#Arya having thick eyebrows is so important to me...only the girls that get it get it

[fromtheseventhhell]

She is so older Arya-coded

[youcancalllmequeenjane]

Thank you for opening prompts. I love your work. So, a post-e6 fic in which Jon gets his just desserts but is also ultimately a JonSa fic.

          Her eyesflutter open, no real reason for it, it’s too early in the morning to wake forthe day, and too late to enjoy restful sleep. Her eyes can’t adjust to thedarkness, her candles have long burned out and there is an unsettling thicknessshe can feel in the air.

           “Is thereanyone there?” Sansa’s voice is shaking as she reaches for something to use asa weapon. She doesn’t know who would come into her room late at night likethis, the only person would have been Petyr, and he was gone now. “Arya?” Sansaasks a moment after, thinking maybe her sister was attempting to play a joke,something very Arya-like after everything they put each other through in thelast few days.

           “Sansa,” avoice whispers, soft and quiet and deep, she thinks for a moment it’s the ghostof her Lord Father. Since she’s been staying in her parent’s old rooms, shethought it would make her feel safer, closer, that it would make her feel likeshe was crawling into her parent’s bed like she did when she was a little girl,but sleep still remained just as fitful as ever. “Sansa, it’s me. It’s Jon.”

           “Jon?”Sansa says with her voice going sharp, unable to fully trust that he wassitting a few feet away from her. Her eyes struggling to adjust can see that heis sitting in the chair from her sewing table; he must’ve pulled it close toher bedside while she was sleeping. She smiles, her olfactory senses finallycatching up with her. Her room smells like him, the smell of pine trees,leather, warmth, and something new, something she can’t place yet.

             “I didn’tmean to wake you,” He whispers with a ghost of a laugh on his breath. “It seemssilly of an idea now. I should’ve waited until the morning.”

           “No.” Sansareplies firmly, her hand reaching across and finding his in the darkness. Shecan’t see his reactions, but she can feel them, feel that he’s gripping herhand while his thumb rubs unhurriedly across her skin, she wonders if she couldget used to it. She lets out a contemplative sigh.

           “I had anightmare on my journey here,” Jon says finally. “And I needed to make sure youwere okay.”

           “Don’t besilly, Jon.” Sansa smiles, surprised, as she looks down at her covers, herfingers playing with the edges of her blankets. She’s dreamt only nightmaressince she can remember, and she knows Jon isn’t a stranger to bad dreams. Whatmade this one so different? “You’ve missed things in your absence, but there istime to discuss that later. I can assure you that I am well.”

             “Aye, itseems you are.”

           “I’vemissed you.” Sansa whispers softly, and it feels misplaced in the conversation. She’s unsure why it came out of hermouth the way it did, clumsy and needy and childlike. It must be becausesometimes it still feels strange that she craves his company. She’s grown accustomto his voice, mannerisms, and presence, having done so since they reunited atthe Wall.

           He takesthis moment to light the candle on her nightstand, her eyes adjusting to thesudden brightness in the room. She notices in the glow of the candlelight thathe looks different, his expressions more troubled than before he left forDragonstone, his eyes tired, mouth pursed, lips chapped. “I’ve missed you too,Sansa.”  

           “This isn’tjust about some nightmare you had, is it?” She asks, several moments later,knowing that he has something important on the tip of his tongue.

           “No,” Jonreplies, heading shaking slowly as he looks down at the floorboards with hiseyebrows scrunched. When he looks back up into her eyes, staring straightthrough her, she finally notices the tears sitting damp on his cheeks. “Sansa,”He begins, but he chokes on the second s, unable to accurately say her name andshe flinches. He tries again, “I have done things, seen things, and at thetime, it seemed the best thing to do, but the moment I saw Winterfell, when Isaw you, I knew I had failed you.”

           “I honestlydon’t know what you are talking about?” Sansa replies, swallowing harshly atthe ambiguity of his words. “What did you do?”

           “I bent theknee.” Jon says firmly, and with no second thought, Sansa lets his hand fallfrom her grasp. She tucks hers back into her lap, and watches as he pulls histo his lap too. His aren’t warm to her anymore, they feel cold and stiff andakin to betrayal. “You must understand my actions, I had to do what I had todo. It is what keeps us alive, keeps us safe, keeps us going.”

