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orangeflavoryawp · 5 years ago

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Jonsa - “A Violence Done Most Kindly”, Part 1

Alright, it’s here. I’m fucking doing it. This is my Jonsa tour de force, my magnum opus. My ultimate fix-it fic.

This is going to be a Season 7/8 AU. To summarize the major plot points up until now, this 'verse branches out roughly post Battle of the Bastards in canon, the mass murder of the Freys by Arya still stands, Cersei has been killed but her murderer hasn't been determined yet, Daenerys has only just landed in Westeros, the occupation/battle over Riverrun never happened as the Freys were slaughtered beforehand, and both Edmure and Brynden Tully are still alive, Bran found his way to Winterfell while Jon and Sansa dealt with ruling the North and preparing for a war with the dead, as well as the shifting power dynamics in Westeros now that Cersei has died. This story also assumes established Jonsa. Soft E. Dark. Politics and magic and murder and sex. That's essentially the gist of it.

I HIGHLY recommend that you read 'Bruises' before getting into this. It serves as a prequel of sorts, and it's only a one-shot so it reads pretty quickly. 'Bruises' really helps to set up the tone of where Jonsa is at the start of this fic.

“A Violence Done Most Kindly”

Chapter One: Hunger

"There is an old sort of magic to sacrifice, after all." - Jon and Sansa. Stark is a house of many winters.

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 fin

* * *

It would be a lie to say that Sansa understands Cersei now – here at the end.

Here where she warms her brother’s bed.

Sansa imagines Cersei looked at Ser Jamie like this once, watching him in his sleep beside her. Or perhaps not. Perhaps theirs was always a quick, furtive fuck. A blinding instant of lust and need, smothered in dark alcoves and behind garish tapestries, a secret, silent thing – clawing at them from the inside.

Perhaps they’ve never slept the night through beside each other.

Perhaps she regretted it – gurgling out his name while she choked on her own blood.

Sansa reaches up to trace a hand down the side of Jon’s face, trailing past his jaw, along the cords of muscle flexing in his throat beneath her touch, whispering down his chest as he groans to wakefulness. She slips her hand to his growing hardness with a surety that might have been foreign to the little dove Cersei once knew.

But then, maybe that is also a lie.

“Sansa,” he groans, head thrown back along the pillow, voice rough with sleep and desire.

She braces her lips to his neck, imagines the rush of blood just beneath her mouth – pulls him from slumber with a selfish, desperate yearning she does not regret. “I need you,” she breathes into his skin, teeth sinking down.

Jon growls his answer, grabbing her by the hair, yanking her head back and kissing her hungrily. He turns her easily, bracing her back along the bed as he covers her with his weight, already hard and ready in her hand.

Some small part of her wishes Cersei had been her kill. A different, equally intense part of her, is relieved beyond words that she isn’t – that she would never be, now.

But more than that – more than a vengeful wrath she’s spent too long feeding to ever be free of hunger, to ever be satisfied with a mere raven scroll and the somber, even way Bran announces the news – more than that –

She just needs Jon.

“Come back to me,” she whispers against his mouth, moving with him in the dark.

No, she doesn’t think she’ll ever understand Cersei.

But as she feels Jon slip inside her, as she cradles his groan in the hollow of her throat, as she catches her lips at his temple – she thinks she doesn’t need to.

It’s a different hunger she feeds now, after all.

* * *

Sansa recognizes the sound of Baelish’s footsteps well before he’s made it to her side. He slinks like shadow easily enough across stone and wood and dirt, but here in the godswood, trudging through snow in the womb of winter, his steps are almost awkward, clunky.

He does not belong here. She knows this now with a certainty she hasn’t felt in years.

“My lady, I had hoped to find you here.”

Sansa only sighs, glancing away from the red weirwood leaves to meet his gaze over her shoulder. She offers a silent nod in greeting.

Baelish makes his way toward her, smoothing his hands over his robe when he settles beside her. “You have not forgotten what we spoke of when last I found you here, I should hope.”

Sansa tugs her furs tighter around her shoulders, eyes drifting back to the weirwood branches. “How could one forget?”

“Yes,” he murmurs, eyes drifting down her face and trailing the length of her throat.

She tries not to swallow, not to give notice of her discomfort. He takes a step closer. She resolutely does not take one back.

“This is a very crucial time for us, Sansa, you must know that.”

“Cersei is dead,” she says in answer, and she thinks maybe it should feel different along her tongue. Lighter, perhaps. Sweeter. Instead, it’s nothing but a stringent tartness.

“Yes, and by whose hand? None of my people seem to know the answer to that, except for whispers of faceless girls. Dead end gossip.” He looks at her out of the corner of his eye, appraising.

Sansa gives him nothing to appraise. “Is that what matters right now?”

He stays quiet a moment, and then, “It is, until we can ascertain whose side her murderer is on.”

Another silence. Sansa stretches a gloved hand out to catch the faint flecks of snow falling from the branches.

“We can’t let this opportunity pass us by. Cersei’s death has lead to infighting amongst the houses. King’s Landing is in near shambles with no discernible sovereign. Qyburn has fled without the support of his queen. The Mountain hasn’t been seen since reports of Cersei’s death. Citizens are fleeing to the other kingdoms as we speak, and even Daenerys Targaryen has seen the uselessness in conquering King’s Landing at this point.”

She knows this. She knows this already and she’s tired of hearing it. It only ever ends one way.

Baelish reaches for her, grasping her arms and turning her to face him, his gentleness forced and rushed – a falsity. Sansa blinks up at him.

“We have to consolidate power. If we wait too long, this chaos will be of no help to us.”

“Then go.”

Baelish furrows his brow at her answer, his fingers flexing along her elbows.

She swallows tightly, face a blank visage. “Go to King’s Landing then. Consolidate.” She lifts her chin. “Go.”

His throat flexes, poison tongue pressing back behind pursed lips.

“You can’t, can you?” she asks, not unkindly. “Because your power lies here. With me. And with the Vale. You can’t abandon either of us without giving yourself a disadvantage.”

“Sansa.” It’s almost a warning. As much a warning as Baelish ever gives – all smooth tones and invaded intimacy. His head inclines toward hers.

“Jon won’t go South. Not for that.” She extracts herself from his hold slowly, gently, without offense.

Baelish smacks his lips, a minute flicker of irritation crossing his eyes, but it’s all he will allow her to see of his disturbance. “The King can be persuaded.”

“Not in this. The dead occupy him on all sides. He won’t play the game.”

“Not even for you?”

Sansa doesn’t think too long on the way his eyes flick to her lips for a fraction of a second. “You overestimate my influence.”

“Oh, I think not,” he says lowly, a curl to his lip that reminds her of purple-faced boy-kings and hound-fed bastards.

No, he does not belong here. Not in the white and cold and wind of home. Not here where her mother used to brush her hair and her father used to beg her hand to dance and her brothers played their knightly parts in her tales dutifully. Not here where she had wanted to bury Lady those many years ago.

Wanted, and never could.

Sansa realizes suddenly, that Winterfell is not yet free.

And neither is she.

* * *

In the wake of Cersei’s death, the ensuing vacuum of power nearly cripples the kingdoms, with the remainder of the Lannister forces rallying behind a mourning, vengeful Ser Jaime, intent on securing the Reach and the Stormlands. Dorne wastes no time to declare its independence from the Seven Kingdoms entirely, and shortly after the suspicious slaughter of the Freys by unseen Northern hands both the Riverlands and the Vale swear to the North under the threat of a coming dragon queen.

Jon has no time for such politics.

Sansa rails against him openly in the Hall of Lords, demanding his attention to the ensuing fight for the crown, but the dead take precedence in everything he brings to court, and it’s not long before ravens are sent to all corners of Westeros begging aid in the coming fight.

Bran watches placidly, neither arguing for or against either of them. Sansa would call him not unlike a piece of furniture if she hadn’t better manners, and most days her pleads for his council lands on deaf ears. She ends most gatherings of the lords rife with frustration and nearly frothing at the mouth.

She doesn’t need to glance at Baelish to know the look he gives her.

“You think just because Cersei is dead that we are free from the South? That they will not land their hooks into every inch of the North until we are chained to them once more?” Sansa seethes, shutting her door once Jon is through it.

Jon heaves an unsteady breath, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I think, and you know it,” he grits out, sending a dark look her way. “Stop twisting my words.”

“Then stop ignoring mine.”

“I’m not!” He stalks toward her, stops before he can do anything else. His hands itch at his sides. “Sansa, we can’t keep this up – this back-and-forth. We can’t afford such a divide, not now.”

Sansa takes a purposeful breath, hands folding before her. “I’m with you, Jon, I am but – ”

“Are you? Sometimes I wonder.” He can’t help the scoff that leaves him. He stares at her, keeps her gaze a moment longer, and then he’s turning to the far window, a hand raking over his face. He’s just so tired, suddenly.

Sansa is deadly still. So still he can’t even hear the rustle of her skirts on the cold stone at their feet – can’t pick up the scrape of air she pulls through anger-fused lungs.

“And how is your show of the dead going with the other kingdoms, hmm?” she bites out.

Jon snaps his head to her, his eyes narrowing so quickly she might have missed it.

Sansa takes a step toward him. “Are they simply jumping to aid us? Are they gathering the entire might of their forces, marching the sum of their armies North, all on your word?” Something sharp glints in her gaze and Jon swallows his reply back instantly. She scoffs, head thrown back. And then her eyes are eerily blue on his – instantly staggering him. “And have I ever demanded evidence? Have I ever once denounced your claims of the rising dead before the lords?”

Jon has no answer. None that would satisfy, at least.

Something in her softens at his silence, another step taken toward him. “I’ve never asked you to prove anything to me, Jon.”

Jon, she calls him – always.

(There was never anything to prove between them, after all.)

Jon closes his eyes, takes a long, deep breath, exhales just as evenly. When he opens his eyes, she’s still there. Still copper-crowned and winter-poised. Still every inch his sister.

And every inch not.

He thinks maybe it’s a sickness – this craving of his.

Jon steps into her, the stiff silence descending upon them like a cloak. He’s so close. He’s so unbearably close, and even though he has yet to touch her, the heat suffuses him – a stifled winter, a burrowing need.

He can see the way her chest heaves at the sudden proximity.

(She’s always been his, even when she won’t admit to it.)

Jon thrums a tentative hand along her side, fingers grazing the line of her hip.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

It’s a lost cause, he knows. Since the moment she opened her door to him, this was only ever going to end one way.

“I know you’re with me,” he tells her on an exhale, roiled in heat.

She arches a single, fine brow. “Do you? Sometimes I wonder.” She almost smacks her lips with self-satisfaction.

A low snarl eases from his lips, his hand bunching in her dress, dragging her to him. She lets him, hands alighting on his chest. He leans into her, nuzzling his temple to hers, breath ragged already.

She makes it so easy.

He’s already panting for her.

(She makes it so hard.)

“Sansa,” he groans out, fingers trembling as they reach for her laces.

She takes his face in her hands, pulls him back until his eyes are locked with hers. He doesn’t still his unlacing of her. He couldn’t even if he tried.

So unbearably close.

(He just needs to touch her.)

“You lose one war, you lose them all,” she tells him, arching against him.

She’s right, he knows. She’s right, and yet –

She comes undone so easily in his hands – they need to stop ending their arguments this way.

