#jonsacountdown

[brit-sheff-blog]

No matter what happens. No matter where I am or where you are, forever and always, I am yours and yours only.

[jonsanshiph]

[fedonciadale]

At the weirwood tree

Inspired by the trailer and Sansa’s walk away from the weirwood tree. Wirtten for @jonsa-countdown ! Day 8 - Free choice, also on AO3.

Jon found his sister at the weirwood. Sansa had seemed collected and cool at the meeting. Like Lord Manderly she had argued against his leaving for Dragonstone, but while the portly lord had become rather heated, Sansa had reined herself in. The only sign of agitation Jon had seen had been the blood in her cheeks. After the meeting Davos had talked with him about preparations and by the time he had finished, Jon had been desperate to look for Sansa. He knew she was angry with him.

Although, how I can make her understand when I can’t tell her the truth? Still he doggedly looked for her. Her red hair stood out against the background of the weirwood. I should have known to look in the godswood.

When he reached Sansa, she stood at the tree and leaned against it, her forehead touching a branch with snow, as if she wanted to cool it. She opened her eyes, when he arrived, and he thought he saw her lashes glistening. If she had been crying or if some of the occasional snowflakes had touched her, he could not say. The familiar longing to just take her in his arms, and maybe kiss her lashes raised its head and Jon stamped rigorously on the snake in his heart.

“You promised to protect me,” Sansa said. “How will you protect me, when you are not here?”

Her voice still held a hint of anger, but it was tinged with more sadness than Jon thought he could bear.

“I will come back.”, he said. I protect you from myself. I can’t trust myself when you are so close to me.

“Father wanted to return to Winterfell, he never came back. My mother wrote Bran that she would return, I found her letters in the library. Robb wanted to return. It feels like I am the only Stark that ever came back from the South.”

Jon’s heart ached.

“I’m not a Stark,” he said, trying to make a joke of it.

Sansa’s eyes flashed with anger.

“How many times do I have to tell you? You are to me,” she said.

“Still, in the eyes of the world I am the bastard King Snow. It might help to avoid the ill luck.” Jon tried again to give their conversation a lighter note.

Sansa sighed and rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything.

“I want our bannermen to protect you and Winterfell. None of them wants to venture south and you know I can’t send Davos. We can’t risk this Dragon Queen to be offended because of his low birth. We know nothing about her,” Jon tried to reason with her.

“Don’t repeat your tedious arguments, Jon,” Sansa said. “I don’t care about the Dragon Queen. Good Queen Alysanne was the only Targaryen who did anything for the North, and that was centuries ago. This queen’s father killed our grandfather and uncle. Her brother raped our aunt Lyanna. Nothing good can come of it.”

“We’ve never needed dragonglass or dragons before.” Jon said.

“I’ve already conceded that point to you.” Sansa quipped and Jon thought he could see the shadow of a smile on her lips. “I still think, you should send someone else.”

“I could always send our trusted servant and ally, Lord Baelish Littlefinger,” Jon quipped. They both laughed at that until their laughter was killed by sudden silence.

Jon took Sansa’s hands in his, although he knew how dangerous that could be. His heart took up speed and he heard the blood rushing in his ears and he felt alive like he never did when Sansa was not near.

“Believe me, Sansa. I want to protect you and believe me, that I’m convinced that I can protect you and Winterfell best, when I leave. Many of the things you said are true and I will be very careful.” That was as close as he dared to touch the truth. Would she be appalled if I told her that she needs protection from her half-brother who lusts after her. He thought of that moment in the crypts when his temper had gotten the better of him. He still wanted to break Littlefinger’s neck. I can hardly blame him for wanting Sansa, so do I.

“I believe that you want to protect me, Jon, but I’m not entirely sure, you can be good at it, if you’re not here,” Sansa said. Her eyes were locked searchingly at his and Jon tried his best not to look away, even though he was afraid Sansa would look at the bottom of his soul and see his shame.

“And,” she paused for a heartbeat and then carried on obviously with reluctance. “I think, that you hold something back. I feel, that there is something you do not tell me.” Her voice sounded strangely strained and her eyes glittered. “Is that so? Is there something else? Is there something you don’t tell me?”

Jon’s was reminded of the time he had taken a hard fall from his horse and the sheer ability to breathe had him left for a seemingly everlasting moment. What to tell her?

“You have become very observant.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Sansa said.

Jon took a deep breath, he felt like he might lose his footing on this thin ice.

“It’s not safe, if we are together. You know or rather we suspect, that Littlefinger is after me. If I leave he might think, that he can turn you against me. And for that, he will strengthen your position in any way he can. If I stay, he will undermine me and that only harms us. This way, we will use his own agenda to work for us. I know, you will not turn against me, but Littlefinger does not.”

Jon felt a surge of pride. That sounded as if he had thought about a bold political move, instead of desperately trying to avoid his sister and her haunting beauty.

Sans looked at him, suspicion in her eyes, if that had indeed been his real reasoning.

“You could have told me that before the council,” she said.

“I thought, Littlefinger would not see through this, if you argued genuinely against my leaving,” Jon said.

Sansa scoffed. “You should know, that I could have played along easily.”

“Of course,” he said. “But I did not know, if I could play along, if I had known that you were not genuinely angry. Littlefinger had to see me distressed at your arguing.”

Sansa laughed and Jon could see that she had bought his reasons. “You seem to know yourself inside out. Littlefinger did indeed insinuate that you are not good at putting down people who argue against you.”

“It’s better to hear everyone out, I can’t think of everything. That’s what councils are for.”

Sansa nodded. “I told him so as well. Father always listened what people had to say.”

Jon drew a breath.

“This will work only when Littlefinger thinks, that he has a chance to lure you to his side. When I leave tomorrow, you must act aloof, as if you barely repress your anger. For now, I came to say goodbye.” He knew, that he was tempting his own resolution, but he was not strong enough to leave Sansa without being sure, she was not cross.

“O Jon,” Sansa sighed, and suddenly she moved into his arms. “You’ll go with all my good wishes and blessings.” This time, Jon was sure, that her eyes were glistening with tears.

It was so sweet to hold her in his arms, that he wanted this moment to last forever. He tried to relish in the feeling of Sansa being near, of her smell in his nose, of the sound of her breathing in his ear. All too soon, she left his arms and looked earnestly at his face.

She smiled bravely and gave him a kiss on the cheek that made him feel as if a flame had touched him.

“I still don’t like it. But I understand that reasoning. Leave Littlefinger to me. I’ll handle him and when you come back with your alliance we will find a way to endure.”

She raised a finger. “And don’t you dare to stay in the South!”

