#jonsa 100 drabble challenge

[fedonciadale]

A thousand eyes and one - II - Frail

I was tagged for the Jonsa100 drabble challenge by @flibbertigiblet with the prompt ‘frail’ and I decided to continue with my idea that Bran is not Bran but creepy Bloodraven and Jon and Sansa plan to get their Bran back....

I tag @jen-snow with the prompt ‘childhood’.

Also on AO3.

Jon returned in spring. Sansa made a show of greeting him with a visible frown and chided him that the Watch had not been sparing enough with the supplies.

Jon looked contrite and explained, that an unusual amount of rat and mice had plagued the Free Folk and plundered their supplies.

“We didn’t want them to starve,” he said.

That raised some murmurs from Northern Lords who had no love for the Free folk.

Sansa raised her hand, and they grew silent.

She looked around. “Hungry people are dangerous. Remember, my lords, that we do not want a war.”

She did not dare to even look Jon’s way her mind reeling with questions that haunted her. Sansa suppressed a shudder.

Is he behind that? Is he after First men’s blood in the Free folk? Does he want to annihilate them? Or is this happenstance?

She often wondered, why she and Jon were still alive. Her mind told her, that Bloodraven wanted to play with them or that he was not yet ready to take them out and let the North slide into chaos. Her stupid heart told her otherwise. Her hope told her that Bran was still there, somewhere, deep down. She could not help herself. As often as she stamped on her hope, it raised its head again.

Sansa did only ask after Tormund after Lord Royce had commented on his absence. It would not be good to draw too much attention to his absence.

“Tormund started a journey in the middle of winter to get food for his people,” Jon answered and shrugged as if he did not really care. “Crazy mission.”

Sansa hoped that Tormund’s luck would not run out. That the loud man and his fire kissed hair was not important enough to be worth Bloodraven’s time. That he would find Arya. We cannot hope to do this alone.

----

As usual they met on moonless nights and planned, hatching their plans only by trading hushed words from mouth to ear.

“Ghost is mine”, Jon whispered, his lips touching Sansa’s earlobe, “at least as long as I warg him. It should be safe, if you try with Ghost.”

They had the shadow of a plan, a risky plan, but better that than just accepting their fate. But the fear was a constant companion to Sansa.

“But what if I succeed in warging Ghost and he enters later and realises it? If he can feel a remainder, an echo of my presence. Won’t he become suspicious?”

“Suspicion is his nature. He is already suspicious. Remember we want him suspicious.”

“But not yet. What if Tormund never finds Arya.”

“Sansa,” Jon bent towards her and kissed her cheek, light like a feather. “I won’t tell you to not be afraid, because I am afraid. All the time.”

Sansa could feel her eyes beginning to swim. She pressed Jon’s hand.

“It is worse than the Walkers,” she whispered. “The Walkers would just have taken my body. He…. “

She stopped, willing her lover to understand her.

If he wargs a person, what happens? Would I be condemned to silence to be a watcher of what Bloodraven does with me? Would I still own my mind, my soul?

Somehow, she doubted that.

“I held on to myself, although they wanted to make me a Lannister, a Bolton, Littlefinger wanted to make me his. It drives me mad, the fear, that I might lose myself, that I might become just a vessel.”

“We don’t know that.”

“I know, we share this fear.”

Jon stayed silent for a time. Then he pressed her hand.

Sansa raised her other hand to her face and angrily rubbed her tears away. When she was with Jon, she wanted to share her fears, but she also wanted to forget about them to bask in the light of his love, to get the strength she needed and give Jon some strength in return.

Jon sensed her mood, he kissed the tears that hung to her lashes away and they held each other and made love until Sansa could feel a glow in her chest that warmed her. She didn’t know how it happened, but when she was with Jon at one point, she would shed her fear, her stress, her grief and would be alive in the moment, an all too short bliss that kept her going.