Because this – the splendid way she hisses beneath his tongue and the subtle way she arches into his hands and the ragged pant of his name (his name) along her bruising lips – is a war they can’t afford to lose.

(This is a war they haven’t even begun to fight, not truly – not by the light of day.)

“I’m with you,” she whispers against his mouth, and he knows.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

And even still –

Some wars aren’t about who’s right. They’re only about who’s left.

* * *

Arya returns to Winterfell in the dead of night. Ghost clambers to wakefulness at the foot of Jon’s bed, the sharp rap on his door jolting him from sleep.

It’s Davos at his door. “In the hall, Your Grace,” he says, and nothing more.

Jon rushes from the room, following his Hand and the faint shadows Davos’ torch casts along the walls. When he turns the next corridor, he sees Sansa emerging from her own chambers, Brienne at her side. Her sworn shield tugs the fallen slip of Sansa’s robe over her lady’s bared shoulder at Jon’s presence, and the motion does not go unnoticed.

“What is it?” Sansa hisses in the night.

He shakes his head, throat parched.

It happens moments later.

It happens when they breach the shadowed hall. It happens when Arya turns from her appraisal of the room, eyes a slate grey that should be comforting, familiar – but are only haunting. She is perfectly still in the filtering moonlight through the tall windows. She is perfectly winter-poised (an eerie reflection of the sister beside him, and distantly, he wonders if either of them knew they’d ever grow to be thus).

It’s a crack, a fissure – a lung-scraping quake that sunders through the silent hall.

Ghost is the first to break the stillness, trotting up to Arya with an ease that staggers Jon’s heart in his chest. But Arya smiles – smiles – and it’s a faint curl of her lips, before she’s bending like reeds in the wind, reaching for the direwolf’s great maw and threading her fingers through his thick fur, hands gliding over Ghost’s face and ears and neck. Something of sorrow and fondness sweeps over her face then. “Hey, boy. You’ve been keeping watch for me?”

Jon is breaking toward her then, something splintering inside him he hasn’t a name for, and then she’s in his arms, and he’s lifting her up, up, and up, her feet off the ground, her arms around his neck, his broken gasp of her name smothered in her hair, and he’s trembling, absolutely shaking against her, absolutely shattered – here, to be here – with his little sister in his arms. He holds her for an immeasurable amount of time, for eons and epochs and yet he’d hold her still, if only he could. It never seems enough.

Jon dips her back to the floor, breathless, glancing back at Sansa, and he stills suddenly at the way she stares at them.

Arya keeps a hand at Jon’s elbow, her smile receding. A soft, keen quiet overtakes her. Her eyes shine with tears. “Hello, Sansa.”

Sansa takes a step, hand outreaching, and then stops herself. She takes a sudden breath, and Jon is too overcome to think much of it, so he braces a hand at the small of Sansa’s back, urging her toward their sister.

He doesn’t catch the way Arya’s eyes trail the intimate motion of his hand.

“Arya.” Sansa’s voice catches, and then she’s stumbling into her, arms wide, drawing her little sister to her chest.

Arya’s eyes shutter closed for a moment, breathing something of relief against Sansa’s breast, her hands fisting in her robe at her back, but then she’s blinking those grey, haunting eyes open to Jon.

He feels cracked open. Bloody and bare. Jon swallows the trepidation back.

Their sister is returned.

His hand burns beneath the memory of Sansa’s heat at his fingertips.

* * *

Arya knows.

She knows, Sansa thinks when she catches the derision in her little sister’s eyes from across the courtyard. Somehow, she knows.

Sansa steps purposely away from Jon as they walk together below the ramparts.

He furrows his brows at the motion, a hand going to her elbow. “Sansa,” he begins.

She huffs her frustration, staying his hand.

He’s always been terrible at pretenses.

“Our sister is watching,” she mutters beneath her breath pointedly, and she can see the way his spine straightens, the way his shoulders stiffen.

She is Sansa Stark. And he is Jon Snow. And not for the first time has she lamented this – though perhaps not so much as now.

Now when he is close enough to touch and yet the chasm widens ever farther.

This chasm called honor.

(But there is nothing honorable about the ways in which he touches her in the dark of night.)

Jon is silent for long moments, before he comes to an abrupt halt at the edge of the courtyard. Sansa turns to find him staring at his boots, brows furrowed. He heaves a sigh, a calloused hand wiping down his face, and then he’s turning swiftly, walking back the way they came. Sansa watches him go, something constricting in her chest not unlike grief. She looks back across the courtyard to see Arya still watching her. Her jaw locks, her barred teeth caught behind perfectly poised lips.

There are some things Arya will never know, she reminds herself.

She will never know the way Jon’s eyes grow dark by candlelight, or the way his throat flexes beneath the press of her tongue, or the tremble that racks through him when she slips to her knees at the edge of his bed, bracketed by his thighs.

And perhaps there is something secret and selfish still living in her. Perhaps there is a part of her that revels in the knowledge that while she may not be the favorite sister, she is the only sister who can drag such whines from his throat, who can reduce him to pleading, who can have him panting and desperate as he throws his head back, hand curling in her copper tresses as he pushes her mouth down on his length, hips thrusting shallowing up to meet her.

No, Sansa reminds herself. Arya will never know the dark visage of Jon when the last of his control snaps, when he’s pouring filth from his mouth too base even for brothels, when he’s rutting into her mouth like something feral, spilling hot and frenzied down her throat as he growls her name through clenched teeth, over and over and over again.

No. Arya will never know the way he looks at her in the aftermath, the way he curls a quaking hand along the curve of her jaw, thumb brushing over her mouth in something perhaps too feverish to be called tender, but just as searing.

She thinks this when she departs from the courtyard.

She thinks this when she feels Arya’s gaze following along her back.

She thinks this when she closes the latch behind her to Jon’s door that night.

* * *

“You’re our brother,” Arya says like a demand. “You’re her brother.” It comes out slightly searing this time.

Jon grips at the mantle over the hearth, his back to her. “I still am.”

“How could you be?” Her scoff is lined with something faintly like disgust.

Jon closes his eyes at the sound. He draws a deep breath in, lets it to air.

Arya shifts somewhere behind him. “Robb would never have touched her so.”

“Aye, and Robb isn’t the brother she begs for at night, is he?” he spits just as harshly, whirling on her. He realizes what he says a moment before he catches the look that passes over her face.

It’s not a look she’s ever directed at him before.

Jon swallows thickly, the words dying in his throat.

Arya looks away, lips pursed tight. She’s so utterly still. This whole while, her entire time at Winterfell, she’s been nothing but stillness.

Jon wants to shake her suddenly, just to know she’s still there. Just to know he isn’t the only one missing what they used to be.

He has to tear his gaze from her – has to focus on the lick of flames in the hearth, the flare of copper too familiar to cool this rancid heat in him. “But I’m not Robb, am I?” he whispers, almost like regret, almost like penitence.

(Almost, but not quite.)

“No,” Arya answers, so low he might have imagined it. “No, you’re not.”

He isn’t sure what it is he hears in her voice, and he doesn’t have the heart to turn to her then, to see for himself, to know the damning censure of her gaze, even when her voice is indiscernible.

She leaves him then, the heavy door of his solar sliding shut with a nauseating finality.

She doesn’t even leave a shadow.

(But he thinks he should have expected this. He thinks he should have expected a lot of things.)

* * *

Jon has known the permanence of betrayal, the way it sinks into your marrow until you are rife with it, until the sharp tang of it has festered long and sour beneath your tongue, until it is behind every look over the shoulder and every false greeting.

Jon sneaks a glance at Sansa beside him, catches the upturn of her chin while she listens to Lord Glover in the Hall of Lords, the resolute crispness of her blue gaze as she sits regally at the head table.

His hand strays to the ends of her furs hanging over the arm rest. He catches the material between his thumb and forefinger, a small comfort. An anchor in the storm.

He glances back out across the hall. All eyes are on Sansa. All but a lone, accusing pair.

Jon catches Arya’s glare from across the hall, nearly missing her lithe frame amidst the shrouding shadows of the Stark banners. The flicker of torchlight is not enough to obscure her frown.

His hand slips from the edge of Sansa’s furs beneath the table, his throat dry with an apprehension he’s never felt before.

They sit staring at each other for long moments – everything and nothing passing between them – the lords airing their complaints and their needs like a fog around him.

“Do you agree, Your Grace?”

Sansa’s voice comes to him like a gale.

Jon snaps his gaze to her, blinking rapidly.

He suddenly remembers.

He remembers that Sansa has seen the evidence of betrayal marring his skin. She’s seen the gashes along his chest and not withheld her touch. She’s smothered his sobs of recollection to her breast when he’s recounted the nooses – the way their feet swayed in the wind like a condemnation.

Sansa has never been party to his betrayal.

Sansa will never be his betrayal.

His fingers search for the ends of her furs once more, gripping tightly beneath the cover of the table – no longer an anchor, but the thing that drowns him.

“Aye,” he agrees, never needing to know what he agrees to.

Sansa eyes him with something of sharpness.

Jon looks back across the hall. Arya is gone.

He does not relinquish his hold.

* * *

{“Why did you bring her here?”

Bran looks up at Sansa’s question. It is a face she used to know once – but not anymore. She holds tight to this image of her brother like sand sifting through her fingers. She wonders if it is not perhaps easier to simply let him fall.

She looks away finally, her hands gripping at her skirts.

The hearth spits another log to cinders before them, and she thinks he means to keep this damn silence always, until, “Because she is needed.”}

#jonsa #jon snow #sansa stark #jon x sansa #jon and sansa #arya stark #bran stark #starklings #house stark #game of thrones #got fanfic #my writing #a violence done most kindly

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acourtofhopeanddreams · 5 years ago

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Finally Alive

Written for @jonsa-week day 6 based on the prompt Modern OR Historical OR Remix

After years of living as a vampire Jon had finally found a way to die. But the Gods bring him back to life again and Jon wonders what their plans are. And then he sees a beautiful red haired girl who makes him feel things he hasn't felt for a very very long time.

*Inspired by Kol Mikaelson and Davina Claire from The Originals*

There had been a time Jon worshipped the Gods. He had prayed in front of crying trees, his bare knees buried in thick layers of snow. He had promised them countless of things. But all the gifts he had gotten in return had been poisoned and had come at a price he wouldn’t have paid if he had known it upfront.

Living forever was overrated, if the irresistible urge to kill innocent humans was constantly racing through his veins.

Inhuman strength was worth nothing, if no tender hand ever dared to touch him.

Superspeed was useless when all the people he ever cared about forgot he even existed.

And how could he ever treasure fast recovery of every injury, if his heart was permanently damaged and all his emotions constantly out of proportion?

Jon had done a lot of things he regretted in his long and lonely life. He had fought on the side of monsters, truly believing they were the good guys. He had hurt people who tried to make a connection, either by killing them when they came too close or by running away before he could actually physically hurt them. And right before he had died, his life had become nothing but a collection of colourless days all blending until they became one giant mess.

A part of him never wanted to die, but to another part of him dead had been a blessing and the only true gift the Gods had ever given him.

But their cruelty knew no end and now they had taken their gift away and had brought him back to the dark and twisted world he had so gladly left behind.

