#oh Jon thinking of Robb the last time he saw him. there were snowflakes melting in his hair

[catofoldstones]

No but Jon’s last thoughts are of his family, his siblings. His home for the past 3 years has been the wall and as far as he knows all of his siblings are dead but there is a thought of Robb, a brother whose fight he could not join He thought of Robb, snowflakes melting in his hair and responsibility kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower, agile as a monkey because he should have been in Bran’s place after all. Of Rickon’s breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing Lady’s hair. You know nothing jon snow. A distant sister but a sister nonetheless. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird’s nest. Someone, someone who looks like his kind-eyed, high-born mother and he doesn’t know, he just knows that he has to save her. He’s thinking of Winterfell as it was. He’s thinking of home. A dream of spring, right here, but it’s all in the past.

[butterflies-dragons]

Sansa, Jon and Sweetness

I know that “sweetness” could be a bad omen for other characters in different contexts, but in these quotes of Jon and Sansa “sweetness” means innocence, family, dreams, beauty, desires and love.     

Sweet Lady

Remember when Jon Snow called his mare “Sweet Lady”?

The mare whickered softly as Jon Snow tightened the cinch. “Easy, sweet lady,” he said in a soft voice, quieting her with a touch. Wind whispered through the stable, a cold dead breath on his face, but Jon paid it no mind. He strapped his roll to the saddle, his scarred fingers stiff and clumsy. “Ghost,” he called softly, “to me.” And the wolf was there, eyes like embers.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

As I said before, there are so many things to say about this quote:

Jon Snow, the guy who is supposed to like the warrior woman type, whispered to his mare “Easy, sweet lady”. He could’ve said “Easy, girl”, but he said: “Easy, sweet lady”. Oh Jon, you are such a romantic dork.  

Lady is also the name of Sansa’s direwolf.    

Lady and Ghost are mentioned together and linked in many passages of the Books. I love it.

At this point Lady is dead, so she is literally a ghost.

Later in the Books Jon also dies. So we have a direwolf with a dead master and a master with a dead direwolf.

And guess who is the female character that is called ‘sweet lady’ the most? Yes, the answer is Sansa.   

Red haired girls calling Jon Snow “Sweet” & Jon Snow calling red haired girls “Sweet” 

Ygritte:

Tormund frowned down at Jon. "Best go, if it's the Mance who's wanting you."

Ygritte helped pull him up. "He's bleeding like a butchered boar. Look what Orell did t' his sweet face."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

Sansa:

“There's a new High Septon, did you know? Oh, and the Night's Watch has a boy commander, some bastard son of Eddard Stark's."

"Jon Snow?" she blurted out, surprised.

"Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose."

She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Jon:

Blood meant little and less amongst the free folk, Jon knew. Ygritte had taught him that. Gerrick's daughters shared her same flame-red hair, though hers had been a tangle of curls and theirs hung long and straight. Kissed by fire. "Three princesses, each lovelier than the last," he told their father. "I will see that they are presented to the queen." Selyse Baratheon would take to these three better than she had to Val, he suspected; they were younger and considerably more cowed. Sweet enough to look at them, though their father seems a fool.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

Red Hair exists Jon Snow: Lovely! Sweet!

Sweet Dreams of Winterfell

Jon and Sansa really want to go back to Winterfell, their home:

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.

The dream was sweet . . . but Winterfell would never be his to show. It belonged to his brother, the King in the North. He was a Snow, not a Stark. Bastard, oathbreaker, and turncloak . . .

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

That was such a sweet dream, Sansa thought drowsily. She had been back in Winterfell, running through the godswood with her Lady. Her father had been there, and her brothers, all of them warm and safe. If only dreaming could make it so . . .

She threw back the coverlets. I must be brave. Her torments would soon be ended, one way or the other. If Lady was here, I would not be afraid. Lady was dead, though; Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, her father, her mother, even Septa Mordane. All of them are dead but me. She was alone in the world now.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

Sweet flowery smelling

Jon is OK with sweet flowery smells:

"Maybe he never washes, so he smells as rank as a bear."

"Then I'd push him in a stream or throw a bucket o' water on him. Anyhow, men shouldn't smell sweet like flowers."

"What's wrong with flowers?"

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

The shield that guards the realms of men. Ghost nuzzled up against his shoulder, and Jon draped an arm around him. He could smell Horse's unwashed breeches, the sweet scent Satin combed into his beard, the rank sharp smell of fear, the giant's overpowering musk. He could hear the beating of his own heart. When he looked across the grove at the woman with her child, the two greybeards, the Hornfoot man with his maimed feet, all he saw was men.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VII

Sansa smells sweet like flowers:

Sansa Stark, he mused. Soft-spoken sweet-smelling Sansa, who loved silks, songs, chivalry and tall gallant knights with handsome faces. He felt as though he was back on the bridge of boats, the deck shifting beneath his feet.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

On the morning her new gown was to be ready, the serving girls filled Sansa's tub with steaming hot water and scrubbed her head to toe until she glowed pink. Cersei's own bedmaid trimmed her nails and brushed and curled her auburn hair so it fell down her back in soft ringlets. She brought a dozen of the queen's favorite scents as well. Sansa chose a sharp sweet fragrance with a hint of lemon in it under the smell of flowers. The maid dabbed some on her finger and touched Sansa behind each ear, and under her chin, and then lightly on her nipples.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

Sweet as Song

Jon seems fond of sweet voices and singing:

The wildlings seemed to think Ygritte a great beauty because of her hair; red hair was rare among the free folk, and those who had it were said to be kissed by fire, which was supposed to be lucky. Lucky it might be, and red it certainly was, but Ygritte's hair was such a tangle that Jon was tempted to ask her if she only brushed it at the changing of the seasons.

