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serene-victory-77 · 3 years ago

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Why The Crows Being Teenagers Is Actually Perfectly Realistic

There’s a TL;DR are the end because wow I like to rant.

I lightly discuss the general situations they’re all in to explore how they are frighteningly mature and competent, but it’s not particularly depressing or descriptive, it’s definitely lighter than the books

I thought about this post with a joke first: “People who think that Six of Crows is unrealistic because they’re so young clearly have not spent much time with traumatized honors students.”

It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but the point stands.

But I decided that, hm, actually, I could make a point about this. I totally agree with the aging up of the characters in the Shadow and Bone show, but when people straight up say that the books are wrong or unrealistic for having a young crew, I get annoyed, and here’s why (other than me reading the books for the first time when I was 13 and thinking ‘Huh okay, I see it’ and now being lowkey offended when people say they ignore it for being unrealistic):

On Inej

- At first I thought Inej’s wisdom and general demeanor was one of the most unrealistic things in the book

- When I thought about it longer, I was like “Actually, she’s 16, right? I’ve sent some of the most lyrical philosophy trying to help my friends while in high school. My friends have done the same. It’s valid.”

- Frankly, teenagers love hard-hitting philosophical truths. They love repeating what they’ve read or heard in movies and in books and from family stories. They love sharing little bits of wisdom they have come up with

- Inej’s ability to hear and understand philosophy and wisdom that she was surrounded by for 14 straight years and then sit on it and elaborate it for her friends to understand, or even just to piss them off in Kaz’s case?

- Teenagers have that. They do it. So, Inej’s Wisdom passes, to me. It’s valid.

As for her being calm

- You know how everyone jokes that Kaz seems calm on the outside but when you get to his POV he’s like “What the fuck” at the Van Eck house or just straight up “Huh, is this revenge for making tree jokes” at the Djel River thingy in the Ice Court?

- Inej is like that, too. And she gets angry, and she gets confused, or exhausted.

- AKA every quiet kid ever. Like, are you kidding? Have you ever been in a situation in which it’s literally chaos all around you, people are screaming and things are being destroyed (think middle school classroom with bitchy long term substitute and even worse students), and you’re just, calm? You pick up your things, you do what you need to do?

- That’s Inej. Like, what else is she gonna do? She’s smart enough to know that panicking won’t help anyone, and so she just rides it out. Internally she might be like “Why is this happening” but frankly, her being quiet and controlled in most situations is probably a coping mechanism and I respect that

- Pretty sure this is also based on the fact that the Suli have no land for their own and constantly have to keep moving. It might align with generational trauma, I’m sure someone could explain it better than me, but being able to keep your cool while constantly having to change and adapt to new situations, in, say, a country with hellfire politics and no land to call your own? Seems like a hereditary trait that could be useful in Ketterdam, although it’s sad.

On Inej’s abilities

- Simone Biles started training when she was 6 and went to the World Artistic Gymnastics Championships when she was 16, where she qualified in all the events.

- There are videos of people walking over tightropes as young as three years old. We know Inej didn’t start that young, but not only was she naturally talented at it, but she spent a lot of time practicing. I think it’s valid. Plus, some of her family members do some pretty crazy things in her flashbacks, because that’s the whole point of what they do.

- Youngest person to beat American Ninja Warrior was 16 year old Vance Walker

- Inej has a variety of of tools that help her wall climb, and while it’s true that she started young and got good really fast, she already had a history of physical work that would help her, and from what we can gleam from the book, a surprising amount of free time in which she was actively encouraged to learn everything she could.

So that’s Inej! I think her skills are perfectly possible for someone with her history and situation. It’s true that she’s naturally skilled, but that’s not actually all that unusual. And her demeanor and wisdom do fit in with what a lot of teenagers are like and the circumstances she was brought up in

Onto Kaz!

- One thing I hear about is that Kaz is too smart for not having gone to school and also too young to know all that he does

- Do you all KNOW how many self-taught people there have been in this world? The word for people who are self-taught is autodidacts, and honestly a huge amount of famous people apply. Like many, many other people in history (there’s a whole list of them in Wikipedia), he had an vested interest in a field and he learned all he could. Sure, those fields were magic tricks and math, but still.

- Suddenly I have a lot of thoughts

- Okay, think, hyperfixations. That’s essentially what Kaz’s thing with magic tricks was, right? Have any of you ever spent time with an eight year old that clearly really, really loves dinosaurs? Those kids can spout names and facts and identify them by their skeletons and frankly know more than I ever will. Kaz’s was magic tricks. All kids are special.

- Kaz continued working on magic tricks and practicing them for years, so, I think that gets a pass.

- As for the math! Look, a Fact Of Life is that some kids are just Like That, whether it be possibly from neurodivergence or other factors:

- Flo and Kay Lyman are twins with Autism who basically have the calendar of EVER memorized. Kaz memorizing card decks is sensible, and these ladies don’t need to look up anything to figure it out, so Kaz doing sums inside his head seems plausible. His “photographic memory’ isn’t impossible, although the term itself might be incorrect.

- Katherine Johnson who worked at NASA (yes, the lady from Hidden Figures), was so good at math that she was in high school by age 10 and went to college at age 15. It’s true that she had some teaching, but 1. There’s no evidence Kaz had absolutely no schooling, even if it was just at home with books and 2. Kaz was 9 when he came to Ketterdam, and after Jordie died, when he wasn’t surviving, he was learning.

- Human calculator is a term that is applied to children a lot and there’s definitely plenty of videos showing how smart these kids are and them doing mental math easily, which he does in the books

- He had a LOT of pressure on him to figure out all he could, and if he wanted to move forward, he was going to have to learn a lot. He spent hours practicing magic tricks, for all we know he spent hours practicing math too. We know Jordie was a bit of a bookworm too, so Kaz from a young age probably already had a reason to learn. Personally, a lot of my love for books was inspired by my older sibling when I was younger

- Young people are adaptable. Kaz is incredibly adaptable. The term prodigy exists because of people like him through history.

- As for him being rational, there’s no other way to survive. Some of the greatest soldiers in history have been very, very young, and very, very smart. It’s true tacticians are generally considered to be older, but that doesn’t mean there haven’t been very young ones.

