Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Don’t get me started on those factory produced, auto-tuned, pop princess Barbie dolls. Girls like that, like Sansa Stark, she can’t be called a musician. She’s an entertainer, a performer at best. She just mouths along words that some computer program generated for her. It’s not her music people buy, it’s her face. And some day when she loses her sex appeal, they’ll stop giving a shit. I mean, look at Cersei. Who the fuck cares? But even that won’t matter, cuz there’s gunna be another factory produced Barbie doll before that even happens. Before Sansa, there was Margaery Tyrell. Before Margaery, there was that girl group from Dorne. Before them, Cersei. It’s a cycle that’s cashing in on pathetic pre-teen girls with huge romantic fantasies, and horny teenage boys who don’t know where to find real porn yet, and it’s destroying the music industry. Real musicians who make real music, like me and The Watchers, like The Dreadfort, like The Kingswood Brotherhood. We don’t get the exposure, cuz the award shows are all run by the companies producing these bimbos, so their agenda is to milk these girls for all they’re worth.” Jon laughed as the interviewer hurried to scratch down all his words. “I really didn’t mean to go on a huge tangent, so long story short, I fucking hate awards shows, and I think it’s more of a testament to my work to not be nominated. It means I have a brain.”

***

As soon as Sansa entered the studio, she could feel the air of tension. It was electric. She sighed. Today was supposed to be the first official day working on a new album. The songs had been finalized the week before, the music had been done for a month. It was finally her turn to work on her own album. It was normally her favorite part of the process, being alone in the recording booth, with those big headphones on, nothing but her and the music. It made it easy to remember why she loved her career, easy to forget all the drama. But from the hysterical pitch of Cersei’s voice down the hall, it seemed like that drama would be hard to escape today. “Who the fuck cares about me? Who the fuck cares about him, he’s a nobody. This is how he uses his fifteen minutes of fame? Pathetic…” Sansa heard Cersei thundering down the hall and braced herself for confrontation.

“I’m guessing you haven’t read this month’s issue of Rolling Stone yet, have you?” Cersei asked, without preamble. She handed Sansa the magazine, a glossy picture of The Watchers’ frontman, Jon Snow, on the cover.

Sansa flipped through the magazine, skimming the articles, but not taking anything in. “I haven’t… Why? I thought we got them to drop that piece about me and Willas.”

Cersei rolled her eyes. Sansa knew Cersei thought she was stupid. Even if she didn’t say it (though she did also say it), she made it abundantly clear. Sansa tried so hard to prove she wasn’t the airhead Cersei thought she was, but she always seemed to say the wrong things, ask the wrong questions. “It’s not about Willas. Jon Snow mentioned you in his interview.”

“Jon Snow? I’ve never even met him, I swear…,” Sansa mumbled, turning to the interview. So, Jon, you’ve been in the business, professionally, since you were 17, the interviewer asks, but you’ve never been nominated for a Grammy.

Yeah, that’s right, is Jon’s reply. He seems untroubled by this, writes the interviewer. He wears heavy dark clothes, the aesthetics of The Watchers seems to be a reflection of his personal style, not merely costumes for the stage.

Meanwhile, Sansa Stark, whose first single only came out a year and a half ago is set to clean up at the awards show next month.

Don’t get me started on those factory produced, auto-tuned, pop princess Barbie dolls. Sansa closed the magazine, and handed it back to Cersei. “What do you want me to say? People have been saying stuff like this since my first show. Since your first show,” she said. She wanted not to care. She’d dealt with enough haters and trolls, one more person calling her a fake surely didn’t matter. But it did. She could ignore the anonymous criticisms online, but Jon Snow was a lyricist she respected and admired, even if she couldn’t stand the music of The Watchers. It hurt that he thought so little of her, simply because of her genre of music.

“And they always will say it. But we have a golden opportunity here to use this to our advantage.” Cersei put an arm around Sansa’s shoulders. “This big, ugly brute of a garage band leader, whatever subgenre shit he does, he’s picking on the Sweetheart of the Sunset Kingdoms.”

