blue. She
blinks a lot and her eyelids are too heavy for her. She looks as if her head can drop in her food any
moment now and he thinks he has never seen a creature look so utterly exhausted. Maybe that's
why she doesn't want to dance, because she'll definitely fall asleep halfway across the dance floor.
Who would want to fall asleep on the dance floor at their own wedding feast? Certainly not Sansa
Stark. He fears that if she does not get up to go to bed now, someone will have to drag her upstairs
and he knows that this person might be him and he can't imagine she'll like that very much.

There is no way there will ever be a bedding ceremony. He’ll strangle the person who dares
suggest it. Perhaps he can avoid anything of the sort if he just casually proposes for her to go to her
room.

He coughs to waken his voice when he turns around and looks at her. She sits in her chair, huddled
and with her cup pressed to her lips.

‘My lady,’ he says and when she lifts her head it is the first time she looks at his face since they
spoke their vows, she does not look scared, or angry, just a bit surprised, ‘I think that- perhaps you
should retreat to your rooms?’

The goblet of wine slips from her fingers and some of the content splashes on the table, in her food.
In fear of spilling wine on her white dress she drops the goblet to the table and pulls a cloth to her
mouth, covering half her face.

He wants to help her and tries to grab the goblet away from her but it almost seems like he is about
to attack her with a knife, the way she ducks away from his hand.

‘I-I'm sorry, it was-‘

‘I dropped it.’ She says, the tablecloth still covering her mouth, ‘leave it- please.’

He nods, ‘I did not mean... if you prefer to stay you can- you should stay as long as you like.’
He swears that her eyes soften for a second but then she hurriedly looks anywhere but at him again
and picks up the empty goblet.

‘It is just that… You seem rather tired.’ Rather tired is an understatement if there ever was one.

She looks at him like she suspects him guilty of plain murder, ‘Thank you for your concern, my
lord.’

‘Jon.’ He says, before he can stop himself. He can't stand the idea of her calling him lord, he is not
a lord, ‘I'm Jon.’

She looks at him again and he sees that look she gave him when they first saw each other a week
ago, as if she wants to challenge him, ‘I know what your name is, my lord.’ She says and then she
stands up from her seat.

Everyone in the great hall seems to look at them when she not only gets up but walks away, leaves
the hall and exits her own wedding feast. She does not seem to notice their stares, or she simply
ignores them, he’s impressed either way.

Jon feels like he is nailed to his chair and his head heats up when around him he hears the
disappointed mutters of those who expected or hoped for that freaking bedding ceremony.

He catches Robb’s eye, who seems embarrassed. He avoids Joffrey’s because he knows that if he
looks at that grinning face for too long the need to break teeth will start to urge.

It is Rhaenys, of all people, who whispers in his ear, ‘Jon, I think you should retreat as well.’

He looks at her and it shocks him to see something close to encouragement in her smile. She hardly
ever smiles, never mind at him.

It's her smile that somehow gives him the strength to push his chair back and face something that
scares him more than any battle ever could. Not that he has so much experience with battles, but
still.

After freshening up in his own room (the wine Sansa spilled completely ruined part of his
breeches) he paces in front of her door for so long he feels like the sun may come up soon. When
he places his hand on the door, he prays she didn’t lock it (that would be some terrible start to this
new relationship) and fear grips his throat as he takes a first peak in her bedchamber.

There are quite some candles on top of the fireplace that are lit but it's not enough to lighten the
whole room. He understands now what Robb meant when he used the word ‘space’.

Jon’s room has one small bed cramped in a corner and that is about it, not much else. This room is
five times as big, with a very pretty window that covers almost all of one wall. The room is
perfectly square, with the door in one corner. On his right is a large wardrobe, on his left the
impressive fireplace and below the window, facing the door, a dressing table with a glass mirror
that could challenge the pretty one Myrcella got for her tenth nameday. Through that mirror he can
see her.

The bed has a lovely ornamented headboard and is twice as big as his own at Winterfell but half
the size of Rhaegar’s bed in the Red Keep. It stands against the wall with one side in the corner
and it ends next to the entrance, where Jon is still standing.

She lays on her back on the perfectly white cotton blankets that are covered with fur almost as
white, like it comes from a polar bear, dressed in a likewise colored nightdress. It's the prettiest
nightdress he has ever seen, all lacy and everything, though, admittedly, he has not seen so many
nightdresses, for all he knows peasant women go to sleep in a dress like this. It moved up a little
and one leg is very much uncovered and exposed to his bulging eyes.

One hand rests on her belly as it moves up and down in the slow, peaceful rhythm of her breathing,
indicating that she has been asleep for some time.

The other hand lays flat under her face which shows no sign of distress, just a peaceful
imperturbability.

Jon hurriedly closes the door behind him because he doesn't want anyone to find him standing like
looking like a loon and when it falls shut he can't help but just stand at her footboard, and stare.

Her hair is all loose and spread over her white pillow, surrounding her pretty head like a crown.
Her golden eyelashes lay on her rosy cheeks, her lips are parted slightly and every muscle in her
body seems to relax as she finally found the sleep she so desperately needed. The sight of her leg
makes his heart jump, the clear view of the shape of her upper legs, her hips, her breasts and her
skinny arms in the thin, even slightly see-through dress makes him forget how to breath for a
second.

She can't be his wife, the realization has still not sunken in because it is simply impossible. She is
too perfect. Far too good for him.

As he looks at her like that, watching her for what feels like a very inappropriate amount of time he
feels his fear grow stronger, and it's a new kind of fear, not one for this day or this night, but for all
the days and nights to come. He has never felt responsible for something other than himself in his
entire life and frankly he never cared much about that either. What if he is going to be the biggest
failure husband in the history of husbands?

He stands there, patronized, his heart beating in his throat, when she stirs in her sleep. Her
eyelashes flutter but she doesn't wake up, she’s as fast asleep as humanly possible and in that
moment Jon can't think of anything crueler than waking her up.

He walks further into the room, trying his best to remain silent. There is a sofa in front of the
fireplace he could sleep on. It would definitely be the polite thing to do.

But it's snowing outside and the fire has already gone out and it's pretty damn cold in there even
with the hot springs. She’s laying on top of all the sheets and it will be impossible to take one from
the bed without waking her. He can only move the top fur but claiming it would mean he’d have to
let her sleep there without anything to cover her up with from the cold and he can't do that.

He curses himself and his life and then turns over to her sleeping figure and gently manages to pull
the top fur over her thinly clad body, carefully making sure not to touch her. She doesn't stir, not a
finger moves.

Who thought it was a good idea to place this bed in the corner? She lays on the outer side, so he’ll
have to practically climb over her to lay down.

He pulls all his clothes off, makes sure to keep on enough, before he decides to climb over the
relatively high footboard instead. He curses himself and his life again, as well as the maker of this
bed.

She’s still in a dreamy place when he lays down, anxiously trying not to move or make the bed
creak but he knows it won't matter anyway. She is so deep in her sleep he wouldn't be able to wake
 her if he started smashing pans close to her head or threw ice water in her face.

He lays there staring at the canopy and then realizes that this is going to be the first time he spends
a whole night laying in the same bed as a woman. Somehow, he thinks he always expected it to be
a bit different.

She is so close he can feel the warmth of her body, if he stretches his hand out he can touch the
skin of her arm, stroke it with the tops of his fingers.

He doesn't do that, he just lays there, his muscles in a freeze, his eyes wide open and his heart
desperately trying to break his rib case.

Then he turns his back to her, facing the wall and he decides that this will be alright. He is an early
riser. Among the things he found out about Sansa Stark in the last few days is that she is not. He’ll
wake up before she does, it seems safe to assume because she looks like she can sleep for days.
He’ll wake up, leave this room and face her when they’re properly dressed, well-rested and not
under the influence of Dornish wine and unwanted pressures.

He pulls the fur up to his chin and is relieved to find his eyes grow heavy. He needs this day to be
over, and the only way to do that is by falling asleep and when he finally does, the sleep is as
soothing and comforting as the sound of her breathing.

Chapter End Notes

Spoiler alert- their wedding night is not over yet.

 Soap and Grass and Wine
Chapter Summary

Sansa says nothing but it’s almost as if she’s smiling when she presses her lips
together, then she bats her eyelashes and whispers, 'Are you making fun of me?'

Chapter Notes

Sorry for the delay! I actually posted this accidentally last night (on time) but that was
kinda the wrong version so whoops. I'm gonna explain why this was late at the end!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jon

When Jon wakes up he thinks it's morning. He sits up and realizes there is no light in the room for
his eyes to get used to, only pleasant darkness. The candles on the mantelpiece have gone out and
he can hardly see the window on his left, but he hears the storm of a snow wind battle with the
glass that separates this room from the icy air.

He can easily see her, however. Her figure is the darkest thing in the room but as her eyes stare at
him he can see their twinkle in the moonlight.

She is standing next to the bed and when she got out she pulled nearly all the blankets with her, and
off him, he suspects it is what woke him up, the sudden cold, and a loud thud on the floor too.

‘Did you fall out of the bed?’ he doesn't mean to mock her, but it seems like an obvious question.

She pulls the sheets that are clutched in her hands up higher, to her chin, to hide her thin-clad body
from his view, he suspects, ‘No.’ she says and her voice is tense and soft, he wonders if her voice
is always soft.

‘Why are you on the floor?’ he feels amused somehow, the way she stands there, with the blankets
in her fists, it's a bit endearing. She looks like she wants to pull them over her head and hide.

‘Something dropped.’

He can barely contain a grin, ‘Aye, you did.’

‘No.’ She climbs back in the bed and while she reinstalls the blankets and herself she turns away
from him, as far away as she possibly can. Maybe she dropped to the floor because she wanted to
get away from him.

‘Did I push you out?’ It seems like a possibility. An awful, extremely embarrassing possibility that
might haunt him for the rest of his life.

‘No, I- it was my own fault.’

‘I'm sorry, are you hurt?’

‘I'm fine.’

‘Do you want me to sleep on the sofa?’

‘It's allright.’

He really wants to sleep on the sofa now, ‘I don't mind.’

She shamelessly ignores him.

‘Were you- Were you having a bad dream? Is that why you fell off the bed?’

‘I didn't fall.’

‘What? You just said so.’

‘No, I didn't.’

‘You told me it was your own fault.’ He is getting confused now and it makes him wonder if he's
still drunk.

‘No.’

‘Yes you did, you-'

She turns around suddenly, to her back, and faces him, ‘Do you have any proof?’ There is her
challenging look again, he can see it clearly now, his eyes have gotten used to the lack of light.

He grins, why is she funny? He never expected her to be funny, ‘It’s fine, I sometimes fall out of
my bed too, you know.’

She doesn’t respond for a second and then she asks, her voice in disbelieve, ‘You do?’

‘No,' He smirks though he doubts she can see that, 'My bed in King's Landing is two times bigger
than this one.’

She turns away from him again, perhaps not as amused as he is, and makes him face her back once
more.

‘I won't tell anyone, I promise.’

She doesn't say anything and he goes to lie on his back, facing the ceiling while he tries to not
listen to her breathing. He ends up doing exactly that, it's rhythmic and soothing. Even in the
darkness, without seeing her, he still knows she's there, and somehow that is soothing.

‘Are you hungry? Do you want me to get you some food?’ They have been silent for a while but he
knows she's still awake, it's as if he can hear her brain think, he doesn't want to begin to imagine
what it is she must be thinking.

‘No, I'm fine.’

‘Water?’ He urges on, ‘You should drink some water or your head will hurt in the morning,
because you drank so much wine.’
‘I did not drink too much wine.’ He rolls his eyes at that, she can't see it anyway.

'Drinking some water won't hurt.'

'I don't want to drink some water.

This is usually the point where he tells the person he is talking to that –whatever, he doesn't care
anyway- but considering he is not talking to someone but to his wife he waits a few seconds and
then asks, 'If you don't want me to get you anything, I suppose that means I'll have to starve.’

‘What?’

‘I'm hungry.’

‘You stuffed yourself at the feast.’

‘No I didn't.’

‘Yes you did.’

‘Where is your proof?’

She turns around again and looks at him, her eyes are no longer puffy but they are big and large
and beautiful in the moonlight that shines right through the peaks of the snow-covered window of
her room.

Sansa says nothing but it’s almost as if she’s smiling when she presses her lips together. Then she
bats her eyelashes and whispers, 'Are you making fun of me?'

'No,' He says, and he hopes he doesn’t say it too quickly, 'No I'm… I'm trying to make you laugh.'
He is fully aware of how much that sounds like a tragic excuse.

She doesn't laugh, she doesn't even smile anymore as they end up staring at each other through the
darkness.

'I'm sorry if I was eating too much tonight, I tried to contain myself.’

She smiles again and he feels his heartbeat speed up, ‘Don't apologize. I-I shouldn't have said that,
you can eat as much as you like.'

'That is technically true but I won't mind if you could stop me from looking greedy or starving
every once in a while. Don't let me humiliate myself.'

She is still smiling and he knows he wants to do everything he can to keep it that way, 'Alright,' she
breathes, 'I could stop you from humiliating yourself.' she promises, he can see her eyes flash over
his face, 'Are you really hungry?'

'I can wait till morning, don't worry.'

I wasn't.' She says, 'Worried, I mean.'

'Good.' He clears his throat, 'Unless you want me to get you something, of course.'

She giggles and it sounds like a twitter, but much lovelier, it sounds so terribly innocent and it
makes him wonder how innocent she is exactly. He suddenly feels the urge to know if she's ever
been kissed, 'No.' She says, 'I'm not hungry at all.'
He nods and looks away, at the ceiling again, before closing his eyes.

He lays like that for a few seconds, in which he can feel and hear her move. It shocks him a little
when she suddenly whispers, 'Are you not going to do anything?'

His eyes flash open and he looks sideways, straight into her eyes. When he felt her move he
expected her to turn her back on him again, but the opposite is true. Though there is still at least an
arm's length of distance between them she has turned towards him, on her side, her eyes watching
him in confusion.

'I'm sorry I fell asleep.' She adds before he can respond.

'D-don't apologize, you seemed really tired.' She looked like she had not slept for three days or
more but he can't tell her that, he doesn't want her to know he thinks that, she may find it insulting
or something.

She doesn't say anything for a while but looks at him expectantly, then she tells him, 'Mother said
you'd know what to do.' It takes too long for him to realize what she means and when he finally
does it feels like she slapped him in the face, he’s not very used to people being so verbally
straightforward. He wants to turn away, lay down on the sofa, or, preferably, run out of this room
and go hide in his own, much smaller, empty and cold bed.

But he can see something else in her eyes, there is fear, loads of it, and he realizes why she turned
bright red and scared when he told her she should head to bed, during dinner when her head nearly
dropped in her food, her neck barely capable of keeping it upright.

'D-did she?'

Sansa just nods.

He pulls himself upright and sits up straight, 'What else did she tell you?' He's not sure if he wants
to know but he feels he needs to know.

She follows his example quickly, as if the idea of lying down while he sits is utterly wrong,
'Nothing.' She says and that is probably a lie.

'Oh.'

He's not sure what to think when she suddenly says, 'She said you'd know what to do, s-she s-said
you may have done it before.'

'It?'

'I don't know.'

'You don't know?'

'I didn't- she didn't tell me.' Sansa admits and he can see her looking down at her hands, 'I didn't
ask.'

'Oh.' He should really stop saying oh.

'She said...' Jon can feel his heart beating in his throat, way too fast, like it wants to escape from his
chest and get far away from this hopelessly embarrassing conversation.

'What did she say?'

'I don't think you want to know.' Sansa admits.

That is probably very true. He tries to smile at her, reassuringly but he fears he's only scaring her
instead, ‘You don't have to tell me.’

She starts investigating his face with her eyes again and he tries to keep looking at hers, nowhere
else, just her face, not down, don't look down.

Sansa decides to tell him anyway, 'She said it will hurt and you won't notice.'

He really does not know how to respond to that, he is desperately trying to think of something
when she makes it worse.

'She said I should not be angry with you, because it won't be your fault.'

He wishes there was wine so he could gulp it down, perhaps choke on it. She continues to stare at
him and he needs her to stop. He has no idea what else Catelyn told her daughter but it can't be
much worse.

'That's erm- Thats not true.' He says.

She doesn't respond and he knows she doesn't believe him, why would she? She looks a little bit
upset and he realizes that, to her, he just called her mother a liar.

'Why would she say that if it’s not true?' She asks and Jon remembers what Ned once told him.

A mad man sees what he sees.

He highly doubts Catelyn is mad but he also knows she would never tell Sansa that if she doesn't
think it is the truth.

'I don't know.' He says and she still clearly does not believe him.

Her hair falls over her shoulders, framing her face, it's so red and bright, even in the dark.

His eyes have gotten used to the lack of burning candles and he can clearly see her features now.
Even though she carefully keeps her distance he doesn't think he has ever been this close to her; he
can see the freckles on her nose.

'Sansa...'

When he looks her in the eye he knows that this is it, it's the first time he will have to prove to the
Gods and himself and her most of all that he is not his father, he will do everything he can to wipe
that look of fear and distrust from her face.

If only he left to get food.

'Sansa I am never going to hurt you.'

He's not sure if he prepared his little speech long before, perhaps he has without noticing.

'I need you to know that because you are my wife, you are my responsibility now. I know that I am
not what you hoped for but I promise that you can always count on me and I hope that you will
trust me because I'll be a good husband to you, I will. I... I will protect you and I will take care of
you.'
He breathes in again and he feels the urge to stroke her cheek with his fingertips. She’s so scared,
poor girl.

'If I or anyone else hurts you, you must tell me and I'll do whatever I can to stop it, I promise.'

She doesn't respond at first but the look of distrust has disappeared at one point and he feels the
urge to kiss her face.

'Do you understand?' He presses on.

She looks away, at her hands and though he can't really tell because of the light, he thinks her
cheeks may have reddened. Then she nods.

Sansa

When Sansa wakes up she’s lying on her stomach and as she stirs, she doesn't instantly know
where she is, even though it's the room she has slept in since as long as she can remember. She
turns on her back and stares at the ceiling for a second and then rubs her eyes. There is a sore
feeling between her legs and when she touches it, it doesn't help, it only stings some more. Sansa's
alone, and it's dead silent. The sun is already up but her windows are covered with snow, blocking
all sunlight.

She stretches her arm out and the rest of the bed is cold, meaning he has been gone for quite some
time. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and wonders how she is ever going to contemplate
what happened to her the night before. Her whole bed still smells of him, the nightgown she’s
wearing too, she’s confident her hair probably smells of him too and she is not so sure how she
feels about that.

Sansa rubs her legs together.

He has already broken his promise not to hurt her. It did hurt, but her mother was wrong too,
because he noticed. He noticed and he apologized and he told her it was going to be alright. He was
trembling from beginning to end.

'Have you ever been kissed before, Sansa?' He asked and she didn’t know what to say. He kissed
her then, and it was nice. Nicer than nice, it felt like a promise and it was sweet, warm, wet and
soft. Somehow, it was the way she thought it would be, it made her feel the way the songs always
told her she would. After that he carefully made her lay down in the bed, all the while telling her
he was going to take care of her.

'You looked really pretty today.' He said.

She wanted to say thank you, she wanted to tell him she embroidered her dress with snowflakes,
ask him if he minded but her throat seemed swollen and she had trouble breathing never mind
speaking.

'You are very beautiful. Everybody tells you, don't they? It's true.'

She had never touched a man's uncovered arms, she liked the feeling of his muscles under her
hands, flexing. They felt strong and oddly, they made her feel safe.

'Y-you must tell me when I hurt you or if you want me to stop or- just tell me.'

Yes it hurt, but not as bad as her mother made it seem. It stung but when she gasped he stroked her
hair and whispered in her ear. He told her to 'breathe', to 'relax', he told her he was 'so sorry'.
She did not even bleed. Her mother said it was worse than the pain in her belly when her
moonblood comes but that was untrue as well. She expected to bleed like when her moonblood
comes but there was not one drop of blood. It was incomparable in every way. Every moonturn
there is so much blood and it lasts for days. Now there was no blood and it was over much sooner,
really soon.

Sansa remembers how she placed her hands on his shoulders while he pressed his forehead to hers,
moving inside her, and the memory makes her feel warm and weird. She did not like it but neither
was it as bad as she instantly expected. Oddly, he didn’t seem to like it either, it was as if he was
focused and he frowned as if he was in pain himself, though he made no single sound, not apart
from the soothing. Sansa whimpered and he rubbed her forehead with his thumb, ‘Sssshhh… I’m s-
sorry.’ he said, and though the pain didn’t go away, it still made her feel better.

Now that she knows she tries to remember what she used to think it is like between a man and a
woman when they make children. She realizes she did not expect it to be so intimate. She doesn't
remember what she expected, not much probably, just more pain and more blood.

She's not sure if she wants to leave this room, ever. She doesn't want to face her mother, Septa
Mordane, or Jeyne. She doesn't want to answer their questions.

He does not smell like salt, he smells of soap and grass and wine, a bit like leather too, though not
of horses, thankfully, and his body is warm, just like his breath on her face and in her neck.

His hair is soft too, and perfectly curly. She wants to wrap a curl around her finger, pull on it and
find out if it jumps back again when you let go.

When Septa Mordane opens the door Sansa pulls the fur over her head to block the light that
flashes in her room. Her head hurts. She should drink some water, she should've done that the night
before, like he said.

'It's time to break your fast.' The Septa tells her, 'Look at the sun, you can't keep hiding in here.'

She wasn't hiding, she was dreading. Sansa drags her body out of the bed and allows the woman to
help her get dressed. She's much too old for a septa now, she thinks, she is ten and seven years old,
she is married, she is a woman.

Sansa decides to tell her father but remembers that perhaps she should tell Jon.

You are my responsibility now.

The septa does not ask her how she feels, she does not ask if she slept well or if he was good to her.
Maybe she doesn't care, maybe it's not proper to ask. Sansa doesn't know because no one ever told
her what this is supposed to be like, what is proper and what is not.

'Are you going to King's Landing?' Sansa asks, 'With Arya?'

The septa only shortly stops tying her in her dress and then answers that, 'Yes, I am coming with
your father, brother and sister to the capital.'

In that case she won't have to say anything to either her father or Jon, just wait it out until the
woman leaves, 'You must look forward to seeing the Sept of Bailor.'

The comment excites the septa, 'Yes, very much!'

Sansa has to try her best not to roll her eyes. How unfair, Sansa thinks, she is stuck at Winterfell
while septa Mordane, of all people, is allowed to go.

When she walks down some stairs the pain between her legs stings and she wonders if it will
always be this way. How can women walk stairs without wincing constantly? Sansa hopes that
perhaps, it won't hurt as much next time, or maybe she will get used to it.

He is not in the great hall, he probably broke his fast hours ago, maybe he always likes to wake up
early? Sansa never wakes up early, she always has trouble getting out of her warm, soft featherbed.

Maybe he thinks she's lazy? Maybe she should wake up early too, like her husband, be a good lady
wife. Maybe he doesn't care and is that why he let her sleep.

The Queen clearly thinks she's lazy.

'He tired you out, little dove? To stay in bed so long.'

Sansa turns bright red and Prince Aegon looks at her in a certain way she cannot name but makes
her feel extremely uncomfortable all the same. Her father doesn't seem to appreciate the comment
much neither, he presses his lips firmly together and shares a look with her mother who hides
whatever it is she thinks.

Robb eyes her weirdly, as if she has something on her face, Arya too and Bran and Rickon both
don't really seem to understand what the big deal is all about. Her father is the only one who just
smiles at her, squeezes her shoulder and tells her she looks pretty. She wonders how happy he
really is about all this, he seems so uncomfortable in the king's presence, but he loves having Jon
back, Sansa knows that. Ned has always been so fond of Jon, there was a certain special bond there
that she never quite understood. Perhaps it has to do with Jon's mother. Her father never speaks of
her but Sansa remembers finding him in front of her statue often, down in the crypts, lightening a
candle.

Sansa avoids her mother’s worried face all day but she can't escape it in the evening.

'Did he hurt you?'

Sansa is not sure what to say, why is she asking when she seemed so convinced?

She decides to shake her head, if only because her mother worried her and made her afraid of
something that was not that bad after all.

Catelyn looks at her and Sansa spots some disbelieve, 'Did he not touch you? Are you still a maid?'

Sansa blushes, 'H-he did. I'm not a maid he touched- he did.’

Cat watches her and her face softens, 'He was good to you?'

Sansa just nods, and then so does Catelyn, who presses a kiss to the top of her daughter's head and
moves to leave.

‘Will it…’ Sansa is not sure if she should ask but she knows that if she wants to ask anyone, it will
have to be her mother, and she really needs to know this time, ‘Will it always be sore?’

‘No.’ Catelyn says immediately, ‘It won't.’

‘There was no blood.’ Sansa says and she does not mean to make it sound like she feels betrayed,
but she does and she can't help it.
‘That is- that happens sometimes, I think.’

‘Is it wrong?’

‘To not bleed? No, my sweet girl.’ Catelyn says and she pushes Sansa’s hair behind her ear, ‘No it
means he was good to you.’

She wants to tell her mother that he noticed, she wants to tell her that he stroked her hair, called her
pretty and apologized.

‘He is very kind.’

‘I’m glad.’

Sansa looks at her own face through the mirror, ‘He said…’

‘What did he say?’

Sansa shakes her head, maybe she does not want her mother to know after all, ‘Nothing much.’

‘They hardly ever do.’

That was not true either. He said so much, he used words but mostly his eyes and his touch to tell
her things and the things he told her were lovely and scary at the same time.

Perhaps her mother is the one who does not understand.

When Catelyn leaves Sansa tries her best not to fall asleep again because that would be terribly
rude.

He doesn't touch her that night, he gives her some bread with spiced butter instead.

He asks her how her day was, if her head hurt this morning (she lies), asks if she likes the snow,
what her favorite thing to eat is, what she likes to read, if she made the dress she is wearing herself
(she doesn't tell him it’s not a dress but a robe and nightgown, her answer is simply yes), he tells
her it’s pretty and he tells her the royal family is staying for some extra while, because they can’t
travel through the snow with the wheelhouse. Then he enthusiastically tells her they can finally go
on a hunt in two days, because his father eventually decided to agree, which seems to be a pleasant
surprise to him and she tries to be exited for him, at least pretend she is, but Sansa’s not interested
in hunting.

She lets the butter melt on her tongue. She likes it but not as much as she likes lemon cakes, these
are sugary and sweet and the queen brought so much of it with her.

He seems nervous, she thinks, because he’s rambling sometimes and he keeps moving his hands.
He’s not very smooth-tongued and he only manages to look her in the eye for not much longer than
mayhaps ten seconds. Sansa wonders if she should say something, ask him questions, but she can't
come up with anything.

When he runs out of telling her how much he looks forward to finally having the opportunity to go
hunting on a horse they watch each other in silence. Sansa thinks about asking him if he is 'going to
do something' again, but she doesn't, somehow, she fears he’ll think she’s being childish. She
doesn't want to call what they did last night 'something'.

He is so terribly nice to her and it makes her feel like the worst person in the world that she
protested so loudly and rudely about having to marry him. She hopes he doesn't know that. The
image of a sad look in his eyes makes her feel both nervous and guilty.

I know that I'm not what you hoped for.

'Maybe we should sleep.' He says and she is not sure if she is relieved or surprised.

As she lays on her side of the bed, listening to his moves and his breathing, she wonders how often
a man and a woman 'try to make a child'. She never knew that. Her mother had children once every
two or three years, with the exception of Rickon, who came quite unexpectedly three years ago…
Will they only have to do it that often? Once every other year?

Mayhaps they will only try when the maester says she can have a child, she knows measters do
that.

To her father's disappointment the king's departure gets postponed again and again but Sansa is
rather pleased with the royal party staying, it means there remains more time for her to enjoy the
southron food, music and people.

'Snow!' She hears the king complain to her father, 'Snow in the middle of summer, how?'

Sansa thinks the king knows very little of his own kingdoms when it surprises him that it snows in
the North, though he always looks so wise. Rhaegar, first of his name is imposing, stately and
grand, the epitome of a king, nothing like his bastard son.

She and Jon visit the godswood, it's beautiful there when it has been snowing.

'You look pretty here,' he says, 'With your hair. Just like the leaves, I mean.'

She just smiles and hopes the cold prevails her from blushing.

He tell her he always kept the faith of the old gods, the faith of my mother, and she decides not to
tell him she always used to linger to her own mother’s faith much more because he probably
already knows that anyway.

She wants to take his hand when he takes her with him on a walk through the snow and even
though she knows he will let her she can't find the courage. At some point that doesn't matter
because he grabs hers to help her up a small hill as she struggles with her skirts and he doesn't let
go.

Sansa thinks that maybe she'll get used to not sleeping all alone. There is nothing really scary about
it, he just sleeps, like she does. She stares at him when he sleeps, she can look at his face without
anyone else noticing, without him looking back at her. He really is handsome, she never expected
to think that, not when she first saw him, not when she still wanted that silver-haired prince
husband. She won't admit it to anyone, but she'll never have to be embarrassed about his
appearance and that makes her feel strangely good.

He doesn't have to sleep in her room, he has one of his own, apparently, it's very small, but it is his.
He continues coming to her though, and because he doesn't touch her, she thinks that maybe he
does that to spend time with her, since that is really what it is. They play cards or chess and she eats
drapes. She embroiders a bit while he pretends to be impressed. He makes her laugh and she makes
him smile. It takes her four days of marriage to fall in love with his smile. He narrows his eyes
when he smiles, sometimes he forces it on his face, but Sansa can see it now when he's sincerely
smiling. Sometimes he smiles and looks down, or away from her and she wonders why he does
that.
During dinner, when she she's seated next to him, and at night when they're sitting on her bed, he
tells her stories about King’s Landing. He tells her about all the other places he has been to.
Sunspear and the Water Gardens, Oldtown, Casterly Rock and Lannisport, Harrenhall, Riverrun,
the Frey Towers, Highgarden and Storm’s End, ‘Everywhere but the Iron Islands, the Eyrie and
Winterfell... though we have been to White Harbor.’ He says, his back against the headboard of her
bed, ‘Rhaegar always drags us through the Seven Kingdoms because he believes a king needs to be
seen to be loved, and a loved king has fewer enemies.’

Sansa still needs to get used to her lord husband calling the king ‘Rhaegar’ and she wonders why
he never calls him father, but she never finds the nerve to ask, ‘Why didn’t you visit the Eyrie and
the Iron Islands?’

He shrugs, ‘Well, Jon Arryn was hand so he lived in the Red Keep and Rhaegar doesn’t like the
Ironborn very much. Pyke isn't very suitable for a royal visit.’ He waits a moment and then asks,
‘Did you know the Rock is higher than the wall and the High Tower both? I’ve never seen the
wall but Oldtown is amazing, I think you’ll like it better than King’s Landing. The Hightowers are
awful though, Rhaenys is friends with lady Hightower, I don't know how or why, they’re the
worst.'

'Do they live in the High Tower?' Sansa asks and she moves a little closer to him on the bed,
pulling the blanket higher up to her chin.

Jon nods and explains with the usual enthusiasm that, 'High Tower is a castle and lighthouse both,
and it’s built atop Battle Island, where the Honeywine widens into Whispering Sound. Did you
know it was built by Bran the Builder too? It is one of the nine Wonders Made by Man according
to Lomas Longstrider. Maybe I’ll bring you there sometime, you’ll love it, I think.’

He's always telling her 'but you probably already know that', or 'You must've heard that before'
halfway through his story, and she never denies it, though often, she doesn't already know that. It's
like he's holding a map of the world in front of her nose and he's showing her how she never
properly looked before. She never believed she'd ever visit these places so she never paid them any
attention. Sansa's education was meant to make her a lady, she learned how to dance and sew and
play the bells. She speaks no word of Old Valyrian and though she can name all the Targaryen
Kings there have ever been, she hasn't memorized the years of their rule and she has no idea who
fought what battle exactly and when, where and why. Jon's education sometimes makes her
wonder, however, for as far as she can tell, if they tried to shape a king.

Sansa soon finds out that he is a good storyteller. He can tell astounding things as if they are simple
and ordinary and her shock or disbelieve amuses him.

’Rhaegar absolutely hates the High Septon, but I suppose all Targaryens hate high septons.' He
tells her when they're lying in the bed and she has turned towards him on her side, her head leaning
in her hand to hold it up so she can look at him.

Sansa doesn't know why all Targaryens would hate the high septon, she supposes it has something
to do with the Faith Militant uprising, but she thought that was about incest, and Rhaegar’s not
married to his sister.

'Everyone knows he's corrupt, smallfolk and the highest lords both and everything in between. I
don’t even know his name, though I wonder who does, that’s why the records of whoever became
High Septon are so awful, they give up their name, but you already know that, of course.'

'No, I don't.' She admits before she can stop herself.

He looks sideways and either hides his surprise or doesn't think she's stupid when he turns to his
side as well so he can face her when he explains, 'When they choose a new High Septon it's
common practice of septons to give up their family names by renouncing any kind of individual
name. They do that because individuals becoming High Septon aren't... they're no longer a man but
an avatar of the gods.'

'I thought... I thought they were just... That it was simply their title.'

’It is, and their title becomes their name, they don't even write it down in the history books.' Jon
smiles at her and moves his hand to wipe a strand of hair from her face, 'I suppose my sister
Rhaenys knows his name, I might ask her one day. My sister Rhaenys knows everything. She’s
ridiculously smart, and ridiculously awful too.’

He moves hair behind her ear and the touch of his hand tickles her skin even after he removes it,
'You should ask her.'

'We always just called the High Septon ‘the fat one’, because he is grossly fat, it’s a bit scary. He
has been High Septon for many years. We call the one before him ‘the one before the fat one’ and
the one before that the ‘stonemeaster’s son one.’

Sansa can't help but giggle, that is rather ridiculous, 'Really?'

He grins, ‘He wears the most ridiculous crown, made of crystal and gold.’

‘Is there anything you haven’t seen that you want to go to?’ She asks him, that question has the
longest answer and she loves it.

‘I’ve never been to the free cities, I always wanted to go there. I’ve met a Dothraki Khal when I
was in Dorne, that’s a horse lord, like a warrior of sorts. You've heard of the Dothraki, haven't
you?' Sansa nods, she has heard of them, yes, but that would be it, 'Tradesmen always visit the
capital, they tell the most amazing stories. I’ve seen pictures of the Long Bridge of Volantis, the
longest bridge in the world, you can buy everything on that bridge, monkeys and spices, jewelry…
even slaves- Rhaegar hates slavery, he’s always banishing men who have illegally committed the
crime and he never grands them mercy. Did you know slaves in Volantis have tattoos decorating
their faces, depending on what sort of slave they are? It’s monstrous… Oh, and I really want to see
the Titan of Braavos, and the triple walls of Qarth. the Five Forts is a massive fortress along the
northeastern boundaries of the Golden Empire of Yi Ti, I’ll show you all the pictures one day, I
promise. Rhaegar actually visited the Palace with a Thousand Rooms in Sarnath, but it’s now in
ruins after the city was destroyed by the Dothraki- I don’t think the king minds ruins much, he still
visits Summerhall all the time. I hate Summerhall, everyone died there, except for Rhaegar of
course, he was born that night. I don’t understand why he doesn’t rebuilt it when he loves it so
much, I suppose he doesn’t want to waste the money. Some say Aerys set it on fire, everyone
knows how obsessed he was with flames, but it’s not true- they were trying to hatch eggs. The
Gods know why anyone would want to hatch freaking dragon eggs.’

He tells her about ser Barristan Selmy, about feasts in the great keep, about the dragon skulls in the
throne room, tourneys with knights from all over Westeros, the bodies of his ancestors in the Sept
of Bailor, Cobbler's Square, Guildhall of the Alchemists, Maegor's Holdfast and the Tower of the
Hand and the seven gates of the capital.

Sansa watches him talk, as he sits on her bed, his doublet loose, and his hair a little messy, and
though she loves listening to him, she notices how she sometimes drifts off and she’ll end up
staring at him, at his enthusiasm and his dark grey eyes and his sweet smile. He has such a sweet
smile. He has been to all these places, and though he keeps telling her he’ll bring her there
someday, she wonders if she’ll ever see any of it. Sansa has never been more than a mile from
Winterfell, and Jon can’t stop talking about how much he’d love to see the Isles of the Gods in
Braavos, he can’t stop chattering about things she’s never heard of before. Temple of the
Moonsingers? the Sealord's Palace? Ragman's Harbor? Sansa hasn’t even been to White Harbor,
she doesn’t even know all the names of the free cities of Essos by heart, she never fantasized of
going there ever, all she ever wanted to see was King’s Landing, and if any place doesn’t excite
Jon, it’s King’s Landing. He must think she’s so naïve, unschooled and unworldly.

One time during supper, when he sits next to her at the high table, she asks, 'Have you ever been to
Dragonstone?'

'No,' he shakes his head, 'My aunt and uncle live there, my father doesn't want prince Viserys to
live in King's Landing.'

'Why not?'

He bites his lip and moves over to her so only she can hear him when he says, 'I suppose it's
because he doesn't like him very much.'

'He doesn't?'

'Nobody does, really.' He says with a grin on his handsome face and then adds, serious now, 'My
sister Rhaenys says Viserys reminds the king of his father.'

'Isn't your brother Aegon supposed to live at Dragonstone?'

He takes a sip from his wine and clearly needs to take a moment to think before he answers, 'Well,
I think my father likes to keep an eye on Aegon.'

'Does he?'

He smiles, looking at her through his eyelashes, her many questions don't seem to annoy him but it
does take him some time to respond, as if he believes he needs to think carefully before saying
anything, 'It's a long story.'

'You can tell me.' She says and he nods.

'I know. I will, one day.'

'One day?'

'When he is not here.' He decides and he nods in Aegon's direction. Then she bites her lip and looks
away, right into the watchful eyes of the queen.

Sansa smiles politely at her but she does not return it. Sansa looks at Jon but he doesn't seem to
notice and his focus has already returned to his food.

After nine days of being married, Sansa has long forgotten the odd look on the queen’s face when
she finds out that husbands and wives try to make a child more often than just when the maester
tells them to.

He is just as careful but it's different now, it doesn't hurt as much, just a little bit in the beginning
but after that not anymore. She closes her eyes as she feels him move inside her and she decides
that this is somehow not so bad.
When they have been married two weeks and six days she decides that maybe, she even likes it.
She likes the weight of him on top of her and to move her hands over his arms- she just really likes
his arms, and his hands. She likes the way he says her name, she likes how he keeps himself
upright with his lower arm above her head so he can gently stroke her hair with his hand, his thumb
on her forehead. She also likes how his other hand moves over her side, where it clutches the fabric
of her nightgown. She likes the anticipation she feels when he carefully pushes her legs apart. She
tries to lay still, even when she feels the urge to arch her back or move her legs, lift them up
maybe. Sometimes she clutches the sheets beneath her in her hands or she bites her lip.

What she likes most is the way he kisses her, because it's everything she hoped kissing would be
like. She kisses him back and the way he moans in her mouth makes her fingers in his hair tremble,
she pulls on his hair the way she daydreamed of doing and he doesn't seem to mind.

He is very good at kissing her. She can't imagine that every man can kiss like that. His lips are both
bruising and soft and they taste of wine. He tucks on her lips and dips his tongue in her mouth and
it’s warm and makes her hold his face between her hands and she likes the way his cheeks feel with
the stubble, not at all like her own skin. She presses her own lips to his and he sucks on them and
Sansa thinks that no song could ever describe what kissing him makes her feel. Her heart won’t
stop beating against her chest, she constantly feels it.

He grins at her, rubs his nose against hers and she smiles, giggles too because he makes her laugh,
he tries his best to.

Apart from that day after their wedding, he hardly ever spends time with her during the day, he
never has the time and it's weird to catch glimpses of him and know he is the same person as the
one who is with her when they are alone. He doesn't ignore her, nothing like that, and she doesn't
believe he would ever avoid her, but sometimes it feels like he slightly does and she wishes she
knew why because when they are alone he makes her feel like he enjoys her company.

Sansa would never admit it but she likes the attention, she likes the way he looks at her, the way he
listens, the way he is interested, she likes how much he cares, nobody has ever cared enough to ask
for her opinion, to ask her so many questions.

He cares about her wellbeing, opens the window of her bedroom when she tells him to, he cares
about hurting her, even though she keeps assuring him he doesn't anymore, he cares about stealing
her sheets, he does that a lot while he sleeps, and he cares about her day, he always asks. He cares
about her feelings too, he doesn't say that but she knows. Sometimes he even asks her what she
thinks, he wonders about her opinion on small and meaningless things. But it's not meaningless to
her. No one has ever done that before.

During the day she can't get much of his time, he's always doing things, talking to people, to her
father or Robb or anyone. Most of the time she doesn't even know where he is. But at night he is all
hers and she likes it. At one point she starts looking forward to it.

She likes talking to him because he seems to listen to her and she is not very used to that. He tells
her things she never expected her husband to share with her. Things she is sure her father might not
want her to know. After they finish and he pulls her against him and she asks him questions he'll
always try to answer. She listens to him talking. He wraps those arms of his around her and she can
feel his heartbeat as she lays against him, and she likes it. It's like cuddling but different, it's better.
She listens to his voice until she falls asleep, fingers entangled with his, her back to his chest.

He hardly speaks of his family and never about his father in particular. When she eventually
bottles up the nerve to ask him he explains that he does not really know his father very well. It
seems hard to believe. How can someone not know their own father?
'I don't think he likes me very much.'

She wants to ask why he believes that but he looks sad when he says it, so she decides not to, she
doesn't like to see him sad.

He does tell her to stay away from the queen, he says it’s better that way, but he doesn't really
explain why. She doesn't understand. Yes, Cersei is arrogant and her Lord father doesn't like her
much either, but except that one time, when looks could have killed Sansa, she is always kind to
her. Maybe she misinterpreted that look entirely.

Sansa knows he hates Joffrey and she tries to see why. She knows Joffrey is very rude to him but
she also knows that Jon isn't nice to Joffrey either. Brothers fight, that’s what they do, Bran and
Rickon too.

Joffrey smiled at her and she thinks he is handsome, he walks around like a prince far more than
Jon does.

When she asks him why he dislikes them all so much he can't really seem to be capable of
explaining it properly to her, so she feels like maybe he is exaggerating a little bit.

Sansa realizes that being married has changed very little to her daily life routine and she somehow
feels a little disappointed in that. She feels like a woman now that she is no longer a maid, she is
married, she is as much an adult as any woman can be, but no one treats her differently. Her father
still kisses the top of her head, her mother still calls her ‘my beautiful girl’, Robb still treats her like
a child and worst of all Arya will still pull her hair when she’s angry with her.

She still embroiders all day, reads the same books, wears the same dresses, listens to the same
songs and stories. The only thing she does now that she used to not do before is mend his shirts,
like her mother does with her father's. They often need mending and it’s her job to do so now. He
tells her she doesn't have to, but she wants to. Her nights have changed so drastically, she can't
stand it that her days haven't.

Nothing has changed except everything has. She goes to the sept and her prayers have changed, she
daydreams about other things now. She feels different, like a whole new person that people seem
to not see nor notice.

Jon is disappointed when his hunt thingy gets postponed again and again because of the weather
(her father keeps reminding them that, really, winter is coming), she wants to think of something
they can do together, during the day preferably, but they don't have any similar interests at all.
When she asks him he just waves his hand at her and tells her he doesn't want to be a bother to her,
he doesn't really seem to understand and she has no idea how to properly explain.

It takes her some convincing and the realization that they do have a similar interest; each other, to
get him to spend an entire afternoon listening to her while she reads the story of Aegon the
dragonknight to him. He pretends to like it, which she somehow finds so very sweet. Then he starts
kissing her and she feels lightheaded. All in the middle of the day, which is as wonderful as it is
terrible because she knows that if her mother finds out she'll be in trouble, she doesn't want her
parents to think badly of her.

She looks at him and it makes her feel strangely exited. She watches him while he talks to her
father, while he fights Robb in the training yard and when he goes out riding. She watches him
through the window of her bedroom after waking up because Bran and Rickon are outside her
window screaming while having a snowball fight with him. She watches him when he makes love
to her too, he looks concentrated, as if he needs all the focus he can find.
She knows he watches her too, he does it all the time, she pretends not to see but she always
notices. His eyes are warm on her skin and the brush of his fingers when he hands her a cup during
supper makes her heartbeat speed up.

Jeyne Poole demands answers to questions that make Sansa giggle. She feels strangely mature now
that she knows. She knows what the whispers are about, she understands the jokes, most of them at
least.

Jeyne is not the only one who thinks her lord husband is handsome, Sansa knows what the kitchen
maids say about him, it makes her feel weird things, almost jealous, there is something that feels
like fear too.

Sansa knows for a fact that she is jealous when he spends time with Arya. He spends too much
time with Arya. She knows that he is not purposely trying to embarrass her but it stings to know
that he prefers Arya's company over hers, it feels a little like a nightmare come true. She doesn't
tell him, perhaps she should but not yet, not now.

It is so silly of her, to be too scared to tell him certain things when he never gets angry, upset or
annoyed. He is always patient, maybe too patient every now and then. Sometimes when she looks
at Jon and Arya or at Jon and Robb, she thinks about what he does to her at night, she remembers
how he looks at her, how glossy and big his eyes are, how gentle his touch is, it makes her feel
better and worse.

She should not be jealous of Arya, how can she be? He is her lord husband! Hers only, by oath.
She gets to have him at night, where she'll fall asleep feeling his warm chest to her back. He'll take
her hand in his and rub her palm with his thumb.

But she knows how different they are, she knows that he doesn't know what to do with her old
dreams and her old expectations. They both know he cannot make those dreams come true, no
matter how badly he might want to and it stands like a wall between them and she is too terrified to
knock it down. She still feels like he does not tell her everything, maybe he does not trust her as
much as he wants her to trust him. Maybe he does tell Arya, maybe Arya is a better listener or
maybe he thinks Sansa won't understand.

Maybe she won't, maybe it's better if he does not tell her. She doesn't tell him about her dreams
either, about how she always hoped to marry his older trueborn brother one day. She does not ever
want to tell him that, she can't bear the idea of telling him how she threatened to run away when
they told her of their betrothal. He does not need to know that, there is no point. Perhaps some
things are better left unsaid.

What Sansa dislikes most about her husband is that he never dances with her. There are so many
feasts lately, and every lord and knight is eager to dance with her but her husband, who is arguably
the only one she wishes to dance with.

