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Chapter Text

Sansa watched as Joffrey clawed at his own throat. His fingernails tearing gashes in the creamy flesh. His face was turning a ghastly purple making the whites of his eyes and the blonde of his hair seem ghostly. His wormy lips sucked and gasped for air. It was a horrible sight, yet she could not look away. 

“How long do I have to look?”

“As long as it pleases me.”

She wondered if it pleased him now. She felt a hot hand grab her wrist and flinched before seeing Ser Dontas’ alcohol flushed face. 

“If you wish to see your home, to be safe, come with me.” He tugged her wrist and she followed. 

Her slippered feet made her clumsy, the heavy fabric of her dress making her sweat, her hair escaped from the amethyst hairnet, but she followed. Through corridors, and alleys, and streets with no name, until she squeezed between two buildings and the smell of salt water invaded her senses.  

It was pleasant, compared to the filth of King’s Landing. 

“This way my lady.” Ser Dontas lead her toward a small dock where a single row boat rocked in the tide. When she saw the lone figure sitting in the boat she shrank away. “It’s alright, my lady. This is the engineer of your freedom.”

Sansa carefully lowered herself into the vessel, Ser Dontas following and beginning to row. The scent of perfume combined with the sea air. 

“Lord Varys.” She whispered. 

“My lady.” Came his soft whisper. “We are headed to a trading vessel bound for Meereen. Once you land, you have an audience with Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. You must convince her  to offer you protection. You have valuable insight into the political situation of King’s Landing, as well as the Lannisters and their hold in the realm. Use that to your advantage.” Varys’ voice was as soft and rapid as the flutter of wings. “Do you understand, my lady?” 

Sansa nodded and there was silence for a long period before she spoke. 

“May I ask you a question, my lord?” Her own voice was a whisper. 

“Why am I aiding you?” Lord Varys asked, an eyebrow raised a knowing smile on his lips. Sansa shook her head. 

“No my lord.” He would only tell me lies . “What do you want in return for this service?”  

Varys’ smile changed to one of almost satisfaction. 

“You’re asking the right questions, my lady.” Sansa nodded her thanks of this slight praise. “From time to time a little bird will come to you and ask for information that you will provide.” 

“So I am to become another of your little birds?”  From one cage to another.

“We’re here.” Ser Dontas said, his usual tone and volume jarring after the whispers. Sansa looked up and saw a large and beautiful ship. The kind that carries silk to Dorne and never returns . She thought. A rope ladder descended for her. 

“Ready for the lady!” a gruff voice called. Varys placed a soft hand on Sansa’s arm as he spoke. 

“You have never been, nor will you ever be, a little bird. You are a wolf. You will always be a wolf.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa knelt before another monarch, begging for mercy. This time was different, the mercy was for herself, there was no hint of falsehood, there was no tang of gratuitous cruelty. But that did not mean Sansa was safe, it merely meant she would see the dragonfire coming to claim her. 

“Why should I grant you freedom, let alone allow you to reside in my palace?” Daenerys paused after she spoke, but Sansa knew she was not finished. “You, whose Father fought with the Usurper, who sat on the Usurper’s Small Council only to betray the Usurper by denouncing his son?” Daenerys rose and descended from the marble bench that acted as a throne. “It seems to me that traitor's blood, not wolf blood, runs through your veins.” 

Sansa bit the inside of her cheek. She would not be emotional, she would not fight purely for honour. Father had. Robb had. And they died for it. She raised her eyes to that of Queen Daenerys’ and found a stoney kind of rage, but also a hint of compassion. 

“Your grace, I understand that to you the actions of my father and my house seem treacherous, but to us the actions of your father, and even your brother, did not inspire love nor loyalty.” 

“You dare-” The Queen started before glancing at the older man in Queensguard armour that stood a little way from them. 

Ser Barristan Selmy . Sansa recognised him. Barristen the Bold. But was he bold enough to tell a queen a terrible truth?

“Some actions are indeed indefensible.” The queen conceded, though it looked to cost her greatly. “But that does not excuse disloyalty.” 

Sansa knew the next words to leave her lips should be ones of soothing assurances, of love and loyalty, perhaps a disavowal of her name and house. That’s what Cersei would expect. It’s what Margaery, and Littlefinger, and Varys would have done. But despite her tutelage Sansa was still a Stark. 

“If I may speak candidly, your grace?” She asked, ignoring the aching of her knees. Daenerys gave a slight nod of her regal head. “Your father murdered my uncle and my grandfather. He had a noose tied about my uncle’s throat and a sword placed just out of reach. This sword could have saved my grandfather, who was burned alive whilst his son choked to death trying to save him. My uncle died with his father’s screams in his ears.” 

Sansa saw Ser Selmy flinch from the memory, but noticed the queen did not. She did not shrink from hard truths, and Sansa admired that. “This was after your brother and my aunt disappeared. I do not know if Rhaegar stole Lyanna, as Robert Baratheon believed. I do not know if they ran away together driven by love, as many a song whisper. I do know the Rhaegar was a prince, and a husband, and a father; and my aunt not more than a girl. In my understanding, your grace, the discontent between the Starks and the Targaryens seems justified.” 

“And what of your father’s betrayal of the Usurper? They were said to be the greatest of friends.” Daenerys’ face was as stoney and unreadable as the harpy perched on top of the pyramid. 

“My father served Robert Baratheon truly and faithfully. He denounced Joffrey as a bastard for Joffrey is, born of incest between Cersei and Jaime Lannister.” 

“I heard this rumour before I left the Seven Kingdoms, your grace.” Ser Selmy said in his deep voice. 

“A rumour. Your father started a rebellion based upon a rumour.”

“He denied a cruel boy a throne to which he had no right based on history and Robert’s bastards.” Sansa shifted on her knees, the ache rising to her thighs. “All of Robert’s base born children were born black of hair. All of them. Yet Cersei’s children had golden.” 

Ser Selmy seemed to be nodding before muttering “Edric Storm.” 

“After my father was beheaded, Cersei had all of Robert’s bastards killed. Even the babes.” 

Sansa noted a flicker of true sadness cross the queen’s face at this.

There was silence for a moment. 

“Ser Selmy, show Lady Sansa to the blue guest chambers.” 

Sansa rose with difficulty, her knees and legs aching with the prolonged holding of her kneeling position.

“If I may request bread and salt?” She asked the knight. The meaning of this request seemed lost on Daenerys, but Ser Selmy simply nodded knowingly. 

Sansa had been granted mercy. She wondering if Daenerys’ mercy had the same sting as Joffery’s.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Sansa was finally alone she did not let out a sigh of relief. She did not sag under the weight of fear either. She carefully removed her heavy outer dress, placing it over the back of a chair, and walked toward the dressing table to examine herself in the mirror. 

Her face was gaunt, and dark circles framed her eyes making them seem more blue than usual. She reached up and ran her fingers through her hair. She had always loved her hair. Tully red, the same colour as her mother’s and Robb’s and Bran’s and Rickon’s. The colour Father loved. She remembered sitting for what seemed hours brushing her hair until it shone like waves of copper. It might still shine, but not in waves. 

“The Dragon Queen is said to be the most beautiful woman in the whole world.” The captain explained, not taking his eyes from the ocean. “But I think you might challenge her.” He smiled. It was a sweet smile, the kind her father might have given her, not the kind of Littlefinger or a drunken lord at a feast. 

But still Sansa’s heart stopped. 

She remembered Cersei's hatred of Margaery. The hatred sparked by the whispers of Margaery’s beauty. Sansa would provide no such spark that could turn into a flame. So that night when the ship was calm and almost still, she took a dagger and sliced lock after lock after lock of her hair. It fell like flames around her until the ends barely met her collar bone. She looked in the mirror and examined herself critically. That night she did not sleep. She would not allow herself to sleep. And the next night she stayed awake as long as she could. She would not sleep a deep sleep until she saw those dark circles form below her eyes. She did not eat much, allowing her face to become hollow and gaunt. 

She may still be pretty, in the same way someone dying of consumption was pretty, but she was no longer beautiful. She stripped off her clothing and made her way to the large bath servants had filled with water and a sickly sweet scent. She sank into the warm water and tried to imagine she was in the hot springs of Winterfell. If she closed her eyes and swirled her hands to make a gentle splashing sound, she could almost manage it. 

Almost. 

A gentle tap at the door made her sit up quickly, sloshing water over the floor. A tall, slender young woman entered. Her name was Missandei and she was a companion of the queen’s. She carried a pale blue gown cut in the fashion Daenerys had been wearing. 

“I am to assist you to dress, and provide anything you may request.” Missandei’s voice was gentle and soft. 

“Thank you.” Sansa reached for a cloth to dry herself and heard Missandei’s stifled gasp. Sansa’s skin had once been as pale and smooth as porcelain. Now it was cracked. She had scars along the backs of her thighs where the swords of knights had hit her, cuts on her upper arms where men had grabbed her, and once long scar down her back from where Meryn Trant had slit her dress open so the whole court could see her body. 

Let her look, and got back to the dragon and whisper of the cruelty of lions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa walked down the corridor, meeting the eyes of every Unsullied guard she passed. 

It had been a week since the dragon queen had granted her asylum and this was the first time Sansa was to dine with her. 

It was a slight, but not the worst Sansa had experienced.

When she reached the large double doors that led to the royal suite, they were opened for her and she was announced. 

Daenerys sat at the head of the table, a decadent feast in front of her.

Seventy seven courses whilst King’s Landing starved . Sansa remembered, almost shivering. She wondered if this Queen knew about the lives of the people she said she ruled. 

“Your grace.” Sansa managed to sink into a graceful curtsey despite the unfamiliar cut of her garments.

“Lady Sansa.” Daenerys’ voice was kinder than it had been a week ago, and was laced with exhaustion.

She is rather young . Sansa thought, sitting where the queen gestured. Not much older than Robb...or Jon.

“Please forgive me for my neglect of you this past week.” Daenerys began with a flick of her dainty wrist that seemed to summon servants from the walls. Sansa’s goblet was filled with a fragrant wine and her plate laden with delicacies which she could not name. “There have been many matters which demand my attention.”  