At a lord's court the girl would never have been considered anything but common, he knew. She had a round peasant face, a pug nose, and slightly crooked teeth, and her eyes were too far apart. Jon had noticed all that the first time he'd seen her, when his dirk had been at her throat. Lately, though, he was noticing some other things. When she grinned, the crooked teeth didn't seem to matter. And maybe her eyes were too far apart, but they were a pretty blue-grey color, and lively as any eyes he knew. Sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him. And sometimes by the cookfire when she sat hugging her knees with the flames waking echoes in her red hair, and looked at him, just smiling . . . well, that stirred some things as well.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

With their black hoods and thick black cowls, the six might have been carved from shadow. Their voices rose together, small against the vastness of the night. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins," they said, as thousands had said before them. Satin's voice was sweet as song, Horse's hoarse and halting, Arron's a nervous squeak. "It shall not end until my death."

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VII

Sansa sings sweetly:

It wasn’t fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. 

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly. All I could ever do was shout the words.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon's breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back …

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

Sweet Bran

Jon and Sansa remembering Bran’s sweetness: 

When the dwarf grimaced, his scar tightened and twisted. "The boy's earned himself a dagger, wouldn't you say?" Thankfully Tyrion did not wait for her reply. "Joff quarreled with your brother Robb at Winterfell. Tell me, was there ill feeling between Bran and His Grace as well?"

"Bran?" The question confused her. "Before he fell, you mean?" She had to try and think back. It was all so long ago. "Bran was a sweet boy. Everyone loved him. He and Tommen fought with wooden swords, I remember, but just for play."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

When nine-and-ninety hostages had shuffled by them to pass beneath the Wall, Tormund Giantsbane produced the last one. "My son Dryn. You'll see he's well taken care of, crow, or I'll cook your black liver up and eat it."

Jon gave the boy a close inspection. Bran's age, or the age he would have been if Theon had not killed him. Dryn had none of Bran's sweetness, though. He was a chunky boy, with short legs, thick arms, and a wide red face—a miniature version of his father, with a shock of dark brown hair. "He'll serve as my own page," Jon promised Tormund.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

This post was so sweet to write ♡  

[worldofjonsa]