           “You are afool, Jon Snow.” Sansa replies, voice breaking as she struggles to keep ittogether. She should’ve known, he’s exactly like her father, like Robb,but she thought after all they’d went through to get their home back fromRamsey Bolton’s grasp that he wouldn’t just give it away to some stranger with dragons.

           She feelsfoolish, too.

           “Sansa, please—”

           “I begged you to listen to me, pleaded for you to stay,but you left anyways,” Sansa spits, her tone as cold as the snow falling outside. Hedoesn’t look at her when she speaks, choosing to close his eyes tightly. “Itold you to come home in all my letters, and now that you have come home, youtell me you’ve given our home away?”

           “Gods be damned Sansa, you don’t think I know it!” Jonshouts, and while he seems visibly distressed, she won’t let him affect her. Herises from his chair to pace the room, and she watches him move around andaround, going from one end to the other like Ghost had done in his absence. “I need you to listen to me, please! Isaw things beyond the Wall, and those things are coming for us whether we likeit or not, and if we enter this war without Dany or her dragons, we will all die.I won’t let it happen to us. As long as I have breath left inside of my body,Sansa, I will keep you safe.”

           “Dany?” Sansa says, not hearing anything past the way theDragon Queen’s nickname rolls off his tongue, and she can’t help the laugh thatescapes her lips. It’s a laugh that covers a sob. “I don’t need you to protectme, or keep me safe, I have all the protection I need here. Now, please, I justwant you to leave my room.”

           “But, Sansa, please listen,”

           “LEAVE!”  

           Jon does as she wishes, his eyes downcast as he walks toher chamber door. When he reaches it, he holds tight to the handle for a fewmoments and turns to look at her a final time. She wishes she didn’t look back,didn’t stare into the vastness of his gray eyes because she suddenly wants toforgive him for everything he had done while he was away. She makes herself turn herhead and look out the window, anywhere but at him. She can’t forgive him forit, not yet.

+

           It takes months, so many of them before she finallyforgives him. It’s not the way they expected it, but it feels the most right.They are in her chambers again, her head pressed to his bare chest as she feelsevery breath, every beat, and every movement with a smile playing across herlips.

           “Have you already grown tired of me, my love?” sheteases, her hands reaching beneath the furs to see if he’s ready for her again.They’ve only been reunited for a fortnight, the war had been won, and he hadrode into Winterfell with Arya and Ghost at his side. She hadn’t spoken to himsince that night in her room, not unless you count simple pleasantries, but themoment Sansa saw him enter the courtyard she flung her arms around his neck andeagerly pressed her lips to his. They’ve hardly separated since.

           “Never.” Jon growled in response, pressing a hungry kissto her mouth. He flips them over, laying her back against the mattress and headon the pillow. And as he presses kisses along her jaw, neck, clavicle, breast,she tangles her fingers in the thickness of his black hair, always appreciating theway it falls in his face when they are intimate like this.

           “Jon,” Sansa says, lifting his face from her neck so theyare looking at each other, his eyes are full of desire, but there is somethingelse within them, something she hasn’t seen since they were children, he lookshappy. And that thought makes her happy. 

           “Yes, sweetling?”

           “I,” Sansa smiles. “I forgive you.”

[tiavonnada]

The Journey of Wightskiller - AU fiction Game of Thrones part 2

Part 1 can be read here!

I hugged my coat tighter around my body as my borrowed horse trotted to the massive gates, barely visible against the heavy snowfall, but I knew this was it. This was the place I set out to reach and now I stood in front of it.

Winterfell, just like Tormund said. He told no lies. One step closer.

I didn't know how to enter the gates so I jumped off my horse and stood there. Southerners were different in their customs than us free folks. They were rigid and unwavering in their laws and, once upon a time long before the short winter shuffled me out of the North across the Narrow Sea, I vowed to never live south of the wall. And yet here I stood. “You still don’t live here, Kristol.” I reminded myself.

So what was I doing?

I lowered my hood to look more approachable by these guards that walked the gate. They are an untrusting bunch, but if the stories I heard of what they went through were a quarter true, I couldn't blame them.

