Chapter Text
Sansa felt as though her head were going to fall off of her body. The cold bit her nose and cheeks as she walked alongside Arya in total silence. A thousand thoughts swirled around her head, like dancers sweeping in and out. Jon’s not our brother. Not our brother. A Targaryen. His revelation could change the world. It could change everything. He should be the one on the Iron Throne. It belonged to him by right.
Sansa knew the importance of what he had told them, but it also held other importance too. There had been a moment between them the other night, an intense, intimate moment, that now held an entirely new meaning. Perhaps. She wasn’t sure. And she felt stupid for even thinking about it with everything going on, and it all made her head spin more and more the longer she thought about it. The problem was she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Arya had reacted how Sansa would imagine she might. She embraced Jon, told him that it didn’t change anything and that he was still her brother, and left it at that. But Sansa could see the wheels turning in her sister’s mind. Arya was thinking what Sansa was thinking. Jon could stop the Dragon Queen’s ascent to the throne. If he really wanted to. All they had to do was defeat Cersei, and that was something she knew Arya could do.
Sansa hadn’t known what to say. Her immediate thought when Bran explained the truth of Jon’s parentage was “Oh thank the Gods, he’s not my brother, there’s nothing wrong with me,”. Cousins had been married in Westeros for centuries, and no one cared. Her own ancestors had done this. But then she realized that she’d been having these feelings for Jon, long before either of them knew the truth and she felt horrible once again. She had simply hugged Jon and reassured him that it was okay.
“Do you think I said enough?” she whispered to Arya who seemed surprised to hear her speak.
“To Jon?” Arya asked. Sansa nodded and Arya looked over her shoulder to where Jon was pushing Bran in his chair, a ways back from them.
“I don’t know. You could have told him he’s still your brother,” Arya replied quietly. Sansa just nodded. She could feel Arya’s eyes on her and mustered up the courage to look at her.
“But that’s not true, is it?” Arya asked. Her tone wasn’t judgmental, or accusatory, as it had been every time they spoke when she’d first arrived. It was neutral, as if she was just stating a fact. Despite this, Sansa felt a panic start to form in her chest.
“He was never really your brother. Not even when we were growing up. You always looked down on him,” Arya continued. The panic turned into a dull ache. Arya thought Sansa was judging Jon, that she still didn’t really consider him a part of their House.
“Arya, that’s not-” she was forced to stop speaking when they reached the gates of Winterfell and Ser Davos approached them.
“My Lady, My Lady,” he greeted, bowing his head respectfully to both of them, a gesture they both returned. Although Sansa could practically feel the irritation coming off of Arya from being called “My Lady”.
“Where is your brother?” he asked.
“Which one?” Arya asked, and although it was lost on Davos, it felt pointed to Sansa.
“Uh Jon,” Davos replied, confused.
“He’s pushing Bran’s chair. They shouldn’t be too far behind us,” Sansa informed him. Davos nodded and then looked off into the distance. Sansa and Arya both turned around to see Jon and Bran appear in the distance, approaching Winterfell steady but surely.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Ser Davos said, nodding once more at the pair of them and then walking off to meet Jon.
Arya didn’t say anything else, or so much as look Sansa’s way again, she just continued inside.
“Arya-” Sansa started, but Arya held a finger to her lips and motioned for Sansa to keep walking. Sansa realized they were heading down towards the crypts and felt herself shudder. The bodies had been removed days ago but as they continued inside, she could still hear and see the horrors from just a few nights before.
“Why here?” Sansa asked.
“Privacy,” Arya explained simply.
Only once they’d made it all the way inside did Arya turn to face Sansa again.
“You love him,” she stated, plain as day. Once more, Sansa couldn’t pick up any trace of distaste in Arya’s voice. She couldn’t pick up anything. Once upon a time when they were children, Arya was unable to hide any emotion she felt. Her face was expressive and it often got her into trouble. But now, she had changed. She had a better stony expression than anyone Sansa had ever seen, even herself.
“Of course I love him,” Sansa replied, getting ready to lie the best she could and talk about how he was still family, their cousin, and that was how she loved him, although it was going to be half-hearted at best.
“You don’t love him the same way you love me though. Or Bran. Or the way you loved Robb and Rickon,” Arya stood her ground and Sansa knew there’d be no point in even attempting to lie. She looked down at the ground ashamedly and shook her head.
“No. I don’t love him the way I love the rest of you,” she said quietly.