“Of course, your grace.” 

There was a moment of silence whilst Sansa contemplated her next gambit. 

I must convince her a dragon needs a wolf.

“Are you dissatisfied with your meal?” 

Sansa’s eyes snapped to Daenerys’. There was a look of mild annoyance. 

“Not at all your, your grace. The meal is simply unfamiliar. Westerosi food is rather different.” Daenerys’ expression soften slightly. 

“Try the rice first.” The queen suggested with a gentle smile. 

She needs me to be a little ignorant, so she can be wise. Sansa realised. 

“Thank you, your grace.” Sansa tentatively lifted a fork full of the fluffy yellow rice to her mouth. It was spicy and savoury. Sansa let a small moan of pleasure escape her. “Oh, it’s lovely.” She exclaimed, smiling at the queen. It was the same smile she offered to Cersei, and Joffrey, and Littlefinger. The smile of sweet, ignorant girl.

“It’s a local dish.”

“The kind of food the people of Meereen eat?” The queen dropped her gaze to the full plate of food in front of her. 

“Not at the moment.” Her voice was soft and tinged with regret and a little shame. “They do not eat much at the moment.” Sansa did not speak. She knew the moment balanced on the edge of a blade. Daenerys would either trust her with problems or dismiss her and Sansa did not wish to push the scales out of her favour. 

“Some of the cities I have freed some slavery have been over run again and they wish to return Meereen to the cruel practises of the past. A blockade is but one effect of their cruelty.” Sansa nodded and took another small bite of her rice dish. “We shall have food aplenty here.” Daenerys assured her with a gentle smile.

“I was not worried for myself, your grace.”

“What worries you, my lady?”

Sansa bit her lip. Tread lightly . She cautioned herself. One misstep and you will taste fire and blood.

“I was remembering a shortage of food in King’s Landing.” Sansa spoke softly. 

“And how did the Usurpers handle the crisis?”

“Badly.” Sansa replied simply. Daenerys chuckled and took a sip of her wine, leaning back in her chair as if waiting for Sansa to tell her a story, to reassure her of the validity of her actions. 

“The people starved for want of a pennyworth of bread, whilst the Red Keep served Dornish wine and pineapple almost nightly. When the royal family were returning to the Red Keep a riot broke out. They called it the Bread Riots.” Sansa raised her eyes to meet that of the queen. “I was beaten and almost raped during these riots.” 

“You are safe here.” Daenerys reassured. Sansa took a breath.  I must convince her of my insight, but I must not threaten her rule . 

“I know, your grace. You protect your people, as the Lannister’s do not.” Daenerys replaced her goblet and resumed nibbling delicately at her food. I must try . Sansa thought. “I worry for you people.” 

Daenerys’ eyes found Sansa’s and a knot wound its way into Sansa’s stomach. There was annoyance in those startling violet eyes, and rage, but also something else, something Sansa recognised from the mirror of her own, younger eyes. A desire to please, a desire to be loved .

“What would you have me do?”

“I am just a girl, your grace, I know little of the politics of-”

“I used to say such things to men who would patronise me, brush me aside as ignorant and powerless.” Daenerys interrupted. “I do not make the mistakes of a common man.”

No, Sansa thought. Your mistakes cost thousands their lives . She remembered the seamen talking of the Bloody Flux and how the people of Yunkai felt abandoned by their dragon queen. Your mistakes are uncommon and deadly .

“What would you have me do?” Daenerys repeated. 

Sansa hesitated for a moment. 

Let her see I am a wolf. 

“I would have you ration the entire city. Not just the peasants, but the nobles and the palace as well. Let the people know that whilst their bellies ache with hunger, so does yours. Let them know they are not alone. They will repay this loyalty and love a thousand fold.”

“The nobles will not like it.” Daenerys said, rising and moving toward the balcony. “They already rail against my abolition of the fighting pits. This may push them into revolt.”

“I do not claim to have all the answers to the quandary of ruling.” Sansa said, rising and following Daenerys. She stood next to the queen for a moment and paused. “My father always told us that the one who passes the sentence should swing the sword. It’s the way we rule in the North.” 

“The one who passes the sentence should swing the sword.” Daenerys repeated, staring out at the lantern studded city below them. 

“Perhaps I use some cool Northern wisdom in my sweltering city.” 

She needs me to be a little wise, so she can seek council. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa sat at the table with the other members of Daenerys’ small council. 

“These are my only choices?” The queen asked her voice a shade below a shout. “To re-open the fighting pits assenting to slavery and death, or to keep them closed and face a rebellion from people and nobles alike?” She stood abruptly. “I refuse either choice.”

“Your grace, the people need amusement.” The sellsword Captain of the Stormcrows, Daario, said with a grin. “What is a little blood if the people are willing to pay the price?”

“The kind of price is too high.” The queen, usually partial to the sellsword’s deep and velvet voice was not charmed. 

“It’s a brutal and disgusting type of sport.” Ser Barristan proclaimed. 

“Any man can fight in the pits. Can you say the same for your tourneys?”  Hizdahr zo Loraq answers. 

“Tourneys are about training and honour!”

“As are the fighting pits! Even the most lowly can find honour-”

“Lowly! Ha! You mean even a slave! But you have forgotten our queen-”

“Is tired of this squabbling!” Daenerys’ voice rose above the fighting men. Silence fell over the table. The queen let out a sigh. 

“Your grace?” Sansa spoke in a soft voice, feeling the eyes of all present on her. 

Daenerys turned to her and Sansa saw the queen’s features soften. She begins to like me . 

“Yes, my lady?” 

“Perhaps there is a compromise?” 

“Do you have a suggestion?” 

“I believe the people need entertainment, relief from the hardness of their lives. Whilst the brutality of the fighting pits should never be restored, the void they left must be filled by some means. Perhaps, a type of tourney. People could volunteer in a melee type of fighting. Weapons could be blunted, men would yield, and the last man standing would win honour and-”

“And what?” Hizdahr snapped. “The trade Meereen had has been halted, the crown lacks the money for a great prize. What would you, a mere child, have us offer this pretend warrior?” 

Sansa’s blood turned to ice. 

“Our warrior would receive honours, a stipend until he is unseated, and a gift from the queen herself. A converted token of strength, speed, and cunning, the sigil of her house in golden statue form.” She paused for a moment and met the man’s gaze with her own icy stare. 

“I would also remind you, Hizdahr zo Loraq, that I am the daughter of a great house, I am the blood of the First Men, and I have been chosen by your queen to be here. Insult me and you insult the mother of dragons.” 

Hizdahr broke his stare and Sansa turned her eyes back to Daenerys. There shone a look of pride in those startlingly purple eyes. She needs me to be a little strong, so she can be soft.

“I have received wise council. That is enough for today.” Daenerys gestured with a flick of her wrist and everyone stood the leave her. “Stay, Lady Sansa.” 

Once the chamber had emptied Daenerys led Sansa to her private suite. 

“Wine, little wolf?” 

 “No thank you, your grace.” 

Daenerys gestured and Sansa sat on one of the many soft sofas of the apartment. A gentle breeze lifted a gauze curtain making the room a more bearable temperature. Daenerys joining Sansa on the sofa and placed two goblets of wine on the nearest table. The entire city, nobles and peasants alike, were on rations but the queen still had wine when she deemed it necessary. 

“Tell me of home.” Daenerys asked, her tone sound more a demand than a request. 

“The North is vast, some say it is as large as the rest of Westeros combined. The Starks have ruled the North, as kings or wardens, for thousands of -”

“Did your Maester teach you that?” Daenerys had a kind almost patronising smile on her lips. 

Sansa stared at her hands. “Yes.”

“Tell me of your home. Tell me of your memories.” Sansa raised her eyes to meet Daenerys’

She needs me to be a little soft, so she can be strong .

Sansa looked back down at her hands. She spoke of summer snows and great grey walls, of hot springs and kidney pies with peas and onion, of the Godswood and the crypts. It wasn’t until Daenerys reached out and brushed tears from Sansa’s cheeks did she realise she had started to cry. 

With a hand still cupping Sansa’s cheek, Daenerys spoke. 

“Hush, little wolf. I will take you home. I promise.”

Sansa truly wanted to believe that promise. 

But no one ever keeps a promise. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa could feel a single bead of sweat sliding down her back as she stood in the Meereenese marketplace. It was a humid and sticky day. Sansa trailed passed stalls of people selling spices and fruits and silks. She planned to buy some silk, just as she had told Daenerys and Missandei and Ser Selmy, who was now trailing a respectful distance behind her. But silk was not what brought her to the marketplace. The twitterings of a little bird called her down from the Great Pyramid. The little bird asked her questions.

How is she dealing with the blockade?

Has she re-opened the fighting pits?

Where are her dragons?

Sansa had answered as cleverly and as honestly as she could.

She rules with righteousness and compassion.
She has decided to re-open the fighting pits but as a form of competition rather than battles to death. Similar to that of tourneys at home.
I do not know where her dragons are.

The last statement was not entirely true. Sansa knew where Rhaegal and Viserion were, she could hear their rumbling roars late at night, deep in the pyramid. But no one, not even the mother of dragons, knew where Drogon roamed. 

Her answers must have pleased the Master of Whispers for his little bird whispered something back to her.

The White Wolf has come to the East.

Sansa’s heart had stopped and her mouth had become dry. Over breakfast the next morning Sansa had mention to her, self-proclaimed, guardian that she would be venturing to the marketplace. Daenerys offered a warning for her safety and Ser Selmy as protection. 

The dragon queen had come to like Sansa. Asking her to sit on council meetings, attend to her whilst she bathed and dressed, even gifting Sansa small tokens of affection. One day Daenerys summoned Sansa to the barren white marble hall where the queen held court. Daenerys was once again seated on her marble bench throne. From there she proclaimed Sansa Stark her ward, with a gentle smile.  

Sansa smiled back. And she smiled now as she felt a silk between her fingers. 