'Look at Theon.' Jon says, 'He looks ridiculous.'

For some reason, Sansa likes it how much he dislikes Theon. Though he has never said it aloud, he
doesn't manage to be subtle about it either. Often, he mutters ass, whenever Theon does something,
anything, that he finds offending. He does it low enough that only she can hear it. Criticizing dance
skills is among his unsubtle ways of mocking her father's ward.

'Please,' Sansa says, 'You're just jealous. He dances much better than you do.'

They're standing along the wall, both with their back against it, their shoulders touching and every
now and then his fingers caress hers, though he manages to do it in such a way that she wonders if
he does it accidentally, 'Excuse me, I am an excellent dancer.' He says and he turns to his side to
look at her.

'Oh really,' she grins though keeps her eyes on the dancers, 'Why else would you never dance?'

'Because I don't enjoy it' He simply says, 'Doesn't at all mean that I can't, I dance when I'm forced.'

The look on his face makes Sansa giggle, 'Why should I believe that? I have seen you walk, you
stumble over your own feet when you've had barely one glass of wine.'

'Just so you know, I received an outstanding education at court. I can dance, I can dance Theon off
the dancefloor if that is something I ever choose to do.'

Sansa giggles again, 'I really don't believe you, I'm terribly sorry, do forgive me.'

He presses his lips together, looks from her to the dancefloor to his father at the high table and back
at her again and she can almost see him make the hard and cruel decision, 'Come,' he says and he
grabs her hand, 'We're going to dance.'

She hides her blushing face behind her free hand as he pulls her along, which causes her to knock
against the back of Sandor Clegane who turns and angrily glares at her but she can't find the time to
feel frightened at his awfully scarred face nor can the Hound say what it is that his already opened
mouth is about to tell her because Jon moves to stand in front of her and pushes her away, further
towards the dance floor, instructing Sandor Clegane carefully with his eyes to be nice.

'You're so easy.' She tells him, the moment the Hound is gone and she cannot contain her grin. He's
so cute, and nice and handsome and she can't stop looking at him.

'What?' He honestly seems to not know what she means but then he realizes and he lets go of her
hand, 'You're one manipulative little thing.' He says, his voice steady but he smiles his sweet and
handsome smile at her, his eyes narrowed the way she likes.

The music ends and another song starts, 'You promised me a dance.'

He shakes his head, 'I am never ever dancing with you, you spoiled your chance.'

'You promised!' She gasps, 'Please Jon, dance with me.' He turns away from her but she grabs his
upper arm with both her hands, her mouth close to his ear, 'I'll pretend to not notice when you stand
on my toes. I have never danced with my lord husband, that is utterly wrong.'

'Aye, utterly wrong, I'm sure. But... You have so many lords eager to have a dance from you, why
would you want me?' He laughs then, he hardly ever laughs and the sound exites her, 'And truly, I
really am an awful dancer.'

'I won't mind.' she insists.

'Yes you will.' He sighs and turns around again, lets his eyes linger over all the people, 'Seven
hells, I wish I could go to bed.'

'You don't like the feast?'

'Hm?' He looks down at her face, then smiles and moves his face closer to hers, his nose lingers on
her cheekbone, 'I like going to bed more.' He gives her his most beautiful smile, then pecks her lips
real softly, and it feels like a promise, for all to see. Before she can either push him away in shock
 or kiss back enthusiastically he turns around and leaves her standing there, to walk over to Robb.

Sansa knees shake suddenly and when she turns she sees both prince Tommen and Rickon watch
her, a look of equal disgust on both their faces. She blushes and quickly walks away. If only they
knew how Jon kisses her when they're alone. Maybe Sansa wants this feast to be over too.

Her head spins after that. Why would he say such a thing to her? Is he mad? Maybe she has gone
mad. Everyone is mad. The whole world has gone mad. Seven hells indeed.

Sansa drags herself up the stairs to her bedchamber later than night. She feels so nervous again, in a
way she hasn't felt in some time. Why does he make her feel so nervous? She never expected to
feel so weird, like birds flying around in her tummy.

When she opens the door to her bedchamber he is already laying in the bed, so deep in his sleep it's
as if he has been laying there for hours.

Sansa leans with her back against the door after closing it, just to stare at him for a while, at the
way his head rests on the pillow, and the way the muscles of his back look as he lays on his front.
Then she feels an urge to get in there and wriggle really close to him so Sansa can't help herself
when she undresses quickly, as soundlessly as possible, climbs in the bed and pushes herself close,
to let his body heat warm her up, looking forward to the feeling of naked skin pressed to naked
skin.

Sansa lays her head between his shoulder blades and moves her arm around his bare torso when he
wakes up quite suddenly and she can't find her breath to tell him she's sorry for waking him
because he grins and turns to pull her to his chest.

He doesn't need to gently push her legs apart this time, she spreads them herself and she feels
embarrassed because she does it so eagerly, almost longingly, though he doesn't seem to mind. He
just smiles and looks at her as if she's the prettiest thing he's ever seen. No one has ever looked at
her like that. No one has ever kissed her like he does either.

When he rolls off her she feels a little empty, somehow, until he wraps his arms around her again
and kisses her hair.

'Good night.' she whispers to him in the dark, as she lays her hand over his on her bare belly.

'You too.' he says, his voice all hoarse and sleep drunk.

I know that I am not what you hoped for but I promise that you can always count on me and I hope
that you will trust me because I'll be a good husband to you, I will.

Chapter End Notes

At first this chapter was all about Sansa finding out that Catelyn is really bad at the
talk but I was really unstatified with it. I think it's more important that she finds out Jon
is a pretty great guy and I want their relationship to develop carefully and for them to
grow into it, getting to know each other and learning to trust each other, be completely
comfortable in each other's company. I decided that that's way more important than
smut. For now. So I removed big parts added others things, changed a lot... and then I
missed the deadline, sorry! I'll have a week-long break next week so yay, hope I can
maybe update twice that week, we'll see.
 Handkerchiefs
Chapter Summary

‘Why else would he give her to him? She was supposed to marry Aegon! She marries
Jon Snow instead? Why would the Starks ever agree to it? she's too precious to give
away to some meaningless bastard, unless he is a meaningless bastard no more.’

Chapter Notes

Since this was a pretty bad day for my Jonsa shipping heart (while the wall falls,
really?) I'm glad I actually made it to my deadline, yaay.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Sansa

They are married for nine weeks and six days when the snow finally melts. The King decides to
stay for two more days to join the hunt (thank the gods they can finally go on that hunt) and then
plans to leave at last.

When Sansa’s father told her of the nearing leave, she felt only a little disappointed. Sansa knows
how pleased and relieved Jon is because of it and she wants to be glad, for him, because she doesn't
like it when he’s sad and they always make him sad, if not angry. She doesn't understand why they
do that. Are they treating him the way they are because he’s a bastard? If they are then why
doesn't her own father care? Ned treats Jon almost the same he treats his own sons, he seems to
genuinely enjoy his presence at Winterfell and he continually calls it Jon’s home.

Marrying Sansa made Jon as much Ned’s son as he could ever be and sometimes Sansa wonders if
this is why her father never put up a fight for her. Did he allow them to marry her off to a bastard,
with no name, no title, nothing to inherit, so… he could get his nephew back? She knows he never
wanted Jon to leave, and perhaps Sansa’s pride, her name, future and honor was sacrificed. Perhaps
that all was not as important to him, not as important as Jon.

Sansa rubs her cheek to the cotton of his tunic as she tries not to shiver when he softly tucks on her
hair and wraps a strand around his finger. She can hear his steady heartbeat and her head moves up,
only a little, every time he breathes in. The sound of his in-and-exhaling is comforting and it both
calms and soothes her. When Jon moves his hand up, to lay it below his head, she watches the
muscles in his upper-arms flex. They look strong and she likes to touch them with her fingertips,
trace the lines of the veins she can see.

Sansa enjoys the silence sometimes, when they’re just lying in her bed, saying nothing. They can
be comfortable like that, when it’s just the two of them, half dressed, as he holds her and leans his
cheek to the top of her head. She draws circles on his chest with her forefinger, watches the
movement herself as if it’s an interesting activity that fascinates her. His chest is so hard, like a
rock, yet as warm as his breath in her neck. His whole body is so warm, she’s never cold at night
anymore, because when she is she only needs to turn around, stretch her arm out and curl herself
around him. Like a little hearth in her bed. And when it’s too warm… she need only ask and he’ll
open the window for her and she sometimes does that, secretly, mostly because she likes to watch
him stand in the middle of her bedchamber, dressed in so little… that still makes her blush
sometimes, but it no longer embarrasses her.

Sansa flexes her fingers, they’re a little soar because of her needlework and it’s as if he knows that
when he grabs her hand and warms it in his own.

'Maybe, tomorrow, we could stay in bed all day.' He suggests.

'But you wanted to go on this hunt ever since you came here.' She says and when she turns her face
a little she smells the soap they used to wash his shirt.

'True,' He presses his nose in her hair and his lips brush her forehead. There is nothing she likes
more than kissing except maybe this, Sansa decides, laying here in his arms makes her feel very
safe and all sorts of other things, 'But I like being here with you more.'

She feels her face heat up, 'We can't,' she decides. She looks up and her hand strokes his hair from
his eyes and she can feel his fingers drawing circles on her back through the silky fabric of her
nightgown, 'We couldn't explain that to anyone.'

'I can pretend to be sick.' He says, 'I'll tell them I'm sick of Joffrey, I'll get better when he leaves,
until then I’ must stay in bed.'

'That won't explain why I am here, will it?'

He shrugs, 'You can take care of me in my hour of need.'

She snorts and then tries to hide her smile in the crook of his neck, 'You can take perfect care of
yourself.' She tells him.

The next day it's not very true anymore. She doesn't wake up to see them off on the hunt, Jon never
wakes her so she sleeps through most of it, but when they come back she is up and with her mother,
practicing her skills on the bells, when a stable boy comes to get her, and tells her he's hurt.

‘Did he ask for me?’

‘He did m’lady.’ The boy reddens when he says it as if it’s such a shameful thing.

Sansa feels oddly furious when she makes her way up the steps and it's only when she slams the
door open that she realizes why.

It is extremely awkward to find the king in her bedchamber, but she doesn't linger on that for too
long, there's no time for such wastes of time.

'It was decided to bring him here because his own room has enough space for one single person
only.’ Robb explains. Robb doesn’t understand, she’s not flushed because of that, as if she cares
about that, why would she care about that? She wants him in this room.

Sansa only frowns at her brother, fidgets with her skirt and turns her gaze down to avoid the glare
of all these men. It’s as if they’re all angry with her, as if she’s disturbing them, as if they are not
standing in her bedchamber, but in some place official and important.

'Why wasn't I told?' Her voice is too soft when she asks, she doesn't sound nearly as angry as she
feels. She doesn't mean to look at Rhaegar Targaryen directly when she finally looks up, but she
does so anyway. He raises his eyebrows at her as if she’s an interesting object, one that surprised
him, amazed him a little, as if he’s taken aback. It is strange, for despite her reverence for the man,
in that moment, she is not afraid of him.

The king’s maester stammers a bit about how women and blood are an improper combination but
she ignores him and moves to the bed where she sits and she shrugs of all her shame when she lifts
her shaky hand and places it to his sweaty forehead, where his hair is plastered to his skin, 'How’re
you feeling?' She whispers softly, as if she hopes only he can hear her when she keeps her voice
down.

'Awful.' He says but he smiles. She has seen this smile before, he chooses to use it when he wants
to reassure her, or comfort her, 'This must undoubtedly be the end.'

He very clearly has a fever, for his teeth chatter as if he’s freezing, yet his skin is piping hot and his
forehead’s covered in sweat. He’s been bleeding, somewhere on his upper chest, and she gently
touches it with her fingertips, 'What happened?'

'Joffrey tried to get rid of me.' He jokes again and it is as annoying as it is reassuring.

'Stop that.' She breathes, her voice so hoarse and soft she wonders if even he can hear her.

Sansa looks up to finally take all the men in the room in. She finds that Joffrey is not here but her
father is, and Robb and Jaime Lannister too. They can hear all she says and see all she does as well
as the look on her face.

'When I told you to not aim at your bothers I meant I needed you to aim at the boar, not at yourself.'
She doesn't know why she says that with all these people present, not one of them is hiding the
efforts it costs them to listen and see as much as they can.

He may have laughed if moving didn’t make him wince. It's his shoulder that's hurt. They tell her it
dislocated when he fell from his horse and they have already pushed, or pulled, she’s not sure, it
back. There is some nasty cut just above his collarbone, near his neck, that they have tied for the
time being but it needs stitching, the wound drenched his whole tunic in blood.

'We shall clean it, my lady… no need for worry.’ The measter promises.

Jon closes his eyes when a new wave of fever takes over, ‘Don’t fall asleep.’ she whispers and then
pulls the cold cloth from his squire’s hand, to press it gently to his cheek.

Robb lays his hand to her shoulder, ‘He’ll be fine, sister. Why don’t you come with me, so the
measter can do his job?’

Robb’s suggestion annoys her somehow and she shakes his hand off, ‘I will not leave him now, I
am his lady wife. I must stay.’ Sansa says it with a certainty, she knows her place.

Sansa doesn’t miss the look her brother shares with her father, but she’s chooses not to respond to
it. It would be a childish thing to do, and she cannot be childish now.

'We will clean it with.. with firemilk. To burn the wound.’ The measter says.

Sansa nods, ‘Give it to me.’

'M-m'lady, no, not without milk of the poppy!’

Sansa takes her eyes off Jon for a small moment when she raises her eyebrows at the man, ‘He has
a cut, he did not lose his hand, if we give him milk of the poppy he’ll sleep for three sunturns.’

’Sansa…’ Her father moves over to her, ‘Perhaps it would be better to leave the king’s measter to
do what he is best at.’

Sansa moves her eyes back to Jon, who has his eyes opened but is obviously too much in pain to
speak, never mind joke, ‘Give me the firemilk.’ Sansa says.

The measter says nothing, only purses his lips in disapproval when he hands her the bottle. Sansa
shakes it and turns it around in her hands, before she wipes Jon’s sticky curls from his eyes, ‘It’s
going to burn, do you want to chew on some willow bark?’

Jon regains enough of his consciousness to shake his head convincingly and when Sansa burns his
wound with the substance, he doesn’t scream, he does not even whimper, though he trembles all
over, winches and his hands are shaky fists.

Sansa tries to sooth him as she whispers to him, strokes through his hair with her fingers and when
she looks up she finds a group of men, the most important men of Westeros, watch her with either
fear, annoyance or interest, 'Perhaps someone could get my lord husband some wine?' She
suggests, 'For the pain.'

'We usually prefer milk of the poppy, my lady.' The measter tries again.

'I prefer wine.' She says, 'He needs stitching and I plan on doing it myself.'

'But my lady-'

'Wine please and if you all could leave I would very much appreciate it, ladies do not enjoy their
bedchamber filled with men.'

Someone dares to laugh but stops when the king turns his gaze to him.

As soon as they leave Sansa wants to crawl into his side on the bed but she’s not sure if he would
like that, 'Does it hurt? Did I hurt you?' She asks, hoping that her worry doesn't irritate him.

Jon smiles again, his eyes still closed, ‘It seems all… worse t-than it seems.' He says and she
wonders if he knows how little sense his words make.

'What happened?’ Sansa realizes she probably should have asked the men she just all send away,
but she doesn’t regret it, she’s glad their piercing eyes stopped burning her back.

’Nothing.’

What do you mean nothing? You don't remember?'

He tries to shrug, 'I hit my h-head… I think? I know I d-did. T-then I fell and I woke up… I woke
up in t-this room with all t-these lovely people.'

‘Shhh… You don’t have to… they should have cleaned the wound sooner. You have a fever.’
Sansa feels angry again, 'They should have told me sooner, how long have you been here?'

'Southron people are n-not used to w-worried wives.' He explains, 'I can't remember the last time
my mother-in-law p-pretended t-to care.'

'I don't care about southron people.’ The moment she says it it’s true, ‘Does your head hurt?' She
moves her hand up to touch his temple with the back of her fingers.
’M-my shoulder’s w-worse. Everything I ate before we left came b-back out in the woods.'

'That's disgusting.'

He laughs a weak laugh, 'That was b-before I passed out, I can pretend I d-don't remember.'

'Stop joking,' she touches his shirt with her fingers where the color of blood is darkest, 'This isn't
funny.'

He tries to shrug again but of course he still can't, ‘It happens, it's just a shame that it h-had to be
today.'

'What do you mean today?'

He smiles and without any warning he moves up as far as he can, to place a kiss to her cheek, 'I
don't know, I would've liked it t-to present you a boar.'

'I don't want a boar.' She says, her cheeks burn, 'I don't care about all that, not when it gets you
hurt.'

'That wasn't the boar's fault.' He says, laughing huskily and the laughing makes him wince too,
'Just my own.'

'How can you just fall from your horse?' She asks, 'You're being reckless.' She should stop the
nagging, soon he’ll roll his eyes at her and he needs to rest.

'No!' He says, 'No I wasn't b-being reckless I was just thinking about you and about how I really
should've stayed in bed with you and… and t-then I hit m-my head.' He gives her a shameless
smile, 'It was probably a branch or s-something.'

'You hit your head against a branch and fell off your horse?' She doesn't mean to make her voice
sound so unconvinced.

'Aye,' he says, 'But when they pushed it back it was already m-much better, I don't need the wine.'

'The wine is not for you.' She says, 'It's for me, to keep my fingers from trembling.'

'Are you t-telling me you can't actually stitch?'

She smirks and wants to kiss the corner of his mouth, 'I'm telling you I can't stitch when my fingers
are trembling.'

She can see him much it hurts when she stitches but he makes no sound and the wound is not very
deep, she doubts it will leave an ugly scar. She tries to be careful and rub the skin around his
wound with her thumb to soothe the pain.

She keeps apologizing when she thinks she’s hurting him until he leans his head back and tells her
to, ‘Shut up, Sansa.’

It makes her smile, she never thought being told to shut up would make her smile.

When she's done she cleans him up as best as she can and he gives her his sweetest smile, the
sincerest and the most insecure. He kisses her lips, carefully, quickly, but it warms her limbs all the
same. He falls asleep in her arms, with his head in her lap as she moves her hands through his hair.
She wraps a curl around her fingers and gently caresses his cheek and holds a cold cloth to his
forehead.
She knows her mother will come and look for her, that she’ll maybe scold her for not being useful,
but Sansa’s doesn’t care. She doesn’t need to be useful, it’s not paramount, Jon is. She’s his lady
wife first now, a Stark lady second. Her mother cannot scold her, not tell her what to do and she
will not leave him, not when he is like this, so warm, weak and in pain. She won’t let him be alone
when he wakes up, nor when he sleeps.

The door creaks and to Sansa’s surprise the blonde head of Jon’s sister Rhaenys peeks in the room,
‘My princess…’ Sansa attempts to get up but the woman lifts her hand to tell her not to move,
‘He’s dying?’ she asks.

Sansa can only shake her head, because it seems such a cold and heartless question, even though it
appeared so kind and worried, to come and check on your younger, wounded brother.

’The way father was speaking… I thought we’d seen the last of him.’ Rhaenys says and she sounds
almost amused, she looks at her own hand in which she still holds the door handle, ‘Did he say
what happened? Why he fell off his horse?’

’He said he.. He mentioned a branch. He was very weak. He has a fever.’

’A branch…’ Rhaenys says the word as if she doesn’t believe it for a second and it makes Sansa
feel uncomfortable.

’It’s what he said.’

Rhaenys opens her mouth to say something but then Sansa’s father appears behind her and the way
she glances up at Ned gives the impression that she feels almost caught, ‘Lord Stark.’

Ned nods at her and then takes a step into the bedchamber, ‘How is he?’

Rhaenys doesn’t allow Sansa to answer when she says, ‘He hit his head... it was a branch. A
healthy, strong nineteen-year-old with years of riding experience… hit his head against a branch
and fell of his horse.’

Ned frowns at her and nods again, ‘The measter confirms he’ll regain his full health.’

’Let’s thank the Gods.’ Rhaenys says, ‘Obviously they chose to protect him... from a branch.’ With
these words she turns around and leaves them again, she’s gone as soon as she appeared.

‘I don’t think she likes me very much.’ Sansa says after a short moment of silence.

A small smile appears on Ned’s face and he turns to leave her again as well, ‘There are very few
people the princess Rhaenys does not dislike, it’s the shield she chooses to wear.’

‘Father…’ Ned looks up again when she calls for him, ‘Please don’t tell mother I am still here?’

Ned smiles again, and there’s something in his eyes that makes him appear almost proud, ‘I
shan’t.’ he promises.

Bran

Bran watches all the men depart on their second hunt. The first one was a major failure so everyone
seems more exited now, getting a second chance to do it right. Bran wishes he could come too, it
would be a dream come true to get to hunt with a royal party. Jon told him hunting in the south is
the most boring thing he has ever done but Bran can't believe it, not with these horses and those
armors. It is like one of old Nan’s stories come to life.
Bran has, up till now, been a bit disappointed with the king’s visit. They made him sword fight
with the prince Tommen, who he finds pretty dumb and fat and his mother always forces him to
depart feasts before the actual fun starts. The king plays the harp and looks stately, majestic and
cold. Nothing like the warrior prince Rhaegar people tell stories about. He’s always dressed in
black and he never smiles. He’s so different from Jon, apart from the not smiling part they look
nothing alike. He wonders how Jon could ever be the King’s son because he is not stately or
majestic and he is far from cold. Bran thinks it’s maybe because he is a bastard.

The queen seems very fond of herself and not fond of Winterfell, much like her stepson, Jon’s
crown-prince brother, who complains and carefully offends whenever he sees opportunity. Bran
knows most girls think prince Aegon is handsome but Bran thinks he looks like a woman, with the
long hair and his fancy clothes. Robb said he spends more time and gold on it than any lady of the
court. The princess Rhaenys seems like the most vague and distant person he has ever seen, she
hardly ever speaks but when she does she always says something he doesn't really understand,
something vague too, or complicated. She seems as displeased as her brother, but not with
Winterfell, she seems to just be displeased with everything else, the world and everyone in it
though there's something in her eyes that reminds Bran of the king.

Joffrey is the worst person he has ever met. Mean, haughty and viscous and once he kicked Bran’s
direwolf, who still has no named. He tried many names but they never seemed to fit. When Bran
told his father about Joffrey’s kicking he didn't even do anything about it.

Then there’s Myrcella, who never speaks neither and blushes a lot. Bran decided to stay away from
her as far as he possibly could after Theon jokingly suggested Bran might have to marry her one
day, like Jon had to marry Sansa.

Sansa’s wedding especially was a disappointment. She didn't look happy and Bran felt a little sorry
for her, she seemed so overwhelmed. Bran thought maybe, because it was Jon’s wedding, it would
not be more of the same and it wasn't- it was worse. Everyone seemed so tense. His father
especially and his mother too, even though she was better at hiding it. Robb was awkward about all
of it, Arya couldn't stop frowning and everything horrible about the royal family seemed to be
worse that day.

Bran expected things to change but nothing really has. Sansa still does the same things all day, she
still scolds him, complains about Theon, mocks Arya and chooses Rickon’s side over Bran’s no
matter what happened, just because he’s the baby. Bran never sees her with Jon, maybe that is
because he is busy or maybe she still dislikes him. She cried so much when they told her she had to
marry him, he wouldn't be surprised if she is being absolutely awful to him. Poor Jon.

Bran has seen them talk a handful of times, and it looks awkward and extremely uncomfortable.
Sansa doesn’t even seem to be able to look at him, she stares down at her fidgeting hands and turns
all red and everything and when Jon moves closer to her to tell her something she seems to tense.
He hopes it’ll change because he likes Jon. He can't really remember what Jon used to be like
before he left but he really likes the nineteen-year-old Jon Snow. He tells Bran all about the
southron knights he knows and what they look like, the way they fight and swing their swords.

Jon doesn't seem to fit in with his family, he looks and behaves like an outsider, as if he
disapproves, though Bran doesn't really understand what he disapproves of exactly.

With the majority of the men gone hunting boar with the king, Bran is left behind with Jon,
Rickon, his mother, old Nan and the girls. Jon can't go because of the shoulder wound that Sansa
stitched up for him. Bran knows that because Robb joked about it. He said she probably
embroidered him with ‘flowers and stars and other things like that’, Bran hopes she didn't because
that sounds nasty.

Bran can't find Jon now when he goes looking for him, he’s not in his room and he figures that
maybe Jon went to lay down in Sansa’s room because his shoulder hurt. Sansa is nowhere to be
seen either but he doesn't really try to find her, she’ll probably make him do something boring. He
wants to avoid Arya too because he knows she’s is upset after a scolding from their mother. Sansa
told everyone she made a fool out of herself in front of the princess Myrcella. Though Bran heard
Jon telling Arya that, 'Really, it doesn't matter.' Catelyn didn't agree so much.

At first Bran was excited about leaving Winterfell and going to King's Landing on a real horse, not
a pony. He swooned about the stories Jon told about ghosts, terrible dungeons, and dragon skulls
on the walls. Jon is a good storyteller and Jon can never hear too much.

Bran told him he dreams of becoming a member of the Kingsguard someday and about how
anxious he is to meet the greatest living knight, Ser Barristan the Bold.

Against his build up expectations Jon shook his head and told Bran to change his mind now he still
can. Bran didn't really get why he would say that but shook off the comment, deciding Jon
probably hates the capital because his family is the worst.

Bran has become a little apprehensive about leaving the only home he has ever known. He will
miss all those he is leaving behind, even his pony.

When he’s done looking for someone Bran goes to the godswood, his direwolf following him.

After a while he gets tired of trying to teach his wolf to fetch and decides to go climbing. His wolf
howls when he climbs away up a tree and onto the armory roof but Bran ignores him.

Bran is always climbing, he spends so much time climbing his mother claims that he could climb
before he could walk. Bran can’t remember learning to climb or learning to walks so therefore he
assumes it must be true. His mother is also terrified that one day he might fall and kill himself.
Once Bran kept a promise not to climb for almost a fortnight and was miserable the entire time.
Finally he gave in, but confessed his crime the next day. When his father ordered him to the
godswood to cleanse himself, they found him sleeping in the tallest tree in the grove the next
morning. His father, angry and laughing, told him that from now on he was free to climb, so long as
his mother didn’t catch him.

Bran decides to climb towards the Broken Tower, where he has always liked to feed the crows,
when he is startled by voices from the First Keep.

He’s not sure at first whose voices he hears, they are vaguely recognizable, too distant to tell, but
not distant enough not to understand what they’re saying.

‘If Aegon marries-‘

‘Aegon will never get married. He may be engaged to that bitch from Highgarden but he won't tie
the knot.’

It’s the female voice Bran recognizes first.

‘He doesn't respect my husband enough to get married.’

‘He got Jon snow married.’

‘Yes, Jon Snow.’ The woman snorts and laughs humorlessly, ‘No one knows how that filth is all
that stands between my son and his throne. Except Aegon. Aegon knows it- and that crazy mad
sister of his too.’

‘Jon snow is a bastard Cersei, he's not in line for the succession, Rhaegar has always been very
clear about that.’

Queen Cersei. Bran correctly recognized her voice, he heard her name and he knows it’s her. She’s
talking about Jon, she called him filth and talks about a throne.

‘Yes, he used to be, but things change.’

The male voice is one of frustration, as if this is a conversation they have had a million times prior
and he can't listen to it anymore, ‘Why would he? There is no reason to doubt-‘

‘Once Jon Snow puts his bastard seed in that foul child and gets her pregnant he may ruin
everything.’

Foul child? What foul child?

‘We can't risk it Jaime, they have to go.’

Jaime. The male voice belongs to Ser Jaime Lannister, that man Robb always calls Kingslayer, ‘Do
you think Rhaegar will ever consider it?’

‘He already does. Why else would he give her to him? She was supposed to marry Aegon! She
marries Jon Snow instead? Why would the Starks ever agree to it? she's too precious to give away
to some meaningless bastard… Unless he’s a meaningless bastard no more.’

‘Why would Rhaegar choose him over his trueborn sons? He always hated the boy.’

’Hated? He never hated him. It’s fear, the king is terrified of his own past staring back at him
every time he sees that whining, sulking bastard. It’s the ghost of Lyanna Stark he fears and the
only thing he hates is his past with his own mistakes.’

‘That doesn't explain why he would ever consider legitimizing him.’

‘Because it’s lyanna’s son! Everyone knows he would rather have died on the trident than live on
without her.’

‘He hates the boy.’ Jaime Lannister insists.

‘Does he? All I know is that I will set that throne on fire before that rude little worthless piece of
Stark scum will snatch it away from my son.’

‘Have you spoken to Rhaegar about this? Has he ever said anything about a possible-‘

‘We need to get rid of him as soon as possible.’

Bran grows more frightened by every word they speak. His hands start to tremble and he hears a
buzzing in his ears. He climbs over the window, then drops down. He can see the man and woman
inside, naked, but getting dressed, as they are fondling and kissing.

‘You really thought killing him during a hunt at his beloved childhood castle was the ultimate
solution?’

‘People get hurt during these savage hunts all the time.’
‘Jon Snow doesn't, he hardly has a scratch.’

‘For all we know she may be pregnant already. This could ruin everything.’

‘Hello there.’

Bran doesn't realize Jaime’s talking to him until he looks into the man’s green eyes.

Cersei turns her head and sees him too. Bran loses his grip and he knows this was a mistake, he
knows that if he doesn't leave, they’ll make him stay. He tries to escape and nearly falls but he
catches himself on the window ledge.

Jaime extends a hand to pull him up onto the ledge.

As Bran begins to relax he hears Cersei’s yells but her words hardly reach him.

‘How old are you, boy?’

‘Twelve.’

Ser Jaime Lannister loathingly looks at him, then says, ‘The things I do for love.’ Before he shoves
Bran backwards out the window into the empty air.

Sansa

Everyone is on the hunt Jon ruined last week and since he can't join because of his shoulder he
decided to complain about it to Sansa while keeping her company. She doesn't even mind, if she
blocks out his whining she can simply enjoy the feeling of his hands warming her cold feet.
Getting him to herself during the day is rare so she’ll take as much of it as she can get. She prefers
him inside so she can make sure he doesn't do anything with his shoulder that he shouldn't.

Sansa sits on her bed, her back against the headboard and her feet in Jon’s lap, who sits at the other
side against the footboard. She has a work of embroidery in her hands while she pretends to listen
to his ongoing complaining about being forced to stay inside. She purposely doesn't remind him
how, just last week, he suggested staying in bed instead of joining the hunt, which is basically what
he’s doing right now.

‘What are you making?’ He asks.

‘I'm not making anything, I'm embroidering.’

‘What are you embroidering?’

She looks up and smiles at him, ‘Handkerchiefs.’

‘Why would you embroider handkerchiefs?’

‘To make them look nice.’ Sansa says and she looks back at her work.

‘I never noticed your handkerchiefs are embroidered.’

'That doesn't surprise me.’

‘Why would you embroider them if no one notices?’

‘Maybe I like to embroider them because I like embroidering and because I like embroidered
handkerchiefs.’

‘Maybe.’ He says and he smiles, ‘I wasn't judging.’

‘I didn't think you were.’ That’s a lie.

He moves to sit next to her, ‘What are you trying to ma- embroider?’

‘I'm creating birds.’

He wraps his good arm around her shoulder, ‘You never embroider wolves.’

‘That would be just as ugly as dragons.’

He smirks, ‘Are there handkerchiefs with dragons?’

She smiles as she pulls the needle up, ‘There are mostly handkerchiefs with lions.’

He watches her for some time while Sansa pretends to be fully capable of keeping her focus, ‘I
spoke to my father today.’ He suddenly tells her and she looks up with a frown when he takes her
braid in his hand, rolls it between his fingers.

‘You did?’ she was not aware he ever speaks to his father at all, and if he does he has never shared
it with her before.

‘Yeah.’

‘About what?’

‘Us.’ He says. Sansa pushes her handkerchief away and turns towards him.

He doesn't look happy and she has no idea what they discussed precisely but it can't be good.
Maybe the king is unhappy about their marriage, maybe he doesn't like her.

‘Well, not us. Not you.’

She can’t hide her confusion now, ‘He did not say anything about me?’

‘No. I mean, we didn't discuss you, it was not about you.’

‘But you talked about us-‘

‘Not really, not us, we talked about our marriage.’

‘Does it not please him?’

‘I don't know, I don't care.’ Jon looks away as she tries to read his face, ‘I erm- I asked him
something.’

‘Something?’

‘You must promise not to get angry.’

‘What did you do?’ She eyes him and he looks tremendously uncertain.

‘Nothing, not really, I don't know why I'm telling you.’

‘I think you should.’

‘Aye.’ He fumbles a little with his hands, ‘They have been here for over two moonturns now,
they’ll leave once the wheelhouse is save to go. I didn't plan on asking him, not for some time,
some years, but I thought perhaps I could-‘

‘What did you ask him?’

Jon gulps, stares at her for a second and then admits, ‘I thought maybe he could give me some
land, above the neck, there are so many empty castles in the North, we could still be close to your
family-’

‘You asked for land?’

‘Not really.’ He says, though he just told her he did, ‘I don't really want the land, I just… I don't
want to live of my family-in-law’s generosity for the rest of my life Sansa, it feels wrong.’

‘But you love Winterfell.’ She knows it’s true.

‘I do, I- I really do. But I just don't think it will work to live here for the rest of our lives.’

‘You want to live somewhere else?’

‘With you.’

She smiles at that and the way he looks at her warms her heart, she takes his hand in hers and
squeezes it.

‘You’re not angry?’

‘Why would I be angry?’

‘Because I didn't tell you. I wanted to tell you, I just thought… maybe I should tell you if I could-‘

‘I’d like to live somewhere with you.’ She says and she wonders why the idea never came to her
mind before. Away from Winterfell, from the people who treat and scold her like a child and think
they can always tell her what to do, who watch her every move, who ask uncomfortable questions
all the time. Live somewhere else and have her own household like a proper lady in her proper own
castle with her proper lord husband. She could do that. She could be happy.

He doesn't look as happy at that as she expected he would, it actually seems to make him feel
worse, ‘I don't know why I'm telling you.’ He says and he removes the arm he had wrapped around
her, ‘I thought I shouldn't in case he refused, so you wouldn't have to know and now I'm telling you
anyway.’

‘He refused?’ She cannot believe it when he nods, ‘Why?’

Jon shrugs, ‘I don't know, he didn't really say. Well- he said he didn't come all the way north to
deliver me to Winterfell, for me to leave again.'

‘He wants you to stay here?’

‘Apparently.’

'What else did he say?'

Jon shrugs, ‘Not much.’

That is probably a lie but she doesn’t want to push it, ‘It doesn't matter.’

‘It does matter.’ He says and he looks up with that same sad look on his face, ‘I'm sorry, I really
am, I know you don't want to stay here, now you have to because I-‘

‘We’ll stay here.’ She says and she pulls her hand through his hair, ‘We can always stay here. My
parents love you, and Robb too. They were all so happy you came home, Winterfell is your home
as much as it is mine.’

‘I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I should've asked.’

‘It doesn't matter now, does it?’

‘I think it does.’

She shakes her head. She wants to wrap her arms around his neck and lay her head on his shoulder,
‘He may change his mind.’

‘Maybe.’ Jon says but she can hear how he doesn't believe that at all.

She looks up, she wants to kiss his cheek and his jaw and nose, ‘We’ll stay here.’ She whispers.

‘We’ll have to.’ He says and he frowns at the way she looks at him, ‘I have no say in where I
live… or so it seems.’

‘I think it’s sweet that you asked.’ She says, she can see the way he looks at her lips, she always
likes it when he does that.

‘I never should’ve asked. I knew he’d say no, it was stupid.’

She disagrees with him on that, ‘It's not stupid at all.’ She says, ‘It’s like you said, he wouldn't even
notice if he gave it to you, it would be a small gesture and if he cares about you at all-‘

‘He said it would be insulting to Northern lords- to give their land to a bastard.’

‘He said that?’ She can't believe it; how could he say such a thing? The king always seems so
careful with his words, he appears to be so gracious and he is always amicable to her.

Jon takes the necklace she wears between his fingers, rolls the silver stone between his fingers and
stares at it while doing so.

‘Jon…’ she starts but she doesn't know what to say, ‘You’re not just a bastard. You are the king’s
bastard.’ She’s not sure if saying that will help, whenever his birth comes up she never knows what
to say, nothing seems to make him feel better.

He looks up at her and says, ‘To some people that’s even worse.’

‘How?’

He looks at her as if it physically pains him that she asks, not because he thinks it’s stupid, just
because he doesn't want to answer, ‘It’s complicated.’

‘I'm not stupid.’

‘I never said you are.’

‘Then you can explain it to me.’

‘No.’ He says, ‘I mean- I could but I don't want to.’

She wants to get up but he pulls her arm, closer to his body then she was before, ‘Jon, I-‘

‘Listen to me.’ He says and she stops trying to pull her arm back as she feels anger creep in at his
remark but the look in his eyes tells her that perhaps she shouldn't be, ‘I’ll tell you, just not today.’

‘You always say that.’ She sounds like a nagging, spoiled child now, she can hear it herself.

He bites his lower lip and lets her go, so she can move away from him if she wants to but she
doesn't, ‘I am the only thing that connects the North to the crown.’

‘Father always-‘

‘The dragons are gone, the Baratheon rebellion proved that the Targaryens are not invincible.’

‘They have never been defeated.’ She feels almost exited at this sudden burst of information he is
sharing with her, he not always does that, not about matters that concern his father.

‘Anyone who thinks they can’t is a fool.’ Jon says.

‘What does that have to do with the North?’

He smiles at that question, as if he loves the answer, ‘The North is the largest of all the Kingdoms,
all the other ones could fit into it, the scale of it is immense, losing it would be unbearable to my
father. The North has never been easy to control, the only thing that stops your father from
rebelling, now and especially during the Baratheon uprising, is me. Our fathers are bound by
blood. But even with me the North is a struggle, it’ll always be a struggle.’

‘The North was loyal before-‘

‘Before my father killed my mother?’ Jon looks away, into the fire, ‘The North remembers.
They’re loyal to house Stark above everything, above everyone else. You have to understand,
Sansa, that without me, your father would never support the king as much as he does now. My
grandfather killed his brother and father.’

‘I have never heard my father speak about rebelling against the crown.’

‘It is not about your father and what he wants, he has many bannermen to please. King Aerys killed
the warden of the North and the heir while his son kidnapped, raped and killed a lady of
Winterfell. The Targaryens aren't well-liked up here and for good reason.’

‘Everyone knows that your mother wasn't raped and kidnapped.’ Sansa says.

'No.’ Jon says firmly, ‘Not everyone knows that.’

She eyes him in disbelieve, ‘So what are you trying to say?’

He is still not looking at her when he suddenly says, ‘I don't really know.’

Sansa knows that he's not answering the question she asked. She asked why it's worse to be a king's
bastard. This is not about his birth, this is about his blood, and he's avoiding the question, by
answering another. Jon may be a bastard, but he descents from both old Valyria and the First Men
as well as the Andals and the Rhoynar, few can say the same, ‘Your father doesn’t want you to
become a Northener.’ She decides, it is the only thing that seems logical to her from what he just
told.

‘But at the same time he does.’ Jon says, ‘It’s why he let me grow up here but ordered me to go to
King’s landing and live with him when I became a man grown.’

‘Is that why he wanted us wedded?’ She asks, if this is the reason then she feels rather disgusted by
it, for her to be part of this game they play, with Jon, with his life. For their marriage to be a chess
piece on a board.

‘I don't know.’ He says and finally he looks up from the fire.

‘You don't think so?’

He shrugs, ‘I never asked him. It seems unnecessary.’

‘What does?’

‘If he wanted to strengthen his ties to the North he would have married you to Aegon. Aegon is a
Targaryen, unlike me. I'm already linked to the North.’

‘Then why?’

‘I don't know.’ He says again.

‘He never told you?’

He laughs at the silliness of her question, ‘No.’

‘Why do you think?’

He shrugs, ‘Perhaps he wants me here now that Ned goes south, maybe he wants to show people
he has power over your family by making them marry their eldest daughter to a bastard, maybe he
hopes that his hold on Winterfell will expand with me here- or this was all just his way of getting
rid of me, only the Gods know. And my father. I stopped thinking about it, maybe I’ll never find
out.’

‘I don't believe it.’ She says, ‘It sounds cruel.’

‘Some people are.’ He says and he suddenly wraps both his arms around her, as if he wants to
protect her from those cruel people, ‘Not everyone is like you, Sansa.’ He softly says to her hair.

She wants to ask him what he means. Like you. ‘But he’s your father.’

‘I know.’ His arms around her tighten, ‘But if I wasn't my mother’s son, he would have long gotten
rid of me.’

‘I don't believe he hates you.’

‘No,’ Jon says, ‘Me neither, I think he doesn't care. He hates it that he needs me so much, but all
he feels is indifference.’

Sansa thinks that’s even worse, and again she refuses to believe it. She knows the story of prince
Rhaegar and his lady Lyanna, she can't believe that Rhaegar Targaryen could hate or ‘not care’
about Lyanna’s boy, the only son of his to be born from a true and tragic love.

She doesn't repeat her disbelieve again, she knows she won't ever change Jon’s mind, not now she
won't. Instead she decides to push all her insecurities aside and she kisses him, because this seems
somehow the best way to show him that there are people who care about him, despite his complete
certainty. She cares about him, no matter how strange that makes her feel, she really, oddly, does.

‘I don't want our marriage to be a chess piece on a board.’ She breathes against his lips.

‘It's not to me.’ He says and she smiles, he kisses that smile and then presses his forehead to hers.

‘We can stay here, at Winterfell.’ She promises and wraps her hands around his wrists as he cups
her face in his hands, rubbing her cheeks with his thumbs, ‘If you’d like that.’

He pulls her in his lap, ‘Even if I didn’t like it, I would still have to bring you with me wherever I
go. You’re my wife and I’m stuck with you now.’

She carefully shoves his healthy shoulder, the way he looks at her makes her feels bold, ‘Admit
that you don't mind being stuck with me.’

He grins and it warms her heart. How can Rhaegar Targaryen not love him? If she will ever have a
son that will be half as good and lovely as Jon Snow she’ll love him with all her heart. She actually
may have a son like that one day. The idea makes her belly flutter.

‘I love it.’ He says effortlessly and when he kisses her he pushes her down on the bed. She giggles
and purposely fails at trying to push him away while he presses kisses to her face.

He looks down at her, his eyes widened, ‘You’re really pretty.’ He says, as if he purposely tries to
make it worse, ‘You’re far too pretty for me.’

‘You are not that bad-looking yourself, you know.’ She says, again it’s not something she should
have said, but he looks so lovely, the expression on his face makes her cheeks burn and she wants
to let her fingers stroke his jawline.

He has never given her the impression that he lays with her because it is his duty, she knows he
likes it, perhaps more than she likes it. He can still shake sometimes and his breathing is often
unsteady. She likes how much he likes it, he is so terribly affectionate and it makes her feel good.

Maybe she wants him too, it's this new feeling in her lower belly, she can feel it now, she felt it
before and it made her want to arch her back, pull him closer and deeper too, maybe. It makes her
want to kiss him the way he kisses her, she wants to reach out and place her hand on his hot skin,
scratch it with her nails. She really wants to wrap her legs around him, move with him, make the
sounds that she has trouble keeping in, to take of her nightgown and be completely naked in his
arms, as naked as her nameday.

She knows it's not proper to want these things, it's even worse to do them, but somehow, she still
hopes that one day she may find the courage to do it anyway.

She likes his smell and his body heat, she likes his breath on her skin and in her neck and the way
he takes her hand and squeezed it. She likes what he whispers in her ear even more, during the day
and during the night, they make her blush with anticipation, bright red with embarrassment. She
likes talking to him, kissing him and watching him. He is very handsome to look at, she sees how
other girls look at him, they do it with Robb too. Sometimes these girls look at her too and Sansa
knows they're jealous and Sansa likes that too.
She loves the way he looks at her, as if he sees her, actually sees her, how he talks with her and
genuinely wants to hear what she has to say. He seems to be the only one lately who treats her the
way she wants to be treated, he makes her feel like she is his equal, like she is a woman, not a girl.

She loves his smile, because it’s so rare except the one he smiles at her. She loves his voice and his
bobbing Adam's apple when he swallows. She loves it to move over and lay on top of him when he
lays on his stomach, place a kiss between his bare shoulder blades and press her nose in his hair.

She loves wanting him, because he is hers and she is the only one to whom he belongs to.

It is madness, it must be, she has no other explanation for it. She never expected madness to be
enjoyable, comfortable and glorious.

Lately she feels something when he enters that reminds her of relieve, as if the moment is
something she's been anticipating for many moonturns. Sometimes that is what it feels like, except
it's never a moonturn, it's hardly more than a sunset. It makes her gasp and bite her lower lip to
retain herself from moaning.

Why is it so good? Why don't people prepare you for it actually being good? Why doesn't anyone
ever talk about that? They only mention the pain, not what comes after. No one ever told her she'd
like the ache.

Sometimes she feels her abdomen tighten, it makes her gasp, her toes curl and her legs tremble. She
always pushes him away when that happens. It scares her somehow, as if she is about to lose all
control.

‘Does your shoulder still hurt?’ She asks, she feels the urge to hold him and shield him from pain
and sadness.

‘Aye.’ He smirks before he moves to lay his head on her shoulder, ‘But right now, it doesn't.’

‘Good.’ She says and she places a kiss to the top of his head.

She feels as content as ever in that moment as she moves her fingers through his hair and she
knows he is about to fall asleep and she wants him to, because he doesn't sleep enough, especially
lately, and she feels responsible for it, keeping him up all night.

She closes her own eyes, leans her head back against the headboard as she feels every muscle in her
body relax. If anything she feels blissful, secure too. His body is heavy but warm and she loves the
pressure.

When there is a knock on her door her eyes shoot open en she feels anger well up. Why can't they
leave her alone? Not even when she is in her own bedchamber with the door closed?

She pushes Jon off her, pulls all her underskirts and skirts down properly and opens her door.

‘Robb, go away.’ She says when she faces the person who knocked, what is he even doing here?
He's supposed to be on that stupid hunt.

Her attitude changes when she sees his expression. He looks upset and angry, his hands fists.

'What is it?' She asks.

