Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her hands shook as her eyes scanned over the scroll from Lord Glover for what felt like the millionth time. The knock at her solar door came as a welcome disturbance.

“Come in,” she called out. The door opened and Jon slipped through, wordlessly. She felt her blood boil and looked back down to the scroll, reading it aloud for him.

“Lord Glover wishes us good fortune but he’s staying in Deepwood Motte with his men.”

She could hear the iciness in her voice as she spoke the words to him. Jon frowned.

“House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years. Isn’t that what he said?” he asked. It wasn’t.

“‘I will stand behind Jon Snow’ he said,” she spat back, standing up and shoving her chair backwards. She took a few paces away and turned to look back at him, “The King in the North,”.

“I told you we needed allies-” came the protest she’d been expecting.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to abandon your crown,” she shot back, disgust dripping from her voice.

“I never wanted a crown. All I wanted was to protect the North. I brought two armies home with me, two dragons!” he raised his own voice back, stepping closer to her as he did. His defense only angered her further and the anger caused her to whirl around, glaring daggers at him as she did.

“And a Targaryean queen,” And there it was. She hadn’t meant to let him know just how much Daenerys’s presence was getting under her skin, but containing it proved harder and harder with each passing moment.

“Do you think we can beat the army of the dead without her? I fought them, Sansa. Twice. You want to worry about who holds what title, I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter! Without her, we don’t stand a chance!” he replied, stepping even closer to her. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared back at him, lips parted. Her breath grew heavy and she noticed that seemed to be the case for him too. For a moment they just stared at one another, before he spoke up again, much more quietly.

“Do you have any faith in me at all?”

“You know I do” And she did. She really did.

“She’ll be a good queen. For all of us. She’s not her father,” he said, voice much more measured now. Sansa felt a gnawing jealousy creep up the back of her neck at Jon’s praise of Daenerys. It made her feel ill.

“No, she’s much prettier,” The words escaped her lips before she had a chance to stop them. And after they hung in the air between them, she hoped he would tell her that the Dragon Queen’s beauty had nothing to do with it. But instead, he just smiled.

“Did you bend the knee to save the North or because you love her?” Sansa asked, scared to hear the answer. Why? She didn’t want to admit why, not even to herself.

His smile faded and suddenly he looked grim. Sullen. He looked as though he was going to say something, opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“I see,” she replied, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. When she had learned Robb had been wed, there was no sinking feeling. She wasn’t supposed to be disappointed and it worried her. He continued to stare, so she brushed past him, intent on getting back to her desk and focusing on the many tasks at hand.

“I don’t love her,” he said quietly, standing still as a statue, still staring at her.
Sansa ignored the feeling of his eyes boring a hole into her and continued to shuffle about the scrolls on her desk, hoping that eventually he’d grow weary of the silence and leave. He did not.

“Sansa…” Jon sighed and walked over to her desk, placing his hands on it and leaning forward toward her. It took all of her willpower not to look up, but she managed not to. Partially because she was angry at him. Partially because she was angry at herself for being angry at him about this. He was right, there were much more important problems at hand.

“Would you just look at me?” he asked, his voice quiet and strained. She took a deep breath, and looked back up at him, doing her best to give him an icy glare, but it faltered the moment they made eye contact. His warm gray-brown eyes bore into hers and she felt a knot form in her throat. She could not deny that he cared for her, very much in fact. It was evident every time he looked at her.

“I need to tell you something. But you have to swear it won’t leave this room,” he said, the graveness of whatever the situation is, apparent in his tone. She narrowed her eyes at him and leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands as she stared right back at him.

“I swear it,” she replied. He nodded and let out a sigh, and for the first time she noticed how much older he truly looked. The horrors of the past years had taken their toll on him. He looked like a man who had lived many lives…and it occurred to her that he quite literally had now.

“I am not in love with Daenerys. I…I enjoyed her company during the voyage here. But that is all,” he said, lowering his voice.