“I’ll take nine yards of this blue silk.” She said to the merchant. He smiled at her and passed the bolt off to an assistant. “And nine of this golden peach.” 

“It’s a very fine fabric, my lady, are you sure you do not require more? Winter is coming and you may need something fine to warm yourself.” 

Her heart stopped and then suddenly seemed to beat extremely fast. 

“It surely will not get cold this far east?” She asked her fingers trailing over the fine fabric.

The merchant met her eyes. “I hear that a cool change is expected three days hence.” 

Sansa suppressed a gasp. 

“I’ll take twelve yards then. Have this and the blue delivered to the Great Pyramid.” She slipped the merchant an unfamiliarly shaped coin and began the walk back to the Great Pyramid and dragons. With the crunch of her slippered feet she could hear the whispers. 

The White Wolf comes East.

A cool change is expected three days hence.

Winter is coming.

Chapter Text

Jon Snow had come to Essos in search of a sister.

They’d killed him. Stabbed him and left him bleeding in the snow, dead. And then he wasn’t dead, but he was cold. He felt like ice and snow ran in his veins and no amount of fire or flame could warm him. 

He was at White Harbour, looking for a ship heading south. As far south as south goes . When he heard a captain speaking of a girl with brown hair and grey eyes that had seen too much. He’d grabbed the captain’s collar and demanded details. 

“She had an iron coin of Braavos and spoke the words of the Facelessmen.” the captain had gasped out. 

“Braavos.” Jon had muttered, releasing the captain. He followed that whisper of Arya to Braavos, but it died there.

He was drinking in a tavern, Ghost waiting outside, ignoring the overflowing breasts and batted eyelashes of the barmaid when someone sat next time him. A glance showed Jon it was a small man, dark haired with specks of grey showing through. 

Jon turned back to his drink. 

It was only when the second man sat down on his other side that Jon’s sense of danger began to tingle. This man was larger, stronger, with a shock of blue hair still ginger at the roots. Jon placed his ale back on the bar, left some unfamiliar coins and walked out the door. He had almost reached a canal when he heard their footsteps behind him. Ducking into an alley he waited. He grabbed the first one, the smaller of the two men, and shoved him against the wall. Jon’s forearm pressing on his throat, and with a quick flick of his wrist a dagger was in Jon’s hand and pressed against the belly of the other man before either had time to react. Ghost stood beside him, teeth bared in a silent snarl. 

“What do you want?” Jon said in a low and dangerous tone.

The man with Jon’s forearm pressing on his throat responded in a throaty chuckle. 

“Did Ned teach you this move?” Jon’s face transformed in shock. “Aye, I thought so. He was rather proud of it when he visited as a boy.” The small man moved like lightning. He jabbed at Jon’s underarm, causing Jon to pull away, before grasping Jon’s hair and pulling his head back, a small dagger at his throat. “Same problem as Ned. Your attention is divided with two foes.” 

“Reed.” Said the taller man. Ghost had prowled toward him the second the smaller man had made his move. “Reed, get this beast away.”  

The smaller man, Reed, chuckled.

Reed, why does that sound familiar. Jon had a vague memory of Maester Luwin talking and Sansa answering correctly, and Jon wanting to go and spar in the yard. 

“Direwolves answer only to the Starks. It’s their sigil afterall.” 

“Reed!” Jon gasped in sudden realisation. “Howland Reed! You’re a vassal to house Stark. A friend of my father’s.”

Jon was released and he almost stumbled forward. 

“I’ve never met your father.” Howland said softly. Jon frowned. 

“You fought with him at the Tower of Joy.” Jon accused. 

“I fought with Ned Stark, but I never met your father.” 

“Can we discuss this somewhere else?” The larger man asked in a vicious whisper, still pressed against a wall with Ghost guarding him. 

“To me, Ghost.” Jon called and the direwolf obeyed. “Who are you?” 

“Jon Connington. A faithful friend and servant to your father.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jaehaerys Targaryen, not Jon Snow. 

A dragon, not a wolf . 

“Still a wolf.” Reed has said. “Lyanna Stark is your mother and a braver, kinder, gentler woman never lived.” Jon heard Connington almost scoff at this. Jon had reached out a hand and was patting Ghost, unaware of his movements. 

“What should you like to do, your grace?” Reed asked quietly. Jon looked into the eyes of the man of age with Ned Stark, his uncle not his father. 

“I-I-” He stammered. Connington sat down at the table in the small room of the inn they had let. 

“There is word that Rhaegar’s sister, your aunt, is ruling in Meereen, building her army before she takes Westeros back to the rightful Targaryen rule.” 

My aunt. Jon thought. My aunt was Lyanna Stark, kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen.

“I do not want to rule.” Jon muttered. I want to go home. But his home had died the same time Robb had. It had died with Bran and Rickon. It had died when Arya went missing. It had died when Sansa was trapped. It was burned and broken. You don’t have a home . He thought. 

“From what I hear, your aunt wants to do the ruling.” Connington took a swig of his drink. “Though she’s said to resemble her brother more than her father.” 

‘A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing’ Maester Aemon had said. Jon took a long drink from his cup. Maybe family would thaw the cold in his veins. Maybe dragons would melt the ice. 

“Meereen.” He said, his voice thick and deep with drink and exhaustion. “Let us go to Meereen.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They stood in a grand hallway outside of the throne room of the Great Pyramid. Jon’s hip felt light, naked without Long Claw hanging there. He was glad he’d left Ghost outside the city limits. The wolf would not have taken well to whatever prison they would have locked him in. 

Jon looked at the Unsullied guarding the grand doors. He would hear a faint murmuring of voices beyond them, catching words, phrases, as they were spoken.

Liar.

Usurper.

Dishonour.

He shut his eyes and felt his fist curl at his side. When he heard another voice, different than the first. It was almost familiar. 

Brave.

Honourable.

Kind.

After a moment of silence the doors swung open and a tall, slender girl with olive brown skin and natural curls beckoned them to enter. 

Jon bowed, and the girl with the curls spoke.

“You have the honour of being in the presence of Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Protector of the Realm, Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.” He heard the rustle of silks and raised his eyes to the petite woman sitting on a marble bench. It was not the Queen’s beauty that made his breath catch in his throat, but the woman standing beside her. 

“Rise, my lords.” The Queen spoke in a voice that was confident and assured. “May I present my ward and most trusted advisor, Sansa of House Stark, the Red Wolf.”

It’s her.

Sansa stood, her hair cut shorter than he’d ever seen it but still beautifully red. His cheeks flushed as he saw the pale white flesh of her stomach and arms. Her dress was made of a pinkish gold and was in the style of Meereen, much like the Queen’s.

Connington spoke.

“May I present, Jaehaerys of the Houses Targaryen and Stark, true born son of the Last Dragon, The White Wolf, Former Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Bastard of Winterfell, and Lord of the Free Folk.”  Jon almost winced at the titles. He did not wish to have them, they meant nothing, just pomp and grandeur that mattered little. 

His aunt raised an eyebrow, but Sansa’s eyes did not move from his face. 

“ Former Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch?” She rose from her marble bench and stalked down the stairs to where Jon, Reed, and Connington stood. “Forgive me if I am mistaken, for I was forced to flee my home and know only what I have been told of Westeros, but one joins the Night’s Watch for life, does one not?”Daenerys asked, a wry and charming smile on her lips. Sansa had fallen in behind the Queen and descended also, eyes still fixed on Jon. 

“Aye, your grace.” Affirmed Jon.

“Then how does one become a former Lord Commander?” Her wry and charming smile vanished. 

“My watch ended.” The hall was filled with heavy silence, until Sansa’s quiet and ladylike voice spoke. 

“Your grace, perhaps we should hear the evidence as to Lord Snow’s identity?” Jon did not miss the gentle brush of Sansa’s fingers on Daenerys’ arm, nor the calming effect it seemed to have on the Dragon Queen. 

“Quiet right, little wolf.” 

Howland Reed spoke first, with a story of battles and blood and a babe. Jon Connington continued the tale, speaking of ships and secrets and silence. Jon finally offered Daenerys the Maester’s journal describing the union of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. 

Daenerys heard every word and skimmed the pages placed before her. Sansa listened intently, and devoured each word written on the page when Daenerys handed her the journal. When all was said and done a heavy silence filled the chamber. 

“It seems,” Daenerys turned as ascended to her bench-like throne. “I am not as alone in the world as I once thought, nephew.” Jon bowed to her. 

“Sansa, sweetling, please show our guests to their chambers, then summon my Small Council and return to me. We have much to discuss.” Sansa curtsied the curtsey she had mastered at age four and led the men out of the chamber. She showed Reed and Connington to large chambers where hot, scented water already awaited them in large copper baths. 

When just her and Jon walked the corridor he tried to speak to her.

“Sansa, where-” 

“Not yet.” She hissed, silencing him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, after servants had been with candles and food and fresh clean silken clothes, when the moon was high and it seemed the city itself was sleeping, Jon heard a gentle tap on his chamber door. He opened it and Sansa slipped inside. She was dressed in a pale blue nightgown with a deep grey shawl wrapped about her despite the heat. 

He devoured the sight of her. His family, no matter if she was a cousin. She was all that was good and right and true. She was Winterfell, and summer snows, and direwolf banners. She was Robb’s grin, and Arya’s mischief, and Bran’s laugh, and Rickon’s smiles. She was home. 

In a moment she was in his arms. He grasped her waist and held her to him. He could feel her breath upon his neck and her arms around him. A small warmth seemed to emanate from her and spread through his chest. 

She pulled away and looked at him. Her hand came and gently caressed his face, her fingertips tracing the scars on his face, her eyes searching for every point of familiarity she could. “Jon.” She whispered his name, as if speaking might wake her from a dream. 

“Sansa.” He whispered back. 

He soon found himself on a sofa in his room, Sansa sat close to him, their knees almost touching. Her warmth seemed to radiate from her and Jon had been too cold for too long to give up that warmth easily. 