The night was not as dark as it used to be, long ago, when he was only a little boy. Countless of lamps spread their light and yet it still didn’t feel safe. Drunk boys laughed when they walked past a young woman and brushed her shoulder. A young woman pulled a hood over her head while she grabbed the wallet from an unwatched pocket. Empty packages of disgusting smelling food were thrown at shivering people in hidden nooks.

Over the centuries Jon had watched humanity making the same mistakes over and over forming a downward spiral where every step forward was followed by two steps back. And during his short stay in the afterlife the world had taken more steps back than they seem to realise themselves.

“Why couldn’t I have stayed dead? What am I doing here? What do you want from me?”

He wasn’t sure if there was still a Godswood somewhere, but considering the high buildings hugging each other and leaving just enough space for the roads connecting them, he doubted humanity had protected them and kept them alive. But he knew the Gods were everywhere. They could hear him. They would hear him. And just like always they wouldn’t give him what he asked. They would only give him more trouble.

He curled his fingers up and tensed all his muscles. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be alive for another who knew how many years. He didn’t want to fight wars that weren’t his. He didn’t want to watch humanity destroy its planet and itself until there was nothing left but ashes. But he didn’t have a choice. He knew the Gods for a very very long time already. If he would die now, they would simply bring him back again and again and again, until he would accept his fate.

He hid his hands deeper in the pockets of his jacket. His jacket looked out of time and out of place, but he had nothing else to wear, not until the shops would open in the morning. But people were too busy with themselves to notice a stranger in an even stranger outfit walking the streets with a hat covering his long dark curls.

It was probably why the beautiful girl could sneak out of the giant church on the market square without anyone seeing her. Her long red hair waved over her shoulders. Her jacket tightened around her torso and her short skirt showed her long and elegant legs. She had her arms wrapped around her and she stared at the ground beneath her feet. A heavy weight seemed to press on her tender shoulders while she disappeared in the night to who knew where.

Something about the girl intrigued him and instinctively he followed her.

Her steps were light and heavy at once. Once in a while she looked over her shoulder and a few times her eyes found his, but she didn’t seem to mind. She stood still when she reached the edge of the lake and she threw her head in her neck while closing her eyes. The wind blowing in her face was most likely ice and ice cold, but for the first time tonight a small smile brightened her face.

Jon watched her from a safe distance, fighting the urge to talk to her. He had seen enough of this world to know that walking up to a stranger in the middle of the night was never a good start for any sort of relationship. And so he waited and watched.

Far away in the city centre they had left behind the bells of the church counted the hours, but the girl only turned around and walked back when the hints of dawn were already visible in the far distance.

Just as quickly and secretly she returned to the church, but right before she disappeared inside she noticed some dead flowers. Once more she looked over her shoulder, but the square was now deserted.

It was too early for the people who had any plans for the day. And it was too late for those who had danced or drank the night away.

She cocked her head and knelt down. Her bare knees touched the sand, but she didn’t seem to mind. The tips of her fingers touched the dead flowers and then her red lips started whispering.

He couldn’t hear the words. He couldn’t read them either. They were probably in a language he had never mastered or bothered to learn. But Jon dropped his mouth when he saw the dead flowers come to life again under her gentle touch.

A witch. She had to be a witch. A witch with a heart. And a witch with a burden. And a witch with a beautiful smile.

Jon didn’t know why the Gods had brought him back, but he did know that if he was forced to live another life here on earth, he would want to live it with her in it. He would talk to her tomorrow, in the bright daylight, in a safe place. And at some point he would gather the courage to ask her out on a date. And hopefully, if the Gods were good for once in his life, she would say yes.

He was dead for ages, but now he finally felt alive again.

#jonsaweek #jonsa #jon snow #Sansa Stark #game of thrones #got #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #sansa stark fanfiction #jon snow fanfiction #jonsa fanfiction #the original #kol mikaelson #davina claire #day 6: remix

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sailorshadzter · 5 years ago

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Oh my god, I think I've read every Jonsa centric fix-it for S8 already, but would really love one where the events of 5 & 6 go differently, specifically D*ny is stopped before destroying half of KL and instead of letting an invading army with a dead queen tell them how to handle shit they hold them accountable for the things they did wrong! I love your writing sooo much!!! 💜💜💜

tysm!!

sorry it took forever for me to get to this, but i hope you enjoy it!

send me prompts

The morning is cold and the wind is biting as she steps out into the courtyard.

Winterfell is eeriely quiet for a castle that is supposed to be preparing to leave for a war and as Daenerys glances around, she notes there is almost nobody about. She's just about to turn to return inside when she catches sight of Jon; he's coming down the stairs from the battlements, Sansa right behind him. From within Winterfell, the youngest of the Stark girls comes, her ever present frown hiding a smirk as she approaches.

It takes her only a moment to realize something is wrong.

"Jon, are the armies prepared?" She adopts her usual tone, violet eyes narrowing as they fall upon the man she thought loved her. Jon stands before her and Sansa hovers close beside him, her red hair a vibrant contrast to the black furs draped across her shoulders. "You are to leave for King's Landing, do not forget what you promised to me." She goes on, flicking her gaze to the Lady of Winterfell, a reminder of who controls the situation. But, as always, Sansa Stark does not falter, but rather smiles. Beside her, the younger sister's hand strays to her sword's hilt and for the first time, Daenerys feels a flicker of fear.

"We must talk before departing," Jon says casually, gesturing for Daenerys to return inside Winterfell. For a moment, she thinks she might not, but remembers that she is queen and she is a dragon, so there is nothing to fear.

The small group files back into Winterfell and down the hall towards the great hall, where Sansa's woman knight stands outside the door. Brienne of Tarth barely spares her a glance before she opens the door for their group, coming inside after them and letting it swing closed behind her. As soon as Daenerys steps into the room, she knows trouble is brewing. The northern lords that remained alive after the long night stand at the back wall, silent and stone faced. Missandei stands off to one side of the room, her expression solemn and never changing even when they meet gazes. Grey Worm stands behind the head table, which Sansa and Jon have seated themselves, leaving Daenerys to stand there before them. It's only then that she notices the shackles at his wrists. "What is the meaning of this-"

"You stand accused of war crimes against the realm you claim to rule, this man willingly participated and has been treated as any war criminal would." Sansa Stark does not hesitate to speak and those sapphire blue eyes fall upon her own, sending chills down her spine. "Do not think I won't have you placed into chains, as well."

"How dare you," Daenerys seethes, white hot rage surging through her. "I am your queen, you dare speak to me this way? I have been quite tolerant of your behavior Lady Stark, but I will not stand for this." She cannot believe this girl dares to defy her in such a way. She cannot believe Jon has condoned it. Daenerys turns her eyes to Jon and his expression is unreadable, that solemn look in his Stark colored eyes mimicked in the girl that stands over his shoulder. "I am your queen," she says again, as if this is enough.

"You are not," says the monotone voice of the wheelchair bound boy that sits to Jon's other side. Daenerys had not even noticed his presence until now, until he spoke aloud. She pins him with her gaze and like his older sister, Bran Stark does not waver.

"What did you say?" Daenerys spits out through gritted teeth, her heart races faster than ever before.

"You are not the true heir to the Iron Throne," Bran goes on in that same tone, his hands folding atop the table. "But you already knew that." He's right, she's known that since the night Jon had told her. "The Iron Throne is not yours to take."

"It is a queen's duty to protect her realm, you have not done that." Sansa intones, bringing Daenerys' attention back to her, rather than Bran. "Your duty is to us, to your people, but you would subject us to death all to lay claim to a throne you do not deserve." She tilts her head, red hair falling across a shoulder as her lips curve with a faint smirk. "A queen should choose love, but you chose fear." Daenerys recalls those words she had said to Jon only nights before, words he'd in turn spoken to Sansa. "The North cannot allow you to lay siege to King's Landing, nor claim the throne." Sansa is speaking again, bring Daenerys back from her whirling thoughts. "You will be taken to King's Landing as a prisoner of the North and we will negotiate with Cersei Lannister over what to do with you." There was only one person in that room that would know what would happen to Cersei Lannister in the coming weeks, long before they could arrive with their Targaryen prisoner, but now was not the time to speak of it. "Take her to her rooms," Sansa speaks sharply, nodding to the two guards that stand against the opposite wall, waiting for her word. "There you will stay until we leave for King's Landing."

Daenerys looks back only once, but they've already all turned their backs to her and she knows she's lost.

[ x x x ]

When they arrive in King's Landing, it's quiet.

The city has plunged into mourning for their late queen, though there's few that truly mourn the loss of Cersei Lannister. She's buried alongside her children and the people await the news of who will take the throne next.

It doesn't take long for the rumors begin to flow; whispers of a true born Targaryen son, a dragon born with the blood of a wolf, filter through the city within days of their arrival. The people of Westeros recall what it was like to live beneath the rule of a Targaryen, but this Targaryen son is quite unlike those who came before him. And there were of course the whispers about the red wolf, the she wolf of Winterfell, come back to King's Landing after all these years. Whispers told these people that their next ruler would not be one, but two, a ruling couple born of dragons and wolves.

And one half of that duo took to the stairs, following the corridors until she came to a room with a single guard posted at the door. The man gave a single nod to the young woman, knowing well that within the coming weeks he would more than likely be referring to her as queen.

Sansa pushes open the door and steps inside, allowing it to swing closed behind her.

Daenerys stands at the window, looking out across King's Landing, the view quite pretty this time of day. "Am I to call you your grace, now?" Her voice is lacking its usual tone and Sansa shakes her head only once the silver-haired woman turns around. "Where are my dragons?" She asks, the thought of her children the only thing able to still yet squeeze the breath from her lungs.

"They are safe." Sansa replies, though she knows there is little way to tame Drogon. Rhaegal is Jon's, but Drogon is a constant worry. "Drogon was seen flyng East only days ago and Rhaegal is here, with Jon." In truth, the dragon was down in the dragon pits most days- he was well behaved, for a dragon she supposed. "I have come to tell you there will be no trial for you." Daenerys looks up then, something like fear flickering across her features. "You are to be sent back to Dragonstone. You will be kept by guards of our own choosing. You will be closely monitored at all times." They have discussed her fate at length and in the end, no matter what she had done, Sansa couldn't let them execute her. Besides, in the case of Drogon... They needed her alive. "You will have no army, no dragons. Grey Worm will remain here and Missandei will stay at your side." Daenerys can't help but to feel a rush of relief at those words. "You will never be queen, but you will live."

She supposes she'll have to live with that.

#jonsa #jonsa drabbles #its actually mostly about daenerys and sansa but hey #my writing #i wrote this #2mad4plaid

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99vernon · 6 years ago

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Season 8 ep.2 – Thoughts

S.8 Spoilers below. Also S.8 speculation

I went into last night’s episode still hoping that the Jon and Dany storyline would be done before the end of episode 2. It didn’t exactly end. However, it was good theatre to see Dany scrambling to fit in at Winterfell and to see her continuously dehumanize Tyrion. (justice for Shae!)

Important things that really stuck out in s.8 ep. 2:

1) After Jon’s parentage reveal, he knows that Dany cannot be the rightful Queen. This is important. For whatever reason, Jon needs a legitimate Queen. The fact that Dany can’t be a Queen has made Dany useless to Jon’s mission - I feel it is to save Sansa. In s.7 ep.7 Jon picked Dany as his queen over Cersei because he thought Dany was the rightful heir to throne.

