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orangeflavoryawp · 4 months ago

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Jonsa - "Nodology", Part 2

Just a reminder that I'm not stressing too much about this story making sense within the canon plot. Think of canon less like a straight line and more like one of those inkblot pictures in a Rorschach test.

Also, this is a very relationship-focused piece. Politics plays a hand, because how could it not? But I'm not trying to rewrite the whole set of books here and tackle larger issues than the immediate present. The heart of this is Jon and Sansa. Hopefully that answers some of your questions about the larger plotlines or political ramifications of the current setting. (On a side note, I fucking LOVE that you guys are so invested in this AU that you're asking such questions. It's incredibly humbling and encouraging all at once. I just don't have the energy to make it that deep right now, lol.)

Much love. Stay frosty, fam.

Nodology

Chapter Two: The Salt of It (And the Wound)

"The knot fastens ever tighter." - Jon and Sansa. After rescuing her from King's Landing and bringing her to Riverrun, the two try to navigate a love they never intended to start, especially with so many watching eyes.

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2

* * *

"How's the shoulder?"

Jon turns from the practice dummy he'd been raging at all morning, his chest heaving, knuckles white where they grip his training sword. His tunic clings to his sweat-dampened skin, his hair pulled back in a knot at the base of his neck.

The Blackfish watches him from his lean against one of the courtyard's pillars, arms crossed loosely over his chest, awaiting an answer to his question.

Jon tries to steady his breathing, lowering the sword in his grip as he turns to the older man. He rolls his shoulder gingerly, a tender ache still lingering from his wound. "Not as much mobility as before, but it's getting there."

Brynden nods, pushing off from his lean and walking toward him. "I hear you wounded it on the road here. With Sansa."

Jon nods quietly, his sword now held limply in his hand, his breathing steadier. He doesn't know what the Blackfish wants to hear, so he says nothing.

Brynden glances at the roughed-up practice dummy beside him, frowning. "That supposed to be Joffrey Baratheon? Or Theon Greyjoy?"

Jon works his jaw, a heavy sigh leaving him. "Both, probably."

He hadn't a person in mind when he entered the training yard earlier that morning. Just a feeling. Just a rage.

The thought of Bran and Rickon's tiny bodies strung up in Winterfell's main courtyard, their flesh burned from them – or maybe flayed – hadn't left him all night. Nor had the thought of Sansa's scar-lined back, or her tremors as she choked out an apology. An apology! For keeping him from rescuing their brothers – keeping him too busy with her, as she said.

But he won't let her take on that kind of guilt. And he won't let himself, either. Because if he does...

If he puts that on his own soul, then there's no going back. There's no climbing out of that hole. And he's no good to anyone at that point. Not to the North, not to Robb. Not to Sansa.

And he can't afford to be useless.

So, he puts that sorrow and bitterness in a box, and sets it aside. Buries it deep. Packs the dirt around it tightly, so it can't crawl back out. He smothers it beneath the earth. And beneath duty.

And then he comes to the training yard every morning and swings and swings and swings until he's breathless. Until there is nothing left to bury. Until it is drained from him completely.

This is how he grieves his family.

Brynden Tully heaves a weighted sigh, eyes still fixed to the dummy. "With the young ones gone, Catelyn is..." He stops, a sound brewing in his throat. He turns back to Jon. "Well, she's a mess."

Jon keeps his silence, his eyes never leaving the Blackfish.

Brynden clears his throat, crossing his arms over his chest once more. "But she'd be truly inconsolable if both her daughters were lost to her, too. And they're not. Arya is somewhere in the Riverlands. And Sansa – Sansa is with her now, here in her family's home, because of you."

Jon's throat tightens, any words failing him. He simply watches Brynden, simply keeps his gaze.

The other man's face hardens somewhat, his jaw squaring. "She won't thank you," he says surely.

Jon feels the lance of it in his chest, his lungs aching at the words. It's not a truth he hadn't known before, but to hear it aloud – to know it so plainly, and from another's mouth –

It hurts more than he thought it would.

Brynden grumbles at Jon's silence, taking a step toward him, his hands falling from their cross over his chest. "You're her husband's bastard, you understand. The one stain upon their marriage. The biggest threat to her children's future and security."

Jon's gaze falls to the floor, fixed on the Blackfish's boots, his tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth.

He knows this. Has always known this.

A moment of heavy silence passes between them, before the Blackfish plants a hand on Jon's shoulder, and he looks up to meet the warrior's gaze.

"But that is not your failing. It's Ned Stark's."

Jon blinks up at him, his teeth clenching at the words.

"And she is grateful, son. More grateful than you could ever understand. Though she may never be able to voice it, I know this in my bones. I know this better than anything."

Jon's lips part, a shallow breath stealing out between them.

"You saved her child, Jon Snow. She will never forget that. Nor will I." His hand slips from Jon's shoulder, a last, solitary look passing between them, before he's turning from him, walking back the way he came.

Jon is overcome suddenly, the words bubbling up inside him, until they make it to air. "Everything left that I care about in this world is here," he calls out to his back, stopping him.

Brynden turns to look at him over his shoulder.

Jon heaves a steadying breath, his grip tightening over his sword. He levels the Blackfish with a determined look. "I'm not going anywhere," he assures him, the words equally needful and confident.

The faint edge of a smile curls at the corner of Brynden's lip, before he offers a silent nod and turns back to leave.

Jon stands in the training yard for several long moments, just breathing.

No, he's not going anywhere.

* * *

When Sansa answers the knock on her chamber door, she doesn't expect it to be Robb. He gives her a stilted smile and a nod in greeting. "Sansa," he says.

She stands with her hand still on the door, blinking quietly at him. "Your Grace," she says finally.

Robb briefly frowns at the formality of the address, but then he sweeps his hand out toward the hallway. "Walk with me, please."

Sansa steps out of her chamber at the invitation, taking his arm obediently.

They make it all the way to the gardens before either of them speak, and Sansa's anxiety is practically thrumming beneath her skin.

Robb clears his throat.

The sound is jarring after so many minutes of silence and her attention swings sharply to him, her fingers clenching over his arm.

"We haven't... well, we haven't really spoken much since your return," he begins.

Sansa watches him quietly, content to let him find his way through the words.

(She remembers the warmth of his chest as he'd carried her back inside the keep the other day, after her grief had overtaken her on the riverbank.)

Robb stops their stroll, his eyes focused on some unnamable flower bush, his brow furrowed in thought.

Sansa sets her other hand along his arm now as well – tender and encouraging. "No, we haven't," she says softly.

He glances up at her. "It's my fault, isn't it?"

Sansa sighs, her gaze drifting away. "It's not about fault."

"Except it is." Robb turns to look at her more fully. "You won't say it, but it is."

Sansa presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth, not meeting his eyes.

Robb wipes a hand down his mouth, a heavy breath leaving him. "You won't admit to the resentment my inaction has stirred in you."

Sansa meets his gaze again. "What do you want me to say, Robb?"

He frowns again, a quiver arching through his brow. "I don't know."

It's the truth, at least, it must be. This, she's sure of. Because she doesn't know what she wants to say either.

She's gone over it in her head a thousand times and yet, the words still never seem quite right.

She loves her brother. She needs her brother. She misses her brother.

But there's a bitterness now that sits sour in her gut, and she doesn't know how to calm it. She doesn't know how to not hurt when she looks at him.

"I think I... I never asked you," he begins again, the words tight in his throat, "because... I couldn't." Robb licks his lips, his eyes hesitant on hers. "I couldn't ask you what they'd done to you because then... then it meant I let it happen."

Sansa pulls a shallow breath through her teeth, the remembrance bright and sharp behind her eyes – the lash, and the gauntleted hand, and the terrible, terrible sound of her own cries.

(Her only companion, most days.)

Robb settles a hand over hers along his arm. "But I shouldn't have let that stop me. I should have – I should have come to you, and talked to you, and... and given you comfort."

Sansa feels wetness dotting her eyes.

"I didn't," he says tightly, his gaze falling to his feet. "And after leaving you to the Lannisters..." He chuckles darkly, his hand slipping from hers to press over his eyes. "I'm not surprised that you hate me, Sansa."

"I don't hate you," she says immediately, the words not even a question.

Robb glances back up at her, his hand falling from his face.

There's no doubt in her at the statement. There's bitterness, yes. There's the sting of abandonment. There's disappointment. The kind that leaves you gazing up at the ceiling most nights, sleepless and aching.

But not hate.

Never hate.

Not for him.

The tears are hot on her lids now, and she reaches up to brush at them. "Come," she urges him, leading them to a bench in the garden. "Sit with me, and I'll... I'll tell you. I'll tell you all that you couldn't ask."

And she does. She tells him of the beatings and the humiliation she suffered before the court. She tells him of her ripped dresses and her bruised body, and her silent, unanswered tears. She tells him of dinners spent at the receiving end of Cersei's constant insults and taunts. She tells him of the endless threats against his and their mother's lives if she didn't keep her place. She tells him of Joffrey's sinister laughter at every slap she received. She tells him of Tyrion's wandering eye and the way he'd touched her on their wedding night. She tells him of her captor husband's overtures dressed up in the guise of kindness. She tells him of the jeers and the scars and the ever-present threat of death hanging over her head. And she tells him of the loneliness.

The nauseating, bone-deep, lung-scraping loneliness.

(She tells him of how she thought once to fling herself from the terrace. To end it then and there.)

"And the one thought – the only thing that kept me breathing, was knowing my family would come for me," she gets out raggedly, the breath raking from her, the sob clenching behind her teeth. She blinks up at him through tears.

He's staring at their joined hands resting over her knee, his jaw clenched, his mouth a tight line.

She takes a shaky breath in, her voice breaking as she tells him, "But you didn't."

Robb looks up at her, pain etching across his face. "Sansa..." His voice catches, his throat flexing tightly.