Jon’s heart was about to break when she turned to leave. She walked with confident strides and Jon looked after her, pressing his lips together to keep himself from calling her name, touching the branch of the tree, where her forehead had been, pressing it to root him, so that he would not run after her.

For a moment, he thought, that she was about to turn her head, and suddenly a coppery taste was in his mouth and he realised that he had bitten his tongue in his effort to keep silent.

Ghost found him later when it had grown almost dark, still standing at the tree, battling with himself. Jon bent down to pet his direwolf and scratched his ears. For a moment, he allowed himself to bury his face in Ghost’s fur.

“I’ll have to leave you here boy. A boat is no place for a direwolf. Look after her for me, will you?”, he said. “Protect her!”

Ghost licked his hand and pressed shortly to his side, then he trod away, trailing where Sansa had left and Jon walked slowly after him, his heart heavy.

[sansaswig-blog]

About Sansa's Hair.

I saw this post early morning:

http://valyriansword.tumblr.com/post/163190917893/jyn-erso-i-learned-a-great-deal-from-her-sansa

When I saw it I realized something that I’d like to share. Actually, the hairstyles ARE NOT the same. See how Sansa’s one has a small bun on the top of her head, while Cersei’s doesn't. If you look carefully you will realize.

Now If we go for symbolic expression we could believe this means Sansa is indeed mimicking and ‘admiring’ Cersei, but ONLY to a certain point, while she actually has her own views and personality. She only took some traits from her and discarded others, which is pretty much what her character keeps doing as she grows. Therefore claims that wants to imply Sansa will be ‘clumsy’, 'evil’ and believing 'she is smarter than she is’ like Cersei does, don’t really make sense in this context, when we yet don’t really know what is 'the thing’ that Sansa has learned from Cersei. Also let’s not forget that the person that taught her for the most part of the story was the best player in the seven kingdoms and the one that actually is pretty much aware of the game himself: Littlefinger, so no way she goes 'clumsy’. But she has also spent her formative years with the most honorable person of the seven kingdoms and is actually her daughter, so it would be really strange having her becoming 'evil’. What has she learned from Cersei then? We’ll have to wait to know. We as Jonsa shippers surely want her to learn a certain lesson about how to treat your handsome brother, I guess? Lol. A shipper can always hope… By the way, my username may be relevant here.

[the--pipsqueak--alchemist]

A Little jump

(@jonsa-countdown ah, I’ve been thinking of this idea for so long so decided to write the first chapter for the free day!)

Jon knows that sometimes strange things happen. Like losing a sparing round from Theon of all people and getting hit in the head. Its the last thing he remembers, feet slipping and Theon raising the wooden sword above and feeling the blow as it slammed against his skull.

But it’s stranger still to wake up in his father’s chambers.

For a second, Jon is afraid that any moment Lady Stark would walk in and finally find a reason to throw him out of Winterfell. It’s only the realization that being unconcious, both his father and Maester Luwin must have shifted him to the Lord’s chambers to provide him with some much needed rest that stops him from bolting out.

Despite being a bastard, having been honoured to such an extent fills Jon with a gratitude that seeps deep into his bones.

If I wasn’t a bastard, this would be mine one day.

Jon pushes the thought away as soon as it comes. He can’t think like that. He won’t. He closes his eyes and leans against the pillows and furs then brushes his hand over his head. It should be a bit swollen but it isn’t.

How long was He asleep?

It’s a knock on his door that forces him to stir. Jon gets up and swings his legs up from the bed. It’s weird. How his body feels. Tired beyond words. He shrugs and sits at the corner of the bed as the door opens, closes and Sansa steps in.

For a moment, he’s speechless. Because bloodyhell, did she have a sudden growth spurt since the last time he had seen her? She gives him a sweet small smile and looks at him as he gets up.

Looks down at him. She’s at least one inche taller. He shuffles awkwardly. The only consolation to his ego of the fact that he is shorter than his younger half sister in height is that Robb would be too.

“Good morning, Jon” she says awkwardly.

He’s a bit surprised as Sansa would scarcely say his name.She would always go around calling him half-brother even if she were to ask him the most simplest of things. Perhaps, his injury had made her act as such.

Still, Jon doesn’t know how to react so he mutters a response. He still cant believe how old she looks, if someone who had never been to Winterfell were to come they would never believe her to be 10.

He shakes his head. She probably came to speak to father but found him instead.“ I’ll go now.” He says and makes to leave but Sansa surprises him by placing a hand on his chest to stop him.

“You can’t go out like that, Jon” she scolds him a bit too close for his comfort.

He glances at his dirty jerkin and finds no reason for her objection. He’s a bastard, who’s going to bloody care if the clothes he wears are dirty.

“It’s fine”

Sansa looks taken aback.“ Of course it isn’t. Get dressed properly. We’re all waiting for you in the hall.”

He would still need to leave and go to his room to do so.

“They’ll be some lords there too. I’m not sure what it’s about but from what i can guess, it’s probably another dispute with the freefolk. So you need to hurry.”

Freefolk? But more importantly than that, why would it matter if he was there? Was this some polite way of telling Jon his place? He feels blood rise to his cheeks, he knows it already.“ I know what a man of my rank is required to do when the lords arrive. You need not remind me, My lady.” He snaps.

Sansa gives him a confused look but nods despite it. “Okay. I’ll be waiting.” She tells him and turns around to leave.

He looks at her as she pauses before the closed door and turns back around towards him. Sansa steps in close, her face unreadable before she leans in and…

For a moment, Jon does nothing but melt instantly when she kisses him. It’s soft but a bit demanding too. He has never kissed before so inexperienced as he is, Jon tries his best to respond.

Until, of course he remembers who it is. Jon jerks away from Sansa as if she’s molten steel. His eyes are wide and frantic too perhaps and breathing comes difficult to him.

Sister, sister, sister.

If Lady Stark were to see, she would blame his bastard nature.

He can’t bring himself to speak. Prime proper Sansa. “What-what the hell was that? What the fuck was that?!”

Sansa has the audacity to look offended.“ A kiss, Jon. Must I need to explain that to you?”

Jon shakes his head. Even his father would blame him. No one would ever believe Sansa would ever do something like this.

“You’re my-”

“Wife!” She cuts him off.“ I can’t believe you, Jon. Didn’t we decide that we would try? Were you not the one who agreed?! And the minute, I try this is how you react? Where was your hesitation last night then? I remember you being eager enough in bed.”

He stares at her horrified.

Sansa glares at him then pushes past him to the wardrobe and takes out a clean jerkin and father’s cloak throwing it on the bed.“ Wear this” she snaps at him.“ I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

When Sansa leaves him, she slams the door shut. Jon still stares at where she stood a moment ago, utterly baffled.