The winter winds here were a little less violent than Hardhome but it still stung my nose.  I shook my head to allow the thoughts of the wights to flee. I needed to be of clear mind. I felt my cheeks redden. I had been in Essos for entirely too long and lost my tolerance to the cold.

“Who are you?” A guard yelled from the top of the gates. He sounded miles away but I noted an accent unlike a Northerner and pondered where he was from. Tormund said there were soldiers from the Vale too. I had no idea where that was, but he told me a place high in the sky where they dropped their enemies to their deaths from something called a moon door. It caught my interest. Maybe one day I would visit, hopefully not as an enemy.

“I am Kristol. Please allow me into your gates out of these winds!” I shouted back, my voice still hadn’t healed fully, cracking and failing me but he seemed to have understood my message.

Not even a minute passed before I heard the gates creak and moan against the chains and there stood four men, head to toe in shining steel armor, one of them had a practice sword and wooden shield in hand. They had different sigils. I only recognized the wolf. I knew none of the others, didn't really care.

The gates closed behind me, again with the loud creaks and groans. Unlike North of the Wall and East Watch, there was bustling life here. Men practiced their one on one fighting. Women passed by, chatting loudly about news unimportant to me. Children followed behind the women, playing their games. There was a gaggle of armored men that dragged a large sack from the tall castle in the middle of Winterfell. They put forth no effort in trying to conceal the blood that seeped from a collected spot. Was it from training? Did they kill during practice? That seemed counter-intuitive. The smells of fires and body musks were almost masked by the cold, but not enough for me. I curled my nose at the offending odors. I focused my attention back to the four men in front of me and they stared back. A sight I was to them for sure.

Here stood a woman, twenty years of age, with a sword on her hip (albeit under my thick coat) and thick coarse hair tucked underneath a golden scarf, eyes to match. Everything about me was always described as golden. Kissed by the sun nana always said. I looked like none of the free folk; I looked like none of any Westerosi I've encountered.

We all wore thick furs to battle the bone-rattling cold. Theirs were more tattered, however. I bought this coat on the way from Braavos and it has served me well. However now the tears from my battle with the white walker and its wights made themselves known as traces of cold seeped through.

They took in the sight of me and uttered not a single word. It was like being back at Slaver’s Bay during the auction to ensure if I was worthy of their attention and money. I pursed my lips and waited.

“What are you doing here, girl?” The man nearest me asked. His thick gray mustache quivered with his words.

Shivering, I stilled myself. “I'm here to see the King of the North. I come with news from the real North.” I sneered. The men looked at each other, no one moved otherwise.

“Are you another related to the king?” He sneered. The rest of the men huffed laughter in on some joke that I was the butt.

“No, I've come. With news.” I repeated, more slowly this time. Maybe I had been too long away in Essos and spoke as they did when conversing in the common tongue of Westeros.

“King’s not here and the Lady of Winterfell is too busy to deal with the likes of you.” He straightened his back. Apparently my not getting whatever jape this was soured his mood. Lady? I remembered the stories of my nana and Mance saying that only men ruled these lands and everything in it including women. It was a reason I vowed to stay a spearwife. “So whatever news you have, you can take it back with you to wherever you come from.” Gray Mustache leaned over to another soldier and whispered not so quietly,“There's too many foreigners coming in for my taste.”

“Or she can keep my bed warm. Think she’s at least pretty enough for that,” said another and the group erupted into laughter again; the others nodded with his statement.

I tightened my jaw and slid my hand to my dagger. This was a mistake. I knew coming here was a mistake and now I’d have to fight my way out.

“What do you think you all are doing?” A girl’s voice, as dead as the night and quiet as a mouse pissing on cotton, intimidated the men because they all jumped and scrambled to address her. Their backs to me, but my hand still gripping my dagger’s hilt.

“M’Lady, we didn't hear you come behind us. I, uh, I thought you would’ve been busy with your sister and the judgment sentencing.” The gray mustache stood as rigid as his armor. He was nervous; I saw his hands shake with a sloppy salute.