"You didn't come for me, Robb," she cries out, the sob breaking free. She reaches a hand to her mouth, tries to stifle the wave of anguish clawing up her throat. She blinks back the hot tears, her lungs clenching in her chest. "And I needed you to. I needed you to come for me – just once." She squeezes her eyes closed, her hand pressed over her mouth, muffling the cries as she breathes deep. In and out. In and out.

"Every time – a thousand times – I'd come for you."

In the end, she hadn't been left to that hell. But it wasn't the brother she'd prayed for that rescued her.

She wanted Robb. But she had needed Jon. She understands this now.

Even when it hurts no less.

Robb releases her hands to reach up and cup her face. "I'm so sorry, Sansa. I'm so sorry you ever had to endure that."

She tries to rein in her breathing, her hand slipping from her mouth, her sniffles growing quieter as she watches him, the warmth of his palms cradling her cheeks.

"I'm sorry I left you there. That wasn't... that wasn't kingly of me." And then he stops, his brow furrowing, a look of regret passing over his features at the word choice. He hangs his head, his hands slipping from her face as he sighs heavily. "That wasn't... good of me," he corrects.

Sansa blinks at him, at the way his shoulders slump – at the terrible, unfathomable weight he carries across them.

It's unbearable to see him like this. To see her big brother so small, so crushed beneath duty, so at odds with love.

And it's unbearable to be the thing that weighs on him so.

Sansa pulls a trembling breath through her lungs, a hand going to wipe at her cheeks. She blinks back the salt-sting of tears. "Robb," she murmurs, reaching for his hands again.

"I've already begun the process of annulling your marriage," he tells her.

Sansa stills, her mouth tipping open, her hands trembling as they grip his.

Robb finally meets her gaze, his thumb arching over the taut skin of her knuckles. "Jon is right. You're not a Lannister bride. You're Sansa Stark of Winterfell. And after my unborn child, you're the heir to the North."

Her lip quakes, the breath tight in her chest. She thinks of Bran and Rickon. She thinks of their poor, mangled bodies. She thinks of never again smelling their hair or hearing their laughs or singing them to sleep.

And she knows he's thinking of them, too. She knows it's the loss of them that brings him to her door.

(No more scars, she'd promised herself once, and perhaps, it's the kind of promise Robb needs as well.)

He clutches her hands in his, his jaw tightening. "I won't forget it again," he tells her.

She wants to believe him.

She wants it dearly.

So, she believes.

* * *

"You spoke to Robb," Jon says quietly at her side, walking her to her chambers after she begged away from dinner with a headache, and Robb had asked him to escort her back, before returning to his conversation with Edmure.

Sansa keeps her arm linked with Jon's, orange light flickering over her face as they pass the torches in their sconces along the wall.

"Yes," she answers, not expanding further.

They each stay quiet past that, their steps echoing along the stone as they walk.

Jon looks at her beside him. "He was distressed about what you told him. About your time in King's Landing."

"I'm sure he was." There's a tenderness to her voice now, where once there was resentment.

Jon frowns at her, stopping them not far from her door. "Sansa, look at me."

She does, and it makes his chest ache.

He reaches up to cup her cheek. "What is it?" he asks her gently.

She pulls her lip between her teeth, a furrow to her brow. She glances down the hall to make sure no one is witness, and then she tugs him after her into her chambers, closing the door behind them. She turns to face him fully now, taking his hands in hers. "My marriage to Tyrion is to be annulled."

Jon lets out a short breath at the man's mention, a curl to his lip. "As it should be."

"Yes, but..."

Jon blinks at her. "You don't want to remain married to him." He meant it to come out as a question, considering her hesitance on the subject, but he knows her well enough now to know it shouldn't even be a question.

"Of course, I don't," she answers him on a sigh. "That's not what worries me."

Jon unlinks his hands to grasp at her arms instead, rubbing up and down slowly, comfortingly. "Then what is it?"

"I'll be... eligible again – to cement any other alliance through marriage."

Jon's eyes narrow on her, his nostrils flaring. "I won't let it happen."

Sansa purses her lips. "It doesn't work like that, Jon. You won't have a say."

"Robb won't let it happen," he tries to reassure her, his hands sliding down her arms to settle along her hips now, keeping her anchored to him. "Not after we lost Bran and Rickon." The words make his jaw ache, the names of their siblings lodging in his throat like tar. He clears his throat, shakes away the grief.

(Bury it deep. Put it away. Be useful, be present.)

"Not after... after everything you endured in King's Landing. He won't do that. I promise you."

Sansa's mouth presses into a thin line, her eyes shifting between his. "I hope you're right."

"I am," he assures her, leaning in to press a swift kiss along her lips. "You won't ever be a pawn in someone's game again, I swear." His fingers curl around her hips – steady and sure.

She blinks up at him, her eyes roving his face in quiet contemplation.

He opens his mouth to question her but then she links her arms around his neck, pressing her chest to his. "I don't think I could ever be anyone's again," she whispers at his mouth. "Anyone's but yours," she tells him.

Jon sucks a breath through his lips, his chest rising and falling steadily, his gaze dropping to her mouth. "Sansa," he begins, before he clears his throat, licking his lips. "I should go."

It isn't half as firm as he means it to sound.

Her nails scrape the nape of his neck, slinking into his hair, and it drags his attention back to her gaze. Her eyes are dark in the candlelight, a sheen of wetness over them. "Could you do it? Could you let another man take me to wife?" There's a thread of desperation in her voice that scares him.

Jon braces his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the scarce space between them. He slips a hand up her back, bracing against her spine as he holds her closer. "You know I can't," he murmurs at her mouth, the closeness of her making him light-headed.

She lets out a ragged breath against him, her eyes slipping shut, her arms tightening around his neck. "Could you let another man hold me like this? Touch me? Kiss me?" Her voice breaks, her chest heaving now, the threat of tears lining her words. "Could you – "

He doesn't let her finish the question, because his answer would be the same regardless.

Jon kisses her hard, almost angrily, pressing into her so forcefully that she arches back beneath his hands, bending to his need. He opens her mouth with a fervent tongue, tasting her sigh with his own answering groan, his hands bracing her to his chest, keeping her fixed to him, unrelenting.

Ever since that night in his chamber, when she'd approached him after the news of Bran and Rickon – ever since she offered that ridiculous apology, ever since he'd silenced her needless guilt with his desperate mouth –

His desire for her has grown nearly unmanageable.

She's all that occupies his thoughts. When he wakes and when he lays his head to sleep. When he meets with Robb's war council, and when he trains in the yard, and when he breaks his fast with his unwitting family.

When he takes himself in hand – urgently and nightly.

She's all he thinks about these days. Her fine-boned hands, and her perfect, pink mouth, and the sweep of her hair over her neck, and the dip of her collar bones, and the fine arch of her wrist, and her lingering stares, and the open neck of her dress, and her smiles and her touches and her breathy sighs, the shape of her waist beneath his hands, and her chest heaving against his, and the way she arches into him so sweetly, the way she curls her hands into his hair, the way she sucks on his tongue when he kisses her, and the scent of her, the taste, the taste, the taste –

He's nearly delirious in his want.

Jon breaks from her, panting, one hand still digging into her hip, the other braced between her shoulder blades, the material of her dress bunched in his fist as he holds her to him. "The thought alone," he growls out, nipping at her lips – that heady desire flooding him, sending him reeling. "The thought alone drives me mad," he finishes tightly, taking her mouth again, reveling in the low moan that carries up her throat.

Sansa sighs breathlessly against his mouth when they break apart, her hands tightening in his hair. "I'm scared," she murmurs at his lips, eyes still wet, surging forward to kiss him again.

Jon groans at her urgency, his hand sliding over her shoulder to brace at her neck, his thumb pressed to the underside of her jaw, his breath flooding her mouth as she whimpers beneath him.

"Sansa," he bites out when he gasps for air.

She grabs at his hand still fixed to her hip, drags it up to her chest, presses his palm over her breast, curling his fingers beneath hers in the collar of her dress.

Jon bucks against her instinctively, the breath raking from him, his pants hot against her mouth. He palms at her breast immediately, never even questioning the motion, his growing hardness digging into her thigh as he walks her back, until she hits the bed and falls over, taking him with her.

"Jon," she moans out, hands raking over his back, drawing him into her, before wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and dragging his mouth back to hers.

Jon braces his weight above her, his hips digging into hers, his hand gripping her breast almost painfully, his other dug into her hair, his elbow planted along the bed to steady him. He tugs at her dress, dragging the material over her breast impatiently, groaning into her mouth as he rolls his hips into hers, unable to stop himself, unable to contain the heat spreading through his gut.

Sansa drags a knee up along his side, her skirts pulling uncomfortably along her thigh.

Jon breaks from her, dragging his hand from her hair to bunch along the skirts at her thigh instead, rucking them up as he buries his face in the crook of her shoulder, his lips planting along her pale throat. "Gods, Sansa, you feel so good," he groans out, his growl lost in her hair.

Sansa grips at his head, fingers tangled in his curls. "I want it to be you," she gasps at his ear.

Jon stills, blinking away the haze of desire beneath a singular moment of clarity.

He closes his eyes at her words, his chest heaving against hers, his hand gripping at her thigh hard enough to leave bruises, but he won't go further, won't drag her skirts up higher, won't snake his hand up to her smallclothes and tear them away, won't sink his fingers into her wet, waiting cunt like he longs to, like he's aching to.

"Sansa," he warns her, his teeth at her throat, his other hand still firm at her breast, fingers still curved over the collar of her dress, dragged partially down her chest, her laces taut at the seams.

His knuckles are white beneath the force of his struggling willpower.

"I need it to be you," she whines at his ear.

Jon pulls back just enough to look at her, his face pained. "Sansa, I – I can't..." The realization of what he's only moments away from doing to her hits him like a gale of wind from atop the Wall.

And yet he doesn't pull his touch away, doesn't relinquish his hold of her.

She blinks the wetness back from her eyes, her fingers curling tighter along the back of his neck. "Jon, I won't go to anyone else. I can't. Not after – " She stops, swallows tightly. Her eyes shift back and forth between his. "I can't."

