Chapter Text
She traces the branded figure on the steel breast plate as she tries to hold in her emotions. She lets in an unsteady breath, and it catches in her throat. A keening wail escapes her lips, and she falls apart—Sansa isn’t aware of how long she cries nor is she aware of the moment when the door to her rooms open, a man entering quietly. She startles at the gentle hand on her back and looks up to see the long face of her older brother.
Jon stares down at the breast plate with a frown before his face changes, “I had no idea Sansa. I hadn’t—well I hadn’t known the two of you were as close as…that.” He finishes lamely.
“He was the only one who could have possibly understood who I am. We suffered the same. I thought—I had hoped that after this—it was stupid. Stupid. I am so stupid…” She feels her brother hug her tightly, rocking her for a long time as she cries desperately.
Safe in his arms, she is painfully reminded of when she was a child. Robb doing the same as Jon, anytime she was hurt or sad. Both Jon and Theon watching bemusedly as Robb indulged her with his sympathy.
Jon pulls away to wipe filthy hands across her cheeks, smearing the dirt from his fingers with her tears. He looks apologetic, but she just smiles sadly. “Dany thought we should send his bones to the Iron Islands, to Queen Yara. Perhaps it is better if he stays here.”
Sansa shakes her head, “This will always be his home, but he belongs in the sea, Jon. Daenerys Targaryen is right.”
“What if we send him off on the edge of the Wolfswoods, into the Sunset Sea? He’ll rest in the North and the sea. Dany can speak to his sister, if you’d like?”
Sansa shrugs noncommittally. She suddenly feels so tired, and she wants to be alone, to mourn. She hears the creaking of Bran’s chair as Arya pushes him into her rooms, and she sighs quietly. Her little brother looks at them blankly, and she frowns. She wants to ask him about Theon, but she cannot bring herself to do it just yet. The silence that follows is melancholic and weighed down by the loss and horror of the Long Night.
“What happens now?” Arya mumbles eventually.
Jon speaks, “We will burn the dead, and we will prepare to go South. Dany is determined to be rid of Cersei Lannister, the sooner, the better.”
“Going South so soon?! Our men are tired and most of them injured—they need rest!” Sansa spoke up in anger.
“We owe this to her. Daenerys is ready to sit on that throne—as is her right.” Sansa catches the moment Jon looks at Bran uneasily.
“Tell them Jon.” Bran speaks monotonously.
“It doesn’t matter Bran!” Jon’s voice carries, and Sansa is taken aback by the bitterness she hears.
“They deserve to know. Sansa and Arya are your family too—not just her.”
“You don’t think I know that?! The three of you are my family! The family I’ve known since each of you were born!”
“What are the two of you going on about?” Arya asks impatiently.
“My mother...” Jon says in defeat, his feet carrying him to Sansa’s small window in her rooms.
“Your mother? I don’t understand. Do you know who she is?” Sansa heard the disbelief in her own voice as she looks between Bran and Jon.
Jon nods dismally, “She was Lyanna Stark, and my father—my real father—was Rhaegar Targaryen. Bran saw it in one of his visions. Sam confirmed it.”
“Confirmed it?” Sansa asks faintly.
“Jon’s mother and father were in love, and they ran away together. Rhaegar never stole her as has been believed. There is a diary written by a High Septon who married the two of them. Samwell Tarly found it in the Citadel. Jon isn’t a bastard. He was born Aegon Targaryen. Father hid him from Robert Baratheon for fear of his wrath.” Bran stated evenly.
Sansa couldn’t help the hysterical laughter that bubbled from her lips. It was cathartic; her head falling back as her eyes brimmed with tears that weren’t caused by the loss of Theon Greyjoy. She wipes her tears, Jon’s dirt and the snot underneath her nose, across the cuffs of her sleeves, and she watches as Jon eyes her impassively. He looks so much like the father in her memories that there is absolutely no reason for her to believe that Jon and Bran speak truthfully.
She sobers up enough to realize that it isn’t some mad jest, and her laughter dies as she inhales shakily, “But—but that means…”
“Don’t.” Jon says it emphatically, and Sansa swallows her words. She looks between all of them helplessly. Of course Jon wouldn’t want to face what the truth meant. He hadn’t even wanted to be King in the North; why would he fight for the Iron Throne?
“The North has suffered many losses after last night. We may need the crown in hopes of having our keep, our homesteads and our stores rebuilt and there will most likely be infighting for those vying for the deceased noble houses. We will need help with all of this. If the North understands that we are still serving a Stark they may be less bitter about rejoining the crown.” It was Arya who spoke up, and Sansa stared at her open-mouthed. Arya eyes her blandly before shrugging nonchalantly.