He walks into the room, ‘Where is Jon, why… What are you doing?’
 ‘Jon’s shoulder hurt.’ It seems like a relatively good lie and perhaps it is because Robb looks away
from Jon, who sits on the bedside, his eyes sleepy and an expression on his face that suggests he
perhaps doesn't quite know where he is.

'Bran fell,' Robb says and she sees the tears on his cheeks, 'from a window of the broken tower, the
maester says he may die.'

Chapter End Notes

thank you so much for all the really sweet reviews for last week's chapter, I spend so
many hours working on it, even more thinking about it, because I wanted to get it right
and I'm glad most of you seemed to think I did! So thanks! X
 Bellflowers
Chapter Summary

She wants him to trust her because she wants to trust him, but he clearly doesn't think
he can and it hurts.

Talk to me, In her head she tells him all the time, talk to me because I want to talk to
you.

Chapter Notes

The first part of this chapter was originally going to be the ending of chapter six, it
moved to chapter seven mostly because of wordcount reasons. Anyway, that's why we
have a Jon-Sansa-Jon pov, It's not something I would ever do intentionally but I hope
it's not too annoying- anyway, I personally call this chapter, 'That chapter where Jon
and Sansa listen to everyone but each other' expect that title sucks a little so I named it
Lavender and Bellflower instead...- enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jon

Jon doesn’t sleep at all that night. He tries to whisper words of comfort while he holds her, slowely
rocking her, but he doesn't feel like it helps. The tears keep streaming down her cheeks, in her hair
and the pillow beneath her head, they drench his shirt and the muffled sobs wrack against her
chest.

She doesn't speak but he hopes she listens when he tells her it's okay to cry, because she constantly
tries to stop herself. ‘I'm here.’ He says and he needs her to know that, he needs her to know that he
is there for her and he will always be.

Her sobs in the silence of night may be the worst sound he has ever heard in his whole life. Her
golden lashes are brimmed heavy with tears; her hands clenched into shaking fists, in a hopeless
battle against the grief. it's as if her sadness and fear ripped his stomach open and pulled his guts
out, smashed it against the wall and then nestled in the hole that was left behind, filling him there
to haunt him long after she has fallen into an obliviousness numbness.

His shoulder hurts, it can't be compared to what it felt like when it was all loose and dangly,
because that honestly was the worst pain he has ever experienced, he screamed until everything in
front of his eyes vanished. Even now it still hurts like the seven hells combined; it stings and no
matter how he lies or moves, it throbs constantly. So he lies still, his nose in her hair and his hand
around hers. Sansa’s breathing is peaceful again, it's comforting and sometime since they got
married, it became familiar to him too.

She moves very little when she's sleeping, he knows that now, she often falls asleep on her stomach
and wakes up the next morning with all her limbs in the exact same place.
He is, apparently, not like that. She complains about it sometimes, says he kicks her or rolls on top
of her or pulls the fur off her. She never seems angry when she says that, just annoyed and a slight
bit amused even though she tries to hide that.

She more often than not wants to hide her amusement, he wishes she wouldn't. She looks lovely
when she smiles, she has so many types of smiles, all different and he is convinced she has one
especially for him; genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness. He often knows how to
make her smile, especially in that way that makes her cheeks rosy.

He knows many things about her, he likes that he knows things no one else knows, he learns new
things every day, silly things, lovely things.

He knows what it's like when she rubs her cheek against his shoulder during sleep and he knows
she likes to eat drapes when she's lying in bed.

Sansa doesn't like the smell of lavender and she hates it when her underskirts are made of wool
because they itch and make her legs reddish. The story of prince Aemon the dragonrider and his
sister queen Nearys is the story she likes best, she told it to him once, she doesn't like the story
about the prince of dragonflies much, but she knows it very well because it's her mother's
favourite. She likes to wear blue the most and he agrees because it suits her eyes- her innocent and
honest eyes that have a deep Tully blue, like a sunlit sea, the same as Rickon’s. When she is angry
with him her eyes can spit fire too.

Her favourite flower is a bellflower, even though she does not like the colour purple she loves their
shape. Sansa sings to herself all the time, when she undresses, when she eats or brushes through
lady's coat and also while she strokes his hair. He knows she thinks he should cut his hair more
often, which he does not quite understand because she seems so fond of the tall knights from the
south and they all have long hair. She likes his hair though, he thinks, because she always strokes
through his curls, tries to tug them behind his ear, wraps them around her fingers and often pulls on
them so she can bring his face near hers.

She surprises him sometimes, she can be surprisingly impulsive than, more than he is and he
knows it’s because she had a happy childhood, he knows she doesn’t quite realise how lucky she is
that she had one.

Sansa loves her parents but is fond of her mother the most because she looks up to her a lot. She
likes Robb even though he treats her like a little girl and she feels very responsible of Bran and
especially Rickon. with Arya, her relationship is troubled at its best, he knows Sansa would like to
see it differently. Sansa would love to have a sister whose hair she could braid and who she could
embroider with but that won't happen and he wishes she could accept that and maybe see Arya’s
value. He also knows that she doesn't like it much that Jon gets along so well with Arya, he is not
quite sure why but he doesn't want to ask because he doesn't want her to know that he notices.

Sansa’s heart is warm and kind, she always manages to be courteous and friendly to everyone and
he admires her for it. She's gentle and cruelty frightens her, she's the sort of girl that cries when
there's a dead bird lying somewhere under a tree. She is so innocent it sometimes worries him
because he knows that her ideas about the world are not close to the reality of things, he doesn't
want to see her world get crushed but it is unavoidable that it will someday. He loves and dreads
how she always wants to see the best in people, she believes there is good in everyone and she can
do that because she has seen so few of evil.

She can't lie to save her life and she says thank you too much. She is so eager to please her parents
and her mother says she is always courteous but Jon now knows better than that. Everyone always
comments how Sansa looks a lot like her mother and perhaps that it true but there are significant
differences and aside from age, their laugh and the way they both look at him it's mostly the hair,
they both have a full head of auburn hair but Sansa’s is lighter.

It's bright and when it catches the candlelight during the night it shines like copper, it's so thick and
soft and she likes it when he plays with it, it makes her shiver sometimes and when he does it while
she’s fighting sleep she’ll hum.

He knows what it feels like when she runs her nails along his arms, he knows what it sounds like
when she swallows a moan, he knows how her tongue tastes after too much wine, he knows how
eager she becomes after too much wine, how she seems to want him then. He knows that the
absolutely best thing in the world is the way she arches her back into him.

She gets embarrassed when she believes she makes a sound. She’ll hush him when she thinks he is
being too loud and it annoys her when he tells her he doesn't care about people hearing them. There
is nothing he wants more than to give her pleasure and he wishes she’d let him. She is still easily
embarrassed and is sometimes afraid and uncertain, he hates that.

She can be bold sometimes, he never expects it and he hopes it stays that way. He thinks it is cute
how she places her hand in front of her face in embarrassment when she does something she is
insecure about, he thinks it's amazing when she does something she is insecure about.

She loves to rub his feet with her own, he doesn't like it very much but he lets her sometimes. What
she loves most is when he pulls her back against his chest and places a kiss to the skin of her neck.
She grabs his hand and holds it close to her chest when he does that and intertwines their fingers.
She smiles when he whispers to her how beautiful she is and blushes when he tells her how he
always wants to be inside of her, how he looks forward to it all day.

She hates it that he gets up early, because she is used to her bed being warm now, and when he has
been gone for some time, his side will be cold. She always mends his shirts because she doesn't
think anyone else can do it as good and he tells her that's true. She enjoys watching him sometimes
when he and Rob are training in the courtyard, but when Robb laughs and says Jon is showing off
she quickly leaves.

He knows her legs are long and skinny, her hands soft, her fingers thin and pretty, her belly is flat
and her breasts are petite and fit in his hands perfectly. He wants to rub his fingers over their tips so
they harden but she hardly ever lets him.

He knows her scent and what her voice sounds like when she whispers to him in the middle of the
night. He knows that she can laugh uncontrollably when no one else hears and he knows that her
skin tastes a bit salty when she is all sweaty and warm.

Today he learned about Sansa Stark that her sadness has become worse than his own, he found out
that her pain hurts him too. He hates that there is not much he can do but pull her as close to him as
possible and wrap his arms around her shaking shoulders. He rubs his thumb over the back of her
hand and presses his lips to her forehead.

He wants to tell her how she makes him feel but he doesn't know how, he doesn't know what words
to use and if she would like to hear them. He wants her to know that she has been the loveliest
thing that has ever happened to him, that he doesn't think he deserves her because she is too good
and too perfect.

He wants to talk to her about his life, he wants to answer the million questions she constantly asks
but he doesn't want her to know because most of all he wants to protect her, keep her safe, wrapped
around him in his arms and against his body, her hot breath warming his skin.
The idea of something happening to her is more frightening than anything ever was before and he
swears that if anyone ever tries to harm her he will dig his sword through their heart.

Three moons ago Sansa Stark was just a stranger to him and now she is everything.

Sansa

Sansa wanted to stay up all night, with her parents and Robb, to sit around Bran’s bed and watch
him die.

Then Jon pulled her hand, told her she would do no one, least of all Bran, a favour if she stayed and
without her mind giving her body consent she let him help her upstairs to her bedroom while he
made sure to never let go of that hand that always feels so safe in his. At one point she nearly sank
through her knees and he lifted her up, in his arms, brought her to the bed and made her lay down.

She cried, like she has never cried before, until she fell asleep, it felt like disappearing in a deep
and black hole. When she wakes up the next day, he is still there. He never is, he is always up
before she wakes but this time he stayed.

Waking up in his arms, Sansa thinks, could be the best experience of her life. She can't tell really,
her eyes are puffy and ache because of all the tears. For a second she tries to remember why that is
and then it hits her.

When her first tear of the day rolls down her cheek he wipes it away with his thumb and she
realises he is fully dressed. He did wake up long before she did, he got dressed and left her there,
except this morning he came back.

‘They say he’ll live Sansa.’ He tells her, ‘Maester Luwin says he believes Bran won't die.’

She can't stop herself from crying as the words sink in no matter how hard she rubs her eyes. He
pulls her closer and she clutches the leather of his sleeveless doublet with one hand and the linen of
his shirt underneath it with the other.

She dries her tears in the next two days and sits with her little brother, watches him sleep as she
prays for him to open his eyes. She prays to the mother to give him life, to the warrior to make him
strong, to the crone to give them all guidance and begs the stranger to stay away. It helps very little
because Bran does not open his eyes.

Sansa knows her father doesn't want to leave, especially not after this, but she does not doubt he’ll
go anyway, he has no choice.

Septa Mordane tells Sansa she needs a bath after she returns from the godswood. As much as she
hates it that the septa thinks she can still tell her that as if she is a little girl that has been playing
outside all day, she knows she has to agree. The warmth of the tub might do her good.

The septa brushes her wet hair and Sansa can feel the comb move over her scalp, as sharp as
needles.

'Did your moonblood come?' The septa suddenly asks.

Sansa, who was rubbing her knees stops doing that instantly, Yes.' She says, 'It did.'

'When was that?'

She doesn't really remember, 'Days ago.' She says eventually.

'Five days or more?'

'More.’

'You should watch yourself my child,' the septa says, 'When I am gone I won't be able to do it for
you.'

Sansa doesn't need her septa to do it for her, she wasn't even aware she was doing such a thing.

'You may have a child growing in your womb at this very moment.'

Sansa feels absolutely terrified at the prospect, 'No,' she says, 'I can't be.'

The septa chuckles, 'Of course you can.' She tugs on Sansa's hair with so much force it makes tears
appear in the corners of her eyes, 'He has had you daily lately.'

Sansa clutches her naked body as if that might take away some of her shame. Has he? Yes he has.
How on earth does Septa Mordane know that? Maybe Jon knows how the septa knows, but the
idea of talking to him about that seems like an awful idea. Maybe he will laugh at her too. That
would be humiliating. It would hurt, she cannot remember him ever laughing at her before and she
doesn't believe she could handle it if he'll start.

She asked Jon if she will get a new septa when septa Mordane leaves, he asked what the point of
this one is. She told him it has been the Septa's duty to turn Sansa and Arya into a lady and he
shrugged and decided; 'I suppose no one is in need of a septa as little as you are.'

He didn't even mean it as a compliment but it still made her blush. He makes her blush all the time,
even when people can see, that too, is embarrassing. She never expected marriage to be so
embarrassing.

'Is he good to you?'

'W-what?' Did she have to ask? Her mother finally stopped asking.

'It can be very unpleasant, but once you give him a son his visits will lessen and your duties as a
lady wife will concern your son more than anything.'

Unpleasant? What does the septa even know about it? She is a septa.

'It is not unpleasant.' She says and she should not have because the septa stops brushing her hair.

'I'm glad to hear it.' She sounds like she doesn't believe her, or maybe she's not glad to hear it at all.

Sansa turns around in her bathtub to look at septa Mordane, 'I could manage on my own now,
thank you.'

'You should be careful, my child.' The septa says when she gets up and walks over to the door,
'Men are unpredictable and the mother finds it harder to guide them.'

I'm not a child. Sansa thinks.

'My husband prays to the old gods, the mother's guidance is of no concern to him.'

Sansa doesn't know why she says that, perhaps because the septa is leaving soon, with Arya, away
from Winterfell, or maybe because she is married now and the septa won't run to her mother for a
scolding, or it's because she hates where this conversation is heading. She is done talking about
bedding, done talking about her moonblood and if someone asks or presumes one more time about
the pains of her marriage she will tell them it is private and nobody’s business.

Does anyone ever asks Jon? She is certain nobody does. He never gets the uncomfortable
questions, and even if they do he will know exactly what to say to save himself from humiliation,
that is just the way he is.

'It should be of your concern.' The septa frowns, 'Even the good men can cause us heartache.'

Even the good men? Sansa doesn't know what the Septa is implying and she doesn't believe she
wants to know, 'Thank you septa.'

'Sansa, my dear, never betray your virtues, a lady's courtesies are her armor.'

Sansa wants to drown in her scented bath water.

'Men are unpredictable and can cause women much pain, Especially after you have given them
children.'

Sansa would very much like it to have been dressed while undergoing this conversation, the water
is getting cold.

'You see, men desire sons almost as much as they desire women, once they have sons, their
behaviour may change.'

'What do you mean?' this is getting too complicated and out of hand most of all.

'Men marry because they need sons, they hardly seek for pleasure in their wives.'

Sansa bites her lip, she doesn't want to repeat that she no longer needs the Septa's service because
she doesn't want to be rude, but this conversation is starting to get worse with every word spoken.

Desire sons? Jon has never mentioned sons to her, not once. The idea of having a child frightens
her as much as this conversation does. It was not too long ago she felt like a child herself.

Men hardly seek for pleasure in their wives. That is what septa Mordane says, but she is a septa, so
she can't know that, she doesn't know men the way Sansa does. Sansa knows that they sometimes
do, sometimes they seek for pleasure in their wives every night. She knows that it pleasures him to
lay with her, he tells her but he doesn't need to, she can notice. She can see it on his face, hear it in
his breathing and most of all she feels it in the way he touches her.

Would things change if she carried a child? She could be pregnant now, the septa is right. Her
mother keeps repeating it too,

'Sansa your womb may be growing at this very moment.' Catelyn said.

Would she know? Could she feel it? Would he like it? She knows he doesn't touch her because he
wants a son. If that is the reason he should touch her only when the maester tells him to.

Sansa's mother and father have more than one son, they have three! Rickon was born when her
mother and father were married for many years.

She would like to talk to Jon about it, but she knows she won't, the idea alone makes her nervous.
'Thank you, septa.' Sansa gets up from the bathtub, the air is cold on her naked and wet skin, 'I will
finish on my own.' She repeats.

She gives the woman no chance to continue her words when she steps out of he tub and wraps
herself in towels.

'My lady.' The septa leaves her there, alone with her thoughts.

She wishes she could tell him, they talk plenty but she doesn't speak to him about everything. Why
doesn't she? She knows he doesn't either. She knows many things because she can see it on his
face, but she wishes she knew what they mean, where they come from. Perhaps she could make it
better. She’d like to make it better.

She knows he's not fond of his father but he never tells her why. When she asks he says he doesn't
like to talk about it, or he says he doesn't want to talk about it now. She is afraid he simply doesn't
want to talk about it to her, and maybe he never will. When she asks him why he dislikes King's
Landing so much he never truly explains. He tells her to stay away from the queen but he won't tell
her why and simply says Cersei can't be trusted.

Jon hates Joffrey and Sansa can't understand. He hates his older brother even more and she couldn't
explain that hatred to anyone even if she tried.

She wants him to talk to her, but he doesn't. She wants him to trust her because she wants to trust
him, but he clearly doesn't think he can and it hurts.

It is all so terribly new. She loves being with him, listening to him, touching him, she loves it when
he makes love to her, whispers her name in her ear, when he pulls her close after being inside of
her all night. But he often still feels like a complete stranger. How can you be so amazingly
intimate with people and still not know them?

Talk to me.

She wants to tell him.

Talk to me because I want to talk to you.

She wants to hold his hand and squeeze it when she sees the way he looks at his father. She sees
the way his father makes him feel, she wants him to tell her, to say what it is like, what it does to
him so she can try to take a bit of it away like she desperately wants to.

Sansa stands there with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She closes her eyes and she feels
frightened. She doesn't want him to leave her, he feels like hers and not just because he is her
husband. She knows husbands aren't always like this, she never expected her husband to be.

She knows not all wives get goosebumps all over their body because cold wind touches skin wet
with kisses. She cares for him, more deeply every day. She worries about him when Robb
persuades him to do something stupid and foolish, when his brother makes him sad she feels angry
and his happiness found in simple things gives her joy. Sansa planned to hate him, moonturns ago
when her father told her of their betrothal, but she can't, she couldn't, and she won't even try
anymore. How can anyone hate him?

He's not like men from stories she's heard, these stories kitchenmaids tell. Sansa knows she's lucky,
that he is the way he is and sometimes she wonders if that is so much more important than titles
and gold, lands and names. He had no name, no enheritance, no land... but he treats her gently, he
makes her smile and when he kisses her... perhaps that is more important. Perhaps they forget to
teach women that marriage can bring you joy and happiness as much as wealth and position out of
fear for them running away the way Sansa's aunt, Jon's mother the lady Lyanna did. Would Sansa
run away if she knew she could fall asleep every night, naked in his warm and protective arms,
after having him inside for so long her loins pleasurably, contently and ardently ache? Would she?
She is not sure, all she knows is that the Gods have blessed her and after all the tears she shed on
him, she did not deserve it.

Jon only has his blood, and it's more royal than not, it's Stark and Targaryen, no other man can say
the same, it gives him a certain position of privilege and he's as much a prince as anyone who's not
a prince could ever be. Jon's father may not shower him with love and attention... Sansa can see the
way Rhaegar looks at Jon. There's a certain pride there, a certain kind of satisfaction... she can't
quite name it, but whenever Jon says Rhaegar hates him, she doesn't tell him he's wrong, but she
thinks it all the same.

Jon's relationship with the princess Rhaenys confuses her just as much if not more. He complains
about her, can be vile to her, rude as well yet sometimes she slaps the back of his head, he rubs it
and shoves her and minutes later they'll be laughing at a joke only they understand. Rhaenys can
say the worst things to Jon, in his face, he calls her a vile bitch and she calls him you dumb bastard
sometimes, and when she's angry with him her eyes are like fire... but Sansa knows that most often
she's only teasing him, she challenges him and he challenges back. They make fun of other people
together, laugh at them behind their hands and Jon pulls on her hair and tells her she's got to 'stop
being clever'. Rhaenys warningly eyes at Jon when he's taking his Joffrey hate too far, yet helps
him when Joffrey fights back, she barks an insult in her younger half-brother's face once or twice
and it's over, just like that, because the vocabulary of princess Rhaenys cannot be matched by no
man, least of all prince Joffrey.

Rhaenys is kind to Sansa, though only politely and she has a tendency of mocking Jon's behavior
when he's around her. Apparently she finds it amusing to make fun of her younger brother for being
married, she said she feels sorry for him because his life will be so dull now. Sansa is not sure what
would be so dull exactly, she hopes Rhaenys did not mean Sansa as a person, but married life itself.
Rhaenys must have some extraordinary friends, because she often starts a sentence with I have a
friend, and he once told me, and the most incredulous things come out of her mouth.

Despite what Sansa first believed, Jon is as much a member of this extremely intriguing and messy
family as all the others. They're all jealous of each other in some way, she thinks, ans they
sometimes seem to enjoy the bickering, the making fun of each other, the rude comments and
unnecessary meanness. Aegon always defends Rhaenys, Jon always defends Myrcella, Tommen
and Rhaenys, Rhaenys always defends Aegon and Jon, Myrcella always defends Jon and Tommen,
Joffrey defends no one and no one defends him but his mother the queen and Tommen sometimes
cries when the bunch of them start raising their voice. The royal family fights like little children
who have spend too much forced time together and it could be funny was it not a little tragic most
of all.

Sansa can see Rhaegar roll his eyes in a not again, or not now, sort of way more often than not
when another fight breaks. They always join the arena all bloodthirsty and ready for battle, they
don't give up and Sansa has to give it to them, Targaryens don't know fear nor exhaustion.

It makes her see Jon in a different light, because it impresses her, his ease and comfort around
important people, it's as if he's never afraid, no one can effect him, no one, expect Aegon,
sometimes. Jon is as much a prince as Joffrey at least. People don't only like him, they respect him
too, in such a different way than they respect his older brother the crown prince. The crown prince
is respected and admired for being crown prince, but Jon... he is respected because people
genuinely care about what he has to say. Sansa won't blame them, because she likes listening to
him too, his voice is the most pleasant sound. most of all Jon's respected because people like him,
and, Sansa truly believes, because they see the look in Rhaegar's eyes too, whenever Jon sits on his
horse and grins down at the world as if he's invincible. People respect Jon because he knows what
he's talking about, and Sansa even hears Rhaenys say this once, You're taking advantage of your
popularity now, that's not fair, she said, but Sansa can't remember what the context was exactly,
she probably didn't understand, she hardly ever understands what it is Rhaenys is talking about, but
Jon always knows, they're an intellectual match and it makes Sansa sometimes feel a little jealous.

She likes it, Sansa knows that, to have a respected and intelligent Lord husband, she likes watching
him be smart, to hear him argue and reason his opinions, he never embarrasses himself while
Joffrey always embarrasses himself. Jon makes her proud too, and Sansa never believed she could
ever be proud of a bastard lord husband, but if a king can be proud of his bastard son, then Sansa
can be proud of the same man, when he is the way he is and makes her feel the way he does.

'The capital was good for you.' Sansa's father says and when Jon loudly protests he raises his hand
to silence him, 'His grace taught you well.' Sansa's not sure what her father means exactly, what it
is he taught Jon, other than High Valyrian, unnecessary sword fighting, his own family tree and the
history of the Seven Kingsoms and the lands beyond the Narrow Sea.

Sansa feels so comfortable around him now, when he pulls her in a corridor and kisses her,
whispers to her that he's missed her all day, when she falls asleep pulled against him in his arms
and when they have supper together, just the two of them, and he talks about stocks and horses and
landlords and honestly seems to want to share such things with her. Sansa never believed her lord
husband would ever care to share anything with her.

She wants to ask him if he wants a baby, if he thinks about that, ever. She wants to ask if it's why
he wants to be with her, but she doesn't because she fears his answer. He'll ask her if she wants a
baby and she'd rather not say because if truth must be told... Sansa doesn't believe she wants a
baby. She feels the world sometimes still treats her like a baby, and she wouldn't know how to do
it, how to be a mother, the thought alone terrifies her.

It makes her feel ashamed, for what sort of lady wife is she? What sort of woman? When she does
not want a baby? All it is she should want is to give him a son yet the idea alone terrifies her. He
finishes inside of her, the way he must, should, and rolls off her, kisses her face, her lips, her
shoulder, all of her, pulls her against him and she wraps herself around him and as he falls asleep
she feels scared because... what if? She's young, he's young, Septa Mordane is right, they make
love every night, eagerly, longingly, with no patience and she loves every moment of it. She could
be pregnant and it makes her feels almost nauseous with fear. Sansa always fantasized about her
silver-haired prince babies, but now... now she cannot help but feel scared. Now it comes too close
and it feels too real.

Yet... when she sees him play with Rickon, outside in the snow, in a way her father's too old for
and Robb feels too good for, she can't help but dream about a future.

Sansa never believed she'd ever dream of a future with him, not the way she does now. It makes
her smile sometimes, knowing she'll spend the rest of her life with him and it doesn't scare her, it
doesn't even make her feel disappointed anymore. He'll protect her, he promised, he'll take care of
her and he'll do anything he can to make her happy. Married to him... she could be happy. Sansa
truly believes that. He makes her happy now, he makes her happier every day.

He annoys her too, he can be very irritating, but she always forgives him, no matter how often he
dares to laugh when Robb says something rude to her, no matter how awful he looks when he
comes back from sparring in the courtyard, then covers her in mud when he hugs her before
changing clothes. She can't be angry for too long. His face is too handsome, his smile too kind and
his touch too sweet.

Sansa pulls her nightgown down over her head, her hair still damp, and she wraps herself in a
nightrobe before she walks into her bedchamber. She hopes that perhaps he is already in there
waiting for her and she is not disappointed.

He lays on the bed, fully clothed.

'Take your boots off.'

He gets up and greets her back with news, 'Sansa,' he says and he seems exited, 'The royal family is
leaving in two days.'

'Are you sure?' She hates that this news makes him so happy, it’s not right, 'I thought they were
supposed to leave two days after our wedding.'

He gets up from the bed and takes her hands in his, 'If only they had.'

'In two days?'

'Yes.'

'Early in the morrow?'

'I'm certain you will still be fast asleep in our bed when they leave.'

'I better not be, they are your family, we should see them off.'

'You don't have to if you don't want to.'

She wants to roll her eyes but stops herself in time as she walks around him and sits down on the
bed.

'But you will go?'

'I'll have to.'

'Is my father coming with them?' She asks.

'Of course.' Jon huffs, 'My father did not give him much choice.'

'You father is in need of a Hand.'

He looks at her for a second, opens his mouth then closes it again and she can see his adam's apple
bob, 'I'm sure he'd rather stay here with your mother, to be with Bran.'

'We can't always be where we want to be.'

'You would know.' He says and she looks up at him in confusion.

'What do you mean?'

He walks over to the chair along the wall and sits down in it, ignoring her question.

'It will take some getting used to, with them not being here.' Sansa says, 'They were here for such a
long time, almost three moons.'
'I won't have to get used to it.' He says and he stopped looking at her.

'Jon.' She breathes, a kind of hopelessness rises in her belly, she hates it when he talks like that,
'You should not-'

'I don't want to talk about it.' He says and he immediately stands up, 'I don't need to hear it.'

'You don't need to hear it?' She raises her eyebrows at the way he speaks, he never speaks to her
like that.

'I don't want to-' he stops himself.

'What don't you want?' She wishes he'd just say what he feels like saying for a change, instead of
what he thinks she wants to hear.

'I'm sorry if their departure is bad news for you.'

'What?' It should be bad news to him.

'I'm sorry if it makes you sad that you can't come with them.'

She raises her head and makes sure she glares at him, 'Sad is not the right choice of word.'

'If you say so.'

'I don't understand you.' She says, 'Your family is leaving and you are happy about it. I know
Aegon bullies you a little but-'

'He bullies me a little?' There is something in the expression on his face now she has not seen
before.

'He is your brother! And to me he seems perfectly charming.'

'I'm sure that's because he is perfectly charming to you.'

She fails to see what is wrong with that, 'Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps you-'

'No.' He won't let her finish that sentence, 'I'm sure it has never occurred to me that they are in all
fairness perfectly lovely people.'

'You could at least do them the honor-'

'Sansa just leave it.' He says, 'I can't listen to this.'

'You can't listen to this?'

He laughs and it sounds like he is making fun of her, 'I don't want to hear about how much you
admire the queen and about how perfectly gallant Aegon is to you. Just don't.'

'You pity yourself.' She says and the look he has been giving her changes into something worse.

'I pity myself? Don't deny that you hate it you are forced to stay here, you have never been jealous
of Arya all your life and now-'

'Shut up about Arya!' She feels frustration slowely take over her choice of words, the worst thing
he can do now is bring up Arya. She is not supposed to be jealous of Arya, she can't be.
He looks a little stunned, 'Don't you want to leave?'

'Yes!' She wants to rub that look off his face with her fist, 'Yes I want to leave! I've never wanted to
stay here, locked up in the North where nothing ever happens. It's easy for you, you have been
everywhere, you never felt locked up!'

'I felt locked up every day I was at King's landing, you wouldn't want to go there if you knew what
it is really like.'

'You can't tell me that, you can't know that.'

'No Sansa,' he shakes his head, his face has reddened with anger, 'You don't understand, you don't
know anything about-'

'About what? About the real world? You think I'm a stupid child with stupid dreams.'

He glares at her and then he does not deny it, 'Sometimes you act like a stupid child.'

She doesn't want to say anything, she doesn't want him to speak either, she needs him to be sweet to
her and for his voice to be soft and his words lovely because right now, he's hurting her.

'I'm sorry that I am keeping you here, if I could find a way for you to join your father I would help
you but I can't.'

She hates it that he makes it seem like he wouldn't care if she left, he says it like he would prefer it
if she went, 'I accept your apology.' She says and she regrets it immediately.

'I'm sorry that I am not what you want me to be, I know you deserve better.'

She wants to tell him no, I do not deserve better, she wants to tell him that she likes being married
to him more than she expected to ever enjoy being married to anyone no matter to whom, she
wants to tell him that if she has the choice of staying up here in the North with him or trade with
Arya and be parted from him she'll always stay. She is not going to tell him that, because she
knows he mocks her. She may care for him as deeply as she does but it still pains her. All her
dreams about the capital, everything she longed for ever since she was old enough to want
anything at all- it was taken from her the moment her father told her Jon Snow was going to be her
husband.

She still hates him for it, she doesn't want to but she can't help herself. He does not get to mock her
dreams when he is the one who personally scattered them.

'It doesn't change anything, does it?' She asks. He looks at her and she sees some confusion when
she turns towards her bed and pulls the fur away, 'Your apology changes nothing. I do want to go
south, I do hate it that I have to stay here with you and it is not going to change.'

'You're pathetic.' He says and her eyes sting, 'You don't know what you want, you are a child and
you've seen nothing, you understand nothing.'

'If that is what you think then I don't see how-'

'How much do you hate me exactly? I don't need you to hide it, if that's what you have been doing,
please stop.'

'I don't hate you.' She says and tears threaten to roll down when he doesn't seem to believe that.
Please don't hate me either.

‘But if you're asking me to deny that I did not want to marry you I cannot. I was disappointed, I
never wanted to marry you and I don't want to stay here and I shall not lie to you about it.'

'I wouldn't believe you if you tried. I'm not a fool. I know.'

'You know?'

'I know how you begged and protested right up until the moment they dragged you to the
godswood.'

'I was never dragged.' She doesn't know who told him, it could have been anyone really, she did
not try to hide her suffering back then, 'I went voluntarily.'

'So did I.' He says and he walks around her towards the door.

'Where are you going? I don't want you to come in here in the middle of the night and-'

'I'm not coming back in here.' He laughs a little and it hurts her, just when she thinks it can't get any
worse he makes it worse, 'Don't worry, I won't be a bother, I'll sleep in my own room.'

This is your room.

'Very well, that sounds like your first good idea.'

'If you say so.'

The door slams shut behind him with more force than he needs to, like Arya does when she is
upset.

Sansa sinks down on the bed, staring at the closed door in disbelieve for a while until she suddenly
realizes there are tears on her cheeks.

She wants to go after him and yell, shake him, demand him to talk to her. They can't argue like this
and not make it right. She doesn't know what she will have to say to him to make it right. Tell him
she's sorry? He ought to tell her first. The things he said hurt. Did he mean them? He can't have.

He called her a child. Did he really think so? How can he kiss her the way he always does when he
thinks she is stupid and pathetic? She said some things she shouldn't have too, she didn't mean
them, not really, but at the same time she is not at all ready to take them back.

Jon

Jon can't stand the idea of looking at her, so he avoids her. It’s not hard to avoid her, their routines
don't necessarily match, they never did.

It makes him feel a little nauseous to go through an entire day without seeing her, it seems wrong
that he can even do that.

He’s cranky and when Robb notices he asks what's wrong. He assumes aloud that Jon’s upset
because his family is leaving but Jon knows Robb doesn't actually believe that.

‘Did Sansa say something to you?’ He asks eventually and Jon feels like crying.
‘No.’ he says, ‘No I haven't seen her all day.’ It’s not really a lie. He could never tell Robb what he
said to her, his shame is too fresh and he is not ready to face it.

He feels like kicking against things, so he does. Pebbles, small rocks, big rocks, opened doors,
closed doors, the foot of a chair, snow on the ground and the foot of his bed. Ghost seems to keep
an eye on him, as if to stop him from making it worse, it seems. Jon’s glad someone tries.

When Ned knocks on his door, the night before his departure, he thinks that maybe she told her
father what an asshole her husband is and he prepares himself for the worst. Images of Ned pulling
his head off and feeding it to the direwolves appear in front of his eyes.

‘Arya is missing.’ He says, he looks more worried than Jon can remember ever seeing him.

‘W-what?’

‘You must come, I need to find her before the Lannisters do.’

Ned need not say more. Jon pulls himself together, grips his cloak and his sword and takes large
strides on his way to the guest tower.

In the guest hall he can hear Cersei’s screams of terrorizing anger, They used to give him
goosebumps but now all he does is roll his eyes, they would still frighten him if he wasn't aware of
how completely out of her mind that woman is.

Arya bullied Joffrey, threw his sword in the river and made her direwolf attack him. Or so it seem.
It's the story Jon can hear Joffrey tell their father. Even Rhaegar doesn't seem to believe him,
though his face shows no sign of disbelieve, or any other kind of emotion really, he straightens his
back and asks his third son, 'Are you telling me that a fourteen year old girl bullied you and you
could do nothing but allow yourself to get attacked by a puppy?'

Jon tries not to laugh, he has hardly ever seen something as absurd and ridiculous as Joffrey
clutching his lower arm. The cut there is smaller than the one Jon had after the most embarrassing
hunt he'd ever participated in. The wound may not even need stitching and yet he looks as if he
nearly died.

Aegon doesn't shy away from laughing, 'Attacked by a fourteen year old girl and her pet; a puppy
wolf. What an idiot!' His laughing infuriates Joffrey and his father glares at him.

'Your brother has been violently attacked!' Cersei screeches.

Rhaenys laughs her hollow laugh, 'Please, it's barely a scratch, the seven know he could use some
scars.'

'The beast must be killed!'

'It's a puppy!' Rhaenys laughs a little louder now, 'Why were you being attacked by the beast
anyway? You were being your viscious self again, were you not? Such a-'

'Nobody is asking you to spread your vile opinions!' Cersei screams.

'You're only saying that because no one has ever asked for yours.'

'Rhaenys that's enough!' His father shuts her up immediately and turns to look at Joffrey, 'Are you
telling me you were fighting with a fourteen year old girl? Do you think that is the sort of behavior
I would ever approve of? Are you not a prince? Should you not behave as one? Have they not
taught you to be courteous to ladies?'

'The wolf attacked me!' Joffrey yells again, his face so red Jon fears it'll burst.

'Don't you have anything better to do than fight with fourteen year old girls?' Rhaegar asks and
Joffrey's shame and anger grows with every word spoken. The way he looks at his father and
Aegon and Rhaenys makes Jon wonder if he'd like to kill them all right there and then.

Rhaenys is not done yet when she narrows her eyes and glares at Joff, 'Look at you, standing there.
What must the Starks think of you? Such an embarrassment.'

Cersei screams some more but Jon leaves before he can hear his father bellow to her to keep her
mouth shut.

He, Robb and Theon saunter through the woods while they call for Arya for what feels like hours.
He’s cold and irritated, keeps kicking against branches on the ground and he knows his behaviour
is the main reason for Robb’s silence. He prefers it that way, he needs silence to think, to keep
himself from screaming. What the seven hells is he doing? He should go back to the castle, beg his
wife for her forgiveness on his bare knees and see to her welfare.

Joffrey said she was there, he said she saw Arya throw his sword in the river and everything else.
Maybe she was scared, or upset, worried about Arya. He knows for a fact she is still angry with
him. As much as he tried his best to stay out of her way he gave her plenty of opportunity to stop
him but she didn't take them, she let him avoid her and maybe she liked it that he did. He should
apologize, he really wants to apologize but he just simply couldn't before, there was something
stopping him and it wasn't his grudge only.

‘Jon, your wife hates me.’

Jon does not look at Theon when he tries to hide his smile, he hates it that even in that moment,
when he is worried, cold, hungry and angry with her, the mention of Sansa can still make him
smile, ‘She has good taste.’

Robb laughs and slaps Theon on his back, ‘You should behave in front of my sister, she prefers
manners.’

‘Manners?’ Theon snorts, ‘I hope for Snow’s sake that’s not true.’

‘What happened?’ Jon asks.

‘She hates me.’ Theon says again and Jon rolls his eyes.

She doesn’t hate you she hates me.

She doesn’t even grant Theon a single thought, Theon doesn’t keep her from getting what she
always wanted. Theon is just an annoying boy who teaches her younger brothers things she finds
offensive.

‘She scolded me like she's my mother.’

‘Did she?’

‘She always has to pretend to be so shocked and embarrased.’

Jon finally looks at him, ‘Then stop embarrassing her.’

‘I didn't! I wasn’t even talking to her, I was talking to Bran.’

‘I don’t care.’ Jon says, he really doesn't.

‘You should tell your lady wife that you cannot accept it that she talks to me like she does!’

‘Theon, I see some tears in the corner of your eye.’ Robb says, Jon may have laughed if the
circumstances were different.

‘I don't think I will.’ Jon says, ‘My lady wife gets to talk to you and everyone else in the manner
she finds suitable.’

Theon glares at Robb who doesn't seem to plan on chosing a side, ‘You can’t control her?’

‘Control is a nasty word.’ Jon says.

‘Not always.’

Robb laughs again, probably glad there has come an end to the silence, he finds this conversation
far too amusing and Jon hopes it stays that way.

‘Why do you care so much?’ Jon asks, he knows exactly what he has to say to end the nagging,
‘She is a woman.’

Theon gets up, ‘Aye a woman! Who does she think she is? She speaks to me as if I'm a servant. I
deserve some respect.’

‘Do you?’ Robb kicks against a branch the way Jon has been doing all day.

‘I do!’ Theon points his finger at Jon, ‘You should tell your wife that I deserve her respect. I am
Balon Greyjoy’s last surviving son, who is she? She is married to a bastard.’

There is nothing that could have been said to Jon in that moment that could have angered him
more. He marches to Theon, grips his collar and lifts him up so their noses nearly touch, ‘Listen to
me carefully, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy,’ He says as Robb watches them in complete
surprise, ‘I don't care what you say to me but you don't get to tell me how I should treat my wife
and if you ever talk about her like that again I am going to make-.’

‘Let me go you Targaryen scum!’ Theon spits.

Jon pushes him away and the push makes Theon stumble, ‘I mean it!'

‘Why are you defending her?’ Theon asks, ‘You think she would ever do the same for you?’

Jon plans on breaking his skull when Robb pulls him away, ‘Thats enough, stop it, both of you
stop it!’

Theon opens his mouth to make it worse but then they see a man in Lannister armor appear
through the woods, ‘What are you doing my lords? They found the Stark girl an hour ago.’

‘Arya?’ Robb forgets the entire situation and looks angrily at the man, ‘Why was I not informed?’

‘They brought her to the castle and she is already asleep in her bed.’

Robb pushes the both of them aside and runs away, back to the castle.
 What a fucking waste of a day. He doesn't believe he has ever had one before that he needed to be
over this badly, except maybe his wedding day. But that day was awful for entirely different
reasons, even when it concerned the same person.

He has to go to her now, he really, really does and he really doesn't want to. He’s used to doing
things he doesn't want but not concerning Sansa, not lately. He closes his eyes and imagines that
she’ll be super happy to see him, she’ll smile and tell him she has already forgotten everything he
said, she'll tell him they'll pretend if never happened and make love till the sun comes up. Maybe
she'll even admit that she is not disappointed in him, that he is not a disappointment, that he has not
failed at being a husband to her. The dragons are more likely to raise from the dead.

He has to apologize, tell her she is not a stupid child, tell her he thinks she’s so clever. He should
tell her he understands, he knows she deserves better, he knows that he’s a bastard, he knows how
humiliating it is to be married to him, he knows what their union means for her. He should tell her
he not only understands, he needs to tell her he doesn't mind. It shouldn't matter that he does- he
really, really does mind. Thinking about how he is a disappointment, especially because she used
the word herself, makes him want to pull his own hair out. He wants to give her everything she
deserves but he is the last person who is capable of doing that.

Maybe his father gave her to him to torture him because that is what being married feels like.
Torture. The sweetest torture there could ever be. Still a torture. He doesn't deserve her and she
doesn't deserve him, it’s unfair and perverse, no matter how right it feels. Because it does, being
with her feels right, like she is where he belongs, she feels like home, a home he never knew exists,
a home he never dared to hope he’d ever get no matter how often he dreamed of it.

He wants to be her home too, make her smile and happy. Make her feel protected and loved and
wanted. She’s all these things, she really is. He swears she’ll always be and prays she’ll let him.
Maybe she will, after he asks her for forgiveness and she gives it to him. After that maybe he’ll tell
her, maybe he’ll show her too, show her how grateful he is, he’ll show her that being married to
him won't be the worst thing that’s ever happened to her. He disappointed her once but he will
never do it again.

Chapter End Notes

I decided the time had come to make myself a JonSansa Tumblr, it ended up being
more of a Sansa tumblr (I wanted to call it Sansaland but someone else owns that
name already unfortunately) but yeah, I have had a Tumblr for over a trizillion years
but having a jonsa one seemed very necessary, you can follow me, my name is
winterfelland, I'm thinking I might post some previews there or something. There was
something else I wanted to say but now I've forgotten and since it's ten past two in the
middle of the night I'm gonna leave it. Thanks for reading, next update will be next
Wednesday!
 Lady
Chapter Summary

‘Not everyone’s like you.’ She says and he remembers telling her exactly the same
thing. He knows it's true, they are some extraordinary combination and not just
because he is bastard-born and she is the eldest daughter of the second most powerful
man in the Seven Kingdoms.

Chapter Notes

Before I start, I am extremely sorry about Lady, I wanted to originally keep her alive
but the thing is that I wanted Sansa to learn she needs to trust Jon and his advice the
hard way. Plus, well, Ghost, that one's gonna be important.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jon

Jon doesn't follow Robb to the great hall to find Ned, he can't look at his uncle right now, not when
all he does is remember the things he said to his daughter, too many things he shouldn't’ve. His
head aches and he feels lightheaded. He can't stand it that she did not come to him after what
happened, he wants her to confide in him and she did no such thing. He doesn't believe he has ever
felt this guilty before. He failed as a husband after barely three moons of marriage and he wants to
bang his own head against a wall.

His legs are heavy when he pulls them up the stairs, he dreads opening the door of her bedroom
even though he already made the decision to come here this morning, when he woke up in an
empty bed.

The room is still lit by candles and they create dancing shadows on the walls. He walks in and sees
her sitting on the bed with her back towards him, dressed in nothing but one of her flannel
nightgowns, her bare feet on the stone floor. She doesn't look around when he closes the door
behind him and he stands there for a second, thinking about what to say.

‘I'm just… If you don't want me here I'll go.’

She doesn't respond and he realizes something is terribly wrong when he looks through the mirror
and sees the way she holds her head in her hands.

He quickly walks around the bed and she looks up at him, her eyes puffy, bloodshot and filled with
tears that are about to join many others on her cheeks.

‘Sansa…’ he says and he kneels in front of her, taking both her hands in his, ‘Sansa can you please
forgive me? Please don't- I can’t stand it when you cry.’

She shakes her head and one teardrop runs down her nose, ‘Jon…’
‘I am sorry.’ He says, ‘I really am.’

‘I know you are.’ she says and she pulls her hands from his, ‘It is n-not… I am not… I’m sorry
too.’

He wants to take her hands again but he doesn't think he should because she just pulled them back
so instead he grabs a part of her nightgown where it covers her knee and clutches it in his fist, ‘I
know that you wanted to-‘

‘Jon-’ She hiccups, she tends to do that when she has been crying for a rather long time and he
wonders how long she has been sitting here while he was being an asshole trying to postpone the
moment he had to open the door.

'Arya's safe, she's asleep, you don't have to worry about Arya.'

'I don't care about Arya.' Her eyes widen for a second.

The way she says that makes him uncomfortable, it's almost as if she means it. He knows that
something else is entirely wrong when she lays her hand on his cheek, the look on her face tenses
him, he doesn't know why she is upset, but he knows it's not because of him.

‘Tell me.’

‘I don't-‘ she tries to find a way to pronounce words correctly but her entire body is shaking with
her sobs, ‘I'm not-‘ she hiccups again, ‘Arya went missing because of m-me.’

‘That's not true.’ He says and he pulls her hand from his face and holds it between both of his, ‘She
ran away herself.’

‘You don't understand!’ She wants to pull her hand away again but he won't let her, ‘You don't
know what happened.’

‘I will if you tell me.’

She frowns angrily at him now, he knows she wants to accuse him of never telling her anything
either but something stops her and instead she says, ‘Joffrey asked me if I wanted to go riding with
him.’

That hurts. In the first place because she never went out riding with him before, he never asked her
but that is mostly because he didn't believe she would ever like to do that. Mostly it hurts because
Joffrey is a sadistic idiot and he told her that many times, apparently she still chooses not to believe
him. ‘And you did?’

She doesn't respond. She must know that she can easily pull her hand away now if she wants to, but
she doesn't, instead she goes on, ‘Arya was playing some stupid game with the butcher’s son and
then Joffrey he- Joffrey was making fun of them so I think- he… He was drinking wine and... it all
went wrong, I never meant for it to...’ The tears fall down from her chin.

Jon can imagine it did, he has already heard this much, apparently Joffrey didn't make it all up, and
that's a first, ‘Joffrey says Arya bullied him and Nymeria attacked him.’

Sansa starts sobbing again and she buries her face in her free hand, ‘They didn't bully him.’ She
says, 'Not really. He was being h-horrible.’

‘He usually is.’ I told you.