“I was always going to run to you.” She said with a sad smile on her lips. “Whenever I dreamed of escaping King’s Landing, I always ran North, to you. I knew you’d protect me, even if I was awful to you as children.” 

Jon chuckled. “You weren’t aw-” He began but Sansa cut him off.

“I was awful! Just admit it.” 

“Okay. You were, occasionally, awful.” Sansa smiled at him as though he had just complimented her. “I couldn’t have been much fun. Always moping and brooding about.”

Sansa chuckled before turning her blue eyes to him. He’d almost feared those eyes growing up. They were Catelyn Tully’s eyes. They stared at him and saw a broken promise, fragmented honour, a shattered vow. Those eyes had never been kind to him, never outlandishly cruel, but never kind. And now those eyes looked at him as if he was the only thing in the world that truly mattered. 

“Forgive me.” Sansa asked, her tone making the request sound more like a need than a desire.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” 

“Then, forgive me anyway.” 

“Alright I-” Sansa reached out and took his hand in hers, making his voice catch for a moment. “Forgive you.” 

There was a second of silence. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” She asked, her fingers tracing the small scars on the back of his hand. Scars from training and fighting and working. Not from death and betrayal. “I just- I have to remind myself that you’re here, truly here.” 

“I don’t mind, Sansa.” He didn’t. He didn’t mind a touch that sought to comfort not cause pain.He didn’t mind the trail of warmth that her fingertips left in their wake. He didn’t mind the gentle reminder that she was real and she was there. 

They were silent for a long while before Sansa spoke again.

“Jon, may I ask you something?” The tone in which she spoke made his stomach churn. 

She’s going to ask about the Night’s Watch.

He didn’t want to let her speak. He wanted to clasp a hand over her mouth and insist they be silent. They stay as they had been, silently comforting each other, hands clasped, knees almost touching, without words and memories to come between them 

I can’t tell her about the Wildlings, and the Wights, and the cold slice of betrayal as blades plunged into my chest. 

But he’d have to. At some point Jon knew Sansa must know his past. She must know about the threat beyond the Wall, about the men that had killed him and the woman who brought him back. So he answered her.

“Of course, Sansa.”

“Where’s Ghost?” Jon let out a chuckle of relief. 

“He’s beyond the city. I was unsure of the welcome I might receive and did not want him harmed.” 

Sansa shone a watery smiled at him and Jon remembered, with a pang, that Sansa had lost her own wolf. 

“Oh! I’m so glad.” She glanced at their hands, her fingers still tracing nonsense patterns over his knuckles. “Do you think we could fetch him soon? I can guarantee his safety.”

“Aye, we can fetch him whenever you wish. As long as the dragon queen consents.”

“Daenerys will agree, but I shall petition the queen when we break our fast tomorrow.” 

Jon’s stomach twisted at the familiarity in which Sansa spoke of his aunt. 

“Do you often dine with her?” 

“She requests my presence almost constantly, now.” 

“Has she- is she” Jon faltered and looked at Sansa. 

“She’s been kind.” Sansa reassured. “Kinder than I expected.” Sansa wriggled down the sofa ever so slightly, in a manner of unladylike repose Jon had never witnessed. “But we cannot relax around her. Not even for a moment.” 

“We?” Jon asked, Sansa’s warm hand stilling on his but not withdrawing it. 

“Yes. You’re my family.” Jon glanced over at Sansa, her eyes were closed and her head was resting against the sofa. 

“I’m a Targaryen.”

“You’re a Stark. You’ll always be a Stark to me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The heat of the dragon’s den startled Jon. He knew the space would be hot, he was merely surprised he could feel it. 

“The green is Rhaegal for my brother, your father.” Daenerys said gesture toward the larger of the two dragons. “The other is Viserion, for my brother and your uncle.” The cream and gold dragon let out a shreech that pierced Jon’s ears. Daenerys walked toward the smaller dragon with her hands out spread.

“Hush, now. You shall feast soon.” She made to touch Viserion, but the dragon flinched away.

Jon was silent. 

“They have grown more wild of late.” Daenerys turned back toward him. “But they will not harm you whilst I am present. Come, meet my children.” There was a challenge in her tone. A challenge of Jon’s Targaryen blood, of his bravery, of his stupidity. 

Fire cannot kill a dragon is was said. But I am not true dragon . Jon thought. He set his jaw and walked forward, his head high, his eyes steady. His gaze met that of the green beast, molten bronze with power and ferocity behind them. 

Slowly, Jon raised his hand as the kennel master of Winterfell had taught him when approaching new dogs. 

Let the beast catch your scent before you try and touch him. You wouldn’t like to be touched if you didn’t know whose hands were upon you.

There was tension coursing through Jon’s body and charging the air around him. His muscles were taught, ready to move at the slightest sign of danger. From the corner of his eye Jon could see Daenerys watching him.

Slowly, Rhaegal lowered their body down, lowering their head until it rested upon the ground mere feet from where Jon stood, their head reaching the height of Jon’s waist. Jon moved forward inch by precious inch, his hand held out, as he neared he turned his face away as if this simple act would protect him from dragonfire if it came. 

But it did not. Instead Jon felt the warm, scaled flesh of Rhaegal beneath his palm. Turning to face the dragon, Jon saw it was watching him. Jon gently rubbed his palm over the bridge of the dragon’s snout. Rhaegal closed their eyes and let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a purr. 

“He seems to have taken to you.” Daenerys’ voice cut the air like a knife. Whilst her face showed no displeasure, Jon knew she was not pleased to have a child of hers favouring another. Jon continued to stroke the great beast. 

“How do you know Rhaegal is male?” Jon asked quietly. 

Daenerys whipped around to face him. “I know my children.” She said, her voice low.

Jon slowly withdrew his hand and Rhaegal opened their eyes to look at him. With a tilt of their head they nudged Jon’s knee, before rubbing their cheek on his leg. He almost smiled at the behaviour. Like a cat Jon mused. He looked at Rhaegal’s mother.

“Maester Aemon used to believe dragons had no sex. He believed they were as changeable as flame, being first one sex then the other.” 

Daenerys paused upon the stairs to the door. 

“Aemon?” She turned to him. “Aemon Targaryen, son of Maekar, brother of Aegon the Unlikely? He still lives?” 

Jon looked at his feet for a moment, before meeting his aunt’s eyes. “His watch ended.” 

“What?” Her nostrils flared with rage. “He’s dead. Is that what you’re trying to tell me Jon Snow?” 

Jon’s gaze hardened. 

“Aye, that’s what I’m telling you.” Jon moved closer to Daenerys and the doors. “It is not fair that I, who did not know my birth, was able to meet him, know him, when you did not. The Gods can be cruel.” 

Daenerys turned her violet eyes on him. 

“Did you not know, nephew? Targaryens are above the laws of Gods and Men.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was Ghost’s scratching at the door that awoke Jon. Only after he had been roused did he notice the gentle and consistent tapping. Jon lit a lantern before moving.

He pulled the door open and Sansa stood before him, her eyes were red rimmed from tears, her face pale, her slender frame shivering despite the sultry night air. 

Her name had not left his lips when she threw herself into his arms, wrapping her own around his neck. Jon froze for a moment before wrapping his own arms around her and holding her tightly to him. He felt her nose press into the exposed skin where his shoulder met his neck. Jon felt Ghost brush passed his thigh as the direwolf nudged the door closed. 

“I’m sorry.” Came Sansa’s soft and slightly muffled voice. “I just- I couldn’t-”

“It’s okay.” Jon rubbed circles into her back. “I understand.” 

She pulled away, just enough to look into his eyes, her hands slipping down to rest on his chest. She stared into his eyes, searching for something. Truth Jon realised or lies . Jon wondered if she found something in his dark grey eyes because she almost smiled at him. She dropped her gaze and opened her mouth to speak, when Jon saw her eyes widen. He followed her gaze and realised she could see one of the ugly partially healed stab wounds on his chest, his nightshirt having ridden low and exposing it. 

He pulled away from her, turning and walking toward the sofa.

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to have seen that.” His voice was low, his cheeks flushed with shame and anger. 

My own men. My brothers.

“Your watch ended.” Sansa whispered. She did not say anything more but moved until she stood in front of him. She slowly reached out and took his hand in hers and guided it until it cupped her cheek. Then moved his thumb until it brushed the corner of her mouth. Jon almost jumped when he felt it. A scar. He moved closer and gently angled Sansa’s head until he could make out the small white scar just below her lip in the candle light. 

“Who-” Jon began. 

“Joffrey. By the hand of Ser Meryn Trant. A condolence gift after they took Father’s head.” She met his eyes. “Joffrey told me he’d give me Robb’s head as well. I told him that Robb would give me his.” 

Jon let out an involuntary chuckle. Sansa was the least like the other Starks when they had been children, favouring her mother. But her courage was all Stark, even if the wit of her tongue was Tully. 

Sansa gave small smile to him, before removing his hand from her cheek and trailing it down to her wrist. He felt the other scars there and looked at them. Four small crescent moon shaped scars. 

“Cersai.” Sansa told him. “When I wrote to Robb telling him Father was a traitor and that he should come to King’s Landing and bend the knee.” His thumb ran over the tiny scars. “I can never escape my betrayal of my family. The Lannister’s made sure of that.” 

Jon looked at her. Her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears, but her voice strong not quavering. 

She will carry this guilt until her last breathe Jon realised. 

“You betrayed no one.” He said, moving his hands from her wrist to cup her face. “You were a child, you were deceived. You did what you needed to do to survive.” He moved forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, her skin warm under his lips. 

“I have more scars and more lessons.” She whispered into his chest. “What lessons did you learn, Jon?” 

“I-” He took a breath and moved away. He could not tell her this whilst the heat from her body wrapped him safe and close. But he told her of the lessons he’d learned and the scars those lessons had gifted him. 

He hadn’t heard her move, but soon her arms were around him, her head pressed between his shoulder blades. 

“You saved lives.” There was a long silence. “Father would be proud.” 

“Your father, or mine?” He heard the bitterness in his own voice. 