“You’re in love with him,” Arya stated. Sansa sighed and nodded. She felt her eyes prick with tears and her face grow hot. She knew Arya must think her disgusting, depraved. Arya hated Cersei more than anyone in the world, and while having feelings for Jon wouldn’t be frowned upon had they grown up in different homes, miles away from one another, that wasn’t the case.
She heard Arya take a few steps closer and when she looked up, her sister was standing right in front of her. Her expression was no longer unreadable, she saw…something resembling pity. Arya wrapped her arms around Sansa and pulled her into a hug. At first Sansa was so stunned, she didn’t move, but she quickly squeezed her sister tightly, relief flooding over her.
“It’s alright,” Arya said quietly, into Sansa’s shoulder.
“Is it?” Sansa asked, stifling a sob.
When they pulled apart, Arya gave her a small smirk.
“You know, after all of the things we’ve seen…after all of the things I’ve seen…this is not even in the top hundred of the worst,” Arya joked. Sansa let out a watery laugh and shook her head.
“I was so worried you’d find it disgusting and-”
“Oh, I do. I’m just not going to hold it against you,” Arya replied, shoving Sansa’s shoulder lightly.
“How long have you known?” Sansa asked, fearing the answer. If Arya had figured it out, who else had?
“Well you talked about him a lot when I first got here and he was still gone. A lot,” Arya rolled her eyes good naturedly.
“And at first it didn’t make much sense to me. You two were never close. I was worried you had become the favorite sister,” she added. Sansa sighed, involuntarily. She knew Arya would always be the favorite sister, she’d prefer if he thought of Arya as his only sister though. And she wasn’t sure that was the case.
“But then when he returned and I saw you together…I suppose that was when I realized it. You didn’t treat him like a brother. Watching the two of you together, it was like…” Arya trailed off and looked up at the stone statue of their father. She gazed up at it sadly for a moment and then looked back at Sansa. “It was like watching mother and father again,” she finished.
Sansa was touched, coming from anyone that would mean the world to her, but it especially did coming from Arya now.
“Well not exactly like mother and father. Mother and father with the shadow of a Mad Queen hanging over them,” Arya added, an anger blazing in her eyes when she mentioned Daenerys. Sansa’s heart sped up.
“You see it too?” she asked. Arya turned back to look at her and gave her an exasperated look.
“Of course I see it. You’d have to be blind not to,” she said, then got a strange look in her eye, as if she had some sort of private joke with herself.
“Tell that to Tyrion and Varys. And Jon.” Sansa mumbled.
“He’s putting on an act, he has to be,” Arya replied.
“That’s what he says but…I don’t know. Sometimes I see the way he looks at her and-” Sansa started, her worst fears inching their way to the tip of her tongue, now that she had a confidant in this situation.
“That’s what an act is. The way you look at someone, the way you speak to them…I trust Jon,” Arya said confidently. Sansa nodded. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Jon too. She was just letting her personal fears get in the way. She felt stupid again.
“She can’t sit on the throne. She can’t,” was all Sansa could say back. Arya nodded and absentmindedly put a hand on the hilt of her sword.
“What do you think would happen if people knew? About Jon,” Sansa asked, trying to keep her tone hypothetical. Arya’s eyes narrowed.
“We swore we wouldn’t tell anyone. I’m not going to break that oath,” the younger Stark girl said, holding her head up high.
“Even if it was for the good of the people? The good of the North?” Sansa asked.
“We swore it, Sansa. We’re Starks. We’re not like everyone else, our word means something,” Arya replied, her tone quiet and low.
“She’s going to take the throne, Arya. They leave for King’s Landing soon and then it will be too late. She’s going to burn that city to the ground, take the throne, and keep Jon with her there for the rest of his life,” Arya looked away and a deep anxiety took hold of Sansa as her words kept coming.
“He belongs here with us. Our people chose him as King in the North and-” Arya cut her off.
“A claim which won’t hold if people find out the truth. A Targaryen as King in the North? No. The bannermen will never allow it,” Arya snapped.
“Well what else are we supposed to do? Just sit around and wait to see what happens? I have been doing that my entire life. I’m not going to do it again. Not with something of this magnitude!” Sansa exclaimed.
“We trust Jon. That’s what we do. And besides, he won’t be alone in King’s Landing…” Arya said back, her even tone juxtaposing Sansa’s.
“What do you mean?” Sansa asked, exasperated. Of course he wouldn’t be alone, Daenerys would be there. That was a horrible thought.
“I’m going to King’s Landing too,” Arya replied in a tone that very much told Sansa she expected an argument. Sansa didn’t need to ask why Arya was going. Cersei. She wanted to be the one to kill Cersei before Daenerys had the chance.