- A lot of the generals I found were like, 19 years old, but Kaz is 1. not a general and 2. in a place where young people take up the mantle really, really quickly, and frankly it’s been like that for a long time. I still think this passes. This isn’t relevant but William the Conqueror was apparently called “The Bastard”?

- Frankly, underground communities of thieves probably don’t go around publishing their escapades so to me it makes sense that I can’t just look up “famous young thieves” and get anything that makes sense, but I did try

- Y’all I tried to do research on youngest escape artists since I think Kaz qualifies and I found myself in what I think is a magicians forum? It’s from 2002-ish and I feel like I’ve just found a relic. I can’t definitely prove they’re all saying the truth, but some of the people there talk about 10-11 year olds at magic camps, so, it’s not impossible for this to be a skill Kaz learned really young, particularly when he made a habit of following around magicians

- I think he passes the realism check overall

For the other Crows:

- Nina being so proficiently multilingual makes sense to me, because she’s been in the Little Palace almost her entire life with all the best teachers they could afford at her disposal. Some people just click with languages. One such would be Timothy Doner, who spoke 23 languages at 16.

- Nina is a child soldier. She of course can handle the battlefield, although I imagine there’s a degree of trauma that she has to deal with (although it’s true that most of her work was always meant to angle her towards being a spy).

- Jesper was taught to shoot from a young age by Aditi, who was likely incredibly proficient. Plus, there’s mentions of him and his father being on some sort of frontier at one point in the books, so, it’s likely that Jesper got his fair share of ‘being a child soldier” since he would’ve been 15 or younger. Plus, with being a Fabrikator, he gets a leg up

- Jesper’s smart y’all, he just also likes to have fun

- I am a little terrified by the fact that I looked up ‘youngest sharpshooter’ and found out about a 9 year old girl (Addysson “Addy” Soltau) who can indeed shoot guns, but uh, it does prove my point

- Matthias... I haven’t heard anyone really argue about Matthias. He’s the oldest at 18 and again, he’s essentially a religious child soldier. Of course he would be built af and know how to handle himself in a fight, and in a flashback about meeting Trassel, we’re told that he was actually distanced from the other boys and was the biggest and strongest/smartest of the group. Perhaps not compared to Kaz, but still

- We know how Wylan ended up how he is, so I don’t think i have to defend how he’s both a musical prodigy, good at math, and good at chemistry. Plenty of kids who can’t do one thing will immediately gravitate to a different field (think AP math students who can’t write essays, or those kids who could analyse a book and it’s metaphors in class but didn’t understand geometry).

- Granted he took it far but it’s kinda implied that his father ignored him eventually and what else was Wylan going to do

- I don’t really know how he did chemistry while not being able to read the symbols and stuff, but that’s likely because I’ve never had to learn the way he did and also I really suck at Chemistry, but I refuse to believe that it invalidates his capabilities

Final Thoughts:

- They’re Traumatized Honors Students

- People might say that “it’s unrealistic that all the smart ones somehow ended up together” but again they’re traumatized honors students and those gravitate to each other

- Of course the smart ones ended up together, they’re the ones in those crazy situations precisely because they are prodigies. Nina wouldn’t have met Matthias if she wasn’t skilled and a spy, Kaz wouldn’t have known Inej if she hadn’t been skilled at silence (I can’t explain that one but uh ninjas did/do exist and it IS still a fantasy world). Kaz would have never been a leader of the Dregs in a position to find Jesper if he hadn’t been so determined to rise to the top, and Jesper wouldn’t have been in Ketterdam if his father hadn’t thought that Jesper was smart enough to get that chance.

- You know how those fringe revolutionary artists for new eras end up knowing all knowing each other and even hanging out? That’s them.

- I have decided there is a strong basis for Autistic Kaz, someone who is more studied than me should feel free to explore this.

- I read this book a few years ago, A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah. It’s about this guy’s experiences as a boy soldier and it’s a painful read so I’m not sure I recommend it as a casual read, but he talked about these young kids being able to actually make competent military strategies and handle warfare. It’s an extreme example of what I’m trying to explain when it comes to them being able to handle the brutality of their situation, but it’s true, essentially

- They are definitely serious, but if you think they’re not teenagers I just, disagree so much. They have moments of lighthearted banter, they make light of their situation, they try to support each other Nina covers it so well in her farewell at the end of Crooked Kingdom: The little rescues of laughing at each others jokes or eating together and just supporting each other, is not only a very human thing, but a very teenager thing.

- Scary experiences that shape us happen all the time, and although for most it’s not the things that the Crows experience, picking each other up is a big part of why they do read as teenagers to me. I’ve seen kids be able to seriously converse about things like being questioned by the police, or being left to their own devices for days at a time, or the general impending doom they all feel, and it’s dark, but they’re also going to joke about silly puns 20 minutes later.

- Teenagers aren’t exempt from terrifying maturity and competence

- Finally: Despite all I said, it’s a fantasy story and doesn’t have to be realistic

In the end, everyone can believe what they want to believe, but this is my case for my opinion.

TL;DR The Crows are all prodigies and a lot of their achievements and capabilities are based in reality and there are real people who actually achieved things like what they’ve done. Messed up prodigies gravitate to messed up prodigies, hence how they all end up together. When it comes to their mental state, most of them have been brought up their entire lives in situations that required for them to problem solve and keep their cool even when things are going to hell.

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ginger-danica-snapps · 4 years ago

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The Wolf Queen and Her Crow Prince

By Ginger D. Snapped

Written for @jonsaseasonalbash day 3 - 24 April: crow and little bird/king and queen/stone and snow.

I was out of town unexpectedly for Day Three, but here is my completion for the Jonsa Seasonal Bash, using the prompt King and Queen. This is written as snapshots of the time when the freefolk began to gather and the end of the long night. This is not betaed, so please be gentle.

You can also read on my AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/30930386

Summary: Sansa knows she didn’t always live beyond the wall. Mance and his wife were not her parents, but she was freefolk to her bones and it didn’t matter who discovered her. She would save her people from the Night King and never kneel to a Southern King or Queen.