“You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

Ygritte is not the only character that can rightly be associated with “you know nothing”. We associate that line with Ygritte ALONE because she says it ALOT! But this might not be the only person that Jon has heard these words from, behind the scenes, and how Ygritte’s words are a reminder of someone, or someones, that could very well have said it to him too. (Just because we don’t get a POV narrative doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. There are MANY clues regarding other characters that we don’t get all the information about, but we get hints everywhere! So “You know nothing, Jon Snow” are words he very possibly could heard from Catelyn, the ONLY mother figure he’s ever really known (and he desired motherly affection from) and from Sansa, a sister who tries to live up to the image of her mother. The two most important feminine figures in Jon Snow’s life. An interesting thing is that we see Catelyn Stark use this phrase in ACOK before we ever hear it from Ygritte in ASOS. Here is the one from Catelyn Stark: ‘She opened her hands to look down at the scars across her fingers. His dagger’s marks, she reminded herself. His dagger, in the hand of the killer he paid to open Bran’s throat. Though the dwarf denied it, to be sure. Even after Lysa locked him in one of her sky cells and threatened him with her moon door, he had still denied it. “He lied,” she said, rising abruptly. “The Lannisters are liars every one, and the dwarf is the worst of them. The killer was armed with his own knife.” Ser Cleos stared. “I know nothing of any—” “You know nothing,” she agreed, sweeping from the cell. Brienne fell in beside her, silent.’ -Catelyn ACOK chapter 45 But the most interesting thing is, the FIRST time we see Ygritte says these words, they are in a different order, AND they are the chapter JUST before Sansa’s chapter where she is thinking these words. The FIRST we see Ygritte say it, she says Jon Snow’s name first. ALL the other times AFTERWARDS she says his name last. “Are all crows afraid of gooseprickles? A little ice won’t kill you. I’ll jump in with you t’prove it so.” “And ride the rest of the day with wet clothes frozen to our skins?” he objected. “Jon Snow, you know nothing. You don’t go in with clothes.” “I don’t go in at all,” he said firmly, just before he heard Tormund Thunderfist bellowing for him (he hadn’t, but never mind).” -Jon II ASOS THE VERY NEXT CHAPTER is Sansa’s POV: “Alyn said her favor made him fearless,” said Megga. “He says he shouted her name for his battle cry, isn’t that ever so gallant? Someday I want some champion to wear my favor, and kill a hundred men.” Elinor told her to hush, but looked pleased all the same. They are children, Sansa thought. They are silly little girls, even Elinor. They’ve never seen a battle, they’ve never seen a man die, they know nothing. Their dreams were full of songs and stories, the way hers had been before Joffrey cut her father’s head off. Sansa pitied them. Sansa envied them.” -Sansa II ASOS Do you think it a coincidence that the the very first time we see Ygritte use these words, it is immediately followed by Sansa thinking the same words? I don’t. No. Not coincidence. It gives a whole knew perspective to Jon’s thoughts before he gets stabbed at the end of ADWD. Jon flexed the fingers of his sword hand. The Night’s Watch takes no part. He closed his fist and opened it again. What you propose is nothing less than treason. He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon’s breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird’s nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … ‘ ~ Jon XIII, ADWD chapter 69 1. He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. (This is Jon’s last memory of Robb, when they said farewell before Jon left for the Wall. The last time he saw Robb) -Kill the boy and let the man be born. (Jon is associating Aemon’s words with his last memory of Robb. Why? This is why I think he does: “Allow me to give my lord one last piece of counsel,” the old man had said, “the same counsel that I once gave my brother when we parted for the last time......Kill the boy within you, I told him the day I took ship for the Wall. It takes a man to rule. An Aegon, not an Egg. Kill the boy and let the man be born.” -Jon II ADWD 2. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. (Here Jon doesn’t have ANY thoughts he associates with Bran) 3. Of Rickon’s breathless laughter. (Again, no thoughts in connection to Rickon.) But then: 4. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. -You know nothing, Jon Snow. (Why does Jon associate Ygritte’s words with Sansa? Curiouser and curiouser...) Followed by: 5. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird’s nest. -I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … (These are the words from the Pink Letter from Ramsay Bolton who married fArya. Direct connection/association with his thoughts of Arya.) Wasn’t it Arya who Ygritte reminded him of? Not Sansa. Or is the reader missing all the subtleties of how Ygritte actually reminds Jon of Sansa, he just doesn’t mention her name in his thoughts. Ygritte’s singing, and tears, and weeping, and her red hair kissed by fire, these are all things that are associated with Sansa’s character!) Here are some book quotes: One was asleep, curled up tight and buried beneath a great mound of skins. Jon could see nothing of him but his hair, bright red in the firelight. On the ground the sleeper sat up beneath his furs. Jon slid his dirk free, grabbing the man by the hair and jamming the point of the knife up under his chin as he reached for his—no, her—His hand froze. “A girl.” He was so close he could smell onion on her breath. She is no older than I am. Something about her made him think of Arya, though they looked nothing at all alike. “Will you yield?” he asked, giving the dirk a half turn. And if she doesn’t? “I yield.” Her words steamed in the cold air. “You’re our captive, then.” He pulled the dirk away from the soft skin of her throat. -Jon ACOK chapter 51 Ygritte watched and said nothing. She was older than he’d thought at first, Jon realized; maybe as old as twenty, but short for her age, bandy-legged, with a round face, small hands, and a pug nose. Her shaggy mop of red hair stuck out in all directions. She looked plump as she crouched there, but most of that was layers of fur and wool and leather. Underneath all that she could be as skinny as Arya. -Jon ACOK chapter 51 “Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft … the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper. -Catelyn ACOK chapter 55 ‘The wildlings seemed to think Ygritte a great beauty because of her hair; red hair was rare among the free folk, and those who had it were said to be kissed by fire, which was supposed to be lucky. Lucky it might be, and red it certainly was, but Ygritte’s hair was such a tangle that Jon was tempted to ask her if she only brushed it at the changing of the seasons. At a lord’s court the girl would never have been considered anything but common, he knew. She had a round peasant face, a pug nose, and slightly crooked teeth, and her eyes were too far apart. Jon had noticed all that the first time he’d seen her, when his dirk had been at her throat. Lately, though, he was noticing some other things. When she grinned, the crooked teeth didn’t seem to matter. And maybe her eyes were too far apart, but they were a pretty blue-grey color, and lively as any eyes he knew. Sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him. And sometimes by the cookfire when she sat hugging her knees with the flames waking echoes in her red hair, and looked at him, just smiling … well, that stirred some things as well. -Jon II ASOS She reminded him a little of his sister Arya, though Arya was younger and probably skinnier. It was hard to tell how plump or thin Ygritte might be, with all the furs and skins she wore. Do you know ‘The Last of the Giants’?” Without waiting for an answer Ygritte said, “You need a deeper voice than mine to do it proper.” Then she sang, “Ooooooh, I am the last of the giants, my people are gone from the earth. Tormund Giantsbane heard the words and grinned. “The last of the great mountain giants, who ruled all the world at my birth,” he bellowed back through the snow. Longspear Ryk joined in, singing, “Oh, the smallfolk have stolen my forests, they’ve stolen my rivers and hills.” “And they’ve built a great wall through my valleys, and fished all the fish from my rills,” Ygritte and Tormund sang back at him in turn, in suitably gigantic voices. There were tears on Ygritte’s cheeks when the song ended. “Why are you weeping?” Jon asked. “It was only a song. There are hundreds of giants, I’ve just seen them.” “Oh, hundreds,” she said furiously. “You know nothing, Jon Snow..” -Jon II ASOS Jon had never met anyone so stubborn, except maybe for his little sister Arya. Is she still my sister? he wondered. Was she ever? He had never truly been a Stark, only Lord Eddard’s motherless bastard, with no more place at Winterfell than Theon Greyjoy. And even that he’d lost. When a man of the Night’s Watch said his words, he put aside his old family and joined a new one, but Jon Snow had lost those brothers too. -Jon III ASOS She bit his neck and he nuzzled hers, burying his nose in her thick red hair. Lucky, he thought, she is lucky, fire-kissed. “Isn’t that good?” she whispered as she guided him inside her. -Jon III ASOS “There’s naught to eat in the dark but flesh,” she whispered, biting at his neck. Jon nuzzled her hair and filled his nose with the smell of her. “You sound like Old Nan, telling Bran a monster story.” -Jon III ASOS “Were you a maid?” Ygritte pushed herself onto an elbow. “I am nineteen, and a spearwife, and kissed by fire. How could I be maiden?” “Who was he?” “A boy at a feast, five years past. He’d come trading with his brothers, and he had hair like mine, kissed by fire, so I thought he would be lucky. But he was weak. When he came back t’ try and steal me, Longspear broke his arm and ran him off, and he never tried again, not once.” “It wasn’t Longspear, then?” Jon was relieved. He liked Longspear, with his homely face and friendly ways. She punched him. “That’s vile. Would you bed your sister?” “Longspear’s not your brother.” “He’s of my village. You know nothing, Jon Snow.” -Jon III ASOS “Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father’s face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It had been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her.” -Arya I AGOT He woke to the sight of his own breath misting in the cold morning air. When he moved, his bones ached. Ghost was gone, the fire burnt out. Jon reached to pull aside the cloak he’d hung over the rock, and found it stiff and frozen. He crept beneath it and stood up in a forest turned to crystal. The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice. So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because he'd dreamed of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it, but Arya would run out laughing and shouting, wanting to touch it all. -Jon III ACOK So: Jon thinks that Ygritte reminds him of Arya because of her stubbornness and her tangled hair, and how skinny she is, but the things that Jon likes most about Ygritte is her singing, her tears, and he thinks of her red hair on multiple occasions. There really isn’t anything else that sticks out to him besides these two things during the time he is with the wildlings. Ygritte =Arya= tangled hair, skinny, stubborn When they looked nothing alike. But on an unconscious level: Ygritte =Sansa= singing, tears, red hair These are what Jon fell in love with. The ONLY things that stirred him. He was thinking of Sansa singing while brushing Lady’s fur. Singing. Then, you know nothing...