Sansa turns to Jon as he looks at their sister dumbly before speaking, “Is that what you have to say about it?!”
Arya looks at him, discomfited, before looking to Sansa and back, as if asking for help. “It is the past Jon, and father did it to protect you. I think we can all understand why he would do something like that. Robert Baratheon would have killed you. Father was honorable in doing this, as he always was. Besides, you’ll always be our brother, King of the Seven Kingdoms or not. I don’t know what you expected me to say.” She says it earnestly, and Sansa finds herself agreeing.
He spoke up angrily, “I will not turn against Dany! She has given up too much, and I—”
“—love her.” Sansa represses the urge to shiver in disgust. Instead she asks evenly, “It doesn’t bother you?”
“W-We couldn’t have known. I’m afraid it is too late—in any regards.” Jon speaks shyly.
“It isn’t as if Targaryens are not familiar with—familial relations. History has shown that Starks have their own fair share too. Does the Dragon Queen know of your true parentage?” Arya speaks bluntly.
Jon stutters, “Y-Yes, she wasn’t exactly pleased about it, but we hadn’t more than a moment to speak of it.”
“You told her, before you told us?!” Sansa scoffs indignantly.
Arya sighs, “Jon, you need to speak with her. If you hadn’t noticed, our people weren’t exactly warmed to hers coming here in the first place. In fact, they’ve been quite deplorable about it. There is too much to be done, and no one should see the two of you at odds with one another. Morale is low, and it will give our people a cause for unwarranted hostility if we allow their prejudices to continue.” Arya voices reason again, and Sansa turns to look at her in shock once more; her little sister rolls her eyes at her.
“Sansa, you have been very vocal about the North’s independence. I need to know that you will not use this as a means to rise against Dany—to press your own issue.” Jon’s voice was weighted with determination.
Now it was Sansa who had the childish urge to roll her eyes, “Oh, of course! What with the army we have left Jon, I’ll definitely have the opportunity! It’s not like she has two grown dragons to contend with! Oh, wait—”
Arya tries to dispel the tension, “Both of you stop it! Sansa has only ever cared that our home and our family are safe. She would never maliciously pit you against your queen, Jon.”
Sansa grimaces at that lie before looking to him, “You asked me recently if I had any faith in you. I told you that I did, and I meant it. Don’t I deserve the same?”
Jon watches her for a long moment before nodding. “Yes, of course you do Sansa. But you haven’t made any of this easy for me—I am trying to do the right thing.”
“Why are you so certain that this is right?!” Sansa stands up as Jon’s face turns angry, “She isn’t one of us! We—” She gesticulates between the four of them wildly, “are a pack! Father always told us that, or have you chosen to forget the man who raised you?! He was your real father!”
“You think I give a shit about Rhaegar Targaryen?!” Jon’s voice booms, and Sansa feels Arya move closer to them. “I know who my father was! All of my life, I wished I knew who my mother was, and I finally know now! She is who is important to me! I prayed as a child to have father’s last name, to not be a bastard! I’m a Stark, and I know that, more than ever now! How dare you accuse me of turning against the man who raised me!”
“Then what is this about?! Why are you so determined to force us to side with the Targaryen queen—I won’t let her take the North from us!”
“Take the North?! Do you hear yourself?! The only one who took it from us was Theon!”
Sansa steps away in shock, “That’s not fair, Jon! He made a mistake, and he suffered for it—Theon was one of us!”
“He betrayed Robb and took the North from him, and we forgave him! Why is it so hard for you to accept Daenerys when all she has ever done is help us save the North? Why can’t she be one of us? Sansa—she is my family now too, by blood. She has no one else. Don’t force me to choose a side because I will not!” Sansa moves back towards her bed, sitting down heavily. The tension in the room is overbearing, and she wonders why it has come to this—the fighting. Sansa feels the weariness weigh on her again, and she just wants to sleep.
She hears herself whisper, “Arya is right Jon, there is too much to be done after last night. We’ve all got our duties, but we should all get some rest first. I’m very tired.” Sansa knows that Arya is looking at her anxiously, but she just shakes her head.
Jon steps up to her hesitantly, and she meets him the rest of the way, lifting her head to allow his kiss to her forehead. He pulls away and tucks a finger under her chin, “The pack survives. We need to rejoice in this; others weren’t so fortunate.” Sansa nods, her heart aching at the censured look he gives her.