He grazes his lips, still warm and wet, swallows and lays down in the bed closing his eyes tightly, covering himself in furs. A dream, he thinks, one conjured up deep within, a testament to his bastardly nature.

He’ll wake up soon enough. Just a fucking dream.

[zip001]

half brother

@jonsa-countdown - this is written for day 3 - childhood theme. this is my headcanon on why sansa calls jon her half brother. it is a continuation of my Jon’s first kiss one-shot. I am sorry that the writing was rushed!

Ever since that day she found him crying, little Sansa took him under her wing. No one knew - it was their secret. She put her tiny finger on his lips and breathlessly whispered not to tell anyone and that was what made it even more special (although he knew and suspected that even she knew that it was better that no one found out, especially Lady Stark and Sansa’s septa who always looked at him as if she smelled something bad).

After Sansa’s lessons and his chores, they would meet up in the Old Keep, near the broken tower, for half an hour. Jon thought she was mothering him when she tsked and clicked her teeth at the new cuts and bruises he sported, admonishing him to be more careful. She would then tend to them, cleaning them gently with her embroidered hankerchief moistened with water. And it was true what she said before - her butterfly soft kiss on his scrapes always made him feel better.

Jon knew that Robb and especially Theon would tease and scoff at Sansa mothering him, but it felt good. He still yearned for the quick kisses and hugs that Lady Catelyn gave Robb and Sansa, that he knew were never for him. He was not her child, she made sure he never forget that, but in the Old Keep, he forgot. Sometimes he would close his eyes, pretending that it was his mother taking care of him. Other times he pretended she was his sweet lady wife when he saw Lady Catelyn fussing over Father. Jon knew that he was worst than craven to imagine that.

So that was why it hurt so badly when little Sansa corrected Theon and told him in the loudest and clearest voice that Jon was not a bastard - he was her half brother. His heart clenched as he saw Lady Catelyn looked approvingly at her minature likeness while Robb was laughing at his little sister, mimicking her hands on the hips stance.

At first, Jon did not want to meet her at their hiding place. She probably would not be even there. But then he went there anyways because he wanted to cry and did not want Robb or Theon or anyone to know.

When he finally got there, he heard her cry and immediately ran to her and held her.

“You did not come,” she blubbered, her blue eyes filled with tears.

Jon kissed her forehead and whispered that he would always come for her until she stopped crying.

“Why did you call me half brother?” he finally asked, wondering if this was something Lady Catelyn told her to say or something she overheard and innocently repeated.

“You’re my brother and my other half, just like Aemon the Dragonknight and his sister, Queen Naerys.”

[nyangibun]

Little Wolf: Part II

@jonsa-countdown

PART I: REUNITED - AO3 LINK

PART II: STORM

It had rained endlessly for days. There were puddles the size of the loch outside of her house. If she wasn’t already on maternity leave, she would’ve called in sick to avoid drowning. There was a storm brewing in from the east, according to the weather report. People were urged to avoid driving unless necessary, but there had been an increase in accidents anyway. Sansa tried to avoid listening to the news after that. She didn’t want to know. Three months later, and it still hurt like it had just happened yesterday.

Sansa bounced Chloe on her hip. The baby girl was fussy during a rainstorm. She hated the sound of pitter-patter on the rooftop; it kept her awake and the lack of sleep was beginning to drain the both of them. Sansa couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had a good six hours of uninterrupted sleep.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Sansa murmured quietly, walking into the kitchen. The cup of tea she had made for herself sat cold and forgotten - immediately neglected as soon as the baby monitor started to echo with Chloe’s cries. “It’s just the rain. We like the rain.”

The baby girl sniffed and stared up at Sansa with wide teary eyes. The look was eerily like disbelief - like this nine-month-old had understood what Sansa was trying to say and she clearly didn’t buy it.

“Okay, maybe you don’t like it now,” she amended, chuckling. She turned away from the kitchen, deciding tea was not going to help now anyways, and went back into the lounge. She settled onto the sofa and wrapped them both up in a large quilt. “But you will one day, Chloe. Rain signifies rebirth. That’s what we’re doing.” She poked her chubby cheeks gently. “We’re cleansing away the bad and we’re starting anew. Together, me and you. We’re a family now.”

Chloe blew raspberries up at her. It wasn’t much of a response, but it still made Sansa smile in spite of the heavy weight on her chest. It was still so hard. Everything about this situation was so painfully surreal. Her nights, in the moments she could find sleep, were consumed with flashing images of red and blue sirens, the sound of screeching tires, and lifeless eyes staring back at her. They were so demanding, so judging - as if they were there to say she wasn’t doing enough, strong enough or brave enough to weather this new path her life had taken.

Sansa cuddled Chloe tighter, pressing her nose up against the baby’s temple. “I love you, lil’ wolf,” she said softly. “I love you so much, but I’m so scared I’ll mess this all up. You deserve so much better than I can give. You deserve your real parents.”

Oh, how Robb would’ve doted on his little girl; how much he would’ve wanted to watch her grow up, intimidate her boyfriends or girlfriends as she was picked up for a date - oh, it would’ve been so sweet to have seen that.

Unbidden tears ran down her cheeks. She normally tried to reign it in for Chloe, but the loss was still so new. Every time she looked at this little girl, she saw Robb’s hair, the cheeky smile on her little face and Margaery’s eyes. She saw so much of their love in her. How could she replace them like that? How could she sit here and claim to be this girl’s mother when she had such a wonderful one?

The door creaked open and the wind howled from the outside, droplets of rain flying around the room for the five seconds it took for the person to close the door.

“It’s pissing it down outside. You’re lucky you don’t have to -” He paused, stopping just a few feet away from her. “Sans, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” She kissed Chloe’s forehead and hid her face in the quilt. “I’m fine, Jon.”

She heard a thump from where he must’ve dropped the bags of grocery. A second later, she felt his arm wrap around her. “Tell me.” He tilted her face with his free hand so she’d be forced to look at him. The tears had stopped, but they stained her cheeks, drying like visible tracks of weakness. She hated letting anyone see her like this. But it always seemed to be Jon who found her at her worst. “You’re not fine, so don’t bother lying.”

Chloe made a displeased noise then, as she wriggled in Sansa’s arms, trying to get to Jon. The action seemed to startle him, as if he had forgotten about the tiny girl for a moment. He pried Chloe loose from the quilt and kissed her soundly on one cheek and then the other, causing her to giggle loudly.

“Always want to be the centre of attention, don’t you, Chlo?” Jon laughed. “You’re just like your father, you know that?”