‘It just- it all happened before I even… Arya threw his sword in the river. Nymeria attacked him
when Joffrey wanted to strike- I should’ve done something, should've said something…’

‘It's not your fault Sans,’ he says, ‘Things like this happen all the time. It all sounds to me like a-‘

‘The queen was furious and she wanted Nymeria’s skin on her floor.’

Jon had not even thought of that and he doesn't understand why. Joffrey acting as if his arm got
nearly ripped off, naturally Cersei’s wrath would know no boundaries, ‘Well that is-‘

‘They couldn’t find her,’ Sansa says, ‘They looked but they couldn't find her.’

Jon lets go of her hand so he can place his on the rim of the bed to steady himself, ‘Well, that is at
least-‘

‘She was so angry, Jon.’ Sansa tries to aggressively wipe her face dry, ‘She said Joffrey’s arm
could’ve fallen off, she said that- she said she wanted to have Arya’s hand cut off.’

The old penalty, for striking one of the blood royal, Jon knows that. It is the sort of thing you learn
in King's Landing with Cersei as queen consort, ‘She’s wicked.’ He says, ‘And no one will let it
happen.’

‘Your father called her insane and cruel.’

‘She is.’ Rhaegar may be a crappy family man but he isn't senseless.

‘They fought, the king and queen, she screamed and he insulted her.’ Sansa sniffs, ‘And then she d-
demanded-‘

‘What did she do?’ He feels angry suddenly and for the first time that day he's not angry with
himself. Sansa is clearly upset over this whole thing and if he is about to find out that this has
anything to do with Cersei Lannister he is going to set that wheelhouse of her on fire.

‘She wanted someone punished.’

Of course she did.

‘She wanted to pay for the skin. When she found out your father was not going to do anything
about Arya… When they couldn't find Nymeria she wanted- s-she wanted Lady.’ At this Sansa
collapses like a sack of flour against his chest and he strokes her hair as she lays her head on his
shoulder and buries her face in his neck, where he can feel her tears on his skin.

‘Sansa that’s not going to happen, I promise.’ He says, ‘I'll talk to my father, I'll try to talk to
Cersei, I’ll fix it, I swear.’

She shakes her head and lifts it up, ‘You don't understand.’ She says.

‘ I mean it, Sansa... I'll fix it.’

‘No you won't!’ She pushes him away, ‘You don't understand!’ There is anger in her voice that
reminds him of the night before, ‘It already happened.’

‘What?’

‘They killed her!’ Sansa looks away from him as if his shocked expression makes it worse, ‘My
father did it, he cut her throat.’
‘But how-‘

‘The king he-‘

‘Rhaegar agreed to this?’

Sansa wants to get up from the bed but he pushes her back down, ‘Jon I-‘

‘Why didn't you come to me?’ He demands, ‘I could've-‘

‘Stopped it?’

‘Yes.’ He says and he knows he could've saved Sansa's direwolf if he'd tried, his father would’ve
spared Lady's life just to avoid a discussion with him. It can't have been hard to convince Rhaegar
not to waste an innocent life, especially not if he'd pressured, if he'd explained how important the
wolf was to Sansa...

She presses her lips together and looks away, her hands lay fidgeting in her lap, ‘Sansa,’ he says,
softly this time, ‘I could’ve helped, I would have.’

‘You were cross with me.’ She says, her eyes moving over everything but him.

‘That doesn't matter!’ He wants to take her head in his hands and make her look at him, ‘You
should always come to me, I could’ve helped you, I always will, that's where I am for, can't you
see? I am your husband, no matter how angry I am with you I am on your side.’

She looks at him and he sees uncertainty there, perhaps some disbelieve and he places his hand in
her neck, ‘Jon I-‘

‘I'm so sorry about what I said last night.’ He wants to kiss her lips softly and make her pain go
away with his touch but he needs her to stop avoiding his eyes first, ‘I never meant to-‘

‘You never talk to me.’ She says, ‘You want me to listen to you and understand without
explanation. You want me to always come to you and ask you for help, you tell me that you’re on
my side but you don't understand that I am on your side too.’ She says it without a single shake in
her voice, her tears have stopped and her sobs are gone.

‘I need you to…’ he can't finish the sentence, he simply doesn't know what to say.

I need you

‘I'm sorry.’

‘Don’t say that.’ She whispers and then she closes her eyes and leans into his hand.

‘I'm so sorry Sansa. About Lady, I mean. I wish I could make it right.’

Sansa doesn't open her eyes and doesn't respond. Her cheeks are still wet with tears and he places a
kiss to it.

She opens her eyes, he removes his hand and she shakes her head, ‘I'm sorry about Joffrey, I never
should have-‘

‘It's alright. You don't always have to agree with me, it’s okay if you sometimes have to find out on
your own.’
She smiles a tiny bit and the sight of it warms all his limbs, ‘I was going to say that I’ll try to take
you more seriously from now on.’

‘But you have already changed you mind?’

She still smiles when she presses her forehead against his, ‘I'm sorry.’ She whispers again, the
sincerity in her apology is raw, ‘About not coming to you and avoiding you all day, not listening to
you when you tell me to stay away from people and I am very sorry about what I said the day
before.’

‘I’ve forgotten.’

‘No you haven't.’ She says and she nudges her nose against his, ‘I don't know about your father or
you brother or any of them. I don't know them like you do and I don't get to decide-‘

‘I don't like talking about it.’ He cuts her off, ‘It's not you, it's not that I don't want to… I'm just
trying to… I do want to tell you things. It's not that- I do- I trust you.’ He hates words.

She takes his chin between her thumb and index finger, ‘I trust you too.’ She says, he wonders
since when she suddenly became so touchy, since when has she started looking at him like that?
He can still remember her trembling body and her shrieking away from his touch. Nothing of that
remains.

He nods, ‘good.’ He says, ‘Because you are my responsibility now and I want to take care of you.’

‘I want to take care of you too.’ She says and then she kisses him, just softly, she hardly ever kisses
him so it takes him by surprise and it sets his heart on fire. She pulls away far too soon.

‘I'm sorry about Lady.’ He says again, ‘I am.’

She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, ‘She didn't bite anyone.’ She says, ‘She was good.’

He nods, ‘You taught her well.’ He pulls her hair up and places it behind her shoulders, ‘She’s in a
much better place now.’

Sansa just looks at him, she has stopped crying, her body is no longer tense and she's not hiccuping
anymore. Her eyes are still wide and red but they look at him with more than just her sadness.

He needs to tell her this, about what he feels in his chest and his stomach, but he doesn't know how.
He doesn't want to stammer again and sound like an idiot.

Soft-spoken sweet-smelling Sansa, who loves silks, songs, chivalry and tall gallant knights with
handsome faces. He likes to think of her as his, but she is not a property, he just gets to love and
hold her while no one else does, not like he can.

He never expected he’d ever be married to someone like her, he never expected to marry at all,
least of all did he expect to ever make someone like her happy sometimes, but he knows he does.
She never says it but he knows that being married to him turned out to be not at all as bad as she
expected- being a relieve, what more could he ask for? She makes him happy too.

He wants to tell her she makes him happy, perhaps he should even tell his father, tell him that after
giving him Sansa Stark, Jon can forgive him anything and everything.

She lays both her hands in his neck, with her thumbs caressing his jawline, their noses touching the
way she likes. His kisses used to be so careful, soft, innocent and discreet, back when he could still
be rational at all times.

She no longer giggles when she accidentally bumbs his teeth, feeling his tongue in her mouth
doesn't make her all shaky anymore and instead of placing her hands on one shoulder each she
grabs his hair, digs her nails in his scalp and sighs in content.

She lays down on her back and pulls him with her, on top of her like she always does, like they
always do. But he resists her and when she looks up in confusion he says, before carefully thinking
about it first, 'You can go on top, too.'

'What do you mean?' She asks and he laughs a little bit. She hates it when he laughs, he knows that
and it's because she thinks this is not as new to him as it is to her and she doesn't like it when that
makes him laugh. But it's not why he laughs, he laughs because being with her makes him happier
than he has ever been.

'Never mind.' He says quickly when he sees the look on her face and he lays down on his side next
to her.

'No,' she says, pushing him away when he leans down to kiss her, 'Don't say that.'

'What?'

She tries pushing him off her completely now but he won't let her, he pulls her to his chest and
kisses her temple.

'You can't say things like that to me and then pretend you didn't right after.' She says and she
frowns angrily at him.

He has to try his very best not to look amused because she is very cute, 'I meant that you can go on
top.' He repeats, simply.

'How?'

'I don't know Sansa it was stupid don't... Just forget it.'

She pushes his arm away when he tries to pull her close again and it's getting more and more
difficult, he's getting harder every second and it won't be long until she notices and he doesn't want
her to get all awkward.

'I could go on top.' She says and he stares at her in disbelieve.

He gets upright, 'Could you?' She shoots him a look, 'Of course you can.'

'If you teach me.'

She sits up too, her hair a little wary and her lips are pressed together in embarrassment. He doesn't
know what to say, so instead he decides to say what he has been thinking ever since she arched her
back and moaned his name for the first time without realising it herself, 'I want to make you feel
good.'

'What do you mean?' She asks again.

'You know what I mean.' He insists, 'I can make you feel good too, if you want.'

'I-I don't know.'

‘Only if you want.'

She looks down at her hands and he can feel his cock throb. Maybe this is a very bad idea. He does
not want to scare her and he is starting to think he has completely destroyed the moment.

'Okay.' She then says, 'Do I have to go on top?'

He laughs again before he can stop himself and he thinks for a second about turning it into a cough
but it's too late, 'N-no you don't have to do anything.'

'Anything?'

'Not if you don't want to.'

'Stop it.' she breathes.

'What?'

'Stop being so nice.'

That's an odd thing to say. He has never tried so hard to be nice to someone and now she tells him
to stop.

He can be unkind too if she likes. He can be rough, he thinks about being rough sometimes. When
he wakes up and she's still asleep, curled up in his side, her head resting on her hand and her back
touching him, filling his abdomen with an unbearable longing- that's when he thinks about fucking
her hard.

Every morning he watches her sleep for some time while thoughts poison his mind. Thoughts that
would make her lock him out of her bedroom for the rest of their married life if she knew.

It’s the view of the curves of her body, naked or clad in a thin nightdress, perfectly round and soft,
that have made waking up a torment and, frankly, it's why he always let's her sleep.

He can't wake her up in the morning, he thanks the Gods always when she is still asleep. His mind
is a foggy, misty cloud.

He wants to be a sweet and devoted husband, gentle and kind, but seven hells he's not a fucking
maester of the citadel and it feels too damn good to be inside her.

'I'm sorry.' He says.

'Don't apologize.'

'Okay.'

This is driving him to madness, she is purposely trying to test his Targaryen sanity. Maybe she is
still angry because it feels like she is punishing him, if she is he’d prefer it if she would just say it.

He looks her in the eye for a moment and then decides to tuck on her nightgown and he slowly
pulls it down her shoulders. He'd like to suck on her really perfectly soft breasts but in fear of that
being too much he just cups one and moves his lips to the skin behind her ear. His breath makes
her shiver and he places gentle kisses from her neck to her collarbone.

She pulls his head up by tugging on his hair, she is always tugging on his hair, he loves it, 'you're
being weird.' She says.
He could be acting a lot weirder any moment now, 'Sorry.' He says again.

She just looks a at him, a frown decorates her face.

He's done, he did not sign up for this, why is she making him feel all these unusual things? Why
does it have to be so difficult? He never expected it to be easy but this is a whole new level of
impossibleness. Sometimes she drives him more crazy than Aegon ever could, except sometimes
he loves it.

He wishes he could just tell her all the things he wants to tell her, all at once, just to be done with it,
but he is afraid of breaking down all that they have somehow created these past moons, he doesn't
think he has ever been this afraid to fuck something up, to lose it. Maybe he should tell her that. He
is a fool and weak, a weak-ass fool.

He drops the hand that covered her breast and then, she lifts her nightgown all up, over her head
until she's completely bare naked in front of him.

She isn't often, she still seems to prefer it to just keep that on, he always pulls it up not off and that
is it, he'd clutch it in a desperate attempt to have something of her to grasp at. Lately he doesn't
have to be that desperate anymore.

She looks a little uncomfortable, without much confidence, and he can't imagine why, she is the
most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

He tries to remember how to blink before he pulls her towards him,‘You’re amazing.’ He says, he
can't help it, he needs to say it.

'You're being weird.' He doesn't need her to keep telling him that, he is very self-aware at this
moment.

‘Stop saying that.’

Sansa grins, 'It's true.

'I'm sure,' he says, 'But saying it is only going to make it worse.'

She doesn't respond to that, instead she moves her hand along his arm and closes her eyes for a
second before she says, her voice hoarse and soft, 'I want you, Jon.'

He tries not to let her know how that comment makes him suffocate, he inhales and exhales a
couple of times before he decides that if she is going to say things like that to him she damn right
should go on top.

He's being weird again when he gets up to kick his smallclothes off like a complete idiot before he
lays back down on his back and pulls her towards him.

She laughs (he'd laugh too if she were him) and then she repeats what she already said, 'I'll go on
top if you show me.'

He nods and pulls her right leg to the other side of him while the left one stays.

'Show me, just, don't laugh.'

'You're the one who's laughing.'

'No.' She says and she gives his cheek a little push with her hand, 'I'm being serious.’
'Hhmhh.' He says because he can't focus on what she's saying when she is astride of him, sitting
there, looking like a mixture of a dream and nightmare with her hair falling over her breasts hiding
her nipples from his view like the little prude she is. She’s always worried about doing the proper
thing, even when they are alone, in this bedchamber.

He pushes her hair away and cups one breast again, his thumb gently strokes her side as he feels
the tip harden under his palm. He has done it a few times now, often enough for her to manage to
watch it all expectantly without rebuking him.

He skates his hand down, over the perfect soft, goosebumped skin of her stomach before he places
both his hands on her hips. She has straddled him like this before, but never with no clothes on,
never like this.

He knows she’s wet enough and somehow that makes him nervous. He raises her up and manages
to help her as he slides into her. He always feels relieve when he sinks inside.

There is no fear on her face but a tiny hint of shock and something else he cannot name, ‘D-does it
hurt?’

She doesn’t respond, just gasps so he assumes it doesn't. He quickly moves to sit upright with her
in his lap when he spots some discomfort and as he starts telling her his uncreative compliments he
can feel her relax and become at ease.

She squeezes his shoulder blades with her hands while she finds her own pace, making sure to
never lose his gaze, as if she needs to keep reminding herself this is okay, like she wants him to tell
her she is not messing up and she's doing fine.

She's not doing fine though, fine is not at all the perfect word to describe this.

He tries to let himself enjoy it without losing control, enjoy her smell and her touch, enjoy those
sounds she makes. He likes the way she can't close her mouth in her silent gasp, she often does
that.

He wants to make her moan is ecstasy and say his name because it will be the only word she
remembers, he’ll drive her mad the way she drives him mad, he’ll make her tremble and beg for
more. He wants to make her come really hard because he still hasn't done that and it makes him
feel like an asshole.

Not now, not today, he knows that because she trembles all over and this may be too much, maybe
she's scared, maybe she wants to stop.

She clearly doesn't want to stop when she kisses him and he feels the taste of her tongue in his
mouth and her breasts compressing against his chest. He wants to keep kissing her face, her cheeks,
kiss away the tears that have already dried up.

He really wants to swear but he may say something she has never heard before and he can't ruin it,
not like that, preferably not at all, so he just sticks to her name, he tries to sigh it but he knows he
moans it while her hand deliberately finds his and she intertwines their fingers together as tightly as
he'd like their bodies to be.

When he ends it she makes sure he's in buried deep so he can fill her up and just like that he feels
all the energy in his body slip away. Even when he just gets watch her do that he feels completely
drained.

He lets himself drop to his back in the bed while she still sits there, on top of him.
He intents to stare at her for some time, because he can stare at her for hours and never get bored,
but she won't let him because she moves off him and pulls the duvets over her naked and trembling
body.

He watches her for a second, rather disappointed, hoping he can manage to hide that before he gets
under it too and he doesn't hesitate to pull her hip and drag her against his chest, spooning her the
way she likes as he buries his face in her neck to breath in her sweet smell.

'Are you going to fall asleep now?'

Don't laugh.

'I think so, maybe.'

'You always fall asleep when we- after.'

'Well, that is what you're supposed to do in a bed.'

'Yes I know that.' She uses that tone on Robb a lot and it's not his favorite tone. Shit, he really does
not want to think about Robb right now. 'I just mean that, you lay down and before I know it you're
sleeping.'

He really doesn't know where she wants to take this conversation to, 'Do you want me to stay
awake?'

'Not if you're tired.'

Jon feels exhausted, 'I'm fine.'

Her fingers plays with his hand as it lays on her belly, 'You always wake up before I do.' She says.

'Uhuh, I.. I don't do that on purpose.'

Her big toe slowly moves down his footpad, it makes him shiver and he moves his leg away,
places it over hers so he can pull her back closer to his chest and get his foot away from hers.

'I wouldn't mind it if you wake me up.' She says.

'No, I wake up real early, it's a habit, you should get the sleep you need.'

'I just mean- you don't always have to leave and let me sleep, you could wake me, it could be nice,
we could break our fast together.'

In the eleven weeks they have been married, twelve since he arrived, he can't recall them ever
breaking their fast at the same time.

'Yes.' He says and suddenly he knows exactly how to scare her off, 'We could go out riding.'

'We could.' He can hear the hesitation in her voice, 'But we don't need to do that in the morrow, we
can do that any time of the day.'

'It's nicest when it's early, when the sun comes up.'

'If you say so, maybe we could. But I'm no hero on a horse.'

He wants to say something but can stop himself just in time, 'You'll be fine.'
‘I don’t want the queen to have Lady’s fur.’ She suddenly says.

‘She won't.’ He says, ‘Don't worry about that.’

‘Now I am the only one without a wolf.’

‘You can have Ghost.’ He offers, he doesn't really mean it and he thinks she knows that.

‘No,’ she sighs, ‘Ghost is yours, he wouldn't even want me.’

‘He’s an idiot if he doesn't want you.’

She smiles a little, ‘He belongs to you, a direwolf is no pet that you can just give away or take.’

He nods in agreement, ‘But if Ghost belongs to me and I belong to you, he can be ours.’

‘Maybe.’ She pushes his face from her neck with her shoulder and giggles a little bit, 'You need to
shave, you're scratching me.'

'Sorry, does it hurt?'

'No, but mother may see and she'll think badly of it.'

He doesn't give a fuck about what Catelyn Stark thinks of his stubble scratching his wife's cheek,
'Sorry.' He makes a mental note to suck on Sansa's neck sometime soon.

'Don't apologise.' She says, again, ‘It tickles.’

'Sorry.' He says, again.

She giggles, again, and she turns her head for a moment to kiss his nose, her pupils all fat and
glossy.

'Can I go to sleep now?’

‘Of course.’ She says, she tries to make her voice clear, but it's not working.

'I missed you.' He says.

She doesn't respond.

‘Did you not miss me?’

She turns around and softly pushes him on his back and lays her chin on top of her hands, on his
chest, ‘We can’t do that again.’ She tells him, her face very serious, ‘Fight like that and not make it
right.’

‘I should not have left.’

She doesn't disagree with him and it's fine, right now he prefers to blame himself solely.

‘I didn't mean it. What I said.’

‘You did a little bit.’

‘No.’ he says and he wants to put force behind the word, ‘I don't think you’re pathetic.’
‘Sometimes you do.’ She says and he hates how convinced she is.

‘Not you.’ He says, ‘Truly, just the things you say or think or decisions you make.’

She smiles, ‘That’s me doing that.’

‘Doing pathetic things don't make us pathetic. Everyone does stupid things sometimes, not
everyone's stupid. You are not stupid and you are not pathetic.’ He runs his thumb down her cheek
and he can see her smile fade into something else, ‘I think you’re amazing.’

She looks away, down, as best she can with her chin on his chest and her face so close to his, ‘Just
because I used to be disappointed in marrying you doesn't mean I am disappointed in you.’ Her
cheeks are turning a bright red now, he can see it even in the candle light, ‘I like being married to
you, Jon.’

She can't know how saying that is the best thing he has ever heard in his entire life, it's the only
thing he could ever dare hope for.

‘I like being married to you too.’ He should tell her how much it means to him that she says that,
but he doesn’t know what words to use, he doesn’t know why she suddenly tells him, where it
comes from. He knows she means it, if only because she would gain nothing by lying. King's
Landing taught him that people only lie when they think it helps them get what they want.

‘And I have not been pretending.’ She adds, ‘It’s important to me that you know that.’

He knows she has not been pretending so he doesn't quite understand why that makes him feel the
way it does. He wishes she’d look at him, ‘I do.’ He pushed her chin up with his index finger and
she seems almost sad when he can finally see her eyes.

‘I’m so sorry.’ She says, ‘About all of that, about what I said and about... I cannot imagine- the
way I acted when they told me we were going to be married, I should not have done that. The idea
of you knowing that has made me feel sick from the moment I first saw you because you did not
deserve that and I was afraid you’d think of me as some-‘

‘It doesn't make me think anything.’ That's not entirely true, ‘Not about you. I know how the world
views people like me, Sansa, if I was a woman I wouldn't want that for myself either. You deserve
better than anything I could ever possibly give you.’

She’s crying again. Fuck he made her cry again, how did he manage? ‘That’s not true!’ She
objects, ‘Please don't say that.’ She moves up and burries her face in the crook of his neck, ‘You
are so good to me.’ She snivels, her hand in his neck, ‘Everyone just keeps assuming you’re hurting
me or that you will but you never do.’

‘I called you pathetic.’ He says, he can't imagine that didn't hurt.

‘I deserved that.’

‘You really did not.’

‘Stop punishing yourself for saying that!’

‘Who tells you I’ll hurt you?’

She doesn't respond at first, ‘Not everyone’s like you.’ She then says and he remembers telling her
exactly the same once. He knows it's true, they are some extraordinary combination and not just
because he is bastard-born and she the eldest daughter of the second most powerful man in the
Seven Kingdoms.

'I won't.’ He says, ‘I promised I wouldn't. I really, really want to be a good husband Sansa.’ Then
he goes on admitting something he has not even acknowledged to himself, ‘At first because I didn't
want to be like my father but now I just want to be a good husband because you deserve one.’

She looks up and smiles, he can feel her cold nose to her jaw, ‘When we are together, like we are
now, like we just were, it's because you like me, isn't it? Not because you have to?’

‘Like’ is not the correct word, he likes loads of people, They don't make him feel the way she does,
not now not ever before, ‘I told you.’ He says, ‘I tell you all the time.’

She blushes again and gets up a little so she can have a better view of his face, ‘I like being with
you too.’

He nods. He wants to tell her it can be so much better, he can do so much better if only she lets him
try, he knows she will, one day, hopefully soon.

But then she kisses him, and it's not a soft good-night’s kiss. He is taken by surprise only for a few
seconds before he decides that he should take as much of this as he possibly can, ‘Can you do it
twice?’ She asks.

‘What?’ He can't think when she’s doing that, she shouldn't make it worse by talking or asking
questions.

‘Again, can you do it again? Or just once?’

He hopes he knows what she’s trying to tell him because if he does this unexpectedly turned out to
be the best day of his life, ‘I-I think so.’

‘Can I go on top again?’

‘If you want.’

She moves up and smiles, like a seductress, or a goddess, ‘I want to try again.’

Jon decides that maybe waiting until she’ll ask him to do things is perhaps not the most
progressing way, he decides that maybe he should just do stuff sometimes and make sure she
really, really likes it.

'

When he wakes up the following morning he feels more angry than he initially expected.

He gets out of bed, puts on his clothes and marches downstairs. He plans on going to the great hall
but then he hears Sandor Clegane complain about how long it's taking Bran to die and he finds
Joffrey in the courtyard, with Tyrion.

‘At least he dies quietely, the howling kept me awake.’

When Joffrey sees Jon he smirks in amusement, ‘I can't stand the sound of your wailing wife.’ He
says.

Jon looks at him for a second, giving his half brother the indication that he can say things like that
to Jon’s face, then he takes a few large steps towards him and slaps him across the face the way
Cersei should’ve done years ago.

‘They could cut your hand off for that!’

Jon laughs, ‘like you wanted to cut off my sister-in-law’s hand?’

‘That little wench just-‘

‘I heard you let a girl disarm you, I found it typical.’

‘I will tell father.’ Joffrey straightens himself and gives Jon a glare of pure hatred, then he opens
his mouth to say something but Jon has already wasted too much time of his life listening to him.

He knows what this is all about, ‘You will go to Lord and Lady Stark and offer them their
sympathies and if you don't I will be the one telling father.’

Joffrey tells him how he can't wait to never have to see his face again, he adds that everyone is
happy to get rid of him, he insults Jon a bit, says he’ll make him regret slapping him, insults him
some more, insults Tyrion too and then finally leaves to do what Jon told him to do.

‘The prince will remember that.’ The hound says.

‘I hope he does.’ Tyrion smirks, ‘If he doesn't, be a good dog and remind him.’

Sandor Clegane follows Joffrey and Jon flexes his hand.

‘I wanted to hit him.’ Tyrion says, accusing Jon of stealing his moment.

‘I'm sorry, I couldn't contain myself.’

‘You can contain yourself far better than most, Snow.’ He says.

‘Are you well-prepared for the road?’

‘I am. To be fair, I did not expect you to be here, I'm honoured you came to see me off.’

Jon smirks, ‘Of course I came.’ He says, but it's not true, he came because he is furious and he is
here to tell that to the people he is furious with, Tyrion knows that.

‘I hear good news about your cousin.’ Tyrion says as he follows Jon towards the guesthouse.

‘Aye,’ Jon nods, ‘the family is relieved.’

‘So they should be. I do wonder what stories he’ll tell when he wakes up.’

‘It was an accident.’ Jon says.

‘Was it?’

‘Sansa says he was always climbing, always. He was bound to fall down some time, it is a a
tragedy that he fell from that height.’

'Yes, a tragedy.’

Jon stops for a second and looks at him, ‘I will never understand how it surprises you that people
doubt your loyalty.’
Tyrion smiles to himself, ‘Dear boy, you know how much I love my family.’

‘More than I do.’

‘Do I? I don't think so. You got the opportunity to pick between two families and managed to make
the right choice. I envy you.’

‘We can’t choose our family.’ Jon insists.

‘Not when we have only one.’

‘Take care of yourself without me.’ Jon suddenly says, he doesn't know why, Tyrion always
manages to take care of himself no matter how hopeless the situation may seem for him.

‘I am actually planning on joining your uncle Benjen on his way further north to see the wall.’

‘Are you?’ Jon frowns at him in amusement, ‘Are you planning on taking the black?’

Tyrion laughs, ‘Seven hells no, I am not like you, I don't care about my lack of honour.’

‘You don't lack honour.’

‘The whores would come begging.’

‘Except maybe you do.’

Tyrion laughs again as he follows Jon to the morning room of the guesthouse. The entire family
sits there, breaking their fast, and they look up all with different expectations on their faces when
they see him.

Tommen gets up and breaks an uncomfortable silence when he asks if Bran is going to die.

‘No.’ Jon says, ‘Maester Luwin thinks he will live.’

He glares at Cersei who appears unmoved at the news. His father doesn't even seems to hear him.

‘That is good news.’ Rhaenys says, he wants to believe that she means it, but he can't.

‘It is no mercy for the boy to live.’ Cersei insists.

‘Will lord Stark leave now that his boy is so ill?’ Aegon asks.

‘I'm sure his grace will make that decision for him.’ Jon says, he knows it's true.

Rhaegar doesn't respond to Jon’s glare, he watches Aegon instead, like he always does, he is
always keeping an eye on Aegon.

‘Will Bran be alright?’ Myrcella asks.

‘He will never walk again.’ Tyrion says as he sits down, unlike Jon, who still stands. He feels no
need to sit, to pretend he belongs with these people.

‘Brandon Starks usually end up being the unlucky ones. They should end the boy’s misery now.
Don't turn him into a cripple.’ Ser Jaime says.

‘Oh no,’ Tyrion says, ‘Life is full of possibilities while death is so final.’ He picks up a cup, ‘They
say the howling wolf outside Brandon Stark’s window may contribute to his survival. When they
close the window he weakens and when they open it his strength grows.’

Cersei mocks him with her laugh, ‘What a bellony.’

‘Let's hope my lady wife does not fall from a tower.’ Jon says and he can see anticipation in
Aegon’s eyes, who knows what may be coming.

‘Let's hope not.’ Jon’s older brother agrees, ‘It would be quite a waste.’

With ‘waste’ Jon knows he doesn't mean Sansa's life, he means that if Sansa dies this whole trip he
detested so much would all have been for nothing. It angers Jon more than he likes to let on.

‘I would like it if you could explain to me why my wife’s direwolf was put down without
informing me beforehand.’

Rhaegar finally looks at him and his brows are knit together.

‘Your grace.’ Jon adds and he hopes his voice is as scornful as his soul.

‘Your brother was violently attacked.’ Cersei says, trying her very best to sound astounded.

‘I saw him,’ Jon says, ‘This morning, I was disappointed to find him looking exactly the same as
he always does.’

Cersei is clearly insulted by the remark, ‘You should-‘

‘Quiet woman!’ Rhaegar suddenly bellows.

Jon has never seen his father watch him so carefully, it's as if he is trying to investigate what the
meaning is of this attitude when it seems rather obvious to Jon. Naturally his father does not
understand, when has he ever?

‘It was only a beast.’ Rhaegar says, ‘Perhaps you can gift your lady wife a dog on her next
nameday, she’ll be happier for it.’

What does Rhaegar Targaryen know about the happiness of women?

‘These beasts are dangerous and disturbing and should not be kept in homes.’ Cersei says.

‘The Starks disagree.’ Jon doesn't know why he is still standing there when he knows it won't
matter, nothing ever changes, ‘The direwolf was innocent and it was cruel to have it put down. I
don't expect anyone here to see it that way because I know you too well.’

‘Jon-‘ his father starts but he can't listen to it. He does not want to hear the excuses for killing
Sansa's direwolf. He knows why he allowed them to kill it, they killed Lady because his father
couldn't stand to listen to Cersei’s nagging, his father offered an innocent life to spare himself a
headache.

'Of course.’ Jon says, ‘I was told you offered to buy the skin, but the direwolf is the sigil of house
Stark, you are not fit to wear it.’

Cersei’s face reddens with anger but Rhaenys speaks before she can open her mouth.

'Jon. It can't be changed now, it’s done.’

He is fully aware. Jon bows his head to his king, ‘I hope your travel will be a save one, your grace.’
 He says before he turns his back on them and walks out of the room.

He hopes desperately that this was the last time that he ever has to talk to them. He hates them,
deeply and passionately, no matter how long and how hard he tried not to, they forced him to hate
them. He wanted to look up to his father all his life, but there was nothing to look up to, all those
people who admire him are fools.

He marches through the courtyard, ignores all fuss around the king’s departure and before he
realises where he’s heading he stands next to a bed, where his wife is still embraced by a deep and
peaceful sleep.

He throws his clothes off and moves to lie down next to her, where he just left her not that long
ago.

She shifts against him and smiles without waking up when he takes her in his arms. He’ll hold her
like this until she wakes up, shield her from these terrible people outside this room. Their room of
bliss where they fight, talk, joke, eat, sleep, fight some more and make love every night.

He knows that it's his duty to go outside, stand next to Robb, Catelyn too, when the king departs
for King’s Landing at last, he will do that, he will be there and do his duty. Yet right now, all he
cares about is his duty to the sleeping figure of Sansa Stark.

He never belonged in King’s landing, he was never a Targaryen and he would never be, he doesn't
want to be. He doesn't want to pay his respects to the people who treated him like a shameful
embarrassment for all these years.

They tried to shake, insult, yell and slam the Stark out of him but they never could. He was not his
father’s prince, he was his mother’s son and he asks the gods for it to never change, no matter how
much Cersei Lannisters punished him for it, no matter how much Aegon hated it.

Rhaegar Targaryen had fathered his bastard and greatest disappointment over nineteen years ago
and now he finally found a way to get rid of it, by giving him back to the only people who ever
loved and cared for him, the people who raised him, the people he belonged with.

He belongs here, in this bed, he was born to hold her in his arms as she sleeps, save and secure, as
innocent as a child.

Chapter End Notes

Not so very happy about the ending of this chapter but I figured that since I wrote it a
month ago it can't get much better than this and I did want to have some sort of good
bye (or lack thereof) between Jon and his family. Anyway so yeah, next update is
gonna be Sunday as usual. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!
 Sunflower Seeds
Chapter Summary

Robb frowns at him, clearly fishing for the right words with no bate, ‘You should take
care of her, make sure she doesn't do something stupid.’

‘Sansa’s not stupid.’ Jon says, ‘Maybe you underestimate her sometimes.’

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Jon

As much as Jon wants to enjoy the peace and calm silence that appears once his family leaves, he
finds it impossible.

Bran has still not opened his eyes and despite the maester’s vast confidence of his survival he is
unsure in what state the boy will be once he finally wakens.

It effects Catelyn the most and she sits by her son’s bedside at all times in a fragile mental state
that terrifies him a little. Sansa tries to keep her company, to convince her to sleep or take a bath,
but it all helps very little.

Robb needs his mother’s guidance now that he has become the lord of Winterfell in his father’s
absence, but she refuses to help him and is annoyed whenever anyone troubles her with matters that
do not concern Bran. She can't be bothered as long as her son may still be dying and it angers her
when anyone expects her to.

‘Provisions need replacement, Vayon Poole needs to be replaced too, he left south with my father-
along with a number of other positions. The King’s leave was postponed again and again, it cost a
small fortune and now my mother refuses to look at numbers.’ Robb shakes his head.

‘I'll write to my father.’ Jon assures him as they walk through the grassy field behind the castle
walls, along the glass garden, ‘He cannot expect Winterfell to provide for his party for the time it
has and not share in the expenses.’

‘Thank you.’ Robb sounds truly grateful and Jon can imagine why.

‘My father will understand.’ Jon knows how the king is no thief and never will be, he also knows
his father could cover his iron throne in gold if he wants.

‘She did not even say good-bye to the family.’ Robb continues, ‘What about Arya? With Bran
unable to go and Sansa staying here she will be all on her own in the capital, they say it's a rat nest,
she’ll be lonely.’

Loneliness is not the most dangerous thing Arya may encounter and somehow Jon feels that out of
all the Stark children Arya could be the one who may survive best in King’s landing, ‘Your mother
is afraid.’ He feels sorry for Catelyn, he cannot imagine what she must be going through, the few
times he has seen her since Bran’s fall she reminded him of a corpse.
‘Bran is not her only son.’ Robb says, ‘She has more children that need her. Bran won’t die, the
maester is sure of it.’

Rickon follows Sansa around all day, crying, tugging her skirts.

‘Rickon thinks everyone is abandoning him.’ She told Jon.

Sansa has taken on Catelyn’s mother duties and spends most of her day time with her youngest
brother. She plays with him in the garden, tells him stories, sings her songs to him, tries to teach
him all she knows about their own family tree and brings him to bed every evening, tucking him in
and kissing the top of his head. It is a lovely sight, if only the reason behind it could be less tragic.

‘Sansa takes good care of Rickon, every child would be upset if half his family suddenly left.’ Jon
decides, he wishes Robb was easier on his mother.

Robb stops walking and looks at him for a while, ‘How are you and Sansa?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I just realise, I have never asked you.’

Asked him what? Jon just stands there and looks at Robb, who pulls a hand through his own hair,
with the curls that are just like his but auburn.

‘How is she?’

‘Good, I think.’

‘Is she still asleep? It's getting out of hand, she wastes half her day in her room.’

Jon looks away, trying to hide his red cheeks. There is no reason for Robb to know that Sansa
staying in bed that long has everything to do with him keeping her awake all night, ‘She wasn't
feeling very well this morning.’

‘Maybe Sansa can talk to mother.’

‘She has tried.’ Jon starts to walk again, ‘Sansa is not very good at pressing on.’

‘You haven't answered my question.’ Robb reminds him as he catches up.

‘What question?’

‘Are you two getting along? You’ve been married for some time now, I suppose you can-‘

‘We get along alright.’

Robb does not hide his attempt at trying to read Jon’s body language, ‘Alright?’

Jon knows he may regret it when he says, ‘If your questions could be a bit more specific maybe I’ll
give a clear answer.’

‘You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.’

Jon doesn't respond, just stares ahead of himself, at the grey and dark landscape of the North, the
cold and emptiness that makes the warmth of a bed, the fire of a heard and the softness of women
far better here than anywhere else in the world.
‘It's just that… I thought she seemed to- I was under the impression that things may be amiss when
Lady was put down and Sansa never-‘

‘Sansa is still very upset about Lady.’ She really is. When she woke up the next morning she cried
some more and she snapped at Arya before saying goodbye, even when she has no idea when she
will see her sister again.

They buried the direwolf here, at Winterfell, where no one can take her skin and wear it like a
token of some twisted victory.

‘I know.’ Robb says and he still eyes Jon, ‘You must comfort her, I suppose that is your duty.’

Robb has no idea how hard he tries, ‘I will, I do. I try.’

‘Sansa is still disappointed about staying here, she has always dreamed of... You should not take it
personally, she’ll accept it eventually.’

Why does it always have to be awkward whenever anyone asks him about Sansa? No matter to
whom he speaks, ‘She seems fine.’ He tries his best not to appear irritated, ‘I think she is glad that
she can stay here now, to support her mother and be with Bran.’

He knows that’s true, but he also knows that she does not mind being here with him, if she was still
disappointed and sad about being left behind at Winterfell she was either hiding it very well or it
has become unnoticeable due to all the hectic of the past few weeks.

I like being with you too.

‘I suppose you are right.’ They are silent for a while when Robb decides to ask one last question,
‘But you are pleased with her? I know she can be unkind if she tries, even rude. Mostly she is
stubborn, really. But she's a good girl, she can be very sweet. Once she gets to know you-’

‘She is never unkind.’ In all honesty that is not true at all.

‘Good.’ Robb nods, ‘I'm glad.’

‘She’s lovely.’ Jon doesn’t really know why he says that, maybe because he feels like he needs to
defend Sansa, he not always likes the way Robb talks about her.

Robb frowns at him, clearly fishing for the right words with no bate, ‘You should take care of her,
make sure she doesn't do something stupid.’

‘Sansa’s not stupid.’ Jon says, ‘Maybe you underestimate her sometimes.’

‘I still think you should take care of her.’

Jon refuses to look Robb in the eye, ‘You don't have to worry about that.’

Robb smirks, ‘I don't, but I feel like it is my duty to tell you anyway.’

‘Does this conversation feel like a duty to you too? Because I need it to be over.’

Robb laughs, ‘Of course.’ He slams Jon on his back, ‘Theon says you are in love with her.’

Jon feels his body stiffen at the comment, he doesn’t respond and he doesn’t have to because Robb
continues,
‘He said some vile things about Sansa yesterday, it was dreadful. I told him to shut up.’

‘What did he say about Sansa?’ It better not be too vile.

Robb shrugs, ‘I don't know, I forgot mostly.’ When Jon keeps looking at him he adds, ‘He called
Sansa a hypocrite for scolding him- I don't know what she scolded about exactly- I asked why and
he said something about the way she looks at you and about the way you look at her and just
looking in general or I don't know, I don’t remember.’

Jon makes a mental note to not tell Sansa, spare her the heart attack, headaches and lack of sleep
she’ll suffer when she finds out Theon Greyjoy talks about her, ‘He said that?’ It sounds too poetic
for Theon, Jon thinks.

Robb does remember all the sudden, ‘He said she looks at you as if you have no clothes on.’ Robb
bursts out laughing, ‘it's a bit sad, I’d call it a talent to say such disgusting things about my sister,
of all people.’

Jon gulps down something that somehow feels a bit like guilt. Images of the night before when she
gasped and panted and moaned his name while she told him to 'don't stop’ take over his mind and
it costs too much effort to push them away again. If only Robb knew how ‘disgusting’ the things
are that Sansa makes him think about.

When he came back to Winterfell he believed he'd finally have people again that he could talk to
and tell everything, but there is no one he can tell how she, three days before, finally did not
hesitate when he moved his hand down to touch her there. He can't possibly tell Robb that he softly
pressed his fingers inside of her, first one then two, then three, he can't tell him how she gasped.
Least of all he can't tell Robb that after he told her to ‘don't stop’ and ‘it's okay, you’re perfect’ she
finally let go. He can’t share with anyone how he found out that watching his wife come was the
most beautiful fucking sight he has ever seen.

He can't tell anyone how amazing she is, how good she tastes and feels, how funny and clever she
is, how fast her wit is, how he worries about her, thinks about her all the time, how his day
brightens when he sees her.

He can't tell anyone how hopelessly in love he is with Sansa Stark, how he feels like the luckiest
bastard in the world and beyond because she is his wife, actually

his wife, because everyone at Winterfell is either related to her, much too young, too old or a
stranger to him.

'You shouldn't let him talk about her like that.’

‘I don't! I smacked him across his head when he said it.’

‘Well, thank you.’

‘I think she’ll learn to appreciate you.’ Robb decides, ‘Once she accepts her fate she’ll be alright,
she could do a lot worse. Did you know Walder Frey send a marriage proposal to my father when
he heard about your engagement?’

It's good to know even Walder Frey thinks his son is a better match for a Stark daughter than Jon
Snow the bastard, it's also nice that Robb thinks that ‘a lot worse’ means a Frey. Being married to
one of his brothers seems ‘a lot worse’ to Jon, unfortunately no one agrees with him on that.

‘No,’ he says while leaning down to grasp some snow from the ground to clutch it in his hand and
form it into a snowball, ‘I did not know that.’

‘Father refused him of course, he always does. Frey has so many wives and even more children, all
those daughters, he doesn't know where to put them.’

‘Maybe you can marry one now.’

Robb snorts, ‘Over my dead body.’

‘They say Walder Frey pays the weight of his daughter in silver for their dowry.’ Sansa didn't
come with a dowry, not one tiny coin. why would anyone pay a bastard a dowry? Jon has never
thought of it but now he wonders how big her dowry may have been if she’d married Aegon. Jon
living at Winterfell must be dowry enough. Jon wouldn't want to marry a Frey if they paid their
weight in dragon eggs. He saw some Freys at Joffrey’s nameday tourney, they aren't his kind of
people much.

‘At second thought maybe I should marry one, a really fat one so I don't have to bother my mother
with the expenses of your father’s little retreat.’

Jon throws the snowball in his hand to Robb’s head and it smashes apart in his face.

He spits out the snow that ended up in his mouth and wipes some more away with the back of his
hand, ‘Do that again.’ He warns, a wide grin on his face.

Jon leans down but he’s too late and he can feel the wetness on his skin as the cold burns his
cheek. It makes him laugh and when he gets up he sees a snowball reach the back of Robb’s head,
a snowball aimed by someone unknown.

Robb turns around and when he sees his youngest brother he grabs some snow in his hand and
goes after him. Rickon yielps and runs away screaming, his small face lightened up with joy.

Jon stands there and looks at them, then spots Sansa, standing under a tree, hugging her arms
around herself and grinning as she watches her brothers. He knows she’s probably the one who told
Rickon to aim the snowball at Robb, looking at her bare hands it’s even safe to assume she made it
for him.

He takes a few long strikes and pulls her to his chest. With Robb in the distance, still running after
Rickon, who turns out to be surprisingly fast, Jon allows himself to place a peck on her nose.

‘Theon thinks I'm in love with you.’ He doesn't know why he tells her.

‘Does he?’ She looks down at her feet, smiling as her cheeks turn red, ‘Why would he say that?’

Jon shrugs, ‘I don't know, he did not tell me, he told Robb.’ He waits a second before he adds,
‘Robb says he thinks you’ll learn to appreciate me eventually.’

She giggles and takes his face between her bare, freezing and wet (guilty) hands, ‘Eventually?’ She
asks, ‘Thankfully you are a very patient man.’

‘You think I have patience?’

'Yes.' She breathes out and her breath warms his cold skin before she presses her even warmer lips
to his.

‘Theon is an idiot.’ He says, his eyes still closed even after she ends the kiss, too soon of course,
always too soon, ‘If he’s rude to you, you must tell me.’

She pushed some hair behind his ears and he can feel her nod because her nose bumps against his,
‘He’s always rude to me.’

He opens his eyes and sees her beaming, beautiful face, ‘I'll make him stop.’ He promises.

‘How?’

‘I don't know that yet.’

‘I want you to tell me first.’ She quickly tells him and he laughs, ‘I mean it! I promised I’ll always
try and stop you from making a fool out of yourself.’

He kisses her cold nose before he says, ‘No one has ever made me feel as big of a fool as you
have.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She says, he knows she’s not.

‘Don't be.’

Robb

When Robb sees his little sister kiss his cousin around the corner of the glass garden he doesn't
believe there will ever be a thing he’ll see in his life that will haunt him more.

He takes that back the same day. After saving the library tower from eternal ruin he rushes back to
Bran’s room, following the agonizing scream for help that clearly comes from his sister.

His mother sits on the floor, on her knees, her hands covered in blood that drips down into her
dress. Sansa shakes her shoulders, her face covered in tears, but Catelyn does not seem to notice.
Bran’s wolf lays on the bed, at his master’s legs, reddening the fur with blood.

In the corner lies the still body of an unknown man, his throat has clearly been ripped out by
Bran’s nameless wolf.

He tries to help Sansa pull his mother up, tries to ask the both of them what happened, who that
man is, why the wolf killed him but Catelyn doesn't respond, she trembles all over and sobs as she
clutches her wounded hands into fists.

He runs towards Jon’s room, doesn't find him there and on his way to Sansa’s he runs into Theon,
whom he tells to go get Maester Luwin and old Nan.

He finds Jon in Sansa’s room and rushes with him back to Bran’s where Jon helps him lift his
mother from the floor.

When Theon comes back with Maester Luwin they immediately decide to remove the corps of
Bran’s assassin and bring it outside.

Jon wraps his cloak around Sansa’s bare arms and holds her hand longer than he needs to. She’s
only dressed in her nightgown and her skin is visibly covered in goosebumps. She takes their
mother back to her chambers where she and old Nan undress her and help her into a bath.

After the bath, Maester Luwin takes a look at Catelyn's wounds: her fingers are cut almost to the
bone and the man has pulled out a handful of her shiny, auburn hair.

Hours later he is standing in front of the door to his mother’s chambers with Jon, shoulder to
shoulder, when Sansa comes out.

'The maester gave her milk of the poppy.’ She tells them, ‘I’ll pray she’ll sleep for days.’

'She could use that.’ Robb says and Jon nods.