“Both.” Her voice was assured. Her arms moved from around him and she came and sat on the end of his bed, her finger reaching and stroking Ghost’s fur. 

“You can have the bed.” Jon said, moving to take a blanket and a pillow. “Ghost will keep you safe.” 

“I should go back to my rooms.” Sansa muttered, not rising, making no move to leave. 

“You can stay here.” He moved back to her. “Ghost wants you to.” She let out a giggle. It was the sweetest thing Jon had ever heard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa had asked, rather shyly, over breakfast that morning if she could meet Daenerys’ children. 

“I have always adored the stories of Aegon and his sisters, and their beautiful dragons.” Sansa’s eyes shone so that Jon almost believed her. But he knew her words to be false. 

She liked the stores of Aemon the Dragonknight or Jenny of Oldstones. The stories where it is always summer and the monsters never win.

But his aunt had given her an indulgent smile and consented. 

And now they stood before his aunt’s children, a look of awe and apprehension upon Sansa’s face. 

“They are awesome creatures, your grace.” Sansa said, taking a step toward them, beside her Ghost raised his hackles. 

“Thank you, little wolf.” Jon winced at the pet name. “You may come closer. My children would never harm you.” 

Sansa trailed her fingers through Ghosts fur, whispering “Stay here, boy.” 

She moved toward the dragons and Jon’s fingers twitched, wanting to reach for her, to pull her back into the safety of his embrace. She walked toward Viserion, the nearest of the two. Her head was held high and her gaze was steady. She stopped a yard or so from the dragon and raised her hand, palm up for the dragon. 

Just as I told her . Jon thought. 

Viserion sniffed. They jerked their head. As their throat began to glow, three beings acted simultaneously. 

Ghost grabbed the hem of Sansa’s dress between his teeth and tried to pull her backward. 

Jon moved swiftly, pulling Sansa to him and turning his back to the beast, so Sansa’s slender frame would be protected. 

Rhaegal shoved Viserion, screeching at the same time, before curling protectively around Jon, Sansa, and Ghost. 

Rhaegal snarled at Viserion.

“Viserion!” Daenerys’ voice rang high after the low growls of the dragons. Rhaegal uncurled from Jon, Sansa, and Ghost to chase Viserion, nipping at the smaller dragon’s tail. 

Jon suddenly became aware of Sansa’s shaking form in his arms. He pulled away just far enough to see her face. Her eyes were wide and following the two dragons. 

“Are you okay?” He asked in a whisper, half expecting her to faint. 

The girl I knew as a child would have fainted, and half relished the chance.

“Yes, I’m quite unharmed, I-” Sansa had made to step away but her knees seemed to give out benieth her. Jon swept her into his arms, her frame light. 

“Jon, I’m fine.” She whispered, but her arms came around his neck anyway. 

“I’m sure you are.” He walked to the doors, Ghost following close behind them. 

“Take her to my suite.” Daenerys commanded, her tiny slippered feet making her approach almost silent. 

“Mine is nearer.” Jon argued. 

“That would be inappropriate, nephew.” 

“Agree with her.” Came Sansa’s voice in his ear, barely above a breath. 

“Aye.” Was all the response Jon could muster. 

Once they entered the royal suite Daenerys began to order servants to fetch things, move furniture, and ensure Sansa’s comfort. 

Jon placed Sansa on a chaise near the open balcony door. He knelt next to her. She smiled at him. 

“As gallant as a knight in a tale.” She teased and Jon chuckled. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Are you okay?” He asked again. Sansa nodded and glanced around the room. 

She leaned close and whispered “I’ll come to your rooms later.”  

“Sansa, sweetling?” Daenerys called, forcing Sansa’s attention to her. Whilst she did not ask, her look clearly inquired as to what they had been speaking of. 

“Jon has agreed to allow Ghost to stay with me, your grace. If you’ll allow it?” 

A flicker of something crossed the queen’s face before she spoke. “Of course, little wolf, whatever your heart desires.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon stared at the bald man with the jewel encrusted nose. He spoke with eloquence and emotion unlike any Jon had seen in a man before. A tear ran down his face when he described Yunkai’s struggle with the Bloody Flux. But he spoke of something else now. 

“If these ships do not entice you to return to your home, your grace, the Thirteen of Quarth would like to offer an alliance by marriage.” Xaro Xhon Daxos said, a charming grin on his face.

Daenerys let out a mirthless chuckle to Jon’s right. 

“You craved my rejection so much you travelled all this way to experience it again?” She asked. 

Jon refused to look to his right. He did not mind looking upon his aunt, but he could not bring himself to look at Sansa, instead fixing his eyes on Xaro Xhon Daxos. Both Daenerys and Sansa, at the request of the queen, had worn the tradition Quartheen dress which exposed the left breast to meet with the ambassador. 

His aunt wore it well, her beauty impressing every person who gazed upon her. But Sansa, Sansa shone as incandescent and bewitching as the moon. Jon had been careful to look only upon Sansa’s face when she had emerged in the revealing blue gown. He felt a hot flush of rage when he caught a man’s gaze lingering on her. 

“It was not your luminous self to which I was referring your grace. The rumour of your ward’s beauty has travelled far and has not been exaggerated. She is a jewel, second only to your own shining countenance, your grace.”

Every muscle in Jon’s body tensed at this declaration. 

“You may have been misinformed, my lord.” Sansa said, her voice clear and strong in the bare throne room. “I am a woman wed, and my husband still lives.” 

Hizdahr zo Loraq stepped forward and spoke. “It is a marriage unconsummated. By the laws of your gods this marriage can be annulled by your queen.”

Her queen, but not yours Jon thought, his fists clenching by his side. 

“Sansa Stark is my ward, not a slave. I shall never command her to wed.” Daenerys declared, her eyes flashing with the rage Jon felt. 

Jon heard the swish of silk and wondered if Sansa had run her fingers down Daenerys’ arm as she had done when he had first met his aunt. He wondered if Sansa’s fingers left the same trail of fire on Daenerys’ skin as they did on his. 

“However, if you wish to court the Red Wolf I have no objections. Although I thought your tastes ran a different course.” Daenerys continued, her eyes darting to the entourage of boys and men that had accompanied Xaro. 

There was a moment of tense silence before Xaro let out a deep chuckle that echoed around the room. 

“You know my heart belongs only to you, my queen.” Xaro gave an exaggerated bow. 

“I shall retire and consider your offer of the ships. Good evening Xaro Xhon Daxos.” Daenerys stood and the entire room bent into bows or curtsies. She signalled and Sansa followed the queen. Jon waited a few minutes as the throne room cleared before making his way to his rooms. He paused before the door of the anteroom his aunt would use before hearing petitions. He could hear Sansa’s voice.

“Thank you for protecting me, your grace. It was more than I have become accustomed to expect from royalty.”  

“I am no Lannister, little wolf, I protect those around me. Although you have no need to thank me, I wouldn’t give a cat I was mildly fond of to Xaro Xhon Daxos.”

“You must allow me to thank you for the gown. The silk is beautiful, like running water.” 

“That you may thank me for. I chose the colour personally, to match your eyes.” Jon heard the rustle of silks as one or the other moved. “You are a true beauty, Sansa.”

“If I am a beauty, it is the beauty of the moon. A pale imitation of the beauty of the sun.”  Jon knew his aunt would like this pretty compliment. Daenerys was happy for others to be beautiful, or clever, or strong, as long as she was more beautiful, more clever, more strong. 

He heard his aunt’s breathy chuckle. 

“You are sweet, little wolf. And I am pleased you like your gift. Although I do not believe my nephew approved.”

“Westerosi gowns are more modest in cut, especially in the North where skin exposed to the weather can be taken by the frost. Jon would merely have been startled, or too honourable to consider such a beautiful gown correct.” Jon could almost hear the blush on Sansa’s cheeks as she spoke. 

“He had no trouble gazing upon me.” The tone of his aunt’s voice was almost teasing. 

“You are his aunt, his queen.”

“Where as you are merely a woman.” He could hear a teasing tone and perhaps a note of annoyance now.

“Your grace?” Sansa asked in a tone that conveyed confusion even when Sansa understood more meaning in words than anyone. 

“Nothing, little wolf. I was merely wondering at the mating habits of wolves and dragons.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon’s body ached . His sword arm was heavy as lead, his feet throbbed with every step, his voice hoarse. 

“Retreat!” He shouted. “To the Pyramid!” He tugged on his other hand and felt Sansa follow close to him. That hand ached too, probably from gripping her so tight, but Jon did not care so long as Sansa was alive to scold him about it later. 

The fighting pits had been reopened. It had begun a success. No deaths and the crowd had been pleased. They’d cheered for their victor, but had cheered louder for their queen. 

Sansa had smiled at Daenerys when this roar rose from the people. Daenerys had bent her head to Sansa and whispered. Jon only caught a few words. 

“Because of you.” It was followed with a smile. 

And then Drogon had appeared, and the sons of the Harpy, and Daenerys had left. 

She abandoned us . 

“Retreat!” Jon shouted again. The Unsullied gathered around himself, Sansa, Missandei, and the others of the high court and soon they had stumbled across the threshold of the Great Pyramid. 

“You, barricade every entrance, no one enters or leaves without my express permission.” Jon called to an Unsullied named Blue Rat. “You, get a healer and everything they need and begin attending to those injured within the court.” Jon ordered, pointing to another. 

“Send healers to the streets with protective guards, the people must seen the Daenerys offers them aid.” Sansa whispered into his ear. He called upon Grey Worm to organise this. 

“Ser Barristan, please see that all members of the court are reassured of Daenerys’ love and care. She will return to us as soon as she is able. We must be as strong as her dragons whilst she is gone.” Sansa asked Selmy, her hand grasping his, a reassuring smile on her face. 

Once Jon was sure the court was busy and safe, he pulled Sansa with him in his retreat to his chambers. 

Once the doors shut behind them he released her hand. There was blood and dirt and dust covering his hand, except when his hand had grasped hers, the skin there was clean. 