---

The next morning, she heard claws scraping against her door. Ghost stood in front of the door, his right paw tapped on her right foot. Three times, then twice on her left. But Sansa knew already that Jon had warged into the wolf.

“Did your master let you roam the castle again,” she chided the wolf, just in case some servant would listen. There was no heat in her voice though, and Ghost opened his mouth, letting his tongue loll as if he was eager. Sansa led Ghost inside and sat down by the fire the maid had started against the morning cold.

Sansa inhaled deeply trying to rule her fear and her worries. She had to train, and Ghost was the best option. She remembered the times she had felt a vague kinship and an understanding for her cat. She plunged into Ghost as if jumping into a pool of icy water.

She thought she felt Jon, tugging at her, drawing her in and, suddenly, she could see herself, sitting in her chair, some of the fire’s light reflecting in her hair. She almost was overwhelmed by the sudden impact of smells that reached her. She also felt something like wonder at the woman that sat at the fire, at her beauty and her courage. She was puzzled about that, until she realised that Jon was still in Ghost as well and that it was his feelings that brushed her mind.

It worked. It worked. We can share warging.

The rush of excitement hit her so hard, that she was driven out of Ghost. She was in her body again, looking at her hands.

She bent down to Ghost and petted the wolf, rubbing his ears.

“Septon Barth wrote that this needs training,” she risked whispering. Then she stood and opened the door.

“Jon really should not let you wander about,” she said loudly even before she saw the dark-haired maid that approached her door with a basin with water that steamed.

She knew Maggy, and was not particularly suspicious about her, but she was glad that she had not let her guard down.

While she let the maid help her with getting up and dressing, she felt strange, as is she was not fully in her body. It took her a while to name her feeling, because it had been so long ago, that she had felt it, really felt it.

As thin and frail as the steam that rose from the hot water. But it was there. Stronger than just hope. A tiny shred of confidence.

[aroanehring]

Hi, jonsa family~~!!

Someone could say me where I can find the Jonsa 100 drabble challenge prompts? Thank you~~ 😘😘

[flibbertigiblet]

Mythology AU, Pygmalion and Galatea

There were no preliminary studies required, no charcoal sketches, no model had needed to come into his studio to pose. As soon as Jon had laid eyes on the marble, he had known what he must do. 

He had undertaken the task immediately; with hammer and chisel he began to carve life out of formless stone - eyes, ears, nose, chin based on some hazy, yet familiar image in his head. Day and night, he worked with fevered focus, stopping only for the occasional meal and a few fitful hours of sleep.

This was dedication was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, but there was an urgency here, a sense of purpose. Almost as if there was a fully-realized woman trapped inside the marble, and it was only his duty to set her free. It was a madness that he could not explain, would never say out loud. His feelings for Sansa – for that was her name, and he knew it with the same conviction that he knew his own – ran deeper than an artist’s devotion for his work.

—–

By nature, he was a reticent man (and she, obviously, an inanimate object), but Jon often found himself speaking to Sansa as he sculpted. At first, it was merely murmured commentary on his progress (”an additional fold to your gown here, I think”), but later, he began reminiscing out loud of his childhood in the wintry lands of the North, of the games he used to play with his siblings, of the snow-white wolf pup that had been his unlikely shadow while growing up. Once, when on a whim he had started engraving her name upon her pedestal, he sang a half-remembered ditty that had been his youngest brother’s favorite tune, before he caught himself and stopped, embarrassed, and then amused at his embarrassment. After all, it wasn’t as though he had an audie-

Oh please don’t stop.

Jon froze, eyes darting up to the still-unfinished face above him. There was nothing unusual to see (of course), so he shook his head in exasperation and returned to his work. He supposed he might be slightly delirious. Had he had anything to eat earlier? Or perhaps it was companionship he was starved for, that was all. When was the last time he had set foot outside his studio? He really ought to accept Tormund’s outstanding invitation for a meal and a drink.

He winced as he recalled the aftereffects of the last drink he had shared with his friend.