Sansa resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him

“I saw something in her…on Dragonstone. She’s…she’s fierce. Not unlike yourself-”

“I am nothing like her,” Sansa snapped, anger flaring within her. Don’t compare me to your Mad Queen concubine was what she wanted to say, but refrained.

“You’re both built to rule. You’re both fierce. That’s all I’m saying,”

“Don’t-”

“Will you let me speak?” he asked, voice raising. For all she had endured, Jon never struck fear into her. Not even when he yelled. So Sansa simply leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, nodding for him to continue.

“I’m sorry. It’s just…I know you don’t like her. I understand that. And you don’t have to like her. But we do need her for this fight, Sansa. The army of the dead…they outnumber us a hundred to one. We need her men. We need her dragons. She refused to help if I didn’t bend the knee,” Jon said and when he mentioned bending the knee, for the first time, Sansa could see the embarrassment on his face. It made it a lot more difficult to be angry with him.

“And if we survive the battle? What then? How are you going to get out of it?” she asked him.

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something,” came his less than comforting reply.

“Jon…I will not give up the North again. It has been stolen from us so many times and we…you and I…we took it back. I cannot give it up again. I can’t,” she told him in earnest, loathing the way her voice wavered. The mere thought of Daenerys absorbing the North back into the Seven Kingdoms made it hard to breathe.

“You won’t have to,” Jon said, in a voice barely above a whisper. And suddenly he is walking around the desk and kneeling in front of her.

“I swear by the Old Gods and the New, I will not let her take the North from you. From us,” he promised, gently taking her face in his hands.

“She doesn’t have to take it. You’ve already given it to her,” Sansa bit back, but it was half hearted. A warmness had begun to spread throughout her entire body when his hands made contact with her skin. It wasn’t something that happened when they were children, not that they ever touched back then. But from the moment he had taken her into his arms at the Wall, she found herself both soothed and invigorated by his touch…try as she might to ignore it. It wasn’t something she’d felt with anyone else, and she knew it wasn’t something she should be feeling from him of all people.

“That’s just what she thinks. I haven’t. I told you once that we need to trust each other. I know I’ve given you reason not to but…I need you to trust me on this, Sansa. Please,”

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him. It was that she didn’t know how he was possibly going to get them out of the situation. But this was Jon and if she was being honest with herself, she knew that he would never let harm come to her or their home. So she took a deep breath and tried to compose herself the best she could.

“I trust you,” she said softly, letting her stony expression fade. He gave her a small smile, as relief washed over his face.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and for a moment, neither of them spoke or moved. She found her eyes falling to his lips, with her face still cradled in his hands, all she would have to do is move forward and- no. No, that wasn’t right. What in the seven hells was wrong with her?

When she looked back up to meet his eyes once more, he was looking at her with an unmistakable expression. One she’d seen on the eyes of many men who would steal longing looks at her her entire life. Normally seeing that look in someone’s eyes made her stomach churn. It drove them to do horrible things. But seeing it in Jon’s eyes, it made her heart flutter…which made her stomach churn for a different reason.

“Jon…” his name escaped her lips in a whisper. She didn’t know what she was asking of him but the sound of her voice seemed to pull him back to reality. He stood abruptly, dropping his hands back to his sides.

“I’ll let you get back to work, then,” he mumbled, although he still hadn’t looked away. She wanted to kick herself then. She was being ridiculous. Of course he wasn’t looking at her longingly. For a moment she feared he had been able to guess as to what kind of thoughts had been swirling around her head.

“Alright,” she responded, picking her quill back up and dipping it in her ink. Truthfully, there wasn’t anything she intended on writing but she needed to busy her hands. She heard him take a couple of steps toward the door of her solar but then he paused.

“I’m glad we have one another,” he said quietly. So quietly, at first she thought she may have misheard him. She looked up to find him gazing back at her, expression unreadable.

“As am I,” she replied. A ghost of a smile appeared on his face, letting her know she had in fact heard him correctly. He bowed his head toward her, and then he was gone.