Jon drops his forehead to hers, a ragged sigh leaving him. He drags his hands from her breast and thigh, cradling her face instead, elbows keeping him braced above her on the bed. "I know," he murmurs in frustration, his eyes slipping closed at her pained sob.

It was easy, at the start. Easy to pretend that their secret kisses and hidden glances were a game. It was easy to pretend it could never end.

But it isn't easy anymore.

Not when he wants what he wants. Not when he knows there is no stopping it, even when he knows it's wrong.

He's not ever going to fall out of love with Sansa Stark, he knows this now.

And that's the rub. That's the salt of it.

He's just a bastard boy in love with his sister.

And such a tale never ended in anything but blood and heartache.

Jon brushes a thumb across her soft cheek, his mouth a trembling line. "Sansa, listen to me. What we're doing – "

A sharp knock sounds at the door.

Sansa's eyes go wide and Jon nearly throws himself from her, stumbling away from the bed on a sharp intake of breath.

Sansa rises to her elbows, mouth parted in surprise.

"Sansa, it's me," her mother says from the other side of the door.

The panic rises in Jon's throat, and he looks around the room quickly, bounding as quietly as he can behind her armoire, pressing his back up against the wood as Sansa pushes from the bed, smoothing down her skirts and her hair, clearing her throat.

"Just a moment, Mother," she calls out, voice wavering somewhat.

Jon curses beneath his breath, glancing around the armoire one last time to catch Sansa's identically frantic eyes, before he turns away, closing his eyes on a tight inhale, the breath halted in his chest.

He hears the door unlatch a moment later, but no footsteps carrying into the room.

"Yes, Mother?" Sansa asks, clearly keeping her from entering by staying in the threshold.

"I came to check on you. Has your headache worsened?"

Jon works his jaw, adjusting his breeches as gently and quietly as he can over his still-throbbing erection, wincing slightly at the discomfort.

"I'll be fine with rest, not to worry," Sansa placates her mother.

A moment of silence passes, before Catelyn's voice comes from the door again, a lance of worry threading through her words. "You're flushed, dear girl. Are you unwell? Should I call the maester?"

Jon bites his lip, eyes turned skyward, watching the flickering shadows from the candlelight cast about the ceiling. His heart hammers in his chest.

"No, no, don't trouble yourself, Mother." Sansa's voice is just a touch breathless, just enough to have Jon's stomach sinking.

"Sansa, you're clearly – "

"It's just a chill. Nothing a good night's rest won't fix, I promise," Sansa assures her, voice tight. "In fact, I should finish readying for bed. Goodnight, Mother."

The slight creak of the door sounds before it stops abruptly, and Jon imagines Lady Catelyn's hand on the door, halting it, that familiar frown gracing her features.

"You're certain?"

Jon's stomach twists at the concern in her tone, remembering that this is a woman who just lost her two youngest boys.

The grief is still ripe in her voice.

It makes the bile rise at the back of Jon's throat, knowing how he'd been dishonoring her sweet, highborn daughter only moments ago, and in her own childhood home, no less. How he'd been touching her like no brother had a right to touch their sister. How he craved the feel of her still, even now.

The guilt is dizzying, enough to calm any remaining desire in him.

Sansa's voice is softer this time, a gentleness to it that tells Jon she hears the grief in Lady Stark's voice just as loudly. "I'm certain. But thank you for checking on me, Mother."

"Alright, then," Catelyn answers reluctantly, a sigh at the end of her words.

Jon imagines the brush of her hand against her daughter's cheek – the same cheek he'd held in his own sinful touch.

Gods, if she only knew how he's already shamed her daughter, how near he'd been to shaming her further –

She'd kill him where he stood.

Jon bunches his hands into fists, his head braced back against the wood of the armoire, his tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth in his taut silence.

"Come to me anytime you need."

"I will, Mother."

"Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight."

The door shuts with a hollow clang.

Jon breathes in the silence that follows, his chest rising and falling steadily. His hands flex, fists bunching and unbunching at his sides. His lungs ache.

"Jon?" The whisper is tentative as it leaves her.

Jon scrubs his hands over his face.

What are they doing? What are they doing?

"Jon."

He steps from around the armoire, a shadow falling over his face as he meets her gaze.

She stands in the middle of the room, her fingers worrying themselves. She opens her mouth, closes it. "I..."

Jon sighs, his jaw tightening.

That bile – it stains the back of his tongue.

Sansa looks to the floor.

His own shame keeps him rooted, his feet heavy where they stand.

"You should wait a while... before you go," she says tentatively. "To be sure."

Jon closes his eyes, a heavy breath leaving him. "Aye."

When he opens his eyes, she's looking at him again, but she keeps her distance – keeps this distance between them.

He stays planted where he stands. She stays with her hands wringing themselves before her.

He looks at her.

She looks at him.

No, there is no falling out of love with Sansa Stark.

And that's the salt of it.

(He is the wound.)

* * *

"Read it again," Catelyn demands in a tight voice.

Robb sighs as he drops the missive from the Freys to the tabletop between them. "Mother..."

"Read it again," she repeats, her voice shaking.

Sansa stands rigid beside her mother, her eyes fixed to the unfurled scroll atop the table. She can feel Jon's gaze upon her.

"Seven hells," Edmure curses, a hand wiping over his mouth as he stalks from the war table, and then stalks back. "Are you actually considering this?" His gaze shifts heatedly to Robb.

Brynden puts a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Calm yourself, Edmure."

"And how am I supposed to calm myself? They demand a marriage between myself and a Frey girl as reparations for Robb's – " Edmure bites his tongue, a sharp glance sent around the table, before he meets the Blackfish's eyes once more. "His indiscretion," he finishes tightly.

Jeyne settles a hand low on her swollen stomach, her gaze flitting quietly to the floor.

"Edmure," Brynden censures in a low voice, squeezing his nephew's shoulder meaningfully.

"And their other demand?" Catelyn bites out, her chest rising with her indignation. "Are we going to simply ignore that?" she asks shrilly.

Sansa's mind goes blank, her breaths coming shallow and short. Everything is static in her mind, her eyes blinking furiously as she tries to process the contents of the letter. Her mouth parts, but no words follow. She closes her mouth tightly, her throat flexing. Her eyes water without her bidding.

Robb looks at her, leaning over to brace his hands along the table. "Sansa."

She blinks up at him.

"Tell them no," Jon says lowly from across the table, his words cutting through the fog in her mind.

Sansa sucks a sharp breath through her teeth.

In the spirit of common goals and renewing our alliance, His Grace, King Robb of House Stark, is asked to grant the marriages of Lord Edmure Tully of Riverrun to a Frey daughter of our choosing, and Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell to Lord Perwyn of House Frey.

Sansa starts to shake.

"How do they even know you've written to the High Septon of Sansa's annulment?" Catelyn asks sharply, her eyes shifting around the table to meet every person present.

"Tell them no," Jon growls again, his hands bunching into fists at his sides.

Sansa's chest feels tight.

"And if His Grace rejects another marriage alliance? What then?" Brynden asks gruffly, his hand slipping from Edmure's shoulder.

"No one told him to get a whelp on the girl!" Edmure cries.

"Uncle," Robb bites out, his anger flashing briefly across his eyes, his hand going to Jeyne's elbow at his side. "You will address my queen with the proper respect she deserves."

Catelyn purses her mouth, collecting herself with her hands smoothed over her skirts. "You're not helping, brother," she says tightly.

Edmure bites his tongue, inclining his head in quiet acquiescence, his anxious energy thrumming throughout his body.

Sansa feels sick.

"Why are we even discussing this?" Jon nearly bellows, drawing everyone's attention then. "Tell them no," he demands for the last time.

Robb squares his jaw. "It's not that simple."

Sansa's eyes flutter shut, her lip beginning to tremble.

"Robb, we just got her back," Catelyn begs.

"I know!" Robb huffs, a hand held to the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to send Sansa away either but – "

"Is no one concerned about my marriage?" Edmure interrupts, frazzled at the inattention to his situation, eyes glancing about the room.

"Edmure, please," Catelyn moans, turning a pained look his way.

He silences at his sister's distress, his mouth tipping into a frown.

Brynden crosses his arms as he considers the missive laying innocently atop the table. "Walder Frey is a sorry excuse for a man, and a scheming, self-serving mongrel, but you'll need his family's support if you want to meet the Lannisters south of the Neck, especially since you've sent forces back north to retake Winterfell."

A sound catches in Catelyn's throat at the reminder of the recent loss.

"Then we do it another way," Jon grits out.

"And if there is no other way?" Robb asks sharply, his gaze turned toward Jon. They stare each other down for several moments, before Jeyne rests her hand along Robb's arm and he turns from his half-brother, running a hand through his hair roughly.

Sansa blows a slow, shallow breath through her lips, eyes shifting back open to watch the room. Her gut twists painfully when her eyes fall on Robb.

Brynden shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "We can consider other options, Your Grace, but they'll want an answer soon."

"I'll need to speak with the other lords," Robb says on a defeated sigh.

"This is a family matter," Catelyn says, her voice less firm than she'd begun the meeting with.

"It is not," Robb says surely, a dark look sent her way. His shoulders sag, his frown pinching tight. "It is a Northern matter, and thus requires careful deliberation."

A wave of nausea overtakes Sansa.

Jon steps toward his brother. "Robb, you can't – "

"You're dismissed." He glances around the room, his gaze softening on Sansa when he makes his way to her. "All of you," he says quietly, turning away from her swiftly. Jeyne reaches for his hand then, looking up into his face with reassurance.

Sansa feels the bile rising instantly. She glances to Jon and finds him staring at her, his jaw locked in his ire, his whole bearing stiff and rigid. She can see the whites of his knuckles from across the table.

"Come," Catelyn says, ushering her gently from the room.

She follows her mother's direction mindlessly, her limbs numb.

Sansa finds herself standing in the courtyard after many minutes, her mother's hand on her arm as she speaks in quiet tones to her.

She doesn't recognize the words.