“So you think you can molest a woman in Winterfell, in my home, and I not hear about it? Because you’d assumed I’d be ‘busy’?” Her accent was notably northern. Whoever she was, she scared the people here. They called her ‘M’lady’, she was of some importance. I didn't need her protection but the less that these people had to see from me, the better for them. “Leave.” The men parted as she walked towards me, hands behind her back. “If I ever hear of talk like this again...” She left the rest of the statement blank as the men almost tripped over each other to get from here.

A small thing, this girl was. Face long, hair dark brown. Her gray eyes bore into my face, studying me. She wore a light leather cape and leather clothing as if the cold didn't bother her. On each hip, she had a blade: a dagger on her left hip and a thin sword on her right. She's a left-handed fighter. Rare to see them and downright dangerous to fight if one wasn’t careful.

“You'll have to forgive them,” she said. Her face hadn't changed; it was as if she were made of the very stones that held this place together. Her stance and swagger, I had seen this all before and almost smiled but swallowed it. There was something solemn about this place and I needed to mimic it if I were to get in.

I bowed my head, “Thank you, m’lady. Are you the one I need to talk to?” She said nothing for a long time. I knew her question. “I am here to speak with you about offering my services, knowledge, and experience in the upcoming battle.”

“You sound of the North, but you carry yourself as a Braavosi fighter. Your sword, however, isn't that of a water dancer; it's a soldier's sword. Your clothing, too,” she nodded towards my coat. I hadn’t realized I dropped the tight grip of my coat and shown the clothing underneath. “Free cities. Have you been in this country long?”

I cocked an eyebrow. She knew all of that from my clothing and looks. “I'm of the free folk, lived many years in Essos and decided my services were needed back home.”

“Free folk?” she asked as if tasting the word. “Wilding. How did a wilding acquire a sword like yours?”

I licked my lips, “I found it.”

“You're lying.”

This time, the smile came forth, “You're correct. It was a prize acquired from my travels. I wish to discuss matters of importance somewhere warmer.” I truly wanted to change the subject because it would always lead to my unknown parentage. I didn’t know my parents nor where they were from. All I knew was of the free folk until my forced travels.

The young lady turned on her heel and walked back towards the collection of buildings. I would've been impressed by these heights if I were still a young lass North of the wall, but years in Essos left me numb to these architectural designs. Matter of fact, they were unwelcoming and desolated.

I jogged after her, “I didn't get your name.”

“I didn't get yours.” She retorted as calmly as if soothing a baby.

“Kristol.”

“No last name, Kristol?”

I looked at the door we just passed. The thick wood framed with iron had to be many inches thick. This place was truly made for war. “None.” The girl nodded towards a guard at the door. I removed my coat and handed it to him.

“Arya Stark.” Hands tucked into the other’s sleeve, she was as cool as the weather outside. “I'll bring you to my sister. She is the Lady of Winterfell. You can discuss matters with her. But wait here.”

This Arya pushed opened a door into a small courtroom and closed it behind her. I breathed a little easier. She didn’t ask about any lineage. She heard wilding and took that. But she may also not have much experience with us Wildings.

I fingered my dagger sheath as I waited. Muffled voices were heard on the other side, quiet, no arguments. It wasn't long before she opened the door again, beckoning me to come in.

I took in the sight as I walked towards the center of this room. Dark gray and dead like everything else here. The Stark’s sigil hung on banners against the cold walls and even their direwolves were gray. There was something that threw me off though. In the middle of the stone floor was a dark stain. It seemed that someone tried to wash it unsuccessfully.

A fireplace roared behind the table where a woman with flaming red hair sat, scribbling on a small piece of paper. Lady Arya stood at the end of the table, hands resting on her dagger and sword.

A strange place this was and nothing like my nana said. The men were outside in the cold, practicing and training and here were two women. The ladies of Winterfell. One, without a doubt, a killer and the other, I hadn't gotten a feel of her yet. And they were harsh as the winter.

She looked up from her paper to study me or wait for me to say something. Her blue eyes pierced into my gold ones. High strong cheekbones and a sharp face. She definitely did not look like a Northerner in comparison with her sister who did not look as kind. Her eyes though, I could see she had been through much and seen much. They were hardened and mistrusting.

“You are the Lady of Winterfell?” I asked.

“What do you want?” Ah, there was the harshness and hard tones of the North littered through her voice. She was a lady born in the North and not married into it. “I've had a rather exhausting day.”