Sansa knew there was a time in her life that she didn’t live beyond the wall. She knew the same way that she knew what lemon tasted like and that somewhere there were people who were not always fighting the cold. Where people were fed when hungry and she was loved. The only thing she remembered from that life was her name being Sansa.

Not that she was not loved by her people. Mance and his wife had been good to her. They had even told her some of the truth of how she came to be with the Freefolk. It was not a pretty story and she knew she had basically been stolen long before she was ready to be taken as a wife. Mance had killed the man that brought her beyond the wall, but worried about what would happen if he took her back across.

So, she stayed with Mance and Dalla and learned the way of the freefolk. She became a sister to Val and while she did not have the fighting ability of many of the spearwives, she could hold her own well enough to dissuade any more men who came to steal her away.

Still, she found her way across the great white to peer upon the wall several times in her growing years. She would stare upon the great monstrosity and wonder who beyond it would remember her. Was she missed? Was she loved?

It made her melancholy in a way that was hard to explain, though Val tried to understand.

Something else began to settle into the freefolk’s general attitude towards her in the latter year. She’d been one of them for so long that when she was happened upon by a shadowcat and thought herself dead that she was grateful to have lived free. It was not her day to die, however, as a gigantic beast flew from the rocks above them.

She had scrambled backwards on her hands and bottom, boots scuffling against the ice and snow. Val, Mance, and Ygritte reaching her just as she stood and she leaned gratefully into Val’s own warmth. The cat was now had by the neck with what Sansa realized was a gigantic grey and white direwolf.

They had seen only trackings of the great beasts before and often avoided the area they were found.

When the cat was obviously dead, Sansa pushed Ygritte to the side when the girl went to draw back her bow string.

“NO!” she cried out before she had formed a thought for what she was going to do. Then she was pulling away from Val and rushing forward to the wolf.

She hit her knees as she reached forward, kneeling before the wolf, and realized for a moment she felt a savage joy at destroying the shadowcat and tasted blood in her own mouth, though there was none. The beast leant to her and rubbed it’s humongous face against hers. She let a giggle escape her before she was flinging her arms around the wolf.

“Nothing to be said for it now. The rumours about the Stark girl going missing were true,” Val murmured and Sansa looked up to Mance. He looked as if he had aged twenty years in the span of moments. As if he had already not been struggling over their people going missing by the tribes, clans, and societies.

Sansa was not stupid.

If a Stark child had gone missing some years before and now she had a direwolf in front of her who seemed to want to keep her, then by all rational thinking she was this Stark girl.

Amazingly, for the first time in many years, Sansa saw a flash of something in her memory. A grey and white flag with a direwolf upon it.

She wrinkled her nose as she realized what this meant.

She had always known she was born to someone below the wall, but she was not just the child of a kneeler. She was a child of someone that the people kneeled to.

“Child,” Mance’s voice reached her and she looked up with a tilted head. She huffed as she realized he was worried about her reaction.

That was stupid and she told him so. If he, a deserter of the crows, toted her back to the wall they would have thanked him, taken her, and then promptly hung him for desertion. Then it was likely they would have drummed up the support of these Lords and Ladies she was apparently blood kin too and brought an army into their home to kill indiscriminately.

“It is fine, stop being stupid. I understand that it was even more important to not return me if I was...am...this Stark girl,” she finally murmured.

They made their way back to the camp Sansa kept her hand on the nape of the direwolf.

“Whaddya gonna name her?” Ygritte asked eventually and Sansa looked over in surprise. She truly had not thought about it.

She looked at the wolf and then thought about how she hit her knees in front of her. She grinned savagely and laughed.

“Well, I kneeled before her, so I guess she must be a Lady,” Sansa answered and Mance barked out a laugh.

“Lady it is,” he chuckled and they made their way back to their tents, the freefolk around them all giving them wide eyes.

-------------

It was three moons later when the world went to shit.

Their people, those that called Mance King and those that did not, were being slaughtered by these dead creatures. Sansa had seen three of her milk siblings rise and attack the same as that which had killed them.

She’d cut the head off of one herself with Val thrusting a lit torch against the creature and setting it aflame. They’d barely managed to hold Dalla between them before Lady had returned from wherever she had been hunting. They all clamoured on top of the direwolf, gripping hands into the fur, and Sansa murmured an order for Lady to run.

They’d met with Vance and many of the others who had been hunting and Sansa had to shut her eyes at the cries of those who realized that they had lost all their elderly and the children too young to join the hunt.

“No one is left?” Mance asked quietly as Sansa helped Dalla down.

“No, it was slaughter. We need to be moving,” Sansa whispered back harshly, pushing aside all feelings for the time being.

Mance nodded, “Aye, we make for Frostfangs.”

“This will be happening everywhere, Mance,” Val added as they began to lead their people away.

Mance grunted, “Maybe now they will listen.”

Sansa was sitting before the fire, Lady beside her, working her needle through the last of the seal skin that had come at the same time as the whale blubber that Val was stirring to render over the low flame. There was not much brought by the last traveler and Sansa knew this would be the last they would receive here.

It would not be long until they’d made their bid to make it over the wall. There had been rumors of ill tidings in the kingdom of the kneelers. A king dead, rebellion, and only little Starks in Winterfell.

Over the last moon, Mance had taught her all he could of the world below the wall.

He said just in case, but Sansa could read his wishes between the words unspoken.

In case all else fails, use her name to the best of her ability, and take care of their people.

The tent flap few open and they all looked up, Sansa’s hand automatically reaching for the spear she kept beside her at all times now. Lady was up on her feet as well and lips already pulled back in a snarl.

“Ygritte!” she exclaimed as the girl came in and eyes settled on Mance. Sansa settled back down into her chair when she realized there was no immediate danger.

“What is it? Why are you back?” Mance gruffly asked.

Ygritte hesitated only momentarily before stating, “I brought a crow. Says he has forsworn his vows and wishes to join our people.”

Sansa watched as Mance’s eyebrows raised, “Well, bring him in.”

Ygritte hesitated again, “He has a wolf like our girl. Big old white thing with red eyes. Says it's the companion of members of his family.”