"I need..." Sansa begins, her voice a croak, and she licks her lips, glances over to meet her mother's gaze. "I need some air. Please excuse me." She gathers her skirts in her hands and walks away.

She finds herself at the edge of the riverbank many minutes later, past the gate and past the bridge and past the suffocating air that had lodged in her throat ever since Robb read Walder Frey's letter aloud.

She sucks deep gulps of air into her lungs, eyes raking over the river, blinking against the sun. Her hands bunch in her skirts. Her chin rises, her shoulders pulling taut.

And then she bends over and retches. It empties from her instantly – all the rage and despair and helplessness. Her sick hits the green riverbank and her knees buckle on reflex, her hand going out to a nearby branch to catch herself, a cough raking up her throat, the blood bursting red across her cheeks from the force of it. When she's finished, she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth, eyes wet as she grips the tree beside her.

She steadies herself, breathes deep, wipes her hand along her skirt.

I want it to be you, she'd told him.

Tears bead at the corners of her eyes, her breath hitched on a sob.

It doesn't really seem to matter anymore.

* * *

"How can you even consider it? You know what she went through," Jon growls out, cornering Robb when his meeting with the lords is ended.

Robb stops short as he exits the chamber, eyeing Jon. "Have you been waiting here the whole time?"

"Of course," he bites out.

Robb frowns, before pushing past him toward his own chambers. Jon follows without thought.

"Jon, believe me, I'm the last person that wants to put Sansa through another traumatizing marriage," he huffs out, never slowing.

Jon keeps his pace, stalking the corridor alongside him. "Then you should be telling that to the Freys."

"And what would you have me tell the Northern lords, hmm?"

"That our sister is not a bargaining chip," he growls out.

Robb shoots a dark look his way. "Are you saying that's how I'm treating her?"

"Aren't you?"

Robb stops short, turning swiftly to Jon, his nostrils flaring. "I never said I'd agree to the Freys' terms." His voice is clipped, but there's a thunder beneath it that stops Jon in his tracks.

He stares at his brother, his king, trying to will his anger down, but his chest is heaving with it, his throat rife with it.

He is no help to Sansa like this – antagonizing their brother further.

Jon sets his jaw, his gaze flicking low in deference, not meeting Robb's eyes as he steadies his anxious breathing. "Then what are you saying, Your Grace?" he gets out roughly, swallowing back the ire, leaving only civility in his tone.

Robb sighs, taking a moment to consider, and then he rests a hand on Jon's shoulder.

It makes him look up at his brother again.

Robb offers him a shared look of frustration, his brows furrowed over his Tully blue eyes. "I understand your resistance to the idea. But you cannot ask me to refuse their terms if you won't even offer an alternative," he says dismally.

Jon nods, his throat tight. "You're right, of course," he says hoarsely.

It pains him to admit it.

His anger had been instant, thoughtless. His only concern had been Sansa – is Sansa. But this is not how she needs him – raging and demanding and reckless.

He clears his throat, lifting his head to meet Robb's gaze fully. "Have the lords any suggestions?"

Robb's face darkens, his hand dropping from Jon's shoulder. "Most of them don't see any reason not to agree."

"Robb," Jon growls.

"I know, I know," Robb answers swiftly, turning to walk back down the corridor.

Jon follows suit, quiet for many moments, before he asks him, "What do you plan to do?"

"I'll speak with Mother. She may have some ideas."

Jon remembers coming upon Lady Stark only moments before she'd attempted to free Jaime Lannister all those months ago. He remembers how his rescue of Sansa began in the first place.

No, Lady Stark would not give her daughter up for anything. She'd choose treason first.

(And almost did.)

He doesn't know whether to be relieved or not at Robb's going to her for advice. But at least, it means that Robb is searching for a way out.

It will have to be enough.

They stop at Robb's chambers. He gives him a nod of farewell, but Jon grabs for his elbow and stops him, his touch uneasy.

Robb glances down at the hand on his arm, and then back up into Jon's face. "What is it?"

"Why won't you tell Sansa that you're trying to find another way?"

Robb quiets a moment, his mouth tipping into a frown. He looks down the empty corridor, his throat flexing as he swallows. "I don't... I don't want to give her false hope." He looks back at Jon. "If there is no other way."

Jon releases Robb's elbow, a single tight breath filling his lungs. He shakes his head, his voice stricken in his throat. "Robb, we can't –"

"Sansa knows her duty," Robb says surely, his eyes betraying his apprehension. "When push comes to shove..." He clears his throat, blinks away the disquiet. "As the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark, Sansa knows what may be asked of her."

Jon bites his cheek, that simmering rage curling in his gut again. "And a bastard wouldn't understand that, is that it?"

Robb huffs. "I never said that."

"Well, I'll tell you what I do know," Jon grinds out, the words a struggle as he steps toward him, his own distress bubbling up his throat. "I know the sound of her cries, brother, and I know the shape of her scars, and I know what nightmares she suffers from in the night because I was there, Robb. I was fucking there – when she asked if you were the one who sent me, if you were the one who came to her rescue. I was there when she finally broke down, when the weight of King's Landing finally fell from her shoulders and she was free, she was free, Robb, and still – still – more wounded than I'd ever seen her. Because she needed us. She needed her family. And we weren't there. So, I can't –" He stops, his chest heaving with it, his voice breaking as he corrects himself, tries to steady the throbbing between his ribs. "We can't abandon her again."

Robb stares at him, his brow furrowed sharply down, his mouth a thin, tight line. "Jon."

"She – she needs us to put her first this time." He pulls a heavy breath through his lungs.

Robb reaches out and plants both hands along Jon's shoulders. "You know, that as king, I could never simply put her first, Jon," he says painfully.

Jon drops his head, blinking away the wetness at the corners of his eyes. His skull aches from clenching his teeth.

"You know that," Robb murmurs, a squeeze to his shoulders.

"Aye," Jon croaks out, looking back up again.

(The salt of it.)

Helplessness tears at his gut.

"But I will do my best," Robb assures him, though it rings hollow now. "That's all I can promise."

Jon nods wordlessly, working his jaw.

Robb gives him one last squeeze along his shoulder, before turning from him and entering his chambers.

Jon is left to watch the closed door, the following silence blaring in the empty hall.

* * *

Many days pass, and Sansa prays. She eats, and she sleeps, and she takes turns in the garden. She sits and embroiders with her mother. She takes tea with Jeyne.

And she prays.

Robb hasn't spoken to her since the reading of Walder Frey's letter. She knows he is struggling to find an answer that may suit them all. But she's afraid there isn't one.

It's what brings her to the Sept this night, long after everyone is asleep, a robe hastily thrown over her shift in her restlessness. She lights a candle and watches the wax slip down the pillar, her hands folded before her.

And she prays.

But gods, she doesn't even know what for anymore.

"Sansa?"

His voice should be soothing but it's only a wretched reminder now.

Sansa plasters a faint smile along her lips when she turns to meet Jon's gaze over her shoulder.

He closes the door behind him, his face pained as he watches her where she kneels. He makes his way to her slowly.

"I couldn't sleep," she says in answer to his unvoiced question, rising and brushing the dirt from her knees.

"Neither could I," he tells her.

Their stolen kisses have ceased since the letter, and she doesn't precisely know why. Or maybe she does.

She can't seem to bring herself to be anything other than cordial to him these days.

(Anything more and she thinks she might break.)

But oh, how she misses him.

Her traitorous heart yearns for him even now, even when she is trying to teach herself to live without him.

(Even when she is failing.)

"I didn't mean to... to interrupt your prayers," he says finally, a hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing awkwardly.

Sansa looks up into the stone face of the Mother. "It's no matter." She sighs, glancing back down to him. "I don't think they were heard, anyway." She presses a nervous thumb into her opposite palm.

"Oh, Sansa." He steps toward her, his hands lighting upon her arms. "Why have you... why don't you talk to me about it?"

"And what is there to say?"

He swallows tightly, looking away a moment, before turning back. "I just want to – I don't know, to... to comfort you, somehow, but I just – I don't know how."

Sansa softens at his anguish, stepping into him to place her hands upon his chest. "I know."

"Tell me what you want,"

She shakes her head.

"Tell me and I'll do it."

"I know you will, but it's too late."

Jon frowns at her words, his hands tightening over her arms. "Please don't say that."

"I suppose the only thing to save me know is if the High Septon rejects my annulment." She chuckles darkly at the thought. "I can't be bartered for a marriage alliance if I'm still married, can I?"

"Don't say that," he grinds out, leaning toward her, closing the space between them with his lips pressed to her forehead.

That dark chuckle returns, though it's tinged with desperation now – a reckless sorrow. "It's true, though," she murmurs, closing her eyes on a sigh and leaning into him.

"We'll run away," he says against her temple.

She actually laughs this time, pulling back to look at him. "Run away?"

"Aye," he swears, eyes fervent on hers. He releases her arms to cup her face instead. "Just like you said we should, the morning before we made it to Riverrun. You knew it then. You told me then. That this would happen. And I – I didn't think – " He stops, swallowing thickly. He squares his jaw, his thumbs running tenderly over her cheeks. He sighs, and it seems to take all of him, as he hangs his head, words choked back. "Sansa, I didn't..."

Her lungs ache on the sob she's bottling up, her hands going around his wrists as he holds her. Tears prick the corners of her eyes.

She thinks back to their journey here – riding across green fields in his arms, the warmth of him beside her as they slept, splashing in the river as they fished. She thinks of peace and safety and joy. She thinks of things she only knows from songs. Things she used to dream of and hadn't even known how close they were.

But then she thinks of her mother's embrace, and Robb's tired shoulders, and Arya all alone in the wilderness.

She thinks of Edmure and Brynden and the home they've made for her here.

She thinks of Bran and Rickon.

She thinks of her lord father and how she doesn't even remember the last words she shared with him.

Sansa sucks a trembling breath through her lips, hands gripping his wrists needfully. "Do you regret it? Not running away then?" she manages through quaking breaths.

Jon lifts his head to look at her, the answer splashed across his face in ruin.

And oh, how it cuts.