Sansa watches him move to squeeze Bran’s shoulder before grasping Arya’s hand. The two of them make their leave from her rooms. She waits until she is sure that they are gone, and she and Bran are truly alone.
“Why did you not tell me about Jon?” Bran stays silent, and Sansa huffs impatiently, “He sees nothing past Daenerys Targaryen anymore. He will follow her South, and I’m certain he won’t return. Our men don’t do well South.”
“Why must you cause turmoil?” Sansa gasps at Bran as he looks at her impassively.
“Daenerys Targaryen is not one of us. She will hurt him; she is—she is—”
“She is not Cersei Lannister.”
“She is a Targaryen. Her father murdered our grandfather and our uncle! Her brother, Rhaegar—” Sansa stops, wondering if she could really use that excuse anymore.
“Yes, Rhaegar took advantage of a young girl’s affections. But we cannot deny that our Aunt Lyanna willingly stole away into the night with her dragon prince. They couldn’t share their love openly and now they’re both tragically dead because of it. Not to mention it was one catalyst for an entire rebellion.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I don’t see the future Sansa, only the past and what is now—the past has a dreadful habit of repeating itself. Jon will never know, but he is his mother and father personified. He was also raised with our own father’s honor. It’s a heady mixture of Targaryen and Stark—you should not force Jon to choose between love and the honor and loyalty that he bears for his Stark family.”
“What will you have me do then, Bran?”
“I can’t make you do anything Sansa, and you probably wouldn’t listen to me, even if I did try.”
Sansa smirks, “I’m always receptive of great advice.”
“Then you should go South, with Jon. He will need protection.”
“Bran, be serious. How could I possibly protect him?”
“I’ve been living the past; I’ve seen everything and everyone. A man’s rule has always superseded a woman’s. The only reason that Daenerys Targaryen came to Westeros in the first place was for the Iron Throne. But, all of Westeros knows the influence Jon has over the North. The North was willing to name a bastard as their king; can you imagine what would happen if the bastard’s true identity was revealed?”
“They would all turn against Daenerys Targaryen.”
“Just as easily as you want to.”
“Jon could be a better ruler than her.”
“Possibly, but he will never accept it. Ever. You will be fighting a losing battle Sansa, and you will turn him against you…or worse.”
“Worse?”
“Turn him against Daenerys Targaryen and put him in an impossible situation. He loves her, and if you force him to choose his family over her…it could ruin his life as well as countless others.”
“Bran—”
“You don’t like her. However, it’s unfounded because she has never done anything wrong, other than having more power than you.
“I’m not some power hungry fiend, Bran! I want the North and our family safe, that is it. Besides, the few people I’ve known to have more power than me, spent years selling me off or torturing me. Jon would never do that to me.”
“Daenerys Targaryen would never do that to you either. You two have a lot more in common than you think. She is loving, passionate, sympathetic and capable of great things. Yes, she can be known for her impulsiveness and letting her birthright get the best of her, but like you, she is very receptive of great advice. She hasn’t gotten much of it recently. Ser Barristan Selmy was a great advisor to her during her conquests across the Narrow Sea and especially, Jorah Mormont. We should fear his loss; he was good at reigning in her negative tendencies—you could become that for her. If she were so inclined to accept you, and you were able to let go of your own past. You would also have the benefit of being a close confidant to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms; the North would certainly prosper for it. Otherwise, we can prepare for years of turmoil and war with the remaining six kingdoms.”
“Hardly—Lord Yohn Royce would side with me as would cousin Robyn, and I’m sure our Uncle Edmure would do the same.”
“Careful Sansa, you once warned Jon about Robb’s mistakes. Allowing the North to crown you as their queen will put a target on your head. Besides, I thought you weren’t power hungry—”
Sansa rolls her eyes at her brother, but she also abandons her rebellious thoughts and thinks on what he had just told her. “You said she has negative tendencies?” Bran nods at her once. “I understand punishing those who might turncloak, but Daenerys wouldn’t ever harm Jon for who he is, right?”
He sighs, “Who truly knows. She has fought too long for that throne; she may very well turn on anyone who is capable of taking it from her. She also—did not handle his parentage reveal very well.”
“And you want us to side with someone who could hurt our brother?”
Bran looked at her mildly, “I saw the conversation the two of you shared. You know she is as in love with him as he is her. She was persuaded to come here because of her love for him…because the North means so much to him. She is impressionable, easily swayed if she finds something worthy—so, sway her. Get her on your side. I don’t understand why you didn’t do it to begin with.”
