Chapter Text
Sansa Stark was seated alone in the Great Hall of Winterfell, eyeing the cream colored parchment with a broken Stark seal that she had received moments ago. The air around her was cold and silent, save for her heavy breaths. She moved the parchment between her leather gloved fingers, nervous of what this letter means, what it will change. Sansa noticed she had been biting down hard on her bottom lip and she made a note to stop. This was the first letter she received from Jon in months, and she didn't know what to feel. Joy? Aggravation? Betrayal? It was probably a culmination of all three, yet she was so heated and overwhelmed by the contents of the letter that she couldn’t quite make sense of it.
Jon was coming home. He had written that they had landed a ship in White Harbor and would be arriving shortly. It was a sigh of relief, a weight lifted off Sansa’s shoulders. Yet the next part of the letter hit Sansa at her core. It was the one thing she asked him not to do, don’t be as stupid as Robb. Or Father. The one thing she thought she could trust that he would never do, that he even said he would never do. Yet he’s hand delivering our home to a Southron ruler. She couldn't believe he could be this stupid. Was the only thing to stop a man from keeping to his word and going against his beliefs a pretty face? Was it that simple? Was he that simple? Was he not their king? Was he just going to abandon everything their family had fought years for? For this Mother of Dragons?
Sansa crumpled the letter up in her hands. She hadn’t notified the Northern Lords of this and she wouldn't. She knew they would leave Jon, there was no doubt in her mind. They almost abandoned him just because he went south, bringing home a Southron Queen would surely be the final straw. Only just months before, they were declaring him their king. Now he was going to tell them to bend the knee to an outsider? A Southroner? Sansa knew now how much could change in a few months, how simple loyalties were to men. This was Jon’s mess, she wouldn't take the aggression of the Northern Lords for her brother’s stupidity.
The day Sansa was dreading had arrived. She was sitting in the Great Hall for breakfast when she heard a guards voice signaling that there were visitors at the southern gate. Only Arya, Bran, and herself knew about the Mother of Dragons accompanying their brother on his return. Sansa had told the Northern Lords to wait until this evening before coming to the Great Hall to greet their king so that she and her siblings could reunite with Jon in private.
Sansa’s stomach was in knots as she made her way towards the gate. She hated that he had to return this way, after all this time she didn't even want to see him, to deal with the harsh reality of what his arrival meant for her home. She was the last to arrive by the gate, her brother and sister looked back at her and must’ve noticed the distressed look on her face since their eyes were on her a little longer than they should have. The three of them exchanged looks in the dead silence, only the whistling of wind and crunching of the snow beneath her boots could be heard.
Sansa was subconsciously rubbing her hands together from either the cold or her nerves, she couldn't quite tell. There was another snow storm happening, which was much more frequent since winter had started. Sansa felt the snow biting at her cheeks as it came down. She stood next to her sister who focused her attention on the guards, waiting for the moment for them to start to open the gate. Sansa felt hurt by her sister’s reaction to what Jon had done. Only a month before Arya was accusing her of the exact same thing that Jon had done, yet she showed no distaste for her brother. If Sansa had gone South as the Lady of Winterfell and returned home with a Southron King to take back their country, Arya would have her head before she even entered the gates.
“It will work out, Sansa.” Bran said, pulling her out of her thoughts. She looked at her brother and he stared back at her with the same empty stare of a stranger that he had since he returned home, the stare of the ‘Three-eyed Raven’, not Bran. “They’ll come to remember there are bigger problems to face,” he added in the same monotonous tone.
Sansa let out a sigh, she could only hope the Northern Lords will stand with Jon’s decision, yet she didn't and she was his kin. The difference is she will still stand by his side, she couldn't say the same for the other Lords. Sansa made eye contact with Arya, her eyes still seemed wary of her sister. Even though they understand they're both on the same side, no longer pitted against each other by Littlefinger’s deceptions, Sansa couldn't help but think her sister still didn't completely trust her. Arya just gave her a slight nod, agreeing with Bran, and turned to look back at the gate. Her expression was too blank to read any indication of her thoughts. Sansa wondered if she seemed as strange and foreign to Arya as Arya was to her, even more so than when they were children. She knew that Arya was as excited to see Jon again, she couldn't hide that from her. Sansa could understand why Arya didn't seem to be as angry with Jon’s decisions as she was. She always had known him better, but they were two very different people now, living in a very different world.