Sansa stood again, her spear dropping to a clatter this time as she grabbed at the fabric of her tunic.

“He’s a Stark?” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Ygritte grunted in agreement, “Said something about natural and true, but I couldn’t tell you what his lips were flappin’ about. Seemed to be important to him though.”

“He’s a natural born son of House Stark. The bastard brought back from the war against the Targaryen’s by the Warden of the North,” Mance mused before adding, “Your half brother. I don’t remember his name.”

“Jon,” Sansa murmured as Ygritte answered as well, “Snow, Jon Snow.”

Sansa looked up with wide-eyes. She remembered his name and suddenly a young boy was in front of her young self with dark curly hair and solemn eyes. The same spectral boy she dreamt of on a nightly basis. She had thought him nought but her imagination.

“You should not climb that, Lady Sansa. Your mother would be quite cross.”

Then before she could say another word, a man was coming through the tent flap. Sansa’s breath caught as she knew without a doubt that this was the man from her dreams. This was Jon Snow, her brother, and she realized without a doubt that he was her downfall.

She felt her heart beat faster, her palms growing sweaty, and when his eyes met hers Sansa was lost in the darkness.

“It...it can’t be,” her crow brother whispered as his eyes darted to Lady and back up, “Sansa?”

“Hello Jon,” she responded without thinking and then she could think no more as she was swept into strong arms and she was inhaling deep the scent of her kin.

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Sansa stared at Mance with a gaping mouth.

“Absolutely not,” she bit out.

Mance did not look impressed, “Absolutely so. Every leader, chieftain, and speaker has decided. I have stepped back and you are the Queen-Beyond-The-Wall.”

Sansa shook her head fiercely.

She’d spent the last three days just getting to know her brother. She’d already decided to steal him for her own as soon as the chance arose. After all, he was only her half-brother, and it was not unheard of among the Freefolk.

Menfolk were sometimes in low commodity and surviving had been more important than the sharing of a parent.

Still, Jon was sweet, if a bit naive.

Ygritte had told her of her advances on Jon on the way to Frostfangs and she didn’t quite believe the man was truthful in his defection. This surprised Sansa not one bit. She had already come to that opinion in the three days she’d spent with him.

It was only the wildness in his eyes and the obvious wish for the freedom of her people that burned in him brightly that kept Sansa from truly speaking out about his duplicity. Brother or not, she had an entire people to protect from the crows and those below the wall.

“This is a mistake,” Sansa finally muttered.

Mance shook his head, “No. This is the only way to get most of us past the wall with little to no bloodshed.”

Sansa snorted in derision, “Whether the slaughter happens this side of the wall or once we’ve settled in some nice little field and are betrayed, the kneelers will betray us,” then she sat on a stool and lowered her face into her hands.

“Are we even positive that Jon can help? That he will be listened to?” she asked quietly, at almost a whisper.

Mance made an encouraging noise and sat down in front of her, “They say his brother became a king before dying and that the entirety of the kingdom is at war. We will take back proof of the dead and show the watch. I am hopeful your presence will encourage less hostility. If they decide to be fuckers all around, then I’ll take the people over the wall the way we planned and take the castle.”

Sansa sighed and stood again, “Then I suppose I should explain the truth of things to Jon. I get the feeling he expects to return me to the stone houses to wear pretty dresses and sew little pieces of cloth with no purpose all day.”

Mance chuckled and leaned in and kissed her forehead. She turned and went to join her brother in the tent they’d been keeping him in.

She could not help but laugh when she entered and found Tormund and Ygritte keeping guard. Jon had apparently said or done something they didn’ t appreciate, because he was trussed up like one of the wild boars they hadn’t seen in years.

She pulled her knife from her belt and slipped it through the ropes at his wrist. She gave him a leering smile and watched, pleased, as he turned the same color as her hair.

“Leave us,” she demanded and didn’t bother to look and see if they obeyed. The soft falls of feet and the fabric flapping closed gave her all the answer she needed.

“Will your crows listen?” she demanded and Jon looked at her confused.

She huffed in response, “Your crow people and the southerner’s, will they listen when we tell them of the dead and allow us to give proof. The wall holds for now, but that will not be forever. It will fall and when it does then this is all of our problems. If you leave my people to fall behind the wall then the force that rises will be unstoppable.”

“Sansa, you are a Stark. The last living Stark as far as I know and the Lady of Winterfell,” her crow kin told her and Sansa resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“I am the Queen-Beyond-the-Wall, chosen by my people here, and I will not forsake them for stone walls and kneeling sycophants,” she muttered.

“You're the Queen? I thought Mance…,” Jon began but Sansa held up a hand to stop him.

This time he glared at her and Sansa resisted the urge to snarl back at him.

“I am now the Queen. The people decided just this morning and I will be the one to deal with your people. Now, answer my question and none of this manure about you supporting the freefolk. We are not stupid and you might have the heart to be free, but your mind is terribly chained up,” Sansa demanded.

Then Jon motioned for her to sit. Sansa moved to sit and crossed her legs underneath her and they began to hammer out an accord.

--------

Four moons later, Sansa found herself sitting across from a man with a sterner face than any she’d ever seen.

“You are a Stark and I am your rightful King,” the man said gruffly.

Sansa sniffed, “I choose to be Freefolk and I am their chosen Queen. I cannot be this Stark you want to put in that stone cage and you cannot be my King. We are not married and your wife is unlikely to take kindly to the idea of you taking another one.”

The man called Stannis, who she had taken to just calling the Southern King in her head, was now resembling one of the fish with whiskers that she’d been served since coming through the wall.

“Put my brother in it. He seems to be fond of stone cages,” she added.

“He’s a bastard,” the wannabe king growled.

Sansa barked out a laugh, “You think these Northern people will accept a Stark raised as Freefolk over a bastard raised as a Stark? You must be stupider than you look. Make my brother this Lord Stark and offer my people the right to live below the wall if they fight for you and this chair you want so badly without kneeling. They’ll agree to follow the law of these lands while we are here and will allow Jon to be the direct voice to yourself. I speak for my people to Jon and he speaks for me to you. Problem solved.”