No. No drinks.

He carved the final “A” in her name, unaware that he was humming underneath his breath.

—–

Jon wondered if he was truly going mad, for he had begun to fancy that Sansa was actually listening to him. Worse – that she was talking back.

He would ask her a question, or for her thoughts on his efforts, and he imagined he could almost hear her responses.

Yes, I like how you’ve made the curl drape over my shoulder, or

Actually, my nose seems a trifle long, Jon, she’d tease.

“Nonsense,” he’d reply out loud, smoothing out the contours of said appendage with a pumice stone. “It is exactly you –” he finished the thought in his head – perfect.

He adjusted its shape anyway. Just a little.

—–

He carved a single rose by her feet, a tribute. 

—–

And then finally, finally, many months after he had first set chisel to marble, he laid down his tools for the last time, knowing instinctively that his work was done. He stepped back to look upon her form – long-limbed and lovely and lithe as the Maiden herself, but human, so achingly human in the details. From the slight creasing around her mouth that suggested an easy tendency to smile, to the roughened pads of her fingers that he had imagined to come from a passion for sewing, so lifelike was her countenance that he was filled with elation and melancholy both. He delighted in her completion even as he grieved in the certainty that he would never again achieve such heights of inspiration. More painful was the realization that he no longer had reason to – to indulge in whatever this strange connection was that he shared with his creation – no! – with Sansa.

Overcome, he clasped her hand and pressed his lips upon the fingers he’d so carefully, lovingly shaped. Immediately he felt like a fool. Loosening his grip, he began to withdraw, only…only suddenly it seemed to him that it was not cold, unyielding stone beneath his touch, but warm, pliant skin. Impossible. And yet –

Pulse racing wildly, he stumbled back and laughed with incredulity as he watched a miracle happen before him – the manifestation of life, true life, and not just the appearance of it. For there was movement, in the rise and fall of her chest, the fluttering of her lashes. And there was color, traveling slowly from her head to her feet, where there had been only the stark whiteness of marble.

Her hair, red as the fire that burned in his heart for her. Her eyes, a luminous blue, turning to meet his gaze. A glow on those pale cheeks, and a sudden flush as she took in his astonishment. And her rosy lips, parting slowly as she drew in her first breath –

He did not dare to believe, to hope.

And yet –

Sansa bent to pick up the flower he had sculpted – soft-petaled and blue now, a true winter rose. She brought it close to her face and inhaled deeply, smiling in pleasure and wonder –

And stepped off her pedestal.

—–

Written for the Jonsa 100 Drabble Challenge. Was tagged by @amymel86 with the the prompt “starved”. Cross-posted on (Hugo Award Winner!) Ao3.

—–

Part of my GoT in Art series

* Original painting is Pygmalion and Galatea by Ernest Normand

[zarahjoyce]

GoT Fic: Amortentia (Jon/Sansa)

Summary: Jon had been in the Great Hall earlier when he saw Sansa sway dangerously to the side; he didn't know how or what urged him to, but next moment he'd rushed to stand behind her just in time to catch her when she fell and--

Now here they were in the Hospital Wing, with Madam Tyrell tucking Sansa into bed and telling him about the cause of her sudden bout of unconsciousness.

"She just needs to sleep the effects off," the witch informed him loftily. "No need for you to miss your afternoon classes, Snow. She'll be fine."

Notes: Hogwarts!AU. Part of the Jonsa 100 Drabble Challenge! For @evenasifall :)

ao3 link!

[fedonciadale]

A Thousand eyes and one - Part III - To hide a secret

So, I was tagged in the Jonsa 100 drabble challenge with the prompt “violent” and that gave me another idea for my Bran is Bloodraven AU.... I tag @darthprongs. I  must admit that this is more than a drabble.... This AU is getting a bit out of hand, but I love writing it, so you can probably expect some more parts in this AU....

Here it is, also on AO3.