Jon takes a step towards her and takes her upper arm in his hand, squeezes it, ‘You should go to
your rooms as well.’ He says, ‘It’s late.’

As Sansa nods and asks her husband if he wants his cloak back Robb wonders why he has not see
this before, when did this start?

Her eyes soften when he tells her to keep it, he tells her to wait for him, says he won't be long, and
she squeezes the wrist of the hand that still hold her arm.

She nods at Robb as if she feels obliged to let him know she is aware of his presence too. Then she
walks away and Robb wonders why anyone ever dares to call Theon an idiot when obviously he is.

‘What am I going to do?’ He asks while he stares after his little sister. He doesn't really expect a
proper answer, it's not a proper question.

‘Bran needs a guard in front of his door.’ Jon says, it seems so obvious, why did he not think of that
yet? Why does his head feel like it's up in the sky and not stuck to his neck? ‘We have to find out
who that man was as soon as possible, find out if he left a trace, check his clothes, see what he was
carrying with him. We have to find out if his presence was noticed.’

Robb keeps nodding and he know he must look dumb.

‘Someone wants to have him killed.’ Jon decides.

Robb wants to ask who he means by ‘him’ but he can stop himself in time, ‘Why would anyone
want to kill a boy of ten, crippled and bedridden?’

Jon looks away for a second, into the hallway where Sansa just disappeared around a corner. He
probably wants to go to her room to comfort her or something. That is his duty now. Maybe he’ll
hold her and maybe she’ll cry. Maybe this conversation is making him irritated because he wants to
leave and be with her. Maybe tonight he’ll be with her like husbands do with their wives and she’ll
kiss him again like she did behind the glass gardens. The idea makes his stomach turn into a knot.
Why has he not thought of that ever before? He does not want to think about that, he should not be
thinking about that. It makes him look at Jon with a frown, he seems a lot less trustworthy
suddenly.

‘My father always says that lordlings have to answer their own questions.’ Jon tells him, ‘You are
the lord of Winterfell now.’

When did the king ever tell him that? As far as Robb noticed there was very little interaction
between Rhaegar and his bastard son.

Robb wants to shake Jon and scream at him that he does not understand, that this seems like one
big nightmare or so many nightmares all passing by, one after the other, he needs it to stop, he
needs his father, his wisdom and his advice.
‘If that man tried to kill Bran, it means someone does not want him to wake up.’ Jon says, after
what feels like a whole summer of silence.

‘Someone is afraid of what he saw. Of what he may say if he wakes up.’ Robb says, his own words
surprise him.

‘When he wakes up.’ Jon corrects him.

Sansa

Catelyn sleeps for four days. In that time Sansa feels like a ghost, chased by a ghost, one she
cannot see and one that soundlessly follows her, watches her, presses his wet nose to her hands and
lays his head in her lap. She feels sick, she can't eat and her sleep is troubled.

She wakes up in the middle of the night, tears streaming down her face, the sight of her mother’s
hands and the corps in the corner of Bran’s room haunting her.

Rickon wails and whines all day and it takes up all the energy she can find to not snap at him. Her
back hurts, she feels tired and warm, like she can’t breath properly.

Nobody knows who the man was, but it’s likely he had been lurking in the stables ever since the
king’s arrival. They find ninety hidden silver stags under the straw of his hiding place, he seems to
have been low-born and without a proper trace there is little more they can do but burn the
nameless peasant outside the castle gates.

‘You must forgive me for my behaviour.’ Catelyn tells Sansa when she visits her mother after her
awakening, ‘It shall not happen again.’

Sansa wants to take her mother’s hand in hers but decides against it. They look painful and she
doesn't want to make it hurt more, ‘I forgive you.’

‘I have not been there for you.’

‘It is alright.’ I have Jon.

‘You look tired.’

‘I am.’ Sansa admits. All the time.

Robb looks all dressed up, wearing armor and a sword when he comes to see their mother, along
with Sansa's husband, Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrik Cassel, and Hallis Mollen, who is apparently the
new captain of the guard. She has missed so much lately, everything seems to pass by.

Hallis tells Catelyn about the man, who he was, where he came from, what happened to him.

‘Someone tried to murder Bran because he saw something.’ Robb says, ‘We need to find out who.’

Rodrik points out that the dagger used by the assassin, a Valyrian steel blade with a dragonbone
handle, is a much finer weapon than anything the low-born footpad should have possessed.

‘Someone gave it to him.’

Sansa sits there and listens, her eyes jumping from one man to the other as they discuss the
circumstances. She tries to make Jon look at her but he either ignores her or does not notice as he
stares at the floor with a frown on his face.

Sansa presses her lips together until her mother starts speaking and she looks up to watch her as she
confidently tells them about a certain letter.

‘But if it was written in a secret language… perhaps you misunderstood.’ Jon looks at Catelyn, the
frown on his face has deepened and Sansa knows for certain now that he deliberately avoids her
stare.

Catelyn shakes her head, ‘I know my sister, I know what that letter said. Jaime Lannister did not go
hunting with the others the day Bran fell, I do not believe that Bran fell, he was pushed.’

Jon looks horrified and she wants to rush to him and comfort him. Jaime is the uncle of his
siblings, the brother of his mother-in-law, he lived with the man for years and the knight was
sworn to protect both him and his kin. He looks at Sansa’s mother in disbelieve but everyone else
seems to find this to be a reasonable conclusion.

‘However,’ Maester Luwin says, ‘All we have is conjecture, we must have proof or else keep
silent.’

Sansa sits up more straight when, after some deliberation, Catelyn decides that someone must go
the King’s Landing, to inform Sansa’s father.

‘I have to go.’ Catelyn says, ‘I need to speak to my husband and be the one to tell him.’

‘What about Bran?’ Sansa asks.

‘I have prayed to all the seven, Bran’s fate lies in their hands now.’ Catelyn says.

‘You cannot go alone.’ Robb says, ‘Jon can come with you.’

Sansa’s eyes widen at the suggestion and finally Jon looks at her.

Robb seems to spot their exchanging of looks, ‘He knows King’s Landing better than any of us,
perhaps he could speak to his father-‘

‘I cannot speak to my father about this until we have proof.’ Jon interrupts him, ‘He will listen
when we present him facts but I shall not accuse his queen or his brother-in-law, a member of the
King’s Guard, of murder with no proof beyond reasonable doubt.’

‘I am certain.’ Catelyn says, ‘We need to leave soon, if we do we may arrive ahead of the king’s
party.’

Jon moves towards the door, ‘I cannot speak to my father of this,’ he repeats, ‘But if you wish me
to join you on your travel to the capital I will.’

He leaves and Sansa bites her lip so hard she fears she'll bleed.

‘Don't take Jon.’ Sansa says once the door falls shut and she is alone with her mother once again.

Catelyn looks at her, ‘Sansa, I have to do this, I need to see your father.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ in truth she doesn't, not really, but she knows it won’t help to say it, ‘Just,
please don't take Jon.’

‘It won't be long,’ Catelyn’s lips turn into an affectionate smile, ‘He’ll be back before you know it.
Perhaps you will have to get used to his absence, there is more than one reason for a lord husband
to leave his lady wife behind sometimes and Jon is the king's son, he may live at Winterfell now
but you must keep it in mind that he can be summoned to court at any time.’

‘I know that.’ Sansa looks at her hands again, she presses them to her stomach when she says,
‘Maybe the king will want him to stay, maybe you'll have to leave without him.’

‘We won't be presented at court.’

‘Jon will have to, he can't go to the capital and not meet with his father, it would be insulting,
people may speak badly of it.’

Catelyn eyes her in suspicion, ‘Do you care for him this much?’

Yes. She wants to say, because she does, but it's not the only reason why she wants Jon to stay at
Winterfell, she needs him here, during the day and during the night.

Sansa avoids to look at her mother before she pulls her hands from her flat tummy, ‘Maester Luwin
tells me there is a child growing inside of me.’

Catelyn gasps, ‘Sansa…’ she whispers, ‘That is marvellous news!’

Sansa tries to smile, ‘I was told this morning, I have not said anything to no one, not even Jon.’

‘You ought to tell him.’ Catelyn says, ‘He’ll be overjoyed.’

Will he? Sansa wonders. They have not discussed it, never spoken of the possibility, ever. Why
haven't they? Now that it’s real she doesn't understand why they did not, they should have.

‘I will.’ She doesn't know how or when.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Dreadful.’

‘The mornings?’

Sansa nods, the nausea in the morning has only worsened and she’s glad Jon wakes up and doesn't
see her like that, it must be unflattering.

‘It will get better.’ Catelyn assures her, ‘What did maester Luwin say?’

‘He said that it has the seize of sunflower seeds and that I have many moons to go. He also said
that I am healthy and so is Jon therefore he sees no reason for worry, as long as I take good care of
myself.’

‘You must take good care of yourself.’ Catelyn smiles at her daughter, ‘We were in need of some
good news.’

‘I'm glad I could give it to you.’ She means that.

‘You are carrying the king’s first grandchild, Sansa, that is an honur.’

Sansa had not at all looked at it in that way. She always expected to give the king grandchildren,
but she imagined them to have silver hair and purple eyes. The chances of the sunflower seed
inside her to grow and look like that were relatively small. Perhaps her baby will look like Jon, not
a Targaryen but a Stark, with brown hair, a long face, grey eyes and a good heart. She'd like that.

‘I need him here, mother.’ Sansa says, ‘Please don't make him go.’

Catelyn nods and then takes Sansa’s hand in hers, ‘He’ll stay.’ She promises.

Sansa feels like she can breath for the first time that day, ‘Thank you.’

Sansa knows where to find him, yet she doesn't consciously decide to go there, her mind is lost and
it wanders around somewhere in a world of numbness.

‘Jon.’

He looks up and smiles, it's a sad smile, the lopsided one that is half smile half frown and though
it's a handsome smile, it is not the one she likes best.

‘I’m sorry if you’re at prayer.’

He shakes his head, ‘You belong here more than I do.’

‘Do I? I wonder if the old gods like me, I spend too much time talking to the new ones.’

‘I don't understand how southerners can think in those septs, it never feels peaceful in there.’

If anything the weirwood tree looks peaceful, not to everyone perhaps, she can imagine is doesn't,
but to her it does, it’s where they got married, it's a sacred place to her that will always, in many
ways, represent her sacred childhood, ‘I came here a lot when I was a girl.’ She still feels like a
girl, but not that girl.

He looks a little surprised, ‘You did?’

She nods and sits down beside him, as close as she possibly can with the lack of chairs and all their
layers of clothing, ‘I was always praying for all the things I wanted, not for all the things I had.’

‘That’s what most young people do.’

She wants to lay her hand on his cheek, rub her thumb over his lower lip, ‘Nowadays I mostly pray
for the things I have.’

He smiles and this time it is the nice one, the one that makes him look away, down at his hands. It
doesn't last, before she knows it there is that tormented frown again, ‘I don't want to go to King's
Landing.’ He says it as if he admits it to her, but he doesn't need to, she knows very well.

‘You won't have to.’

‘Your mother seemed very determined.’

‘Not as determined as I am.’ She says.

A grin spreads across his face, ‘You convinced her then?’

She nods and moves towards him, lays her head on his shoulder,‘You won't leave me.’ She
breathes in his neck, her face in the crook that smells so nice, and she feels his arm around her
middle.
He shakes his head.

‘Stay with me.’ She commands him.

‘You too.’ He says, ‘You have to stay with me too.’

She places a kiss just below his ear and closes her eyes, perhaps she is praying, perhaps she can
pray to the old gods like this, by closing her eyes and dream of this feeling to never end, perhaps
praying to the old gods feels like dreaming.

If he holds her like this at night she can hear his heartbeat below her ear, now all she feels is
leather, and his lips when he presses them to the top of her head, she hums when he strokes her hair
from her face.

‘You brood too much.’ She tells him.

‘So do you.’

‘Not right now I'm not.’

He chuckles and she smiles at the sound of it. Then she moves away from him a bit, raises her head
from his shoulder and takes his hand in hers when he turns towards her, a questioning look on his
face.

She softly places his hand on her lower belly, covers it with her own, and presses her forehead to
his, ‘Tonight, when it’s you and me, promise not to brood.’ She whispers and she can see him stare
at her, his eyes widened as he starts to realize what she is telling him, he looks down at his hand,
‘Promise to forget everyone and everything but us.’

‘Us?’

She squeezes his hand, ‘Us.’ She repeats before she moves closer towards him again and whispers,
‘We are going to be a family.’

‘Sansa…’ the devotion in his voice makes her eyes water. He takes her face in his hands and kisses
her perhaps a bit more roughly than he intended to but she doesn't mind, she smiles against his
mouth.

When she looks at his beaming face, his eyes filled with affection and some disbelieve, she feels an
utter joy take over that she has never experienced before.

‘Are you sure?’

‘The maester confirmed it this morning.’ She says and he shakes his head as if he cannot believe it.

‘So you’re certain?’ He asks again.

She smiles, ‘A woman knows.’

‘Seven hells.’ He never swears in her presence, except those times when he doesn't know what
he’s saying.

‘Are you happy?’

'Of course I am, Sansa.’

 It's only now that she tells him, and sees his excitement and the way he looks at her that warms her
heart, that she properly realises. She has walked around with the idea for some days now, she knew
for certain when she threw up this morning, again. She did not need maester Luwin to confirm it,
when he did it just felt like a necessity.

She knew but it did not feel right until this moment. Jon pulls her back in his arms again, her head
perfectly tucked in the crook of his neck.

‘Seven hells.’ He says again and it makes her giggle.

She is going to be a mother, to his child, their child. It’s growing inside her at this very moment,
safe inside her belly, where it’s warm and safe and there is no pain.

They are having a baby, a tiny human being that will be theirs, her and Jon’s and somehow nothing
in her life has ever seemed so right before.

Chapter End Notes

I just wanted to say thank you for all the sweet comments and everything, I can't
believe this story has over 350 kudos it's insane, thank you thank you thank you!

I'm back to my normal update schedule, that means next chapter is gonna be here in a
week, Sunday again.

Hope you have a good week!x

 Flat and Silk-Covered
Chapter Summary

Jon walks after his wife and Bran knows he is not the only one who doesn’t understand
why. Bran wouldn’t want to be near his sister right now even if it would give him
back the power to move his legs.

Chapter Notes

Hola! I must say I did not expect to post this today, exams are killing me, but I really
want to update regularly so I'm super glad I managed!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Sansa

In her mother’s absence Sansa spends all her time knitting very tiny pieces of clothing. She loves
knitting hats the most, in all sorts of sizes, just to be sure.

She keeps asking maester Luwin what size her baby is now and he keeps comparing it to food. Her
babe turns from a sunflower seed into a berry, the berry turns into a bean, then a grape which Sansa
loves because she always eats grapes before she goes to bed. It all seems still so terribly small to
her. A grape is tiny and completely vulnerable.

Her breasts hurt too, a constant ache that makes it unable for her to sleep on her stomach, which she
always used to do.

Her nausea only gets worse, she is tired all the time, no matter how much she lies down and she
can't stop thinking about eating, so she does that a lot. 'Are you eating that too?' Jon asks, and
Sansa glares.

Jon's terribly sweet and she desperately tries to appreciate it, she really does, but at the same time
she wonders how he suddenly has become the most annoying human being in the kingdom of the
North.

Every time she snaps at him she feels so bad about it and she'll apologize with tears in her eyes. He
looks at her with those grey worried eyes, not quite understanding what it is he did wrong this time
and it makes her feel guilty. When she tells him she's sorry he says he doesn't mind and she’ll be
annoyed all over again with how considerate he is. Sometimes she wishes he'd yell at her, just so
she could yell back, and she wouldn't have to feel guilt.
She hates it that she lays in bed all the time, she hates seeing the inside of her bedchamber
constantly, she can't stand how much energy it costs her to simply get dressed.

She can't stand him being near her at night, she doesn't want him to touch her yet at the same time
it's the only thing that makes her feel better. She doesn't know what she wants, she doesn't know
why she treats him that way, she doesn't know how he takes so much of it.

She feels like crying, she lays on her back in her bed as he walks around the room doing things that
annoys her and she suddenly feels the tears stream down her cheeks.

Sansa needs her mother and she tells him that. he looks completely stunned at the sudden outburst
of emotions and he moves over towards her, saying her mother will soon be returning and she’ll
have to settle with his company for the time being.

‘You don't understand!’ She says.

‘I can try.’

‘No.’

‘Not if you don't want to.’

‘It has nothing to do with trying Jon!’

‘I'm sorry! I only mean to help, I don’t know what to say.’

She turns away from him and faces the wall.

‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘No.’ she says, closing her eyes firmly.

‘Do you want me to go?’

She doesn't respond in time and he gets up and walks over towards the door.

She jumps upright in the bed, ‘No! Don't go, please stay.’ She feels like sobbing again, ‘I’m so so
sorry, I am, truly.’

He frowns at her in confusion, visibly suppresses a shrug and walks back to the bed. He gets in
next to her and pulls her against him, ‘It’s going to be fine, Sans, maester Luwin says you are doing
very well, he says it will get better. He says that it's often like this, during the first three moons. He
says the baby takes all your self-control and-’

'You spoke to maester Luwin of me?'

For a wee second Jon's eyes widen when he realizes and he stammers, 'N-no, I mean, I did, I just... I
mean, I asked him and-'

'What did you ask?'

'How you are feeling-'

'You could ask me, I could tell you how I'm feeling! No need to ask the maester!'

'I know! I do! I did, I ask you how you're feeling, all the time, I-'
'Then why are you-'

'Because he's the maester! Seven hells Sansa, all I did was speak to the maester of my lady wife!'

'To ask him why it is that I'm being so terribly difficult?'

'No! I asked him about your health and-'

'So you think I'm being difficult?'

'W-what? I didn't say that, I-'

'You don't need to say it!'

'If you want to believe that, please do, I cannot change your mind no matter what I say!'

'I'ts fine Jon, don't bother please!'

'I won't.' he decides. Jon gets up again, grabs his doublet, doesn't take the time to put in on and
makes his way over towards the door, again. Sansa doesn't mean to hiccup, because she doesn't
want him to know she's crying, again. But he turns around when he hears and she aggressively
wipes tears off her cheeks when he hurries back towards the bed.

'I-I'm s-sorry, I-'

'It's okay.' he says, 'You don't have to apologize. Does your back hurt?'

Sansa nods and he rubs circles on her back in that way that sometimes helps, 'I just want my lady
mother.'

'I know Sansa, if I could go and get her for you I-'

'All of you men don't understand. You'll speak to the measter, expect him to know, but he doesn't.
He's never done it, has he? He only reads about it. Reads what other men wrote down with their
difficult choices of words about what only women will ever know. That is not right.'

Jon grabs her hand as it lays in her lap, covering the non-existent bump of her belly, 'I won't talk to
the maester again.'

'I cannot ask of you such a thing.' Sansa sobs softly, 'Lady wives do not have any right to-'

'Shut up, Sansa.' he says, and it does the opposite of annoy her, and she sobs a smile.

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be.'

'I feel miserable, that is all.'

'That's quite terrible, actually.'

Sansa sobs some more and he pulls her closer, 'Don't stop rubbing my back.' She says and he
instantly goes back to doing that. She closes her eyes because the touch does make some of the
pain go away, and he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth that's so gently and sweet that Sansa
can feel her bottom lip tremble.
‘You must try and find some sleep.’

She doesn't want to go to sleep, if she goes to sleep she’ll wake up in a few hours when the sun
rises and her tummy will be upset and she’ll be hanging above a chamber pot before the sun is well
and truly up.

‘My breasts hurt.’ She tells him instead.

‘Maybe-‘

‘Don't touch them! It gets worse when you touch them!’

‘I wasn't touching them, my hand was on your arm.’

‘Don't yell at me!’ tears well up in the corner of her eyes, ‘Don't do that.’

'I wasn't-'

‘I’m s-sorry.’ She hiccups, ‘Please don't go.’

‘I’m not going.’

'P-please don't do.'

'I won't.'

‘How am I going to survive this?’

‘You’ll manage, like all women do.’

He is right, she can do this, why is she being such a child? Why is she nagging all the time and
why is she still crying? She needs to stop crying, ladies don’t cry all the time, they pray in the sept
and thank the mother for blessing their marriage, making it fruitful as soon as this. She's not
supposed to be scared, she should be overjoyed.

She wants to feel like a grown woman, but without her mother helping her, Sansa still feels like a
little girl, completely lost and all alone in all of this. No one understands, and everyone is
unbelievably frustrating.

‘Your mother will come back soon, and all will be better, you can ask her everything, and she will
know and she'll say the right things.’

She nods and rubs her cheek against the cotton of his tunic, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don't be.’

‘I still am.’

‘You must tell me what to do.’

‘Just keep rubbing my back.’

‘I will.’

‘Okay, thank you.’

 Jon

He never expected to ever want to avoid Sansa, not anymore. Lately he does exactly that, however,
and it is all to do her a favor. It doesn't matter what he says, it is always the wrong thing, he’s
certain of it, because he has tried saying it all.

She keeps saying she needs her mother and it becomes frustrating because he can't give her that, he
can't go and get Catelyn when she’s already coming back to them.

He knows she arrived in King’s Landing, he knows she spoke to Ned, he knows of the dagger and
most importantly, he knows Ned agrees to not tell the king. He knows because Ned sent him a
letter, and even though it does not say all these things exactly, he still knows.

Ned wrote to him, asked him to to take care of his kin. To help and guide Robb as much as he can.
Ned called Robb ‘just a boy’ and Jon doesn't know how to feel about that. Jon is just a little over a
year longer in this world. In many ways Robb is much like Sansa, so so naïve. Sansa knows it and
she hates it, Robb is less aware and doesn't realize everyone around him views him as such, so he
struggles. He struggled when his mother was mourning his dying brother and he struggles now his
mother left him. He constantly repeats how he needs his father’s guidance and Jon has stopped
reminding him that one time, he will have to do without the advice of both his parents.

Along with Ned's letter came a letter from Jon's sister, Rhaenys.

Dear Jon,

Let me begin this letter by telling you I hope you have not frozen to death as of yet. I do not
consider it false fear, knowing what a brick of ice the North is, snowing in the midst of summer, I
shall never forget. When we left you behind in that wasteland of fierce cold, I knew I'd come to
regret the day I did not gift you a fine fur cloak for your nameday. I wouldn't say we miss you
much, for you would not believe me and I know how much my honesty is of value to you.
Nevertheless, I suffer Cersei's presence more without you there, as now, I am her least favorite
person at court. That, and I wish to hear you mock her, for you know father never will and Aegon
is simply not quite as witty and good at it.

Jon can't help but grin as he reads her words. Rhaenys writes as she speaks and he can hear her
speak to her in his head, as he reads. Her hoarse voice is one he never believed he'd miss, yet, he
knows, that if he'd miss anyone, it would be she. As she describes King's Landing without him, he's
shocked to find that some of it makes him smile.

I must say, I do feel a liking for your uncle, even though he's so very Stark. I believed he would be
much like you, but not so much. He's not so melodramatic. His honor is strong to a fault, which can
be quite annoying, but you can imagine how much father appreciates it. I bet a dozen golden
dragons that it reminds him of you. Perhaps it is good, and now I think of it it may have been his
intention all along to replace one sullen northern fool with another. Father and Aegon are fighting
for he, again, spent half a fortune on his costumes. I call them costumes for a reason, I know I
don't need to explain. He did surprisingly well in the tournament for Myrcella's nameday. With
that, I naturally mean he managed not to drop off his horse. Myrcella misses you terribly, as does
Tommen. At least, so I am told. They're getting quite big and Tommen now walks taller than the
imp. The imp asked when you shall return to the capital, for a visit, I told him that if you were wise,
you'd wait for winter to be over, he said that saddened him, for this winter is expected to last long.
That is what they say... for the summer was long. But then, here in the capital, there's little men do
but say things, you know I've learned to listen to as little of it as I can.

Rhaenys seems to have remembered the reason for her long letter half-way through it when she, at
the ends, tells him, Father asked me to write you to inform you of his decision to wed his sister to
his brother. I do not believe your presence is required, so if you do not feel any all-consuming
desire to make the travel all the way over here to this hell hole to witness that witless idiot marry
our aunt, I can ensure you, you shall be excused and pardoned.

Rhaenys ends her letter with a heartwarming,

Don't mope too much, be good to your lady wife, remember who you are and give your Old Gods
all my love,
Your sister, Rhaenys of house Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, lady of the Rhoynar,
Andals and First Men, of the King's Council, Master of Ships.

Jon feels bad for Daenerys, it was a longtime coming and Viserys has always assumed they would
marry, but yet. It has been at least a year since Jon last saw Daenerys, he can still remember rather
well. She was one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen in his life. They say she looks like
the Queen Naerys and people tell him she reminds them of what Jon’s father used to be like.

Jon can't believe his father was ever anything like Daenerys, Daenerys is the most gentle person he
knows, always afraid of her brother, she is the sweetest Targaryen alive today. Was she born
sooner, she may have been queen, now she is locked away at Dragonstone and forced to spend the
rest of her life by the side of someone who so clearly inherited the mad nature of Jon’s grandfather.

Jon knows that if he had not been born a bastard he would be the one betrothed to Daenerys. When
he was younger he'd dream of his father legitimizing him so he could marry her and rescue her
from Viserys. Now all he hopes is that Rhaenys is right and his father won't make him come to the
capital for their wedding, because he’ll have to leave Sansa behind and he can't bare the idea.

Rhaenys, in the meantime, continues to be an unmarried maid and Jon wonders if his father
purposely keeps it that way. Rhaenys was always his favourite, marriage would mean her depart
from the capital. As for Aegon... Jon knows they can wait an endless summer for Aegon to get
married. Everyone knows that.

Jon sits down to write back to Rhaenys, makes an attempt to keep it short, but fails terribly. He tells
her of the weather, of all the now, of his struggles with Robb's incompetence and of how peaceful
and calm Winterfell is without the King's entourage.

I wish you could get to know Winterfell as I know it. Not with half the court here to make it feel like
an icy version of the Red Keep. I know you don't believe you could ever love it, but I believe you
might come to appreciate the simplicity of it all.

Jon ends the letter with telling her of what maester Luwin told him not to tell no soul. He managed
to keep it from Robb, but he figured that, as Sansa told her mother, he can mayhaps get away with
telling him sister.

Sansa is with child. You musn't tell anyone, not even the King. We're very happy but she's terribly
uncomfortable, and the maester says it is because she'll have a boy. You have no idea how much
she eats, truly, I don't understand how it all fits in, she's so tiny. She's in pain, however, and only
for that reason I cannot wait for the child to come, although the idea is also equally terrifying as it
is thrilling. I never believed the Gods would bless us so soon, and it is hard for me to realize,
especially because as of yet, little has changed. We have many moons to go, though, she is not even
growing, so I try to not be too impatient. A year ago I was still thinking of taking the black, can you
recall? Of course you can. I try not to think of it too much.

Jon contemplates how to end the letter, and eventually settles for

Don't hide away inside all day, try and enjoy the sun you claim to love so much. Give Myrcella and
Tommen my love and tell everyone I am doing wonderfully fine and I'm not coming home anytime
soon,
Your brother, J on Snow.

Jon is discussing the stack of crops with Hallis Mollen, the new captain of the guard, when a maid
runs in, screaming, or bellowing, that ‘He is awake!’

He tries to calmly walk over to Bran’s room, if only to keep the peace and prove a wicked maid
can't influence his state of mind.

When he walks into the bedroom he sees Sansa and Robb, both sitting by Bran’s bedside.

Bran looks as white as a cloth, his lips are pale and his hair in a mess. But his eyes, they are wide
open.

‘I have decided to name my wolf Summer.’ He tells Jon calmly. Jon looks at Sansa, her cheeks are
glistening with tears.

‘That is a good name.’ Jon agrees.

Bran

‘I saw you.’ Bran looks at Sansa as she sits by his bed, a work of embroidery in her lap.

‘Did you?’ Sansa smiles without looking up.

‘Yes. I saw mother too, and Arya and father.’

‘When you were dreaming?’

‘It was no dream.’ He knows it wasn't.

‘Then how could you see our parents? They are not here.’

‘I saw them anyway. The crow showed me.’ Bran wishes she would look at him, but she keeps
smiling down at her work.

‘What crow?’

‘He showed me how to fly.’

‘Did you?’

'Did I what?’

‘Fly, of course.’
‘Yes.’ Bran says, ‘I did, I was flying. I told the crow I couldn't but he said I have never tried. Then
I tried and I saw all of the realm, everything in it.’

‘How can you fly?’ Sansa finally looks up, ‘You don't have any wings.’

‘I could still fly.’ Bran says, he wants her to stop smiling, ‘I saw Winterfell, and everyone living
here. I saw Hodor, and I saw Jon and Robb.’

‘And me.’

‘Yes.’

‘What was I doing?’

Bran remembers, he saw Sansa, he knew it was her. She was crying, crying herself to sleep with
blood in her bed. The furs were red, nothing like her hair, much darker.

‘Needling.’

Sansa laughs a little, ‘That sounds like something I’d do.’

‘I saw Arya too, she has a swordsmaster.’

‘I really think you were dreaming, Bran.’

Bran saw shadows, he remembers them, they followed the people he loves. One had the face of a
hound and another was as black as ash. A giant armored in stone was looming. It was real,
Bran knows it.

He saw his cousin Jon Snow sleeping, growing cold, a wall of ice behind him. He saw dragons in
the Far East, stirring in the fabled Shadow Lands. He looked beyond the Wall, and beyond the
curtain of light at the edge of the world, into the heart of winter. What he saw there made him cry.
The crow told Bran that he knows why he must live: winter is coming.

Bran saw spires of ice rising up to impale him and the bodies of a thousand dreamers before him.
The crow told him to choose between flying or dying. Bran spread his arms and flew away.

Down below, in the courtyard, Bran can hear Rickon play with the direwolves. He closes his eyes
and pulls his fur up, to his nose, covering his chin. Then, he realizes he is crying; he wants to be
down there too, laughing and running.

Sansa pushes her needlework away and worriedly moves over towards him, wiping some tears
from his cheeks. ‘It is alright, sweetling.’ She soothes but it only angers him.

‘No, it is not!’ The crow lied to him, he cannot fly, he can't even walk.

‘Do you want me to tell you a story?’

‘I hate your stories.’ He snaps.

‘They are not my stories, they existed long before you and I did.’

‘They are old Nan’s stories and she’s the oldest person in the Seven Kingdoms.’ Bran says.

‘Someone told them to her.’

‘I don’t care who tells them, I hate stories no matter who tells them.’

Sansa is unperturbed, ‘Old Nan once told me a story of a boy who hates stories.’

‘I don't want stories I want mother and father.’ Bran starts to cry again and Sansa pulls him even
closer.

‘I know you do, so do I.’

Bran wants to run, and climb, and ride like before. His father had promised he could ride a real
horse south, but left without him.

‘They left and they forgot me.’ Bran says and Sansa tells him to not say that but he does anyway,
‘Robb never smiles now and is so busy being a lord and Jon spends all his time with you.’

Jon is always helping Robb and when he isn't doing that he is spending time with Sansa, who is
either knitting or sleeping. Bran doesn't understand why Jon wants to spend so much time with her,
she is always snapping at him lately, he wishes they could go back to the time when Jon didn't care
about Sansa yet, when he would play with Bran and Rickon, he helped teach him how to use a bow
and arrow and told them stories about the brave knights of King’s Landing.

‘Maybe old Nan can come in and tell you a story? She knows far more than I do, she may know
one you like.’

‘I like scary stories.’ Bran says, Sansa only knows stories about handsome knights in shiny armor
and beautiful princesses waiting to be rescued from some random high tower.

Maester Luwin comes in just when Sansa wants to respond and tells them Tyrion Lannister has
arrived, with a message from the wall.

Hodor, a stable boy and the only family left that remains to old Nan, comes to pick him up and
bring him downstairs to the great hall.

‘So it is true, the boy lives.’ Bran had forgotten how incredibly ugly the dwarf is and he doesn't
look at him, as he speaks, ‘Starks are hard to kill.’

Jon walks over to Bran, his face excited, tells him that his uncle Tyrion knows of a saddle that
could help him ride.

‘It is a special saddle for a cripple.’ Tyrion tells him.

‘I'm not a cripple!’ Bran finally looks up at the imp, angrily.

‘If you are not a cripple I am not a dwarf.’ The man says simply, he points at Jon, ‘And he is no
bastard.'

At that, Bran feels shame as he sees Jon turns his eyes down to the floor.

'My nephew asked me if I knew of a way to help you and I told him I'd try. I have a soft spot for
bastards, cripples and broken men.’

Bran can see the way Sansa suspiciously eyes the Lannister imp, ‘Is this safe?’

‘Yes, completely.’ Jon tries but it hardly reassures her.

Bran can see Robb, who frowns deeply, he sits in the high seat, wearing his armor with his sword
across his lap. Bran knows what it means to greet a guest with a unsheathed sword, but Jon does
not seem to notice the lack of hostility in the room. Sansa keeps glancing back and forth between
him, Bran and Robb and she fidgets with her hands, clutching her stomach.

Everyone but Jon seems nervous and Bran doesn't understand why.

‘Bran has lost complete use of his legs.’ Maester Luwin repeats but lord Tyrion insists that with the
right horse there should be no trouble.

‘How did you fall?’ Tyrion asks him.

‘I never fall.’ Bran insists.

‘He doesn't remember.’ Sansa explains.

‘That’s interesting.’ Tyrion says, ‘Tell me boy, are you fond of riding?’

Bran nods.

Tyrion hands Sansa the piece of paper with his drawing for Bran’s saddle.

Maester Luwin declares that it may work and Tyrion explains how the idea came easy to him, he
tells them the design is similar to his own saddle.

‘I do not understand why you went through all this trouble, my lord.’ Robb says, still frowning.

‘Jon asked.’ Tyrion repeats again and Bran sees Sansa press her lips together in both disapproval
and annoyance as Jon hugs his uncle.

They offer Tyrion a room and their hospitality at last, but he refuses. The men of the Watch he
brought along do stay at Winterfell and they host a feast for them, which excites Bran as much as
the idea of possibly being able to ride.

Sansa is the only one not excited about the feast, but then, nothing seems to excite her lately. She
used to call the men of the Night’s Watch the defenders of the real, dressed in their black armor
they defend the Seven Kingdoms, but now all she does is sniffle at the mention of them.

Her annoyance at their presence at Winterfell is nothing compared to her displease when the night
ends.

The men bring news of uncle Ben’s disappearance. Yoren says he believes Benjen is dead but Jon
disagrees passionately.

‘Starks are hard to kill.’ He says.

‘He knows the forests better than anyone, he always found his way back.’ One of the men assures
them.

‘Maybe the children of the forest will safe him.’ Bran blurts out.

‘Bran, the children of the forest are gone.’ Sansa says, and he wishes she would leave, she clearly
doesn't want to be here, why won't she retreat to her bechamber and sleep like she did all day?

‘Who can say what lives beyond the wall? I have never been there.’ Jon says and Bran wishes he
had kept his mouth shut, for now Sansa tries to desperately kill her husband with her eyes, who
pretends to be fully unaware.
‘The watch is in a depressing state. We are armed with a little less than a thousand men. Lord
Commander Mormont asks for help.’

‘I know that my father-in-law spoke of it with my father.’ Jon says.

Bran doesn’t emmediately know who Jon is talking about, then he remembers that Bran’s father is
now not only Jon's uncle but also the father of his lady wife.

‘It concerns all of the realm.’

‘So you are in need of more men?’

‘Capable men.’

Jon nods, ‘My uncle told me. He says he was treated well at the Wall, I must thank you for it.’

‘I would prefer it if you could speak to the king yourself m'lord.’

‘I am no lord.’ Jon says and he sits back in his chair, Sansa is watching him, her lips still pressed
together, but her annoyance seems to have faded.

‘I have heard of the Watch’s strength now being under a thousand men.’ Robb says, ‘Does that
leave the wall guarded by only three men each mile?’

‘Yes, that is correct, my lord.’ Robb does not need to tell the man he is no lord.

‘The Watch has become an army of sullen boys and old men. It has mayhaps 20 men that can read,
and fewer who can think or lead.’

‘I shall write to my father.’ Jon repeats.

‘Lord Commander Mormont invites my lord to come to the wall, and see it for himself, as Lord
Tyrion did.’

Jon doesn't again tell the man not to call him a lord again, ‘I don't believe it would make much
difference to his grace.’

‘The wildlings are running south.’

‘Winter is coming.’ Robb says, simply.

‘This one will be colder than any other we have seen.’

‘Are we fearing wildlings now?’ Sansa asks.

‘They fear more than just the cold, my lady. Benjen Stark is not our first disappearance.’

Sansa looks down at her food, she holds her fork in her hand and squeezes it, like she always does
when she feel uncomfortable.

‘How long would you want me to stay?’ Jon asks.

Bran is surprised, when Jon did not join Catelyn to King’s Landing he never expected him to leave
for matters such as this one.

‘Just a few days.’

Jon nods, he has returned to ignoring Sansa’s stare. She looks furious, the hand around her fork
turned white and she is is clenching her teeth.

‘Yes,’ Robb says, ‘If Jeor Mormont invites you, I see no reason to decline his offer.’

‘Offer?’ Sansa snorts, ‘The wall is not a place where one goes to retreat.’

‘I'll be back within a moon’s turn.’ Jon tries but it does not help, wrong has been done.

Sansa pushes her chair back and gives all the men around the table a look that would frighten the
proudest, most brave and fearless knight.

She retreats with not another word and the way she walks away reminds Bran, strangely, of his
mother.

Jon seems to suppress a sigh and an eye roll, ‘When shall we depart?’

‘If a fortnight could work for his lordship?’

‘Yes,’ Jon says, he nods at Robb who nods back, then stands up, ‘If I could be excused...’

He walks after his wife and Bran knows he is not the only one who doesn’t understand why. Bran
wouldn’t want to be near his sister right now even if she could give him back the power to move
his legs.

Robb brings him to bed that night, lifts him him up and sits with him for a long time.

‘Why were you rude to lord Tyrion?’

‘I don’t trust the Lannisters.’ Robb admits.

‘Jon likes him.’

‘Jon likes Sansa too, would you say she has been likable lately?’

That makes Bran laugh, ‘Sansa is being odd.’ He says.

‘I think she misses mother, there have been some very major changes in her life lately.’

Bran wants to tell him that there have been quite some big changes in his life as well but he is not
biting everyone's head off, instead he asks, ‘Will Jon be back soon?’

‘Yes, a moon’s turn at most.’

That's a little longer than the time Bran spend sleeping, he decides that Sansa is exaggerating. His
sister was never much fun but lately he could do without her presence entirely.

‘Why doesn't she come with him?’

‘There is no place for women at the wall.’ Robb says, ‘Sansa cannot go.’

‘I hope the saddle Tyrion made will work.’

‘I'll find you a horse.’ Robb promises, ‘You can meet mother riding your new horse.’

Bran likes the sound of that, ‘I could visit the Night’s Watch, just like Jon.’
‘Maybe next time he goes you can come with him.’ Robb says.

‘Yes! I can see the wall.’

‘Who wouldn't want to see it, they call it the largest building ever made by men.’

‘Old Nan says it’s not made by men, she says it’s magic.’

‘Old Nan is an ancient wench.’ Robb says, ‘Once she told me we all live inside the big blue eye of
a giant.’

Bran laughs again and he goes to sleep with a smile on his face that night.

Jon

She screams, she throws things at him, she tells him to sleep in his own room, she says he shouldn't
come back if he leaves and she threatens to never look at him again but it won't help.

Jon knows that Sansa is fully aware of how none of it will help, but she does it anyway. It is as if
she is trying desperately to make him hate her. It's not working. Sometimes, when he ignores all
the things she’s saying, sits there, watching her with a sheepish look on his face, he stares at her, all
red-faced and passionately angry, and he catches himself enjoying the view, feeling somewhat
aroused by how passionately furious she is.

The night before his departure he goes to her room even though she specifically told him not to.

He expects her to be angry again, to give it one more go before he leaves and she’ll have to do
without her favorite victim for at least a month.

She’s not angry, however, just sad and when he climbs into the bed with her she doesn't hesitate
when he wraps his arms around her and pulls her to his chest.

‘I don't want you to go.’ She whispers after a long moment of silence.

‘I know you don't.’ Jon wonders if he has ever known anything as much as he knows this, ‘I'm
glad you’ll miss me.’

‘Will you miss me too?’ She asks, he notices the sincere uncertainty in her voice.

‘Of course I will.’ He hopes she believes him.

‘I wouldn't miss me.’ She says and he chuckles.

‘Next time I am going somewhere I'll take you with me.’ He says.

‘Promise?’

‘I promise.’

She breathes in deeply, ‘Measter Luwin says our baby has the size of a lime.’
‘That’s huge.’

He knows she smiles, ‘It’s bigger than a drape.’ She says.

‘It is a giant compared to sunflower seeds.’

She laughs now and the sound makes him so happy, he wonders how he’ll do without it, it seems
to have become as valuable to him as the air he breathes.

‘Jon?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I hope you’ll feel really lonely at night.’

‘I'm sure I will.’

‘Good.’

He grins and presses his nose in her hair, then whispers in her ear, ‘Will you be sweet and gentle
with me when I come back?’

‘Like you have been with me?’

‘Like you were before.’

‘You are too good to me.’ She decides.

‘I can't help it.’ He says, ‘I'm in love with you.’ It feels strange to say it out loud, he has never done
that before, not like that.

She gets up and moves her legs astride of him, then leans forward and presses her nose to his, she
smiles when she says, ‘When you come back I might be getting fat.’

‘I can't wait to see that.’

She takes both his hands in hers and places them on her flat, silk-covered belly, ‘You will come
back as soon as you can?’

‘Of course.’

‘I’ll be sweet and gentle if you do.’

‘You don't have to if you don't want to.’

A grins spreads across her face and he remembers how, when he first saw her, those moons ago, he
didn't believe she was capable of grinning, her grin is gone when she tells him, ‘I just want you.’

‘I'm yours.’ He says and he clutches her nightgown where she placed his hands.

‘You’ll forgive me for the way I have treated you?’

He smiles, ‘I don't mind, you always apologize after.’ It's a thousand times more than what he was
used to once.

‘Jon?’
‘Yeah?’

She smiles at him in that way only he has ever seen and it makes him pull himself up so he can
face her, hold her cheeks in his hands and kiss her lips, ‘You have to make love to me all night.’

‘Doesn't your back hurt?’ He has not touched her in days, she has been tired or sick or cross with
him. He tried to pretend he didn't mind but he did, he missed her and he wants her.

‘No.’ she says and she moves her hands down to pull his shirt off, ‘It doesn't, I feel fine, I want
you.’

‘I want you too.’

‘You’ll even want me when I'm really super fat?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Even when I am horrible to you?’

He presses her down on her back into the bed, ‘Especially when you’re being horrible.’

She giggles and she lets him kiss his way down. It's weird to kiss her belly now, when it's not just
her anymore, a part of him is in there too. He won't leave her alone completely, he decides, he’ll
leave his most vulnerable part with her and she’ll have to take care of it, watch it and treasure it in
his absence.

He rubs his cheek against the inside of her thigh, she doesn't tell him not to, she stopped telling him
not to scratch her, perhaps she has accepted that he can't help it.

‘I want to kiss you.’ He says.

‘You can kiss me.’ She says, as if she gives him her consent.

‘I don't think you understand.’

‘Maybe I don't.’ She says with a roll of her eyes.

He kisses the place he just rubbed with his cheek, ‘Can I kiss you some place new?’

‘What?’

He grins at her through the darkness, ‘I really want to.’

She moves up on her elbows, stares at him in both anticipation and nervosity, then widens her legs
for him, as if she knows.

He loves it when she gasps, he loves it even more when she moans things she’ll forget ever saying.
Maybe she never forgets it, maybe she just pretends because she’s embarrassed.

She's embarrassed now, he knows because she hides her face behind her hands and bites her lip to
stop herself from moaning, he wishes she wouldn't do that, he likes it when she moans and he loves
it when she moans his name.

He has to keep her down with his hand, her whole body trembles and shakes and when she reaches
the peek she succumbs and lays there, panting, her limbs all powerless.
‘That is not how you make children.’ She says after a while, her voice still shaky.

‘We don't have to make children, we already did.’

She grins, ‘That doesn't mean it's proper.’

‘Why does it have to be proper?’ He doesn't give a shit about proper.

‘Because I am a proper lady,’ she says, but she smiles when she tells him, ‘This is not how lords
are supposed to lay with ladies.’

‘I'm not a lord.’

‘I know that.’ She says and there is no scorn, no spite in her voice.

‘So you didn't like it?’

She doesn't respond but the way she looks at him, all flushed, embarrassed and exited, makes him
feel pretty good about himself.

‘Who taught you how to do that?’ She asks and it surprises him that she wants to know.

‘No one.’ He says as he takes her foot in his hand and places his hand to her footpad.

‘Liar.’

He grins, ‘I'm not lying. I just wanted to kiss you there.’ He moves his hand down to her belly,
where her own hand lies, as if she wants to protect their baby from this unproper thing, ‘Sansa you
are… there has never been anyone else.’

‘I don't believe you.’ She says it quickly, and he knows she has been thinking about it, he wishes
she'd asked.

He laughs but stops when he sees how serious she looks, ‘It's true. Just you.’

‘Just me?’

He nods.

‘But how? When you were at King’s Landing-‘

‘All the girls only ever had eyes for Aegon.’ He says.

‘I know that is a lie.’ She says and she pulls his face towards hers and whispers to his lips, ‘I can
see the way every person in a skirt looks at you. They are all jealous of me.’

‘So they should be, you have some very impressive hold on me.’

She smiles but then looks serious when she asks, ‘Why didn't you? Don't tell me you couldn't
because I don't believe you.’

‘I never wanted to father a bastard.’ He admits and he knows it's not a romantic answer, perhaps it's
not the answer she was hoping for, but it's the truth.

Her eyes soften and he hates how she pities him in that moment, ‘I have met many trueborn men,’
she says, ‘I like you better than all of them.’
 ‘So you have learned to appreciate my bastard royal status?’ He asks, he smiles but he knows it
doesn't reach his eyes.

‘well, I appreciate you.’ She says before she kisses him, and this time she does not stop too soon.

When he wakes up the next morning he pulls her sleeping figure towards him. She wakes with a
smile on her lips that he kisses.