“His being a bully is an opportunity…?” Sansa questioned. She didn’t quite follow Cersei’s line of thought. But Cersei had been in this business for years, had every sort of mud slinged at her, and still came out golden. Sansa was lucky to have her as her mentor.

Cersei gave a condescending laugh, and squeezed Sansa’s arm. “I think it’s time you had your very first twitter feud. Call him out for being a bully. He’s just jealous that your career is exploding, while his never even fizzled. Award season is coming up. Get the public sympathy, get them on your side. You’re the victim here. You can’t just sit there and take it. And who knows, maybe you can spin it into an anti-cyber bullying charity thing. That charity schtick always goes over well. I’ll ask Baelish if he can make that work.” Cersei grinned a feral grin, but Sansa felt a bit nauseous. She considered herself non-confrontational; she wouldn’t ever consider picking fights over the internet with someone she’d never met. Even if it did sway the votes in her favor. Especially if it swayed the votes in her favor. She didn’t want to win that way.

Sansa shrugged Cersei’s arm off her shoulders. “I don’t know… Do we really have to reply?” She nervously scratched at her arm. Yes, she was angry at what Jon Snow had said, disappointed that the editors decided to leave that in their interview. But she remembered what her mother told her and her sister when they called each other names. ‘It doesn’t matter who started it, you can end it. When she says something mean, don’t say anything at all. Just walk away until she’s done being mad.’ She wanted to just walk away from this, but she knew Cersei wouldn’t back down. “I really just wanted to start recording today.”

“Of course, darling. Better get recording. We need that new single by the end of the month,” she said, lightly pushing Sansa into the recording booth. “But I’ll still give Petyr a call so we can draft your tweet to Jon Snow.” Sansa sighed, pulled on the headphones and tested the mic. She just wanted to sing. She hadn’t been totally naïve to the madness that came with celebrity, but living it was nowhere near what she imagined it would be.

Sansa excused herself from the recording booth after a few hours and a dozen iterations of the same song. Mr. Baelish hadn’t arrived yet. She hoped that meant he and Cersei hadn’t started a feud on her behalf yet. She knew she couldn’t not respond to Jon Snow, not with Cersei smelling blood like a shark in the water. But if she could send out a tweet herself before her team could do it, she might be able to avoid any true unpleasantness. She pulled her phone out from her bag, and after checking that the coast was clear, ducked into the bathroom for a moment’s privacy.

Sansa Stark @LadySansa

@JonSnowsGhost Some music isn’t for everyone. Big fan tho. No hard feelings.

Chapter Text

The glamour of awards shows and premiers and galas made everything worth it, Sansa thought as she walked the red carpet arm in arm with Joffrey.  This was the dream, wearing a gorgeous gown, standing beside her golden prince, rubbing elbows with all the prettiest people in the Seven Kingdoms. Tonight’s event was nominally a charity ball for restoring the historic Red Keep, but in truth, it was just an excuse for the upper echelon to throw a lavish party. And lavish it was. Hanging from the walls were heavy velvet draperies and tapestries depicting the history of the castle. At even intervals between the tapestries were columns of exotic flowers extending from floor to ceiling. The front half of the space was dedicated as a dance floor while the other half was occupied by a number of tables with plush chairs for people to relax and converse. The bar at the back looked like it was made out of gold, and there must have been a hundred waiters weaving through the guests, making sure no one was left wanting.

As soon as they were out of sight of the reporters and photographers, Joffrey pulled his arm from Sansa’s waist. He had been in a foul mood all afternoon. She had tried to cheer him up earlier, but he was unreceptive to her efforts. If he wasn’t going to be good company, she could content herself watching the swirl of people around her. She saw Barristan Selmy, one of the most prominent stage actors this side of the Narrow Sea. And composer Rhaegar Targaryen, who even Cersei admitted to having had a crush on when she was younger. Margaery Tyrell, model turned singer turned actress. Last year, Margaery had asked up-and-coming Sansa to collaborate on a song for her album. They had bonded over the experience, and kept in close touch ever since.