The letter would have to be short so as not to raise suspicion. Sansa trusted Maester Wolkan, but Jon did not trust the Maester at Castle Black. He had been sent on the suggestion of Archmaester Sam, but Jon did not know where his former friend stood, or if he even knew the truth.

But she needed to tell Jon. They needed to act sooner than they had planned, maybe even before Arya returned. Sansa had tried to contain her despair for days.

“Shortly after you had left for the wall, merchants from across the Narrow sea visited Winterfell to trade their goods. They brought a root with a fresh smell and taste. They swear this “ginger” helps in cases of the flux, or even the bloody flux. I heard there was a problem amongst the Freefolk this spring. I do hope that you can prevent the spread of this nasty illness in time before it reaches our population in the North. I am surprised that I had to hear about this from a brother of the Night’s watch who passed Winterfell instead of getting a raven by you. I would have expected the Lord Commander to be more diligent in his duty to protect the lands south of the wall.”

Sansa scrutinized the paper. She hoped the tone was just right. Slightly annoyed, a hint of a command, and most of all, not friendly. Friendly would not do.

She wished she had succeeded in warging over long distances. But although she was getting better and trained daily, the Wall was to far away. Her connection to Ghost had broken, when Jon had reached Last Hearth. Sansa sighed. Even if she would manage to warg over this distance, it was not easy to communicate clearly while warging. The mind of wolves, even a clever wolf like Ghost was not meant to hold concepts or plans. It was only feelings, smells, sensations that were on the level of his understanding. Still, what she had to tell Jon might have been possible to convey in Ghost’s images. Instead Sansa would have to trust the code she and Jon had agreed upon.

She checked the wording of the scroll. Her cat looked at her with shimmering eyes and Sansa caught herself just in time. She had thought about what to write the whole night. She did not need to count letters. She had lain in the dark of her chamber and had thought up this message. All true and nobody would suspect that there was a hidden meaning.

Sansa wooed the cat to her side and petted her. She slipped into her mind, ever so lightly, just a brush on the cat’s brain, her touch so feeble, that there was a chance it could look like happenstance, in case it was not just the cat.

She felt an oppressive alertness, that clouded the cat’s mind. Sansa had no doubt that Bloodraven had no problems of mastering an animal’s mind to the patterns of his thoughts. She let her own touch trail away, continuing to pet the cat, letting her even look at the scroll.

Ghost is fully Jon’s but my cat is not fully mine. Is it that Jon is better at warging, or is it that Septon Barth has it right? Wolves, ravens, crows are the easiest? It is no use forcing this anyway. Best just take advantage of the spy.

Sansa stood, scooping up the cat. “Do you want a treat?” It’s not her fault.

The cat purred.

Sansa went all the way to the castle’s kitchen, probing the cat’s mind once more, just shortly before she entered the kitchen. The burden of Bloodraven’s dark presence was still on the animal’s mind.

I wish that monster had something else to do, just once in a while.

The kitchen staff began to buzz with excitement immediately, when their Queen made one of her rare visits. The cook Kira gladly gave the cat some cream. She was known as a quick and good mice catcher and was very popular. For a moment the cat was preoccupied with the cream.

Sansa took the chance. She sauntered along, touching the shelves here and there, and while the cat licked busily and thoroughly at the cream pot, she filched some liquorice twigs into her sleeves.

Stealing from my own kitchen. She could trust Maester Wolkan to make an inconspicuous refill.

Sansa was relieved. She would need the liquorice the next morning at the latest. She turned and saw Maggy from the corner of her eye. Did she see me taking the liquorice? Does she know what it is for?

Sansa remembered that it had been Maggy who had been close when she had first tried to warg Ghost. Is she one of Tyrion’s?

Best not take any chances.

-----

She rarely walked the godswood nowadays. She had lost her ability to pray long ago, and the tranquillity of the weirwood tree did not comfort her any longer. Even though she knew there were no weirwoods in King’s Landing she still felt observed. If she still had Lady, she probably could ward the place from other animals, but Lady was long dead.