The gates began to open and out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw her sister step forward as if she were about to sprint to Jon the second she saw him. Sansa let out a little smile at that, there’s still some of that old Arya left in her.
She saw Jon first, leading their group on horseback. He looked the same as the day he left, his hair pulled back like Father used to wear, and the cloak she made him still draped around his shoulders. He still looked as Northern as ever, and she was thankful for that, knowing what could happen to a Northerner in the South. But still there was something about him that had changed in Sansa’s eyes. Sansa didn't feel as happy as she thought she would be after seeing Jon for the first time in months. She felt his betrayal in her stomach the second she made eye contact with him. Sansa heard murmurs around her by the guards and she knew they were about the woman riding through the gates right by their King’s side.
She was completely captivating, and for a moment, Sansa almost understood her brother. She had hair like no one Sansa had seen before, Targaryen hair, long and bright silver, braided down her back. She was in a thick, white, fur-lined dress with scale detailing that represented her house and the infamous dragons that Sansa had yet to see. Daenerys almost blended in with the snow around her with her white hair, white dress, and white horse. For a woman who is said to have walked through fire, she looked like the embodiment of winter.
The second Jon dismounted from his horse, Arya ran to her brother like she was nine years old again and jumped in his arms. He lifted her off the ground and buried his face in her shoulder. Sansa heard Jon say “I’ve missed you, little sister,” into her hair but she couldn't make out what Arya had said back. Jon walked over to Bran next while he sat as still as ever, the first words uttered to his brother after years of separation were “I have much to tell you, Jon.” Sansa figured it was probably more about the Night King.
She turned her attention towards Daenerys again and the people she had brought to her home. There were thousands of Unsullied soldiers and Dothraki warriors at her back on thousands of horses. In the summer, they would be a fiercely tough opponent to battle. Yet now they looked like they were freezing half to death, covered in probably no more furs than they left home with. She could already foresee a great portion of them dying before they make it back to King’s Landing, or even before they get to the Wall. Jon said he needed Daenerys’ army to fight the dead if they wanted a chance of winning, but these warriors are in a much different world than they're used to.
“Sansa.”
She was pulled out of her thoughts by arms wrapping around her shoulders in a hug. It was Jon. Although she was cross with him, she hugged him back, squeezing her arms tightly around his waist. She rested her head on him and exhaled a sigh of relief deeply into his shoulder. It was a breath that she had been holding since the day he left her alone in Winterfell.
“I know,” he whispered back. They both pulled away and he cupped her cheek in his calloused hand and brushed his thumb across her cold skin. His eyes looked like they were asking for forgiveness, but Sansa wasn't going to have this conversation right now, in front of all these people especially.
She turned her head away from his hand and her eyes caught Arya’s again, who looked shocked. “That is probably the strangest thing to happen to this family,” Arya joked looking back and forth between Jon and Sansa until they cracked a smile.
Jon’s smile faded as he made eye contact with Sansa, “we all have a lot to catch up on later, I’m sure.”
“Wife,” Sansa heard an all too familiar voice from her past say.
Tyrion Lannister. She hadn't seen him arrive at the gates. He looked much more unkempt than she remembered. His dark blonde hair grown out shaggy, accompanied by a full, thick, dark beard. He would be barely recognizable if he didn't have his distinguishing height and scar that sliced diagonally across his face.
“That’s the Lady of Winterfell you're talking to, Lannister,” Arya bit at him, spitting out his surname as if it were a curse. Sansa could see Jon scolding Tyrion out of the corner of her eye as well. Regardless, Sansa had never seen Arya defend her in this way.
Sansa was silent but Tyrion spoke up anyway, “my apologies, my lady,” he announced to Arya. “Lady Stark and I just have quite the history you see.”
She heard Arya began to start up again but Sansa beat her to it. “Lord Tyrion,” she spoke, giving him a soft nod, “I see our years apart have treated you well.” She was as courteous as ever. She didn't particularly have any harsh feelings towards Tyrion Lannister, but he was serving the queen that could potentially ruin her house. Yet so was Jon.
Tyrion tilted his head downward a bit and let out a hushed laugh, “And you’ve risen high in the world,” he stated, “I’ve always believed you would.” He had always said kind things to her like that, recognized her strengths and intelligence.