“There’s water in that basin.” He said, gesturing to his wash stand. Sansa merely stood in the centre of the room, her gaze fixed on the floor.  “Sansa?” 

Her head jerked up, her gaze meeting his. 

“We need to declare a care-taker ruler as soon as the court has reassembled. Perhaps before.” She turned and washed the grime from her hands and face.  “Hizdahr zo Loraq will attempt to seize power. He has tried to manipulate Daenerys through the-”

“The Sons of the Harpy, aye.” Jon finished nodding. He watched as Sansa emptied the basin of red-brown water and refilled it with clean water from a jug as if she was in a dream, her hands and body moving without conscious thought. 

“If we can get to Ser Selmy, I believe he will support our claim. It is the strongest with Daenerys.”

Jon rinsed his hands. He could see Sansa as a queen. She was kind and fair and just. 

She would rule well. 

“Aye. Selmy does have a kind of honour. We should also talk to Grey Worm, Missandei, and perhaps Daario Naharis. Connington will support us.” Jon turned to face his room. Sansa stood near the balcony, overlooking the city. 

“It’s so peaceful all the way up here.” She said. Jon moved toward her, her reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her to his side. He rested his head atop hers. 

“It’s a beautiful place. You shall rule it well until Daenerys returns.” Sansa turned to him, her face a frown of confusion and frustration.

“Not I, Jon. I have no claim to the throne through blood or conquest.” She reached up and cupped his cheek. “You will be our King.”

Chapter Text

“You have the honour to be before the Regent Jon Snow of Hou-”

“Yes, the bastard and I are old friends.” Tyrion Lannister said, examining his fingers, interrupting Missandei.

“You’ll show respect here, dwarf.” Jon almost spat from his spot, standing next to the empty marble bench throne. He might be regent, but he was not the king and he would not take what was his aunt’s. Jon’s fury burned as he looked at Tyrion Lannister.

She was barely more than a child and you married her. Jon thought his fist clenching at his side.

“Why did I expect a better greeting from House Stark in Meereen than I received in Winterfell? Robb Stark bore naked steel to greet me. I see you have mildly better manners than your brother. Or is he your cousin?”

Jon almost flinched at the mention of Robb’s name. A sense of shame at abandoning his family welling in chest when he thought of Robb dying at the Twins, of Bran and Rickon dying at the hands of the Greyjoys, of Arya lost and probably dead.

I chose the wrong brothers.

Jon felt Sansa’s fingers trail gently down his arm.

“You have to be smarter than Father, smarter than Robb.” She’d told him, looking into his eyes. “I loved them, I miss them. But they made stupid mistakes and they both lost their heads for it.”

Sansa was right. He had to be clever if he was to protect her.

“The Starks have always been my family.” Jon replied.

“As they are now mine, by marriage.” Tyrion offered a smile to Sansa, who stood to Jon’s side. Jon gritted his teeth. “Indeed the last I saw my lady wife was at Joffrey’s wedding. A truly miserable affair.”

“Oh, it had its moments, my lord.” Sansa’s voice was as serene and as calm as a frozen river with all the turbulent ferocity beneath the surface.

“Who sent you here, Lannister?” Jon asked.

How dare he speak to her? How dare he remind her of the terrible things she endured at the will of his family?

“A little spider suggested I serve the Dragon Queen.”

“And you believed a Bear would appease the Dragon’s ferocity?” Sansa asked, her eyes flickering to Jorah Mormont. The man had barely moved since entering the hall, his face a mask of pain and despair. Tyrion shifted on his feet.

He has no soothing words to offer. Jon realised.

“Ser Jorah Mormont was a protector, a mentor, a lo-”

“A traitor and a slaver.” It was Missandei’s voice that cut through the hall. Her eyes flickered to Sansa after she spoke, as if fearing retribution, but Sansa offered a smile and a nod. “He betrayed our Queen’s trust, he gave information of her to her enemies, he sold slaves.”

Jorah had winced at every accusation but the last. It was the last that made Jon’s stomach turn.

“My aunt banished you, Ser Jorah Mormont.” Jon stated, and for the first time Jorah met Jon’s gaze.

He has his father’s look. Jon thought. But little of his honour.

“Why did you return?”

“I-” Jorah began before lowering his gaze again. “I returned for love and loyalty.”

Jon took a breath.

“For that love and loyalty you shall live. But not in Meereen nor the Seven Kingdoms. Your banishment still holds. You have until dawn to vacate the city.” Jon’s eyes met Greyworm’s and he gave a small nod. The Unsullied moved to escort Mormont from the hall.

“And what kind of hospitality am I to expect, your grace?” Tyrion asked with a mocking bow.

“Show him to the red guest chambers.” Jon said, moving down the stairs and passed the dwarf. The Unsullied moved in unison toward Tyrion. “And I’m no king, Lannister.”

“Well thank the Gods for that.” He heard the dwarf mutter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon’s chambers were stifling. Even with the balcony doors flung wide open Jon still left as if he breathed stale air. Rising from his bed, he moved to his washstand and let water drip onto his neck.

He glanced at his empty bed. Ghost had taken to sleeping in Sansa’s chambers and since the arrival of her husband, Sansa had not come to Jon’s chambers, even though nightmares still plagued her.

Jon pulled on some britches, a shirt, and a pair of leather sandals and left his rooms, to wander in search of some air. He stopped when he entered the large hall he, Reed, and Connington had awaited their first audience with his aunt in.

Reed had returned home. But Connington stood before Jon now, gazing out at the sleepy city.

He did not turn at the sound of Jon’s footsteps but began to speak as if they had arranged this meeting.

“Rhaegar was a great swordsman, you know?” Connington said. “It was as if his sword as a part of his arm. He moved as if every fight were a dance and he knew all the steps.” Connington’s eyes were still fixed upon the city, but Jon doubted if he saw anything. “Watching him train was an honour.”

“And watching him kill?” Jon asked. The rumours of Lyanna Stark’s kidnapping, rape, and imprisonment were part of the fabric of Jon’s past. They could not be forgotten for the dream of an honourable father. “He was a skilled fighter, a skilled killer. Every man enjoys what he is skilled at, does he not?” Jon wondered at the truth of his words even as they left his lips.

“Not Rhaegar. Rhaegar hated killing and battles.” Connington let out a laugh. “He used to sneak out of the Red Keep with his high harp and perform for the peasants. He enjoyed that. Enjoyed being amongst his people. He told me once, he planned on being a musical king and only answer petitions in verse.”

Jon almost smiled at that.

“He would have been a great king.” Connington finally turned away from the sweltering city and faced Jon. The older man’s eyes seemed distant from the present, as if he were not here and now, but somewhere far away and long ago. “He would have been proud of you, his son.”

Once those words would have filled Jon with undeniable joy. His toes would have curled and his eyes shone and his heart would have soared.

But that was when he’d known the man he thought was his father. When he was Eddard Stark’s bastard. Ned Stark, a man of honour, and loyalty, and justice. Now his father was a shadow, the reflection of a myth.

Connington and Barristan sang his praises. A prince of men and a step below a god if Jon believed them. Perhaps a part of him wanted to. But another part whispered for him to ask the Martells of Prince Rhaegar. What would the family of an abandoned murdered princess have to say about the prince and husband who left her?

“Thank you.” Jon choked out, unsure what else to say. He turned and left Connington alone with the ghosts of the past.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Have you seen them?” Tyrion’s voice was soft, gentle, different than Jon had ever heard it.

“Yes, my lord.” Sansa replied. Jon stopped outside the doors to the dining hall. “The queen showed me her children.”

“And what were they like?” There as a pause. “I oft dreamed of dragons as a child.” Tyrion continued still in that gentle voice. “I asked my uncle for one as my name day gift once. I told him I wasn’t big so it didn’t need to be a big dragon.” There was the clatter of cutlery for a moment before Tyrion spoke again. “I used to sit was the skulls of the dragons Robert hid in the Red Keep. They were great monstrous things. Black and shiny. Dead, but still hostile, as if they knew I did not belong amongst them.”

“They know if you do not belong.” Sansa said in a quiet voice.

“Were you injured, my lady?” The concern in Tyrion’s voice made Jon’s teeth clench and his blood boil.

You have no right. He thought.

“Not at all, my lord. Viserion does not take well to strangers in his space.” There was another pause. “But Rhaegal was kind.” Jon felt a tug of something at his heart, something warm.

“A kind dragon. That is not the beast of which singers write.”

“Perhaps it should be.” Came Sansa’s confident whisper.

Jon retreated a few steps silently and then approached the dining hall with more noise. When he entered, Sansa smiled at him, Tyrion didn’t raise his eyes from his meal.

“I thought I should visit my aunt’s children today.” Jon said after a few moments of silent eating. “Do you wish to join me?” He asked, looking at Sansa.

“Oh I should love to see the great beasts.” Tyrion exclaimed, fully aware the invitation was not extended to him, but not caring at all.

That’s the dwarf I remember. Jon thought with an almost pleasant nostalgia.

“I take no responsibility for your safety, Lannister.” Jon said, lifting a fork to his mouth. “They can be less discerning when hungry, and you are about the size of a meal.” Sansa kicked him gently under the table, but Tyrion laughed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon stood, staring out at the city. His shirt hung loose and his body was damp with sweat despite his inability to feel the heat. He felt a hand slip under his shirt and meander over his stomach to his chest.

Jon turned. Sansa stood, her hand still pressed against his skin. She was wearing the Quartheen gown Daenerys had gifted her, but Jon made no effort to look away from her breast. Tear-drop shaped with a rose bud nipple that practically begged for his lips. His eyes made their way to her face and Sansa smiled. It was a soft and sultry smiled. She moved toward him, moving her hands to push his shirt up and over his head until they were pressed together, chest to chest.

Her lips hovered over his and he could taste lemon and sweetwine on her breath.

“Jon.” She whispered as her eyes fluttered shut. Her lips were pressed against his and his arms seemed to wrap around her waist of their own accord, pulling her tightly to him. Her tongue flicked over his bottom lip and he moaned into her mouth, deepening the kiss.