2) Why did Jon tell Dany about his parentage hours before going to war? I believe the simple answer is TO BREAK OFF THE RELATIONSHIP WITH HER. Now that Jon knows that Dany is not the rightful Queen, he does not need her. Dany’s presence in Winterfell is no longer worth the risk. Bran can take control of one of her dragons to defend Winterfell. By telling Dany about his parentage, Jon essentially was breaking up with Dany and hoped she would leave quietly. However, I don’t believe Dany will walk away from Jon that easily (especially, if she is pregnant). Sadly, Dany does love Jon. I believe if she is pregnant she will be willing to have an ordinary life with Jon – a choice she should have made with her late husband Drogo. (heartbreaking for Dany) Jon will be forced to tell Dany the entire truth – that he loves another. Only then will Dany abandon the battle at Winterfell.

I was disappointmented at the end s8.ep2 because we did not get a Jonsa scene together before the war started. Instead, they gave it to Arya and Gendry(very concerned about Arya-something is not right with her. Gendry was in total shock.lol). However, they did the right thing focusing on Arya’s intimacy scenes first. Any love scene after Jonsa would be empty when compared. Anyway, Jon and Sansa should have had a goodbye too – they do not know if either will survive the war. Why not give them another tender moment. frustrating.

3) In addition, we see Sansa sitting chatting with Theon looking happy – starting romantic speculation about Sansa and Theon. I always liked Theon’s character and shipped him with Osha. As I said, Jonsa’s love story is the rebirth of a love lost thousands of years ago. It is timeless. It can’t be cancelled out because she is sitting and sipping soup with Theon. Theon and Osha(had she lived) were the couple. I also sense that Lara is in love with Theon. Theon’s love life was suppose to be with Osha and/or Lara... until he messed things up.

However, you never know...GOT again is reminding us that it is an unpredictable show.

4) Important points regarding Sansa and Dany’s conversation – Sansa is clearly jealous of Dany being in a relationship with Jon. Sansa’s jealousy of Dany and Jon’s relationship was picked up by Jorah. Give Jorah credit that he sensed contention among Dany, Jon and Sansa – and sent Dany to make peace with Sansa. Second point, Dany told Sansa, “I am here because I love your brother.” Dany admitted that she loves Jon! This is huge. When has Dany ever admitted to loving a man. (very scary for the emotionally unstable Dany.) Third point, Sansa realized that Jon was expertly playing the GOT with Dany – he manipulated Dany into coming to the North.

5) ….. Brienne is in danger! In order to get to or kidnap Sansa, Brienne will need to be killed or removed. The opening scene with Sansa, Jaime, Dany and Jon - What does this remind you of? Hardhome. Jaime’s arrival in Winterfell parallels with Jon’s arrival in Hardhome to rescue the Wildings. The only difference is Jon brought his fighting men from Castle Black with him. Jaime came with no resources. Similar to the sequence of events in Hardhome, Sansa ask Brienne if she vouches for Jaime and Brienne said yes – I am concerned. Will the outcome at Hardhome be the same at Winterfell? Will Jaime defend Winterfell and not betray Brienne? During the Blackwater battle Cersei taught Sansa “Traitors are a danger to us all” during a war. I am going with Sansa’s first instincts that Jaime should not be trusted. Remember what the wilding Loboda in Hardhome said about Jon “ That’s our enemy. That’s always been our enemy.” I suspect Jaime knighting Brienne might have been a way to say goodbye to her. Hopefully, I am wrong.

6) Bran finally gave us the answer to what Night King wants “An endless night. He wants to erase this world and I am its memory.” This explains why so many of the characters have memory lapse. Bran and Theon will be the key to win the war.

7) Sam giving his family sword to Jorah will be important.

Finally, I was disappointed I did not see Cersei in this episode. Podrick singing “Jenny of Oldstone” - I believe this was a callout to the best player of GOT....Cersei.

#Jonsa #Jon and Sansa #S.8 Predictions #Brienne #GOT S8 #GOT Jonsa Endgame #Cersei

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winterrose527 · 6 years ago

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You take me higher than I’ve ever been (baby)

Another one for my baby @octaviahales who gave the lovely prompt: “hi!!! It’s sansaclarkes alsjfjskak sorry to bother you on here but I didn’t wanna totally clog up your comments & was wondering & only if it strikes your fancy if you’d do a have never met eachother before jonsa stuck in an elevator one shot? they could be going to meet robb or Ella at work or something? I know it’s SUPER cliche but eh & again only if you want to! ☺️☺️”

Keept them coming! And I'm sorry that I tweaked it a little...

Sansa was running late. As a rule Sansa Stark was never late.

She’d planned on walking to her family’s company headquarters but then it had been pouring so of course she hadn’t been able to get a taxi for ages and when she did she was stuck in bumper to bumper city traffic and her new suede boots might as well be ruined and… well it just wasn’t a very good start to her day.

She usually wouldn’t be starting her day at noon either but she’d just moved back a couple weeks ago and she hadn’t exactly settled in yet so she had been waist deep in curtains and dishes trying desperately to get her apartment together in advance of starting her new job on Monday.

The point was that by the time she entered Stark Industries and saw those elevator doors about to close she had had it, so she did an inelegant sort of yelp and an ill-advised karate kick and stumbled in - right into the arms of a very confused and very gorgeous stranger.

“Seven hells,” he grunted as he caught her.

She braced herself against his chest, his deliciously muscular chest and looked up at him. He had the most unbelievable charcoal eyes that matched the soft wool of his sweater and he was holding her upper arms and had a bemused smirk on his face.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, shaking her head, regretfully disengaging from him.

He let her go and the smirk turned into a grin and he scratched his beard, “Don’t be, I just had no idea that the gods’ timing was quite so perfect.”

“Hmm?,” she asked in confusion.

“Oh, yeah, I was just standing here thinking it had been a really long time since I’d seen a truly knock you over beautiful woman and - well here you are,” he said.

It sounded like a line but for some reason he didn’t seem like the sort to drop them.

“Well I didn’t knock you over,” she said flirtatiously, “Technically.”

“The day is young,” he said flirtatiously back and then colored and cleared his throat, “That sounded… I mean… by the gods I am such an idiot.”

“Well I am the one that just did a karate kick into an elevator so…,” she pointed out.

“That was impressive by the way, black belt?,” he asked her.

“Could’ve gone pro, but didn’t want to be in the spotlight, you know?,” she joked and he grinned and nodded as though he did know.

They road in silence for a few floors, and she saw that he had already pressed the button for the top floor - 55, the Executive Floor of Stark Industries.

The elevator stopped at floor 6 and a group of loud businessmen got in and she and the stranger both moved to the back of the elevator and ended up quite close together. He smiled at her sheepishly and she smiled back, trying to determine what exactly he smelled like.

Whatever it was she wanted more of.

The businessmen got off on floor 8 and she and the stranger both moved a half a foot away from the other.

“Stark Industries?,” he asked her.

She nodded, “My brother is taking me to lunch. Do you have an interview?”

Please say no, please say no.

“Oh, no, I’m just meeting a friend,” he said.

She had the strange desire to know if the friend was a girl, feeling a pit in her stomach that it might be. That was ridiculous, they’d only just met, she had no right to feel jealous or - anything - really when it came to him.

“It’s a guy,” he said and then cleared his throat, “The um…friend.”

It was strange that a guy this gorgeous would be so horribly unsure of himself. Strange and endearing and terribly adorable.

“So is my brother,” she said automatically and then closed her eyes and groaned.

He chuckled and said, “Oh one of those male brothers, interesting…”

She was about to give him a haughty retort when the elevator stopped again on floor 19 and a very old woman got in.

“Oh Sansa, darling!,” she said.

“Nanny!,” she exclaimed happily.

She embraced the woman, smelling her familiar smell of peppermint.

“Oh we are so happy you’ve come home,” she said, smoothing her hair, “The wolves were not the same without you.”

“I was not the same without them!,” she said honestly.

“You’ll come for tea? Next weekend once you’ve settled in?,” Nan asked her.

“I’d love to, I’ll call you next week,” Sansa promised and Nan nodded and stroked her cheek as the elevator doors opened on floor 23 and she got out.

“Sorority sister?,” the stranger asked her and she bit the inside of her cheek.

It didn’t work and she let out a laugh in a snort and he let out a deep chuckle that she felt in her entire body.

“Where did you move back from?,” he asked as they climbed higher and higher.

“King’s Landing,” she said with as much strength in her voice as she could muster.

“The weather bring you back?,” he asked with a grin.

She willed her heart rate to slow. She was going to have to get used to answering this question.

“Something like that,” she said with a smile but she knew her voice sounded hollow.

He looked at her like he wanted to ask something further but he didn’t so they simply road in silence another ten floors.

They stopped once again on floor 42 and a large group of people entered in only to get off on floor 43.

This time when the people left neither her nor the stranger moved away and they inched higher and higher.

At floor 50 he cleared his throat and said, “Look um… I’ve only got five - four more floors to ask your name, so… what’s your name?”

“I’m Sansa,” she said, smiling at the idea he’d ridden 50 floors curious about something as simple as her name.

“Jon Snow,” he said and held out his hand.

They couldn’t have been together for more than four minutes but even still it felt charged when their hands touched.

He didn’t let go and neither did she until the elevator doors opened on floor 55.

“Well, Jon Snow,” she said with a small smile, “It was nice to meet you…”

“And you Sansa…,” he said.

She shifted her bag over her shoulder once again and gave him one last smile before she turned left and began to walk down the familiar corridor.

To her surprise she felt him behind her and she turned with a bemused expression.

“I promise I’m not following you,” he said with his hands up.

Too bad she thought as they fell into step beside one another.

She opened the glass door to the executive inlet and waved at the receptionist Ros. To her surprise, so did Jon and they turned left again.

She saw the familiar golden hair of her oldest friend, Ella Baratheon and grinned.

To her surprise Ella furrowed her brow and stood up crossing to her, “Dovey? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve got lunch with -,” she started.

Robb popped his head out and smiled when he saw her, “Dovey!,” he said and embraced her before turning inquisitively to Jon.

“Jon, what are you doing here?,” he asked.

So at least she knew Jon wasn’t a total stranger who had just followed her here.

“He’s here for lunch with you,” Ella supplied.

“But I made lunch plans with Sansa,” Robb told her as though she should have known that.

“And did you put it in your calendar?,” Ella asked him with a raise of an eyebrow.

Robb colored, “No.”

“So whose fault is it that you’re double booked?,” Ella asked, clearly trying to hide her smile.

“Mine,” Robb said and hung his head.

Ella clucked her tongue and winked at Sansa who couldn’t help but giggle in response. Robb had hired Ella as his assistant when she was first out of college but in the past year it had become increasingly unclear who in fact was working for who. Though Robb was completely dependent on her and unquestionably in love with her.

“Jon I’m so sorry about this,” Robb said and then turned to her, “We met on the Tarly merger, have you two met? Jon Snow this is my little sister Sansa.”

“So this is that male brother of yours?,” Jon asked her with a grin.

“Afraid so,” she nodded.

“Oh good so you two have already met,” Ella said with a small smile, “Well I think the solution is very simple here… you should all go to lunch.”