"Aye," he croaks out, a sheen of wetness over his eyes. "I regret it." And then he bares his teeth, his brow furrowing, a wretched groan leaving him as the tears gather in his eyes, and he shakes his head, the remorse plain upon his face. "I truly, truly regret it now."

She smothers the sob along her tongue, releasing his wrists to cup his face now, pressing into him so that their chests are but a whisper apart. "Don't," she tells him, her breath painting his lips.

His eyes flick between hers, confused.

"You did the right thing, by bringing me back."

"Sansa – "

"I needed my family. And they needed me."

Jon's hands drift down to her neck, his chest rising and falling with his shallow breaths, the words lodged in his throat as he watches her.

"You should never regret bringing me back to them," she urges with a confidence that surprises her.

Yes, she would have run away with him. Yes, she would have been free to love him then. But it would be the only freedom she'd know in a life of chains. And she would grow to resent him for it. She would grow to resent herself.

There are no good choices. Only impossible ones.

"I'm sorry," he sobs at her lips.

Her eyes flutter closed, an exhaustion filling her that seems endless and endless and endless. "I'm so tired, Jon," she breathes into him, and then he's kissing her, and she wraps her arms around his neck, and thinks of the candle she lit. She thinks of the lone flame, and the slow burning. She thinks of the afterimage it leaves in the dark, when it's inevitably snuffed.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles against her lips, one hand dug into her hair, the other braced along her back.

She swallows up his sobs, and floods his mouth with her own, her hands grasping and needful and aimless.

Just the feel of him. Just the feel of him is enough in this moment.

Jon presses her back until she hits the wall with a low thud, the jostle breaking their mouths apart momentarily.

"I'm sorry," he pants into her mouth again.

Sansa digs her nails into the nape of his neck. "I know," she gasps along his tongue, trying not to break.

He fumbles for the tie on her robe and she helps him, tearing the material from her shoulders so only her shift remains. His hands are everywhere – rucking up her shift and dragging her mouth back to his by the back of her neck. His teeth sink into her bottom lip and she moans, her hands fisting in the thin material of his tunic, tugging at it impatiently as he grabs for one of her exposed thighs, hefting it up as he braces his hips to hers, the length of him hard and pressed to her center.

Sansa gasps, gripping his shoulders, tearing her mouth from his to press her head back against the stone wall, her lip caught between her teeth. "Jon," she whimpers, rolling her hips to meet his.

He pants into her neck, nipping slightly, laving his tongue over her pulse, his hand dragging her thigh higher up his hip, fingers digging into her flesh as he bucks into her, his breeches and her smallclothes the only thing separating them now.

"I'm sorry," he groans into her neck, over and over.

Sansa sobs at the words, lost to him. So lost she never hears the door as it creaks open.

So lost she doesn't even recognize the gaze she meets across the room when she opens her eyes.

Like looking into a mirror. That Tully blue.

Sansa stills at the sudden realization, eyes blown wide.

The heat of Jon's mouth is still at her throat when she finds her voice.

"Robb," she chokes out, a new anguish blanketing her tongue.

This is the salt of it.

(And they are the wound.)

#jonsa #jonsa fic #jon snow #sansa stark #nodology #my writing #jon x sansa #got fanfic

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clarkesyd · 3 days ago

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@thedrabblecollective

04. stack

What would her people say, Sansa wondered, if they knew their Queen’s most treasured possession was a stack of scant letters sent by her exiled cousin–once her bastard half-brother–the man they embraced as their King in the North, moons and moons ago?

Those ravens were rare, but they came without fail just when Sansa verged on losing all hope of ever again having an opportunity to decipher Jon’s achingly familiar scribble, a few lines to let her know that he lived, and perhaps–perhaps, the vaguest allusion to missing her, missing what they had began to build together.

read on ao3

#drabblechallenge2024 #fic #jonsa #jon x sansa #jon snow #sansa stark #game of thrones #mine

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lovebaela · 7 months ago

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THE DRAGON OF THE NORTH - MASTERLIST

(Bran Stark x Fem!Targaryen OC)

A/N - Not gonna lie yall, I’m more productive with this story on Wattpad 😭😭 I think I might stick with posting on there instead. The chapters I’ve posted here have been slightly changed there too. I’ll put the link of it below.

https://www.wattpad.com/story/367425499?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=lovebaela

“ 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏 , 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝑶𝒍𝒅 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒚𝒓𝒊𝒂 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆 , 𝒊 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒏’𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅 .”

⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 𝑹𝑯𝑨𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑨 𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑮𝑨𝑹𝒀𝑬𝑵 ⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Rhaella is the daughter of Mad King Aerys’ younger brother. Before the rebellion of Robert Baratheon, he fled to the Summer Isles, where he fell in love with a woman. He married her and they both consummated their marriage. Rhaella doesn’t know much about her parents, and always struggled with having a true home. One fateful day, her cousin Viserys sent her away to the Starks. Little did he know, that was the start of her journey of self-discovery.

“ 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒂 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒌 , 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑴𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆 , 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆’𝒔 𝒏𝒐 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅 . 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 .”

⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑵 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑲 ⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Bran is the fourth child of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully. All he ever wanted was to become a knight. He always thought one day he would join the kingsguard. That was until the day he found out he was betrothed to Rhaella. He didn’t think much of it, still able to be a warrior…until the day he became broken. All he wants is to find a purpose now in his life.

✮ ₊ Chapters ✧ ᵔ₊ 𓆪

1, 2, 3, 4

Disclaimer: I don’t own asoiaf, any pictures, or gifs that I use in the series🤍

Art by eleneyaart, fredrickruntu

Dividers by @saradika-graphics @saradika

Taglist: @lover-of-books-and-tea

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christinapotter09 · 9 months ago

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The producer saw a jonsa edit and saw the potential. i’m sure. The plot is sooo Jonsa coded lmao!!!!!

Me trying to play cool in all my conspiracies about JONSA, the producer, the movie, everything

#jonsa #jon x sansa #sansa stark #jon snow #jonsa fic #jonsa fam #sophie turner #kit harington

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sweetaprilbutterfly · 3 months ago

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That night was the start, or rather the rebirth, of everything he’d been in denial about since he’d left Winterfell. Any notions he’d harbored of his feelings for Sansa being merely familial had died on the vine when she’d taken his hand and whispered in his ear to keep him from fighting. Those longings he’d been ashamed of as a younger man had not gone away with the war at all. They tripled the moment he held her in his arms again.

Two young cousins start developing romantic feelings for one another only to be separated by the outbreak of World War II. Through years of peril and loss, they grow into adulthood but never forget one another. When the war ends, they find themselves reunited and hope to find a second chance at happiness.

The Comfort of Second Chances by @vivilove-jonsa

#jon x sansa fic #Jon x Sansa #Jonsa #Jon Snow #Sansa Stark #actuallyjonsa #jonsaedit #sansastarkedit #jonsnowedit #gotedit #asoiafedit #gotsansastark #gotjonsnow #GoT #Game of Thrones #ASOIAF #my edits #vivilove jonsa

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cappymightwrite · 5 months ago

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Can anyone reccommend any good Jonsa vids that don't really feature/reference the R*msay s5 storyline, please? Or at least keep it to a minimum? But crucially, I just find the wedding and aftermath etc. very upsetting, and it's why I'll never write show canon!

I'm just trying to reimmerse myself in the Jonsa mindset atm because... I've suddenly had a burst of writing inspiration! I was really struggling with the starting point scene of chapter 3 of My Maid of Stone, the scene that, in my writing process, everything else unfolds from... but... I think I've finally found it. So thank you for the lovely response to my last post — I think it contributed!

Anyway, though I'd like to branch out, my go-to Jonsa vids are:

youtube

So if anyone has any good recs, I'd love to hear them!

Cappy x

#cappy's writing #jonsa #jon x sansa #fic writing #not a drill writer's block may have ended!#i did go to the faroe islands recently so expect (when finally posted) lots of mountain and watefall imagery #some might say just get jonsa stuff but i say no have five paragraphs on landscape and natural imagery!#someone recently commented that my descriptions help open up the world of mmos and i just loved that bcoz that's actually it

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babybells123 · 5 months ago

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Hi!! I saw a post you wrote about Sansa and thought you'd be a good person to ask about fic recommendations, if you wouldn't mind. I'm not looking for any particular ship, and I don't even need her to have a protagonist role, I'm just looking for any fics where she has some decent characterization and growth.

I hope you have a nice day!!

Hi there !

So I read Jon x Sansa fics mostly (I’m not really into multi-shipping for Sansa !!) but I’ll source some of my favourite ones :) Sansa is often very well written /characterised in these fics so hopefully that’s a breath of fresh air 🦋(and I don’t want to be biased here but Jonsa fans tend to have a really great grasp on Sansa’s character that is apparent through how she’s portrayed)

Beneath my bones - undercovercaptain - this a gorgeous fic that stays very true to book!sansa.

By firelight - undercovercaptain - my heart gushes so much over this one. I’ve read it a few times.

No more scars - orangeflavour - another one with great character development & characterisation. (There is a second part to this fic as well).

Who am I ? - ALCzysz17 - grapples with Sansa’a identity issues in the Vale.

Build a ladder to the stars - vixleonard

A caged songbird - bikadoo

From Instep to heel - orangeflavour - (fav fanfic ever written tbh).

The place you call home - honey_wheeler

^ those are just off of the top of my head, but most if it is book!canon and/or canon divergence - though there are some fantastic show canon fics out there as well. I apologise if Jonsa just isn’t your cup of tea, but from my experience in the sansa fandom - the *other* popular sansa ship is s*nsan, which I’ll admit I used to read when I was a young teenager - but I’ve never quite liked how sansa is portrayed in those fics.) so yeah if you’re looking for good characterisation and such , I’ll always recommend anything Jonsa related , though I’ve heard sansa & margaery have some good fics as well :)

Hope this helped xx 🦋

#sansa stark #fic rec #ao3 fanfic #jonsa #jon x sansa #ask #anon

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justadram · 4 months ago

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Suddenly Last Summer

When he spots her on the pool deck, her lips are stained as red as her swimsuit. Red like the popsicle she eats. Signed for with her dad’s club number at the pool shack, where they stock chips and popsicles and sodas for kids and rich teenagers with nothing to do on a Tuesday afternoon. She looks sweet, and he's going to ignore her until he can't anymore.