“And her mother too,” Sansa reminded him, to which he laughed again.

“Aye, and her mother.”

In the quiet that befell them, Sansa listened to the sound of the rain outside. It was hard to believe in the words she spoke to Chloe when her own grief was so consuming, like a black hole sucking her very existence inward and ripping it apart. She held it in as best as she could, but Sansa was only human. She could only withstand pain for so long.

“You don’t have to be brave in front of us.” Jon was watching her, one hand cupping the back of Chloe, while the other gently circled her wrist. “We’re both here for you.” His thumb rubbed soothing circles along her skin.

A sob broke free in spite of her resistance. She shook her head. “I’m just tired… I’ll be fine.”

“When was the last time you slept?” He edged forward to better study her; she knew he was taking note of the circles under her eyes and the pallid complexion of her skin. He’d always been observant. “Sansa, answer me.”

“I don’t know. Last night for a couple hours,” she said, averting her gaze. Lying was pointless anyways. And she no longer had the energy to put up a front with Jon, not like she did whenever her mother or her siblings came around.

“Okay.” The word was weighted, holding heavier meaning than its two syllables, but she couldn’t read through it this time. Not in the way she normally could with Jon.

Another silence followed, and then Jon was standing. “She’s asleep. I’m going to go put her down. I’ll be right back.”

She watched his retreating form and marveled for a moment over how easily those two could pass for father and daughter. They had the same mop of curly dark hair, the same quiet, easy temperament. Oh, this was dangerous territory. Sansa could see that. But in order to ease the panic so ready to flare up inside of her, she escaped to the kitchen and filled up the kettle with water. She emptied her mug from earlier and replaced it with two new blue rose-printed mugs - a gift from her mother when she moved away for university seven years ago.

Sansa heard him enter the room. She could feel his eyes following her as she moved around the tiny kitchen to prepare the tea. “Still milk and no sugar?” The confirming ‘aye’ led to another bout of silence. It was becoming a regular occurrence. She thought it might have ceased when he moved permanently back to Scotland, but there it was, an ever-looming chasm between them.

“Let me move in.’

The mug tipped in her surprise. She managed to hold on long enough to drop it with a clatter on the countertop, but hot liquid spilled onto her hand. “Shit,” she ground out, sucking her injured fingers in between her lips.

“God, I’m so sorry, Sans.” Jon was beside her in seconds, pulling her fingers away and and tugging her gently towards the sink. He ran the tap over her hand, tentatively turning it this way and that so the cold water could ease the heat. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not bloody okay,” she snapped, scowling at him. “You just asked to move in with me. What the hell, Jon?”

He sighed, sounding almost as exhausted as she felt. “I can’t look out for you two if I’m never around. It makes sense.”

“Us living together does not make sense,” Sansa fervently argued. “It would be a disaster, Jon, and you know it.”

Jon dropped her hand as if she had been the one to drop scalding water on him. The hurt was there even if only for a fraction of a second. “I don’t know that,” he said softly, though no less firmly. “Do you really think we wouldn’t work well together in raising Chloe? Or is this about -”

“I think we’re already doing so much,” Sansa interrupted. “I don’t need you to give up your life for me. I’m fine on my own.”

“Oh, I know.” The bitterness was unmistakeable, and she had half a mind to tell him off for dredging up things he shouldn’t, but he spoke before she could get a word in. “But you don’t need to do this alone. I’m just as much her parent now as you are. I want to be there for her, Sansa. Please.”

The expression in his eyes left her breathless. He was already there, she realised. Where Sansa continued to struggle with being a mother and not an aunt to Chloe, Jon was already there. He already loved her as he would his own daughter; he didn’t want to lose a minute of his time with her, and how could Sansa be so cruel as to keep him away?

“Promise me the minute this doesn’t work, you move out.”

Again, hurt flashed in his grey eyes, and Sansa had to swallow down the guilt. She needed to protect Chloe as much as she did herself. There was a long and complicated past that Sansa couldn’t expose the baby girl to. If it became a problem, she had to make sure Jon was willing to leave.

“I promise.”

“Okay…”

They stared at each other for some time after that. A hundred different stories passing between them in silent contemplation - a past they could no longer return to, a present they could hardly keep up with, and a future they could only hope for.

Abruptly, the sky thundered above, like a thousand dragons roaring overhead to conquer lands unseen. Half a second later, the baby monitor wailed. Just like clockwork.

“I’ll get this,” Jon said, touching her forearm. He stepped forward, hesitant, and then kissed her on the cheek. “Get some rest, Sansa. I’ll wake you up for supper.”

“Are you -”

“Sleep, Sans. I’m here now.”

He retreated from the kitchen. Sansa sighed, rubbing her eyes, and looked around the room. The mugs of tea once more forgotten, likely cold now. She wasn’t up for tea anymore anyways. As petty as she wanted to be about not needing Jon as much as she really did, her body had different plans and she begrudgingly dragged her feet to her bedroom. The second her head hit the pillow, Sansa was out like a light, three months of grieving and trying to be a mother to an orphaned child taking its toll on her.

When she next woke, the sun had all but disappeared from the sky; although it hadn’t been that present as of late here in this part of Scotland. Winterfell had always been a town cursed with abysmal weather. She pulled herself up to a sitting position, bracing her back up against the headboard of the bed.

It was pointless to wait out this conversation now that she was awake. But even as the phone rang, her heart thumped anxiously.

“Hi, hun. You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Sansa answered, speaking quietly in fear of Jon being on the other side of the door. “I did something stupid, Jeyne.”

“It was only a matter of time,” her best friend joked, but when she didn’t laugh in response, she heard a sigh come in from the other line. “What happened, Sans?”

“Jon came over and… he asked to move in with me and I said yes.” Now that the words were out, Sansa found she couldn’t stop talking. “I know it’s a bad idea, a terrible one even, but Jeyne, you should’ve seen his face. It wasn’t about me or what happened. This was about Chloe and he loves her so much. I know it pains him to be away from her, and… and how can I keep him from her, right?”

There was a long pause before, “oh Sansa.” Her best friend sighed again. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You two have been trying to make this thing work while having one feet in and one feet out. For Chloe’s sake, it’s good you’re doing this.”

“Really?” Sansa had to admit the level of incredulity in her voice was bordering on dramatic, but after all the fuss Jeyne kicked up about how she had to remember to protect her heart if she was ever going to survive Jon Snow being back in town, she expected more.

“I know, I know,” Jeyne said. “But Chloe needs you both. That’s all that matters right now.”

Of course, her friend was right - again.

“So you think it’s a good idea that Jon moves in?” she had to make sure.