[geekprincess26]

How about Jon x Sansa- Ride the same bus together literally every day AU?

I am a terrible, terrible prompt filler for taking so long to post this one - and using almost twice the word limit (although that’s still quite short as my fics go)!  Thanks so much for your patience, @riahchan!  This one’s all for you.

Like Snow on Glass

The bus gave an almighty lurch, and Sansa Stark felt a soft thud on the seat beside her as the vehicle braked.  She glanced downward for the culprit and saw a familiar pair of owl-eyed glasses with golden brown rims perched on the blue patterned seat.  They belonged to none other than Mr. Handsome Professor, the raven-headed stranger who barely ever looked up from whichever science fiction novel he happened to be reading at the moment.  He was always sitting in the same seat when she boarded the bus in the mornings, and he always disembarked at Winterfell University’s massive engineering complex halfway across the campus from the visual arts department, where Sansa worked as a temporary receptionist.  

Sansa’s face flushed.  She could already hear her mother admonishing her that it was rude to assign even a flattering nickname to a man whose proper name she had not bothered to learn, especially since he had helped her to retrieve the belongings she had inadvertently spilled in front of him while tripping on her way to the back of the bus on the first day she had ever ridden it.  But Sansa had been too flustered to ask for the man’s name at the time and too embarrassed since.  She had, after all, spent two years being belittled and insulted nonstop by her vile ex-boyfriend Joffrey Baratheon and his equally vile mother, Cersei Lannister.  When Sansa had dared to leave Joffrey, Cersei had used her political clout to drive her five hundred leagues north out of King’s Landing University to godsforsaken Wintertown to start over as best she could.  Sansa would dare any girl to pester a strange man for his name after that.

Sansa picked up the glasses and sighed again.  It was a bitterly cold day even for North Westeros, and besides that, if she chased Mr. Professor down, she would certainly be late for work.  However, she could not very well strand him on campus without his glasses.  She pulled the cord, secured the glasses as best she could inside the broadcloth satchel she’d sewn for herself, and waited until the bus reached the next stop.  She shuffled gingerly along the sidewalk as fast as she could until she reached the enormous engineering complex, looked wildly around her, and sighed with relief as she spotted his familiar head of dark curls in front of a reception desk.  

“Sir!” she called, but he took no notice, even after she repeated herself twice.  There was no help for it, so she reached out and gingerly tapped him on the arm.  He whirled around, and Sansa flinched out of instinct.  She half expected to meet a fist and Joffrey’s raging blue eyes when she willed herself to look up, but Mr. Professor’s hands were tucked neatly into his pockets, and his eyes were brown and deep and giving her a concerned look.

“Are you all right?” he asked, and Sansa’s cheeks reddened.  It took a couple of moments for her to reach into her bag and fish out the glasses.

“You left these on the bus,” she murmured, and held them out as far from her body as she could without looking like an idiot.  She probably did look like an idiot, but Mr. Professor didn’t seem to mind.  His eyes lit up with relief at once.

“Thank you,” he replied.  His voice was as warm as his eyes.  When he reached out to retrieve the glasses, his fingers brushed lightly against hers.  Sansa surprised herself by managing not to flinch.  She shrugged instead.

“You’re welcome,” she replied.  “I figured you’d want them, anyway.”

Mr. Professor beamed at her.  “Aye,” he said, and Sansa felt a rush of warmth loosen the knot that had gathered in her chest when he had turned to face her.  “You really saved me with that one.  I appreciate not having to haul back out there for these.”  He tilted his head toward the door, and as he straightened it his eyes narrowed.

“Can I ask if that’s handmade?” he queried, gesturing toward Sansa’s bag.  She nodded.

“Aye,” she said, testing the very northern word for the first time.  She liked the feel of it.

The man smiled again.  Sansa noticed that one corner of his lips turned just a bit more than the other, and one of his teeth was just a bit crooked.  Many of the girls in King’s Landing would have turned up their noses at such an unrefined, stubble-ridden face.  But then, those girls were the ones who gushed like fountains about Joffrey’s clean chin and blinding white sneer.

“May I ask where you got it?” asked Mr. Professor, and Sansa blushed again.

“I – I made it myself,” she replied.  He raised both eyebrows, and Sansa thought he might laugh at her.  Instead, he cocked his head again.  His hand drifted upward to rub the back of his neck, which suddenly looked pinker than it had a few moments before.

“Do – I – do you make them for other people, too?” he asked.  Sansa shook her head.

“No,” she said quietly.  His face fell, and she added, “Nobody’s ever asked me to, that is.”

“Oh.”  Mr. Professor stopped rubbing his neck and gave her a sheepish smile.  “Would you consider making them?  I – it’s two weeks before Christmas, and I never know what to get my sister.  I think she’d really like something like this.”

Sansa stared at him for several moments.  Anything handmade had been considered the height of poor taste in King’s Landing, and when Joffrey and Cersei had discovered her sewing a skirt for herself one day, they had ridiculed her mercilessly.  She had not taken up the needle again until she had moved north, and then only to replace the battered leather satchel that had ruptured all over the floor of the bus.

“I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s perfectly fine.”  The flush had spread upward and covered Mr. Professor’s face.  “I’m not trying to be a creep or anything.  Scout’s honor.”