Robb and Jon looked at each other which gave Sansa the opportunity to narrow her eyes at Ella. Ella’s only response was to stick her tongue out at her so Sansa decided payment in kind was the right course of action.

“Well then you’ll have to join us,” she said and tugged on Robb’s arm, “Won’t she Wolf?”

“Oh… you know,” Ella said, “I have to um…man the phones. I mean what would Theon do if he couldn’t get a hold of him?”

“Theon isn’t the only person who calls me!,” Robb protested.

He really shouldn’t have protested so hard, he was the youngest CEO in the country at one of the top companies. Even still, Ella Baratheon reduced him to a pile of mush and he couldn’t help flirting with her.

“You’re right but you’re Mom has your cell phone number,” Ella teased.

Jon chuckled and said, “You definitely have to come. Something tells me the two of you know how to keep Robb on his toes.”

“They bully me,” Robb nodded, and then grinned, “And I love it. I’ll grab my coat, Ellabell you are officially off duty.”

They all walked towards the elevator and even though Ella was off duty Robb still fell into step beside her as though he couldn’t help it.

They took the elevator down and found that the rain had thankfully stopped and they walked the short distance to a little bistro that was her favorite in the area.

“Stark party for 4,” Robb said to the maitre’d who swept them towards a table.

They all settled in and began looking at menus and chatting. It turned out that Jon’s assistant Gilly was the girl Ella and her were having drinks with tomorrow and that Jon and Robb were heading out with her fiance Sam so it only served to reason that they would all meet up at some point.

Robb and Ella were chatting happily, seated next to each other while she and Jon did the same. It was all very neat and tidy.

A little too neat and tidy, she realised.

“Wait a minute,” she said, interrupting everyone. “If Robb double booked us by accident…how did you already have a reservation for four?”

Robb colored and Ella bit her lip trying not to grin. She looked over at Jon to see if he was in on this too but he looked just as confused, though not exactly displeased she was happy to find.

“Well,” Robb started and then looked at Ella. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head like she was not going to help him out of this and he let out a deep breath and said, “We thought you should meet.”

“So that little ditty about him not putting it in his calendar was just - what?,” Jon asked Ella.

“My time in Vale University’s drama department put to good use,” she said primly.

“You were in that department for a semester,” she reminded her.

“Yeah well it was a short ditty,” Ella said stubbornly and Robb looked at her with an open-mouthed grin.

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the back of it. She looked up at him and her beautiful face turned transcendent with happiness as their eyes met.

“Wait a minute…,” Jon said, “You finally did it?”

Sansa looked in between her brother and her best friend and forgot all about their theatrics, “Really? Truly? How? When?”

“The short version is that Alys Karstark called to ask me out to dinner and Ella gave her two weeks notice in a fit of jealous rage,” Robb said with a grin.

“And the long version details the ways in which Robb interrupted date after date of mine with work emergencies for six straight months and didn’t bother to tell me that Alys Karstark was calling to invite him to dinner to meet her new girlfriend just so that I would get jealous and give my two weeks notice in… a very dignified manner,” Ella corrected.

“You called me an asshat!,” Robb said with a chuckle.

“Well if the ass fits,” Ella mumbled.

Robb grinned at her and threw his arm around her, pulling her towards him by the side of her face and pressing kisses to her cheek until she blushed.

“Is this what tomorrow night is going to be like?,” Jon asked with a grin.

“Probably,” Ella told him honestly.

“Count me in,” Sansa said happily, sipping her lemon water.

She’d been waiting ages for them to get together and she wasn’t going to let a little PDA get in the way of her absolute giddiness.

“You know you could have just introduced us then” Jon pointed out.

“Yeah but where’s the fun in that?,” Robb asked with a grin.

“Seriously, this is such a better story,” Ella nodded.

Sansa didn’t point out that it would only make a good story if Jon was interested in her.

“You can tell it at our wedding,” Jon said with a teasing grin just for her.

Maybe it was a good story after all.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #fanfiction #fluff #modern

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wolfqueen-is-here · 5 years ago

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I know it says “SEND ME” a fandom, but I’m bored out of my mind and I wanna talk GoT, so sue me.

The first character I ever fell in love with was probably Tyrion. I know, I know... but it was many years ago, I was young(er), and his first chapters were fun!

A character that I used to love/like but now do not: see above. Also virtually all of the show characters after season 6.

A ship that I used to love/like but now do not: I used to look forward to show!Jonerys before it became apparent that the actors had negative chemistry. Many years ago I briefly entertained the idea of Sandor or Tyrion being a sensible book endgame for Sansa, too. And Dany/Jorah, ugh. Why did I use to ship young girls with old creeps?! Geez.

My ultimate favourite character, if I absolutely had to pick one, would be... Sansa, I guess. Among all of my favourite characters she gets the most shit from fandom, so here I am, sticking up for her.

Prettiest character? Oof, tough one! Let’s start with the novels. The characters that my brain paints as the absolutely most gorgeous beings in the world (in no particular order): Cersei, Dany, Val, Arianne, Ashara, Loras, Robb. The prettiest ones on the show: Jon Snow (c’mon), Cersei, Ygritte, Missandei, Sansa, Cat, Oberyn, Dany (especially dark!Dany; the Targ imagery + her stern expression = hot). Obviously I’m not picking just ONE, don’t be ridiculous.

My most hated character: I don’t really hate anyone, but... oh, who am I kidding? It’s Tyrion. (Principally because he’s like the go-to favourite character to all the fanboys who mostly ignore all the red flags. And you know what? show!Tyrion I get, but book!Tyrion is The Worst.)

My OTP: haha, I hope it’s abundantly clear to anyone at this point that I’m terrible at picking ONE of anything really. book!OTPs: Ned/Cat, Jon/Val... aaand that’s basically it. I’m not that much of a shipper in ASoIaF books. show!OTPs: Jonsa (those damn actors and their stupid chemistry!), Jon/Ygritte, Ned/Cat, Jaime/Brienne, Jon/Tormund (wow, Jon is probably the most shippable character on the show), Sansa/Theon, Cersei/wine. My wild fandom favs/crackships/AUs etc.: Ned/Cersei, Sansa/Margaery, Sansa/Dany, Jon/Satin, Jaime/Cat, JonCon/Rhaegar, Arthur/Elia.

My NOTPs are the variations of the pattern being Young Girl/(Much) Older (And Often Abusive) Creep: Sansa/Tyrion, or Sandor, or Petyr, Dany/Jorah (especially book!Dany, because book!Jorah is The Worst Too, no wonder he and Tyrion find their way into each other’s lives), show!Jonerys, book!Jongritte, Rhaegar/Lyanna.

Favourite episode: majority of seasons 1&2. (Favourite book: the infamous Feast for Crows, because Cersei’s chapters are pure gold.)

Saddest death: I got pretty much immunised with Ned’s unexpected decapitation, and after that nothing shocked me anymore, even The Red Wedding. But before that... probably Lady. (On the show: Theon.)

Favourite season: see above.

Least favourite season: probably the one starting in 2015 and ending in 2019. Horrible. Embarrassing. A waste of time. (Books: ADwD.)

Character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but I hate: will it be boring if I say Tyrion? In the show that may also be true for Dany, especially since Emilia’s acting range could never fully encompass her character’s complexity, thus I always felt sort of... unattached to show!Dany, bordering on disliking her until Emilia’s acting skills met D&D’s writing skills, which is when I fully embraced this feeling. (Doesn’t apply to book!Dany, though.)

My ‘you’re piece of trash, but you’re still a fave’ fave: Cersei! And maybe Littlefinger? I hate his creepy arse, but I love untangling his schemes.

My ‘my beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave: MEERA FREAKING REED. I’M STILL SO EFFING ANGRY ABOUT THAT. Also Missandei. (In the books: Elia Martell!!!)

My ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but I still love it’ ship: I don’t know if I have one, to be honest. I know that some would consider Jonsa that ship, but in my book if you’re not abusive to one another, you’re not a nasty ship, even if you’re half-siblings turned cousins. Slightly icky, maybe, but not nasty.

My ‘they’re kind of cute, and I lowkey ship them, but i’m not too invested’ ship’: Most of the book ships. Sam/Gilly. Arya/Gendry. Robb/Margaery.

Well that was fun. Thanks for suggesting GoT, me. :D

send me a fandom and i’ll tell you…

the first character i ever fell in love with:

a character that i used to love/like, but now do not:

a ship that i used to love/like, but now do not:

my ultimate favorite character™:

prettiest character:

my most hated character:

my OTP:

my NOTP:

favorite episode:

saddest death:

favorite season:

least favorite season:

character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but i hate:

my ‘you’re piece of trash, but you’re still a fave’ fave:

my ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave:

my ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but i still love it’ ship:

my ‘they’re kind of cute, and i lowkey ship them, but i’m not too invested’ ship’:

#got #got q&a #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #got characters #got otps #got notps

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hazelgfan · 7 years ago

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Why I ship Jonsa - Reason #2

This is part of a series of my three top reasons why I believe Jonsa will be endgame (even after season 7). If you like, you can read the first reason here.

Reason #2: The Outline

Ah, the infamous outline.

I not sure whether I am actually glad that it was published or not. This fascinating little piece of meta-text – of George R.R. Martin talking about his own book and plot and characters back in 1993 – is just as enlightening as it is deceiving. However, try as I want, I could not dismiss it as a beguiling piece of information and the more I thought on it, the more it became one of my Jonsa reasons.

Now, to be clear, I do not take anything written in the outline as gospel. I can read the outline and see it as what it is: A plan that George R.R. Martin wrote down 20+ years ago – and plans change all the time, especially in writing.

This is true for George’s plan – as detailed in the outline – as well. He changed a lot of things; yet the major plot points still hold true. Without going into too much detail (actually I now want to make a meta based solely on the outline but I will resist the urge for now), these major plot points are:

The conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters (to be detailed in the first book of the then-planned trilogy A Game of Thrones)

The conflict between the Westerosi and Daenerys Targaryen and her Dothraki force (to be detailed in the second book A Dance with Dragons)

The conflict with the Others (to be detailed in the last book of the trilogy The Winds of Winter)

All of these plot points still hold true – the details, however, are muddled. The outline has no Cersei, Jaime is the clear villain here. Tyrion joins the Starks, not Daenerys. Catelyn dies at the hands of the Others, not at the Red Wedding. Arya visits the wall and (apparently) has no Braavos arc and instead finds herself north of the wall with Bran. Meera and Jojen Reed do not exist – Bran’s “travelling companions” north of the wall are Catelyn and Arya, instead. Daenerys kills Khal Drogo out of revenge – she doesn’t fall in love with him and so on and so on.

So, George did change a lot. What he didn’t change are the major conflicts and I bet he won’t change the endgames for each of the major conflicts.

While I researched this, I found George R.R. Martins comments on the “publication” of the outline. Apparently, he said something about it at Balticon 50. There is no transcript of the interview or an audio (that I could find). However, some of the people, who were there, wrote down what George said about the outline and I have no reason believing that it is not true. According to these people, George was really “pissed” that the outline was published, he said that he doesn’t do outlines and figures things out as he goes, that he was “making shit up” for this outline and that "characters changed along the way".

I believe that there are two sides to this story: Yes, George changed his books along the way, he finds out new things while writing, so the outline is “outdated” so to speak; on the other hand, George knows where the story will end, he knows major plot points and these have not changed (see the three conflicts I talked about above).

