Work Text:
Winter Is Here
"When the snows fall," Sansa said quietly, casting her bright blue gaze across the wilderness beyond Winterfell's walls, "and the white winds blow..."
Jon reached for her hand, the snow dancing around them, spiralling wildly in circles. "We will survive this winter," he said gently, thinking of their son asleep in the tower above, the heir of ice and fire.
"And the next?" Sansa said, turning to him. "And after that?"
"Our children and grandchildren will weather these storms," Jon promised. "We will set the example."
"I used to love the winter," Sansa said, exhaling sharply, "until I came to learn the fear my mother felt each time the raven came from the Citadel."
"She bore the burden of many lives," Jon said, knotting his fingers through hers, "and she bore it alone. But that was then, and this is now. We have enough supplies to see us through to summer. Winter will come and go, but we will still be here."
Sansa took a deep breath, the sharp air stabbing her lungs. "The lone wolf dies," she then whispered, her blue eyes becoming as distant as the sky, "but the pack survives..."