Sansa, who had not heard that expression since her brother Robb had left home for university so many years ago, could not restrain her smile.

“No, it’s all right,” she began.  The chiming of the massive historic clock in the building next door cut her off.  She glanced at the wall clock, which informed her that her shift had just begun.

“Oh, bloody – oh, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, and reached over to fasten the flap on her bag.  “I’m so sorry, but I’m late for work, and – ”

“Where do you work?” Mr. Professor asked, and Sansa told him.  A slow grin spread across his face.

“Ah, so you work for Daenerys Targaryen,” he said, and Sansa nodded.  The man turned and strode toward the reception desk, and Sansa, bewildered, trotted after him.

“Yara,” the man greeted the clearly bored woman behind the desk.  She glanced up at him, smirked, and shot him a very saucy wink.  Mr. Professor rolled his eyes.

“May I borrow the phone?” he asked, and Yara raised an eyebrow at him.  “Please?” he added, rolling his eyes again, and Yara smiled sweetly and handed him the phone.

“Dragon Queen again?” she asked, and the man nodded.  Yara punched a few buttons, and a moment later Sansa, horrified, heard her boss’s very distinct voice snap, “Yes?”

“Dany, it’s me,” the man said, giving Yara a long-suffering smile.  “I have one of your employees here – um – ”  His face flushed beet red as he turned to Sansa.

“Oh – Sansa Stark,” she said hastily.

Mr. Professor gave her a grateful smile.  “Sansa Stark,” he continued.  “I forgot my glasses on the bus this morning, and she graciously tracked me down when she found them, so she’ll be a bit late.  She’s on her way, though.”  He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.  “No, I will not watch your cats again tomorrow.  Drogon bloody near bit my hand off last time.  No, Dany.”  He sighed again.  “I love you, too.”  He nodded at Yara, who grinned and hit the cutoff button.

“Sorry about that,” he said, turning back to Sansa.  “Don’t worry about being late; she’s completely fine with it.  Says you’re one of her best employees, actually.”  He blushed.  “She’s not out to torment you, just me.”

“Oh.”  Sansa blinked.  “I didn’t realize you were married to my boss; I didn’t mean to cause either of you any trouble – ”  She cringed when she realized how idiotic that sounded, but Mr. Professor only shook his head.

“Oh, gods, no,” he laughed, looking half amused and half horrified.  “Dany’s my aunt.  And her husband’s a saint.  That’s why we get him so many gifts every Christmas.”

Sansa smiled.  “So you’re a Targaryen, then?” she asked.  The man’s face reddened again.

“Oh, for – I’m sorry!” he exclaimed.  “Off like an idiot and forgot to introduce myself.  Jon Snow.”  He offered her his hand, and this time Sansa felt much less like flinching when she touched it.

“A pleasure to meet you,” she said, and Jon’s lopsided grin reappeared.

“A pleasure to meet you, Sansa Stark,” he replied.  Sansa smiled back.

“I know you’re off to work and all,” Jon said after a moment, “but I really would like to ask more about your making one of those bags for Rhaenys – my sister – if you’re up for it, that is.”  He nodded toward the wall clock.  “What time is your lunch break?”

Sansa bit her lip.  She’s spent every lunch break she’d had over the past eight months alone.  Still, Jon had helped her when her bag had broken on the bus, and he’d ensured that she wouldn’t get into trouble for being late this morning.

“If you’re busy, it’s all right.”  Jon’s voice had softened, and the concerned look had begun to edge back into his eyes.  “If you’d like to talk about it at another time, we can – or, if you don’t, no problem.”

“No, it’s fine.”  The words escaped Sansa’s mouth before she could trap them inside.  “I don’t mind at all.  Where do you want to go?”

Jon smiled, and it was bashful.  So was Sansa’s answering smile, but she did not mind.

“Where would you like to go?” he asked.  Sansa felt the remnants of the knot in her chest begin to melt and swirl away, like snowflakes in the spring.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

The Bastard of Winterfell Part 3

Jon Snow x Reader (second person)

1777 words

Jon Snow is ~getting married~!

A/N: Thank you for the love so far!!

Part 1: http://onceuponaoneshotfanfic.tumblr.com/post/162619181618/the-bastard-of-winterfell

Part 2: http://onceuponaoneshotfanfic.tumblr.com/post/162658973923/the-bastard-of-winterfell-part-2

Something landed on you. Hard.

And suddenly your face was soaked with slobber.

“Ghost!” you shrieked, laughing and pushing the direwolf off of you.

“Ghost! Come here!”

The direwolf took one last curious look at you and bounded off. Jon Snow knelt down and stroked Ghost’s white fur. He looked over at you, offering a small smile and wave as he walked into the library, where you had fallen asleep while reading.

“Sorry!” he called as you got up and snatched your book off the floor.

You laughed. “It’s fine,” you said as you approached him. You stood close.

He shifted his weight. “I… was looking for you actually.”

“And you knew I would be in here.” You held up your book. “Reading.”

“Sleeping, from what I saw.” He smirked at you.

You laughed. “Fine, I dozed off. Lady Stark did tell me I should rest this morning.”

Jon nodded. “Aye. Especially considering tonight…” He trailed off, his cheeks turning red, a brighter red than you had ever seen. “Well the ceremony is… and then the party…”

A large smile spread across your face. It had finally come. Your wedding. You were due to head to Sansa’s room soon for one last fitting into your dress, giving her the whole day to make any changes. Later, your family would arrive to help prepare the castle for that evening. Your mother and sisters would help you get ready, although you insisted that Sansa and Arya get to help as well. In the evening you would head to the forest for the ceremony, after which you would celebrate in the Great Hall. And after that…

Now you had a blush that matched Jon’s as you shoved aside the thoughts that had been increasingly invading your mind as the wedding drew closer.

Jon cleared his throat. “Right. Well, I have a present for you.”