But today, she sat at the weirwood. Maybe she wanted the Old Gods to watch, or maybe she just wanted to remember her father and his sense of justice for this. The trap was set. Sansa tried to make the best of it. She basked in the yet feeble spring sunlight and let the rays of sunshine dance on her hands, when a slight breeze touched the leaves of the tree and made them ripple. She probed the small animals around her and did not perceive any oppressive presence. She might be lucky today.

Sansa’s heart skipped a beat, when she saw Maggy approach. That she searched her out here was an indication, that she was a spy. She must have bided her time once she had learned about Sansa being all on her own. Sansa could have cried.

In Maggy’s hand was a tray and the small bowl was steaming in the fresh air. Sansa made herself smile, when Maggy approached. She tried to assess if the serving girl was likely to have a knife. Her own blade felt cool at the inner side of her arm.

“Your grace, I brought you some broth. It is still so chilly.” Maggy’s smile was all teeth, as if she had no care in the world.

“Did Cook Kira send you?”, Sansa asked. “How considerate!”

Maggy nodded, eagerly.

No, I am quite certain, Kira did not send you. Kira is very unlikely to pamper me.

Sansa took the bowl and feinted warming her hands on the bowl. She held her right hand over the bowl and dropped the two little balls, she had pressed between her fingers. Wolkan had assured her that they would unveil the most popular poisons and another plant she should not consume.

Sansa slowly let the broth slosh in the bowl and watched the little balls dissolve. If they did not show anything, she still would not drink the broth. It might mean that Maggy was innocent, but no colour more likely meant that the little serving girl was skilled with unusual poisons.

There it was. One of the balls let out a thin trail of blue, that slowly raised to the surface of the liquid. It looked as if there was a dying fire in the bowl, that let out a thin finger of smoke.

Tansy, it means tansy. Sansa felt a cloud of sadness descend on her.

Sansa listened closely and she thought she heard the girl’s breath going faster than the short walk to the Godswood could account for. She frowned into the bowl and that caught Maggy’s attention.

Sansa’s heart raced. I can do this. I must do this. Not just for me.

She handed the bowl to Maggy, hoping to occupy the maid’s hands, if only for a moment. She willed her own hands to stop trembling and be nimble and swift.

Maggy stared into the bowl.

“What is this?” The maid’s voice wavered.

Sansa had rounded the maid. She had drawn the knife and held it at the maid’s back, hoping that a casual observer would not see anything amiss.

“Tansy,” she whispered into Maggy’s ear. “Why would you put tansy in my food?”

The maid gasped, her breath faltered.

“Your grace,” she whispered.

Sansa could see tears forming in her eyes, threatening to fall.

“I should kill you on the spot, but I may let you live, if you tell me enough. And don’t move. We are both just looking at the broth.”

Sansa risked a brief look around. At least no big animals were around, and small animals might not grasp what was happening. She let her mind scatter through the clearing trying to pick up animals’ minds.

And he has to be preoccupied elsewhere at least once in a while or he wouldn’t need human spies.

The maid was breathing so fast, that Sansa feared she would faint, and tears were streaming down her cheeks now for real.

“Calm yourself girl,” Sansa whispered.

Interrupted by suppressed sobs the girl told it all. Thankfully it turned out, she was one of Tyrion’s spies. She had no idea about Bloodraven and his magic. Sansa learned that the girl had a communication system with Tyrion, but it was irregular, because Tyrion did not trust Maester Wolkan not to read raven messages. That came as no surprise to Sansa.

Sansa pressed the point of the dagger a bit deeper into the girl’s back. Now, these questions were important.

“Why did you want to give me the tansy?”, she asked.

“I had my orders. If I only had the suspicion that you might carry a child, I was ordered to act accordingly. I suppose, they want the North back in the Seven Kingsdoms after your death.”

Sansa resisted the temptation to place a hand protectively on her belly.