She pulled away slowly, almost panting. Her eyes met his and he smiled at her. He loved her eyes. Those beautiful big blue eyes. The colour of the sky, and the sea, and sapphires.

“Jon.” She whispered again. But her eyes weren’t Tully blue anymore. They were changing, turning. No longer the blossoming blue of life, but the eerie, luminous blue of the dead. Her skin was changing from it’s soft pink shine to the dull white-grey of dead flesh.

“Jon.” She repeated, her lips pale, her eyes glowing. “Winter is coming.”

Jon sat upright. His heart was pounding, his body was covered in sweat, his head still trying to reconcile his dream to his reality.

I’m alive.

He pressed a hand to his chest and felt his own heart beating.

I’m alive.

He looked around his chambers, and in the dim light saw Ghost curled up and asleep on the cool marble floor.

I’m alive.

He threw back his sweat dampened sheets and stood, grabbing a candle and lighting it with shaking hands, before moving to the door.

I’m alive.

He paused before the door and listened carefully. After hearing no sounds he pulled the door open and entered the corridor. Ghost followed him and nudged the door closed behind them both.

I’m alive.

He padded up the corridor, the only sound was his feet hitting the stone and the soft scrape of Ghost’s claws as they walked. He stopped before her door.

I’m alive.

He tapped gently, not wanting to alert anyone who could be nearby. There was no sound from the other side of the door so he tapped again. Still no sound. Jon could feel his own heart pounding in his chest.

I’m alive.

Ghost lifted one paw and scraped his claws down the wooden door before letting out a soft whine. Jon heard movement behind the door, the scratch and hiss of a lantern being lit. He saw the shadows as someone moved toward the door.

I’m alive.

Sansa opened the door and Jon felt the breath leave his chest. Her hair was loose and almost messy, her nightgown thin but modest, and her eyes, those beautiful big blue eyes, were burdened by interrupted sleep.

“Jon?” She asked. She glanced to Ghost, who nudged passed her and moved into her suite. She reached out a hand and grabbed his wrist, pulling him into her rooms and shutting the door behind him. She gently took the candle from his hand and placed it on a nearby table.

“Are you well?” She asked, her voice full of true concern. Jon reached and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. He buried his nose into her hair and neck.

She’s alive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tyrion sat reading when Jon came upon him. Tyrion’s small, twisted frame reclined, relaxed, his mismatched eyes devouring the book in his hands, an empty goblet abandoned

A mind needs books like a sword needs a whetstone Tyrion Lannister had told him once.

What battle are you preparing for Lannister?

Jon moved and filled Tyrion’s goblet and a fresh one for himself. The wine was sour, tart, truly awful but Jon felt he needed a cup of something and had never known Tyrion to turn down a drink. Jon didn’t speak, merely held the goblet between the dwarf and the book.

“I never expected to be served by a king. “ Tyrion said, taking the goblet and setting aside his book.

“I’m not a king.” Jon muttered. “I’m just a-”

“A man with the name, mind, and power of a king who happens to be ruling a city.” Tyrion looked at him over the rip of his goblet. Those mismatched eyes seeing through him the way they had done when journeying to the Wall.

Jon scowled.

“You must be the first man in history who was more content to be called a bastard than a king.”

“I’m not a-”

“Not a king.” Tyrion finished the sentence. He gestured to the vacant half of the window seat and Jon sat. “What troubles you, Lord Regent?”

Jon let out a soft sigh. Daenerys’ absence troubled him. The White Walkers troubled him. Questions troubled him, questions of queens and magic and home. He wondered if Arya still lived? If Winterfell still stood? If he’d ever see it’s great grey walls and beautiful heart tree again? If Sansa would be beside him when he did?

Gods he wanted to ask someone about Sansa, about his dream. Not her becoming a wight, but her hands on him, her lips on his. But these questions had no answers, so Jon kept his silence and asked another question instead.

“Does the Bloody Flux have a cure?” Jon glanced at Tyrion after the question was asked. He felt those mismatched eyes staring into him and recognising turmoil and felt a little grateful that Tyrion did not needle him.

“No. No known cure and it’s highly contagious.” There was silence before Tyrion spoke again. “Did you wish to offer the cure as a bargaining chip?”

“No.” Jon sipped his wine and almost grimaced at the taste. “I wished to cure our people.”

“Our people?”

“Aye, the Yunkai have started catapulting corpses of those who died of the Bloody Flux over our walls. We’ve had a few small outbreaks.”

“You need to isolate the infected area, no one goes in or ou-”

“Sansa has seen to that already.” Jon saw Tyrion smile and gripped his goblet tighter.

“She’s a very clever woman, your cousin.” Tyrion took a sip of wine. Jon merely nodded. “I can see why you look so troubled.” Tyrion took a gulp of wine. “I assume your attempt to parley with the Yunkai were unsuccessful.”

“You could not meet their demands?”

“Would that I could.”

“And what, pray tell, did the Slavers ask of our Lord Regent?”

The sun beat down on Jon as Missandei’s voice faltered for the first time. She spoke of the Slavers demands, their plans of pillage, enslavement, and cruelty without a hitch in her voice. She had conveyed the Slaver’s offer of ships for the court and generals to convey them to Westeros for the price of two dragon’s heads with a steady voice. But this last demand caused her to stammer.

“They say - they say all this they will grant us so long as the personal pet of the Dragon Queen and the Wolf Regent remains.”

“The personal pet?” Jon whispered.

“The Red Wolf. They want Lady Sansa to remain.”

Jon’s blood had boiled, his hand straying to Longclaw’s hilt, and only Sansa’s hand on his arm had stopped him.

“They asked us to leave.” Jon said, not meeting the gaze of the older man.

“And you cannot do that? You do not want to return home?” Tyrion asked.

Jon took a sip of his disgusting wine and shook his head. He yearned to see the snows of the North, the walls of Winterfell, to feel safe within the Godswood. But duty summoned him to Meereen, demanding he remain with the people his aunt had freed and claimed. A little voice whispered to him maybe he would leave if he knew Sansa would be with him. But he knew she would not leave when she felt bound by duty. She was her mother’s daughter and duty fitted close to her heart.

“No, we cannot abandon the people of Meereen.” He muttered into the silence

“You cannot reason with the Yunkai. You cannot retreat. It seems to me, Lord Regent, that only one path remains open to you.”

“The city would not withstand siege warfare.”

Tyrion chuckled, shaking his head as if Jon was a child who didn’t understand a simple lesson.

“You’re still a soldier at heart, aren’t you Jon Snow?” Tyrion slid off the window seat, landing lightly on his feet. “Just like my brother. Never would untie a knot when a sword was in his hand.” He rubbed his legs for a moment. “You do not need to win a siege war. You just need the Yunkai to think you can.” Tyrion gulped the last of his wine, grabbed his book and began to walk away.

“How do I do that?” Jon called after him.

“With Fire and Blood.” Tyrion called back.

Jon shivered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon stood before his aunt’s children. Rhaegal had moved toward him as soon as he had entered the chamber, bowing their great head for Jon to pet. Viserion stayed back skulking in the shadows.

I must have both, or neither can be free.

Sansa had not agreed with his plan.

“Tyrion’s plan, you mean?” she had snapped, turning to face him, her eyes alight with rage. “This is his plan. Only he would think endangering every living person in Dragon’s Bay would be worth the possibility of winning.”

“We would win if it works.” Jon argued, his eyes locked with hers.

“If it works. And if it doesn’t we all pay the price.” Sansa had replied, her voice as cold as ice.

Jon suspected Rhaegal would listen to him, would obey his wishes the way a child obeys the wishes of a mentor. Viserion, he was unsure of. Even Daenerys seemed unable to control them. Rhaegal nudged Jon’s now idle hand and Jon resumed petting their snout. He wondered momentarily if Rhaegal could even feel him through the great armour like scales.

“How are you today?” Jon asked and he felt an almost familiar nudging in his mind. Not like Ghost. Ghost was like slipping into tailored boots. Ghost was soft snow, and warm blood, and thick fur. This was different. Rhaegal hinted at heat, and passion, and righteousness.

Jon had been almost scared when he first felt the dragon. This confession had tumbled from his lips to Sansa’s ears one late night in her chambers when sleep had eluded them both.

“Is it like Ghost?” She asked, her fingers lost in the wolf’s fur.

“Not really.” Jon rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes focused on Sansa’s long fingers. “Ghost is… familiar, effortless. It just is with Ghost. Rhaegal is more forceful.”

“And you don’t want to let Rhaegal in?”

Sansa’s fingers stroked Ghost’s fur but Jon could feel her gaze on him. He knew if he glanced up, he'd be looking into the startlingly blue eyes. Eyes that saw his heart, his soul, his everything and did not flinch.

“I- Wh-” Jon took a breath before meeting Sansa’s gaze. “What if I connect with Rhaegal and it changes me?” Sansa’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. “You know what they say about Targaryens. The Gods flip a coin.”

“But you’re not just a Targaryen, you’re a Stark as well. And Starks do not pander to the New Gods of Valeria.” She reached out and stroked his hand in a manner that was similar to the way she had been stroking Ghost. “And, if I recall my history correctly, not all Dragonriders were full blooded Targaryen, some weren't even Targaryen at all. Some were common people.”

Jon offered her a smile in return for the soft one she was offering him, relishing the warmth of her hand.

“Are you calling me a peasant, Lady Sansa?” He teased.

Sansa’s laughter had warmed him through.

Rhaegal breathed hot and heavily onto Jon’s leg. Jon looked down into the molten bronze eyes of the dragon.

“Did the Gods flip a coin at my birth?” He muttered, his hand still on Rhaegal’s snout. “Which side did it land on?”

Neither Jon hoped. Not mad or great, but just enough to hold a keep and protect those I love.

And an image came, unbidden, into his mind similar to the terrible jealous thoughts he’d had as a boy where he would usurp Robb as Lord of Winterfell. Only this time there was no jealousy, no envy, just him. Jon, Lord of Winterfell, with his tall and slender Lady next to him. Her fingers stroking warm trails down his arm, her eyes whispering of love and hope, her hair falling in copper waves that called to him.