Chapter 1/3

Jon/Sansa; Alternate Universe: 1980s; Tropes: Summer Love, Class Differences

#jonsa #jon x sansa #actually jonsa #fanfic #got fic #game of thrones

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hd-junglebook · 8 months ago

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From Beyond The Wall

Part 1

The wind begins to howl mournfully, swirling snowflakes dancing in the air like lost spirits. The mountain remained still as night began to fall, leaving the brothers of the nights watch in the darkness of the north.

The fire crackles weakly, struggling against the encroaching cold, casting long shadows that flicker and dance across the frozen ground.

"Can you feel it, Jon?" one brother mutters, his teeth chattering as he huddles closer to the feeble warmth.

"A storm's coming. I can smell it in the air." Jon, his cloak pulled tight around him, nods solemnly. "Aye, a blizzard's upon us. We'll need to find better shelter if we're to survive the night."

In the cover of darkness beyond the glow of the fire, Y/n and her group lurk like shadows, their breath forming wisps of vapor in the frigid air. Ygritte, her fiery hair barely visible in the dim light, leans in close to Y/n, her voice barely above a whisper.

"We strike now, while they're weak and unprepared," she says, her blue eyes gleaming with determination. "We'll catch them by surprise, before the blizzard engulfs us all."

Y/n nods, her fingers tightening around the reins of her white horse, its breath steaming in the cold night air. "Agreed. Move on my signal.”

Y/n continue to watch in silence, glancing between the brothers and the free folk. She nodded to Ygritte, grasping her bow from the leather pouch. Y/n and her group emerge from the darkness, the crunch of snow beneath their boots muffled by the howling wind.

The brothers of the Night's Watch startle at the sudden onslaught, scrambling for their weapons as Y/n's group descends upon them like a winter storm unleashed.

"Take no prisoners!" Ygritte's voice rings out above the chaos, her bow singing as she looses arrow after arrow into the heart of the fray. the blizzard finally descends in full force, swallowing the scene in a swirling white blanket of snow and ice.

After a few minutes of the bloody onslaught Jon realizes his efforts were pointless as he is now surrounded.

Confused and heaving out heavy breaths he looks around to grasp his situation. He pauses mid turn at the sight of Y/n dismounting her horse gracefully, still holding her bow.

“Hold.” she raises her hand, signaling for them to hold their fire. The clash of swords and the cries of men fade into the background as Jon's gaze meets hers, his eyes locked on her figure clad in a fur cloak and a dress as white as the snow.

She approaches Jon with purpose, her footsteps leaving shallow imprints in the fresh snow. The wind tugs at her cloak, sending strands of hair swirling around her face like tendrils of shadow.

“Who are you?” he mumbles out, trying to find the words. He raises his hands slowly, his eyes flicking between Y/n and the members of her group surrounding him.

Y/n's lips curl into a confident smile as she keeps her arrow trained on Jon. "I am Y/n, Princess of the Free Folk," she declares, her voice ringing out clear despite the howling wind.

Jon's eyes widen in surprise at her proclamation, a flicker of realization dawning in his expression. He lowers his hands slowly, his gaze never leaving Y/n's face. "Princess of the Free Folk," he repeats, as if testing the words on his tongue.

Y/n nods, her grip tightening on her bow. "Indeed. And now, I command you to throw down your weapon and stand," she orders, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Jon hesitates for a moment, his gaze darting between Y/n and the looming figures of her group. But then, with a resigned sigh, he unclasps his sword belt and lets it fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

He stands tall, meeting Y/n's gaze, she studies Jon Snow intently as he stands before her, his demeanor composed despite the circumstances. "And who are you, truly?" Y/n asks, her voice softened but still firm.

Jon's gaze remains fixed on her, his expression unreadable behind the mask of snowflakes that cling to his beard. "I am Jon Snow, a brother of the Night's Watch," he replies. A laugh escapes her at the name. “Mhmm snow. You’re a Stark. Ned Starks bastard son.”

Hearing her call his name and addressing him as a Stark made his heart skip a beat. Yet he remained cautious, seeing how easily the wildings obeyed her. “I am…How did you know?” he asked, as he slowly took a step back.

“It’s not me who knows, its my brother. what business does the Night's Watch have this far beyond the Wall? Us wildings? White walkers?” He nods to both causing her to sigh.

Y/n turns to her companions, her gaze sweeping over them with authority. "Tie him up. We're bringing him home," she commands, her voice firm and resolute.

He is stunned by her order, his body freezes still where he stands. The wildlings nod in silent acknowledgment, swiftly moving to obey Y/n's orders.

They bind Jon Snow's hands tightly with rope, ensuring he poses no immediate threat as they prepare to escort him back to their camp.

Y/n's eyes then find Ygritte, who stands nearby, her bow at the ready. "Ygritte, you'll watch him from now on," Y/n instructs, her voice carrying a note of trust.

"Make sure he doesn't try anything foolish." They hand the rope to Ygritte, who accepts it with a nod of gratitude.

With a swift motion, she mounts her horse, her cloak billowing behind her like a banner of authority. As she settles into the saddle, her eyes meet Jon's, and there's a flicker of something unspoken between them, a tension that crackles in the frigid air like lightning.

"Let's go," she commands, her voice cutting through the howling wind. "We have to make it back before dawn."

Jon's heart races as he watches her, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her. A sudden chill runs through his back, he struggles against his restraints, approaching your horse slowly. “You really won’t say anything, huh? Just going to tie me up and drag me with you.”

Y/n meets his gaze, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes. “That’s how I like my men, Snow.” She stated with a devious grin. A cold look appears on his face immediately realizing what she meant by those words. Yet all he can do is be silent and follow behind you, keeping up as his body is pushed every which way by the pelting snow.

…

They finally reach the Wildling camp, Y/n dismounts her horse with a graceful ease and gives her horse a gentle pat on the neck, murmuring words of gratitude as she glances toward the towering big tent that serves as the heart of their encampment.

The women of the camp emerged from their makeshift shelters, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they danced with their children under the fading light of the day.

Giants lumbered about, their massive forms silhouetted against the twilight sky as they worked alongside the Free Folk, tending to the needs of the camp with quiet efficiency.

With a nod to Ygritte, who stands by Jon Snow's side with a watchful gaze, Y/n orders, "Bring the crow with you." she takes hold of Jon's arm, guiding him towards the tent alongside her.

Pushing open the flap of the tent, Y/n steps inside, the warmth of the fire within enveloping her like a comforting embrace.

Ygritte and Jon enter behind her, Y/n's gaze sweeps over the assembled group, taking in the familiar faces of her companions, as well as the curious glances directed towards their captive.

“Oh dear brother. I have a gift.” Mance, ever the troubadour, sat in a corner, his fingers strumming a haunting melody on his lute, the notes drifting through the air like whispers on the wind, weaving a tale of a Dornish woman's forbidden love.

He departs from his pregnant wife’s side. "What's this?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over Ygritte, Rattleshirt, and the newcomer with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "A crow?"

“Ygritte found the crow, Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell!” she introduced. “Release him.” With a collective nod, Ygritte moves to obey, her hands deftly untying the ropes that bind Jon's wrists before pushing him forward.

Mance's piercing blue eyes fix on Jon, assessing him with a shrewd intensity. "A crow," he remarks, his voice low and measured. "What brings you so far beyond your Wall?"

Jon meets Mance's gaze with a steady stare, his jaw set with determination. "I seek answers," he replies, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "Answers about the darkness that threatens to engulf us all."

Mance nods thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. "And what answers do you hope to find here, among the Free Folk?"

Jon's gaze flickers with resolve as he speaks. "I seek allies," he declares, his voice ringing out clear and strong. "Allies in the fight against the true enemy, the Night King and his army of the dead."

A murmur ripples through the gathered Wildlings at Jon's words, their faces reflecting a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. Mance, however, remains impassive, his gaze fixed on Jon with a calculating intensity.

"Allies," he repeats, his voice echoing in the tense silence of the tent. "The Night's Watch and the Free Folk, united against a common foe. A bold proposition, Jon Snow. But one that may yet prove to be our salvation."

…

The conversation with Mance concludes and the orders are given, Y/n watches as Ygritte leads Jon Snow and his direwolf away from the tent.

With a heavy sigh, Y/n turns away, her steps leading her back to her own tent. She sheds her fur cloak with a weary grace, allowing it to fall to the ground as she settles onto the floor, her legs crossed beneath her.

Closing her eyes, Y/n takes a deep breath, centering herself before allowing her mind to drift into the depths of warging. As her consciousness expands, she feels the pull of the nearby animals, their instincts calling out to her in the darkness.

With a gentle push, Y/n's spirit leaves her body, merging with that of a nearby fox. She feels the rush of freedom as she darts through the snow-covered landscape, her senses heightened by the wildness of her new form.

She approaches the bodies of the fallen Black Brothers, a sudden movement jolts her back to reality. The fox springs back in fear, its eyes locking with those of a figure rising from the snow.

Y/n's heart pounds in her chest as she stares into the ice-blue eyes of the reanimated corpse. The corpse lunges forward as it reaches out with cold dead hands.

With a burst of speed, the fox races southward, its breath coming in ragged gasps as it flees from the looming threat. Y/n's eyes snap open abruptly, her breath coming out raggedly as she sits up. She dons her fur cloak once more, the fabric billowing around her like a protective barrier against the biting cold.

Rushing from her tent, Y/n heads straight for Mance, her footsteps quick and purposeful in the snow. She finds him surrounded by his advisors, deep in conversation about their next move. "Mance, we need to leave now," Y/n declares, her voice urgent as she approaches him.

Mance turns to her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "We've just arrived at our camp. Surely we can afford to rest for a while."