“For Chloe, yes. For you? No.”

“Great…” Sansa thumped her head back against the headboard. This was just great.

“I know. But for what it’s worth, I think you’ll be okay. All three of you.”

“Do you really think so?”

Jeyne chuckled. “You and Jon love Chloe more than anything else in the world. And past or no past, you both love each other too. In whatever capacity, it doesn’t matter. You trust each other.”

“Yeah…” she murmured. In whatever capacity. Somehow that didn’t ease the dread curdling in her stomach. Somehow the capacity mattered to her; she just didn’t quite know in which way she wanted it yet.

Barely ten minutes after she hung up with Jeyne, Jon came to knock on her door. She followed him out to the lounge where her dining table had been unfolded and placed to the side. There were two bowls of spaghetti bolognese set on opposite ends and a bottle of milk on the side where a high chair had been placed.

“Roses, really Jon?”

“They’re for Chloe,” he said, a faint smirk on his lips, as he bent over to kiss the baby girl on her forehead. She giggled. “She’s quite the princess, you know? Kept babbling about ruling Scotland and seceding from Britain.”

“Oh, how very Jacobite of her.” Sansa rolled her eyes at him and settled herself into the seat. “We’ll make a revolutionary of her yet.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he said, meeting her eyes and laughing.

She twirled her fork in the spaghetti and took a generous helping. It’d been too long since she had a real hot meal; the realisation of this becoming clear to her as the homemade taste satiated a previously unknown craving.

“This is delicious.” She glanced up towards him. “Jon, thank you. I mean it. This is really good.”

He shrugged, but there was a tinge of pink on his cheeks. “You won’t be saying that when you find out I only know how to cook three dishes.”

“Well, isn’t that a coincidence? I only know how to cook four dishes. Together, we can have a different meal for each day of the week.”

“What do you know, we fit together perfectly.”

The words so teasing in their intention quickly charged the atmosphere between them with something unspoken. It could’ve gotten so much more awkward if Chloe didn’t suddenly decide she was unhappy with her bottle and threw it to the ground.

“Told you. Princess Chloe is unhappy with the state of the Commonwealth, Sansa.”

And just like that, the tension dissipated.

Just like the storm outside.

[mairiangel]

DAY 5 - Songs

Summary: He remembered her loving songs and how she wanted to live in one before she had gone to the South yet she came back disillusioned.

Relationship: Jon Snow & Sansa Stark

AO3 Link: x

Notes: @jonsa-countdown this is my entry for day five - songs, there is also an ao3 format if you like that one.

He was taking a walk in the gardens of the Vale when he thought he caught a glimpse of her, Jon halted his steps as his gaze shifted towards the retreating figure walking just a few steps away from him though when his eyes registered her strands of black hair spilling over her back, he had hesitated. Maybe it was just his imagination from missing his family though why he seemed to associate her to Sansa is beyond him.

 With a wrinkle of his nose, he shifted on his feet as he took one last glance at the woman before taking the opposite direction and walked towards there but the moment he turned around, he suddenly felt someone boring their gaze behind his back. Years of battle instinct had been integrated on him and this instinct told him that it was the woman who was staring at him.

 He didn’t turn around though, resuming his walk and trying hard not to make seem like he had noticed her staring. Jon was still exploring the gardens when he heard a familiar voice singing and this time, he was sure that he was not imagining it. He tried to find the source and eventually stopped walking when he was just edge on a clearing and he saw her, kneeling on the soft snow ground with eyes raptured on a pile of snow that seemed to resemble some snow fort that was still on the process of being built.

 She was singing, something sad and haunting, her voice was soft, low and was barely heard throughout the surroundings as if the song was meant for her alone without anyone finding out, he doesn’t know why—her voice was quite good, too good that it reminded him of someone he hadn’t seen for a long time now. He remembered Sansa singing in front of several guests, her voice high, excited yet still retaining some elegance as she sang with her heart out.

 Her singing was suddenly halted. “Lord Snow.” Her soft voice that he was sure he heard somewhere was heard as she said this though she still wasn’t looking at him, her gaze remained on the fort. And then she stood up and bowed her head—too low and still not letting him see her eyes. “Are you perhaps lost?”

 He didn’t say anything, gaze fleeting towards the fort and her figure—his mind surely knows what’s going on, he wanted to ask her something yet he was not sure that his assumptions were even correct as he stared at her bowed head, not really seeing anything of her features. “Snow is just fine, I’m not any lord.” Was all he said as he watched her shook her head and turned around from him as she started walking idly yet still not showing her face from him.

 “You are one, are you not?” She asked. “Like the knights in the songs.”

 Songs? His mind seemed to echo as he stared at her long flowing hair, it resembled the ink used in parchments. And then something passed through him, Sansa? His mind suddenly said. But it can’t be, as far as he knew, she wasn’t anywhere near the Vale—he didn’t even know where she is right now but the only thing he knows is that she is alive somewhere and at the end of the day, that’s all that matters to it.

 Jon doesn’t know how what to say as he stared at her back, “My half-sister likes to sing.” He found himself saying softly, he wasn’t close to Sansa yet he remembered when the times when she sang to him about Aemon and his lady love, he hoped she had lived her dream even for a brief moment yet he knew that things in the South hadn’t gone well. He prayed for her, just like how he prayed for Arya, Bran and Rickon. “She always dreamt of going to the South and marrying a prince.”

 There was a pause. “She may have realized that songs weren’t real, the South isn’t what it presented it to be.”

 “What do you mean?”

 A soft depreciative chuckle came out of her as he heard her say. “The South is cruel.” The words were soft, barely heard and like her singing—it was as if she doesn’t want to say those words to anyone else but her, he wondered if he was conversing with her or is she talking to herself.

 And then she turned around and faced him, Jon was still raptured when her pair of painstakingly familiar blue eyes met his and then he realized something. He gazed at her face, high cheekbones that reminded him of her lady mother, eyes that expressed what she thought and though her hair was as black as his, he was sure that it was her. The way she held herself and her voice, it was something that is unique to each and every one of them and he recognized it.

 It was her.

Notes: I think I’m late, it’s already july 6 in my country, oh well.

[jonsa-countdown]

◊ Jonsa Countdown officially begins tomorrow, July 1st!

◊ Click here for more information and here for a more in depth look at the schedule.

◊ Any questions? Send an ask our way!