As soon as they made eye contact, Margaery made a beeline across the room, and kissed Sansa on both cheeks “Barbie doll, you look fantastic. Seriously, I’m going to steal your stylist. And Joff, aren’t you looking handsome tonight?” She said with a wink and squeezed his hand. For the first time tonight, Joffrey looked something other than entirely disinterested.

“You look gorgeous too. But, um, can you not call me Barbie doll? That stupid interview was printed two months ago…” Not to mention, Sansa wasn’t the only one called out in that interview, but everyone, even fellow Barbie doll Margaery, seemed to ignore that.

“Oh, honey, I really wouldn’t worry about it if I were you, you know? Nobody really thinks that stuff about you. Anyway, you must tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“We just spent a week in The Arbor. It was so romantic, wasn’t it?” Sansa said, nudging Joffrey. He merely grunted in response.

“Did you tour the Redwyne vineyard? I spent my last birthday there, and I tell you, I can’t even remember most of it,” she laughed.

“Is it true that you’re going to start doing movies?” Joff asked her. As Margaery launched into an anecdote about just how her grandmother convinced her that going into film would take her career to another level, Joffrey put his hand lightly on the small of her back. Sansa couldn’t even hear the words Margaery was saying; she was too focused on the subtleties of body language between the two. Margaery kept making focused eye contact with Joff and nudging him with her shoulder, while he kept finding small excuses to touch her, trailing his fingers across her back, taking her hand in his as he offered to refill her drink. He even laughed at her jokes. Sansa couldn’t remember the last time she heard Joffrey laugh.

Watching them beam at each other, a radiant pair, make her feel queasy. She might have made an excuse, maybe she didn’t, but she pulled herself away from them. She grabbed a fresh drink from a passing waiter and found an empty hallway where she could recover herself. She knew Joffrey loved her. He told her often enough. He sent her flowers, bought her presents. He’s just a man like any other, she told herself, and men flirt with pretty girls.

“Sansa, you don’t look well at all.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her evening was already taking a turn downward, she didn’t need Petyr Baelish to add to it. “Good evening to you, too, Petyr.” She flashed him a bright smile. He frequently said she was too easy to read, so she tried that much harder to guard her face around him. Something about the way he looked at her always left her feeling exposed.

He sauntered over and leaned against the wall next to her, shoulders touching. “Not enjoying the party?”

She shrugged, moving an inch away from him. “I’m enjoying it fine. I just needed a moment’s peace. You can’t hear yourself think with all those people around.”

One corner of his mouth twisted into an ironic smile. “Do you really need to think in that room full of –“

“If you say Barbie dolls, I’m going to scream,” she interrupted. She pushed off the wall and paced the length of the hall. “It’s been two months since that interview was published, and for two months, everyone I know has been calling me Barbie doll. I’m so sick of it.” She scowled at him as his smirk spread. “I don’t want to hear it from you too.”

“Sweetling, I wasn’t going to say Barbies, I swear.” He solemnly rested one hand over his heart. The other hand reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, stopping her in her tracks. “I do appreciate how… diplomatically you responded to Mr. Snow, but if you had let me do my job, no one would be calling you Barbie.” He wound his fingers through hers. “Just trust me. I do have your best interests at heart, you know.”

She met his eyes and forced a smiled. “Of course, Petyr.” She pulled her hand from his. “I really should go find Joffrey. Good night,” she walked away with a small wave, heading back into the main ballroom. She hoped that would be the last of Petyr for the evening. She did trust him, as far as her career was concerned, but outside of business… She shook her head to clear the thought. She didn’t want to think about Mr. Baelish. She wanted to find Joffrey. She felt more composed now. She scanned the room, searching for his telltale golden curls. Where could he have gotten off to?

Not spotting him in the crowd, she made her way over to the bar. She shouldn’t worry. Even if she lost him for the rest of the evening, surely they’d met up again in the car on the way home. And he did promise to accompany her to the Free Cities for her tour. She would have plenty of time with Joffrey. Away from Margaery.

