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My father once said that we find our friends on the battlefield, she thinks. And so it is. Now that Daenerys has fought alongside the North, the Knights of the Vale, and the Free Folk, the disdain for her queenship has dimmed for the night. They are cold with her yet they still cheer.
Sansa watches Daenerys toast Arya. She watches her give Gendry a lordship. She knows what is to come. She sees.
She lets herself rest for the night, to be taken in by Jon’s laugh, the loose set of his shoulders as he sits on the table facing her. He is more relaxed than she’s seen him since Castle Black. He has won this battle that she is sure he did not think to survive.
But with Jon turned away from her, smiling at her, what once filled her heart with lightness makes it heavy with dread.
She leaves.
The Golden Company are equal to their forces in number and have not just been to war. It would be wise to wait until the troops are rested. Jon looks at her as if she’s declared she would not send the troops at all. Her eyes stay on him as he assures his queen of the North’s allegiance. She trusts him, yes. Her faith in him is still strong. It is why this stings like betrayal.
Worse when Arya touts that Jon made the right choice in bending the knee. She feels as if she is the only on who remembers that the Wall fell due to this queen’s dragons, due to her need for a true with Cersei. As she is looking down, her eyes meet Bran’s. No, she is not the only one.
Bran is contained, but Sansa has learned to read him well. He will not enter into an argument with them, not when he could visit much more interesting times, but he will not pretend that this queen has been a savior to them.
And then he tells them. Jon is not Ned Stark’s child. He’s a king.
Arya has rushed forward to hug him. She calls him her brother still. It changes nothing in her eyes. Jon would ruffle her hair and make her laugh after Septa Mordane scolded her. He is her brother.
Sansa feels a different rush. A rush of relief and hope. She speaks to squash it. “Your mother had the North in her, and you were raised by Lord Eddard Stark, the same as Theon. You are a Stark, now and always.” She takes his hand. “Who else knows?” She asks.
“Sam, Queen Daenerys, and the four of us.” His voice is gruff with emotion though his eyes are dry. She has never seen him cry, not even when Rickon ——
“Daenerys?” She asks incredulously. Arya stares up at her. “You’ve just made us swear to keep this secret from the world. Yet, you’ve told the woman who could have you executed for having a higher claim to the throne than she does?”
He huffs a laugh. “I’m still alive.”
But a muscle throbs in his jaw, and he looks down quickly after. His eyes are always shifty when he’s saying how good his queen will be.
The four of them talk but none of the tension fades. There is a chasm between them that has nothing to do with Jon’s true parentage. Jon is leaving with a queen that they trust even less now with their family. Bran regales them with a story of Lyanna and Father when they were young, how she would ride through the training yard while he practiced. Arya smiles. Jon is eager for more information. Sansa cannot help but think both of them are dead now because of Southerners. She thinks of Lyanna on her birthing bed, knowing that her father and brother died, trying to rescue her, that it may not have been just the birth that killed her.
Arya says she is cold and will take Bran inside with her. It’s a lie. Arya’s furs are enough to keep her warm, but Sansa appreciates the gesture. Jon looks ready to leave himself but Sansa takes his hand again and sits him down on the stone beside her. They wait until Arya and Bran are out of sight.
He is braced for an argument. They do tend to fight their way through every problem in front of them, each coming at the same goal from opposing sides. She doesn’t want another argument. She doesn’t know when she will see him again. He is headed off to fight one war war and seems unaware of the precariousness of his position in another.
“I wish you hadn’t told her,” she says. “I don’t know what is between you now. Regardless, she is your family, too. I know what family means to you. I only wish you had not told her.”
He sighs. He stands and turns his back to her. “It’s done now. She knows. As long as I don’t press my claim, it will be alright.”
“And is that what you want to do?”
“All I want is to keep the North and our family safe. This is the way to do that. You don’t have to like her, but she’ll be a good queen.”
“So you’ve said.” She closes her eyes at the bitterness in her voice. She exhales sharply and continues in a cooler tone, “What you haven’t told me is why you believe in her. You said we needed a powerful ally, her armies, and her dragons, but you’ve never said why we need someone who would consider burning an entire city of innocents to reach one enemy.”
“She is our queen! Whether you like it or not, you need to respect it! What is it you need to hear to do that? That you were right? That I never should have gone to there in the first place? We did need the dragonglass. We did need her armies. There are always prices to pay. You taught me that.”
“That’s what you think this is about? My pride?” She stands, watching his face with narrowed eyes. Her intake of breath is sharp and burns her throat with cold. “It may have escaped your notice, with you busy pleasing your precious queen, but the only reason the North hasn’t turned against us is because the war with the dead was looming. Now that it is done, we are in more danger than ever before.”
“Has someone ——”
“You never have been good at this side of things, have you? Be serious. Do you think someone announced their plans to murder Robb and my mother before they did it? Lady Mormont might have voiced her discontent to your face. The others won’t, Jon. The others will wait until we need them and refuse to come to our aid or worse. And now, now you are taking an injured, weary army that feels betrayed by you to fight for a queen they despise. Can you truly not see the danger in that?”
He takes a step forward. She brushes aside the hand he reaches toward her. Her breaths are heavy and mingle with his. He looks away with a sigh.
“They may not love me, but they love you, Sansa. You’ve kept them safe and made sure they have shelter. They wanted to name you queen. They won’t make a move that would bring harm you.”
She shakes her head. “You are taking their sons and fathers to what may well be a slaughter. We are all unrecognizable in love. It makes us do things we never imagined we’d do.” She swallows, the stiffness of her spine relaxing a touch. “You don’t see. You never have. I'm angry with you, so very angry. I would be content to let you make any error you see fit to if I wasn’t sure it would cost you your life. But I can’t stop you. You’ll do what you think is best.”
“Sansa,” he pleads.
“As will I.”
“I need you to trust me in this. It may not look like it, but I’m protecting you, us.”
Her eyes take in his furrowed brow, the cut on his cheek, the tremble of his lips.
She trusts him. She believes in him. He is wrong. Pretending that everything is well will not make it so. The last time he looked so uncertain, she had assuaged him. She cannot do that now. Instead, she leans forward and kisses his forehead to take the sting from her words, a hand at his neck, fingers curled into his hair. His breath is shaky beneath her. She drops her forehead to his and says, “Try trusting in me for a change.”
She moves back, and his eyes drop to her slight smile before rising to hers. Her fingernails graze his scalp as they untangle themselves from his strands.
She steps to the side and away from him. He does not follow her out of the godswood. She knows that he will not. We are all unrecognizable in love, and she does. She loves this foolish, stubborn man. She will do what she must to protect him now even from himself.