But Y/n shakes her head adamantly, her eyes flashing with determination. "No, Mance. We can't afford to stay here any longer, thinking about Dalla" she insists, her voice unwavering.

Mance studies her for a moment, weighing her words carefully. But then, with a resigned sigh, he nods in reluctant agreement. "Very well, Y/n," he concedes, "We'll leave in a few days."

…

Y/n stood before the gathered clans, her hair blowing in the biting gusts as she surveyed the uneasy faces staring back at her.

"As you know, the white walkers arise once more from the dead," she called out, her voice carrying over the murmurs that rippled through the crowd. "As your Princess, I swear to lead you safely to the Wall."

She continued, her tone firm, "My brother has brought together the Free Folk like no one has before." Gesturing to Mance, who stood with his wife behind her, she emphasized, "But winter is coming—the harshest in memory. The dead will rise to join the White Walkers' army. They will not wait for spring!"

The truth of her words sank in among the Free Folk, glances exchanged as the severity of the situation settled upon them. Mance stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"The princess speaks true," he declared, his voice carrying authority. "The Wall is our only refuge against the storm. We must begin the march at once... before it is too late."

Agreement murmured through the clans, and Y/n nodded gratefully to Mance. Drawing her furs tighter against the cold, she caught sight of Jon Snow, his gaze meeting hers for a fleeting moment before flickering away.

…

In the wake of her stirring speech, preparations for the journey to the Wall began in earnest. The clans bustled with activity, packing supplies, sharpening weapons, and tending to their families in anticipation of the arduous trek ahead.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting its silvery light over the rugged landscape, and the distant howls of wolves echoed through the valleys.

It was there, in the quiet stillness of the night, that Y/n encountered her brother's pregnant wife once more. She stood alone, her silhouette outlined against the moonlit horizon, a solitary figure in the darkness.

"Are you all right?" Y/n asked softly as she turned to face her, her expression unreadable in the dim light. Y/n walked closer to where she was standing, her boots crunching on the frozen ground. "I'm fine," she replied curtly.

Y/n studied her for a moment, sensing the weight of her burden in the lines of her face and the tension in her shoulders. There was a distance between them, a chasm that seemed insurmountable.

"I wanted to thank you," Y/n said earnestly, breaking the silence that hung heavy between them. "For standing with me back there. Your support means more to me than you know."

Her gaze softened, a flicker of warmth in the depths of her eyes. "You don't have to thank me," she replied, her voice gentle. "We're in this together, whether we like it or not." There was a moment of quiet understanding between them as they stood together beneath the starlit sky.

…

give me some feedback, i'd like to know if this sucks lol

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icequeen28 · 4 months ago

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HOTD brought back so many GOT memories and a renewed Jonsa craving, can anyone please suggest post season 8 fics, other than the beauty “In Love & Death We Don’t Decide” which I have read like 10 times, something similar having Angsty & Angry Jon visiting Queen Sansa and all please….

#jon x sansa #jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon snow #sansa stark #jonsa fic

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lovebaela · 7 months ago

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THE DRAGON OF THE NORTH

Chapter 1: A New Life

masterlist l next

(a/n) hello! I decided to restart my “Ice and Fire” fanfaction because I have so much more ideas for a better story :) even though it’s discontinued, if you would like to check it out here’s the masterlist! I hope you guys will enjoy this one 🤍 I’m working on the masterlist for this series right now!

UPDATED VERSION OF THIS CHAPTER IS ON WATTPAD

https://www.wattpad.com/1439910833-dragon-of-the-north-b-stark-𝐢-a-new-life

Divider credit: @dingusfreakhxrrington @valeskafics

°❆⋆Bran Stark x Targaryen OC .ೃ࿔*:･ CW: fem!oc, betrothal (forced marriage), topics of abuse and racism, angst, a lot of fluff, smut (I’ll try lol), and murder.꙳·❅°*˖ Rating: Mature audiences - The mature moments will happen later on. In the beginning, it will mostly just be cute fluff.⋆⁺₊❅.

Why must the gods be so cruel to me? What could I have possibly done to deserve this life? To be sold off like a slave by my own flesh and blood…I’ll never forgive Viserys. Without Dany, I am alone. Without love. I want to go home. But…where do I belong? The summer isles? No, that can’t be my true home, I never had the chance to live there. Do I belong anywhere?

Daughter of the mad king’s younger brother. Rhaella never knew her mother. She died after giving birth in the Summer Isles, killed by assassins under the command of the new king, Robert Baratheon. When he found out Rhaella’s mother was pregnant, he wanted both of them dead. Rhaella was smuggled out of the isles and sent to her cousins, the last Targaryens.

“I know you’re upset,” Lord Eddard Stark said, placing his hand on top of hers.“But please, believe me when I say this. I will never let anyone harm you. You are under my protection now.”

Rhaella gave him a weak smile back. Rhaella, the same name as the Mad King’s sister and wife. Daenerys gave her the name. Viserys despised the idea of his mother’s name given to the likes of a foreign girl. Even though she was still a Targaryen, he only considered her half and not pure. She took after her mother, with more summer isle features. Her skin wasn’t pale, instead, a light amber and tan that would get even darker in the sun. She had long silver curly hair, unlike her cousins who had straight silver blonde hair. The thing Rhaella hated the most was her eyes. Instead of being a pretty violet color, she had dark purple eyes that almost looked black.

Rhaella looked away from the carriage window to make eye contact with Lord Stark, “My Lord?” She asked, “Why did you accept my cousin’s offer to take me?”

“Well, you see,” he explained, “The rebellion caused great loss for everyone. So many people, loved ones, dead. Especially your family, unfortunately. I’ll never forgive him for his order of murder. When the king found out 3 Targaryens were still out in the world, he wanted you all dead. I wanted to prove to him that even though Areys was mad, that doesn’t mean you all don’t deserve to live. By taking you in and marrying one of my sons, we can show him that you are not our enemies. It took him a while to be fully convinced, but he agreed to let you live.”

”But, my eldest cousin,” Rhaella said. “He…he wants to take the seven kingdoms. I’m not sure how, but that is his plan.”

”I highly doubt he is a true threat,” Lord Stark said.

”you’re right,” she admitted. “He can be a big coward at times.”

That comment made him chuckle.

He has a nice smile, very warm and welcoming. Even though he did come off as cold before.

“Will I have to marry now?” Rhaella asked.

“Oh gods no!” He chuckled, “you are far too young, my son as well.”

“Will he like me?”

“I believe so, you have nothing to worry about. Bran is a good kid. He will treat you right.”

Once they made it through the gates, the carriage stopped. Lord Stark exited first so he could get the door for Rhaella. He gently held her hand as she took her steps down. Once Rhaella looked up from the steps, she saw the Stark family before her. Not letting go of her hand, Lord Stark approached his family to introduce their special guest.

“This is Rhaella Targaryen. As you all know, she will be with us now. Treat her as you would treat each other. If anyone disrespects her, let me know.”

They all nodded. A very handsome older boy approached her, “Hello, my lady, I am Robb,” he told her, “I hope you enjoy Winterfell and welcome!” Before walking away, he kissed her hand. That made Rhaella blush, “T-Thank you.” He had blue eyes and dark auburn hair. It was so dark you could barely tell if it was red. He had to have been the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen.

An older girl walked up to her gracefully, “Hello,” she smiled, “my name is Sansa. I hope we can grow to be like sisters! Maybe even brush each other’s hair, make dresses together, and so much more!” Rhaella gave a slight smile back, “I would love that!” Then a girl, who looked not too older than her, approached saying, “My name is Arya! Don’t worry, we don’t have to do girly stuff together. There are other ways to have fun!”

Then, she met Rickon, the youngest in the family, and their mother Lady Stark. “Oh my goodness,” she exclaimed, “aren't you just a lovely thing? Such a beauty.” Rhaella blushed at the compliment, thanking her.

She must be lying to me. I mean, just look at me! The journey to Westeros was so long that hair became wild and poofy.

”You must be frightened,” Lady Stark said. “Trust me, I never favored the cold myself. I still don’t, but you grow to appreciate it.”

Rhaella couldn’t keep her eyes off Lady Catelyn Stark’s features. Like Robb and Sansa, she had long auburn hair and pretty blue eyes. Her gown was also blue, making her eyes stand out even more.

“Where is Bran?” Lord Stark asked his wife.

“I told that boy to stop climbing,” she explained. “Brandon!”

“Sorry mother!” A voice yelled from above, “I’m coming down!”

When Rhaella looked up, she examined him. He looked to be the same age as her. He had dark brown hair and eyes with freckles on his face. He approached her and bowed, “Welcome to Winterfell, I hope you will take a liking to it.” “Thank you,” she replied.

The atmosphere quickly grew awkward. The two children didn’t know what to say to each other.

Lady Stark took Rhaella’s hand, “You must be exhausted, here, come with me.” She guided Rhaella to her bed chamber and had the handmaidens start a bath. After the bath, she laid on her bed for a quick nap.

After waking up, the handmaidens helped her get into a gown for dinner. The dress was purple with roses embroidered across the neckline. Then, they helped her with her hair. They clearly did not know what they were doing. They aren’t used to doing curly hair like Rhaella’s, but they managed to make something of it. They brushed out her curls, putting them in a half-up-half-down style. The ponytail was braided and put into a bun. After the handmaidens left the room, she looked at herself in the mirror.

I don’t even look like myself anymore.

Tears began to fill her eyes, I just want to go home.

She bolted out of the room, not knowing where she was going. She ran outside the big castle but didn’t dare to leave outside the castle walls. She eventually found an area that stood out to her. The whole vibe was strange as if something or someone was watching her. It was nothing but an old forest with no snow. In the middle of it, was a pool and a tree. A tree she’d never seen before. The huge tree was white with red leaves and a face carved into it. She stared deeply into the tree’s eyes for a while.

Is it staring back at me?

She snapped out of it, shaking her head, and climbed up the tree to sit on a huge branch.