“Daenerys,” Jon called out, breaking the short silence.
Sansa looked up from Tyrion and sure enough, only feet away, there she stood. Sansa briefly made eye contact with the Mother of Dragons before glancing at the party accompanying her. To her right was a darker skinned, woman with thick, curly black hair. Sansa could tell that she was shivering even under her thick furs. She took it that the woman was from Essos, never seeing a flake of snow in her lifetime. Yet neither had her Queen and she seemed to be fine, as if heated by her own warmth.
Tyrion stepped backwards for Daenerys to take his place in front of her family. The curly haired woman spoke up, “This is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, The First of Her Name, The,” she was cut off by her queen raising a hand signaling her to stop.
“Thank you, Missandei, but I think the Starks can go without my full title,” she said, giving Jon a short smile.
She truly was beautiful, Sansa thought. Very soft spoken, yet stern, Sansa could tell she would have the strong voice of an effective ruler when need be. Even with a small smile at her lips, the kindness in her violet eyes showed tenfold.
“Lady Stark,” Daenerys addressed her with a slight nod of the head and the same delicate smile playing on her lips.
Sansa wasn't sure of what to say. She knew she had to be a lady, but this woman was not her queen. Daenerys surely must have known that she would not be welcomed by the people of the North as their queen. “Your grace,” she decided on, bowing her head and giving a curtsy. “I hope your travels went smoothly,” she added, “I know that the winds of winter can be harsh.”
“That’s very kind of you, my lady,” she said. “Our journey was quite enjoyable.”
Sansa was just staring at the woman, headstrong.
Daenerys must have sense Sansa’s ill will towards her. “I know you are not thrilled with my being here, Lady Stark,” she announced, breaking the tension. “I can assure you, I only have good intentions,” she finished.
Sansa raised her chin up a little higher, looking down at the queen, “and I can assure you that my home will be yours for the time being.” Sansa had to carry herself strong but still courteous, she would not be thought of as weak anymore even if those two normally came hand in hand.
Daenerys turned her eyes to Jon for a moment but then back to Sansa and nodded. While Daenerys greeted Sansa’s siblings, Sansa kept her eyes on the queen. From what she could tell of this quick exchange, Daenerys wasn't an evil tyrant like the Lannisters or even like the other Targaryens were said to be. But first impressions can be very deceiving, Sansa knew that all too well. When she had met Joffrey, he seemed to be the handsome prince of her dreams, yet he turned out to be a complete monster. Sansa was young and foolish then, in her years with the Lannisters and Littlefinger she grew wiser, more observant, she knew how to catch someone in a lie or facade. She had to go about this with caution, be sure not to make the wrong enemies or the wrong friends. She wouldn't make stupid, foolish mistakes again. Even if Jon would.
Sansa turned her head back to Tyrion Lannister. “I was surprised to hear you were alive and well, my lord,” she commented trying to make conversation with an old friend. Was he a friend? An ally? Sansa wasn’t sure.
“And I,” he stopped himself from finishing that sentence. Sansa figured he was going to say he was surprised to find out that she was alive as well, but bit his tongue due to the circumstances. Tyrion must have heard she was wed off to Ramsay Bolton, an absolute sadistic, nightmare of a man. Sometimes Sansa didn't even believe that she was alive and well anymore herself. It was no secret that Sansa Stark had been passed along, pulled apart, and exploited by terrible people for years. “I was happy to hear you were alive and well, my lady,” he decided to go with. “Only Sansa Stark would be able to persevere after going through what you did.”
“You would be surprised, my lord,” Sansa answered back, turning her head away from the man but still catching the smile that played on his lips.
Sansa saw the woman called Missandei shiver again. She realized that they were all still standing out in the courtyard, and she as the Lady of Winterfell was the one who should invite her guests in. “My apologies,” Sansa said, the woman glanced her way and politely shook her head, as if she had original offended Sansa. “Everyone please, come indoors,” Sansa gestured at the party and began leading them back towards the castle. “Sometimes I forget that not everyone is used to the bitter cold of the North.”
When Sansa made it inside she went straight to her chambers, telling everyone that she had to freshen up for dinner.