Sansa stared at the now empty solar for a moment before taking a deep, shaky breath and touching a hand to hear cheek, where Jon’s had been only moments ago. Only once he was gone did it occur to her how fast hear heart had been pounding in her chest. Her eyes grew hot with unshed tears as she tried to push the inappropriate thoughts from her mind. She already had to deal with the Dragon Queen’s imposing presence in her home. The last thing she needed was to let Cersei-like thoughts cloud her judgment. So she picked up her quill once more and got back to work.

Chapter Text

Jon feels Daeny’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head but he ignores her and continues down the hallway that leads to Sansa’s solar. Her long red hair flows down her back elegantly as she walks, keeping a brisk pace. She reaches her solar door and opens it, glancing over her shoulder.

“Come in?” she asks. He nods and follows her inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Thank you…for your support in there,” Sansa said, clasping her hands behind her back and flashing him a small smile. He loved her smile, it had become one of his favorite things to look at, especially since they were so rare now.

He remembered when they were children, she often wore a dreamy smile on her face as she would excitedly talk to her Septa or Jeyne Poole about growing up and marrying a prince and becoming Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She smiled a lot back then. Never at him, of course, but as a child she had worn a smile often.

Now here she stood in front of him, a woman grown, and her smiles few and far between. She had smiled even less since he returned with Daenerys in tow and although it was necessary, he hated himself for it.

“Of course, my lady,” he replied, giving her a small nod. Her smile grew wider and she glanced down for a moment, looking back up at him through her long lashes.

“So formal,” she replied quietly. The tone of her voice and way she was looking at him, made his chest tighten. She wasn’t his sister. He knew that. She, however, did not. And so as much as he may have wanted to imagine she might harbor some of the feelings that he did for her, he knew it was impossible. She thought of him as her half-brother and nothing more. As she should. As HE should.

“Do you really think we can trust him?” Jon asked, clearing his throat and trying to shake all indecent thoughts about her from his mind. Of course, he had been trying to shake those thoughts for months now and failed. This time was no exception.

“I don’t know. Like I said in the Great Hall though, I trust Brienne with my life. I trust her more than anyone,” she replied, calmly. Jon was grateful for Lady Brienne, he really was. She had brought Sansa to him, to safety. But “more than anyone” echoed in his head and he couldn’t help but feel that he had failed her.

“More than anyone?” he asked, unable to hide the gravelly sound of his voice. She stared back at him, unwavering.

“I imagine your queen will be rather disappointed you didn’t back her decision,” came her cool and measured response.

“I thought we discussed this. I-” he started, but then realized what she was saying. They had agreed to trust one another, that much was true. But of course she didn’t trust him more than anyone anymore. Brienne of Tarth hadn’t done anything to break Sansa’s trust like he had.

“I apologize. That was rude of me. I know she’s not…I know where your loyalties lie,” her voice broke his chain of thought and when he looked back up at her, he realized her expression had softened.

“Do you?” he asked, a genuine question. Not only did his loyalties lie with her, but he would do absolutely anything for her. He had thought of her often when he was at the wall, and beyond. He wondered if she was okay, or where she was. He had hoped she was safe. When he learned of what had happened to her, when he saw how broken she looked when she arrived at the Wall, he was filled with enough rage to slaughter a thousand men. And as she had all but jumped into his arms, all he could think was that he would die before he let anyone hurt her ever again.

“I do,” she replied softly, giving him a little smile again.

“Good. I um…just- good. I’m glad to hear you say that,” he stumbled over his words, clasping his hands behind his back and trying to stand up straighter.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked. He nodded and she bit her lower lip, drawing his attention to her mouth. A place he had found himself looking at too frequently. She still thinks you’re her brother.

“What are they like?” she asked. At first he wasn’t sure who she was talking about, but the fear in her eyes soon made him understand.

“Like…like wild animals only more wild. They’re death made human- only they’re not human,” he tried to find the right words to answer her question without scaring her too much.

“Do they scare you?” she asked. He couldn’t help but let out a humorless laugh.

“Aye, they scare me. I’d be a fool if they didn’t,” he replied. She nodded and swallowed so hard he could hear it.