I bowed again, “I come from long travels, m’lady. I've seen things that you can only imagine. I was told your king would be here, but according to Lady Arya and others here, I've apparently missed him.” I licked my lips, “I've come to warn you of the white walkers’ approach…”

“We know of them,” the Lady of Winterfell interrupted. She seemed on edge that even her sister gave her a side eye. The Lady sighed and spoke in a softer tone, “and we are preparing our men for the oncoming battle.”

“Forgive me as I'm not accustomed to your ways of fighting, but have any of your men ever faced a white walker or wight? And survived? Have you?” I turned to Arya, “Or you?”

“Our king, Jon, has.” The alpha wolf leaned back into her chair, cool as the air outside of these halls. The light of the fire cast a dark shadow.

“Is he here?” My patience was beginning to wear thin. I swallowed to regain self-control. Here I am trying to help them with a foe they have never faced. And the only person they knew of to face them and live was not here.

Her eyes bore into me and, as if on cue, her younger sister stepped forward, hand resting on her dagger. Of a pack, they truly were. “You might not want to fight me,” I tested, but made no moves towards either of my weapons. I needed these Starks to trust me; however, I was not making good progress as of now. “He isn't here.” I started over, “I am. I want to give you and your people a fighting chance against the wights. I know things that I'm sure your king, Jon, probably hasn't told you.” I faced the fierce young wolf with her hand still on her dagger. “I am no enemy. Maybe years ago, I would've been, but not today. I stand before you and your family, Lady Stark, offering to help you and your men learn to battle against those monsters.”

The Lady Stark studied me for a time. I noticed her eyes cut to her sister more than once; it was as if they were having a nonverbal conversation. She leaned forward, looking into her hands, “What do you want in return for this ‘offering’?” The last word laced with mistrust. She waited for this part and must have assumed I wanted a large reward or lands.

I was interested in neither.

I shook my head, “Nothing, honestly. I wanted nothing more than to be out from the other side of the Wall after what I saw.”

“And what did you see?” Arya spoke.

I felt my breath quicken as I thought about my latest encounter. Gripping my sword for stability, I steadied myself. The women looked at each other, furrowing their brows. The white walker had affected me more than I cared to admit. His sullen face was still etched in my memory. Had I not blocked, I would’ve still been on the other side of the Wall, eyes blue, mind not my own. I was losing my training. I needed to refocus. Inhaling, I stood straighter and let go of my sword. “I had been in Essos for the last seven years, but I’m a Wilding from North of the Wall forever and always.” Lady Stark’s lips pursed. She didn’t believe that statement, but I continued. “We had seen wights before my abrupt leaving. They were easy enough to cut down. I come back home, to Hardhome and no one is there. Nothing. No children, no chickens, goats, just...empty. So I head to the Wall, taking a chance. You southerners kill us on sight so I planned on sneaking past.

“But the land was barren. No food or water. Days I had been walking and had not eaten. I heard ‘em long before I saw ‘em. New sounds added to the winds: growling, clicks, screams. Not like us; they weren’t screams of the living.” I lost myself in the retelling of my story. I chanced a look at the sisters and their eyes bore into me, hanging on to my every word. My hands grew wilder as the story continued. Telling of my reaching the Wall, the women visibly relaxed. “They are not far out, m’ladies, and your men must fight them and must learn how.

“My nana told me that there must always be a Stark at Winterfell. I have no idea what that means, but it was repeated multiple times. So it had to be important.” I looked at the both of them. “I need to be here to protect you, the both of you.”

“Arya and my sworn sword, Brienne, will do that.” Lady Stark resumed her cold face that must have taken years to master. But a small swallow told me she wasn’t so sure as her face made.

“What happens if the Night’s King gets either of them and turn on you? They no longer follow the laws of your land, just what is commanded of them by their generals. Another line of defense and one trained in the art of war can do no harm on your side, m’lady.” I wanted to ask why the King of the North was not here, training his men on how to fight, but it was not my place.