He makes loves to her properly, like a lord makes love to a lady. He looks deep into her eyes, holds
her as near to him as he possibly can and keeps his mouth close to hers, the way she likes it. She
really loves to be kissed, she should be kissed all day, properly, not like a lord kisses a lady but like
a man kisses a woman.

He lets her rub her feet against his, he lets her intertwine their fingers and doesn't tell her to open
her eyes. He watches her, as she moves beneath him, as she experiences their coupling. She’ll do
better without him than the other way around.The idea of sleeping alone without her warm body
next to his in their bed makes him almost sad.

She comes down with him and they break their fast together for the first time ever. He has been at
Winterfell for five moon turns now, five moon turns and two full weeks, but they have never
woken up together and sat down in the great hall to eat their first meal of the day.

Sansa doesn't speak while she eats and he doesn't force her to. He knows it surprises Robb to see
her down and he’s grateful when he doesn't say anything about it.

Jon is not used to hard good-byes anymore, not since he left Winterfell for the first time. It's
different now, he knows that it won't be forever, he knows that he’ll come home, that she’ll be
there when he does. She feels more like home than any place ever has, not King’s Landing and not
even Winterfell.

Chapter End Notes

If this was a friends episode I'd name it 'the one that had to be written because Jon
needs to go to the wall and he can't suddenly be there'.
Thanks for reading, I'd love it if you could let me know your thoughts. See you next
week!
 Lemon
Chapter Summary

‘Well my wife was worried, I mean, she looked like she was. Also a little annoyed.’

‘Why would she be annoyed?’

‘I don't know, she sometimes is, she’s my wife.’

Chapter Notes

Hi guys! Just wanted to say thank you again for all the lovely messages, this story has
almost 500 kudos and that is insane, it really drives me to keep writing and I'm loving
writing this more and more.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jon

Three days out of Winterfell the farmland give way to the dense, dark forests of the Wolfswood.

It takes twelve days of journey for the inns and settlements to disappear, forcing their party to
make camp.

During those few nights out in the open Jon remembers what his uncle Tyrion used to say about the
men of the Night’s Watch. He described the Watch as a midden heap for the realm’s debtors,
poachers, rapers, thieves, and bastards, all kept busy watching for imaginary grumkins and snarks.

The watch, as it turns out, is not like that, yet worse than he could have feared.

The wall amazes him, more than any sight ever has and despite his many years of build up
expectations, the building does not disappoint. They already see it two days of riding away from
reaching it. Almost seven hundred feet high it stands, three times the height of the tallest tower in
the stronghold it shelters. Jon’s uncle Ben once said the top was wide enough for a dozen armored
knights to ride abreast. The gaunt outlines of huge catapults and monstrous wooden cranes stand
sentry up there, like the skeletons of great birds, and among them walk men in black that look as
small as ants.

Castle black is not a proper castle. Once it was the home of thousands of brothers, now only 600
remain. It consists of several stone towers and timber keeps and has no walls to defend it from the
west, east, or south. Only the Wall stands to the north.

Jon rides through the gates at nightfall so he retreats upon arrival. They give him a room in the
King's Tower, which name makes him feel uncomfortable. It is a round tower with merlons atop it
and has an oak door studded with iron. They tell him it is reserved for honored guests, not only
kings, and Jon can understand why no king has visited castle black in over a hundred years and he
is fairly certain his father would see the wall come tumbling down before he has to stay a day or
night in this place.

He has trouble finding sleep that night, more than he did any night during his travel. He wishes he
could speak to Sansa, he has grown so used to telling her about his day that he can't stand not being
able to tell her about it now, about what he saw, what the wall looks like. He can't wait to tell her,
see her face as he describes it. She loves to listen to him describing places, especially places she
would love to go to, they make him want to take her there with him, so he can show her, so she’ll
find out that Winterfell truly is the best place to be.

When he dreams that night he dreams of Ghost, who howls and finds no rest, he runs and runs and
falls down, through a door in the sky, mountains all around him. He falls in an ocean, a red one, as
red as blood, with the sky as green as dragon fire.

He walks down steps, deep into the crypts of Winterfell, to his mother. Who holds out her hand to
him, her face beautiful, but sad. She looks lonely and afraid. He’s not sure why he knows she’s his
mother, not because he finds her in the crypt where her bones are laid to rest, it's something
different. Maybe because of her eyes, just like his, grey, dark, almost black. And sad. Her eyes are
sad.

Jon stretches his arm out to touch her face, lay his hand upon her cheek. Then her hair turns red, as
red as fire, and she smiles at him, a sad smile, as sad as her eyes, as if she wants to tell him it’s too
late, he should’ve come sooner.

The next morning they tell him that for the new recruits, the mornings are for swords practice and
afternoons for other work, which varies so that the watch can measure a recruit’s skills.

He watches them as they practice and he has to admit to being fairly to extremely unimpressed.

‘This looks horrible.’

‘Most of them have never held a sword in their hand their entire life, my prince.’ Ser Jaremy
Rykker explains and Jon notices his noble face.

‘I am not a prince.’ Jon says, he wants to understand that many people have trouble with titles, but
he can't allow anyone to call him prince when he is not even knighted.

Jon watches while Alliser Thorne ruthlessly tries to teach the skills of a knight to peasant boys and
beggars. As he does Jon wonders how many of them are rapists, or killers. It makes the whole sight
even less bearable to look at than it already is.

‘They are now sending pigs to the wall!’ The man yells at a boy who may be the fattest person Jon
has ever seen, it’s hard to tell after years of growing up in King’s Landing where the people who
come and go never fail to astound with their appearance.

The boy must weight at least 20 stones and has dark hair and a moon-shaped face. Even though he
brought his own armor, none of it is black and they instantly send him away to change.

‘He is from the Reech.’ Jon says as they watch him walk away. He recognized the accent, the
Tyrell’s speak just the same.

‘Samwell Tarley,’ Rykker says, ‘Eldest son of Lord Randyll Tarley, he joined voluntarily.’
Jon cannot understand why, the boy doesn't seem too excited to be here and with good reason.

When Samwell returns, Ser Alliser is ready to send a very strong-looking boy at him. In under a
minute the fat boy lays on the ground with a broken helm, yielding with high screams and some
begging.

When he refuses to stand up, Thorne tells his opponent to hit him with the flat of the blade until he
does. The initial hit is tentative, but Thorne insists that the strong kid, whose name is Halder, can
hit harder and the next blow splits leather.

Jon moves towards the scene, a powerful urge to object forcing him to do so, as it’s honestly
impossible to look at.

‘Ser Allister!’ The man looks up and his eyes widen when he sees who it was that called his name,
his eyes narrow then and Jon’s not initially sure why, ‘There is no honor in beating a beaten foe.’

Jon helps the Tarley boy up and almost drops him again when he gets mocked.

‘Is this how you would defend your lady love?’

If ser Allister thinks that he could kick Sansa to the ground, bleeding and begging, with Jon doing
nothing more but object and help her up he is mistaken and a fool, ‘No.’ He simply says.

‘This it a training exercise, lord Snow. You came here to observe, not interfere.’

‘Training exercise is over.’

Jon's father unknowingly taught him many years ago that a simple stare, a tiny frown, a press of the
lips and a look in one’s eyes that suggests the consequence of disobedience can be more than
enough to make people do what you want them to do, it can be worth more than a thousand
convincing words or hollow threats.

Ser Allister walks away, furious, and leaves Jon there, with the boy recruits. He looks at them for a
second before he orders them to do ‘something useful’. It's what the Starks always say too, Sansa
mostly.

I can't! Mother wants me to spend my time being useful!

Sansa wouldn't be very useful at the wall, he’s glad she’ll never have to see it, it’s not a proper
sight for a lady, more than that he highly doubts she’ll be able to stand the look of it, crushing her
idea about the brave knights guarding the realm. He is not sure if he can handle one more dream of
hers to get crushed.

‘Thank you, my lord.’ Samwell Tarley says.

Jon can't find the strength to tell him he is no lord. A true born son of house Tarley is worth a
hundred bastards and he is the lord among them.

The boy takes off his helmet and Jon can see how much he bleeds, ‘Why didn't you fight back?’
He asks.

‘I am a coward.’ Samwell simply explains and when he sees Jon’s expression he apologizes, ‘I
don't enjoy being a coward.’ He walks away to the armory.

‘Tomorrow you will do better.’

‘I won't.’ Samwell says and Jon quickly removes the frown from his face.

'The world is full of cravens who pretend to be heroes; it takes a queer sort of courage to admit to
cowardice.' Jon says, and when Sanwell looks up, he seems more stunned than anything, 'It is what
my father always says.' Jon verifies, then walks away quickly.

That night Jon meets Jeor Mormont from Bear Island, the lord commander of the Night’s Watch,
when he dines with the high officers and the Watch’s maester, who is his distant family. No one
could ever deny Aemon to be a Targaryen, and somehow he seems pleased with Jon’s presence.
They all tell him more of the same.

'I have no man fit to succeed me.' Mormont says and he gives Jon the tragic numbers that seem
embarrassing compared to what Jon once believed the watch to be.

‘I dreamed of joining the watch once.’ Jon tells lord Mormont.

‘Why?’

‘The North is my home.’ Jon simply explains, ‘I seeked for ways to be here.’

‘Why did you not join?’

'My father wouldn't let me.’ Jon can still remember, it was one of the few times his father raised his
voice to Jon and somehow that had felt good, the emotion was real and back then it meant
something.

‘The Night’s Watch is no place for a king’s son.’

‘Isn't it a place for outcasts? I am not the King’s son, I am the king’s bastard.’

‘In the North they call you Winterfell’s bastard.’

Jon looks at ser Alliser Thorne. He knows they sent the man to the wall because he fought
alongside Robert Baratheon during the uprising. Maybe that is why the knight seems to deeply
detest Jon’s presence. Most people who lost something or someone during the rebellion hate the
mere idea of his existence and Jon is used to that.

Alliser is one of the few living knights to have taken the black, they led him no choice, it was the
watch or a Lord Tywin Lannister type of execution, who is, indeed, very fond of heads on spikes.

‘It is where I was born and my name is Snow.’ Jon says, he’d prefer to be a bastard of the North to
a Targaryen bastard any day.

‘I knew your mother.’ Lord Mormont suddenly says.

Jon doesn't know exactly what to say or what to think, he stares at the man without responding.

‘You look exactly like her. My sister named one of her daughters Lyanna.’

It lays at the top of Jon's tongue to say that it is indeed a very pretty name but he can stop himself
in time.

'My family considered it a great loss, when she passed.’

‘I think something should be done about the training of your recruits.’ Jon blurts out.
Lord Mormonts looks a little astounded at first but he gets the message. Jon doesn't want to talk
about his mother, he never does but especially now, he knows that the only reason the man had to
bring her up was to set the mood for asking for a favor. Mentioning his mother was not the way to
do it.

‘They are all thiefs and outcast. There is no suitable successor for me among them.’

'Maybe there could be, if they are trained properly.’

‘What does my lord Snow suggest?’ ser Allisor glares and him and Jon realises right there and then
he has just made himself a new enemy.

‘More teaching, less shouting. Making inexperienced boys attack each other won't make them
better fighters and it only causes friction among them. They will be sworn brothers, they should
respect and learn to appreciate each other.’

‘I was not aware you came here to tell us how to prepare men for a lifelong duty to the black.’

‘Nor was I,’ Jon says, ‘But then I saw you allow one recruit to attack another and continue doing so
while he lay on the ground begging for mercy. The whole spectacle gave me new insights.’

‘How many winters have you seen, my lord?’ Lord Mormont asks him.

‘Two.’ Jon answers.

‘The long summer is ending and portents say a long winter is coming.’ Maester Aemon says.

Jon wants to say that he is fully aware, he is married to a Stark, every few days their family tells
them winter is coming, it is not what he says, however, ‘You want me to write to my father, ask
him to help you?’

Lord Mormont doesn't respond, just watches Jon with a look in his eyes he cannot name.

‘I will.’ Jon says, he’ll try, he has no idea how to, but he can always try.

‘Our gratitude is most sincere.’

Jon highly doubts it when he looks around the table, but that doesn't make his promise any less
true. The Night’s Watch needs help, and if he can provide anything like it, he will.

‘What about my uncle, Ben Stark?’

‘We are still hoping for his return.’

‘Hoping?’

‘I don't have enough suitable men for a search party. The number of disappearances is growing.
We did not lose Benjen Stark only, ser Waymar Royce dissapeared as well, I sent Stark to look for
him, and now that Stark is gone I have no one left.’

Jon knew of that man, Sansa told him about Royce, she met him when he stayed at Winterfell for a
couple of days with his father who escorted him to the wall.

He was handsome, graceful and slender, with grey eyes. He wore very fine clothes and he was an
annointed knight, one we don't see often in the North. So, naturally, I fell wildly in love with him.
‘I gave him command of a raging in the haunted forest. I never should have, he lacked experience,
only with us for half a year, but he was a knight, and I didn't want to offend Waymar's father. I was
a fool.’

Jon is not sure why the lord commander is telling him such truths other than to win his trust, as a
token of prove to his honest nature. Tactics such a these would make Rhaenys roll her eyes.

‘He went with two men, of which one was a brother of the watch long before I was. He was the
only one to return, but Lord Stark send me his head.’

‘He was a deserter.’ Jon says, ‘My uncle told me of his witless talk, he spoke of the Others.’

‘He was not the only one to do so.’

‘Do you want me to stop the execution of deserters?’ Jon knows he could never make that happen.

‘No. there is no punishment suitable enough for breaking one’s vows but death.’

‘Then why are you telling me all this?’

'I don't need you to do anything, lord Snow, I need you to understand, I need you to make everyone
around you understand.’

‘You overestimate me, my lord.’ Jon says and he leans back, ‘I am only a bastard, if you make me
understand then that is it, you have me but no one else. I have no power and no one considers me
wise or important enough to take my advice to heart, least of all the king. You have asked the
wrong man for help.’

‘I think I have the perfect man.’ Jeor Mormont leans back in his seat as well and maester Aemon
smiles again, ‘When shall you leave us?’

Jon is still a little astounded by the man’s plain refusal to accept the harsh truth, he doesn't feel like
trying harder to convince him to change his mind, ‘As soon as soon can be.’ He says, he wants to
go home.

‘We wanted to invite you to join us on a raging behind the wall.’

‘I'm afraid I can't.’ Jon says, ‘My wife she- I cannot stay, my presence is required at Winterfell.’

‘I understand.’ He clearly does not.

‘I will write my father, even my sister, if I must.'

'My,' Alliser says, 'If Snow is willing to be so desperate to write his lady sister, he certainly is in
our favor.'

'My sister sits the King's council, my lord.' Jon says, 'She is master of ships and the King values
her council. I am never desperate to ask her favors or her thoughts for I know their worth and
would not foolishly dismiss her for only her sex. In fact, I might write her to tell her of your
innovative training tactics, which I'm sure she'd love to hear all about. She might find an interest
and I am sure she could find ways to send more men North, men so capable your efforts, even your
presence here will be all but necessary.’

'If you could find time to do so, we would be ever so grateful.' Mormont says, and he nearly makes
it seem like he missed the great threat in Jon's words and doesn't notice Ser Alliser's wide-eyed
furious glare.

‘I'm certain she will, and my father too.’ They all know Rhaegar wouldn't, the wall has long lost
the respect of the crown and a letter from Jon will do little to change that.

'Your father is a good man.’ Maester Aemon says.

Is he? The man seems ancient, to be the son of Maekar, first of his name, Jon supposes he has to
be. Maybe he knew Jon’s father before he became the man he is today, maybe he was a good man
then, just like everyone else claims.

‘You sound just like him.’

‘I think you have not seen my father for a very long time, maester.’ Jon says.

The maester smiles, ‘That is true.’

'No one ever tells me I look like him.’ Jon adds, he always took pride from that, he wants to look
like his mother.

‘I could not tell if you look like him,’ the maester says, ‘I am blind, all I can do is add a face to
your voice, and your voice belongs to a face that resembles your father’s.’

Jon walks outside so he can breathe real air, to give his mind oxygen to think. The cold helps, it
wakes him up as much as a bucket full of ice water in his face would. He leans against a wall and
stares up at the black sky. Why is he here? Who believed it would do any good? He came here and
gets the treatment of some high lord, true born and with actual power, when really, he was
supposed to be one of them. He was just as much an outcast as many brothers of the Night’s Watch
were.

The idea of joining the watch had once seemed so tempting, now it scares him. He would be so
lonely here, without Robb, Rickon and Bran. He could never have a wife, he could never father
children. It had never seemed to matter because he never thought he would have these things. But
now he did and a life without Sansa scares him, far more than that wall or this ruin of a castle ever
could.

‘Can I thank you for what you did this afternoon, my lord?’

Jon looks up and sees the fat boy Tarley, ‘You already did.’

‘That is why I asked if I could do it again.’

‘You don't have to.’

‘Why did you? Help me, I mean.’

Jon has to think about that for a moment and then says, ‘I cannot bare injustice.’

‘Then why are you at the wall?’

‘I don't really know.’ Jon admits, ‘Why are you?’

‘My father forced me to.’

‘Did he?’ That makes Jon laugh, ‘My father forbid me.’
‘You wanted to join the watch my lord?’ Tarley does not seem to believe him.

Jon nods, ‘It was not that long ago.’

‘Why did your father forbid it?’

‘He said he will never allow a son of his to take the black. I did not really care for his opinion at
the time, I did not say so but I think he knew. I had to be married off, to stop me from joining.’

‘Married off?’

‘Yes. He got me married. A married man should not join the Night’s Watch.’

Tarley’s eyes widen a bit, ‘Are you Jon Snow? Forgive me, my prince, I did not know!’

‘I'm not a prince.’ Jon says and the sudden change in attitude annoys him, ‘No lord either. I am a
bastard.’

‘The King’s bastard.’

‘Worse.’ Jon says and Tarley smiles.

‘So what should I call you?’

‘Jon’s fine.’

‘You can call me Sam, then.’

Jon nods. He looks at the snow falling around him, the weather an ever reminder of who he is, he
can't imagine it is for the boy he is talking to, ‘It must be cold here, compared to where you’re
from.’

‘I had never seen snow till two moons ago.’

Jon nods his head towards the wall, ‘Do you want to go?’

‘To the top? I don't think I could climb all these stairs.’

‘There is a winch.’

‘I don't like heights.’

‘Why does a boy, afraid of heights, join the Night’s Watch?’

Sam looks awfully sad all of the sudden and Jon wishes he did not ask.

‘I'm sorry I asked.’ He says.

'It is alright.'

‘I wish I brought my direwolf.’ Jon says, to change the subject again, ‘He would love it here, with
the forest where he could hunt, no people being in his way.’

‘Why didn't you bring him?’

‘He had to stay home to keep an eye on my wife.’ Jon explains, ‘Take care of her while I’m gone.
She had a direwolf herself but they put it down.’
‘Why did they put it down?’

‘That's a long story.’

‘There are no direwolfs where I am from.’

‘Hornhill?’

Sam nods, ‘I read a lot about direwolves, I read a lot about the Starks too.’

‘I think you just read a lot in general.’ Jon says and he can't contain a grin.

Yes- well, a bit too much perhaps.’

‘Too much? My uncle says that a mind needs books as much as a sword needs a whetstone.’

‘The imp?’

‘He doesn't like that nickname very much.’

‘My father hated it when I was reading. He didn't want me to go to the citadel, to become a
maester.’

‘Why not?’

‘On the eve of my eighteenth name day he came to me, he said; You are almost a man now, but
you are not worthy of my land and title. He said that, and then he told me to volunteer for the
Night’s Watch, and if I refused, he’d take me with him on a hunt, and my horse would stumble and
I’d be thrown from my saddle to die.’

‘I was thrown from my saddle to die not so long ago.’ Jon says, he’s not sure why he tells that story
in response to the one he just heard, maybe it's because he doesn't know what else to say, ‘Instead I
dislocated my shoulder and I threw up in the woods with the King, high lords and princes laughing
at me.’

Sam laughs too, ‘Why would you throw up?’

‘It hurt like the seven hells combined, you have no idea… And I hit my head against a branch, so I
was feeling dizzy.’

Sam laughs some more, a little louder this time, ‘I'm sure.’

‘And then I passed out-‘

‘You passed out?’

‘Aye, and when I woke up I was surrounded by the most important men in Westeros staring down
at me, all disappointed I wasn't dying, thinking I must've been exaggerating.’

‘I suppose if I’d died in the woods at least my mother would have cried.’

‘Well, my wife was worried, I mean, she looked like she was. Also a little annoyed.’

‘Why would she be annoyed?’

‘I don't know, she sometimes is, she’s my wife.’

Sam laughs again except this time not very happily, ‘You’re lucky to be married. Men of the
Night’s Watch are celibate.’

‘Aye,’ Jon says, ‘I’m lucky but not because I'm married,’ he smirks, ‘I'm lucky that I ended up
married to her, I have witnessed unhappiness, and too often it's caused by an ill fit for lady wife or
lord husband.’

‘So... she’s nice? Your wife?’

‘Most of the time.’ Jon laughs.

‘She’s pretty too?’

‘Extremely pretty.’

‘You really are lucky.’

‘Yes,’ Jon says, ‘I am.’ He is. He’s the luckiest bastard the seven Kingdoms has ever seen, and it
brings him as much guilt as happiness, for she deserves so much better.

It's the next morning when he breaks his fast, that he sits with maester Aemon in the man's own
rooms, and he chooses the right moment, before he brings up Sam.

‘Perhaps you could make him your personal steward? He could serve you well. You complain of
no men capable to write nor read but this boy can do both and more. He seems intelligent to me, he
is highborn with proper education and upbringing, he came to you voluntarily, not cast aside by
force of any law, he is not criminal- he may be a coward but he lacks no intelligence or common
sense nor integrity and most of all he knows his own stenghts and weaknesses, which is a virtue,
surely.'

Maester Aemon doesn't look at him, he never does, he can't, he's blind, but still he smiles, 'Have
you considered trade for a lifelong profession? You sell this boy well.'

Jon has never considered trade, though he remembers how his father often said that the best
politician must be both a ruthless pragmatist and an honorable strategist and Jon supposes these are
popular characteristics for tradesmen, 'I do not wish to sell him, for I make no gain. I'm only
hoping to bring your attention to his competences in a desire to make a contribution. That is why I
am here, is it not? I do as I was asked, which is all that lies within my competence.'

Measter Aemon raises his chin as if he doubts Jon's words, but then his smile only frowns and it
changes into a grin that makes Jon feel like the man knows his deepest and darkest secrets, ‘You’re
a good lad. Does this boy deserve such sincere help and sympathy?’

‘I'm not helping him. I came here to see your troubles and hear your complains, I have and now I
simply make you a suggestion, if this... I do apologize if you took offense.'

'Offense? I must be the one apologizing if I gave the indication that you perhaps offended me.
Quite the opposite, my boy.'

Jon can't recall ever having such an exhausting conversation about a subject of so little importance.
In King's Landing, all one does all day, is wonder what people wish to hear, then say it, and hope to
get the desired response. It's a game and Jon likes to think he is rather good at, not as good as
Rhaenys, but better than Cersei still, decent at worst, impressing at best. He can read faces, he is a
bastard, bastards learn how to see things, but this measter is testing him and perhaps that is because
the man is blind, but in all honesty, Jon feels as though measter Aemon looks at him like no man
has ever looked at him before, as if any invisible fences are down, 'I do not wish to give command,
I was only trying to advise you.’

‘Are you not a little young to advise me?’

‘I am.’ Jon admits and he says it quickly because he realizes he may or may not have only made it
worse. If the measter was not offended before, he might as well be now, ‘Far too young and I have
thought long and hard if I should speak to you of this, forgive me if I misjudged, but I couldn't help
myself.’

‘You truly are just like your father.’ Jon leans back in his chair, because the sudden mention of his
father, again, for no reason it seems, makes him feel both uncomfortable and on guard. If this
conversation could go any less as he beforehand planned, bringing up his father is all measter
Aemon needed to do. Frankly, Jon realizes it annoys him.

‘Why do you keep saying that?’ Jon scolds himself for raising his voice, he doesn't mean to be
rude, but he feels like he's being tested, and he doesn't like it.

‘Because it's true.’

‘I disagree.’ Jon says and he clenches his jaw, ‘I don't believe I am and I am convinced I do not
want to be.’

‘Why would you say that?’

‘Why wouldn't I?’

‘Your father is one of the greatest kings the Gods blessed the seven kingdoms with in such long
time.’

‘A good king is not necessarily a good man.’

‘And you wish to be a good man?’

‘I'll never be a king, a good man is all I'll ever be able to be.’

Maester Aemon smiles again, ‘Yet you are advising me. You are a Targaryen, as was I. I know, the
Gods fashioned them for leadership and greatness most of all.'

‘Am I?’ Jon doesn't think so, ‘I am a bastard, I will never lead no man, but I can be as honorable as
my existence is dishonorable.’

‘Yes,’ maester Aemon says and he seems so pleased with himself then, as if he's just been proven
right about something after uncountable years of debate, ‘You are just like your father, but most
certainly your mother’s son.’

At that Jon blinks, he always assumed his mother’s character was nothing like his father’s, he
never truly believed he was much like his mother aside from the Stark look, and since he never
wanted to be like his father he just, at one point long ago, decided to be as good as he could
possibly be, whatever that may look like, ‘I would not know, she did not live to raise me, I have no
memories of her and all I know is what others told me. But I have been told I look much alike.’

‘Just as stubborn.’ It doesn't seem to be much of an insult and Jon would like to make up for his
previous loss of control so he tries to bring the peace back to his voice, if this means he must
accept his parents as the subject of conversation then he'll be strong and suffer quietly.
‘You knew my mother?’

‘Not as well as I would have liked.’

‘How long have you been at the Watch, maester?’

‘Too long to remember, I'm afraid.’

That's not a very satisfying answer, he wonders how much this man saw of either his parents, and
not knowing when this man joined the watch makes it difficult to imagine what sort of Rhaegar
Targaryen this man once knew, ‘I don't think my father is still the same man you remember him to
be.’

‘I'm sure he isn't, he cannot possibly be, none of us stay the same during our lifetime, too much
happens between the moment we come into the world and the unavoidable end.’

‘He’s not very fond of me- my father, I mean.’ Jon never planned to say that and it's as if he's
making a desperate attempt to convince this man that the king truly is a very unpleasant person,
because for an unknown reason that seems of importance.

‘Are you fond of him?’

Jon did not see that question coming, ‘No,’ He admits, ‘He is everything I would never want to be.’

‘Perhaps you are everything he never wanted to be.’

Jon frowns, then realizes the maester can't see him do that, ‘I don't understand.’

‘Shadows of a man’s past are often just as frightening as a real, living and breathing person
standing in front of you, staring you in the eye, telling you about all your mistakes with a lack of
proper words spoken aloud. Imagine those two combined.’

Jon cannot imagine, he starts to believe this man is just as insane as most of his Targaryen kin, ‘I
don't think my father is afraid of much.’

‘Not much, no.’ Maester Aemon smiles some more, though Jon feels he does not smile at him, for
the measter's blindness makes him unable I see a thing, Jon assumes those white eyes must give the
man nothing but darkness.

'Samwell Tarley can read for you.' Jon tries again, in the hope of changing the subject back to why
he started it in the first place, 'He can be your eyes.'

'Why do I need eyes? You have two healthy ones and yet you do not see.'

Jon feels something close to rage and he wants to open his mouth again to speak but the door opens
and a man dressed in black, as everyone in this Gods forsaken place, stands in the opening, his
eyes wide and his lips pressed together in nervousness.

‘What is it?’

‘A raven came from Winterfell.’ The man says, It’s your lady wife, my lord.’

Jon stretches his arm out to take the letter, ‘Did you read it?’ How can that man read a letter from
Sansa addressed to him? That is rude and unacceptable.

‘She- she didn't write it herself, my lord, the letter is by the hand of the lord of Winterfell, and he
urges you come home immediately.’

Sansa

Sansa’s back hurts, all the time, unbearably. It’s a constant ache that won't stop or lighten up. At
night she can't find a proper way to lie down and during the day she has trouble walking. She
doesn't sleep a wink and when the rest of the castle is asleep, she cries.

Robb can't help her, he is always busy and she doesn't know if she wants to worry him. Bran is no
longer himself, she can't bare it to see him suffer, it is too painful and heartbreaking, how can she
bother him? He is only a child, lost on his own. Rickon is still so confused, he continues to ask
when his parents will return, if they ever will, if they maybe left him for good.

She has not even told any of them about the baby, maester Luwin said they should wait. Wait until
her belly starts growing, but it takes so long.

Only Sansa’s parents know, and they are far away, her father in King’s Landing, her mother…
Sansa doesn't even know where her mother is.

The maester told her that soon she will start to feel better. He’s wrong. She doesn't throw up her
food anymore and she believes her bad temper has faded but instead she feels a tremendous need
for affection and love that no one around her is capable of giving.

She feels all alone, with no one to hold her hand, rub her sore back, stroke through her hair and tell
her it will be alright.

If only her mother were here, if only she could ask her for guidance, to tell her what to do, to
promise her she'll be safe and perfectly alright.

If only maester Luwin listens to her when she tells him something is wrong. He responds and says
there is no reason for worry.

With Jon gone she realizes how scared and afraid she truly is, and every time she looks in a mirror,
all she sees is a child. Just a young girl, no woman, and it frightens her, brings her anxiety and her
heart races as it battles her rib case. Without Jon, she's Lady Sansa Stark again, and there's no one
to listen to her, talk to her, and make her feel strong and grown-up. She finds out how much she
relies on him, how often he reassures and comforts her.

They are almost married for half a year, and he is not with her. She clutches her belly for support
but it won't give it to her. Her belly has not been growing, it is still as flat as it has always been. She
doesn't feel anything, nothing moves. Maester Luwin tells her it's normal, he says she is doing
well. He constantly reminds her of her health, and Jon's health, call them young and strong and
Sansa sees no way to tell him she feels all but that and all she can do is have trust in his ability to
see it anyway.

But she can't. She prays in the sept, she asks the father for the fast return of her husband, the crone
to send her father south in the capital her wisdom, the maid to protect her little sister who is there
too, mostly she prays to the mother, she always prayed to the mother but never like this.

Please help my baby grow.

Sansa kneels, whispers and begs, she knows she has to. She knows because she can feel it,
somewhere, she doesn’t know why. She feels so scared it makes her sick, so worried it takes her
breath away. When she finally falls asleep she wakes up with her heart beating in her throat, her
forehead covered in sweat and Ghost howling at her feet, pacing around her room.

Her maid tells her a warm bath will help and she agrees.

Sansa lays down in the tub, closes her eyes and tries to let her limbs relax. Her back needs to stop
aching, to stop throbbing, but it only gets worse.

Sansa closes her eyes, tries to concentrate on her breathing and not the pain. In her head she starts
singing a song, a sweet song, a song mothers sing to their sons.

Jon never should have left, she should not have let him. She knows that if she had told him she
needed him, told her how scared she is, how terrified the stories of labour make her, how they keep
her awake at night, if only she said he had to stay, that he would’ve. He would've listened, he is not
like maester Luwin, Jon will always take her seriously.

The water is warm and steaming, she likes the way it feels, and it in the beginning, it makes her
feel better, until it gets worse. Sansa can feel the pain grow stronger and at one point it becomes
unbearable. She groans and opens her eyes as she collapses. She hugs her own body as the pain
takes over her mind and she wants to scream. She can't, there is no sound escaping from her mouth
as she opens it in a silent yell. Her hands grasp the water in the tub, red, a deep color, one that
reminds her of the three-headed Targaryen dragon. A threatening view, the most terrifying thing
she has ever seen.

The water slips from her fingers and she feels tears stream down her face.

‘No.’

Please.

She wants to yell and beg for help, she wants to tell them to get maester Luwin but she knows it
won't help, she knows it's too late. The water turns to a deeper shade of red and Sansa covers her
face with her hands. You never hear of songs written about this. Knights never come to rescue
maidens from a bathtub red with their own blood and when wombs quicken they are never
supposed to be weak and powerless.

Sansa is not a maiden. She is no child and no longer a girl, no matter what her fears tell her, her life
refuses to let her her weakness fight the fact that she is a married woman, she was going to be a
mother, but the seven decided against it.

When Robb pulls her out of her tub she has stopped crying, she can't speak, she can't think. All she
knows is the pain, the deep sharp pain of her bleeding womb.

She trembles and her fingers grasp the sheets of her bed.

‘Milk of the poppy seems the most reasonable thing to do.’

Sansa agrees, all she wants is sleep, she wants to close her eyes and go to some place safe, where
she can protect the people she loves.

‘Sansa can you hear me?’ She wants to tell him that she can, but how? Why would she? Would it
matter? What does he want to tell her anyway?
She blinks and her eyes hurt, ‘I...’ She wants to ask him to get mother, she wants her mother
desperately, her arms around her shoulders, holding her, protecting her, convincing her that all will
be well. She could sing a song and Sansa will know all the words and if she tries really hard at
pretending she could be the lady in the story, happy and pretty and a beautiful dancer with all the
knights falling down to their knees.

She wants to tell him to get Jon, please, he’ll make her feel better, he always does. He’ll hold her
and rock her and press his lips to her forehead, whisper endearments, always the same ones, and
she'll believe them.

Robb can't get them for her, they are not here, she is all alone, with the distant feeling of her
brother’s hand in hers.

‘Sansa, stay with me.’

She wants to but she can't. She gulps down the substance they help her drink and it isn't long until
she sinks away.

When she wakes up she knows she has been sleeping for days, she doesn't know how long exactly.
She has no idea if it's in the middle of the night or if the sun is high up in the sky.

Sansa forgot how she ended up here, she can't remember why she is in this bed, why her belly
aches and her heart cries.

Everything goes by in a haze, they give her more milk of the poppy and her cheeks are never dry.
She doesn’t sleep but she sinks in oblivion, unconsciousness. She hears Robb, she hears him talk to
her and sometimes she can even see his face but that is all, she can't respond, she can't tell him how
she feels, she can't ask him to make it stop, take away the pain, all of it.

Old gods and the new, she doesn't know who did this to her, she wonders if they could, if gods do
such things… Why? Were they trying to teach her something? Whoever it was, the god has an odd
sense of humor. Maybe the gods are laughing at her for her foolishness and her stupidity.

They part her legs and take whatever was in her womb, out, bit by bit, it seems. To make sure
nothing will remain, they say. If anything's left, it may infect her on the inside. It hurts terribly, but
she cannot find the power to cry or scream as she stares up at the ceiling. It keeps bleeding, and in
the next days, they keep changing her nightgown, her sheets. Every drop of blood that she feels
between her legs is like a stab through her heart, the stranger’s kiss. He found her, he placed his
hand on her belly. Her belly was all that could and should have protected her child but it didn't and
she failed.

The more days pass and the more blood she loses, she more tired she is and the less pain she feels.
She warmer her room seems, too. Sansa doesn't know how much time passes by, she doesn't know
how they make her eat, how she can ask them to help her. She doesn't know what words maester
Luwin tells to explain to her, she wonders if she'll ever understand. She doesn't know if he truly
thinks she’ll ever believe him when he tells her nothing could have been done to change it.

All she knows is that he’s there, suddenly, and it makes her smile even though she can hardly open
her eyes.

‘Jon?’

‘Sansa…’ his voice sounds very far away but she can feel his hand around hers, ‘I'm here.’

She knows he’s here, despite his distant voice she can feel his hand, she tries to squeeze it but she
can't find the strength.

‘You came home.’ She says, her voice croaks because it's the first proper thing she's said in weeks.

‘Of course I did.’

Maybe she slept for such a long time, maybe he finished his visit and rode back and arrived at
Winterfell just in time to hold her hand and watch her wake up.

‘I lost it.’ She says, slowly she gains more sight, she can properly see his face now, he looks
troubled and sad, mostly he looks worried. She knows why.

‘Yes.’

‘I'm sorry.’

‘Sansa…’ he presses his forehead to her temple and holds her face in his hand, ‘It was not your
fault.’

‘She was a girl.’ She tells him and he nods.

‘I know.’

‘Maester Luwin said… h-he said she was the size of a lemon.’

He nods again and for a moment she thinks he may be crying but she chooses not to believe her
own eyes, she has never seen him cry, she never thought she would, one day.

‘You are here.’ She says again.

‘I'm not going anywhere, I am here, I'll always be here.’ He says and she nods to let him know she
believes him.

Her eyes grow heavy again, but she refuses to fall asleep.

‘Did I wake you?’

She shakes her head but she doesn't know why she woke up, she doesn't mind it that she did, sleep
feels like poison, no matter how dreamless.

‘Are you in pain?’

She shakes her head again because she knows that he is asking about the pain in her body. She
feels nothing, just numbness in her fingers and toes, caused by the milk of the poppy, 'What did
they say?’ She asks, ‘What have they told you?’

He waits a few seconds and the way his eyes twinkle remind her of their wedding night, ‘They said
you lost a lot of blood, and then the fever came, and they knew it could kill you, but just when the
maester believed your faith lay only in the hands of the Gods, and all we could do was pray, the
fever left. He said you clang unto life, battled illness like a warrior... He said... He said you are
much much stronger than you look, said your strength baffled him.'

'I am not strong.' Sansa mutters.

'Of course you are.' Jon breathes, 'I always knew. I told him, the maester, I told him I know exactly
how strong you are, I said he shouldn't be so surprised, I told him not to be so stupid as to think you
weak ever again.'

'What else... That is all he said? Of before... did he say... did he tell of what I might have-'

'It wasn't your fault, it was nobody's fault.’ He slowly moves his hand to her face and traces the
line of her cheekbone with his index finger, ‘He said it can happen, this early, sometimes it happens
and you can't do anything about it.’

‘I told him.’ Sansa says, and now someone is here who'll hear her, she finds a fierce need to say it
all, ‘I told him something was wrong. He didn't listen, Jon. He never... he took none of my words
seriously, all he told me was not to worry so much.’

Jon squeezes her hand, ‘It wasn't your fault.’ He says again.

Sansa knows they believe so, but knowing it doesn't make it stop feeling like it was, like maybe
she should have tried harder, 'I knew I... I should have said... I tried... I swear Jon, I tried. I don't
know what else I-'

'No.' Jon says and he brings her hand up to press his lips to it, 'You live. That is all. I don't know
how I'll ever find a way to thank the Gods.'

'But the baby is gone.' Sansa hoarsely protests.

'You could have been gone.' Jon says, 'Do you realize how close you danced to the stranger's arms?
One half of you was already ready to get buried below the earth.'

Sansa wishes she could remind him that he does not believe in the Stranger, that he prays to the
Old Gods, yet she cannot find the bravery to do so, if only because he's right.

'You scared me so. Don't ever bloody do it again.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't you dare apologize.'

'Are you not disappointed in me?’

Then, she is sure, she cannot deny or pretend she can’t see it anymore, that he is crying. There is
just one tear as it runs down his cheek, then another one follows quickly. She has never seen him
cry, the sight breaks her heart when she did not believe there was anything left to break.

'No.' He says, and she spots a desperation in his voice, 'Of course not. It's not your fault.'

Sansa cannot protest again. If it is what he wishes to believe, she shouldn't try so hard to change his
mind. If only because he repeats what everyone else keeps telling. She knows they think she is not
to blame, that this is the wish of the Gods, who spared her child of the sinful world, but none of
it makes her feel better, makes her feel less like a complete failure.

'But it feels as if it is, Jon.' She admits, and her voice is too high.

'If it is anyone's fault, it's mine. I should have... I should have been here. All those days it took me
to come back here, I thought that maybe you were gone, and I'd never see you again.’

'I am here.' Sansa whispers, and his overwhelming emotions of what seems to be both grief and fear
finally make her realize what it is that may have happened.
'You better stay here.' He says, and the way he holds onto her hand makes him think he fears she'll
end up dead anyway, if he ever chooses to let go, 'What am I supposed to do without you?'

Sansa rubs the sweaty skin of his hand with her thumb, 'There's no need to convince me, Jon.' She
tells him, 'I don't plan on going anywhere.'

He breathes a sad smile, 'Good.'

'I'll give you a son, one day.' She promises then, 'I can do that.'

'I don't... Sansa, I don't have a kingdom or a castle to pass on, I don't have to care about all of that, I
don't need a son. I only need you. What would I do without you?’

She moves her hand and wipes a tear from his nose with the back of her index finger. She wants to
tell him she’s his and she’ll always be there, but somehow, suddenly, that doesn't feel as obvious
anymore as it once did.

‘Maester Luwin said it had the size of a lemon.’ She tells him again, ‘It was very small, so tiny, the
only thing that protected her from this world was my belly.’

‘You don't have to protect her anymore, she’s in a better place now.’

‘With Lady.’

‘Aye.’

‘Lady can protect her.’

He closes his eyes and when she moves to cup his cheek in her hand she can feel more tears, ‘Can
you ever forgive me Sansa? Can you forgive me for leaving you?’

She doesn't know what he means. She is the one who needs forgiveness.

‘Please tell me you will.’

‘I can't… I-‘ She can feel her bottom lip tremble, ‘I don't have to forgive you.’ She decides, ‘There
is nothing to forgive.’

‘That's not true.’

‘Never leave me again.’ She says still, ‘Never do that to me again, Just promise me.’

‘I promise.’

‘Alright.’ She nods, ‘Then I forgive you.’

‘Sansa, I love you.’ He says and it makes her close her eyes, shut them tight to stop the tears from
falling.

She wants to tell him that he doesn't have to say it, but she can't because he does. His words make
her chest lighten up in a way she did not expect to ever happen again. If anyone was going to do
that to her, it would be him.

‘I love you too.’

Chapter End Notes

Sorry?

I will be honest and admit that I came up with the idea to do this because I wanted to
challenge myself as a writer. To challenge myself even more I tried my best to find a
reason for this to happen to them and I'm glad to say that I found one.
Next week will be a little more cheerful!
Please let me know what you think cause I was pretty nervous about this chapter!
Byeeeexx
 As Soon As Soon Can Be
Chapter Summary

'Lemon cake is your favorite.'

'Not anymore.'

Chapter Notes

Thank you all so so much about all the amazing comments! I'm so glad you all kind of
sort of appreciated it (is that the right word?' Anyway, yes, thanks!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jon

She seems good, he watches her all the time and she seems better, every day she seems a little bit
better.

She stayed in bed for two more days after he returned, only because Maester Luwin made her, and
then she continued her daily routine as if nothing has changed.

Everything has changed, especially Sansa. She prays more, not just in the sept, he finds her in de
godswood a couple of times too. He knows what happened, he can only try to understand what she
must be feeling. Sansa, beautiful, innocent, lovely Sansa, as much as he dreaded it, as much as he
hoped it would never happen- her childhood is over.

They have changed too, what they are to each other, he doesn't notice it all the time, but they have.
It's in the way she looks at him, the way she speaks to him, the way she lets him hold her, at night
and during the day. Her bitter tears break his heart and the sad look in her eyes makes him want to
crush something, himself maybe, and the harsh reality of things. Mostly he’s angry at the gods,
new and old, trees and those statues, all of them. This didn't need to happen, she did not deserve
this, she was so good and sweet, the pain crushed her and her pain crushes him.

But she seems better. She smiles at him, at one point that smile is sincere again. She spends so
much time with Rickon and reads and sings to Bran. She's outside more than she ever must have
been in her life and she hardly embroiders or knits or sews. She doesn't eat much at first, the full
cheeks of a teenage girl disappear and her cheekbones are more evident than ever before. She
looks older, serious, like a woman, the way she scans the world around her seems colder, with less
curiosity, less enthusiasm. Later she starts eating the way he remembers, albeit without the
occasional humming and never lemon cake, not that.

‘Lemon cake is you favourite.’

‘Not anymore.’
Robb hates him. When Jon jumped off his horse and looked around the courtyard, Robb was
waiting for him, his face as pale as Jon's namesake, his eyes just as cold.

'How is she?' He asked.

'She's sleeping.' Robb aswered, and that was it. They have not exchanged much more since. Jon
never thought he could feel more guilt than he already did but then he saw Robb. He never told Jon
to stay and he never tells him he should not have left but Jon knows. Jon knows he thinks Jon
should've been there, that he even blames him a little, no matter how often Maester Luwin tells
them there is no one to blame. He can hardly bare the way he looks at him, it is a thousand times
worse than the way his father used to look at him, because the reasons for his father's detest were
all based on things he could never have changed, Robb's eyes make him feel like a traitor. He
failed Sansa and Robb hated him for it.

Robb gave him his condolences and left it to maester Luwin to tell Jon what happened. As days
passed by he realizes that as much as Robb is angry, he also simply doesn't seem to know what to
say. He once asks if there's something he can do, but there really isn't.

Jon wonders if maybe Robb blames himself too. Jon wasn't there, he couldn't do anything, he
couldn't know, he couldn't see. Robb could've known, he could've helped, he could have listened,
maybe if he had, he'd noticed.

There is a sincerity in Robb’s new behavior to Sansa that makes Jon wonder if it is an
improvement. He used to treat her like a child, now he treats her like a vulnerable doll.

Sansa is used to it, she doesn't mind, or doesn't let anyone know she minds. She ruffles her big
brother's hair and when he kisses her forehead she smiles. But Robb doesn't ask her how she’s
feeling, not truly. He asks if she's in pain but he doesn't ask if she's sad. Maybe he doesn't think he
is the right person to ask, maybe he doesn't think she wants him to ask.

All Jon knows is that Robb is as angry with himself as he is with Jon and he recognizes the guilt he
feels in the way Robb looks at his little sister. Jon tries to understand, because he knows that Robb
never expected to ever have to see Sansa like that, he knows that Robb is the one who pulled her
from that tub, that he is the one who sat by her bed those first days, holding her hand. He tries to
imagine what that must be like but it’s hard because even though Jon has two half-sisters, his
relationship with them is incomparable to the relationship Robb and Sansa share.

Jon has to explain to Bran and Rickon what happened, why Sansa was sick, why she cries
sometimes, why they have to be ‘really very super nice’ to her. They watch him with widened eyes
while he talks and Rickon cries a little.

‘I’ve always wanted a little sister.’

‘She would not have been your sister, she was your niece!’ Bran says and he looks far more
annoyed than he should be.

‘Sansa is your sister, and she is very sad, so you must promise me to do everything you can to be
nice to her, maybe you can try to make her feel a little bit better.’

Rickon still seems shocked about the whole ‘baby in belly’ thing and he can't seem to contemplate
how there was a baby and now suddenly there isn’t, especially because he never saw anything. But
Jon knows Bran understands, he doesn't look confused, just angry and he stares ahead of himself,
his hands fists.
Together, they make a little ship out of wood, pieces of cloth and strings. When they give it to
Sansa she starts crying and Rickon apologizes. She says he doesn't have to, that it's beautiful and
she loves it.