“You’ll be safe in the crypts,” he told her, stepping closer and resisting the urge to reach out and take her in his arms until it was time to fight. Maybe she wouldn’t think anything of it, that he was just being a good older brother, but that wasn’t why he wanted to do it. So he didn’t.

“I’m not worried about me. I mean…I am, I suppose. But I worry for everyone else more. I worry for Bran and Arya and Theon. I worry for our people and for Brienne and Podrick and most-” she stopped and took a long breath. He could hear the air shake as it left her lungs.

“And I worry for you,” she said, eyes shining with unshed tears as she looked at him in such earnestness, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for the secrets he was keeping from her. The secret of his true parentage, and of his true feelings for her.

“Just focus on staying alive,” was all the advice he could muster. It wasn’t advice really, it was just that while she was worrying about everyone else, she could leave herself vulnerable or put herself in a dangerous position. He had to focus on killing the Night King and ending this, which was going to be a madly difficult task on its own. He would be worried about her the whole time anyway, but he needed to at least know she would keep herself safe.

“You too,” she whispered. He nodded absentmindedly and looked away, toward the door. He needed to get out of there. Every passing moment with her made it harder to walk away. Harder to focus. Harder to pretend with Daenerys, which had already been made harder when he found out that he too was a Tagaryen.

“I mean it, Jon,” she said, louder this time, stronger. With the tone of the lady that she born to be. She reached out and took one of his hands in hers. His heart sped up and he cursed himself for it.

“I will,” he promised, and before he could stop himself, he was holding her face with his free hand, “my sweet girl,” leaving his lips like a prayer meant only for her. And he cursed himself again.

He expected her to look confused, maybe even slightly disgusted, but she didn’t. Instead she stared back at him, lips parted slightly, looking surprised but not unhappy. He didn’t know what it meant, neither did he have time to think about it. So he pressed a kiss to her forehead and turned abruptly, walking out of the room before either of them had a chance to fully process what had just happened.

Chapter Text

The castle was abuzz with people readying for battle, but all Sansa could do in that moment was thank the Gods for being able to sit beside Theon and share a meal with him. Should it be her last night, she was happy to spend part of it with him.

They sat in a comfortable silence, as comfortable as they could be while sitting in the snow, waiting for the army of the dead to march on Winterfell. She studied him as he sipped his soup. He still shook a little from time to time, but nothing like how bad it had been right after they escaped Ramsay. It had occurred to her that for a time, Theon Greyjoy had ceased to exist. Ramsay had almost destroyed him, convinced him that he truly was nothing more than a plaything called Reek.

She felt a chill run down her spine, the way it did nearly every time she thought of Ramsay, which was far more than she cared to admit, even to herself. As horrible as Ramsay haunting her waking hours was, he haunted her dreams even more often. She would wake up out of breath, sweating, and shaking at the memories of what he did to her. What he could have continued doing to her, had Theon not gotten her out of there.

“Are you cold, My Lady?” Theon asked, his eyes intent on watching over here, even now, even when the danger had not arrived yet.

“No, I’m alright,” she gave him a smile and he nodded, returning to his food.

“I was thinking about him,” she added quietly. Theon froze, his hands gripping the bowl in his lap tightly.

“Why?” he asked.

“I can’t help it,” she admitted, sheepishly. It was the first time she had admitted out loud to anyone. Theon was quiet for a moment. Sansa saw his grip on the bowl tighten. She looked down at her lap, shame washing over her.

“Neither can I,” Theon replied, and when she looked back up at him, her heart nearly split in two. The pain in his eyes was ever present, and heavier than she had seen it in some time. She reached over and placed her gloved hand over his, giving it a squeeze. Their comfortable silence returned before Theon spoke again.

“I n-never a-a-apologized to you,” he stuttered out, she felt him start to tremble beside her. She need not ask what he was apologizing for. She knew.

“It’s alright, Theon,” she said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. It wasn’t alright, not really, but not because of Theon.