She stated her demands and leaned back in the chair, folding her hands in her lap, and just stared at the man.

“Your father…,” he began again, but she didn’t even let him make another excuse.

Sansa stood and turned to walk out. She looked back over her shoulder before she exited.

“I do not remember my father, nor my mother, nor most of my siblings. Apparently there were two I never even met. Appealing to my sense of familial ties will do nothing but frustrate me. Give me what my people need and we have a deal. Otherwise, there is no reason to send for me again.”

With that Sansa exited the room as calmly as she could. She stopped briefly on the outside and listed as the fire witch spoke to Stannis.

“I believe she is correct. We now know where the war truly is,” the woman said.

Stannis made a noise of derision, “Her brother already turned down my pardon of his vows, legitimisation, and being the Warden of the North. I need to place a Stark back in Winterfell or I will never draw enough support to take the throne. We need the kingdom to fight this damn war you are speaking of.”

“Then do as the fire commanded,” the woman responded.

“Now see here,” the man that Stannis called his Hand, though Sansa did not understand why he needed someone’s else’s when he had two himself that worked just fine, “You can’t just marry a man to his sister, half or prophesied, regardless.”

Sansa wanted to choke. What had her idiot kin done now?

Swallowing hard, she marched off to find Jon.

------------

“I made a vow,” Jon was now glaring at her and Sansa was getting rather tired of people glaring at her and speaking to her of words that were someone more important than doing what was necessary to survive.

She gave him an unimpressed look, “So, did the majority of the men in this stone cage currently, but they sure seem to enjoy getting their cock wet with my spearwives.”

“Do you know the whole of what is being asked, Sansa? Or are you going to stand there and lecture me? Marriage, Sansa, he wants us to marry,” Jon growled out and Sansa stood to meet him when he began to move away.

She pressed her hands into his chest and pushed back with all his strength, “You will listen to me, Jon Snow. You made a vow to protect the realm of men. Staying on this stupid wall, freezing, with a bunch of other stupid men is not going to keep this realm safe. You all already apparently forgot who the actual enemy the wall was built to stop was, nevertheless leaving my people as fodder to build an army the likes of which you’ve never seen. Taking Winterfell and Stannis’s offer, regardless of what it is, will protect the realm of men.”

Jon gaped at her, speechless, and Sansa took it as a sign to do something. She stepped closer, not letting him escape her gaze, and pressed her lips against his. He made a sound that reminded her of a dying man’s last breath, before suddenly kissing her back with a fury. Sansa gasped as he lifted her and sat her upon the table.

She had just managed to get her fingers under his leathers and was about to yank at laces when he stepped back with a panicked look on his face. Sansa wanted to scream at his ridiculous morals.

He turned to run from the room, but she stood swiftly and passed him, sweeping her leg under his to send him sprawling down. She slammed the door closed and bolted it. Looking around, Sansa made herself not grumble at the lack of furs or a bed.

Beds were the thing she could grow used to the most. Although Jon had said the beds here were nothing like in this Winterfell. Sansa could not imagine anything softer.

She looked down at Jon and reached behind her to undo her laces.

“Sansa…” he said hoarsely, staring up at her. Sansa ignored the plea in his eyes and let her dress fall from her shoulders.

The dress had been a juxtaposition of painful and enjoyable of being below the wall instead of behind it. She’d run her fingers over the soft material when it had been gifted to her to wear instead of her leather breeches and fur jerkins. She thought Val would have liked it, for all the girl would have argued.

She’d have liked the monstrosity they called a bathtub too.

It all made Sansa incredibly uncomfortable at the reminders of what she had been born into and sometimes, in the darkest part of night, she could see the sweet, innocent, stupid thing she would have been. She both was grateful to not be her and mournful of what could have been.

“Now, if you can truly say you do not want me, then I will redress and walk out of this room. If you cannot honestly admit that, though, then I’m taking you for my husband, you’re taking the offer of this Stannis, and we’re going to let my people behind the wall,” She murmured as she knelt in front of him, her braid falling over her shoulder and brushing against the top of her breast.

She watched his eyes track the movement and grinned at the heat in his eyes. She knew without a doubt that Ygritte had been correct. Jon was definitely a pure man and Sansa ignored the heat that flooded her core, causing her to grow quickly wet, at the thought that he was going to be her man to have.

No one else would have him again, unless she was dead and buried. She’d had lovers before, occasionally a spearwife and at times a man from another clan, but never one she wanted to keep.

Jon was staring at her still, this time with some sort of worshipful awe, when her fingers reached to his breaches and unlaced him.

“Sansa,” he whispered, this time more like whispered words of love.

She pulled him free and pulled herself over him to straddle. Lowering herself slowly, Sansa sat on his cock and groaned at the stretch of his girth. She wondered if these Southern boys compared cocks the way the youth of the freefolk did and if Jon realized how blessed the gods had been to him.

She comforted herself with the knowledge that she was helping him break his vows as it would be a travesty to waste such a cock. She began to move her hips in a languid, smooth motion, rocking against him hard on the downfall to press her button into his groin. She added a longer roll as she grew hotter and hotter.

Then without warning, Jon decided to be an active participant. He surged up, hand cupping the back of her head, as he moved them over. Sansa was pleased to find he had unclipped his cloak and she was now laid out against it. She moaned in pleasure as he immediately set to fucking into her.

Then his mouth was against hers and she was shoving her own hips up to meet his furious pace. Sansa chased the feeling that was building inside of her and she refused to allow his control to stop her pleasure. She grabbed one of his hands and pulled it down to her button and pressed against his palm as she felt his cock inside of her as she ground upwards.

“Sansa,” Jon groaned as she felt herself begin falling.

“Jon!” she screamed as pleasure ripped through her body and she felt him respond to her own cry with wetness flooding inside of her.

She prepared for him to collapse on top of her as most men she’d taken her pleasure from were apt to do. She found herself moved and cradled against him as he laid back on the floor.

“I don’t know if Ygritte explained how this works, but I took you for my husband,” she said succinctly and dared him to argue with her stare.