“I don’t think that’s wise,” Sansa said quietly, though she knew there was no use. If Arya had made her mind up about this, it was going to happen.
“I don’t really care if you think it’s wise or not,” Arya shot back.
“Cersei knows that Daenerys is coming. You’ve heard what they’re saying. She has the Golden Company. She has The Mountain. And the Wildfire…” Sansa trailed off. She was already scared enough about Jon going down there, Arya going was pushing her to the edge.
“Sansa,” Arya said, reaching out and taking a hold of Sansa’s hand. An uncharacteristic gesture that caught Sansa’s attention. “Let me remind you, I killed the Night King,” Arya said, proudly and with a smirk. Sansa couldn’t help but smile back. She really was a great warrior. No one could deny that.
“I have my ways of getting in unnoticed. I will be fine, trust me,” Arya added. Sansa wanted to argue. She wanted to beg Arya to stay, but she knew it would be a fruitless effort so she simply took a deep breath and nodded. Their conversation was cut short anyway but the sound of chainmail clinking. Arya held a finger to her lips, and Sansa squeezed her hand. A moment later, Brienne came into a view and she relaxed.
“Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, pardon my interruption,” she said, bowing her head. During their time together, Brienne had never become any less formal with Sansa, but her kindness shone through no matter what. Sansa had come to consider Brienne family as well. Although she addressed them in her usual tone, something seemed different about her. Freer almost.
“Lord…your brother is looking for you, My Lady,” Brienne told Sansa. Her heart raced again, she didn’t even need to ask to know Brienne meant Jon. She glanced at Arya who bit back a smirk and shrugged.
“Thank you, Brienne. I will walk back with you,” she said, picking up her skirts and trying her best not to sprint from the crypts.
“Sansa,” Arya called out to her before she left. Sansa looked back over her shoulder.
“Remember your oath,” was all Arya said back. Sansa nodded and hoped her face didn’t convey that she was still considering what the best course of action was.
“Will you come find me? Before…” Sansa trailed off, not knowing if Arya wanted her departure from Winterfell to be public knowledge.
“I will,” Arya promised. Sansa gave her a nervous smile, and then turned and followed Brienne out of the crypts.
As they walked, Sansa tried to distract herself from her nerves by making small talk with Brienne.
“How was the party for you?” Sansa asked. A redness crept its way up Brienne’s neck and face, but she remained staring straight ahead.
“It was…fine, My Lady. And for you?” Brienne asked. Sansa studied her, trying to figure out what may have happened. Like everyone, she saw the connection between Brienne and Jaime Lannister, and she’d seen them together at the feat last night before she left.
“It was alright,” she replied, although it appeared as though Brienne was no longer listening. Jaime was approaching them and the flush across Brienne’s face deepened as he approached.
“My Lady,” he said, bowing his head to Sansa, and then his gaze shifted to Brienne and he smirked.
“Ser Brienne,” he greeted, a playful tone in his voice that Sansa thought sounded strange coming from him. Whenever she had heard him speak he was either being arrogant or planning a battle.
“Ser Jaime, hello,” Brienne said, although she seemed to be looking anywhere except at him. Suddenly Sansa felt as though she were witnessing some sort of private moment and smiled up at Brienne.
“I’m going to find Jon. I’ll see you later,” she said. Brienne seemed to relax a little and smiled back. As Sansa walked away she could hear them fall into hush tones. Brienne even giggled. Sansa smiled, good, at least someone can be with who they love.
When she approached Jon’s solar door, she suddenly felt as though she couldn’t move. She took a deep breath, then another. Suddenly, she felt very warm. She raised a hand to knock on the door but it opened all on its own, Daenerys standing in the doorway with Jon close behind her. Suddenly, the butterflies in her stomach turned to scorpions. She expected another tense, unspoken disagreement with Daenerys, but it was almost as though the Queen didn’t know she was there at first.
“My lady,” she greeted wearily, then brushed past Sansa and kept a brisk pace down the hall.
“Your Grace,” Sansa said over her shoulder, although Daenerys was long gone. Sansa turned back to Jon who gave her an apologetic look. She stepped inside his solar and closed the door behind her.
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know she was going to stop by,” Jon said, his voice was gravelly.
“Brienne said you were looking for me?” Sansa asked. Looking at him now, it occurred to her this was the first time they were alone since last night. Since she had learned the truth. Her nerves began gnawing at her.
“Yes. I um…how are you?” he asked, sounding strangely formal.
“How am I?” she asked dubiously. He chuckled darkly.
“I guess that’s a silly question,” he said. She laughed humorlessly as well and began fidgeting with one of her rings, not knowing what to do.