“No. No. I should have s-stopped him. I sh-sh-shouldn’t have j-just stood there while he-” Theon stopped himself and took a long loud breath, his exhale swirling around his mouth like smoke.

“He was torturing you too,” she told him, hoping he sensed from her voice that she had no ill will toward him for it.

“Even so. I should have d-done something,” he said, bowing his head. Sansa choked back a sob and pulled him into a hug, realization hitting her like a ton of bricks that in a matter of hours, there was an exceedingly good chance that he would be face to face with the Night King.

She felt his arms make their way around her body and buried her face into his shoulder. For all the hatred she felt for Theon when she first saw him again, in the home they had both grown up in, it had been replaced with the same affections she held for Robb, Arya, Bran, and Rickon.

“Look at me,” she demanded softly, pulling away from him so she could look him straight in the eye. He raised his gaze to her and she tried to muster her best reassuring smile, though she was sure she was failing miserably.

“You saved my life, Theon. Do you hear me?” he shook his head and she shook hers right back.

“I wouldn’t be here without you. You saved me, alright? You saved me,”

He gave her the faintest ghost of a smile before the horns sounded in the distance. Sansa felt as though her heart had dropped into her stomach as Theon’s eyes grew wide. In what was really a split second, but what felt like an eternity, everyone around then sprang into action. Sansa watched, her own eyes wide, as men, women, and children ran across the court yard, voices already raising in panicked yells.

“I have to go to Bran,” Theon said, pulling his hands from hers, only then did she realize how tightly she had gripped onto him.

“Yes, go,” she replied. They both stood and he began to walk away. She grabbed his arm and he turned back to face her.

“Thank you,” she said, raising her voice loud enough so she was sure he could hear her over the chaos. She hoped he knew how many different meanings those words held. He bowed his head to her and then just like that, he disappeared into the crowd.

She looked around at the scene in front of her and suddenly, a paralyzing fear gripped her tightly. She wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t ready to die. She wasn’t ready for her family to die. And she hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye to Jon.

As if the Gods could read her mind, she saw Jon burst through the crowd, followed closely by Daenerys. He scanned the crowd, then took Daenerys’s hand and began running in Sansa’s direction. She wanted so badly to keep walking, get up to her place with Arya, but the thought of not getting to hug Jon one last time if Gods forbid-

“My lady,” Daenerys’s voice saved her from finishing the terrible thought, and for once she was thankful to be hearing it. She looked at the Dragon Queen and nodded to her.

“Keep yourself safe,” Daenerys said formally.

“And you as well, your Grace,” she replied. Daenerys nodded back at her and turned to Jon anxiously. It was not lost on Sansa that although Jon’s hand was in Daenerys’s, his eyes were focused solely on herself.

“Stay alive,” she told him, voice coming out more harshly than she intended, although only because she needed him to.

“I’ll do my best, for you. For the family,” he added.

“Jon, we need to go. Now,” Daenerys urged, trying to pull him forward. Sansa thought she saw him raise his arm as if to hug her, but Daenerys yanked his other arm in the opposite direction again.

“Take care of yourself,” he called out as he and Daenerys took off running toward the dragons. Sansa watched them disappear before grabbing her skirts and making her way up to the lookout point to meet Arya.

Chapter Text

The hall was more alive than it had been in a long time, as the jovial celebration of those who had survived the Long Night, continued on into the wee hours of the morning. Jon was in his cups. He was very much so in his cups. He knew this because his cheeks heart from smiling and laughing so much. It’s not that Jon didn’t enjoy having a good time, he just often found it hard to relax enough to do so. But by some stroke of luck, he’d found himself seated beside Sansa most of the night, Daenerys keeping her distance, and so, despite everything that had happened, he found himself feeling like celebrating.

The party hadn’t really started until Daenerys legitimized Gendry in front of everyone and named him Lord of Storm’s End. Jon was happy for him, Gendry was a good man. Jon didn’t even mind the way he stared at Arya all the time, he knew what a man in love looked like. Arya was fierce, she could take care of herself. Jon chuckled to himself as he imagined the ill fate of anyone who broke his little sister’s heart.