He sighed and looked over at her, “Our father and your mother will probably crawl out of their graves to kill me, but aye, I accept you as my wife. The North will not love this, but they will accept it to get a Stark back in Winterfell. Now, I can take my wife’s name instead of legitimation from Stannis. That will make them even more accepting. We have to take Winterfell first, though. Without Winterfell we will not be seen as legitimate. They might balk a southern king releasing me from my vows.”

Sansa sighed against him. The man knew nothing of bed talk. Sitting up she pulled him after her. If he wanted to talk business then they should get to it.

Cutting her eyes back over to view his backside before she slid her dress over her head, Sansa also thought that the sooner they finished the business then they could get back to the fucking.

A voice inside her head added, and baby making.

------------

They meet with Stannis...it’s about as enjoyable as Sansa had imagined. They reach an accord.

They go beyond the wall and speak to her people about the agreement to help take back the Northern key that was supposed to be her birthright and then the truly southern city where Stannis has his stupid chair. Then Stannis will bring the full force of the kingdom North to handle the enemy beyond the wall. That discussion is even less enjoyable with much yelling and even one clan defecting completely and leaving.

Sansa says a prayer to the old gods that they find their way to somehow burn in one of the red witch’s fires before they join the army of the dead. Stupid fools.

Stannis and Jon both choke when she tells them that there are at least 85,000 fighting men and women. The rest are too old to be an asset or too young to understand how to tell the difference between two living enemies.

They both insist the women don’t fight and Sansa plans to ignore them. If the enemy doesn’t care about killing women, why should they care about fighting them?

Finally, they send ravens. So many ravens and Sansa is astounded how the birds manage to find the people and return with a warg to guide and control them. Jon is astounded to learn that wargs exist and that he has the ability. He does it regularly with Ghost but had thought it was a dream. Sansa and he both begin to learn together with a freefolk skinchanger.

Jon and her marry before the red witch in part of their agreement with Stannis and Jon is released from his vows to the watch and officially becomes Jon Stark. Then they wed again before the heart tree beyond the wall and Sansa imagines for a moment that her forgotten parents are watching.

Mance, Dalla, Val, and Ygritte are there in the flesh though and Mance tells her later, when they are all huddled around a fire, that he is proud of the free woman she is. Dalla and he both ask if something happens to them that she takes care of Val and the baby Dalla has yet to birth.

She drags him back to the heart tree alone and vows before it that she will save as many as she can, but she will watch for Val and the unborn babe with every breath she has.

He is the only father she can remember.

Her people agree, as long as they are allowed to have the truth north back as soon as the final war is over and it not be a part of the southern kingdom. They will not kneel.

Sansa will not give her crown until the war is over and her people are safe.

By then it would not be necessary as her people would have no need for one when they are free in their home and not in danger of the dead.

Jon and she share a bed every night and Sansa is pleased to learn that her husband is a quick study. She also thinks her men are sharing ways to please a woman, because he attacks her center with fingers, lips, tongue, and teeth that is clumsy, but not knowledgeable in the fundamentals.

If she was the type of woman she was born to be, she’d demure her eyes and shyly thank the wives of the men. She’s not that woman though and she makes sure her own clan of people receive three casts of the shit ale the night watch’s call a drink and leads the toast herself. Ygritte claims the majority of the thanks.

She will never tire of Jon’s blush.

Two men and a boy try to kill her husband by tricking him into an ambush, claiming his uncle has survived.

She calls bullshit and when the idiot tries to go rushing down, she draws her blade and motions for the ten men and women she’d chosen to guard her and her husband follow. She’d thought it ridiculous when Stannis told her that she should have an honor guard of some sort since he was recognizing her as a queen and it was only proper.

Her own clan had sent ten forward without hesitancy. Ygritte and Tormund among them.

Ygritte is the one who shoots the boy, her husband’s steward, when Jon cannot do it. He cries into her breast that night and Sansa runs her fingers through his hair and comforts him the best she can.

Tormund somehow decides that her husband should be brought closer to her people after this and begins to heckle him at every opportunity. Sansa finds them fighting in the yard most mornings now.

Jon fits her people more than he wishes to admit. Sansa tries not to think of the day they will send them back beyond the wall.

They begin the march to Winterfell. A winter storm takes them by surprise, but the Freefolk laugh at the southern men in Stannis’s army. Very few Northmen answered their call, but Sansa is not particularly surprised. Jon is only half Stark and she was raised among the Freefolk. Even together they won’t draw the North to them until they sit in Winterfell and the dead is more known.

The freefolk begin to teach the southerners how to best pad their armor and they stop before dusk every night and her people train them how to move on snow and ice. Stannis, his hand, and witch take dinner every night with Jon, Sansa, and Mance.

It’s an odd group, but they make it work.

Melisandre is oddly good at helping keep everyone focused on the real war. She watches Jon in a way that Sansa is not happy about, however. It was on one of the later nights that Melisandre finally addressed whatever it was she had been pondering. Stannis and the others were already abed in their tents and it was only her guard, Jon, and Melisandre left around the fire.

“Your mother, do you know who your mother was?” the witch asked and Sansa resisted the urge to scratch her eyes out when her husband almost immediately became sullen. It was a particular talent of his.

“No, My Lady, Lord Stark never deemed it the time. He promised he would the next I saw him, but you know what happened with that,” Jon said quietly.

Sansa’s eyes narrowed as Melisandre stood and asked for his hand. Jon, the stupid fool, didn’t hesitate and then yelped when Melisandre obviously pierced him in the palm. She was sopping the blood up with a scrap of fabric before he could move back and Sansa stood angrily.

The witch just held up her hand and walked to the fire with the fabric before anyone could say anything.

“For the night is dark and full of terrors,” the witch murmured and tossed the cloth in.

Sansa could not help but find herself intrigued as the fire almost doubled in size and suddenly there were images. Jon and a short, blond woman standing before huge beast’s that could only be dragons. Jon wearing black and red and flying on the dragon. Then nothing.

She looked to Melisandre, who looked back at both of them before sighing.

“I fear that I might have misinterpreted the flames in regards to Stannis,” the woman said as if announcing what she wanted for breakfast, “It’s you who is our prince or the girl.”