I’ll protect her.

And Jon let the persistent nudging in his mind enter.

It was different than when he was Ghost. Jon could not see through the dragon’s eyes, smell with their nose, or release flames through Rhaegal. It was almost as if they were dueling, or dancing. One taking the lead, then the other. Jon was never in control of Rhaegal, but he could influence them.

Jon turned to Viserion. The pale dragon had edged closer to himself and Rhaegal, their head lower but not submissive. Jon doubted he would ever connect with Viserion the way he connected with Rhaegal.

No rider ever flew two dragons.

But Jon’s connection with Rhaegal seemed to comfort Viserion, soothe them.

“How are you Viserion?” Jon asked, taking a step toward the cream coloured dragon. Viserion let out a trilling kind of screech before unfurling their wings. The great limbs crashed against the ceiling and walls of the dragon’s keep.

“Aye, you’re growing fast.” Jon moved closer to Viserion and knew, rather than saw, Rhaegal tense at their nearness. “Like Ghost, you grow quick and need space to do it.”

Jon raised his hand and reached, slowly, toward Viserion stopping about a foot from their large warm snout. Jon waited. He could his tension in his shoulder and Rhaegal’s tension in his mind.

With a slowness that only a being that can live for eons could manage, Viserion moved pressing their warm flesh into Jon’s palm.

I have both.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His aunt had returned in the evening, when the Yunkish catapults still smouldered and their army was in full retreat.

Drogon’s roar had awakened the city of Meereen.

Jon was out of his bed, his hand on Longclaw when Sansa entered his rooms. Her hair was coming loose from her braid, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright with panic.

She rushed across his chambers and glanced out his window. Drogon was only visible by the stars which their great body blocked out.

“We’re glad she’s returned.” Sansa said, turning to face him. “We’re relieved she’s returned.”

“I know. I promi-” Jon let out a gasp, shutting his eyes and grasping his temple. A searing heat burned white hot in his mind. He shook his head and tried to move, but was held in place when two hands gently clasped either side of his face.

“Jon. Jon!” He opened his eyes to meet Sansa’s.

Beautiful, blue eyes.

“Are you well? What’s wrong?” Her voice was firm and laced with a hint of panic.

Jon registered the concern on her brow, and the gentle warmth of her thumb stroking his cheek, lessening the pain.

“Rhagael.” Jon said in a voice breathy with pain. “I think they’re hurt.”

“What?” Sansa’s eyes widened. “How?” She asked.

“I don- I don’t know.” Jon replied, the pain lessening now to almost nothing.

Drogon’s roar shook the Great Pyramid and suddenly Jon knew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“She burned them.” Sansa’s voice was soft. Her emotions were displayed clearly on her face, something that was only ever done in Jon’s presence.

He felt humbled at her trust.

“They were retreating. You’d secured a peaceful retreat and she- she- “

Jon moved across the room and sat beside Sansa. She started as if she had forgotten she was not alone before relaxing her body into him, curling herself up and resting her head under his chin, a hand coming up to rest on his chest. Jon covered her hand with his and held her tightly to him.

“You’ll be safe.” Jon murmured into her hair. “I’ll protect you. I promise.”

Jon’s heart ached at Sansa’s response.

“No one can protect anyone.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Meereenese court balanced on a knife edge. Jon could feel the tension as if it laced the humidity of the air.

At the whim of their queen they could all burn.

The city itself was in a joyous celebration. People were laughing, trade had returned, food was appearing, and the heralds had done their duty and made sure the people knew who saved them

“Queen Daenerys returned and defeated the slavers!”

“Trade opens at the will of the crown!”

“Food rationing to be lessened, decrees the queen!”

Jon ground his teeth as he walked through the colourful and bustling marketplace. Sansa had said she would like to visit the market over breakfast, adding that she felt safe doing so now Daenerys had returned.

Daenerys had liked that. She’d smiled sweetly at Sansa’s words and told her to get something pretty for herself.

Jon felt Sansa’s hand slip through the crook of his elbow and glanced at her. She was not looking at him. He could see her profile, noting the determined set of her jaw, her focused eyes, and the length of her hair.

Well past her collarbones. Jon noted ideally. I wonder if she’ll cut it again.

“A little bird told me something.” She said, leaning close to him. He could feel her warmth through his shirt.

“What did a little bird tell you?” He had not been pleased when Sansa had explained her arrangement with Varys.

“He told me you were coming.” She’d argued, her eyes alight with a passion that made Jon’s mind wander. “And he helped me escape King’s Landing.”

“That does not mean he is an ally.”

“No, but it doesn’t mean he is my enemy.”

“The little bird said that the flayed man is dying.”

Jon frowned for a moment.

Was House Bolton dying? Or was their grip on the North?

His question was on his lips when a voice called them.

“Lady Sansa!” Sansa turned, but did not let go of Jon’s arm. Connington was coming toward them, his face red with heat and exercise. “Lady Sansa,” He bowed quickly. “The queen requested your immediate presence in the throne room.”

“Not mine?” Jon asked. Connington shook his head.

“She requested Lady Sansa’s company as soon as could be managed.”

“Thank you, ser.” Sansa said “I’ll attend her grace immediately.”

Sansa walked back to the Great Pyramid, her arm still wrapped in Jon’s.

“My little wolf,” Jon stared at his aunt, attempting not to scowl at the pet name. “ I have been speaking with your former husband and he offered me some interesting advice. I would very much like your insights.”

Daenerys smiled down from her throne onto Sansa’s upturned face. Sansa smiled back, a look of pleasure and humility across her countenance.

“I would be honoured, your grace.”

Jon noticed his aunt’s eyes flicker to him for a moment before she spoke.

“How would you like to see those great grey walls of Winterfell again?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon tapped quietly on Sansa’s door. There was perhaps a heart beat of time before the door was opened. Sansa shut it quickly behind Jon, almost catching him.

“We have to be cautious.” Sansa whispered, one hand on the door the other on the door handle. “Tyrion has noticed.”

For a moment Jon panicked. Tyrion has noticed that I do not look upon you as I should.

“Noticed?”

Sansa nodded as she turned to him. “That we are rarely out of each others company, that we talk privately often, nothing extremely damaging, but I do not wish for Tyrion to know more than I allow.”

Sansa moved to stand in the centre of her chambers and Jon followed her. He’d felt drawn to her since they’d found each other. She was warmth and light and he would bask before her for the days of his life, if she’d allow it.

“Sansa.” Her name sounded soft on his lips. He reached out and ran his fingers down her arm in the manner she had done to him so often before. This simple touch seemed to break a dam within her, for she spun and embraced him, burying her nose in the crook of his neck.

“Oh Jon.” Her muffled voice whispered. “I want so badly to go home. To return to the North and retake Winterfell.”

“Daenerys said she would help us.” He said, rubbing circles on her back. He had to suppress a groan of disappointment as she pulled away.

“I don’t want her in the North.” Sansa said, her voice low. “I don’t want her near Winterfell.” Sansa’s eyes fixed on his and he saw her fear. “She could destroy our home, Jon.”

“She won't.” Jon reassured without believing his assurance. “She loves you too dearly to cause you harm.”

Sansa pulled away just enough to look into his eyes.

“I used to believe that Joffrey loved me.”

“Daenerys isn’t Joffrey.”

“No,” Sansa leaned back into his embrace. “She’s more dangerous.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your grace.” Jon bowed as the doors of his aunt’s chambers shut behind him. Daenerys turned to him. She had abandoned the Dothraki skins and pants and returned to the flowing silk tokar of the Meereenese nobles. Her hair was braided elaborately and tiny bells had been woven into the silver gold locks.

“What troubles you, nephew?” She asked, turning to him a tight smile on her face.

“I’m concerned about the North.”

Daenerys sighed with suppressed frustration as she moved to fill two goblets.

“I’m troubled by the army of the dead marching south.” Jon continued. Daenerys had little credited Jon’s reports of the wights, it wasn’t until Sansa ran gentle fingers down the queen’s arm and whispered in her ear that Daenerys, begrudgingly accepts the truth of his words. “I wish to return to the Wall assess the danger and then retake Winterfell, in your name.”

“And proclaim yourself Warden of the North?” Daenerys’ tone was even but he knew his future balanced in a moment.

“No, Sansa is the heir of Winterfell, the last true born Stark. She should be Wardeness of the North.”

Daenerys smiled at this, a seldom gifted true smile.

“And as such, I believed the North would rally behind her, behind the blood of Eddard Stark, rather than a Targaryen.” Jon finished.

Daenerys’ eyes narrowed slightly, her finger tapping the rim of her goblet.

“Do you think the North with reject a Targaryen ruler?” She asked quietly. Jon felt a rush of ice in his veins.

Just enough of the truth to comfort, Sansa’s voice whispered in his head, but not enough to have you killed.

“I believe the North will follow their rightful leader.” Jon answered, keeping his gaze on his aunt, but not staring at her.

I believe the North will follow Sansa Stark.

Daenerys seemed placated by his half-truth.

“You may return to the North and bring them into the fold.” She said before sipping her wine.

“I fear my presence alone will not be sufficient. I am only half a Stark and not even Eddard Stark’s son.”

She moved closer to him, her violet eyes locked with his.

“You wish Sansa to accompany you north?” Her voice was quiet her facade of calm still intact.

“Aye.” Jon answered simply.

“She is one of my most trusted advisors.”

“She is the key to the North, even the Lannisters knew that.”

Why else was I married to Tyrion, Jon? She

Daenerys turned from him, the bells in her hair ringing quietly in silence, accompanied by the pounding of Jon’s heart. He would not be parted from Sansa, not for anything, but his aunt may not give them a choice.

“She is necessary to bring me the North?”

“Yes, your grace.”

Silence occupied the space between them.

“Lady Sansa may assist you to gain the North to the course of their true monarch. Afterwards, she shall return to my side.”

“Of course, your grace.” Jon bowed and left his aunt’s rooms.

We’re going home.