[qinaliel]

Jon x Sansa AU: To See Her Smile

A "Meet Cute" for Day 4: Modern Universe in @jonsa-countdown

Jon turned to look for the beautiful redhead, seeing that she was on her way in the opposite direction. After the embarrassment of accidentally bumping into her, she had flashed him a cheeky smile as he scrambled to help pick up her items. That smile and the way her blue eyes lit up gave him a visceral reaction he had never felt before, the feeling had made Jon want more of her smiles directed at him. As he had one more shop to visit before the 5pm train, Jon couldn't stick around and she had seemed to be in a rush as well.

Running a hand to tame some curls, Jon saw something purple on the sleeve of his wool coat, the rough texture had snagged a few of the arts & crafts pipe cleaners when he hastily stuffed them back into Smile's shopping bag. Quickly coming to a decision, a later train wouldn't be all that terrible, Jon turned around and weaved through the crowd. He could see the bright copper of her hair just half a block away and decided to sprint. In no time Jon was beside her and with a quick greeting, held out his hand to show her what he had.

"Oh! You didn't have to go out of your way to return those, I bought a bulk package for my class."

"It would've bothered me that you didn't get everything back after I ran into you. I'm Jon. Let me make it up to you by buying you coffee?"

"I'd love a coffee. My name's Sansa. It's nice to bump into you again, Jon." The smile she gave him made everything around them that much brighter.

[brit-sheff-blog]

Just a little something I threw together while I was bored!! Love our Jonsa moments!!

[jonsanshiph]

The Belle and The Bastard

The story picks up from when Jon leaves Winterfell to join forces with Dany (around 7.02 if I’m right) but this chapter is dedicated to flashbacks. Tried my best to keep things as realistic as possible. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

“There must always be a Stark at Winterfell,” Jon said with his hand on her left cheek.

 Her head understood, but her body protested – she could feel her chest tighten, her throat form a lump, and her eyes well up. Being around Jon had given her so much comfort these past few months. Despite obvious threats North and South of them, she found that she could still have conversation and laughter. She was not looking forward to being away from family again.

 “When you come back, you will be King again. I promise.” Now, she had said this mostly to get Jon to promise he would return, but instead she would get the opposite.

 “Winterfell is yours, Sansa. I was playing King at best. After the War, there will be no need for me.”

 “Our family needs you, Jon. Wartime or not.” I need you, she wanted to say.

 When they were kids, Sansa made a point of ignoring Jon, rolling her eyes at him every time he would throw her a glance. She hated the idea of him – this alien who thought he could be a part of their family. He was weird, too – just sulking in the corner and frowning about. If he was gonna intrude anyway, the least he could do was not make the rest of them feel bad about it. It annoyed her how he had to act like a victim all the time.

 But not anymore. Sansa realized that Jon didn’t choose the Starks. He was a Stark and he deserved a place in their home as much as the rest of them. She had been so mean to him and she apologized for this every time the thought crossed her mind. But Jon seemed to show more understanding for who she was then than she ever did him. In fact, it seemed like he was more confused by her now that she had changed.

 “I don’t know. You surprise me.” Jon said to her once during one of their late night talks by the fire. This was the night of the day they left the Wall, the day she had given him a new coat, one that looked more like her Father’s.

 “What do you mean?” she asked.

 “I don’t know. I guess I never really got to know you. I had known you from a distance at best.”

 “Well, that changes now.” Sansa grabbed his hand for what seemed like the second time that week.

 Jon hadn’t known her. But he loved her all the same. She was family. So when he first saw her, he felt like clinging on to this fragile, precious thing that he had not known in years. Family. But Sansa surprised him beyond that. She had grown up, despite the worst of odds against her, to be beautiful and kind and smart. She was a person he could admire, and, if he was being honest, this made him feel quite insecure sometimes.

 He had great confidence in her as she had many times said she had in him, and, so there was no hesitation in him to leave Winterfell to Sansa.

 “You will have a beautiful family. I know it.” Jon knew that leaving and fighting the war could mean the end of him. But he had to fight if it meant his sister could have a family, if it meant that everyone in the Seven Kingdoms could lead lives free from war and death.

He kissed her forehead and left.

[the--pipsqueak--alchemist]

Until the very end

[ @jonsa-countdown here’s my entry for day 1 : reunion. This is literally my first jonsa fic! I’m so excited! Sorry for any grammar issues, English isnt really my first language. Anyway, hope you like it! ]

The men roar with vigor and pride, ‘the King is here!’ ‘The King is here’ they say. Arya runs ahead, sensing her ghost wolf brother through a means Sansa would never be able to understand and she follows her wild sister, pushing Bran’s wheelchair as quickly as she could. Jon was not supposed to arrive until a few weeks from now but Sansa has long stopped doubting miracles, for they had happened far too often since that day at Castle Black and rushes to embrace the moment – or in this case - embrace Jon.

If the moment Sansa and Jon had first seen one another was filled with a solemn silence, marked with disbelief and a taint of something bittersweet but so incredibly warm, Arya and Jon’s reunion is marked with different and more vibrant colors all together. It was not silent. For what it was, was the sound of their sobs mingling together to paint a picture so tragic in its beauty.

“I missed you” they both would say between their tears together in between their hugs.

Sansa gestures to a nearby servant who takes the control of Bran’s wheelchair and pushes him towards the sobbing King and his sister (Cousin. But for today it would not matter. Nothing less did.)

Bran lets out a snort as he approaches the two figures, but his voice cracks underneath the weight of its joke when he speaks “Forgot all about the cripple brother, did you, Jon? I like to think that I matter too.”

Jon gets up from his knees and Arya un-tangles herself from his embrace then he picks Bran up as if he weights nothing and once again the King bends the knee, hugging a sibling to the point where they might suffocate.

What a wondrous picture it is, Sansa thinks as she stares from a distance, both wholesome and pure. This is something she would not dare to corrupt. She had stepped into the pure world that should have had nothing touched by her back in the Eyrie. And she has suffered through something unimaginable since then. That was just an empty Godswood. What punishment would befall on me if I dare? she thinks and shivers.

So instead, Sansa watches through red-rimmed eyes. She watches as Arya inserts herself between Jon and Bran, and the three sit huddled together like little kids while the rest of the lords, servants, and maids alike gawk awkwardly at the scene. She watches as Jon moves away from the two and whispers something. She watches as he stands and glances around, where the crowd bows to a king who pays them no mind and instead searches, searches until he finds her.

Snowflakes fall tenderly on his being as he stares. And Sansa wonders if she is brave for not running away.

For every bone in her body wants to tear itself apart from his gaze yet, she wants his eyes to stay at her figure still. What a strange dilemma, this man who isn’t really her brother yet is, for he does not even know, to put her through something so strange like this.

And then he smiles a soft one that melts away all her fears. He smiles and he picks her up. Everything is fine and nothing else matters except his hands around her body and his lips pressed against her cheeks. “You came back” she finds strength from his touch and whispers in his ears.