When Rickon aggressively wipes his tears away with the back of his hand and hides his face in
Jon’s doublet Jon has to bite his lip to stop himself from crying as Bran, with all the power he has
in his little arms, leans himself over Sansa’s bed, hugs her and tells her he's sorry.

At night she lies against him, she lets him hold her very close, she whispers to him in the dark. At
first all her words do is kill him, then later on she starts talking more about other things, about the
weather, about guests, Rickon, Bran, a letter she received from her father, about her day, about her
tomorrow too, and she seems good.

‘You worry too much.’

‘I want to help you.’

‘You are helping me.’

He doesn't feel like he’s helping her, two moons after his return he wonders if the feeling that he
failed her will ever go away, maybe it shouldn't, maybe he doesn't deserve that.

He wishes he'd told her he loves her sooner, as soon as he knew it. He tells her he regrets that.

‘Why didn't you?’

‘Why didn't you?’

She smiles and kisses his cheek, ‘I was afraid that if I said it out loud that you would perhaps hear
me and you'd know.’

When Catelyn returns Sansa sobs in her arms and as Jon watches them he sees Robb stalking away,
perhaps he can't stand to look at it, perhaps it breaks his heart too.

Catelyn doesn't seem to blame him, for a moment he wonders if she knows how he wasn't there but
then he realizes she cannot possibly be unaware of that, maybe she simply doesn't blame him
because she believes Maester Luwin when he says no one is to blame, maybe she is the only one
sane enough to not feel a burning need to blame someone.

She is the first person that asks him how he feels, how he is doing, if he is coping. He wants to tell
her that it doesn't matter how he feels, he doesn't matter, only Sansa matters, but she’ll prick
through that anyway and the way she looks at him, all worried and caring, makes it incapable for
him to keep up his new front.

‘Not too good.’

She nods as if she understands but he doesn't think she understands, she nods because she already
knows, she saw it, she notices because she takes the time to watch him and that makes him feel
strangely grateful. She squeezes his hand, kisses his forehead and tells him to take care of Sansa.

‘There are always dark patches and burdens, the Seven challenge us to make us stronger and
perhaps make us see things, understand things better.’

He doesn't really understand what she means by that and she seems to see that too.
‘You two will be alright.’ Cat decides, ‘She needs you now more than ever and if you will be there
for her, if you take care of her now, you will share something that will be unbreakable for the rest
of your lives together.’

He starts to hate it that everyone constantly keeps telling him to take care of her, it's all he wants to
do, he doesn't need a reminder.

He's glad Catelyn's back, all Sansa did before was plead for her mother. Like Jon, she came too
late. But her presence seems to help Sansa, it seems to comfort her and she knows what to say,
unlike Jon really.

Cat strokes Sansa’s hair while she's sleeping, forces her to eat, sings to her, talks to her about things
maybe Jon can't talk to her about and when she holds her, she holds her little girl, her baby, her first
daughter and rocks her like a child. It seems to help, it seems to be what Sansa needs and no matter
how much he hates it that he can't give it to her, he is enormously grateful for the way Catelyn
manages to take care of Sansa and gets her to take care of herself.

Cat’s return also gives him a reason to avoid duties during the day, she provides him with the
opportunity to spend time with his wife like he never used to do a lot. He knows she appreciates it
when he does that, so he tries to do it as much as possible.

He just lays down next to her in the bed and rubs her back, strokes her hair, lets her play with his
fingers and tells her he loves her. They play cards, eat food and read books in silence.

When Jon asks, for what feels like the thousand time, if there really was no reason to suspect a
thing, Maester Luwin repeats once again that it simply often happens, especially with the first one.

Jon wants to hammer his head, tell him it's his fault too. He should've known, he should've helped
her, she asked for his help, complained about pain and he diminished it, waved her concerns away
the same way everyone always waves away the things she says. He hates them for it. It is
unforgivable.

Luwin tells them they can start trying again as soon as Sansa feels better. Jon doesn’t want to start
trying again, the idea alone makes him feel lightheaded. They have never been ‘trying’ anyway,
she was just so suddenly pregnant and he never saw it coming. What an idiot he was. He should've
seen it coming, he should've at least thought about it, talked with her about it, but they never did
that either.

They don't decide to ‘start trying’ again, it just happens, sooner than he expected. She tells him it
won't hurt, she tells him she wants to, says it will make her feel better. He doesn't understand how
it will make her feel better but she says that she needs to feel good.

‘Can you make me feel good?’

He tries, he thinks he manages quite well. He doesn't believe it hurts, even though she firmly closes
her eyes and doesn't smile or grin or joke the way she used to do. The first time she cries and he
wants to pull away but she only hugs him closer, the second time is much the same but after that it's
as if it’s all suddenly just as it used to be and maybe even better, because there’s an eagerness there
that perhaps wasn't before, a tenderness and a devotion in her eyes that make him shiver and he
wonders if this is what Cat means, if she was talking about the way Sansa now looks at him.

‘Tell me about the wall.’ He has been back for at least two moonturns when she asks him for the
first time.
‘The wall?’

‘Is it truly the greatest thing mankind has ever built?’ She asks.

He stops undressing and looks down at her in the bed, where she sits, her knees pulled up to her
chin, ‘I can't say, I have never seen all the buildings mankind ever built.’

‘But it’s big?’

‘It's really super big.’ That's what he told Bran and Rickon too, and they smiled just like she does
now.

‘How do you go to the top?’

‘You can take the stairs.’

‘How long does that take you?’

‘Too long, nobody ever takes the stairs they always use the wench.’

‘And did you see them?’

‘Who?’

‘ The creatures of night old Nan always talks about, of course.’

He shakes his head, grinning, ‘No I saw nothing, just snow and ice.’

He sits down next to her on the bed and her smile fades when she tells him, ‘I received a message
from your sister today.’

At first he thinks she's talking about Myrcella, but he quickly realizes she can’t be, ‘Rhaenys send
you a message?’

She nods, ‘It came today, by raven, it was very short.’

‘What did it say?’ He is not sure if he likes it that Rhaenys sends Sansa messages.

‘She gives us her condolences.’

‘That's very nice of her.’ He doesn't really mean it because he is not sure it was meant to be nice,
he doesn't even wonder how she knows about it, Rhaenys always knows everything.

‘It said; do not forget the lion.’

Jon eyes widen, he stares at her for a second and he knows the look on his face frightens her
because she clutches his arm.

‘What does she mean by that?’

He knows exactly what she means by that, ‘I don't know.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I think… I'm not sure.’ He is completely sure, ‘I think she may be talking about the Lannisters.’

‘The Lannisters?’ She asks.

‘Can I see the letter?’

She nods, gets up and pulls it from a shelf near her table.

My dearest sister,

I hereby send you my deepest condolences and my most devoted prayers. May you find guidance in
the light of the Seven. Do not forget the lion. Guard your door with ice and fire, wolves and
dragons. I hope to see you as soon as soon can be.

Rhaenys, Princess of house Targaryen

‘Is she a little bit crazy?’ Sansa asks while he reads it, ‘It does run in the family.’

‘No.’ Jon says and he clutches the letter in his hand, ‘She's not crazy. She is many things, not all
good, but crazy is not among them.’

‘But you never liked her.’ Sansa says.

‘I respect her.’ Jon says, which is more than he can say about any other member of his family. He
walks over to the fire and throws the letter in it.

‘She was always nice to me, when she was here.’

The queen was nice to Sansa too, if he remembers correctly, why was she? Why would she not be?
Why did he not think of this before. He knows she was responsible for pushing Bran out of the
window, he remembers every word she ever spoke to him, never kind. Cersei Lannister is the most
hateful woman he has ever known in his life. Catelyn was right, they are dangerous, the Lannisters,
and it is Jon’s duty to stop them from doing more harm than they already have. He has to protect
his family, he has to protect Sansa.

‘I’ll write back to her.’ He says.

‘What will you say?’

He looks at her for a moment, her hair all loose and dangly, her eyes sleepy and her eyebrows knit
in a frown.

I hope to see you as soon as soon can be

He knows what Rhaenys is telling him, as much as he wishes he didn’t know he understands
perfectly, ‘I need to speak with my father.’ Jon says.

‘I think you have to write him, not Rhaenys, if that is what you want.’

Rhaenys is telling him to come home. Why he doesn't know but he's convinced that if it wasn't
necessary, she never would've written.

He smiles, ‘I know, but I need to speak with him, not write to him.’

Her eyes widen, ‘No.’ she says, her voice a shaky one, so soft he can barely hear it, ‘No you can't.’

He realizes what she means and he grabs her hand, ‘You can come with me.’ He knows that for
sure, maester Luwin says she is healthy, and he can see it himself, she could travel, he could take
her with him, like he promised, he would never leave her behind again. He can show her the
capital, she always wanted to see it, he would like to see the look on her face when she first does.
He could bring her with him, maybe that way he wouldn't mind going back as much. They won't
have to stay, just for some time, so he can speak to his father and his sister in person. They could
attend Viserys' wedding, he could even say he's there because of the festivities. Sansa can see
everything she always wanted to see so badly her whole life, the knights and the ladies and the
throne room, some tournies, all of that. It may cheer her up, do her good. She’ll like the weather
too, maybe she’ll start embroidering again once she gets a hold on all the fancy silky dresses they
have in the south.

‘With you? To the capital?’

‘Yes,’ He grabs her hand, ‘I won't go without you.’

‘B-but… you hate the capital.’

‘I really do,’ he says, because he really does, he hates it more than any other place in the world,
‘But if I go there with you, maybe I can manage.’

‘I don't know.’ She says and he can hear the great doubt in her voice, ‘Your father wants you here,
at Winterfell, mother just came back and Robb needs you…’

‘Your mother can help him, he doesn't need me as much anymore.’ He says, saying it stings
because it's not true exactly, no matter how much Robb may need his help, he doesn’t want it
anyway.

‘And Bran..’

‘Your mother, she’ll take care of him and Rickon, both of them.’

She seems very troubled by the certain prospect of leaving Winterfell, as if a change of plans can
only mean bad things, being home right now must give her a feeling of security, a feeling she may
need right now.

‘You can see your father and Arya.’ He says and she nods, he knows she’d like that, ‘We can
attend the wedding of my uncle and aunt. I think it would be good for you to get out of here for
some time.’

He really hopes he’s right, he thinks he might be. Fresh air, warmer climates, distractions, new
things, new places, pretty things, knights, ladies, the court and it's splendor, music, dancing, feasts,
tournaments and good food... beautiful landscapes when they're traveling. The place she has always
wanted to go to... King's Landing after dark.

‘We could spend some time together away from everyone else, just you and me.’ He'd like that, he
knows she'd like that even more. Just leave everyone behind and be with each other without the
constant eyes on them.

She presses her lips together, looks at him through her eyelashes, then smiles and he knows that
getting out of Winterfell will do her good, ‘How long will we have to travel?’

‘We can go by ship,’ he says, ‘It will be much quicker without a wheelhouse, we could be there
within two, maybe three weeks.’

'And Ghost?'

'What about Ghost?'

'Will he stay here? Will we leave him behind?'

He doesn't quite understand why she cares about Ghost, he had not thought about it, but he just
shrugs, 'We'll bring him, he can come.'

‘Is this really what you want?’ she asks.

‘Only if you want to, I'm not going anywhere without you and I won't force you to go if you would
rather stay here.’

She nods ands thinks about it for a moment, then she asks, ‘You agree with mother then? The
Lannisters pushed Bran?’

‘I need to speak to my father.’ Jon says, that's all he knows, ‘And Rhaenys, I need to speak with
Rhaenys too.’

Sansa nods, ‘Okay.’

‘Yes?’

‘I never expected to need convincing to go to the capital.’

He smirks, ‘I never expected to try and convince someone to go, least of all you.’ As he says it he
knows how twisted this is, he shouldn't bring her, he swore he would always protect her, bring her
to the capital always seemed to be the most dangerous thing to do, but somehow now, it feels like
the safest place for them.

Don't forget the lion.

The lions are never sleeping, they are watching them every move, Jon knows it. They are
dangerous and silent and they would prefer to see him dead or gone or both.

Guard your door with ice and fire

‘What does she mean by ice and fire?’

‘I don’t know.’ He says but he does. Ice and fire, wolves and dragons both, together. Guarding his
door. He needs to protect his family, all of them, but Sansa most. She is his responsibility, he can
never fail her again.

Sansa

Sansa quickly realizes how much she hates traveling. She really truly does. Traveling itself, that is.
The time spend on horseback is awful, she never liked it much before, and she finds out that, when
she does it all day, it can be painful too.

Jon was right however, it does her well to be away from Winterfell. She never left it ever in her life
and leaving it feels like the ultimate freedom. She longed to see the world for so long that now
when she finally does, it feels like invisible chains have dropped.

What she likes most about traveling is that it's just them, she and Jon. And their small party with
Sir Malckom too, of course, that man from the king's household who was the only one that stayed
stayed behind with Jon, to be his guard. He is tall and handsome, yet encredibly boring and never
speaks, often she forgets his presence entirely.
It is the first time since their marriage that they get to spend together, just the two of them, with no
one watching them, no one asking them questions, telling them what to do, disturbing them,
listening to their conversations. She gets to spend all day, every day, with him.

She likes having him all to herself, it makes up for all the discomfort. She likes the way he talks all
day, tells her where they are, what happened at that certain place two hundred years before and
why and how.

He points his finger in one direction and says, ‘Can you see that road? If you take it you’ll end up
at Riverrun, the Tully castle, where your mother is from.’ Or ‘At the other side of that river is a
forest and behind it are the Frey towers, we don't need to cross that thankfully, the Freys are a
nightmare.’

‘Did you know that Walder Frey proposed marriage contracts to my father four times? Once for
Robb and three times for me?’

‘Yes,’ he says and he doesn't seem very pleased about her bringing it up, ‘I knew that.’

She misses her mother, they were only reunited for barely two moon turns, she wasn't very willing
to be parted from her this soon. She feels a little guilty for leaving Rickon because she knows how
abandoned he feels, same goes for Bran, but she keeps reminding herself that her mother is back
now, that they don't need her as much as they did.

As for Robb- she knows he didn't want them to go, she knows he and Jon fought about it. She
knows Robb has grown to rely on Jon a lot, perhaps a bit too much and she also knows Robb's
afraid to grow lonely, but he has mother now and Bran, Rickon and even Theon. She knows it's not
the same. She knows Robb told Jon to leave her behind and that Jon refused, she knows they
fought about that too. She knows Jon feels bad about it and it makes her more than anything
wonder why going is so important to him.

Jon was angry when Robb told him he refused to let Sansa come with him, she had to listen to lots
of ‘Who does he think he is?’ and ‘He doesn't get to tell me nor you where to go!’ And, ‘We don't
need his approval!’ and she likes that it angers him so much, if anything because being told what to
do by Robb makes her feel like a little girl, that little girl Robb thinks she is.

Yet Sansa knows Robb put up a fight because he’s afraid to be the lord of Winterfell without Jon's
advice, he’s angry about maester Luwin’s failure to foresee and prevent her miscarriage, who,
despite that, is now his main advisor left. Robb still doesn't believe their mother has fully recovered
from her fragile mental state and he’s scared. Sansa knows Jon doesn't think Robb’s capable of
doing it on his own and he would never have left for King’s Landing if Catelyn hadn't been back.
He doesn't say it exactly, but she notices.

She knows Robb worries about her, she remembers the way he clutched her blood covered hand in
his, she will never forget the look on his face, anguish, terror and apprehension. She knows he
won't forget. She knows he can still hear her weeping and she knows he blames Jon for not being
there, far more than she ever did. She still feels like she slept all through it, she remembers it like a
vague nightmare, as drugged as she was. Robb was never under the influence of any painkiller, she
can imagine his memory is not at all vague.

She knows how Robb tried his best to make Jon feel guilty, she knows he succeeded, it can't have
been difficult. She tried to be angry about it, but she couldn't, because she understands.

As much as she misses her family, she still loves it to finally be rid of them. Nobody’s watching
her, nobody's judging her or comments on her, naggs to her, ignores her, makes fun of her, mocks
her or snap at her. She does not even have a maid with her, she has to get dressed on her own, brush
and braid her own hair and ready her own bath.

She likes sleeping in a tavern, where no one knows who they are and she can eat things she has
never seen before. She will listen to the people around them, to their conversations and the tales
they tell. She sees people dressed in fine clothes, dressed in racks, people talk with accents from
the other side of the realm or in languages she cannot understand.

Jon is constantly watching her, to make sure she is doing alright, but also because he still worries
about her. She tries to let him, she understands why he does it. She worries about him too, even
while he sleeps, she always worries, she has accepted that she always will. She doesn't worry about
him the same way he worries about her, however. His worries trouble him and she knows he
doesn't tell her all about them.

She knows better than to ask. Instead she lets him introduce his family to her in his own way, for
the second time.

‘Tell me what Rhaenys is like.’ And Aegon, and Myrcella, Tommen, Joffrey, Daenerys, his father,
all of them. He already told her moons ago, but she needs him to tell her again, now that she’ll
spend time with them in their home, she feels like she needs to be more prepared, she needs him to
prepare her the way he wants. She needs him to know that she trusts him and listens to his advice,
she won't question his views again.

The snow disappears completely, it melts and the green colour of grass turns brighter. She can shed
her furs and let the sun tickle her bare skin. Freckles appear on her cheeks and the number of
villages grow.

Sansa feels so in love with him, more than ever before, as if it hits her in the face, drives her crazy.
During their travel she feels happy again, the feeling surprises her because there was that moment
where she did not believe she would feel it again. She can't stop staring at him sometimes, she feels
like a fool kitchen maid, but he is so handsome and she loves the way he moves and speaks.

It feels almost strange to make love to him in a room that is not hers. Her room at Winterfell was
their special place, where they could hide from all those people telling them what to do and who to
be.

They don't need to hide anymore, they don't need a room, a special place.

She wondered at first if he'd still think she’s pretty, after what happened, after the way she looked
when he came home, she saw it in his eyes, the way her appearance shocked, maybe even scared
him then. She doesn't dare to ask so she hopes that his words are as sincere as his eyes.

Sir Malcolm hates to travel with them, she knows it. He frowns at them a lot, she can see him roll
his eyes twice. She doesn't care, she understands, but she doesn't care. She can't help herself, she
has one extremely handsome, wonderfully sweet and clever and perfect husband and she loves him
so much, no one should blame her.

He is afraid to touch her at first, afraid to hurt her. But it doesn't hurt, it feels as amazing as it
always did, even better maybe. It feels like they belong together, like touching each other is what
they have to do all day. If only they could, she would like that very much, he always tells her they
should and it makes her giggle and she says that maybe one day they will, when no one can notice.

She loves telling him she loves him, especially when he is inside of her, even more when they lay
there, naked and so vulnerable, and she’ll wonder when they’ll make a child again, how long it will
take them. She never did that before, but now all she does it dream of a child, one that is hers, one
she can hold and protect and sing to sleep, one that looks like him.

The gods will give her a baby when they believe she is ready, it's what her mother said, but Sansa
feels ready. All she wants is to give him a child, a son because men care about that so much, she
wants to see him hold it, in the crook of his arm. She fantasizes about what a child of theirs may
look like, what the colour of the eyes would be. Hopefully blue, she knows Jon would like that.
What would they name it? They never discussed names before, not for a girl nor for a boy. She
knows he would like to give it a northern name, not valyrian, like the Targaryens always do.

Fantasizing about a baby makes her both exited and extremely sad. They had one, it could have
been born, it lived, what would it have looked like if it had not died? Her little girl, in Sansa’s
imagination she has red hair and grey eyes and her skin is pale and she smiles and she's happy and
bright and kind, good and sweet.

She wants her belly to grow the way it never did, to feel something inside her move, she knows
that you can when they are bigger, you can feel a foot or a hand. She wants to be a mother so
badly, not because she believes she is destined to be one, but because having a family of her own
seems like the most wonderful thing. She always believed she was destined to give birth to silver
haired children with indigo eyes but she is not. She is destined to have children with sweet smiles
and gentle hearts, brave boys and good girls.

She doesn't really tell him because she knows he'll be worried, maybe he’ll think that she only
wants him inside because she wants him to put a child in her belly. She could never let him think
that. She knows that he probably doesn't think it's a good idea for her to get pregnant right away, so
soon after, when they are going to King’s Landing. She doesn't care what he thinks, not about that,
she knows that all he thinks about is her health, and she is doing well, he worries too much, he
really does. She knows why he does. The story of the lady Lyanna dying in a bed of blood seems so
much less like a dramatic and tragic ending of a great love story and much more like a haunting
truth when she is your husband’s mother, even more so after you’ve lain in a bloodstained bed
yourself.

Jon turns twenty years of age in a tavern and Sansa is rather sure it's the best night of her life. They
just eat and get slightly drunk together and he finally seems a little happy again. She needs him to
be happy because, if he's not, nor is she. There is not a big feast and no music, no people either but
that's so great because it means he can lift her up, pull her over his shoulder and bring her upstairs
without anyone seeing. When they fall down in their bed the blankets are not made of silk and the
pillow below her head isn't feathery but it's all clean and soft and when she takes all her clothes off
and feels his bare skin pressed to hers it is as if the whole world doesn't exist and it's just them, in
that room they've never seen before, no clothes, no nothing, just nakedness and vulnerability.

'I like this the most.' She says, her arm around his torso, head on his chest, her ear on his beating
heart, steady and rhythmic, his fingers playing with her hair and his lips to her forehead.

'Hmm?'

His sleepy voice makes her smile, 'Laying here, with you, I like that the most.'

'Compared to what?'

'Compared to everything else in the whole wide world.' It's a bit of a childish response but it makes
him laugh and her ear to his chest hears it roll in his lungs and she turns her head to look up at him,
'I like being naked when you are too.'
'I'm awfully glad you like that.'

'And I like laying here, being naked and warm and I'll feel safe and happy, and I'll... I'll wonder if
we've made a baby.'

His smile slowely fades from his face and when he opens his mouth to speak, yet closes it again
right after, she wonders if she said the wrong thing, if maybe she should've kept that to herself, that
dream, the fantasy that clouds her head with the loveliest pictures.

She turns around a little and she still lies in the crook of his arm but with her back towards him and
she takes his hand in hers as he turns to press his front to her back. His breath warms her neck
before he kisses it and then snuggles in the crook, 'I don't think I... I don't ever want to see you in
pain again.' He says then.

She smiles and with his hand in hers she kisses his palm before she places it to her breast, to cup it
and lay it over her own heartbeat. Her breasts are her most feminine part, she's skinny and dangly,
like a child, but her breasts... they're round and firm and when she lays his hand over them it helps
to feel like a woman grown, 'You will,' she says, 'Unless I die tomorrow or you die tomorrow or we
could both die tomorrow... you'll certainly see me in pain again, if we both grow old, and I mean to
see to it that we will.'

That makes his wide grin return, 'I am twenty now, I'm growing old already.'

Sansa giggles, 'Yes you are, getting less pretty everyday.'

'You can be pretty for the both of us.' Jon decides.

She turns around again and scoops one leg over him that he grabs with his hand and she grins when
she presses her nose to his, 'I want to.' She says, 'I'll give you a son, if you'd like, it will be my
birthday gift to you.'

'It's not a birthday gift when you don't give it to me on my birthday.'

She sits up, astride of him and still grins, hoping that he will too, 'We can make it on your nameday
though, try our best to.'

'We just did.'

'We can try again.' She says and when he moves to get up towards her she pushes him back in the
bed, which finally returns his smirk.

He hides his face behind his hands and sighs but immediately pulls them away again when she
starts moving and the look in his eyes is one she has never seen before. She's not really sure what it
is, she can't name it, nor see what it may mean, all she knows is that, in that moment, she's not a
girl to him but a woman, and that's what she has wanted so badly all this time.

She knows that she should press the subject of what they may be making a little more, tell him how
much she wants that, how she desires it, but then he moves his hand down and she really doesn't
want to say anything at all.

When they travel by ship she hates traveling even more, because once you get on a ship and it
sails, you can't get off.

She doesn't feel very well the first couple of days, the way the ship moves makes her feel almost as
sick as when she was pregnant, except this time it's not only in the mornings, it's every time she
tries to walk or looks over the rim of the ship, down at the moving water.

Jon tries to keep pointing at places while they are on board, ‘That’s Cracklelawn point.’ And ‘You
wondered about Dragonstone didn't you? It’s over there.’ And ‘Look, there are the Fingers!’ she’s
not feeling well enough to complain about how it makes no sense to call the fingers the fingers
when they don't look like fingers.

It’s when they trade that godawful ship for their horses in the harbor of Duskendale that she feels
like crying again. She wants to kiss the safe, unmoving ground and thank the gods on her bare
knees for their wonderful invention of gravity.

‘Swear to me I won't ever have to go on one of those things ever again.’

Jon just grins, her discomfort amuses him far too much, ‘We can put you in a wheelhouse when we
go back, be on the road for moons.’

‘Yes. Please, that is what I want.’

He just laughs.

The town of Duskendale spreads out around the harbor and has cobbled streets. On horseback they
enter the city and when they ride through the gatehouse that opens to a market square Sansa
realizes that this must be the world she has always dreamed of. She is in the south, in the
crownlands, only a few days of riding away from King’s Landing, it should feel like a dream come
true but somehow all she wants to do is clutch Jon’s hand and find a room where she can sleep.

The castle of House Rykker, who take their Seat in Duskendale, overlooks the port and is named
the Dun Fort, a squat stone castle with a square keep and big drum towers.

They don’t stay at the castle, Jon doesn’t want to bother the family and it will take them much
longer to be properly presented and everything around it. She wants to ask why he didn't mind
doing that in White Harbor, where they stayed at the Manderly castle, but she decides against it
because it really is just much simpler to stay the night at the largest inn, which is called Seven
Swords.

When they lay in bed that night Jon lays his head on her stomach and she moves her fingers
through his hair while he can't stop telling her stories, ‘South of this town is a rocky headland that
shelters the harbor from the storms of the narrow sea and north of it are amazing chalk cliffs, I saw
them up close once, they are amazing. There’s also a road that runs beside the shore between the
grey-green sea and low limestone hills- that’s where Fishing villages dot the road for miles.’

She falls asleep without telling him she has stopped listening and she may do that on purpose
because she likes falling asleep to the sound of his voice.

The next day they take Rusby road towards the capital. She knows the story about the Rusby’s,
how King Halleck Hoare conquered their lands, making the Rosbys vassals of the Kings of the
Isles and the Rivers. Then, during Aegon’s conquest, they yielded peacefully to Rhaenys, Aegon
the conqueror's youngest sister-wife. Her dragon was named Meraxes and according to Jon the
skull of that dragon is one of the biggest to decorate the throne room.

Aside from Aegon’s conquest Sansa knows that Rhaenys Targaryen was responsible for the rule of
the six; a man can only strike his wife six times, no more, when she has been unfaithful, one strike
for each of the gods, not including the stranger. Sansa has never seen her father beat her mother, he
striked Robb and Jon a hundred times, when they were little, doing something irresponsible, she
can still remember them running around, away from Ned, through the courtyard, screaming,
sometimes laughing when it became a game to them, to run away and hide.

She can't imagine Jon ever striking her either, she’ll make him regret it if he tries. Maybe it’s
because the rule of the six is a law for the followers of the seven. Jon and her father pray to the old
gods.

She reckons that the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen she met has very little in common with the
Rhaenys who rode a golden eyed and silver scaled dragon when she brought the Dusby’s to their
knees. Just like the Prince Aegon Targaryen she knows has nothing in common with Aegon I, the
man who conquered all of Westeros.

Jon often calls the dragons ‘those monsters’, says all they ever did was burn cities to the ground
and force peaceful lands into wars and brought them to surrender for no reason but power hunger.
He says it's a good thing they are all gone.

Sansa notices how he wants to arrive at King’s Landing late, she thinks it’s because that means
they can go to bed first instead of face his entire family dressed in riding costume, with sore backs,
wary hair and heavy eyes. She doesn't think it’s quiet the proper thing to do but she decides to do
this entirely his way because she knows how difficult it is for him to go back.

He does tell her they arrived at the harbor of duskendale instead of King’s Landing’s harbor
because he wanted to avoid a welcome party and she tells him she doesn't want that either, which is
true because she can only try to comprehend how nerve wrecking that idea must be to him.

The night before they arrive at their destination they both sit upright in their bed, their hands
together playing a thumbgame and the way he watches her makes her blush.

‘Don't look at me like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like... like I'm about to break- like you want to... I don't know.’

‘You’re not about to break.’

She shakes her head, ‘No.’

He looks at their hands and she feels the urge to sigh, to say something, ask him something, force
him to talk to her.

‘Jon?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You and I are okay, right?’

‘Of course we are.’

She nods and tries to hide an odd relieve that takes over, ‘You’ll talk to me? When we get there? I
want you to tell me things, I don't think I can bare being there with you keeping things from me.’

He looks at her and she can seen a great deal of resistance in his eyes, then he nods, ‘I’ll talk to
you.’

‘Will you?’
‘I will.’

She nods, ‘I want to help you.’

‘I want to help you too.’

‘I'm doing alright, you know.’

The way he looks down and slightly smiles at that comment makes her feel funny things, he looks
very beautiful and cute and she suddenly suffers the urge the ruffle his hair, squeeze his cheek or
just rip all the clothes of his body, ‘I know that, I'm.. I'm so glad.’

‘Are you alright too?’

‘I think I am.’

She nods because she knows what he means, ‘There is nothing to forgive, you know that, don't
you? If Robb-‘

‘It won't happen again.’ He turns her hand so that it lays in his palm and he rubs the back of it with
his thumb, ‘It won't.’

‘If Robb said anything-‘

‘He didn't.’

‘Good.’ She thinks that maybe it's not good at all, maybe his silence was the worst part.

‘Are we going to tell each other everything?’

She wants to promise, but she already knows she won't be able to do that. He worries too much, she
doesn't want to make him worry even more, there are things she doesn't want him to know simply
because he will never understand, not even if she tries to explain, yet she also knows that if she
nods now, he'll talk more to her too. So she nods and he starts telling her things.

He starts telling her about the teachers he used to have, people he met, the room he used to sleep in,
the parties he was forced to attend. He tells her about his relationship with Aegon, which is a first.

'Aegon loves men.' He says and when she asks him what he means he looks a little uncomfortable
but tell her still, 'He loves men like I love you. He loves men like... like he should love women.'

'He falls in love with men?' She asks and he nods, 'Is he ill?'

That question seems to pain him and she regrets asking it instantly, 'No,' he says and he sounds
convincing enough, 'No, he... he's not the only one. There are more men who... it happens. Some
men just do, and they're not ill, they just... can't fall in love with a woman, no matter how hard they
try. Love is not a sickness, but it is... it complicates matters quite a lot. Aegon doesn't want to... like
we are together, he doesn't want to do that, so he doesn't want to marry, for many reasons, but
especially that.'

'Because he won't love his wife?'

'He won't be with her.' Jon says, 'He'll never be with a woman and I suppose... I suppose in his
way, it's honorable not to marry one when you'll never be a proper husband.'

'But he has to marry. He is the crown prince!'

Jon nods, 'He will, eventually he will, just not... he likes to be difficult, he never does what the king
tells him to do, he always does what he likes. Aegon doesn't care about anything.'

Sansa nods and realizes why he chose to wait so long with telling her this, she doubts she would've
understood if he'd explained it to her the moment she first asked. Then he tells her about Rhaenys.

'Rhaenys pretends she doesn't care but she cares too much.' Jon says, 'But she's the smartest person
I know. But... you shouldn't listen too much to what she says though, she says some weird things
sometimes, she likes to be... she can be rude. Especially to Joffrey, she hates Joffrey more than I do.
She hates Cersei most of all. She likes so say something shocking just to get people out of their
comfort zone and she'll feel like she's in control.'

'What do you mean, shocking?' Sansa asks.

'I don't know, it's hard to explain... I think she... I think she has a habit of saying things everyone is
thinking but doesn't dare say out loud.'

'I never noticed, but it sounds fun.'

Jon grins, 'trust me,' he says, 'You don't always want someone to say the things no one wants to
hear, there is a reason for people not wanting everything to be mentioned. It can be amusing, but
sometimes it's tiring and... she's really the most tiring person I have ever met, she can be
exhausting.'

'So you don't like her?'

'I don't like any of them, but I trust her, and... she'll probably be nice to you, you can trust her too, I
think, just don't listen to all he things she says.'

Sansa nods to let him know she understands, though she doesn't really.

'But Cersei I dislike the most. She always wanted to have me beaten when I was younger,
sometimes for little reason. It never happened, none of us were ever beaten, my father prefers other
ways of torture, words mainly, or the lack of them.'

'So I can't trust Cersei?'

Jon shakes his head, 'Don't trust any of the Lannisters, not even uncle Ty, he can be a little... you
shouldn't listen to what he says either. He can say some disturbing things that you're far too
innocent for.'

'Innocent? What do you... oh.' Sansa shakes her head, 'Don't call him uncle, he's not.'

'He was fun though, growing up, he made me laugh, suppose he still does. And he gives some
peculiar yet good advices.'

'But you said don't listen to him.'

'Yes no, please don't, he's... his advices are not good for you.'

'What do you mean, advices?'

Jon grins, 'When we got married he adviced me not to fall asleep before you did.'

Sansa doesn't understand what's so peculiar about that but she shrugs it off because she doesn't
want him to stop talking, and he doesn't. He tells her about Tommen and Myrcella, says he loves
them but Cersei never lets him see them, hides them away a lot, 'But they're good and decent
children, which is against the expectations, really.' And then he mentions his uncle, says Viserys is
'Really just completely nuts.' and adds how sorry he is, that his aunt, who he doesn't call Daenerys
but 'Dany' has to marry him. It's as if now he finally started, he can't stop. He talks about
everything and everyone, except his father. She needs to ask after his father and he hesitates when
she does.

'And the king?'

'The king is a good king, the best king, and I admire him greatly for his work and his... all he does.
He is an honorable man, and wise and smart. But... he is the worst father.'

'He does not love you?' She never asked that so specifically, but she has knows he feels that way
for a very long time.

Jon only shakes his head and the look in his eyes makes her feel so sad, she wants to hug him and
pull him against her and tell him she loves him though, she'll love him more than any father ever
could.

Some of the stories he tells terrify her a little, mainly those about Joffrey, and she can never begin
to understand how lonely he must've felt for so long. He takes the excitement away from seeing
King’s Landing, in fact, she dreads their arrival a little.

Long before she lays her eyes on the capital for the first time she can smell the stench of the city's
waste. When she complains about it Ser Malckom mocks her,

'Smoke, sweat, and shit. King's Landing, in short. It smells like an old whore. If you have a good
nose you can smell the treachery too. You've never smelled a city before?'

'I have been to White Harbor.'

That makes the knight laugh, 'White Harbor is to King's Landing as The imp is to Ser Gregor
Clegane.'

Sansa has never met Ser Gregor Clegane so she doesn't quite understand what he means by that but
she saw his younger brother, Sandor Clegane and he was a very big man, nothing like the queen's
dwarf brother. She reckons that perhaps she should have expected the smell and it was stupid of
her not to.

'Oldtown is the only city to rival King's Landing, which is larger in area but less populous.' Jon
tells her after giving Ser Malckom an angry look behind her back, thinking she must not be able to
see it.

The walls around King's Landing are huge and they have seven gates, the sacred number of the
Faith. Apparently each is protected by portcullis, heavy doors, and armed guards. They don't enter
the city through the Iron gate, even though this is the gate the Rusby road leads them to. Jon and
Ser Malckom agree they should avoid flea bottom, when she asks why, Ser Malckom opens his
mouth to speak, 'We wouldn't want my lady to interact with-'

'The streets are very narrow.' Jon interrupts him, 'The buildings stand so close to each other, they
are almost touching.'

She nods and tries to avoid Ser Malckom's frown. If there's one thing she won't miss about
travelling, aside from the lack of comfort, it is his company, she will definitely do perfectly well
without it.
 They don't enter through the Iron gate or the old gate and instead choose the Gate of the Gods at
the western corner of the wall. Jon tells her it’s prettier than the other three and she can imagine
that's true.

There are detailed carvings on the gatehouse and over the portcullis with eyes that make her feel
like they can actually see her. The gatehouse has a windowless guard room, decorated with stone
gargoyles with dragon heads.

'If we'd not arrived here by ship we would have entered through this gate as well, The Kingsroad
enters King's Landing from the North at the Gate of the Gods.' Jon explains and all she can do is
nod.

Sansa's father said the Red Keep was smaller than Winterfell, but in her dreams it has been
immense, an endless stone maze that seemed to shift and change behind her. In reality it really is
smaller than Winterfell, and different in all the ways castles can differ.

Aegon the Conqueror commanded it built. His son Maegor the Cruel saw it completed. Afterward
he had taken the heads of every stonemason, woodworker, and builder who had labored on it. Only
the blood of the dragon would ever know the secrets of the fortress, he vowed.

'There is one thing I want to tell you about the capital, Sansa,' Jon says, as she can see the Red
Keep grow in size right in front of them, 'Everyone there is a liar, if they don't lie to you they're
lying to someone else, you can trust only yourself.'

'And you?'

'And me.'

Chapter End Notes

If this chapter was a friends episode I'd call it 'the one where Jonsa finally have their
well-deserved honeymoon'.
Last week I finally gave the first thing I ever wrote for this story a chapter, finished
chapter 22. Quite some things happen ten chapters from now and it's sometimes a bit
weird to realise you guys are 'ten chapter behind' or something. So, next week I am
going to introduce you to Rhaenys, a character I loved developing.
Please let me know what you think!
 A Coin
Chapter Summary

The room is filled with lordlings and their ladies, all watching him either with
disapproval, displease or curiosity. Once he was used to that, now their stares feel
itchy and everyone is way too quiet for his liking, he prefers it when they're all
mumbling and whispering behind their hands.

Chapter Notes

Before I forget, I know that I said Rhaenys has a husky voice, but while writing this I
couldn't help but hear Claire Foy's Elizabeth II voice in my head.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jon

When Jon wakes up he is startled to see Sansa's wide blue eyes staring at him. She sits upright in
the bed, pulling the silky duvets up to her chin, her hair all loose, framing her happy face. She
seems exited and for a moment he has no idea where they are.

'Why are you awake?' He yawns and he sits up as quickly as his still unconscious body allows him
to, 'Why are you staring at me?'

Her eyes twinkle enthusiastically and she smiles broadly, 'Because you look pretty when you're
sleeping.'

'Don't be silly.'

She giggles and moves to lay on her back, 'You hardly ever look that peaceful when you're awake.'
She says as she welcomingly stretches her arms out towards him, 'I was interested.'

He knows she sees him sleep often enough, it may not happen very often that she wakes up before
he does but at night he's always the one to drift off first, no matter how hard he tries to keep his
eyes open. He knows she sometimes even reads a bit before she goes to sleep.

He wants to groan when he looks at the window and the bright light that shines through it, 'I don't
want today.' He declares as he lays down, on top of her, borrowing his face in the crook of her
neck.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders and giggles some more, she started doing that again since
they left Winterfell and, apart from a short break when they were on the ship, continues doing so.

'What's wrong with today?'

He just shakes his head, still hiding his face from the world and yawns again, 'I don't want to see
them.'
'I highly doubt they want to see you.'

He looks up, his face close to hers, and grins, 'I could use some sympathy.'

'You were the one who wanted to come here.' She reminds him.

'Are you going to tell me that every time I complain?'

She smirks and strokes a curl from his face, 'Perhaps.’

'No compassion?'

She pretends to consider it and then shakes her head, 'No.'

'You don't even pity me?'

She laughs, 'Especially no pity.'

‘You think this is funny, don't you?’

she denies it but the smile on her face is too big and too real to believe a thing of what she says. He
loves happy Sansa, he has missed happy Sansa. He missed having her in his arms laughing at his
stupid jokes and hiding her face behind her hands whenever he says something improper.

Sansa likes having sex in the morning and he's not sure if that is because they hardly ever do that
and she likes to make the most of having him in her bed when she wakes up or because she has the
tendency of being all cheerful for the rest of the day after.

It's only a few minutes later that she stiffens in his arms and presses her hand to his mouth even
though she was definitely being the louder one.

He rolls his eyes and knows there is no way she's ever going to ignore a knock on the door on their
first morning waking up in his old bedroom in the Red Keep but ignoring the odds he decides to try
anyway, 'He'll go away.'

'Jon!' She hisses when he presses her to her stomach in the bed and moves down to place kisses
down her spine. Her back arches into him, she shivers and lacks the power to push him away, 'N-
no.' She starts protesting more violently when the man knocking on their door calls his name.

Fuck that man, fuck whatever he wants, fuck King's Landing, fuck this room and especially
everyone outside that door, fuck Sansa most of all.

She tells him to stop again, though she laughs while saying it and her gasp is too breathless to not
make his head all fuzzy. He grips her neck with his hand and pulls her head close, her ear to his
lips, 'I'm gonna stop after you come for me.'

She gladly accepts the challenge as she grins at him, turns around and pulls his head towards her by
his hair.

The man knocking on the door is long gone when she kicks him against his shin, 'Don't ever do
that to me again!'

He grins as he presses his face in his pillow, 'If I'd opened the door with you lying in bed looking
like this,' He puts an extra emphasis to his argument by making an arm gesture at her, 'I can assure
you it would have been unforgettable.'
She grimaces at the harsh truth, drops her head down and sighs, 'Still, we can't do that again.'

He's just glad she chooses the word ‘we’. He grabs her hip and pulls her back against him, 'What
part exactly?'

'You're disgusting.’ she says as she avoids his kisses with a smile widely spread across her face.

Sansa falls asleep again and after allowing himself to gaze at her for a while he drags himself out
of bed. He knows they probably expected him to sleep alone, they gave Sansa a room of her own,
he wonders if maybe it would be super clever to pretend she is actually going to sleep there.

He considers visiting the king without her, but he knows how improper that would be, he knows
how they’ll whisper about it, how they’ll talk about Sansa behind their hands, wondering where
she is, their imagination running wild.

So he urges her to hurry up with getting dressed, while he sits on the bed and watches her,
receiving multiple side eyes from her new hand maiden, who seems like a foreigner, and not at all
someone Cersei would want to be at court. He forgets her name the moment she tells him and she
seems to know that, she seems to really dislike him for it.

He has never before seen Sansa look as insecure as she does now, standing in front of a mirror,
Ghost laying at her feet watching her intently. She looks at herself from every angle, pulling at
some loose strands of hair, lifting the skirt of her heavy velvet dress up.

‘I look like such a northerner.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘We’re in the south.’

‘There's nothing wrong with knowing where you come from.’ She doesn't look nearly as northern
as he does, with the hair and everything.

She doesn't seems to agree, not really, ‘Moping about it won't make it any better.’

Jon looks at his father, sitting on his throne, rubbing the side of his index finger with his thumb.
He sits upright, but at the same he doesn't, not really. The king sits on that thing the way he always
does. Dressed in black, the crown that belonged to the mad king before him on his head, a
thoughtful look on his face.

‘Your grace.’ He bows and in the corner of his eyes he can see Sansa make her perfect little
curtesy.

‘What a sight to behold, our favourite prince has finally decided to bless us with his presence.'

He used to really hate it when Cersei calls him that, but all he can do now is smile broadly as Ned
gets up and hugs him with a broad grin across his face that somehow reminds him a little of
Sansa's.

Ned takes her small head between his hands and places a gentle kiss to her forehead that makes Jon
feel a little proud, he doesn't know why exactly.

The throne room looks different somehow, he can't explain to himself what looks so different,
maybe it's Ned's presence or maybe it's just that he hasn't seen it for over ten moon turns. The iron
throne still looks uncomfortable, the dragon skulls are as impressive as ever and Cersei seems to
have managed to be more displeased with everyone in the whole world than she already was when
he last saw her. Maybe he is the one who has changed.

The room is filled with lordlings and their ladies, all watching him either with disapproval,
displease or curiosity. Once he was used to that, now their stares feel itchy and they're way too
quiet for his liking, he prefers it when they're all mumbling and whispering behind their hands.

'Your grace.' He says again, this time with a bow of his head. He probably should've waited with
the enthusiastic uncle and father-in-law reunion, he would have if he believed Rhaegar cares.

The king nods, 'I wanted you to be there this morning. During the small council meeting.' That
comment, thankfully and unsurprisingly, makes most people mumble.

'My apologies your grace.'

'They told me they were not capable of waking you.' The mumbling stops.

'I did not notice them trying.'

Some people laugh. His father clearly doesn't believe him and he's glad because he would not want
the king to be an idiot. Rhaegar doesn't push it however, 'I expect you to be there tomorrow.'

'May I ask why, your grace?' It seems like a logical question, he has never attended a meeting of
his father's most important advisors before, he never thought he ever would, really.

'I hear you visited the wall, perhaps you can enlighten us with what you encountered there.'

'I already wrote you all about it.' Jon says.

‘I read it.’

Maybe his father wants a thank you for that, ‘I was only there for two days.’

His father decides that the best way to end the discussion is to stop it altogether by just changing
the subject, giving his words to someone else he has in all likeliness never spoken to before,
‘Welcome to court lady Stark, we are pleased to have you here.’ There is not one soul in the room
who hears sincerity in his words, yet Sansa smiles as if she believes him, nods and makes another
tiny curtesy, not by far as deep as the first.

‘Thank you, you grace.’

After using her to change the subject he shoots his attention back to his bastard son, ‘My brother
arrived this morning, ahead of the upcoming wedding there shall be a jousting tourney outside the
city walls.'

Jon really wants to ask when there has ever been a jousting tourney inside the city walls, 'Very
exiting. As long as I don't have to go on a hunt.’ Some people laugh again, ‘I'll do anything but go
on a hunt.'

His father doesn't even frown, 'I expect you to participate.'

At second thought he is not willing to do anything but go on a hunt, Sansa eyes him for a fraction
of a second when he says, 'I- erm, I left my squire in the North.' He did not even do that on
purpose, bless him.

'You have Ser Malckom.'

'Ser Malckom is an anointed knight.' He won't like it one bit.

'You can have my squire.' Ned offers.

'I didn't bring my armour either.'

'Who doesn't bring his armour when he comes to the capital to attend wedding festivities?' Cersei
looks at Rhaegar to check if he finds it as ridiculously feather headed as she does.