He let his eyes roam over the room, the sound of laughter and cheering and glasses clinking, filling his ears. Then suddenly, it was if all the fun had been sucked from the room. His eyes landed on Sansa sitting across from The Hound, having an incredibly intimate conversation. He saw her say something and then reach across the table and place her hand on top of his.

Jon had seen the way The Hound had looked at Sansa, all those years ago when King Robert had come North and changed all of their lives forever. She’d mentioned him briefly when they were catching up on all that had happened since they’d seen other last, when she first arrived at Castle Black. At first his blood had felt like fire when she’d explained how uncomfortable he had made her feel. And then, when The Hound had turned up at Winterfell, he hated him even more. He didn’t like the way Clegane looked at Sansa.

Like the way he was looking at her now, no, gazing at her. Jon glanced over his shoulder at Daenerys who had been watching him all night. She wasn’t looking at him, thank the Gods. Before he realized what was happening, his legs were dragging him across the Great Hall toward the table where Sansa and The Hound were seated. The room spun around him and he stumbled a bit, steadying himself, and continuing onward.

He was only half way to the table when he saw Sansa stand up, and begin walking toward him. The Hound was left staring after her and Jon froze where he stood. She approached him quickly, but before he had a chance to say anything, she brushed past him as though he didn’t exist. Jon turned and followed after her.

“Sansa!” he called out, his voice drowning in the vast sea of voices filling the room. Sansa continued her brisk pace out of the great hall and Jon made his way out shortly after.

“Sansa, wait,” he breathed out, catching up to her. She stopped in her tracks and spun around, giving him an icy look.

“What?” she asked curtly. Suddenly, his mind went blank. He hadn’t really had a plan when he had followed her. He just knew he wanted to say something. However, what that thing was, he did not know.

“I um…I just- er…saw you talking to The Hound-” she cut him off, crossing her arms.

“And?” she asked. Jon frowned and straightened up.

“I was just coming to see if you were okay,” he replied, his voice sounding slower than normal, even to him.

“I’m fine,” she said, although she looked away while she said it. Jon took a step closer to her and she quickly looked back over to him.

“Is there anything else, your Grace?” she asked.

“Not a king,” he mumbled.

“My Lord, then?”

“Sansa,” he breathed out, stepping even closer and taking one of her hands in his. She gasped and looked down at their entwined hands, then back up at him. She looked…happy? Hopeful? She still doesn’t know, you idiot. That’s not what this is. And even if she did, it wouldn't make a difference.

But she didn’t pull away. And she seemed to have warmed to him since just a few moments ago.

“Not here,” she whispered, and then looked around, and quickly started pulling him in the direction of his chambers.

Neither spoke until they were inside, door closed. He stumbled back and leaned on the edge of his desk. She stood by the door and then looked at him, and burst out into a fit of laughter.

“Wha’so funny?” Jon asked.

“I just didn’t realize how drunk you were until you fell into your desk, that’s all,” she replied, and although she had been laughing, her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m not…okay, maybe a bit,” he admitted with a shrug. She smiled at him and he managed to move himself backward into his chair, letting out a loud groan when he sat down.

“You should get to bed,” she told him gently.

“Not tired,” he replied.

“Your eyes are closed!” he smiled as she laughed again. He thought it might very well be his favorite sound in the world, her laugh.

Suddenly, he felt her grip both of his hands in hers and squeeze. He opened his eyes to find her standing over him, her hair draping around them like a curtain.

“Come on, I’ll help you up,” she said, her voice light and airy.

“I can get up just fine on my own, thank you,” Jon replied, and stood, but kept a hold of both of her hands. They were standing so close that if anyone walked in and saw them, there’d be a great scandal playing out in the halls of Winterfell very quickly. But Jon didn’t want to move. And it seemed as though Sansa didn’t either. But he knew it was wishful thinking.

“Let’s get you to bed,” she murmured, almost to herself, and gently led him over to the side of his bed. He sat down on the edge she stood, but still they held onto one another’s hands.