Margaery. She didn’t see her in the crowd either. They were probably together. Stupid, she thought. They’re allowed to be friends. It’s good that they get along. Still, she couldn’t shake that seed of jealously. It was only that Joffrey had been so quiet tonight, until he saw Margaery.

Before she could take a sip of her drink, it was pulled out of her hand. “You shouldn’t drink alone. People will say you’re a lush,” Cersei said, finishing Sansa’s drink for her. Sansa could have laughed. Pot, meet kettle. “Besides, you’re much too pretty to be a wallflower. Where has my son gotten off to? He should know better than to leave you alone in this crowd.”

“Talking to Margaery Tyrell, last I saw him.”

Cersei made a disapproving noise. “I didn’t realize they were close.” Sansa shrugged. “I’ve never liked that girl.”

“She’s sweet…”

“She’s an attention whore,” Cersei countered. “You may be a Barbie doll, but she’s the one exploiting her sexuality to make money.” Sansa wondered if Cersei saw the hypocrisy but knew better than to point it out.  “You shouldn’t worry about Joff with her,” Cersei gave her a maternal pat on the cheek. “Girls like that are only fun for a night or two.” She knew she was trying to be reassuring, but the thought made her stomach flop. Joffrey flirting with Margaery was bad enough, she hadn’t really thought he might sleep with her. She excused herself and tried again to find Joffrey in the crowd.

She spotted them on the dance floor, Margaery teaching Joffrey how to tango. She snaked her way towards them. “I can’t believe I lost you guys all night,” she said with a smiling façade.

Joffrey pulled Margaery up from a dip. “Oh, Sansa!” Her face was flushed. “Where did you get off to?”

Sansa gave a dramatic shrug. “You know how these things are. Everyone will talk your ear off if you give them the chance. Do you mind if I steal Joffrey back for a moment, though?”

“Of course, sweetie. But don’t stay away long. I was hoping to catch up with you tonight.”

Sansa waved her off as she tugged Joffrey out the side door for a moment’s privacy. “Joff, I want to go home.”

“What, why? The night’s barely started, and I thought we were having a good time,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“This night’s been miserable. Everyone keeps calling me Barbie. Your mother’s been awful. And you’ve barely spoken to me all night,” Sansa objected, pulling herself away from him. “You don’t say two words to me, but when Margaery shows up, you just turn on? I don’t get it.” She paused a moment, trying to calm herself. It wouldn’t help if Joffrey thought she was getting hysterical. “Are you— Is there something going on between you two?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Seven hells, you’re so insecure. You do know that men and women can be friends without sex, right? When did you turn into one of those girls who freaks out every time I talk to another girl?”

Sansa dropped her head in her hands. “I am not freaking out on you. I’m not.”

“This is you not freaking out? Making a scene at a charity ball, in front of literally everyone we know?” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her farther away from the doors. It wouldn’t be good for either of them if someone overheard. “What’s this really about? You don’t honestly think I’m cheating on you.”

She stared into his eyes as she tried to pull her arm out of his grip. He was angry. “N-no, I don’t… But Margaery—“

“If you’re pissed at Margaery for flirting with me, go scratch her eyes out, not mine.” He pushed her away from him.

“But you were flirting back!”

“I was being polite,” he hissed. “Should I have ignored her?”

“You’ve been ignoring me all night!”

“I didn’t say anything to you all night? You weren’t exactly being chatty either. It goes both ways. You can’t blame this all on me.”

“I didn’t mean to say it’s all your fault...,” she faltered. He had a point. When he wasn’t talking, she stopped trying to engage. When he started talking to Margaery, she walked away. She gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Please…”

“Besides, if anyone should be jealous, it should be me.”

“You?” That caught her off guard. “Jealous of what? You’re the only one—“

“You and gods-damned Willas Tyrell. Writhing around half-naked—“

“That was work! That was for a music video. You said you were fine with it.” She had asked him before they began filming the video. It was a love song, of course the video was going to be romantic. Though the costumes were a bit more suggestive than she had originally been told they would be… Still, Willas was nothing less than professional. Anyway, that had been months ago. She hadn’t spoken to him once since then. “This isn’t about Willas.”