“Why did you suspect?”

“You don’t wear your choker any longer.” The girl eyed her sideways and Sansa wondered if the tears had been a ruse.

“The throat becomes thicker, just a tiny bit, when you’re pregnant, enough to make a choker uncomfortable.”

Sansa had to steady her hand.

That girl was too clever by far. Do I have to kill her? She took care not to tell me, how she communicates with Tyrion. Her knowledge could be useful.

There was so much at stake. Could she risk the girl spilling her secret, a secret she herself hoped to keep for as long as possible? Use her or kill her? What would father do? What would mother do?

“But you were not ordered to kill me?”

The girl shook her head. Why? He doesn’t want me to have children, but he does not want me dead?

She looked at the trembling girl.

Use her or kill her? Will she try to contact the Hand about this? If I kill her, how do I explain her absence? Will her silence raise suspicions?

“Why do you work for him?”

The girl was silent for so long, that Sansa wondered if she was working on an elaborate lie.

“My brother is in the dungeons at King’s Landing.”

The leaves of the weirwood tree trembled. Sansa thought she could hear a wolf howling, far, far away.

She had her answer then. Her dagger made a whispering noise when she sheathed it. I can’t become like him. Maggy’s shoulders sagged in relief.

“Don’t betray me again. I will kill you, if you do. I can’t make promises, but when this is over, you might see your brother again.” If he still lives. If he even exists.

Maggy nodded.

Sansa turned around to face the girl again. She raised her palms to show the girl that the dagger was gone. She could not coerce the girl and hope for collaboration. She would have to use her hope. She would have to observe her to learn how she communicated.

Her heart beat against her rib cage, her mind screamed at her not to take such a risk. Her legs felt weak. She quickly checked her surroundings. No big animal was near. She extended her senses, brushing the minds of a hedgehog that was about to wake from his winter’s sleep and a badger. There was nothing unusual about them. She wished there was a wolf nearby. They made her feel safe.

She tried to sound confident and was surprised to hear no waver in her voice.

“You will begin earning my good will by writing down how you communicate with the master of whisperers. You will slip this sheet under the accounts on my desk. You will continue to make regular reports exactly as I tell you. Be prepared to get my orders in strange ways. Destroy any written order you get.”

Sansa waited until Maggy had left. The excitement had ebbed away and if she concentrated, she could feel the queasiness in her stomach grow. With a sigh she took the liquorice out of her pocket and began chewing on it.

She should feel joy about the child that grew in her womb. The child that she had conceived despite of drinking moon tea. The whole North should celebrate that the Queen expected.

Instead her worries had multiplied, and the urgency of their plans had increased.

She wished for Arya. Her heart ached for Jon. She was alone though and had to be strong for all their sakes. She would not let Bloodraven win

[fedonciadale]

A Thousand eyes and one - a Jonsa drabble

For the Jonsa 100 drabble challenge, I wrote a fic (1,000 words long), that might be a bit dark ... This idea has haunted me since the finale, when my over-imaginative mind came up with an explanation for Bran as King that would make the ending even more nihilistic than it is now.... Anyway, here it is.... Also on AO3.

The lords were in a “wedding mood” as Sansa called it to herself. They had left her alone for a few years, but now, that she had turned twenty-five at least once a month someone would bring it up, the marriage that was supposed to save the Stark line. If they only knew. Her burden felt heavy on her shoulders.

“My lords, are you in any way dissatisfied with my rule?”

“Of course, not. We are just worried about the future and Northern freedom.”

The future. Don’t you realise, that we are not free.

“Well, and I am worried about what a husband would do,” she said loudly. Let them think, that she was loath to marry.

Haven’t you realised by now, that any would-be suitor dies? She silently prayed that they would not name anyone.

“My Lady, there must be a man who is worthy of your love.”

I have a love. And I pray no one ever knows.

Sansa scoffed. “I am not talking about love, I am talking about the fact that any husband might try to usurp my position.”