“Who was that woman?” Sansa asked.

Melisandre sat and began to draw in the sand a rudimentary symbol of three creatures wrapped around one another.

Jon whispered, “House Targaryen. That is their sigil.”

“Yes, Jon, and the only interpretation left to us is that you are a member of said house, or atleast of their blood. That woman was Daenerys Targaryen, the lost Targaryen Princess, who swears to return to Westeros with fire and blood to reclaim what she says is hers.” Melisandre finished.

Sansa raised an eyebrow, “Well, don’t be telling Stannis that. You’ve told him that he was the promised one or some other rot. Best to let him keep thinking that.”

“Lyanna Stark is my mother,” Jon whispered and Sansa looked at him in confusion.

Jon swallowed hard, “Lyanna was your father’s sister. They say Rhaegar Targaryen took her away and our Uncle Brandon and Grandfather went to King’s Landing to demand her back. Aerys...oh gods, he was my grandfather...burned them alive before demanding that Jon Arryn bring him the heads of your father and Robert Baratheon. It’s why they went to war and deposed him...deposed House Targaryen.”

“Deposed or not, you are Targaryen and Stark, the culmination of the song of ice and fire,” Melisandre said, “Your blood is the blood of kings, the blood of the dragon.”

“I am not a dragon,” Jon snarled and stood with such a quickness and fury that Sansa found herself preparing for battle, “I am the bastard of a deposed house that holds no right to anything in Westeros unless this Daenerys Targaryen returns to conquer it again. It will not be me.”

Melisandre hummed under her breath and Sansa watched the witch consider his words with a sense of trepidation. Sansa reached into her skirts to put her fingers on her knife. If the witch made to do something that would expose her husband, then Sansa would slit her throat before she could speak it.

“Yes, My Lord Stark. You have married into the house of wolves and therefore, I suppose, you are not a dragon any longer. There would be no reason to discourage King Stannis from battle and if Daenerys Targaryen returns, R’hllor will bless the one who is supposed to sit the Iron Throne,” Melisandre finally said and with a quick dip of her own skirts, she moved to head back to her tent.

Sansa let her fingers fall from the hilt and went to stand before her husband and cousin. This made her think of something and so she reached up to cup his head.

“Now you don’t have to worry the Gods will strike you down for fucking your sister, cousin. Do these southerner’s marry cousins?” she said with a smile and grinned when he choked in surprise and met her eyes.

“You do realize your still in the north beneath the wall?” he asked incredulously.

Sansa snorted, “The North is not a place, it’s a people, and those people are the Freefolk. There might be some among the kneeler’s whose heart is Northern and for that they are more my people, than Stannis’s or this Dragon Aunt Lady.”

Sansa tartly turned and made way back to their tents.

-----------

They were crossing beside a large lake when Sansa thought to ask.

“How did this Theon Greyjoy take Winterfell if it is as large a fortress as you say it is?”

She was sandwiched in between Stannis and Jon, riding a grey garron that was older, but sturdy. Melisandre, Mance, and Davos behind them.

“Trickery,” Jon muttered, “He had a force attack a nearby vassal and when Winterfell sent the majority of their fighting men to stop it, Theon led a small group over the wall and took the keep.”

Sansa hummed, “And this Dreadfort, the Bolton’s own keep is not but a bit over 100 leagues from here?”

“Yes…” Jon said cautiously and Sansa could see that he recognized something in her face, “What are you thinking?”

Sansa thought of her men and the number they said were at Winterfell. There could not be many left at the Bolton’s keep, but these southerner’s seemed very attached to their stone houses.

“Could we not do something similar? Surely this Roose and Ramsey have heard of our army marching, but they might not know it is made up mainly of my people. They probably assume it to be your own army and one not used to fighting battle in this terrain. Send a group of my own to take this Dreadfort and draw these pretenders from Winterfell. They would easily be taken care of by ambush on the journey between Winterfell and their own ancestral stones. Then we take a smaller contingent and take back Winterfell,” she said aloud and tried to ignore the way Jon was staring at her.

“You would have us be as dishonorable as a filthy ironborn?” Stannis said incredulously.

Sansa could not help but roll her eyes, ”I’d see as few of our combined men and women die as possible so that we may better survive the long night, but call it what you will. I care not for your southern ideals of morals beyond a night’s enjoyment of listening to pretty songs and fables.”

“Lord Stark was honorable, Robb was honorable and it got their heads cut from their body and practically destroyed the North. I say we go with Sansa. Roose Bolton broke guestright and his own oath to his King, he has no honor to be dishonored,” Jon quietly said.

Stannis was quiet for a bit and Sansa wondered what demons of his own he was fighting in his head. Then he turned and looked at Jon, before sighing.

“Select your men that will go to the Dreadfort, Queen Sansa. I will do the same among mine. You know Winterfell best, Lord Stark, so you select the contingency that will take the keep once the men are gone,” Stannis gritted out as if being forced to say the words. Then he turned and galloped back.

----------

It was nearly a moon more when a large number of the Bolton forces left Winterfell and marched towards the Dreadfort. There were forty of her people with her and several men Jon had chosen hiding among the thickness of the recent snow. They made way carefully at the hour of the wolf.

It took no time at all to catch the walls with their hooks and scale the wall.

Sansa took great amusement in the idea that they were taking back her ancestral home the same way they had originally planned to scale the wall itself. She watched amused as Jon kept her behind him and they made their way further in.

Her people made quick work of all watchmen that came near before they began to move into the keep that Jon pointed out. It was when they were in what appeared to be the living quarters of the family that Sansa had her first moment of recognition. A woman with hair a similar shade as her own was standing in front of Sansa and curly haired boy and waving her finger. Sansa knew it was her mother and she could almost hear a soft, singing voice in the back of her head.

Shaking herself out of her memory, Sansa stopped at the end of a hall and motioned for two of her people to go forward and kill the men standing guard in front of a specific set of chambers. They made quick work and the men did not even have a chance to raise an alarm of any type of sound.

She stood by Jon, who had drawn his sword, as their people busted through the double doors.