The Lady of Winterfell eyed me with great suspicion. I assumed many questions she wanted to ask, yet none came forth. I needed to be honest with them. Looking down into her lap, Lady Stark asked, “You said you’ve been trained in the art of war.” She looked over to her sister, “I want you to prove it. My sister will oversee to ensure you can do what you say. She’ll find the best way to test you. I will be out shortly to ask of your progress.”

Arya looked surprised and a smile, a genuine one, appeared. She looked to me, “Follow me and discuss the strategy the wights use.”

[sansa-qitn]

Silver & Gold (3)

Since Jon's departure Sansa had made it her goal to have the castle ready at all times to house however many would need to be housed. Jon wrote in his last letter (before she sent the most important letter of her life) that he requested having Winterfell ready at any moment in case they needed to seek refuge there.

He never explained how the fighting was going, he never mentioned in any of his letters that they were even at war with such magic. Sansa supposed it was to keep her mind safe, always asking her to be ready but never mentions what for.

In a way she's upset he doesn't find her strong enough or maybe even old enough to handle it, but she's overall grateful he leaves her one less stress to worry about. She has a duty to serve and does her best each day.

Her newly found again siblings bring her the much needed bit of happiness she'd been missing in some time. Of course, it's almost short lived and died out when she hears of Littlefinger's arrival to Winterfell.

He comes with a small part, flanked with about 50 knights of the Vale. He tells her the rest of his men have gone to join Jon in their cause, him seeking out shelter down in Winterfell and offering his 20 knights as further protection for the noble family of Winterfell.

Sansa knows there's more to his story. She's not that young naive girl, to trust him so blindly. Littlefinger always had more to his story.

I must keep an eye on him at all times. She thinks to herself as she goes over the inventory at Jon's desk. She comes to his room every afternoon and sits at the very same desk her Lord Father once sat and she goes over everything Winterfell has to offer.

She needs to make sure Winterfell is always well equipped. They will not lose this home again, that she must make sure.

The numbers begin to blur in front of her when she hears a knock to the door. Ghost is up in a flash and alert. "Come."

The door opens and it is Lady Brienne who pokes her head through. "Lady Sansa. Lady Arya had just coming running up and yelled for me to catch you than took off again.

There seems to be a commotion down in the yard."

Sansa pinches her brows together, "Is everyone okay?"

"There seems to be no danger, my Lady. Fear not, you have me and your beast to guard you. I'm also told Lord Baelish has not left his chambers." Brienne whispers the last part.

Sansa nods. "Very well." She stands up from the desk and follows Brienne out the door, Ghost trailing behind. It's when they get to the bottom of the stairs that Ghost bolts off in the very same manner he did when Bran was returned home. Sansa can't help the burst of hope that burns in her chest. Had another returned home? Jon would be the only one left to do so.

Suddenly her hope was snubbed out. Was it happening? What was the plan now? Was her home about to become refuge to whoever was left that survived the Night King? Her steps quicken and she hears Arya yelling before she sees her.

She rounds the corner when she sees her sister throw herself in Jon's arms. Sansa looks around and finds just Davos and 4 Northern soldiers, all still on horseback while they watch Winterfell's princess hug the King tight.

She watches her sister and her half brother turned cousin hug each other and hold onto each other. Sansa feels like she should turn away, give them this privacy, allow them to mourn and feel joy at the sight of one another, but she can't turn away. The sight gives her another push of happiness in her clouds.

Jon finallys pulls away from Arya and holds onto her shoulders while he takes a look at her. "I didn't know what to think." He admits to her. "But I knew you were alive. I knew it."

Arya, who has silent tears down her face, says nothing and nods.

Jon pulls Arya back into his arms and places a small kiss ontop of her head. It's then that he notices Sansa standing in the corridor. Sansa notices his body tense and she feels a sudden shame. Was he angry with her about the letter? It was a truth that had to be told.

Control yourself Sansa She scolds herself. Control

He pulls away from Arya and nods towards Sansa. Sansa returns the nod and begins to walk forward towards the group of men and her sister.

"What news do you bring?" She asks Jon. "Are you alright? Are the men alright?"

Jon breaks eye contact from Sansa and looks to Arya. "Where is Bran?" He asks.

"He's in his room." Sansa replies before Arya can. "He's with Meera Reed."

Sansa sees him flinch at the mention of the Reed name. She goes to make a comment but it's Sir Davos that cuts her off.