She stood. “We’ve discussed everything for today. Maester Wolkan, please come with me. I want to discuss medicines for the coming winter.”

---

Sansa led the way to her solar. She had emptied the room of everything, but her desk and a chair, as well as the basket for the cat.

She stroked the cat. “Have you done your duty and caught mice?”

The cat purred. “Now you have to leave, I am sorry.”

She opened the door and the cat obediently left.

Sansa looked out of the windows and she saw a raven. The bird looked at her and cawed, black eyes blinking.

When Maester Wolkan came in, Sansa half-closed the shutters, so that her desk would be hidden from the eyes of the raven. She hoped it didn’t look too suspicious.

“It is getting a bit chilly”, she said loudly, very loudly.

“We have to prepare for a cold winter,” Maester Wolkan said, equally loud. “The citadel sent a warning with the white raven. Even if winters do not last years any longer, this one will still be hard.”

They continued in the same vein, exchanging ideas about preparations that were routine. While they talked Wolkan showed her the book he had brought. He had routine in this, having spotted the raven just like she had.

‘The children of the forest, the First men and their abilities by Septon Barth’, Sansa read. Wolkan chatted on about their medicine supplies and opened the book at the chapter that interested them the most.

‘Warging’ was the chapter that should hold the information they needed. Wolkan pointed to a passage.

‘It seems that warging has its limits’, Sansa read. ‘Even the most able of wargs can’t enter animals smaller than mice.’

Sansa wrote on the paper on her desk. ‘That is a relief.’, while Wolkan went on about their supplies for sage and thyme for the usual winter colds, rather longwinded, but that was the purpose.

He pointed to another book he had brought. ‘A thousand eyes and one. The rise and fall of Bloodraven.’ There was no author. Probably too dangerous. She patted Wolkan on the shoulder to express her gratitude that he had acquired the book.

She came around the desk after another round of talking supplies, careful to get out of the line of vision of the raven. She dared not check, but when Wolkan nodded, she took the book, shuddering and reluctantly. She lifted her over-skirt unceremoniously and put the book in the pocket she had at the side of her underskirt, where it would lay smooth against her leg. She was practiced with this by now.

Still talking quite loudly about herbs, Sansa took the little paper and threw it into the fire.

---

Sansa managed to read the book, which chilled her to the bones. Laying out the accounts for the maintenance of the castle, making a mess of her desk, spreading paper all over it, and what was probably the most important part, cursing loudly, so that her cat that sat at her feet looking at her with an understanding, no cat should have, would hear her.

When the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch arrived for his usual visit at the beginning of winter to negotiate supplies, Sansa greeted her cousin with the distant politeness they had perfected over the years. Their talk at the table strictly dealt with the trading arrangements and Sansa hard bargaining showed that their relationship was all about business. Sansa was careful to mention her annoyance with her cousin’s yearly visits at least once a week well within earshot of several people. Word of her feelings would return to King’s Landing via Tyrion’s spies. She was sure, that Wolkan was none of them, though. She would long be dead if he was.

---

They waited until it was a new moon, before they met in an empty chamber. Jon made sure to leave Ghost with Tormund. Sansa had brought blankets and they ducked under them. Their lovemaking was desperate, if quiet by necessity. Later they whispered into each other’s ears.

“What about our suspicions? Is it true?”

“A thousand eyes and one.” Sansa shuddered involuntarily. “He wanted to be king once, now he is. He set you and Daenerys against each other.”

“What is his plan now?”

“Too many of my would-be suitors have died. He wants to be the only one with First men abilities, I think. I am not sure, if Bran is even there any longer, maybe deep down.”

She clung to Jon and held him, crying silently. She knew that tomorrow she would look for more answers, tomorrow she would try to counter the man who had consumed her brother. Tomorrow she would be the queen again. Tonight, she was just Sansa, sharing her burden with the man who was her husband in all but name.