“Of course I did, promised didn’t I?” he replies softly, his breath just as warm as his smile.

Sansa laughs as he takes her towards her other siblings. She is still in the air, her legs dangling above the ground and there’s laughter from Bran and Arya and from Jon too, which she hears and feels as well against her chest.

She’s dropped unceremoniously on the ground in front of her siblings and this time, they all tackle each other. Everything is alright and everything will be okay. Here they are, together and alive against all odds and if they survived what they have survived, they did not do it so to die by a foreign dragon queen nor old tales.

She breathes in their scent, and for the first time in a long while, Sansa Stark prays. Let this remain, she says to the old gods, until the very end.

[zip001]

“I… remember…” he croaked.

Each word felt so heavy in his mouth. His tongue felt thick and numb, too big for his mouth.

“A wolf, you mentioned a wolf before, is that what you remembered, Mister Snow?”

He closed his eyes and grimaced. He shook his head.

“No, no, not Snow” he grated out. He angrily shook his head.

That is not my name, not the name she called me. Not a Snow.

“Apologies, you want to be called Aemon, right?”

I was her dragonknight. I protected her. I always come for her, my queen, my sister, my love.

_______

written for day 4 - modern @jonsa-countdown

source of pic: pexels.com

[nyangibun]

Little Wolf: Part I

@jonsa-countdown

PART I: REUNITED

Her mother looked tired. There were dark shadows under her eyes and loose tendrils of hair escaping from her normally kept bun. She needed a break from all of this. Sansa could handle the arrangements and the guests. Her mother didn’t need to shoulder all of the responsibility. It would do her some good to find rest amidst the chaos that would inevitably befall them in a few short hours.

“Mum.” She approached warily, footsteps light on the wooden floorboards as if she was a lion sneaking up on a gazelle, but even as tentative as she moved, her mother still startled. Wide blue eyes, glassy and unfocused, looked back at her. Sansa placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let me do this, please.”

“The catering isn’t even here yet,” her mother said. “I told them to be here by one, but they’re not here. We can’t – we can’t start without the food, Sansa.”

Her grip tightened. “Mum, go rest. I’ll deal with the catering.”

There was a long pause as the two Stark women stared at each other. Her mother appeared to be considering refusing the offer, but thankfully, exhaustion wore out and she nodded, retiring to her room. Sansa gave a sigh of relief once the door clicked shut. It was easier to think with her mother gone. Since it happened, her thoughts had been loud, pulsing, achingly present and jumbled. With the silence of the house as company, Sansa could still it into something more manageable. She’d always been good at compartmentalising.

The call to the caterer went as smoothly as she’d expect from today, which meant they would arrive half an hour before the guests were to arrive. It was better than no catering at all, so she was resigned to letting that one particular problem go. Then, Sansa dealt with the florist and the arrangements for after. She did everything she could do, and yet all the while knowing she was avoiding the one thing she had to do. It was a problem she couldn’t face right now, figuratively and literally, and that might make her the most awful person in the world, but couldn’t she be awful for just one day? For just today?

The backdoor opened around two. At first, Sansa had hoped it was the caterers coming half an hour early, but the voices reached her from where she sat in the kitchen and her heart sank to the soles of her feet. Not the caterers. No, it was the one person she didn’t want to see right now, more than the problem she’d been avoiding all day.

“Sans.” Her sister took one look at her and sighed. She wrapped her in her tiny arms, face pressed against Sansa’s chest. “You look like shit.”

That drew out a surprised laugh that Sansa didn’t know was still in her. She tightened her own arms around her sister. “Yeah, so do you.”

“Mum?”

“Asleep for now,” she said. “The boys?”

“Out back in the tree house.” Arya pulled back and glanced over her shoulder. “So are you two just going to ignore each other for the rest of your lives?”

Sansa sighed, pulling her hair over one shoulder to plait it. A nervous tell. “I’m not ignoring him.”

“You’re not even speaking directly to him,” her sister pointed out. “Jon, c’mon. At least you be the mature one here.”

She heard him move from where he’d been standing in the doorway and she finally tore her gaze up to look at him. His curls were still as unruly as they’d always been – soft, bouncy and flopping over his forehead. And he looked good in his black shirt, the broadness of his shoulders filling it out nicely. But Sansa had always been attracted to Jon. This wasn’t new, nor would it ever stop being new for her. What was new was the droop in his shoulders, the way his eyes never really quite reflected the half-smile on his lips and the way he looked at her, like he couldn’t quite understand her anymore. It had been over a year since Sansa last saw him. Maybe he didn’t anymore. Maybe no one did anymore.

“Arya, can you give us a minute?” The gravelly tone of his voice made goosebumps dance along her arms. She ignored it, opting to watch as her sister left without any fanfare.

“We have to talk about this.”

Sansa ran her fingers through her plait until it pulled her hair loose again. She couldn’t meet his eyes. A coward’s move, but she was a coward today. “I don’t know what there is to say.”

“We have to figure this out, Sansa!” He was aggravated, she realised, finally looking at him and seeing the careful mask begin to crack. He could never hide himself from her. That was what was terrifying about being near him. “We have to do this. For them. It’s what they wanted, right?”

Sansa was like her mother in many ways. They were pragmatic women, skilled in knowing when to push emotions aside to get things done, cool and calm under pressure, but never with him. She broke every time.

“Don’t you think I know that?” she snapped, standing up to face him. “It’s all I’ve thought about! I just don’t know what to do! I don’t know how they could think that I’d be a good –” Sansa stopped herself, unable to even say the word. She shook her head. “I’m not ready for this, Jon. I don’t want any of this.”

She crumbled before him; a pathetic mess when she should be strong. Sansa hid her face in her hands, capturing her tears against the crevices of her palms. She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t ready. Not like this.

Warm, calloused hands circled both her wrists and pried them from her face. Jon studied her, those grey eyes feeling like they could reach inside of her soul and pull out the secrets she kept so hidden to her heart. “Me neither,” he whispered. He dropped her hands, but used his thumb to wipe away her tears. “But we’re here now. We have to do it.”

“What if I mess it up?” She didn’t want to consider even the possibility of what she was asking, but this was a world beyond her realm of understanding. Failure seemed so likely, so inevitable, that she couldn’t help the insecurity from surging inside of her and choking her lungs of oxygen.

“I’ll be there to help clean it up,” Jon said. “And if I mess it up, you’ll be there too. Sansa, we can do this, but only together.”

“They’re asking a lot from us,” Sansa replied, shaking her head. “They must’ve known that.”