"My Lady, if you don't mind. There's important matters to discuss at great haste. Allow Jon to see his brother while you and I meet in the hall. I'll fill you in on what's happening in the North."

Sansa's watching Jon, who walks around her with Arya on his arm. She hears her sister tell Jon he was a fool before they round the corner. A fool for what? Sansa wants to ask, instead she turns to look at Davos and nods.

"Very well."

*

Sansa sits with Sir Davos in the hall, the two alone before Lady Brienne enters a few moments later. She whispers to Sansa that Littlefinger is looking for her, Sansa nods and asks for Brienne to tell him she will come and speak with him immediately.

"Let him know the King of the North is back. I will tend to matters at hand and find him right after. Also, please send for ale and wine for myself and Sir Davos. I'm sure the King will join us after, send enough for him as well."

Brienne nods and leaves the room, leaving Davos to recount how it was going with the war.

He's grateful that she's sent Jaime Lannister and the small army he managed to convince to leave Cersei. He admits it was hard for the Dragon Queen not to have him burned on the spot, only his brother Tyrion swearing on his word that Jaime had done good and will serve himself directly to her.

Sansa arches an eyebrow, "And she let him live?"

"Well, the more men to help fight the better. Even the Queen can see that, although I'm sure she'll have him dealt with after this is all over."

"So, there's an end in sight then?" Sansa asks.

Davos is slow with his reply. "There is always a time for hope, my lady."

A server enters the room with two mugs of ale and goblet of wine for Sansa. She places them down between Davos and herself and as she leaves Jon and Ghost enter from another door across the room.

Sansa doesn't stand, instead stays seated as Jon walks with Ghost across and takes a seat at the table beside Davos. He reaches for the mug and takes a long swig.

The air between the three of them in uncomfortable and Sansa feels like she's being left out of something quite important, which drives some irritability in her. She's careful to keep it to herself, to keep her face placid. Give nothing away

"Where's Arya?" Sansa asks.

Jon doesn't meet her eyes, looking across the room. "Bran asked her to stay with him while we talked."

"What's wrong Jon?" Sansa asks, taking a small sip of her wine.

Jon sighs and looks over to Davos before bringing his gaze to Sansa. "Daenerys knows of the letter you sent. She knows the contents of it."

Sansa takes a quick breath. "And?"

"She means to burn me." He replies.

"Burn you?" Sansa says. She brings her hands to her lap and clenches them into fists. "She means to burn you while we're fighting for the realm?"

"She's afraid Jon will fight her for the Iron Throne after all is said and done." Davos speaks up taking a drink of his ale.

"Well surely she knows that's not what you wish." Sansa looks between the two mean seated across from her. "She knows you mean to stay in the North, right? To stay with your family?"

Jon is silent before he gives a shake of his head. "According to Howland Reed she is my family." He mumbles.

"Jon. We're your family." Sansa says, her voice thick.

He looks over to her and nods, silent.

The trio sit again in silence before Davos coughs into his fist and stands up. "Excuse me your Grace and my Lady. If it's alright with you both, we've ridden hard to get her quickly and I fear I'm not as young as I used to be. If I could rest, it'd be greatly apprectiated."

Sansa sensed Jon and Davos had talked prior about the topic of conversation she was sure Jon was going to bring up. Jon only nods to Davos and he's gone quite quickly.

"What's happened?" Sansa asks. "You've barely glanced at me."

Jon brings his gaze back to her and gives his head a shake again. "There's more to what Daenerys has said.

"If this is true, if what you've told me is true, it changes many things."

Sansa reaches out for his hand and Jon pulls away as if he's been burned. Sansa can't help the hurt that flashes across her face. She takes a moment before she speaks. "It doesn't have to Jon. You are still of our blood. Lyanna was my aunt-"

"No." Jon cuts her off and stands up. He takes a few steps away from her, his front facing away from her.

"Yes, Jon! Bran has told us this changes nothing. You have the blood of the wolf, you can still rule in Winterfell, the men will still follow you. You have the Stark face, a different father yes, but a Stark still." Sansa goes quiet before she continues: "I will still follow you as King."

This seems to break Jon for he turns to face her quickly. His face is pinched in anger and he slams his hands on the table. "I don't care about the damn title!" He yells.