“I’ll bring you some water,” she whispered, and started to walk away, but Jon didn’t let go of her hands.

“Wait,” he mumbled.

“What is it?” she asked.

He wanted to tell her everything. That they weren’t really siblings. That he loved her. That he hoped she didn’t hate him for it because all he wanted to do was stay there at Winterfell with her for the rest of his days. But it wasn’t the time. And if word got out, it could endanger all of their lives. So instead, he stood up and wordlessly pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Sleep well, Sansa,” he whispered. She smiled softly at him and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He smiled back at her and then kissed her cheek back, then pressed another kiss to the other. This time when he looked back at her, she wasn’t smiling. She was staring at him with an intensity that for the first time ever, he couldn’t explain away with familial love.

“Jon,” she breathed his name out so quietly he almost didn’t hear it but he didn’t think he’d ever heard his name sound better in his entire life. They both leaned in and just as their lips were about to touch, she gasped and pulled away. She looked horrified.

“No, no, this is- we’re drunk. And you’re my-” he cut her off. Gods damn it all, he was going to tell her.

“Sansa, wait,” he said, stepping toward her, but she quickly stepped away from him.

“We’re just drunk and- it’s been a strange year and…I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she stumbled over her words in a way he had never seen from her before, and adverted her eyes from him all the while. And then just like that, she was gone.

Moving like a white walker, Jon sat back down on the edge of his bed and stared straight ahead. He’d almost kissed Sansa. Sansa, who believes them to be brother and sister. He had probably terrified her. He began falling into a pit of self loathing when there was a knock at his door. Gods, please let it be her.

But when he turned, it was not Sansa he found in his doorway. No, unfortunately, it was the Dragon Queen.

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.

Chapter Text

She invites him to her coronation but he does not attend. He does not even send a response. She sends riders to Castle Black to hand deliver the invitation and when they return, she’s informed he isn’t even there. He left with the Free Folk immediately upon arrival.

She didn’t get a chance to speak with him at all, in between their kiss in his Winterfell solar and when they bid one another farewell on the docks in King’s Landing. She saw it there though, the way he looked at her had changed. The love was almost completely gone from his eyes. It was replaced by the love he had for her when they were children, the obligatory sort. The love you have for someone who is loved by those you truly do love, but only that.

She did what she thought was right, what she felt in her heart was for the best and she had lost Jon over it. She wanted so desperately to ask him if what had happened between them still mattered to him, but her pride wouldn’t let her. And so she settled for a simple “Forgive me?” and all she had wanted to hear was the familiar “there’s nothing to forgive”. But he didn’t say that. He told her she’d be a great queen, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. And it dawned on her then, that maybe he really had loved Daenerys Targaryen, madness and all.

The evening of her coronation, there’s a great feast in her honor. The halls are filled with Northmen, celebrating the liberation of their kingdom. Everyone has a wonderful evening. Sansa sits at the head of the room, alone. She thinks of her mother and father, of Robb and Rickon, and Theon and her eyes fill with unshed tears. She retires early, and walks down the halls of Winterfell toward her chambers. Her footsteps echo down the long stone halls, which are vastly empty in contrast to the Great Hall. Her ladies in waiting offer to help her ready for bed, but she sends them away.

She slips out of her gown, the most beautiful gown she’s ever worn, and lets it fall to the floor. No one who mattered was there. Arya had insisted on leaving immediately. Bran was ruling his own kingdoms. And Jon…Jon simply didn’t want to be there.

She lifts the crown off of her head and sets it on her armoire. She sits down and stares at herself in the looking glass. She had felt beautiful at the start of the day, now she feels like a walking corpse. She makes quick work of taking her hair out of its braids and takes a shaky breath. Slowly, she slips her shift on and lays down in her bed, piling the furs on top of herself.

She thinks of Bran, and Arya, and Jon. And her tears for the living don’t go unshed. All she’s ever wanted is to be a queen. The title of Queen in the North should feel even better than she could imagine. And yet, on the night of Queen Sansa’s coronation, she cries herself to sleep.