'Thankfully you are in the capital, plenty of armour to choose from.'

'If you win, you can crown your wife the queen of love and beauty.' Cersei's eyes scare him a little
but not as much as her words do. Twenty years ago another Stark lady was crowned queen of love
and beauty. Jon wonders if that tourney is the most famous tourney in the Seven Kingdoms or if he
simply heard of it so often because he is who he is. Everyone is the throne room is dead silent, as
if they're holding their breaths.

'Perhaps.' Sansa would love that, he wonders how many people would make comments about
history repeating itself. Images of Sansa in a bathtub filled with her own blood appear in his mind
for a second and he really hopes he'll never crown her queen of love and beauty, ever.

'What took you so long?' Rhaegar places his eyes at the girl next to Jon and scans Sansa.

'I was asleep.' Jon says, there is some laughing, and even though he's confident no one believes
him, he doesn't really know what else to say.

'Asleep?' Cersei smiles and it's one of the ugliest smiles he has ever seen, 'During the middle of the
day?'

'We arrived late.' Jon says, perhaps a bit too loudly.

Sansa interrupts him before he can make it worse, I'm afraid travelling doesn't suit me much.' That
is an understatement, ‘I wasn't feeling very well.’

'Perhaps you should've left her behind in the North.'

He doesn't really understand why Cersei says that to him, with that tone, while Sansa’s standing
next to him, and thankfully he doesn't have to respond to it either because his father tells her to shut
up in his favourite way; he openly disagrees with her.

'It was right of you to bring her, how do you find the capital, lady Stark?'

Jon doesn't really think his father cares one bit about how Sansa finds the capital, but she smiles
just as sparkly as always, seems completely not taken aback by Cersei’s rudeness and since the
honest answer to the king’s question is that she mostly thinks it stinks Jon can't help but smile
when she says, 'I’m enchanted by it.'

'Perhaps we ought to dine together tonight.' His father suggests and Jon can't say he's surprised, he
knows how much his father loves it to sit around a dining table and make everyone in his presence
feel uncomfortable, ‘With the family.’

'I'm sure everyone will love that.'

'Good.' His father gets up, nods at the people nearby and leaves the room while everyone bowes.

Ned walks over to Jon and pulls him with him on his arm, away from Sansa, ‘Can I ask you
something?’ He asks and he adds some force to his words, his eyes careful.

'Of course, anything.'

Ned looks away and seems to decide how to phrase his question properly, 'Did you gift Arya a
sword?'

Jon gulps, feels his cheeks blush, turns around to see if his wife can hear them and then decides to
plea, 'Please don't tell Sansa.'

Ned frowns at him, seems to think about what to say for a moment but then laughs and the sound
warms Jon's insides.

Sansa

Sansa doesn't know if she's bubbly because she had a very pleasant morning or because she is
finally in the place she has dreamed of for so long. The Red Keep is beautiful, everyone here is
beautiful, her rooms are beautiful and the gardens are too. The weather is nice and the sea is a
wonderful sight once you're not on a ship trying to survive sailing it. She likes how new this place
is, how real it is, how it's the city she read about since she learned to read her first words.

She visits her father in the hand's tower, where he and Arya both have their rooms. She's glad she
won't be staying there, after a mere moment in Arya’s presence she's reminded of how she should
not have missed her as much as she did.

After being reunited with her dear friend Jeyne she's unpacking when the door opens and Prince
Aegon stands in her bedchamber.

Her eyes widen at his sudden appearance and she sinks down in a deep curtsy, 'My prince.'

He smiles and his white teeth blind her. He is terribly handsome, ridiculously attractive, 'It is an
honour for me to welcome you in the capital, milady.'

'Thank you.' She says and she bows her head. She's not quite sure where to keep her hands so she
clutches them together. In the corner of the room Ghost gets up and watches the prince with
suspicion, as far as wolfs can do that.

'I was wondering if perhaps I could escort you to my sister's rooms? She invites you over for tea.'

'I-I would be honoured my prince.'

He smiles again, 'Good.' He says and offers her his arm. Sansa looks over her shoulder at Jeyne
who grins broadly and it makes Sansa feel almost as uncomfortable as all the questions she started
asking as soon as they sat down. Jeyne Poole is such a child.

‘Where is my brother?' Aegon wonders aloud, 'I have not seen him yet.'

'I'm afraid I don't know.' Sansa answers, she didn't really worry about Jon, perhaps she should have.

'Afraid? Please don't be, we can't have that!' Aegon says and he squeezes her hand that rests on his
arm, she can feel all the rings on his fingers as they dig in her skin, 'You must be so terribly exited
to be here, such a vast contrast to where you are from.'

As much as that is true she doesn't like the tone he uses, 'Very exited.'

'Your family was so hospitable during our extended stay, we can only try our very best to make
yours here as comfortable as ours was over there.'

She's not sure if he enjoyed his time at Winterfell as much as he claims, she has never spoken to
him like she is doing now, she remembers how it always felt like he pretended she was a gust of
wind, someone not quite important enough to even look at. Maybe he regrets that, maybe he wants
to be friends.

'I'm sure my stay will be very pleasant, thank you, my prince.'

He continues to smile, it looks nothing like Jon's, he doesn't narrow his eyes, it doesn't reach any
part of his face but his lips and it never seems to fade nor falter. He wears his smile like other
people may wear a hat, he takes it off just as easily, it must be his least favourite piece of clothing.
She remembers what Jon told her about him, she knows he told her not to trust him, not to trust
anyone. Perhaps she should not want to be his friend.

He delivers her to Rhaenys's doorstep, bows his head, still smiling, and walks away while Sansa
tries not to stare after him.

Rhaenys smiles too, her smile doesn't reach her eyes either but at the same time it's not at all the
same, it doesn't look as plastered to her face and it disappears as quickly as it appears, it may not be
a happy smile but at least it is somewhat real, somewhat human.

'I've been looking forward to introducing you to my aunt, the princess Daenerys.'

It's only Daenerys who is present and it surprises Sansa because Jon told her about Rhaenys'
teaparties and he always made it seem like a get-together of a handful of beautiful, highborn ladies
dressed in silks with ribbons and rubies adorning their hair, gossiping and giggling about their
knightly suitors.

It's still odd to know princess Daenerys is an aunt to the king's children when she is also at least
three years Rhaenys's junior. People used to say she looks at lot like the late queen Naerys and if
that is true Sansa is disappointed. She is very beautiful indeed, but not beautiful like Rhaenys and
Sansa wonders if that is perhaps the result of their different demeanour.

Rhaenys looks like a queen, she dresses like one and looks at everyone around her as if she owns
them and everything they own too, including the ground they stand on. Daenerys is a stark contrast
to that. She looks meek, timid and docile with little confidence or self-esteem, most of all she looks
frail and unhealthy with a fine, pale, porcelain skin, near translucent. Rhaenys has the exactly same
skin but she makes up for it with her piercing eyes. Jon's aunt is a fine and delicate beauty, almost
unworldy and the moment she sees Sansa, her shoulders roll forward.

Jon told her about Daenerys, he is fond of her apparently, he isn't often fond of people that come
from the south so she supposes her own impression may be just that, a first impression. For all she
knows Daenerys could actually be good company.

Sansa starts to recognise different shades of purple in the eye colour of Jon's family. She knows the
king's eyes are a dark indigo, like Aegon's, but Rheanys' eyes are almost blue with just a strike of
lilac. Daenerys' eyes are very clearly violet and they have a frightened gleam in them.

'The weather must be nice for you, don't you ever grow tired of the cold? Was your travel
comfortable? How do you find your rooms? Did you sleep well?'

Sansa wonders why Rhaenys asks so many questions, all she ever used to say to her back at
Winterfell were the obligatory courtesies.

'My rooms are lovely, thank you.'

Rhaenys nods and watches her carefully, 'How long are you planning on staying?'

'We haven't discussed it much.' Sansa admits, at least for the wedding festivities, they agreed to
that, hopefully a little while longer, but that will probably be it. Maybe she’ll be homesick by then
and happy to go home.

'Rhaenys narrows her eyes, ‘So my half-brother discusses such matters with you?'

Sansa tries not to stammer at the question, 'I-I'm sure he'll inform me when he has made his
decision.'

Rhaenys nods and seems pleased with the answer, 'Well you must make most of your stay then, I'm
sure you'll attend the jousting.'

'Jousting?'

'There will be a tournament, it's part of all the wedding festivities of course.'

'Oh yes,’ half a year ago she would’ve never believed it if anyone told her she’d forget about a
tourney she is actually going to attend, ‘I suppose I will, yes.'

'To champion your husband.'

'I'm not sure he'll take part in it, he did not bring his square.' She wonders if Jon did that on
purpose, it seems like something he would do.

'I'm sure a solution to that problem can be found, what do you think, dear aunt?'

It really is weird that Daenerys is an aunt, 'Of course.'

Sansa wants to smile at the girl but she's afraid the gesture may break the princess and she
consciously decides not to, 'I'm sure he is looking forward to it already.'

Rhaenys smiles again, then her smile drops and she takes Sansa's hand in hers, 'I was informed of
the horror that occurred to you not long ago, I understand if you wish not to speak of it with me but
I do want to give you my sincere condolences once again.'

Rhaenys' hand is cold but soft, it helps freeze Sansa's body to the bone and she wants to jump away
from the touch. The comment comes so suddenly and unexpectantly that it is a cruel and harsh
reminder of a constant pain she still feels in her heart whenever her mind drifts of or when she has a
moment alone to let her thoughts run miles.

Sansa opens her mouth to say something but there are no words on the tip of her tongue, her throat
is frozen like the rest of her body though her eyes burn as she soundlessly prays for the strength not
to cry.

Rhaenys simply squeezes her hand and presses that glorious smile on her face again, 'The mother
shall grant you a son soon, I'm sure of it. It has been some time since our family could greet a new
member.' She looks at Daenerys who appears almost as uncomfortable as Sansa feels, 'I do think
infants can be terribly hard to look at, all bald and screaming constantly, red-faced and angry.
Tommen looked almost disfigured, so ugly, you cannot imagine, he ended up surprisingly well,
though he has not yet lost his infant appetite.'

Sansa supposes she can indeed not imagine, 'I think all baby's are beautiful in their mother's eyes.'
She says.

Rhaenys looks at her for a second, 'I suppose that's true.'

'We'll raise our children at Winterfell. If we'll ever have any.' Sansa tells her, as if she wants to
inform her that she won't have to fear the presence of more disfigured creatures.

'Will you? I suppose you will.' Rhaenys says, 'Did you enjoy a pleasant childhood, lady Stark?'

'I did, my princess..' Sansa says.

'It's lovely to hear that.' Rhaenys says, 'How lucky you are.'

'I am.' Sansa looks from Rhaenys to Daenerys and back, 'I really am.'

'A happy childhood is the foundation for a positive and mature adult life.’ Rhaenys takes a sip from
her tea before she add, ‘Or so I've been told.'

'Yes.' Sansa says simply, 'That must be true.'

'Though it makes people naïve.' Rhaenys goes on, 'Unaware too, of certain things, if they're not
careful.' She looks at Daenerys again, 'Don't you think so, dear aunt?'

Sansa wishes she'd stop calling Daenerys her dear aunt, 'I wouldn't know,' Daenerys says, 'I've
never participated in the upbringing of any child.'

Rhaenys nods as if that is a very well supported comment, 'I believe religion is important, too.' She
says, 'Don't you think?'

'Y-yes.' Sansa has no idea, truly, the gods are there for all of them, for those raised under the stars
and those with a golden spoon in their mouth.

'I suppose with your plan to raise your children in the North and with Jon praying to trees your sons
and daughters will be faithful to the Gods of the children of the forest?'

They are not just the Gods of the children of the forest, they are the Gods of the first men and the
Starks have worshipped them long before the Valyrian dragonlords crossed the narrow sea to
conquer Westeros, 'I have not really thought about it.'

'Haven't you?'

'I always preferred the faith of the seven.' Sansa admits, 'My mother's Gods.'

'Is that so?' Rhaenys seems slightly exited at the news, 'And your brothers?'

'We pray to all the Gods.' Sansa answers, 'All of us, it differs from time to time but it's better to pray
to as many as you can, keep all of them happy.'

Rhaenys raises an eyebrow at her, 'I see.'

‘I would love to see the sept of Bailor.' Sansa says, 'I can't wait to go there.'
'Yes,' Rhaenys seems to have lost whatever it was that exited her and she leans back in her chair
again, 'It is a formidable building.'

She falls quiet suddenly and Sansa notices how the conversation is dead without Rhaenys keeping
it going, 'I love you dress.' It seems like a safe comment to make, 'The details, the colours and
everything it is- very pretty.'

'Thank you dear,' Rhaenys says, 'I'm afraid I am not much good at making my own, but thankfully
other people are gifted.'

'You know where to find them.'

Rhaenys looks at her for a second, 'We can express ourselves by the way we dress.' If that is true
Rhaenys must be expressing her desire to actively challenge queen Cersei.

'I love your pin, too.' Sansa goes on, Rhaenys responds well to compliments so she better keep
them coming.

'It belonged to my mother.' Rhaenys says and it's only then that Sansa can see it's a brooch in the
shape of sun.

'Your mother had good taste.'

'She did.'

'My mother taught me how to sew, I'd love it if you would let me embroider something for you.'

'Would you? Well then I will certainly let you.'

'I haven't done it in a while.' Sansa hopes she didn't loose some of her skill, she hasn't embroidered
since she lost her baby.

'Well then you must definitely make something for me, it is always a waste to neglect our gifts.'

'I'm not very good at dragons, I'm afraid.’ Sansa admits, ‘But I'm not sure how feminine they are
anyway.’

‘I'm not sure how feminine I am.’ Rhaenys says, she doesn't smile, but still Sansa knows it's a joke,
a peculiar one but still, it breaks the ice, finally.

‘I think I'll manage some suns.'

'I'd like an embroidered sun.' Rhaenys admits.

'Well, that's settled then.' Sansa finally feels like she is gaining some control over the conversation
when Rhaenys looks at Daenerys and says,

'Perhaps you could look at the wedding dress, I shall never forget your own, it was so very lovely.'

'I'm pleased you liked it.'

'Snowflakes? You are certainly skilled at embroidering snowflakes.'

'I embroidered many of these.' Sansa says, 'But the dress was especially splendid because the silks
were so precious.'
'Were they?'

'A gift from the queen.'

'Of course.' Rhaenys says and her eyes suddenly grow cold again.

They sit there for a couple of seconds in silence when the door opens and Jon walks in, looking
extremely strayed and in that moment he feels like her saviour.

'Hey.' He says, almost stupidly, and he seems incredibly relieved to see her.

'Jon.' Rhaenys simply says, as if she wants to acknowledge that she knows who he is.

Daenerys looks at him and there is an excitement in her eyes that Sansa did not expect her to be
capable of, 'Dany!'

He only sees her after a couple of seconds during which he's checking Sansa and he seems happy to
see his younger-than-him-aunt. He walks over to her and kisses her cheek. She smiles at him too, it
may be the first time she smiles, she has a pretty smile, all Targaryens do apparently, 'You look
well!'

Sansa frowns. Jon is supposed to be a bad liar and he cannot possibly believe she looks well. Sansa
hopes he’s lying because if he's not she doesn't want to know what Daenerys may look like when
she is unwell. Maybe he's only a bad liar to Sansa.

'Thank you.'

Sansa looks at them and tries not to press her lips together. She's not sure what it is she doesn't like,
Daenerys on her own, the fact that Jon likes it so much to see her or Jon liking any woman who is
not Sansa, even when it's his aunt, who seems to like him back and is blindingly beautiful as well
as of Sansa's age.

She knows there is something she does not like and it has everything to do with the king's sister.
She's weird, not like all the Targaryens who are a bit odd, just weird, extraordinary in an
uncomfortable way.

Rhaenys gestures to him that she wants him to sit down.

Sansa hopes he can see the plea in her eyes and she presumes he can because he sits down next to
her and pecks the top of her head. She feels the urge to drop her head on his shoulder and hide in
his arms but can easily contain it when Rhaenys continues her small talk.

'We were just discussing the tournament.'

Sansa was under the impression that they left that subject for some time now but she's happy to go
back there if it means she won't have to think about how to properly shape her future brood.

'Yes.' Jon just says, 'Is that why you wanted me to come here?'

'Of course not.' Rhaenys says simply but she doesn't explain why she did ask him to come, ‘I’m
glad you are here, I expect you to stay for as long as you need to.’

‘As long as we need to?’

‘Oh yes, you know I will tell you when that happens.’
Sansa feels confused and Jon looks positively angry now. For the first time that day Sansa can
actually feel Daenerys’s eyes on her, as if Jon’s aunt expects her to stop it, do something about it.
Sansa wouldn't dare, she knows better than that.

‘Was it your idea to make me joust in that tourney?’

‘Gods no, I’m afraid you won't be able to blame me for that, and you will actually have to do it too,
poor you.’

'I need to find myself some armour first.'

'I'm sure that won't be much of a problem.' Rhaenys says and she moves her hand to squeeze
Daenerys' shoulder, 'You look tired, perhaps you should retreat, take a moment to rest, the next
couple of days will be exhausting for you.'

Daenerys doesn't seem very eager to leave but everyone knows Rheanys' suggestion was never a
suggestion so she gets up, makes a proper curtsy and leaves the room.

'Poor Dany,' Rhaenys sighs once the door falls shut behind her, 'She was always in love with you.'

'Don't be ridiculous.'

Rhaenys looks at him, almost offended, 'You're being ridiculous for telling me I am.'

Sansa suddenly realises why she doesn't like Daenerys and she wonders if she now finally
understands what her mother means when she says that 'women simply see some things men don't'.

'She is our aunt.' Jon says and he looks at Rhaenys and it seems like the mere sight of her tires him.

'And a trueborn, full-blooded Targaryen, can you imagine.' She shakes her head and smiles at
Sansa as if what she just said is not at all uncomfortable, 'I didn't invite you here to discuss
unanswered feelings.'

'I'd be disappointed in you if you did.'

Rhaenys ignores that comment and then changes the subject entirely, 'I suggest we tell every
person who asks or wonders that you are both here because I personally invited you.'

'Why would we do that?' She can tell Jon has trouble keeping his voice down, she has hardly ever
seen him this annoyed.

'Because nobody needs to know why you are truly here.'

'And why are we truly here?'

'If you'd not know the answer to that question you wouldn't be sitting here, but then, it is one of
your fortes to ask stupid questions.'

'Stupid questions?'

‘Questions you can answer yourself, I mean.'

'Why do you always have to do that?'

Rhaenys finally loses her armour of self-control and rolls her eyes at him, 'Do what, Jon?'
Sansa feels completely out of place suddenly and it has been a long time ago since she last saw her
husband look this tense, 'Pretend like you're all mysterious and give vague answers to to all my
questions.'

'You can answer your own questions. The only reason you're asking them is because you need a
simple confirmation and you do know how much I hate simplicity.’

'I don't need confirmation,' Jon says and he leans forward, 'You send me a letter that tells me we
are threatened by lions, somewhat force me to leave my home, travel to this place of shit and then
you propose to lie to everyone about the purpose of this visit and demand me to stay as long as it
pleases you. I don't need a confirmation, I need an explanation.’

Sansa frowns and suddenly feels extremely confused. When did Rhaenys ever force them to come?
She is still under the impression that Jon wanted to come here, that he is the one who made the
decision for them. And when did she demand they’ll stay for as long as she wants them to?

Rhaenys narrows her eyes but doesn't move away from him, instead she stares right back and
declares, 'The queen forms a threat, not just to me, to Aegon and our father too.'

'I don't understand what that has to do with me.' Jon says and the way the both of them look at each
other confirms something Sansa has not for a moment before believed to be true, she doubted it
ever since she saw them both that day in Winterfell's courtyard, when she was still a maid. Jon and
Rhaenys are as much brother and sister as siblings can be.

'You know,' Rhaenys says, 'You know or else you wouldn't be here Jon,' her voice sounds
pleadingly now, 'You are in danger too.'

'Am I?'

When Rhaenys nods at Sansa she not only reminds Jon of her presence, Sansa feels suddenly very
aware of herself too, 'And so is she.'

'Is she?' If there is a Targaryen in him, it's coming out right now, ‘If you want to tell people that I
am here because of this damned wedding then why didn't you actually just do that; invite me for
the wedding?’

She raises an eyebrow in amused mockery, ‘As if you would’ve travelled all the way to the capital
if I'd done that.’ She shakes her head, ‘Besides, I'm not the sort of person to invite people for a
wedding and then make them find out later on that it is not going to be one great party after all.’

Jon doesn't tell her she's wrong, Sansa knows she's right. She can actually remember Jon telling her
about the engagement and adding that he hoped his father wouldn't make him come to be present at
the ceremony. Now he is here anyway, and his father didn't even force him.

‘Why are we in danger?’ Sansa asks.

Jon looks at her with a look on his face that she can't quite make out, ‘The Lannisters don't like us
very much.. They don't like Rhaenys, or Aegon.’

‘They don't like us one bit.’ Rhaenys ads and Jon angrily glares at her.

‘What does that have to do with me?’

‘Nothing.’ Jon says, ‘They simply can't be trusted, you don't have to worry.’
Sansa wonders if he actually expects her to believe that.

Rhaenys looks at Sansa suddenly and Sansa feels like she is calculating something which makes
her feel awfully uneasy. Her eyes are worse than the many comments about danger, especially
worse than what she said about Daenerys, 'We need to discuss the tournament.'

Jon finally leans back in his chair again and sighs, 'What about the damn tournament?'

'You'll have to participate, wether you'll like it or not.' She raises her cup to her lips and takes a sip.

'I'm aware of that.'

'You have to get out of it as soon as you can.' Rhaenys says, 'Drop off your horse, pretend you're
shoulder is dislocated again, it doesn't matter, just don't give yourself the opportunity to get
properly hurt.'

'I can't fake a dislocated shoulder.' Jon spits at her.

'Then fake something else, I don't care, as long as you don't get speared.'

He raises an eyebrow at her, 'You're lucky that I know you well, else I'd think you're worried about
me.'

'Not you in particular.' Rhaenys admits and the look in both their eyes makes Sansa shiver.

'I could fake a headache.' Jon says.

'I don't care, just loose, it can't be too difficult.'

'Is this about the tournament of Harrenhall?' Both Rhaenys and Jon look at her in surprise, as if
they'd both forgotten she is still there, hearing everything they are saying.

'What do you mean?' Rhaenys asks, Sansa believes she tries to hide her annoyance but somewhat
fails.

'Nevermind.'

'It's not about the tournament of Harrenhall.' Jon says and he tries to sound reassuring even though
she knows he still doesn't really understand why she brought that up.

'With you father, I mean, what happened, after what the queen said-'

'No.' Rhaenys says, 'No it has nothing to do with the tournament of Harrenhall.'

'I don't understand.' Sansa says.

'You don't have to, we don't always need to understand everything.'

Jon glares at Rhaenys again and then presses a smile on his face when he looks at Sansa, he places
his hand on the back of her chair and says, 'Rhaenys doesn't want to insult people, a baseborn is
usually not allowed to harm princes.'

Sansa understands that, she knows that, septa Mordane taught her, she nods and looks at Rhaenys
again, 'It was very kind of you to send us your condolences.'

'They were sincere.' Rhaenys repeats again and it's as if it is important to her that they believe her
when she says it. Sansa wishes Jon could believe that but she doubts he can and after some time in
Rhaenys' company she starts to understand why.

'It was one of your finest letters.' Jon says, he still has his hand on the back of her chair.

'I expect you burned it.'

'I did.'

'Good.' Rhaenys looks at the trays of food in front of her, 'I was told you like lemoncakes, perhaps
you should have some?' She picks up the silver tray and holds it out to Sansa.

'How do you know that?' Sansa asks, eying the tray in front of her nose.

'Rhaenys knows everything.' Jon snorts.

'If only that were true.'

'I don't want lemoncake, thank you.' Sansa says.

'Please, it's very good, I ordered it especially for you when I knew you were coming.'

'That's very kind but I'm not hungry.'

'You don't need to be hungry to have lemoncake.' Rhaenys says.

'Another time perhaps.'

'I insist.'

Jon pushed the tray away with his hand and Rhaenys almost drops it, 'She says no.'

The gleam of purple in Rhaenys’ eyes suddenly seems to brighten and Sansa knows she feels
insulted, 'Another time then.' She drops the tray loudly back on the table and Sansa feels her cheeks
redden.

'I have lost my appetite for them.' She says quickly, 'I ate too much of it when your family visited
my home but I do appreciate the gesture very much.'

'I can understand that.' Rhaenys says, 'They are so sugary.'

Sansa smiles at the both of them in the hope to calm some nerves, 'You are being ever so kind, all
of you, I feel very welcome.'

'Good.' Rhaenys smiles again while Jon continues to eye her and she continues to ignore that, 'It is
all I want.'

'I can imagine all the arrangements for the wedding must be tiring.'

'They are.' Rhaenys admits, 'You can't expect the Lannisters to participate, I suspect they are
dreading it.'

'Don't they always.' Jon says.

Rhaenys takes a piece of lemon cake and pops it in her mouth while she looks at the both of them,
one by one, until she gulps it down, 'I can assume father invited the both of you to dinner?'
'You can.' Jon says and Sansa looks sideways at him to get some extra confirmation.

'You can meet our uncle Viserys.' Rhaenys tells Sansa, 'You won't like him very much I’m afraid,
no one does.'

‘You can't just say that.’ Jon says.

‘Can't I? I believe I just did.’ She looks at Sansa, her eyebrows raised, ‘I have a tendency of saying
the things everyone else is thinking.’

‘Yes, you're awfully brave.’ Jon says.

‘I wouldn't call it brave.’ Rhaenys says before taking a sip from her tea.

‘It's not.’

Rhaenys puts her tea cup down and leans back a little, though she doesn't loose the elegance in her
demeanor and Sansa can do nothing but be impressed by that, ‘How would you call it, Jon?’

Jon doesn't respond.

Rhaenys turns to Sansa again and tells her, ‘You see, when a Targaryen is born the Gods toss a
coin up in the air-’ She makes a movement with her hand as she throws a coin up, ‘-and the world
holds its breath to see how it will land. Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin.
There is a taint in the blood of the dragon, Targaryens have always danced close to insanity. I'm
afraid my uncle is an unfortunate man.’ She moves her eyes to her plate and takes another sip from
her tea before she adds, ‘He’s mad.’

'So I've been told.' Sansa says.

Rhaenys looks at Jon for a second and keeps on doing so when she asks, 'How much are you told
exactly?'

'I couldn't tell you.’ Sansa says, ‘One cannot be aware of things they are unaware of. I can only
hope I know enough.'

Rhaenys never stops looking at Sansa when she tells Jon, 'Your wife is clever, far too clever for her
own good.'

'He did tell me that.' Sansa says and when Rhaenys smiles she thinks it must be the first true smile
she has ever seen on Jon's sister's face.

Jon

‘You protect her too much.’ Rhaenys says the moment Sansa’s gone.

‘How do you know?’

‘I'm not blind, dear brother.’

‘I don't need your advice.’

‘You don't know what you need.’

‘You told me to guide my door with dragons and wolves.’

She lifts up a finger, ‘I told your wife to guide her door with dragons and wolves.’

Jon rolls his eyes, ‘Sansa's door is my door.’

‘I would call that very lovely and gallant of you if I were a romantic.’

‘You are not.’

‘I have been called many things but romantic is not among them.’ A fake wide smile spreads
across her face when she mocks him, ‘You can be the romantic for the both of us.’

‘Just tell me what it meant.’

‘I'm not explaining that, if you can't make it out on your own it's simply not worth explaining.’

‘I don't need dragons to guide my door.’ He decides.

‘You don't know what you need.’ She says again.

‘But you do?’

‘You're half wolf, half dragon, who else should you-‘

‘I'm not half dragon.’ He cuts of her off, ‘If you think so you're mistaken.’

She only smiles at him in that way he hates.

‘I don't want to get involved in your feud with Cersei.’

‘Feud! You really have been gone for quite some time.’

‘I mean it Rhaenys,’ he says, ‘Don't drag me into this, I don't want nothing to do with it.’

‘Do you think I want anything to do with it? That is life Jon Snow, we have to concern ourselves
with matters we’d rather-‘

‘Don't tell me what life is, stop acting as if you know things I don't know, stop pretending like you
are all-‘

‘You do know nothing, dear brother.’ She says, ‘The only thing you know is that you don't know.’

‘I am not you dear brother.’ He gets up and moves over to the door.

‘Perhaps not.’ She says, not at all hurt by the comment.

‘If you ever tell Sansa that she's in danger again you can forget all about my support.’ He says
before he opens the door.

‘What makes you think I need your support?’

‘Why else would I be here?’

‘Because you need my support.’ She says and he gives her one last glare before he leaves and
aggressively shuts the door.
Chapter End Notes

I've decided to start updating twice a week because this fic is going to have a whole lot
more chapters than I originally planned (whoops) and I'm currently writing chapter 26,
so I think I have plenty of head start. Also, in case this goes even more out of hand I
really want to finish it before season 7 starts because that season will probably be the
end of me.

So yeah, new update days are sunday as usual and wednesday I think. So see you this
Wednesday and as always please let me know what you think! X
 A Sacred Vow
Chapter Summary

Rhaenys and Jon have at least one thing in common; they are both good storytellers.
Sansa doesn't necessarily always knows what Rhaenys is talking about, but that doesn't
make it all less entertaining.

Chapter Notes

Pretty long chapter this time, originally it had 10,000 words! Brought that down a
little, thankfully.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Sansa

Just when Sansa believes she has seen the worst of the Targaryens, she meets Viserys.

It is obvious how he looks down on her and he openly insults Northern traditions and makes some
embarrassing and rude comments about the way she dresses that make Sansa feel like crying. Then
he starts a rant about the advantages of slavery in the free cities, complaints to Rhaenys about the
rooms they gave him because his old rooms belong to her now, starts a lecture about some vague
new religion he is intrigued with (which seems to surprise no one), yells at Daenerys once about
something Sansa doesn't quite understand and is as rude to the servants as Sansa has ever seen a
man be rude to servants.

‘My uncle has neglected the faith of the Seven.’ Rhaenys says as she leans towards Sansa so no
one can hear, ‘Apparently, a foreign priestess converted him.’

‘A foreign priestess?’

‘Yes, a new religion of fire and one lord. Can you imagine? One God? Who ever believes there is
only one God? He has lost it.’

Sansa just stares at Viserys for a second as Rhaenys moves away.

‘One fire god.’ She mutters, shaking her head in disbelieve, ‘As insane as the Ironborn.’

Sansa looks sideways at Jon in the hope he heard all of that but he only stares down into his almost
empty cup.

Viserys looks like a true Targaryen, more than Rhaenys and Aegon, especially more than Jon, but
much like his sister, and betrothed, Daenerys.

Sansa doesn't understand why they all have to dine together, nobody wants to be there, except for
maybe Joffrey and Myrcella, the former because he seems to enjoy discomfort and the latter
because she finds all these different people together in a room terribly interesting, or so it seems.
Sansa wants to listen to the different conversations that all pass by but as she sits between Rhaenys
and her extremely tense and agitated husband she can't stop focusing on Jon’s clenched jaw, the
plate of lemon cakes in front of her nose, the clicking of Rhaenys’ heel under the table and the
singer in the corner who keeps dedicating songs to the warrior.

Rhaenys and Jon have at least one thing in common; they are both good storytellers. Sansa doesn't
necessarily always know what Rhaenys is talking about, but that doesn't make it all less
entertaining.

‘My family from Dorne is coming for the wedding, I’m terribly fond of both my mother’s brothers,
but the elder never leaves the Water Gardens, so it’s only Uncle Oberyn.’ She says and there’s and
excited glitter in the extraordinary beautiful deep color of her eyes that makes her seem so much
more human, suddenly.

’One could argue there is no such thing as ‘only uncle Oberyn’.’ Rhaegar says and Sansa notices
the way Rhaenys bats her eyelashes at him, takes a sip from her pomegranate wine and returns to
her smiling with no proper response, as if her father’s words were never spoken.

‘Have you ever been to Dorne, lady Stark?’

‘No, I'd never left the North before I came here.’ Sansa says and she hurriedly adds, ‘But I’d love
to go there sometime.’

‘If this is your first time below the neck I believe you'd better visit other places first before you set
a foot in Dorne.’ Rhaenys says and again Sansa doesn't quite understand why she says that but she
doesn't believe it's meant to be mean.

Rhaenys watches Viserys for a second and then says, leaning closer to Sansa, so only she can hear,
‘I never understood why people always say family is more important than friends, you can avoid
your friends, have you ever tried to avoid your family? It is a real test, I'd say impossible.’

‘W-why would you want to avoid your family, my princess?’

Rhaenys raises an eyebrow at her, ‘I’m vastly confident that you'll understand exactly why by the
end of this very week.’

‘Rhaenys stop being clever.’ Jon tells her through his gritted teeth.

‘Perhaps you should try being clever once, that might be entertaining.’ It would be funny if she
didn't actually mean it and Sansa presses her lips together.

Jon and Rhaenys both watch Viserys for a moment during which they say very little and then Jon
whispers to his sister, ‘Is there any way to shut him up?’

Rhaenys grins, ‘I could look into it, perhaps we can behead him.’ then she sighs and shakes her
head and tells Sansa, ‘The endless talking is very overrated.’

'He's very good at pretending he knows everything about everything without being an expert on
anything.’ Jon says and Sansa frowns at the choice of words.

‘Oh well,’ Rhaenys shrugs, ‘I cannot blame him for that, it has never stopped me before.’

‘Still, his small talk is very small.’ No one can accuse Rhaenys of being bad at small talk, Sansa
thinks.
Rhaenys snorts, ‘I really don't believe I could stand a poet in the family.’

They both snigger at that and Sansa watches them in astonishment. As much as she is glad they are
bonding, she's not sure if she likes it they're bonding over a mutual hatred for their uncle, that
seems rather wrong.

‘Aren't you hungry, little dove?’ Cersei asks at one point, ‘You have barely eaten a thing.’

‘What?’ She looks at the queen and feels all the eyes on her burn her skin, when did they all stop
talking? ‘N-no thank you, your grace, I seem to have lost my appetite.’

‘Most people do when they dine in this room.’ Aegon says and he smiles at his father, who glares
at him, as if he’s defying the king.

‘You don't like the food?’ Cersei asks.

‘She said she does not have an appetite.’ Rhaegar says, without looking at his wife. Sansa figures
he does that a lot, talk to people without looking them in the eye, especially with Jon, he can never
look at Jon.

‘I like the food very much, thank you, your grace.’

‘You look a little tired, little dove.’ The queen says.

‘We have travelled for over a moon’s turn.’ Jon says, ‘Anyone would look a little tired- and don't
call her little dove.’

Cersei narrows her eyes, ‘In that case I phrased myself incorrectly, or perhaps you
misunderstood...’ There's a nasty little smile across her lips, ‘Your wife looks drained.’

Jon opens her mouth but Rhaenys doesn't give him the opportunity, ‘Sansa dear, if I may give you
one good piece of advice... At court, the number one rule is to never complain nor explain.’

Aegon laughs but everyone else either frowns or looks uncomfortable.

‘I feel perfectly alright.’ Sansa says, her voice too soft.

'That's not a very moral advice.’ The king tells his eldest daughter.

Rhaenys smiles at her father, ‘Don't let the High Septon hear you say that, he thrives on
immorality.’

Aegon is again the only one who laughs.

‘Perhaps she’s bored.’ Joffrey says and he eyes Sansa. She has thought of him very little after he
left Winterfell. He has not smiled at her, not once, not like he used to do when he was her father’s
visitor. All he does is glare and Sansa suddenly feels a little guilty. He was attacked by Arya’s wolf
and she had never cared to ask how he was doing, if his arm properly healed. That was terribly
impolite of her, no wonder he dislikes her now.

‘I am not bored.’ She insists and she can’t help but play with the end of her braid as she goes on,
‘A little weary, perhaps, you must forgive me if my behavior is objectionable to you, I did not
mean to.’

‘No,’ Cersei says, ‘Not objectionable at all.’

'You look bored though, or is this just how you always look?' Joffrey’s face is red when he looks at
her and it makes her feel as if he’s about to attack her and pull her hair out.

Sansa sees Jon grab his knife in his fist but Rhaenys speaks first again, 'Joffrey, shut up.'

'Yes, Joff, shut your shitty mouth.' Jon says, louder than Rhaenys, who frowns sideways at him.

Sansa feels her face heat up as Joffrey glares at both Jon and Rhaenys, 'You can't talk to me like
that!'

'Is that a challenge?' Rhaenys asks and Sansa swears she can see a smile around her lips, 'I don't
mean to be rude but I truly can't believe you have the vocabulary to match mine.'

'You always mean to be rude!' Joffrey yells.

'That's rich.' Jon tells him, 'I think you're the rudest little loon I've ever met.'

'Here's one thing that will never be up for debate.' Rhaenys says and she leans back, a clear smile
on her face now, as if Joffrey's red and angry face is amusing to her.

Aegon is broadly grinning as he looks from one person to another and as Joffrey breathes in to
respond Rhaegar slams his fist on the table, so hard the table shudders and Sansa feels the urge to
roll up like a ball. Jon stiffens, Aegon stops laughing, Joffrey pouts and Rhaenys removes her
smile.

'That is enough!' The king glares at his fighting brood and when Joffrey opens his mouth to speak
Rhaegar cuts him off again, 'Not one more word, don't you dare!'

'He said I had to shut my shitty mouth!' Joffrey turns to look at Cersei for support, but Cersei only
pouts the same way he does and then Aegon starts sniggering again and Myrcella hides her giggle
behind her hand.

'What part exactly don't you understand about not one more word?' Rhaegar asks, 'Is it so hard for
you to behave for a change?'

'Forgive me, father.' Rhaenys says calmly but Rhaegar ignores her apology.

Sansa takes a sip from her cup and closes her eyes for as long as she believes she can. She’s not
necessarily tired, it’s energy that she lacks but it can't be helped by sleeping. She feels restless and
uncomfortable and the heavy smell of the spiced food makes her feel lightheaded.

They are all fascinating, one by one. Viserys, with his long face and lilac eyes. He constantly looks
at Daenerys, as if he’s checking on her, but not in a good way, not the way Jon checks on Sansa, it
is not because he wants to make sure she is alright.

'Sansa, your mother must be so sad you left, with both her daughters gone now.' Rhaenys breaks the
silence and Sansa looks at Jon to see if it's save to answer but he's too busy glaring at Joffrey so she
clears her throat and nods.

'A little, but she understands why I had to go. My place is with my husband.'

Rhaenys plasters a wide smile on her face, 'Naturally!'

'My brothers are all with her still, she's not alone.'

'Well, I'm sure that must be a consultation price.'

'I thought you were supposed to stay in Winterfell? I thought you'd stay there, everyone was happy
to never have to see your face again.' Joffrey tells Jon.

'Father told you to not speak one more word, are you disobeying him or have you already
forgotten?' Rhaenys asks, and the look in her eyes is one of plain hatred. Though she tells Joffrey to
keep his words to himself, she doesn't deny what he says, no one does, and it makes Sansa feel sick
to the stomach. The thought of Jon's family telling him they were happy to be rid of him makes her
feel the urge to cry and she wishes she could grab his hand.

'You-'

Jofrrey gets interrupted by Aegon, 'We don't want too many Starks in the capital, apparently, they
melt in the South, would be one humid Red Keep.'

Just when Jon opens his mouth to respond Viserys throws some soup in a servant’s face, 'This is
cold! I can't have cold soup, I am a dragon!'

‘Viserys!’

Sansa shrieks again at the bellow of the King. Everyone sitting at the dining table falls silent and
stares.

Sansa feels cold at the sound of the king’s voice, as if it goes through her skin and finds her bones.
Viserys leans back all red-faced and angry.

Rhaegar's head is not as red as everyone else's, but his eyes... his eyes are shooting fire bolts and
the glare he gives Viserys is mayhaps the most terrifying thing she has ever seen, 'Bring the soup
away.' He demands, his voice as calm as the steadiest river, then he turns to look at Cersei and with
the same voice he tells her, 'And tell your son to behave.'

Tommen looks as scared at Sansa feels as Myrcella leans forward to see what's happening,
Rhaenys hides her face behind her hand, Jon stares into his cup and Aegon looks at the ceiling.
This is truly the most awkward of dinners Sansa has ever been part of and she wonders how many
more she'll have to live through.

'Joffrey dear, we must be pleasant to our guests, what must your brother's lady wife think of us?'

Rhaenys doesn't put any effort in hiding her eye roll and Aegon gives her a look that Sansa
describes as a warning, as if he's telling her to keep whatever she wants to say in.

'What's unpleasant about the truth?' Joffrey wonders.

'Nothing in the whole wide world is as unpleasant as the truth.' Aegon mutters.

'Headaches are unpleasant and you're all giving me one.' The king tells his sons and Sansa wonders
how much Rhaegar hates it to have so many of them. Four. Four sons and all but the youngest are
glaring at each other. Tommen is probably his favorite.

Rhaenys leans over towards Sansa again and this time whispers, ‘The second most important
advice is to always smile, nod and approve. Never give anyone the impression that you disagree
with whatever it is they're doing.’

Again, Sansa would laugh at what Rhaenys says if she was actually joking.

Daenerys looks at her food, at Rhaenys and sometimes at Jon but never says a thing, not one word.
Jon should be careful not to get drunk, he’s drinking more than he usually does but she doesn’t feel
like she has an opportunity to tell him.

Strangely it is the king who keeps saving her from the queen’s endless questions, Viserys’ rudeness
and Aegon’s skeptical comments.

‘Let the girl be.’

She doesn't quite understand why he does it, she never believed he liked her much, he never talked
to her, never smiled or even looked at her for longer than the time it takes a king to nod at a lady.

The Targaryens fascinate her as much as they anger her, all of them. Growing up at Winterfell she
learned some things about fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters. What she encounters at the red
keep is worse than what she saw of it when they were all at Winterfell, it is much worse.

Family are people that are supposed to love you unconditionally, Jon's family does not even seem
to love each other conditionally.

When she lays in bed that night and he comes in he is drunk. She wants to be irritated, but she can't
be.

She wants to call him her poor sweetheart and wrap her arms around his shoulders, pull his head
close to her chest and hold him like a child. That is, however, not what he wants from her.

‘Sansa…’ he says, tugging on her nightgown after he lays down next to her, still fully clothed,
‘Sansa you’re so perfect…’

‘What? Jon don't...’

She turns on her back and wants to push him away but he tries to reach for her so he can tickle her
and she squeals while they frolic and he laughs. She loves that, she feels young and happy when
they do that, she loves it most how he is clearly so much stronger and still lets her win sometimes.
He lets her cheat by using both her hands, pulling on his hair, kicking with her legs and it will only
make him laugh.

'You're a sweet little dumpling.’ He groans and she pretends to be offended as she kicks him in his
sacred parts.

‘Take that back!’

‘No, never.’

She tries to kick him again but he grabs her foot and just laughs.

‘Sorry, sorry… Sorry!’

He moves to lay over her but she pushes him away, too gently perhaps, and that is on purpose, 'I
think you’ve been drinking a little bit too much.’ She says, cupping his face between her hands.

‘Have I? No I haven't.’

She giggles, ‘Yes… You’re drunk.’

‘Am I? Yes I am.’

She giggles some more and he moves her nightgown up so he can place some openmouthed kisses
to her thigh.

She sighs in contentment and moves her leg up to give him better access, places it on his shoulder,
‘I wanted to tell you to stop but you seemed to need it.’

‘I don't need anything.’

‘You don't?’

‘Just a great deal of self-control and you.’

She smirks, ‘Me?’

‘You.’ He repeats, ‘I really need to fuck you.’

She places her hands in front of her face, ‘Jon! Don't say that.’

‘It's true.’

‘You don't have to say it.’ He never really says it, perhaps he lost some of his self-control. She
definitely rather has him lose it in their bedroom than in that dining room with these people.

‘I really do.’ He smirks, ‘I really love it how you’re all embarrassed when I say that.’

She kicks him with the leg he still holds, his hand wrapped around her calve, and he laughs, ‘Stop
it! don't laugh at me!’

He just laughs some more, ‘I don't laugh at you! I never do.’

She grabs his tunic in her hand and pulls him towards her, ‘How am I supposed to believe that?’

He’s still smirking, ‘I'm just laughing because you make me happy.’

She knows she does, he makes her happy too, he has never said it like this before, he never says
things like that, ‘I’m glad.’

He moves away from her and turns her around somehow, down in the bed before he moves over
her and whispered in her ear, tugging on her hair, ‘Can I fuck you now?’

‘Please.’ She says and she gasps when he enters and moans without trying to hush herself. She tries
to move with him but it's impossible, he’s drunk and there’s no rhythm in his thrusts the way there
usually is, it’s sloppy and rough and she loves it. He’s saying all sorts of things, things that make
her bite her lip and moan and pull his hair, dig her nails in his muscles, so deep she knows it must
hurt.

She tells him to go deeper and he does, filling her up as much as he can and she sighs in content,
it’s a good ache, one that makes her eyes roll back in her skull, an ache that soothes her longing and
resembles the incontrollable need she feels in his touch.

'You’re so pretty.’

‘You don't have to say that right now.’

‘I want to.’ He says, ‘I want you.’

She wants to tell him she wants him too but every thought blinks and she can do very little but gasp,
writhe and pant.

There is no gentleness in his hands, he’s clumsy and gawky yet not at all awkward. It's obscene,
how good he feels, his body meeting hers. They should make love like this more often, she
decides, she really should let him fuck her as much as she wants him to, it makes her feel like a
woman, not at all proper, not well-behaved, hardly a lady, but a woman. It makes her feel beautiful,
wanted, desired and powerful, not like men want to feel powerful, not like that, a different sort of
power. It makes her feel like she has the power to be whatever she wants to be.

Sansa tries to keep her eyes open as she touches, feels, pulls, kisses, nips, teases, caresses, holds
and lets go.

It's all as amorous as always, but rousing and steamy and so titillating. Everything is lascivious,
lecherous and raw. Mostly it's real and it feels right.

‘Are you good?’

‘I'm alright. It's good.’ She feels his breath against her lips before she sucks on his lower one and
she tries to memorize the grin on his face because it may be his most handsome one yet.

What Sansa likes most about this is that she has started feeling like they are moving together, as
one person, one body, one mind. Together.

‘I'm glad you’re my wife.’ He says afterwards when she's sprawled across him, her eyes