After bathing and redressing with the help of a handmaiden, Sansa was pacing back and forth in her room, not wanting to go down to the Great Hall in fear for the events about to transpire.
She heard a knock at her door.
Sansa knew who it was, the only person it could be.
“Jon,” she greeted with a reprimanding tone, opening the door fully to signal that he was allowed to enter. She heard him step inside the room and close the door behind him, that’s when she began to speak, “I know that some part of you thought you were doing the right thing but…”
He loudly interjected, cutting her off. “Have you spoken to Bran?”
She turned back and him furrowing her brows, but stopped once she truly looked at him. He looked like he had seen a ghost, although he had seen the dead walk yet his expression looked even more lost and bewildered now.
“What’s wrong, Jon?” She asked him. She could tell he was drunk. Or almost drunk, but getting there. She had no idea what to expect him to say. Bran had come home with this new power, calling himself the Three-eyed Raven. He had the ability to see what Littlefinger had done to her family, which helped them then, but he could also see beyond the wall, where the army of the dead threatened everything they knew.
“He didn’t tell you about Rhaegar Targaryen?” He asked her hesitantly, as if it’s a name he shouldn't say out loud.
“Rhaegar Targaryen? What does he have to do with anything, Jon?” Now she was truly confused.
Jon sighed and walked further into her room to the table where she sometimes dined at. He took her pitcher of wine and filled up a glass to the brim with it then began to drink as he sat down. “He was my father,” he spit out after downing the cup of wine.
Sansa had never seen Jon drink like this, or act like this. “Father was your father, Jon,” she told him like it was obvious.
He began to fill up another cup, “not according to Bran. He sees things, Sansa.” He began to drink the new cup when Sansa ripped the cup out of his hand. Some of the wine spilled down Jon’s front. “Sansa!” He shouted at her, getting up from his seat. Sansa ignored him, taking the pitcher of wine away as well. “Arya told me about Littlefinger,” he called out after her, “Bran was right then.”
Sansa stopped in her tracks and turned around. “Why would father bring home Rhaegar Targaryen’s baby as his own, Jon, that doesn't make any sense,” she asked him. Sansa was now getting angry with him, he was acting like an idiot and they were supposed to be meeting with the Northern Lords who already had rocky allegiance to him. All they had to do was have their leader acting like a drunken fool, displaying his new queen to them and calling himself a Targaryen.
“Because my mother is your aunt Lyanna.”
Sansa was train of thought was abruptly stopped. Rhaegar and Lyanna? The whole reason for Robert’s Rebellion, the reason that the Targaryens were removed from the throne, and Jon was the product of it. It made sense to her, if it were true, why father never told a soul. The bastard boy of King Robert’s love Lyanna Stark and his enemy Rhaegar Targaryen.
“They were in love,” he added. He paused for a moment and looked at his sister. Or his cousin? No, he was still her brother no matter what. “They had a secret wedding.”
“That means you’re…?” She didn't want to finish the sentence.
“Yeah.”
Sansa didn't know what to think or say. She couldn’t imagine how Jon was feeling, everything that he was told, everything that he believed about himself, was a lie. He was a Targaryen. A true Targaryen, not a bastard, the true heir to the Iron Throne.
“You’re still a Stark to me, Jon,” she assured him, thinking maybe it would make him feel better. She had told him once standing on the battlements of Winterfell not so long ago that she thought of him as a true Stark. She had meant it then as she does now.
He scoffed.
The two of them sat in silence for a moment while Sansa tried to collect her thoughts. “Who knows?” She finally asked.
Jon chuckled under his breath. “You, Arya, Bran obviously, and Samwell Tarly.”
“Do you trust him?”
“With my life,” he answered with no hesitation.
“Will you tell Daenerys?” She questioned.
“I have to,” he admitted with a sigh. “I have no desire for the Iron Throne, know that Sansa.” She knew he was telling the truth, she never thought for a second that he would leave the North or desire that position. Even if Jon is a Targaryen he is still a Northerner at heart. “I can't lose her alliance, Sansa, I need her to defeat the Night King,” he told her, trying to keep eye contact as if that would make his reasoning more true.
There was loud banging at Sansa’s door accompanied by Arya calling out her name.
“What, Arya?” Sansa hushed, opening the door.
“The Northern Lords,” she breathed out, “they know about Daenerys.”