I take George at his word. The outline essentially shows the plot for the first book A Game of Thrones – and the published book has turned out very differently from the outline (Thank God!). The point I’m trying to make, however, and here we finally come into my reasoning for why this outline makes me believe in Jonsa, is, that George had an endgame romance in mind for Jon – and it was not with Daenerys Targaryen.

Now, this outline was written in 1993 – George came up with his first idea for A Song of Ice and Fire in 1991. He had sat down and written the first chapter (in which the Starks find the direwolves) in a couple days. By the time he wrote the outline, he had had two to three years of the story mulling in his head. If, during all this time he didn’t see Jon ending up with Daenerys, he very likely didn’t change his mind afterwards. He writes in this outline that the final book of the trilogy will “draw together characters and plot threads left from the first two books and resolve them all in one huge climax”. George knew that Daenerys and Jon would meet in the final books and yet he didn’t see a romance for them.

What he envisioned instead, however, is Jon falling in love with his half-sister. At this point I’d be more worried that George will follow his original plan and have Arya and Jon fall in love instead of him actually having Daenerys and Jon get together.

I’m not though – because “characters changed along the way” and, I believe, Sansa and Arya are two characters who underwent heavy changes. Sansa was supposed to actually marry Joffrey willingly, turn totally against her family and have Joffrey’s baby! (Ugh). Yet, none of that happened. Arya was supposed to flee to Winterfell with her mother, be forced to again flee to the wall with Bran and her mother and go beyond the wall to fall into the hands of Mance Ryder – yet none of that happened. Instead, Sansa and Arya both got story arcs that in Sansa’s case puts her in close proximity to a lot of key characters (Tyrion, Cersei, Petyr) and in Arya’s case highlights her journey on becoming a skilled and cunning warrior and assassin.

Also, looking at the chapter breakdown, it shows that Sansa is now just as important as Bran. In fact, the chapter breakdown highlights three tiers of main characters with Jon and Tyrion having the most chapters (42 and 47 respectively), followed by Arya and Daenerys “in the middle” (with 33 and 31 chapters respectively) and Bran and Sansa at the end of that spectrum (with 21 and 24 chapters respectively). The other POV chapters (not counting Ned and Catelyn) are split between 6 “secondary” (for lack of a better word) characters: namely Jaime (16), Theon and Davos (both 13) as well as Cersei (12), Sam (10) and Brienne (8). I’m not counting the other POV chapters of more minor characters like Arianne Martell here, but I hope you get my point: that Sansa is now just as much a main character as – at least – Bran.

Now what does this mean for Jonsa? Sansa’s and Arya’s roles seem to have changed more than others (with the exception of Jaime who was set up to be Cersei – again I’m so glad this didn’t happen). It is not a big leap to think that one sister may take up the role that Arya was supposed to have (falling in love with Jon and have them be “tormented” by their feelings until Jon’s parentage is revealed in the last book – I wish we knew how Daenerys is supposed to handle that revelation!). It is a bigger stretch to imagine Jon falling in love with Daenerys instead if George didn’t see that happening between two of his main characters after almost three years of story planning. I have never written such an epic story but I do write and I feel that if you don’t see two of your main characters falling in love (Jon and Daenerys) you likely won’t change your mind about it. If, on the other hand, you have a character who grows from minor character to major character (Sansa), you might see something there that you didn’t before. Especially, if the original character you had Jon fall in love with (Arya) undergoes significant changes and never makes it to Winterfell or the wall.

Talking and writing about the outline is tricky business. I take the books and the actual written word any day over an outline written many years ago. My reasoning here is not infallible, but I do stand 100% behind it. What do you guys think?

#ASOIAF Meta #Jonsa Meta #Jonsa #ASOIAF Outline #ASOIAF #Game of Thrones #Shipping

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the-lady-firefly · 8 years ago

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JonSa FanFic: Hearts in Vain Epilogue

Done! Whew!!!

I still can't believe it got completed while I am at Uni! But I had to- for the super nice people of the JonSa fandom - always enquiring about whether I meant to complete HIV or just asking about my day and life. Thanks, people. You guys know who you are, but even in general, this fandom has the nicest bunch of people I have met in the virtual world (methinks, it has something to do with the hate our ship and we all get ;) ).

Anyways, thank you thank you thank you so much for reading, liking, commenting on my crappy, typo-filled story. Not trying to be modest, but I have read basically everything in this fandom, so I know this was way below sub par according to JonSa fandom standards. But well, I always did it for fun and to show my love for JonSa and appreciation for the way Kit and Sophie make Jon and Sansa look on screen. So all in all, I'm good with it all.

I wish we all have more, better, smuttier, angstier, fluffier (and ok, some day canon) JonSa stories (and hopefully new visuals) always in our future. Happy shipping and reading :) <3

Epilogue

Jon got inside the heavy oak doors of Winterfell and immediately called out, “I’m back, sweet girl!”

He shouldered the heavy doors shut behind him and dropped his keys on the crystal bowl over the formidable antique dresser with direwolves carved onto it. On his way to the spacious kitchen, he peeked into the big family room, but all he found were more direwolves crafted-furniture and no wife.

Jon hurriedly entered the similarly empty kitchen and let the heavy bags of groceries down on the island while he called again, guiding his shouts in the direction of the staircase leading upto the second floor of their home, “San? Babe? Where you at?”

More silence met him and suddenly a fear plaguing Jon more and more frequently in the last 6 months gripped him again and dropping the lemons he had been about to put in the fruit basket, Jon started running towards the staircase as he shouted loudly, “Sansaaa! Sweet-”

“Don’t come in! Don’t come in! Don’t come in!” Sansa sounded panicked, but otherwise unharmed and Jon’s pace immediately slowed to a much-relaxed stroll as his face broke into a full-on grin that ended in a chuckle.

“Why? Is one of your lovers still here- sprawled naked on our bed?” Jon’s voice was injected with seriousness.

“Oh, no! No, no! The postman had come as soon as you left and he delivered the bills and two hefty doses of orgasms, bless his sexy ass. No, no, he left. It’s my fat ass that is hanging in the air like two giant pumpkins that have me barring your entrance to our bedroom right now, because one look at it and you’d never look at me the same!” Jon smirked at the flippancy in her voice. Sansa was so much better at this banter thingy than he was! Of course, out of the two of them, he was the one who was slightly more prone to jealousy and that affected his flippancy sometimes.

Jon leaned on their closed bedroom door and whispered, “San? Come on, let me in? Let me see what’s wrong?” There was a brief silence and then rustle of clothing and then the door opened to show him the silk robe-clad figure of his almost 9 months’ pregnant gorgeous wife. Her face was pinched and her hair looked impossibly tangled and messy, but she still took his breath way with the way she glowed and the plumpness of her lips and her breasts and the ass she was badmouthing moments ago.

Jon followed her into the room slowly, taking his time to admire the sashay of said voluminous behind in the silk robe. As Sansa turned sideways to examine herself from the side on the full body mirror on one corner of their bedroom, Jon quickly scanned the area and assessed the situation. Scattered maternity clothes all around the room could only mean one thing; Sansa had finally gone through the last of her maternity attire as even they wouldn’t fit anymore and now was freaking out over it.

Jon knew it was not Sansa’s vanity either. The last time she was pregnant, she had been barely 17 and according to her, she had hardly shown even during the later periods of her pregnancy. She had been a slight girl to begin with and her pregnancy with Alyssa hadn’t exactly been a booming one. But with their second one, she was bigger than ever with none less than twins in her belly and seemed to be growing by the minute… and also her balance was shot. She had half-slipped a few weeks ago in the shower and had been put on bed rest since then and Jon knew, Sansa was having difficulty dealing with such deviation from her expectations.

“I’m sure something’s wrong, Jon, I’m telling you! I still have a few weeks to go and I’m as big as this house, I have a permanent bedhead, I have the body-balance of a drunk hippopotamus and my spine is killing me. I’m telling you it’s not supposed to be like this and don’t you listen to Dr. Luwin! I was sick when I was with Lyssie too, yet that was such a magical time! And this- Ugh!”

While she had been going on, Jon silently picked up the strewn garments off their bed and off the floor and put them on the plush armchair by the window to put away later. Then he gently took Sansa’s hand and put more effort than he’d like to disclose to tug her towards the edge of their bed. Once there, Sansa sat down by herself and Jon knew her ankles must be aching too. He grabbed his laptop from the bedside table.

“Would you like to watch our wedding video again, Sweetling, while I give you a backrub? That always makes you feel better, right? Should I play it?” Sansa looked up at him with a sour face and stony eyes, but then after a few moments of kicking him with her eyes, she whimpered an ‘Ok’ and slumped her shoulders.

Jon quickly played the video, kept the laptop propped in front of her and sitting behind her started his massage on her lower back where he knew she ached the most. By the time the video got to their vows, her head was resting back against his shoulder. Jon heard himself nervously stuttering through his vows on the beach in front of Daenerys’s house in Lys where he had first kissed Sansa after a separation of almost 10 years.

“…this day for me is just to celebrate with my friends and family and our daughter what had always been in my heart. Sansa Stark, I love you and I always will. You have my heart… now more so than ever before. You are my home. And you’ve already given me the most precious gift of my life, our daughter, and so now it’s my turn to give…”

Suddenly he felt Sansa’s lips running along the underside of his jaw and then she whispered, “You deserve to be adored, Jon Snow. You know that? Do I do that?” Jon didn’t answer and just lowered his lips to capture hers in a languorous, searching kiss. When he let her lips go to kiss her cheek, Sansa looked back at the video and gave out a laugh, “Thanks for wearing your bun that day and letting me shine! If you’ve had your gorgeous curls whipping about in the wind from the sea… no one would even care whether there was a wedding or not, let alone about the bride! People would just eat the cake and stare at you!!”

Jon was now pressing warm kisses to the side of her neck and hummed against it, “Mmmm, I beg to differ. I would’ve cared very much whether the wedding happened or not. And, not everyone finds my curls as fascinating as you do, sweetling.” Sansa just laughed and tilted her head to give him better access to her neck.

That had been a perfect day on the island 5 years ago, Sansa thought back as her back pains reduced to a tolerable level. Jon and she had taken things with themselves slow so as not to freak or confuse Alyssa about what it all meant for her. They shouldn’t have worried, as Alyssa sometimes seemed to have more sense than both of her parents. Even then Sansa had been glad they had taken the time when she had seen Alyssa gradually fall into the role of a doted-on-daughter with Jon.

Sansa smiled as she remembered how excited Alyssa had been about their wedding, insisting there had to be a party. She had never been to a wedding party in her life up until she went to her parents’. That was the last time Sansa had been able to make her daughter wear a frock made out of tulle! Everything had been perfect that day. Sansa smiled as she heard Jon humming along against her cheek with the song coming from the laptop… the song he had sung for her with his guitar when the party had started to mellow out and the sun had begun setting.