Sansa isn't quick enough to stop herself from jumping at the sound of his fists hitting the table. Her walls come down and she is filled quickly with anger. "Then please tell me what it is that's got you like this?!"

Sansa pushes herself up and away from the table, her eyes hot with anger on Jon. "You're keeping me the dark again. I thought I did you a favour by sending that letter, I thought it your right to know that you had a mother, a mother that I've been assured by Bran loved you!

"You still have the support of the North, Jon."

Jon takes a step away from her and shakes his head. He gives a deep breath and then speaks: "Daenerys wants me to marry you."

Sansa isn't sure she heard him speak. She holds back the urge to ask him to say it again, instead she processes what's being said.

"Marriage?"

Jon doesn't say anything, nods. It's as if that's all his body knows how to do now. Nod and say nothing.

Sansa stares ahead to her brother turned cousin and takes in what he's said. After what feels like a several long moments she finally speaks. "You can deny this. You're the King in the North. You don't follow her lead."

Jon holds her gaze for a beat before he looks down to the ground. "I've bent the knee."

Sansa feels the breath draw out of her, feels as if her knees may suddenly buckle and she will land on the ground in a heap. Her body begins to vibrate. "You've bent the knee?" She asks, her voice low.

"Sansa, I had to." Jon pleads, taking a step to her. "We are at war with magic, the only thing that can defeat them is fire and dragonglass, something Daenerys has plenty of. She wouldn't have helped me if I didn't bend the knee."

Sansa closes her eyes. She sees Joffrey's twisted smile, feels Ramsey's cruel touch, and hear Cersei's bitter laugh.

And almost all of that anger and pain and fright feels nothing compared to the feeling she is feeling now in this moment, having learned that everything she's fought for- everything Jon's fought for- gone. Under the mercy of another, once again. I am steel She thinks to herself.

She squares her shoulders and opens her eyes. Sansa keeps her face neuteral, not daring to show her anger or fright. Give him nothing and he will take nothing she thinks.

She moves to speak but decides against it. Instead she walks around the table and towards the door. She leaves the room and continues walking, even after hearing something break on the other side of the door.

*

Sansa sits at the base of the Weirwood tree.

Snow is falling around her, dancing in the air like small pearls she'd stitched in one of her favourite gowns all those years ago in Kings Landing. Things had been a mess, even then, but somehow it seemed a better memory of what she was given today.

Stop being foolish She chides herself.

There are worse things she's survived. Sansa Stark is a survivor, she is moulded from her past to come out stronger.

She thinks about the proposition as if she were Queen Daenerys herself. Why risk a the Northern King to marry and keep his position, to keep his army. After all is said and done, Jon could very well turn against her and fight for his claim on the Iron Throne, to fight against what's she requested. Perhaps even burn her... He is half Targaryen, he carries the dragon within as well.

It's his honour. Sansa knows he's been cursed with it just as her father before him. It flows through his blood and has taken ahold of him. In her youth it was a characteristic Sansa admired, a man honourable and kind. But in her years she has seen what honour has done first hand.

The image of her father's lifeless body flashes before her eyes. Then it's Jon, laying with his head rolling away from her.

She takes a shaky breath and closes her eyes. She couldn't allow that to happen to Jon, not after everything they've been through. He fought hard for her, fought hard with her.

Visiting every noble lord they could think of that would help them fight for their home back. His plan was to leave, leave south, maybe even further down across the waters to a foreign land.

But he stayed. He stayed for their home, he stayed for her.

No, Sansa could not repay that with his body becoming charred.

Sansa leans her head back against the tree and feels the cold on her cheeks, she take a deep breath and feels the cold take root in her lungs.

This was her home.

She was Sansa Stark, eldest surviving child of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, a child of the North, Lady of Winterfell. This was her home.

And she would do what she had to do for it.

__________

A/N: You know, this is obviously just for fun (i’m a SAHM who’s found time to get nerdy) but I just find this so weird! I have a hard time really writing Sansa. I’m more comfortable writing Jon! Which is so strange, because I used to write  a lot in high school, both fanfiction and my own fiction, but I always struggled with the dudes! Weird, eh!