Finally you noticed the small bag in his hand. You lifted your wrist, showing off the snowflake bracelet you had worn every day since your name day. “Can it compare with this?” you teased.

He smiled. “I believe it can. Close your eyes.”

You did as you were told and felt Jon walk behind you. Something cold touched your neck and you shivered in response. Jon chuckled.

“Open.”

You looked down.  A dainty snowflake, matching the ones on your bracelet, now hung from your neck. “It’s perfect,” you breathed. Jon was absolutely beaming at you as the two of you leaned forward-

“A snowflake from the snowflake,” a voice from the doorway called out.

The two of you turned. Theon stood in the doorframe, smirking.

“And there goes that moment,” Jon muttered under his breath. He cleared his throat. “Yes, Theon?” he asked, a roughness to his voice.

“Lord Robb wanted me to collect you,” he announced as he strolled over. “Wedding preparations and whatnot.”

Jon nodded. “Thank you.” He turned back to you. “I probably will not see you again until this evening,” he said, the gruffness in his voice gone. He gave your hand a quick squeeze. “Do you still wish to marry me?” he asked teasingly.

You kissed his nose. “I suppose you shall find out tonight.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough, my lady. Until tonight.” He turned and walked out of the room.

Theon held back a moment. “You know,” he started. “My favorite part of any wedding has always been the bedding cere-”

“THEON GET AWAY FROM HER!” Jon’s voice bellowed from the doorway. Theon jumped and followed Jon out of the room.

You chuckled to yourself and headed to Sansa’s room.

As the sun went down, you sat in your room, waiting for your father to come up so he could escort you outside. The Starks, your siblings, and all the other guests were gathering in the godswood now.

You mother watched you carefully as you stared out the window, fiddling with the snowflake necklace anxiously. It was your first time alone with her since you had left home.

“Are you nervous?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

After a moment’s thought, you shook your head. “Excited, actually,” you admitted.

“Hmm.” You mother followed your gaze to the yard below. “What exactly do you do with yourself here at Winterfell?”

A surprisingly friendly question. “I read a lot. Lady Sansa helps me with my needlework.” You omitted your weekly archery practice with Arya. “Lord and Lady Stark gifted me with a horse for my name day, so I ride a lot.” You tried to suppress the smile that grew on your lips. “I like to watch Jon practice his swordplay in the afternoons. Or when he decides he doesn’t want to practice we go for walks in the forest with his direwolf. Or on especially cold days we sit by the fire and I read aloud to him.”

“Does he not know how to read for himself?” your mother asked coldly.

You frowned. “He reads perfectly,” you corrected her. “He just likes to hear me read. He lays back and closes his eyes and… listens.” You bit your lip. “He’s lovely. Really,” you added quietly.

Your mother hummed. “I’m sure he is. For a bastard.”

A scowl crossed your face. “He is the bastard your daughter is marrying, per your husband’s orders. So I suggest you silence yourself or do not join us in the forest tonight,” you snapped. “Jon Snow is good. And kind. And honorable. And gods, if he is not the handsomest man I have ever laid eyes upon.” Your mother opened her mouth, but you were on a roll. “And he asks permission before taking my hand or kissing my cheek. And he is nervous and sweet around me. Not like those lords and knights who all look as me as though I am something for them to devour, some pawn in your games.” Tears stung in your eyes. “So yes, Mother. You and Father had to give me to the bastard of Ned Stark and that is forever a stain on your precious name, for a lady of our house to become a Snow. But if you think I am going to let you abuse the man I will love for the rest of my life, you are sadly mistaken.” You exhaled sharply. Seven hells that felt good.

A small knock caused you both to jump. You opened the door to find Arya, holding a cloak and looking a bit sheepish. You melted at the sight of her.

“Sansa almost forgot to give this to you,” she murmured. “I volunteered to bring it.”

You allowed Arya to help you fasten it around you. You stepped back. “What do you think?”

Arya smiled. “Jon is going to blush more than usual when he sees you.” Suddenly her arms were around you, nearly knocking you over. She planted a small kiss on your cheek. “I am so happy you are marrying him,” she whispered. “Now we shall be sisters. Real sisters.”

You returned her smile. “Aye. We shall.”

With one last embrace, she scurried off, nearly knocking into your father.

He took a deep breath when he saw you. “You look wonderful. Are you ready?”

You glanced at your mother, who was not even looking at you. You turned your gaze back to your father and took a deep breath. “Very ready.”

The cold bit at you the moment you left the castle. But you trudged on, grasping your father’s arm, heading towards the godswood. In the distance you could see the lights held by the people gathered around the Heart Tree, where you knew Jon stood.

You smiled up at your father and gave his arm a squeeze.

He looked down at you thoughtfully. “How do you feel?”

“Happy,” you admitted.

Your father nodded, a small smile on his face. “Good.”

The lights grew closer and brighter. At last, you could make out the figures that held the torches, recognizing several faces. Finally, you willed yourself to look at him-

Jon stood beside his father, grinning from ear to ear. You could tell he had tried to tame his hair, but you were pleased to see that the curls you loved were still just as wild as ever. The blush you had come to find endearing was visible, even in the darkness of the evening.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered as you got closer. You father rose an eyebrow at Jon, deepening his blush.

You smiled at the exchange. Oh yes. You were ready.

Sometime between the ceremony and the party, something changed in Jon. He was no longer quiet and hesitant to touch you; instead, he spent the party by your side, whispering sweet nothings and pet names in your ear, and he was surprisingly affectionate the entire evening: holding your hand, tracing shapes on your arm with his fingers, his arm around your shoulders.

“Have I told you in the last five minutes how beautiful you are?” Jon’s breath was warm in your ear as his fingertips grazed your hand.

You smiled at him. “No, you have not.”

“My apologies.” He gently kissed your temple. “You are the most stunning woman in all the North.”