“I just wanted to um…apologize. For last night,” Jon said. Sansa’s heart sank. A tiny part of her had been holding out hope that now that the truth had come out, maybe something could happen between them. In her grandest dreams, she and Jon ruled the North together, as King and Queen. As man and wife. It was a secret hope she hadn’t even begun to let herself indulge in until a couple of hours ago and now, here it was, already being crushed.
“Oh. Well…thank you. No apology necessary. We were both in our cups,” she replied shrugging, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Right. I just…I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable,” he said. His voice sounded strained and Sansa couldn’t help but notice he wore a pained expression, as though the conversation was physically painful for him.
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” she admitted, twisting her ring so hard, it made her finger throb.
“You don’t have to protect my feelings, Sansa. I almost kissed you, it’s- it was wrong of me and I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raising a little. She looked away, his regretful tone making her feel as though she’d been hit in the chest. He took a tentative step closer to her so they were almost face to face.
“Can you forgive me?” he asked. She looked back up at him and instantly melted under the emotion behind his gaze. He was mistaking her hurt feelings for feelings of disgust or anger and it broke her heart. As she gazed back at him, she realized that she very well may never see him again. He was going to King’s Landing to help Daenerys take the throne. And while he was an incredible fighter, it was surely going to be a dangerous battle. And with that realization, suddenly a fire of courage blazed inside her heart, giving her the push she had needed. She reached out and gently caressed his face. His eyes widened, the surprise evident on his face.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she whispered, quoting him, back from a conversation they had at Castle Black, so long ago. He looked as though he was entranced, as entranced as she felt. His mouth opened slightly as his eyes fell to her lips.
“Jon,” she heard his name leave her lips in the quietest of whispers, and this time she knew exactly what she was asking. She wanted him. And she was fairly certain, in this moment, that he wanted her too. He met her eyes with his own once more and she gave a small nod, telling him it was okay. She gasped as she felt his hands on her hips, as he stepped closer and closed the distance between them.
His lips brushed hers softly, in a sweet, chaste kiss, as though he was testing the waters to see if this was really what she wanted. The butterflies in her stomach returned and she could swear she heard singing coming from somewhere in the distance.
It was her who deepened the kiss, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his with such fervor that she surprised not only him, but herself as well. He tightened his hold on her waist with one hand and gently cupped her face with the other, responding eagerly. For all of the doubt, guilt, and shame she had felt, the kiss felt utterly and completely perfect. It was the kiss she’d dreamt of since she was a little girl.
He pulled away, a look of great concern on his face and it was only then that Sansa realized tears had begun to spill from her eyes and were making their way down her face.
“I’m s-” he started to apologize again but she shook her head and placed her hand over the one which held her cheek so delicately.
“Please don’t say you’re sorry. I’m not,” she rushed out as fast as she could.
“You’re crying,” he protested, his voice wavering with emotion.
“I’m happy,” she breathed, sure that her smile was reaching her ears. He gave her a warm smile back and she leaned in to kiss him again but he kissed her forehead instead. Had he not enjoyed the kiss? Was she bad at it?
“We can’t do this right now,” he said quietly, adverting his eyes from her.
“Why not?” she asked, a knot forming in her throat. He looked back at her, eyes filled with emotion. She thought she may have even seen them glisten with unshed tears.
“Because I’m leaving, Sansa. We leave for King’s Landing within the hour and I need to concentrate on that right now,” he explained. She could tell he was trying to be gentle in his tone, which only made her feel worse. She looked at her feet, embarrassed. You shouldn’t have thrown yourself at him.
“Hey…look at me,” he said, in a voice barely above a whisper. She felt him gently tilt her chin up so she was lost once again in his eyes.
“If I could stay here and spend the rest of the night kissing you, I would,” he murmured. A strangled sob escaped her throat as she threw her arms around his neck, this time just wanting to hug him tightly and never let go. He hugged her back and she buried her face in the furs of his cloak. Please Gods, let him come back. Back home. Back to me.
“What’s going to happen?” she asked, pulling away and frantically searching his face as though it held the answers that both of them desperately needed.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“Everyone says you’re going to stay there. Down south. With her,” she tried to keep her voice steady but failed. He tucked a strand of long red hair that had come loose behind her ear.
“I will find my way back to you. I swear it. One way or another, I will come back,” he promised her, determination emanating from his voice.
“Please do,” she whispered. He nodded, and placed one last quick and gentle kiss to her lips.
“I’ll see you soon, sweet girl,” his voice in her ear made her shiver and then, just like that, he was gone and she stood in his solar alone.