You've been on my mind… I grow fonder every day Lose myself in time… Just thinking of your face God only knows why it's taken me… So long to let my doubts go You're the only one that I want

I don't know why I'm scared… I've been here before Every feeling, every word… I've imagined it all You'll never know if you never try… To forget your past and simply be mine

Suddenly Jon pressed at a particularly tender part of her lower back and Sansa moaned aloud, “Mmmm, Jon you should be a professional masseuse or something!” Jon chuckled against her tangled hair, “Yeah, well, last week it was, ‘Jon you should be a chef’, before that ‘Jon you should be a singer’ and if I remember correctly, the day the girls threw you a baby shower, it was ‘Jon you should be a gigolo’! Lady, I think you’re getting a whole lot of world class services from me free-of-charge!”

Sansa giggled happily in his arms and Jon’s world danced, “Well, I pay you in kind!” Grabbing his hands in her, she pressed kisses on his palms. Jon grinned, “Mmmmm, in kind it is, wife! And I can’t say I complain! Not one bit!” He chased Sansa’s wet giggles with his smirking lips.

Sansa would’ve liked to make out a bit more as anything else was practically impossible in her current state, but Jon suddenly glanced at his wristwatch and leapt up off the bed. “Sansa, your lunch!”

Sansa sighed as she let Jon pull her up to her feet so they could both descened the shallow steps to the downstairs of their home. Sansa knew she hadn’t been much help even though this wasn’t her first pregnancy. It was just that she didn’t remember that much details about her time while carrying Alyssa. Jon had asked her all excited in the beginning what were in her diet during her Alyssa so that they could make sure to get those things for Sansa again. Her sheepish answer had been she just remembered throwing up all the time and sniffing on lemons all day. After a while, Jon had given up looking to her for directions and started going through baby books with a vengeance. One day he actually commented that they had been damn lucky and just hit the jackpot with Alyssa, but they’d have to be extra careful with the twins, otherwise Alyssa would end up being the all-time most sensible person in their family.

Sansa had just looked at her gorgeous husband with a mock sardonic stare and appreciated what a beautiful world that man had created for her and their daughter when he had finally been granted the chance to do so.

Jon and Sansa had both denied Daenerys’s persistent offers to send them to some romantic corner of the world to have a honeymoon while Alyssa was left behind. They had both been of the same opinion, their wedding hadn’t been the start of a marriage, it had been the start of a family… a proper start. And that meant none of them were leaving anyone behind anytime soon.

But they were newlyweds and Sansa remembered those months immediately after their wedding in the little cottage by the sea with bittersweet amusements. They had both been aware that they shared the house with their pretty perceptive daughter and it had been so important to both of them that the relationship between Jon and Alyssa got off to a great start.

In the end, they had been so paranoid about it, they ended up suppressing their desires when Alyssa was home. But when she was at school, it was game on for them. Each morning, Sansa would run back from helping with the Wilde boys’ breakfasts and Jon would rush back from dropping Alyssa off at school and they wouldn’t even talk to each other. Jon would start unbuttoning his shirt as he got off of his jeep and Sansa would start taking off her shoes and her shorts as she hurriedly climbed the steps to the cottage. They would tear at each other’s clothes, make a whole lot of noise just because they could and then make fast and slow and all the kinds in-between love to each other until Jon had to go pick Alyssa up from school.

One such day, when Sansa had been lying on her stomach, trying to catch her breath, Jon had entangled her left hand with his own over her head and whispered in her ear, “Sansa, let’s go back home?” She hadn’t asked what he meant by home, neither had she questioned what had brought in on. She knew the answers to those questions herself. She had only been a bit scared of uprooting the newfound secure foothold she had found for her family, but then she had remembered she would never have to do it all alone again. She had squeezed Jon’s hand and he had squeezed back, kissing between her shoulder blades. They had moved back to Wintertown at the end of June that year.

Alyssa and Daenerys had been most upset about the move, the latter refusing to speak to Jon or Sansa for weeks afterwards.

Alyssa however changed her mind when people started recognizing her in the superstore or in the schoolyard. Apparently to some she looked like her grandmother Lyanna, to some she resembled her grandfather Ned and even some she reminded of her baby aunt Arya. Everyone knew her and everyone loved her, wanted to protect her. Some were either one of her grandfathers’ colleagues; some were her mom, dad or uncle Robb’s childhood friends. She had never been embraced by a whole community like that before and while she acted annoyed, Sansa knew her daughter enough to know how much she appreciated this feeling of belonging to something bigger than herself or her family.

And then Alyssa had made friends with Eddie. Edrick Baratheon, son of Gendry Baratheon and grandson of Robert Baratheon who had been best friends with Sansa’s dad. From then on, Sansa hadn’t needed to worry about Alyssa adjusting in Wintertown.

Sansa had tried hard to find all of the people that had been part of her childhood and her household back at Winterfell. She found Nan in an old rickety cottage at the outskirts of town. She had been the Stark children’s young governess. Now she wasn’t young anymore and when Jon consented Sansa asked Nan if she’d like to come live with them. When Nan had lamented she was useless and wouldonly bother Sansa, Sansa had told Nan to tell her scariest stories to Sansa’s daughter, she had joked ‘because that girl is afraid of nothing and needs some fear of the Gods to be put into her! And I don’t know who can do it better than you, Nan?’ Nan hadn’t refused after that and she had taken her duties too seriously; Alyssa ran to her mother or father each time Old Nan, as she called the lady, told her it was story time.

And then Jon went and did it. He put his head together with Alyssa, with Sam and his computers, found out about the Child Psychology course at the Wintertown University, somehow pieced together enough credentials on Sansa’s behalf and surprised Sansa on their first anniversary with her acceptance letter to the program.

Sansa had at first laughed at the idea, then outright rejected it, until both her daughter and husband had reminded her how good she had always been with children and how she had been saying lately she wanted to help women and children who suffered from domestic abuse.

Sansa had known they were right of course, the last three times Jon had to fly to Meereen to smooth over some issues with the security branch of their organization, he had taken Alyssa and her with him. There Sansa had seen how much work Jon, Daenerys, Tyrion, Missandei- they all put into that combined mission, that goal of theirs. And Jon had of course seen her longing for such a goal in life. Therefore, after some persuasion by both him and their daughter, she had given in. The next four years had been hard on all of them due to the extreme stress and pressure on Sansa, but they had all managed with varying degrees of grace and love.

Around that time, they had received news that Daeny was moving back to Meereen and surprise of surprises, moving in with Dario. To Sansa, Jon seemed happier about the fact that it left Missandei free to move in with Grey.

Sansa had inherited Winterfell after she completed her first year back to school. Both she and Jon had been overjoyed when they had stepped inside the house; even the empty dusty corridors were like treasure troves of memories. Jon had proposed the idea of him remodeling and refurbishing the house, so they could make a home there, like her parents had. Sansa had cried with joy.

Jon had spent a fortune that Daeny later assured Sansa he could afford to on rebuilding and refurbishing Winterfell. He also took the reins up at the home front so Sansa could concentrate on her studies. He had gleefully hijacked all the responsibilities of Alyssa, refusing to share any of them with Sansa, as if he was a single parent… like Sansa had been before. And then when Sansa would cry at night sometimes due to the stress of her studies and lament not being a good wife or mother, he’d just kiss her and tell her, “Hey, you had done it all alone for 10 years. I have you! Besides, we love Ally and we’ll die for her. That’s the best anyone can do. Don’t worry about anything else!”

He had created this beautiful, loving world for Sansa and Alyssa in this home where Sansa was supposed to grow up, but didn’t. He had turned his own parent’s home into a studio where he taught self-defense classes to adults and children separately for a minimum fee. He took Alyssa for her fencing and jujitsu classes and then cooked for them.

Sansa had worried about him though. He had some old school friends in Wintertown and he made new ones at his studio, he might have felt alone at Wintertown without his extended family… until Sam had moved up here.

Jon had been beyond excited and looked for weeks for a suitable house for them and then had finally found one on their street that would be vacant at the end of the school year. Sam and Gilly moving in in a house on their street had been good news for Sansa too as she missed her island friends too.

She had been so happy… until Ygritte had moved into Wintertown too.

Jon’s friend Tormund had been the only one from the North that had been at their small private wedding. Who’d have known sparks had flown so bright that Tormund had clandestinely flown to Lys every few months? After a year of this, he had proposed and Ygritte had moved into Sansa’s hometown. Jon and Sansa had obviously attended Ygritte and Tormund’s courthouse wedding, with Sansa somehow ending up with babysitter duties for the night and then for their entire honeymoon.

That huge fight Sansa had promised Jon about his ‘slew of tramps’ had taken place the day Ygritte had arrived at Wintertown and hugged Jon as if she’d never let him go. Jon had tried his best to stay silent while Sansa had raged and then try to make her understand, but in the end, he had ended up on the living room couch. That had been the first and last night though. The next morning, a bloodshot-eyed Sansa had thrown his pillow at his face while sobbingly swearing if Jon ever slept on the couch again instead of his place in their bed without resolving their fights first, Sansa would never let him touch her again. Before she had gotten further than that, Jon had taken her in his arms and had turned her sobs into moans.

Last year when Sansa had graduated, Jon had jumped up and down on his feet with pride along with Alyssa and he had whistled loudly while clapping. He had told her numerous times since how proud he was of Sansa helping kids from broken and abusive families with her therapies and Sansa had replied each time that she couldn’t have done it if she didn’t have Jon’s loving arms to make her forget the horrors of the day from the stories she heard from patients.

He even turned the west-most room in the house, which was her father’s study, an office room for her and Sansa started delivering her counseling and therapy services from that room only. Four months into the practice, her inflow of patients increased due to good word of mouth, and she found out she was carrying twins.