“Just the North?” you teased.

Another kiss found your cheek. “All of Westeros.” Another kiss. “The entire world.”

You giggled and sat happily, holding his hand. As the night wore on you saw the crowd growing a bit… rowdy. And a few drunk eyes began looking yours and Jon’s way.

Thankfully, Jon was ahead of you.

“Do not worry,” he whispered. “I already told Robb there will be no bedding ceremony this evening.” He winked at you.

“Thank you,” you murmured, kissing his cheek.

As if on cue, Robb, who apparently was taking his job very seriously, intervened. Grabbing the hand of some lucky young lady, he insisted that everyone return to dancing at once. Everyone obeyed the young lord’s order. With this distraction in place, Jon grabbed your hand and hurried you out into the corridor. The two of you ran, laughing, for a while before deciding it was safe. You stopped and leaned against a wall, out of breath. Jon sank down to the floor, smiling up at you.

“Remind me that I owe Robb one,” he said between breaths. You nodded, laughing through your gasps for air.

Finally, once you were able to breathe, Jon stood and took your hand. The two of you walked in an empty silence towards the room you would now share. You stopped at the door. Jon held you close and planted a kiss on the top of your head.

“Ready?” he asked gently.

You nodded and kissed his lips. “Ready.”

[anonwriter27]

Chapter 5

“No!” “It’s really not that bad…”

It was Tommen’s first visit to the North and Myrcella hadn’t been entirely honest about her living conditions during their phone calls.

“Dear God no!”

He had walked the perimeter of her apartment and repeatedly said ‘no’ to everything he saw. Myrcella wished she hadn’t invited him to see her place. He was going to head back South with more worries than he arrived with.

“Okay! Well I need to drop some stuff off at work, wanna come?” “Anything to get out of here.” He said and made his way to the front door. “Actually… maybe we should take the fire escape.”

Tommen looked at her pleadingly with his eyes, she simply shot back a look that said ‘please don’t ask.’

They walked to Winterfell Estate, trudging through the snow that went past there ankles. It was a Sunday and she hoped the Starks didn’t mind her dropping off some books for Robb.

As she entered the house Tommen relaxed, “Now I’d be quite happy if you lived here.” He said, and he had a point. Winterfell was beautiful; old oak furniture, bay windows, warmly lit chandeliers, it was the ideal house. Her home in Kings Landing had been updated every summer to keep up with the latest interior design trends; it would probably be unrecognisable to Myrcella now.

She walked across the hall to drop the books off on the side table with a little note saying ‘for Robb.’ As she turned to leave she saw the man himself in the doorway, leaning on his walking stick.

“Myrcella?” “Hi! Sorry! I was just dropping off some more books for you.” “And on your day off, thank you” he smiled at her. “Oh it was no problem.” She said and the two held each others gaze for longer than either of them noticed.

Tommen, however, did notice and cleared his throat in an attempt to break his sister out of whatever trance she had been put under.

“Oh! This is my brother Tommen, Tommen this is Robb my…. Um, well…” “Myrcella helps me out around here.” he said and shook Tommen’s hand. Tommen looked at Myrcella the same way Jon had looked at Robb, both men seemingly aware of something their relatives had yet to figure out.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Myrcella has told me a lot about you.” Tommen pointed out, enjoying his fairly level headed sister squirm and blush.

“Has she really?” Robb asked, intrigue and hope etched on his face. “I haven’t told him ‘a lot’ about you… I mean I see you a lot and you’re a big part of my life… I mean because I see you a lot, so really it would be weird if I didn’t tell my own brother about you right?” She finally finished her rambling.

The two men looked equally confused, however Tommen also looked amused.

“Well we better get going” she’d had enough of Tommen’s mocking. “Well it was nice to meet you Tommen, I’ll see you tomorrow Myrcella.” Robb began to walk into the study leaving the siblings alone. “Yes, tomorrow… I’ll see you…then.”

Tommen looked between Myrcella and the space where Robb use to be. A grin spreading wide across his face.

“Let’s go.” And so the Baratheon siblings left Winterfell, both happy but for different reasons.

Tommen left Monday morning before Myrcella went to work. She loved having her brother here and watching him leave had her brushing away a few stray tears. When she came in to work Robb new instantly something was wrong. Her clothes weren’t melancholy exactly, but they were plain, no animals or peculiar detailing; it was simple, something rarely seen on Myrcella Baratheon.

“Let’s go outside today.” He suggested. “Outside? It’s snowing.” “And?” She thought about it, “okay.”  

They walked a decent way away from the house and the snow was getting heavier the further they went.

“Favourite colour?” “You want me to pick one colour out of the entire spectrum? That’s just cruel.” She answered with a teasing lilt. “Okay, favourite gift?”

Myrcella became all giddy, “When I was little I was obsessed with Harry Potter.” “You don’t say.” He chuckled referring to the movie collection she had insisted they watch.

“You laugh but I was one of the many children waiting by the door for my Hogwarts acceptance letter. Anyway, one day Joffrey was in one of his foul moods and said I belonged in Slytherin. Looking back now it was a ridiculous thing to cry over, but at the time I took it to heart and locked myself in my room for days. One day my uncle Tyrion came to visit, he came in my room, handed me a box and said ‘if I was the sorting hat you’d be a Gryffindor,’ and he left.  Inside the box was a Gryffindor scarf and I felt like the most important little girl in the world.” She smiled blissfully at the memory.

“So what happened to this wonderful scarf?” He asked, curiously getting the better of him. “My mother confiscated it. She said I had to grow up and focus on my studies, not fantasise about being a witch.”

They walked on further in comfortable silence, but Robb noticed the shadow never left Myrcella’s face.

“So I’m guessing Tommen has gone back home?” “Yeah, he left this morning.” She confirmed and buried her face in her scarf to keep him from seeing her sad face. He noticed though.