A rather pretty, but thick woman jumped from the bed as an older man did the same. His hand went immediately to a crossbow, but Tormund threw a blade to pierce at the palm of the man.

“Who the…” the man began but was pressed into the floor onto his knees.

“Take the woman and find a place to secure her until this is over,” Jon ordered as he stepped forward with Longclaw. He looked at the man on his knees and then around the room. His hand reaching out to caress the wooden bed frame. Sansa realized it was a carved wolf and she wondered if this had been her parent’s chambers.

“Do you know who I am?” her husband asked as he stepped forward into the light of the moon shining through a window. The man glared and took him in from head to toe.

“You must be the bastard. You're too old to be any of the others if they had been still alive. Did you break your vows to the wall to be here?” he said in a low voice.

Sansa finally just laughed, the dramatics of everything was too much.

“He is Lord Stark, but you should be more worried about me,” she said with a light voice as she stepped forward.

“Stannis named you Lord and legitimized you. The north will never follow a bastard,” the man ignored her and continued to stare at Jon. Sansa narrowed her own eyes as responded again, not giving Jon a chance to speak.

“My name is Sansa Stark, Lord Bolton, I presume?” she icily demanded and when the man’s eyes widened.

“Good,” she answered at his obvious identity when the man refused to speak, “I was planning to let Jon just cut off your head since he thinks that's the way to do this, but I think we might see how you’ve been treating the people here that served the Starks. Let’s see if your House has lived up to its words. You see, even my people, go around your lands when escaping the land of always winter. I think after we discover the worst of what you have done here, then we will do the same.”

With that Sansa stepped forward one more time and brought her foot down hard against his face. Roose Bolton fell to the ground in a heap.

“Secure him until we finish sweeping the keep and clearing it out of Bolton men,” Jon ordered, “And open the gates to the rest of our people.”

Hours later, Sansa and Jon stood facing one another in the rooms that had been her parents. Staring into her eyes, Jon pulled her tight against him and pressed his lips to hers in a fevered kiss.

“Winterfell is yours, Lord Stark,” Sansa whispered against them.

Jon made a noise of discouragement, “No, My Queen, Winterfell is yours as is my heart, now and always.”

-----------

It was almost three years later when Sansa stood before her father's statue in the Stark Crypts. It would not be long now till her husband and herself would return to their people beyond the wall. They still called her queen and Sansa would honor their choice everyday of her life. Jon's responsibility to the North would soon be over and they could be free. Between bringing the North the heel in time to prepare for the dead, Jon and her people attempting to help Stannis take the throne only for him and many of his people to be blown up on ships, and reminding a dragon queen that it really did not matter if the North knelt or not since the dead were coming for them all. Sansa grinned as she remembered Jon standing before the black glass throne and telling it to the woman's face that she was welcome to take her people back across the sea if she wanted to wait to die where it was warmer.

Then the green dragon slamming in front of Jon and putting his wing down and the secret being blown. Thankfully the dragon queen had played nice till after the long night and when Sansa refused to kneel to her, Jon took to the skies with Rhaegal. By the time the fight was over, both Drogon and the dragon queen were dead and Jon encouraged Daenerys's people to leave with Rhaegal. They were not happy, but they did as they were bid, except for the Dothraki left. They seemed to think that Jon's battle meant that he was their new Khal. Jon and Sansa just combined them with their own people and sent them beyond the wall.

Then the great rebuilding began and continued until the day a raven came that announced that Cersei Lannister was dead, along with the remaining Kingsguard, Jaime Lannister, and several other members of the small council.

A crunching noise drew her attention back to the present.

“When the snows fall and white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

The girl that spoke to Sansa was a brunette with short cropped hair and she held a small sword and wore breeches. There was a familiar look in her grey eyes and Sansa tilted her head as she considered the strange girl who had come upon her in the crypts of her bloodkin.

Ygritte stood back in the shadows and Sansa knew she had her bow out with an arrow knocked, but Sansa held her hand out to stay any sudden shots.

The girl laughed.

“I will not hurt your freefolk guard, although this place is for Starks and Stark blood alone. You are the lost Stark daughter, arrived home as the Queen-Beyond-The-Wall. Do you know who I am?”

Sansa felt herself smile, probably showing a little too much teeth, “Grey eyes as serious as a widow made five-times-over having her sixth husband die mysteriously, what appears to be more brashness than commonsense, and a wild look about you that reminds me of my husband’s fury when his aunt tried to kill us after the long night?”

She paused and stepped closer, “That would make you my supposedly dead sister, Arya.”

The girl tilted her head and considered Sansa, “You are not what I expected. The septa always said I was never enough of a lady and it was a shame that you had disappeared as you were nothing but a lady.”

Sansa barked out a laugh, “There’s not room for ladies beyond the wall. Welcome home, Arya. My husband, your cousin, will be glad of your survival. Bran came home before the long night and Rickon was brought home by a fat lord from the sea.”

“Lord Manderly, I heard. I’m sorry I didn’t make it home before the battle that happened. I did not hear of it until it was over and I was in King’s Landing,” Arya murmured as they turned and made way from the crypts.

Sansa’s eyebrow raised, “What were you doing in King’s Landing?”

“Killing a queen. That last name on my final list before coming home,” Arya said as they climbed out and into the coolness of the spring night, “Is it true that Jon and you are going back beyond the wall once Rickon is settled in as King in the North with Bran as his regent?”

Sansa startled at her sister’s knowledge, “Aye, Jon and I will be returning North to settle our people now that the threat is gone. It seems that enough of the old guard died that we will perhaps be able to establish some sort of relations beyond the wall and North Westeros.”

“Can I come with you?” Arya said as they entered the keep.

Sansa smiled as a shout came from the head table and her husband began rushing forward.

“I think I would like that. Who better to help the bond between the Queen-Beyond-The-Wall and the King in the North than a sister of them both,” Sansa managed to answer as Arya was immediately swept away from her side and into her husband's arms.

#jonsaspringautumn #jonsa fic #jonsa centric #stark strong #freefolk #jon x sansa #sansa stark #jon snow #not daenerys friendly #anti daenerys #jonsa

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