“You’re right. It’s about you being paranoid little girl. This relationship doesn’t work if you can’t get out of your own neurotic head and trust me. And I’m done talking about this. You want to go home? Fine, but you’re going alone.”

Sansa felt the tears burning her cheeks. She reached out to take his hand, but he pulled away. “Are you going to come home tonight?” He gave her a withering stare and went back inside.  At the sound of the door slam, she let herself cry in earnest. When the sobs abated, she called a car to take her back to their apartment.

Chapter Text

She never could face an empty apartment after a fight with Joffrey. The silence screamed as loud as he ever did. And she couldn’t possibly ask to stay with Margaery this time. She tugged off her dress, pulled off her jewelry, kicked off her heels. Everything was borrowed, she would have to return it all in the morning, but at this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care enough to put it all away properly. Instead, she left everything where it fell, changed into something more comfortable, shoved a change of clothes and some personal effects in a bag, and headed back out the door. The rational part of her mind knew she ought to call the car back, or at least bring a member of her security team with her, but more than anything she just wanted to be alone right now. In the dark, in jeans, she looked just like anyone else, and with the paparazzi staking out the gala, it was unlikely anyone would bother her now. She walked the three blocks to the nearest hotel.

She checked in under an assumed name. Cat Tully. She always used her mother’s maiden name, even after Petyr warned her people would catch onto that quickly. She had been so busy the last couple years that she hardly got to see her family. Using her mother’s name as an alias made her feel like her mother was still watching out for her.

She slipped the keycard into her pocket and stared at the elevator doors. No, she couldn’t possibly go to sleep now. If she went up to the hotel room, it would be as if she’d just stayed home alone, stewing over the mess the evening had become. Or, the hotel had a bar and drinking was an activity that directly discouraged thinking. So what if anyone thought she was a lush, she thought, smiling to herself as she headed through the doors.

Sansa sat herself at the bar and ordered a cocktail. The night had started out so incredible, how had it come down to this? Joff. But, no, it wasn’t all his fault. He was right, she was being insecure. She sighed. Drinking alone in a hotel bar was just depressing.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

“No, take it—,” Sansa said before getting a good look at the man taking the seat beside her. “Oh, this is just perfect,” she groaned, dropping her head in her hands. This is the last thing she needed tonight.

“Excuse me?” He quirked an eyebrow at her, as he flagged over the bartender. He gave his order and turned his attention back to her.

“You don’t know me?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Should I?”

She slammed her palms against the bar top. “Are you kidding me? You certainly had a lot to say about me in that stupid interview, and you don’t even know what I look like!”

Jon Snow coughed over his drink. “You’re Sansa Stark?” He at least had the grace to look abashed. “Listen, that stuff I said, I didn’t—”

“You meant it. Don’t try to deny it. And I said no hard feelings, but you know what? I’ve had an awful night, so hard feelings.” She glared daggers in his direction and took a long swallow from her drink.

“Fine, I meant it.” His lips twitched as he tried not to smirk. “Care to prove me wrong?”

She tossed her head and turned up her nose at him. “I don’t have to prove anything to you. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long day. Good night, Mr. Snow.” She stood up and threw her bag over her shoulder.

Jon chuckled to himself. “That’s what I thought…”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She stood there, waiting. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “It’s just… it’s easy to pretend like you’re taking the high road, not engaging in petty squabbles. But you’re just avoiding the issue because you don’t actually have an argument in your own defense.”

She held up on finger to silence him as she dug through her bag. She pulled out a thick, leather bound notebook and slammed it on the counter. The bartender gave her a dirty look, but she didn’t care. “Here’s my argument. Ten years’ worth of arguments.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, and flipped through a few pages. There were pages and pages of music, some just a few bars, some complete ballads. Most even had lyrics written, scratched out, overflowing into the margins. “So you can read music. That’s a step in the right direction.”