Yes, they had made a good life here, Sansa thought, as Jon put their lunches on the table in front of her and then proceeded to tempt Sansa to eat by holding a spoonful to her lips. That’s when they heard the front door close and the unmistakable sound of a schoolbag being dropped on the floor.

~~~

Eddie always loved coming to Winterfell. He loved this house and the people who lived in it, some a bit more than others.

He had been 11 when Alyssa Snow had come and started going to his school at his class. Class bully Mikey had found out she was a year younger than all of them and at lunch hour went to snatch her succulent looking Turkey sub. Eddie had never been brave, but that day he had stood in front Mikey and told him to leave the girl be.

Mikey had punched Eddie’s nose so hard it had bled and Alyssa had punched Mikey to the floor and then glared at him till he burst into tears.

Eddie and Alyssa had been best friends ever since.

Eddie also liked Mr. and Mrs. Snow. As far as he knew, they were the coolest parents ever. That first day, Eddie had gotten off the bus with Alyssa so that he could tell her parents the note from the principal was his fault. Alyssa hadn’t seemed all that bothered and later Eddie had realized why. Her mother had sternly asked her to choose her own punishment as she believed Alyssa fully knew where and why she was wrong. Her father had asked her to show him how she had clenched her fist while punching and when she had, he had nodded his head in approval.

Frankly, Eddie had decided right then and there he had to, had to befriend Alyssa. Later he had found out how truly lovely Alyssa also was.

Now Eddie watched Alyssa joke around with her dad as he fixed lunch for both Alyssa and Eddie. Ever since Eddie had known her, she had been a Daddy’s girl, but not in a girly way. They did all the things that fathers and sons do together. Eddie knew for a fact that many a Dads in Wintertown would trade their sons for Alyssa in a heartbeat.

And Alyssa and her father doted on Mrs. Snow. They were both very protective of her, Eddie had found out. Once Mr. and Mrs. Snow had been kissing amongst the audiences at a recital and one of the guys, a few years their senior, had made a very rude comment about Mrs. Snow’s appearance and why he believed not only Mr. Snow but every dad there only had eyes for Mrs. Snow. Alyssa had sprinkled itching powder on his backpack next day at school and then spilled her whole lunch tray on his lap during lunch hour while claiming defiantly she had slipped.

Although Mr. and Mrs. Snow did do that an awful lot if Eddie was being honest. Kissing that is. If Mrs. Snow wasn’t busy with her studies, she’d always be snuggled next to Mr. Snow and he’d be kissing some or the other part of her. Eddie had seen his parents, and uncles and aunties and neighbors. The Snows were a bit too much about it all really. Especially considering they had a child of Alyssa’s age. With a daughter that age, they had no business behaving like newlyweds, much less become pregnant with twins, that’s what Eddie’s mum said.

Eddie looked at them now. Mrs. Snow didn’t like tomatoes anymore because the babies seemed to hate them, but she insisted salads tasted bland to her without tomato juices mingled in. So Mr. Snow had made the salad with tomatoes and now he was patiently picking and eating every single bit from Mrs. Snow’s plate while they were all having their lunches. And then just when he was about to get up for something, Mrs. Snow transferred the ice cubes from her lemonade to his glass and he immediately sat down, kissing her for longer than was appropriate in present company, and then noticed Eddie gawking and embarrassedly stuttered something to him about ‘she always knows just what I need’. Alyssa didn’t even bat an eyelash all through this and continued looking through her dad’s iPad.

Eddie shook his head and vowed he would never act like a ‘crazy fool for a woman’ as his mum said Mr. Snow behaved. Suddenly he noticed Alyssa pushing her barely-eaten plate away and he knew she hadn’t enjoyed her lunch much. She was mighty picky with her food sometimes. As Alyssa eagerly reached for the scrumptious looking plate of salted caramel pudding Eddie had been salivating about since Mr. Snow had placed their respective slices before each of them, he surreptitiously pushed his own slice of pudding towards her and whispered persuasively, “Have mine too please. Hate pudding during the day.”

~~~

Jon had been working with Alyssa and Eddie in his crafts studio on the twins’ cribs when Sansa screamed for them to inform that her water had broken. Alyssa and Jon had run to her while Eddie had run down the street to grab Sam to drive the car to the hospital. All the way to the hospital, Jon felt as if he was going to die.

Sansa only had her first contraction in the car. Even as she tried to fight it as Alyssa was in the car too, her excruciating expression made both Alyssa and Jon cling to her when the contraction subsided. Sansa just kept kissing Alyssa with a scared expression on her face and kept whimpering to Jon, “It’s too early, Jon… I still had ten days to go. Too early…”

Jon thought the babies would never come out; the labor was three hours long. To him it seemed like Sansa had been in agony for an eternity. He rubbed her back, practiced breathing with her, fed her ice chips and marveled in his mind how on earth had she done it alone the last time. Each time the thought came to his mind, he just kissed her sweat-covered cheeks or temple or head, until Sansa shoved him away hard.

When finally the doctors put his squirming, red son in his arms Jon felt like he would faint. The nurse gave him a scissor to cut the umbilical cord which instantly fell away from his nerveless fingers. He pressed his arm tighter to his body, in serious terror the teensy bundle would just slip out of his arm. Sansa beckoned him to her and he walked towards her in a daze. He saw Sansa beaming at the bloody mess in his arms that added wailing to his squirming and Sansa started buckling in pain again. Jon held her hand in his free hand hurriedly as she brought their second daughter in the world. The doctor put the second bloody mess in his arms and cut the cord himself this time, clearly deciding Jon was useless.

Jon looked down at the feebly crying squiggly beings in his arms and tears started flowing out of his eyes. Granted, he was already a dad; but he had never been dad to one of these tiny little creatures. He had always been father to a walking, talking, fiercely independent, no-nonsense human being. These vulnerable, teensiest, delicate little persons generated such a violent urge to protect in him that Jon’s head reeled. His world tilted around him. He felt as huge as a giant and as tiny as an ant all at the same time.

Sansa saw Jon crying with the babes in his arms and that was the most precious thing she had ever seen in her life. She beckoned a nurse towards her who was not assisting the doctor in stitching her up and whispered feebly through the unbelievable pain, “Grab one of the phones from the chair there. Will you get a picture of the three of them for me? Now! Before you take them for clean up.”

Sansa felt each tug and poke of the stitching and felt herself losing consciousness, but she kept her eyes on Jon and her babies. She had wanted to see this so much all those years ago. Today she’ll look her fill… She just wished Lyssie was in the frame too.

Jon watched Sansa’s eyes close as he saw her lips weakly mumble, “Lyssie… I want Lyssie.” A couple of nurses came to take the babies away from him and Jon hurried to Sansa’s side to press kisses to her forehead and cheeks.

~~~

Sansa woke up suddenly and she could tell just by looking around it was the middle of the night. It had been hours since the twins came to the world. She had already fed them each thrice already and each time she had noticed something new about her babies that had brought tears to her eyes.

Her boy had fine wisp of dark curls all over his head and muddy blue eyes that she suspected would turn darker and bluish-gray with time. He was a calm little thing, spooked by the littlest of noises and a plump pout to match his dad’s. Her girl had a fine patch of reddish-gold hair just on top her head, light-almost-white eyes, chubby pink cheeks and long fingers, which she had already used to scratch her mother’s chest while fussing during her feed. She was a fussy little thing too, frequently relinquishing her suckling of Sansa’s nipples and then instantly crying to complain about her hunger.

Jon had been most perplexed trying to think of how to help his daughter while also attempting to put his son to sleep in his arms. Once when they had started crying at once, the nurse had suggested Sansa feed them together. Jon had helped her and held their son onto Sansa’s free nipple and after a while when they had all gotten the hang of it, Sansa and Jon had looked up at each other. Sansa’s eyes had watered promptly as that moment had been all she had wanted from life all along and Jon had leaned in to kiss her forehead and then keep his lips there till their youngest daughter had let out a cranky wail at the invasion of her private space.

Sansa had fallen in and out of sleep between the feeds. In the meantime, Jon had changed diapers a few times after the nurses let him at his insistence and had introduced Alyssa to the twins outside the nursery.

Now as Sansa woke up, she slowly looked around the room to see Jon tucking an afghan securely around Alyssa who was sleeping on the only sofa in the cabin. Sansa’s voice croaked as she spoke, “Put the chair by the sofa. Otherwise you know her… she’ll roll right off onto the floor.”

Jon’s head sharply turned towards her before he nodded and did as he was told. Then he came towards her and gently brushed a hand over her hair, “Sorry I woke you up. Go back to sleep. There’s still plenty of time till the next feed.” Sansa held her lower body firmly fixed as she scooted a bit on the bed and tilted her head, “Lie with me?” Jon hesitated a bit and then shook his head as his hand caressed her cheek. Sansa insisted, “Jon! You need the rest too. Come on, I am not bleeding and the ache is totally dull now. I will be fine. Just be careful about your legs.” She tugged Jon by the hand for leverage and he reluctantly gave in.

Jon carefully lowered himself on the small bed and Sansa wrapped her right arm around his shoulder and guided his head to her own shoulder. Jon gingerly let her and after several silent moments, she felt him relax and press a warm kiss to her neck, “They’re are so beautiful, San! So beautiful! I can’t believe- Thank you, sweet girl.”

“I suppose I am wayyyy down your ‘sweet girl’ list now that I have more contenders for your affections!” Sansa teased him as she lightly began pulling at his curls in the clutches of her right hand. That always relaxed Jon and put him to sleep right away. She felt him chuckle and gently rub his lips on her shoulder before saying against it, “It all started with you, sweet girl and I love them more than dear life, but I start at you and I end at you.”

Sansa remained quiet and let Jon’s words bask her in their glow for a few moments before she asked him with a smile, “So, what is her name?” They had decided at some point after finding out that they were having a boy and a girl that Jon would be naming their girl and Sansa their boy. But they had decided to disclose the names to each other after the birth as both had agreed they could only lock on a name after actually seeing the persons they were naming. Now seemed like the perfect time to name them, because Sansa had decided on what to call her fussy, bossy, scratchy, precious daughter.

Jon remained silent for several moments although his hand gently feathered over Sansa’s forearm and then he pulled himself up and balanced himself with his elbow beside Sansa’s head and looked closely at her face to look for her reaction as he told her the name. “Cedric. It’s Northern and it means kind and loved.” “Like you!” Sansa pressed a hurried kiss to his lips and when she pulled back Jon was smiling. “We could call him Ced… Like people used to call your dad Ned? And I was thinking Eddard for his middle name.”

Sansa’s face crumpled instantly and she cried her first few tears since the whole birthing process had been over. Jon kissed her red, burning nose. “Come on now, no crying. What is our little girl’s name?” Sansa gulped down her tears with difficulty and said in a choked voice, “Kiyara. Kiyara Lyanna Snow.” She felt Jon’s lips freeze over her nose before he brought them down to her lips in a gentle, profound kiss.

After the kiss broke, Jon wiped his damp eyes on Sansa’s hospital gown, pressed a kissed to the top of her breast and laid his head down on her shoulder again as Sansa resumed her gentle hair pulling. Several minutes later, Jon mumbled as Sansa felt him slip away into the world of dreams, “Get some rest, sweet girl. Daeny, Missy and most of the troupe will land here tomorrow. As Daeny had frequently warned us, she might try to kidnap one or both of the twins. We’d both need our strengths.”

Sansa just hummed in reply as Jon fell off to sleep. She felt her husband’s body breathing close to hers. Looked over at Alyssa sleeping peacefully on the sofa. Thought of her babies in the nursery. And Sansa wondered for the umpteenth time how did she manage to finally end up here.

She almost sobbed as she thought about sixteen years old Sansa Stark for a second. That girl had walked through fire to be the woman Sansa Snow was today. All of them had really. Her Jon… Her Alyssa. They had all come so far… but the roads had been so difficult sometimes.

But Sansa knew the secret to sustain the infernos and the broken roads now. It’s what she always advised her patients about. Five years ago, she had almost taken another wrong turn when she had let the bitterness of the past convince her to close her heart up in vain. Restrain her heart from loving Jon and from letting him love her again.

And therein lied the secret.

Sansa now constantly, firmly reminded her patients to keep their hearts open for love no matter how great their tragedies had been. Because she knew, if she hadn’t had her daughter to always remind her what it felt like to love or be loved, she’d never have come out of those 10 years of hell as a sane person. If she had believed for a moment she was unable to love or unworthy of love, Sansa knew she’d have plunged into a darkness no one could’ve saved her from.

So now Sansa always reminded people to keep their heart open, to love and to be loved, no matter what they are going through. As long as people were capable of that, Sansa knew they could always find the light at the end of the tunnel. Like she did. Today there was so much light in her world, Sansa felt blinded by it.

And no one illuminated her world more brightly than the man sleeping in her arms. Jon Snow. Her first love. Her young love. The boy a young girl had given her whole heart to so long ago. In a delirious moment before sleep claimed her, a small smile lifted the corners of Sansa’s mouth as she congratulated those two lovesick kids in her past of their present achievements, “Way to go, kids. Well done!”

~~~

#hearts in vain #jonsa fic #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa #Jon x Sansa

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