Without Daenerys, I am lost. She didn’t know how long she’d been crying in the tree for, but she didn’t care. Winterfell wasn’t her home.

“Rhaella?” She heard a voice ask.

When she looked up, she saw Bran with a concerned look on his face, “w-why are you crying?”

She wiped her tears. “Sorry, I just miss my sister…how did you know I’d be here?”

“I like to go to the godswood, and climb up this tree,” he said. “Whenever I like to be alone and think. I’m sorry you had to leave your sister.”

“Well, she isn’t my sister, not really,” she admitted, wiping her face. “We are actually cousins. We just call each other sisters.”

He sat next to her, “my family was worried about you. They thought you might have ran away.” He nervously chuckled. “I…I know that we are to be married one day. The idea of marriage scares me.”

She doesn’t respond, only looking down at her hands as she fidgets with them. “I have something for you,” Bran showed her a beautiful blue flower. “That was the reason I was climbing.” He told her. “I wanted to give you something as a gift. I was going to give it to you at the dinner table but here. If I hurt your feelings not being there to greet you, I’m so sorry.” Rhaella took the flower and sniffed it.

“It’s called the winter rose,” he continued. “A rare flower that can grow around the castle.”

“It’s so beautiful,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

”You know, just because we’re betrothed doesn’t mean we have to be in love right now or anything,” he said. “Let’s just be friends!”

”Yeah I’d like that!” She said.

”And just so you know,” he whispered. “I liked your hair better before. Your curly hair is much better.”

She laughed, “You and me both.”

”You’re laughing!”

”So?”

”This is your first time laughing here,” he said. “You have a nice smile.”

”Thanks, Bran,” she said. “You know, my eldest cousin ,Viserys, told me and Dany that you guys were evil monsters. But, you guys aren’t monstrous at all!”

Before Bran could respond, they both hear a voice from down below calling for Bran. An older boy who looked the same age as Robb. He was very handsome with black curls and dark eyes. “I found her Jon!” Bran shouted.

”Well, what are you sitting around for? They are all waiting for you two!” The two of them climbed down from the tree and walked with Jon.

“Forgive me, my name is Jon Snow,” he told Rhaella. “Welcome to Winterfell.”

”I never heard of the last name ‘snow’ before,” she confessed.

Bran began to explain, ”That last name actually means he’s a…well—”

”Bastard.” Jon said. His voice was cold and somber.

”I don’t know what that means,” Rhaella said. “But Viserys called me that sometimes, I assumed as an insult.”

”It means that my father, Lord Stark, had me with another woman. I wanted to meet you when you arrived, but Lady Stark thought it would be disrespectful.”

Rhaella couldn’t help but feel awful for him. There was something about Jon Snow that made him stand out. As if they had a connection. She wondered if Jon felt it too.

“You said that Viserys called us evil,” Bran said. “Then why did he want to send you away to us?”

“He hates me,” she answered. “He saw you guys as an opportunity to get rid of me…”

Once they all made it to the dining hall, all eyes were on Rhaella and Bran. “Well, aren’t you just beautiful?” Catelyn smiled. “Please, have a seat.” Bran escorted her to her chair and went back to his. Before Jon could leave the Hall, Rhaella asked, “Can Jon eat with us please?”

”Ah, I see you met him while you were gone,” Lord Stark said, amused. “Would him eating with us please you?”

Rhaella looked over at Jon, whose eyes lightened up. She looked back at Lord Stark and gave a nod. He looked over at Lady Stark, “What do you say?”

She looked into Rhaella’s sparkling eyes and sighed, “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…”

Rhaella gave a big smile. Jon pulled a chair next to her whispering, “Thank you Rhaella.”

“I hope you like the dress,” Sansa said. “I made it myself! I wanted to test my embroidery skills and decided to make you one!”

“It’s beautiful,” Rhaella told her. “You should teach me!” Sansa nodded gleefully.

“You know, we all thought you ran off and escaped!” Arya laughed.

“I…I didn’t mean any trouble or offense, I apologize.” Rhaella announced, standing up from her chair and bowing her head. “It was rude of me.”

“No,” Lord Stark said. “You have every right to feel the way you do. Your life changed right before your eyes. But please, believe me when I say this, we are here for you.”

“Aye.” Robb agreed. “If you are having trouble with anyone or anything let us know.” She thanked the both of them for their kindness.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was it like outside of Westeros?” Catelyn asked.

Rhaella told them everything. Even about the abuse Viserys had done to her. He always yelled at her for the littlest things. The worst thing he ever did was sneak into her bedchamber with a knife. He threatened to cut out her insides if she didn’t cooperate with his plan to send her to the North.

They all had concerned looks on their faces. The abuse never got to her until explaining it out loud. She really did have it rough.

“That doesn’t matter anymore.” Arya said. “You are with us now!”

“Safe and sound,” Sansa added.

Rhaella didn’t realize she was smiling.

”So, Rhaella…you said you were from the Summer Isles right?” Theon asked.

“Yes, why you ask?”

He smirked at Robb before asking, “I heard the women there are quite breathtakingly beautiful?” She could have sworn she heard him whisper “and have nice bodies.”

”Well, I’ve never actually stayed there, I had to flee because of the King,” she explained. “But from the books I’ve read and from what I heard from some servants in Pentos, yes, the women there are quite beautiful.”

”I also heard that they have a passion for love making,” he said. “Maybe I gotta visit there sometime-.”

”Theon!” Lady Stark snapped. “Don’t be disrespectful-.”

”Oh that’s okay!” Rhaella reassured her. “You’re right, Theon! They do have a passion for it. If I were to stay in the Isles, I would have been a prostitute myself!”

Sansa and Lady Stark almost choked on their food, as Robb, Theon, and Jon bursted out laughing at the table. She didn’t understand what was so funny, but she laughed along with them.

”What’s a prostitute?” Rickon asked, innocently. That made the boys start crying from laughter. Theon even fell out of his chair.

”Y-You’ll know when you’re older!” Lady Stark said.

”You’ll fit in with us just fine, child,” Lord Stark said. “Welcome to the family!”

°❀⋆Daenerys.ೃ࿔*:･

Daenerys never felt more lonely. She missed Rhaella, her real family. She’d never forgive her brother for what he did.

“Daenerys!” Viserys shouted.

He entered her bed chamber, “do not tell me you’re still upset about that savage.”

She felt rage enter her body as he said those words. “She is not a savage, she’s my sister,” she replied softly. “And I don’t understand why you sent her to our enemies.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said. “We both know that’s not true. She’s our cousin. Daughter of our uncle and whatever foreign whore he married. She’s not a pure Targaryen like us, Dany. And she never will be. I gave her away because we need allies, even if they are enemies. The Starks are a strong house, and I knew that Lord Stark would gladly take her in. The fool won’t even know of my plans to destroy him and his dear friend Robert.”

Daenerys always considered Rhaella her sister, even if it wasn’t true. They spent all of their time together, never leaving one’s side. It felt like it was yesterday, the day Rhaella arrived in Braavos as a baby. Viserys wanted nothing to do with her while Daenerys cherished her. She had no idea why Viserys was so upset about naming their cousin after their mother. It was only a name after all. She always thought it was much deeper than Rhaella being a “savage.” She never dared to ask him though.

“I have good news.” He announced. She examined his face, his grin looked devious. Truly it wasn’t good news. “I found you a husband,” he said. “His name is Khal Drogo, Magister Illyrio said. A Dothraki savage. When you two wed, I’ll have his army. We can finally go home, sweet sister.”

Home.

All she ever wanted was a home. A home with Rhaella, where they could finally be happy together. With her gone, Daenerys wasn’t sure if it would be home without her.

“And what about her?” She asked him.

“The savage?” He scoffed. “Those Starks have her now. I don’t care what they do to her. As long as we have our alliance with the North.”

Daenerys wanted to cry, but she stayed strong. I will meet her again, one day.

°❆⋆Bran ೃ࿔*:･

It had only been a couple of months, but for Bran, it felt like he had known Rhaella his whole life. Rhaella also grew close to his sisters but mostly Arya. The three of them were inseparable. Rhaella even taught them some of the Valyrian language. Some nights, the three of them would stay up and read history books about Targaryen history until they got caught by the Septa. For fun, they liked to go sledding and have snowball fights. The older Stark boys and Rickon joined them sometimes, but never Sansa. Ever since Rhaella arrived, Sansa and Arya fought less. It’s like wherever she went, she spread joy. That’s one of the traits Bran liked about her.

Now, everyone is preparing for the arrival of the King.

He overheard his father saying that the King was almost there. Bran felt sorry for Rhaella because she was so stressed out. “What will he do to me?” She asked. He always reassured her, “You are under our protection now, the King approved of you. Don’t worry about a thing.”

At that moment, it was time for Bran to practice his archery. He hasn’t been getting any better. He wanted to show his family he could hit the bull’s eye. First, only Robb was watching him. Then, came Jon and Rickon. Before he knew it, his parents came to watch as well.

“Keep practicing, Bran,” Lord Stark insisted. “Go on.”

Jon leaned in towards Bran, placing his hand on his shoulder, “Alright, father is watching.”

Jon looks over and sees Rhaella and Arya watching as well, “and her…” he whispered.

Bran took a deep gulp. He didn’t like to get teased about Rhaella. They only do it because we are to be married. We are just friends, good friends.

Bran nodded and started to aim his bow and arrow at his target.

“Relax your bow arm…” Robb commented.

Just before Bran could release the arrow, someone else’s hits the target and another shoots right through it.

All of the boys turned their heads to see Rhaella and Arya giggling. “Hey!” Bran yelled. The girls both curtseyed but quickly took off once they saw Bran chasing them. The kids kept on playing until their father took all of the boys to see an execution. Bran was finally old enough to see one.

“Are you scared?” Rhaella asked him as he was mounting his pony.

“I’m not sure.” He answered honestly.

But I can’t be afraid. My father told me I won’t be a boy forever. I’ll be a man-grown soon. I mustn’t be afraid. I need to be brave. Like Robb and Jon. Wolves are never afraid.

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