Work Text:
Jon thinks it might have been another world altogether the last time he and Sansa sat down to a meal together. By some miracle she's made it to the Wall safely, and yet he fears there is very little he can do for her here. The Wall is far from safe and secure even with Stannis and his men's arrival. And it is cold here, far colder than someone like Sansa should have to bear, even if the blood of the Starks in her veins is as real as the blood in his own.
Back in Winterfell any chill in the air sent her into a miserable state, keeping her inside with the fires and the hot baths while he was content to spar with Robb in the yard. Jon lifts his cup and takes a long sip of ale. Another world altogether, a world where there'd still been a Robb Stark, the heir to Winterfell. Robb Stark, his brother and Sansa's too.
Jon's not sure anyone's going to believe that Sansa's a runaway from Mole's Town, but right now he doesn't care. Better someone with an odd story than to be Robb's heir, the true heir to Winterfell now that the King in the North's banners have fallen. Sansa has never liked him much, he's known that all his life. He doesn't resent her for it. She's just a girl.
But there's some measure of acceptance in her eyes now as they sit at table and break bread together. A family meal with the only family he may have left. "Are your accommodations comfortable enough?" he asks.
She nods. Sansa hasn't opened up to him, not just yet. He only knows bits and pieces of what King's Landing life was like for her. He won't pry, not when the walls have eyes and the woman in red claims she can see things in her fires.
Even if she never says another word to him, even if she can't think of his name in her mind without putting "bastard brother" before it, she still came to him for help. He can only do his utmost to protect her. It's what his father would have wanted, and given the dire situation, perhaps even Lady Catelyn would have wished for it.
He refills his cup and holds it aloft, seeing Sansa grasp for her own cup of mulled wine. "To those we've lost," he says quietly.
Her cup connects with his, emitting a dull, resigned noise. Her smile is weak, but it is still a smile as she finally speaks. "And to those who remain."