“You want me to play the game with her?” Sansa asked disbelievingly.
“As you have been.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t play doltish Sansa. I’ve seen you. You’ve been testing her—being outwardly hostile, openly questioning her leadership, and trying to see how loyal her advisors are to her. You’ve also allowed the people of the North to mistreat her and her people.” Sansa scoffs at her brother’s preternatural capabilities that allow him to see what she has been doing since Daenerys’s arrival. “Don’t get me wrong, you are very good at it. Your time in King’s Landing has allowed you to learn from the best: Cersei, Littlefinger, Margery, Olenna Tyrell. You should teach her.”
Sansa sniffs, “Maybe I don’t want to play these games anymore.”
“But you love to—just as you loved doing it with Jon and Ramsay, Jon and Littlefinger, Littlefinger and Arya—”
“I did that to ensure that Winterfell was returned to the Starks! To make sure that I never had to worry that our home would be taken from us again! I wanted Ramsay dead for what Theon and I suffered! I wanted Littlefinger dead for giving me to that monster in the first place and for what he did to our family!”
“And you did it very well Sansa. No one knew a thing—except me, of course, and Arya.” Sansa smirks. “What makes you think that there isn’t someone willing to try and take our home away from us again? Lord Glover comes to mind, for one.” Sansa eyes her brother angrily, but he continues, “You know I am right.”
“Even if it were true, I swore to myself that I would never return to King’s Landing. I belong in the North. Plus, Daenerys has proven her power last night. She and her dragons and the rest of her army are more than capable of handling Cersei Lannister. Whatever happens in the South, she and Jon will deal with it.”
“If that is what you truly wish.” Sansa watches him move his chair towards her window, looking out at the training grounds.
“Why do you even care about any of this Bran? If I didn’t know better I’d say the three-eyed raven feels more than he’s letting on.” Sansa is shocked to see the anger in his features as he turns to her. It is the strongest emotion she has seen cross his face since they were children. “Bran?” She asks faintly. Her brother sighs and looks away again.
“It seems the Night King’s mark on my arm was his hold over me, and the cause for my behavior. I am feeling more like my old self the longer he is gone, and I’m stuck in this stupid chair.” Sansa laughs disbelievingly as she nearly upends Bran from his seat to embrace him tightly. He makes a noise of annoyance, but he is smiling sadly as she pulls away, her tears falling for the return of her little brother.
“Sansa, it is alright. Please don’t cry.” Her brother bends forward to return her hug again, albeit awkwardly.
She pulls back, “Will you tell me about Theon?”
Bran shuts his eyes tiredly, “He was very brave; he and his men were the only thing between me and the Night King. If Arya hadn’t come…”
“You didn’t know she would?”
“I gave her that dagger because I knew she might use it to kill Littlefinger, as you wanted. My visions weren’t focused on her last night. I didn’t see her until I looked beyond the Night King, and she was traipsing across the Weirwood.” Bran grasps Sansa’s hands, “I may not have felt it as genuinely at the time, but I felt enough to tell Theon, to make sure he knew, that this was his home, that he belonged here, with us. He had to do this for himself. You couldn’t have convinced him otherwise; he was as stubborn as Robb was, you remember?”
She smiles sadly but with her heart feeling much lighter. “I just wish we could have had more time together.”
“It is, as it should be, Sansa.”
“I know.” She feels her tears falling heavily.
Bran grimaces, “I am so sorry Sansa.” She nods as he embraces her again.
Sansa takes a deep breath before coming to her decision, “Is there anyone who is disloyal to Daenerys Targaryen? I would like to know before I do this.”
Bran shakes his head and pulls away from her. “No one. Her council is worrisome, however. You must figure it out on your own if the time comes. I’ll be watching out for it too. You need to gain her trust and keep her ear. Jon will not give her up, and we won’t give him up. You must accept this—siding with Daenerys Targaryen is for the best.”
“Anyone who tries to hurt Jon—and Daenerys—are our enemies now too.” Bran grimaces and nods.
“Aside from Cersei, every single person that was in the Red Keep during your imprisonment has been killed or has sided with Daenerys. The game has followed you; you must keep those lurking, at bay.”
Sansa nods at her brother fervently. It was time for Sansa to slip on her old mask again. She smiled slyly at the thought. Arya wasn’t the only one with a different face, and it would seem that there was much work to be done now.