“Maybe he can come up and visit again soon, me and Jon were saying we should all have a meal together. You know you, me, Jon, Ygritte, Bran, and Tommen if you like?” She smiled that beaming smile at him, the one that made him feel special for causing it. “I would love that! Thank you.”

They decided to head back to the house, the snow was coming down really heavy now and Myrcella was scared for Robb walking in thick snow. Then she realised something, he had walked this entire time without her assistance, just his walking stick.

“Hey!” “What?” “Your walking on your own!” “Well I’m using my stick…” He said, but she could see him smiling. “This is great!” She said and she hugged him.

It was the first time she had ever hugged him, when she realised she jumped back and apologised.

“It’s okay.” Was all he said, he smiled at her and they walked back to the house.

When they got in they were greeted by an open fire and a boiled kettle. Myrcella turned to see snowflakes melting in Robb’s hair.

“I’ll go get a towel.” She said laughing and Robb couldn’t help but join her.

She began to towel dry his hair as gently as she could. His hair was drying even curlier than usual and Myrcella was trying to untangle each strand.

It was then she noticed how close they were; her face inches from his. She couldn’t stop her mind from going into overdrive. Is this okay? Does he mind that I’m here? Should I step back? As she went to put her last thought into action she felt Robb’s hands on her waist. She stopped moving the towel and looked into his eyes. She didn’t know what the look they shared meant, but it was intense and it drew her closer to him.

They were so close now, seconds away from changing what they were into something so much more. However they were interrupted, embarrassingly, by Robb’s mother.

“Ah there you two are! I was beginning to…”

The two broke apart as quick as they could but it wasn’t quick enough to escape Mrs Starks knowing gaze.

“Your both soaking! Myrcella go upstairs, third door on the right, you can borrow some of Arya’s clothes.” She offered kindly.

Myrcella thanked her and quickly went upstairs, leaving Robb with his mother.

“Nothing happened.” “I see.” Was all she said but he could tell she was thinking much more.

“Well I better get back to work. I’ll email you the partnership documents tomorrow, you deserve a night off.” And she left, Robb shook his head at her antics.

When Myrcella came back she was wearing an oversized jumper and leggings, and to Robb she looked adorable.

“I better head back home.” She said, though the snow hadn’t stopped and she was a little nervous about going outside.

“To Wolfs Wood? You’ll freeze, you can stay here tonight.” He offered. “I couldn’t do that, I don’t want to be an inconvenience.” “Well your in my wing of the house, and you do all the cooking  and cleaning, so your not really an  inconvenience to anyone.”

She thought about it for a while, “You’re sure?” “Positive.”

They’d just finished watching Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban when they decided to switch off the Tv and just talk.

“My mother tells me that my little sister has a crush on Gendry.” “What?” “She’s been visiting the building site where he works more often than usual, they’ve been having lunch together during his break.” “I wonder why he didn’t tell me” she contemplated, it was unlike Gendry to keep secrets. “Probably the same reason Arya didn’t tell us, the merciless teasing.” They laughed together and she knew he had a point.

Myrcella thought back to the day Robb got to know her and realised she had not shown him the same courtesy. Would that be okay though? They’d comes a long way in their relationship and she didn’t want to overstep any boundaries that would cause him to shut her out again.

“So what’s your story?” She asked, once she’d finally plucked up enough courage. “My story is depressing, far less riveting then yours.” “Mine was not riveting. Besides you got to know me, can’t I know you?”

He appraised her, wondering if his story would push her further away.

“ I joined the army when I was twenty two, I was put in the front line against the Walkers. Me, Jon and our friends Sam and Theon all joined together. Heroes of Westeros, that’s what we thought we were; but we weren’t prepared for the Walkers. How do you win a war against people who don’t care whether they live or die, that have no rational train of thought?”

Myrcella was hooked on every word. Uncle Jaime never spoke of the war and she had always wanted to know what happened but never dared to ask.

“Jon and Sam were relocated to The Wall, they were watchers trying to decipher the enemy’s next move. Me and Theon were left on the front line. We saw things you couldn’t imagine, suffered things you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.” He shook his head, as if trying to shake away the memories of what he’d seen.

“I got hit pretty bad, my right shoulder got the worst of it and I couldn’t breathe. They took me to the wall to recover and I was put on bed rest. The wall was where all our letters were sent to. While I was there I heard that my father had passed. I knew he was ill before I left but I didn’t expect it, I wasn’t prepared. My grief consumed me and I refused to get better. Jon and Sam eventually snapped me out of it but my recovery had been delayed, which is why I’m in the sorry state I’m in now.” He said lightly but Myrcella could see the pain in his eyes and the anger he felt towards himself.

“When the war ended I came home and everyone was the same, and I resented them for it. I wanted to be the same, but I wasn’t, not after what I’d seen. So I pushed them all away and handled the family business on my own. I think Sansa and Rickon are still pretty pissed with me about that, but Jon, Bran and Arya, they wouldn’t stop pushing me. Eventually I caved and let them visit and over time I let Jon help with my recovery.”

Myrcella wanted to assure him that his siblings would understand what he’d been through, but she’d never met Sansa or Rickon, and it wasn’t her place to assume.

“I was getting better, until I heard what had happened to Theon.” “What happened to him?” Myrcella found herself asking. “That’s the thing, I don’t know exactly, he went missing and no one has heard anything since. Perhaps if I’d been there with him…” “You were hurt, your not to blame Robb.” “I’m sorry, I’ve rambled on about the most depressing things.” “Don’t apologise. I’m glad that you shared this with me.”

There was no need to say any more or push for details. Myrcella knew more about the man in front of her, and her admiration for him only grew.

They fell asleep next to each other on the sofa, and it was the best night sleep Robb had had in a long time. Jon and Mrs. Stark found them the next morning, before they quietly left the estate deciding to let the pair sleep in.