He laughed. “I think they always thought if it happened we’d figure it out by then. I don’t think they expected us to have to do it or that it’d happen so early on.”

Sansa took his hand, squeezing tightly. “We’ll be okay, won’t we?”

“We will,” Jon answered her.

He tugged on her hand and pulled her along with him, leading Sansa away from the kitchen and up the stairs. She knew where he was taking her, but she didn’t want to pull her hand back. He comforted her in ways she’d long denied from herself. Today, she needed him, and she suspected he needed her too.

The brightly painted door opened with a creak as Jon poked his head through. The two of them walked towards the centre of the room, hand-in-hand, and peered into the crib. There in a pale lilac onesie was a six-month-old girl with a crop of dark hair and beautiful blue eyes. She gurgled, blinking up at them as she reached her tiny fists forward. Sansa’s heart simultaneously swelled and ached for this darling girl.

“She won’t remember them,” Jon said softly, dropping Sansa’s hand to cradle the baby in his arms. “She won’t know.”

“We’ll have to tell her.”

“When she’s old enough,” he said firmly. He met her eyes. “But if we do this, we can’t just be surrogates, Sansa. You know this, right?”

That was what she’d been afraid of, but there were no other options. This girl was her responsibility now, whether Sansa was ready or not, and she would fight tooth and nail to make sure she did right by her. “We’ll be her parents, I know.”

They descended into silence then, both too transfixed with watching the baby chew on Jon’s shirt. In light of what had happened, it should be impossible to feel such happiness, but being here in this moment to witness something so inane made the world just that touch brighter.

“For what it’s worth,” Jon spoke quietly. “Robb and Margaery didn’t make a mistake when they chose you. You’ll be a great mother, Sansa. I believe that.”

Sansa leaned forward to drop a kiss on Jon’s cheek. “You’ll be a great father too.” She then dropped another kiss onto the baby’s cheek. “Isn’t that right, Chloe?” The baby giggled that melodic, wondrous sound that only a child could make. “I think she agrees with me.”

“Yeah, that’s why.”

“Whatever happens, we’ll love her as much as we loved them,” Sansa said to him, placing a hand over his arm. “As much as they loved her. That’s all we can do. Everything else, we’ll figure out.”

“Together,” Jon nodded, smiling at her. It was the soft kind of smile that had once captured her heart so intensely in its web. She wasn’t convinced it still didn’t have that same effect, but there were more important things now. What Jon and Sansa might have had was a past they didn’t have time to explore. Chloe was priority. That was what mattered.

But she had to say something, a feeling she couldn’t readily deny even if she wanted to. “I’m glad you’re home, Jon. I’m glad you’re back even under these circumstances.”

“Me too.”

[mairiangel]

Day 1 - Reunited

Summary: It had been a moon’s turn after the Battle for the Dawn with no sign of him, she was already losing hope until he returned to her, weary and could barely move.

AO3 Link: x

Relationship: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark

Notes: @jonsa-countdown this is my entry for the Day 1 - Reunited, only sixteen days left before it begun, I can’t wait, also crossposted on AO3 if you like that format.

Her lips were numbed, almost like her hands that were covered by some thick black gloves. Standing at the entrance of Winterfell, hoping for some miracle—a relief from the storm raging inside her mind. She can feel the way the frigid wind kissing the tips of her cheeks, snowflakes falling carelessly on the ground she was standing on.

Some of those that aren’t in favor of her muttered under their breath that she was mad, that the Prince that was Promised had died in the battle not against the White Walkers but of the more than heavy winter gracing their lands. A moon’s turn since he had been declared missing and a month since she found herself standing from dawn till dusk at the entrance of Winterfell—the guards defending the gates had now been accustomed to her behavior.

Silent and with nary a word, just staring blankly at the path ahead of them until her loyal knight managed to whisk her away during important meetings that couldn’t be avoided no matter how hard she tried. She knew this was wrong, the North would suffer if she can’t keep her wits together however they weren’t the one who had gotten to known him.

She reminisced the way he chuckled, quiet and almost subdued, when his fingers touched hers and holding them before he closed his warm brown eyes and kissed the top of her forehead and when they were alone—just the two of them with not one to reprimanded them, he enfolded his hands around her waist, cheeks grazing her shoulders as he muttered words upon words of protecting her yet she remembered backing away slightly to give them space before wrapping her hands around his neck and give him a quick simple kiss on the lips that more often than naught, dissolved to a less than pure endeavor.

Sansa doesn’t believe that he was gone, with no word and no body. With a sigh, she took one small glance at the sky and saw that nightfall was almost upon them. She suppressed to bite her lower lip and refrained herself from being disappointed—there were always other days he could return. They have a lifetime to catch up, for that, she knew he wouldn’t leave them.

If their brother and sister hadn’t given up on him then she wouldn’t too—she couldn’t. None of them could gave up on him, they were the only wolves who had survived the pack.

She briefly closed her eyes when she heard the familiar footsteps of Brienne who had come to tell her that she was needed inside, this was a pattern she was already familiar with. And with one last look to the outside of Winterfell, she gave a small sigh of frustration before her gaze drifted towards her knight. She gave one small nod as she turned towards Brienne’s direction and started walking to her in silence.

But then instead of saying comforting words, her knight had turned her attention towards something behind her back, eyes wide. Hope suddenly flared at her mind when the guards started shouting and saying words that she couldn’t distinguish as she turned around and her heart almost leaped from her chest as she stared at the figure just a few steps away from her.

Strands of his pulled back hair clings to his cheeks as he struggled to breath from the pain, his black tunic were worse for wear—teared around the hems and his trousers weren’t any better—soaked in some blood that she wished weren’t of him, she briefly recalled that he wasn’t wearing the plate of armor that she commissioned and the cloak that she had made herself yet that wasn’t what she was focusing on, his eyes—deep warm brown eyes staring straight at her like she’s the only one worth looking at.

The next thing she knew was running towards him, not caring for the fact that her late septa would scold her for the lack of elegance yet she did not despair because the only thing she felt right now is the way his hands enclosed around her shoulders before she felt the first tremors of something within her and without holding back, a soft sob escaped her lips.

This was him, it was real.

He let her wrap her arms around his neck as she buried her face to his chest, her body shivering from something she couldn’t understand. They stayed like that, his face was on her shoulder beside her ears yet he was not muttering anything, only savoring the moment they have. She closed her eyes and let out a small smile as she heard him let out a small puff of breath, feeling his warm breath grazing her shoulders and then he said two words that almost made her weep, in a voice and tone only meant for her alone.

“I’m home.”

Notes: In my country, it’s actually July 2, so I’m just plain confused.