She could’ve screamed. “You’re not the only special little snowflake who writes music. And just because you don’t like my music doesn’t mean it’s not good. Honestly, I think the Watchers on the Wall suck. Your music sounds like walking through a construction site in the middle of heavy traffic. But music is so big and so subjective that it’s idiotic to say ‘this is good’ or ‘this is bad’.”

“Your music is bad though. It’s so uninspired. It’s the same beat, the same chords as every other little pop star before you. Your shit sounds exactly the same as Margaery’s. It might have been good 50 years ago when it was original, but now?” He scoffed. “Besides, it’s not even about the music.” He pushed her notebook back towards her.

“Then what is it about, hm?”

“It’s that your album went platinum because cuz you wore push-up bra and a shirt cut down to there,” he snapped, gesturing from his collar bone to navel. “It’s about the fact that you sell out arenas, and meanwhile, WoW can’t even book a fucking arena to play in.”

 “Seven hells, Cersei was right about you. It’s not about the music, it’s about the fame. You are jealous! You hate me because I’m more famous than you, no matter how hard you work at your terrible band.”

“I don’t give a shit about the fame. And I’m not fucking jealous of you.” He dropped his glass on the table top with a loud thump, earning another glare from the bartender. “Cersei can suck my –“

“Now who’s deflecting because they don’t have an argument to make in their defense?” She asked smugly.

“I am not deflecting. I just think Cersei is the lowest of the low. She’s the original pop princess bimbo. If she hadn’t used daddy’s money, she wouldn’t have had a career at all. And she was before auto-tune, so you can’t even pretend her voice is actually good.”

“Watch it. Cersei’s my mentor. And practically my mother-in-law. I owe her everything.”

“Oh, it all makes sense now.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You sit there all high and mighty, trying to make me think you’re this great artist, that you worked to get where you are. But you just slept your way into all this! Now, was is a traditional casting couch situation or did you make it all the way to the bedroom?”

She dug her fingernails deep into her palm. Oh, she wanted to slap him! “You are a nasty person, Jon Snow!” She pulled a wad of cash from her bag and threw it on the counter before storming away.

Jon leaned back in his seat, smiling inwardly. She has more spine than I thought. As he moved to settle his own bill, he noticed she’d left her music pad on the bar. He looked around the room, but she was gone. He picked it up and thumbed through it again. No doubt she’d want this back. He carried it to the front desk. “Could you tell me what room Sansa Stark is in? She left this at the bar.” He waved the book in demonstration.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t give you that information,” the young girl behind the counter said in a professional tone, but her eyes lit up upon learning that Sansa Stark was staying at the hotel. “But if you leave that with me, I’ll be sure to get it to the correct guest.”

“No, that’s— that’s alright. I can get it back to her myself.” He knocked on the reception desk as he turned away and headed up to his own room.

Chapter Text

It had been two weeks since the night of the gala, two weeks since Jon’s confrontation with Sansa Stark. Two weeks and he couldn’t stop replaying the scene in his head, couldn’t stop his fingers from playing her music on his guitar.

He hadn’t intended to go through her notebook. As soon as she ran off, he meant to track her down and give it back. He sent her a private message on twitter, tried to contact her agents or managers, but, he found out, she had left almost immediately for a tour of the Free Cities. So, he supposed he would just have to hold on to it until she came back to Westeros. And as long as it was in his possession, it couldn’t hurt to read some of her music, could it? She had thrown it at him to prove a point. He might as well go over her arguments. And it turns out, she had a pretty good one.

“That song’s not for us, is it, Jon?” Pyp asked, as the other members of the Watchers filed into the practice space. Jon hadn’t even realized he'd been playing one of Sansa’s riffs as he waited for his bandmates. He shoved her notebook between the couch cushions before they could notice. He shared a lot with the guys, but not this. Not her.

“Oh, no. It’s just… something stuck in my head.” He coughed, trying to cover his nervous energy. Shit, why was he nervous? He set his guitar in its stand. “So what have we got on the agenda today, Sam?”

Sam pulled a heavy, coffee stained agenda from his backpack. He and Jon have been best friends for years. They’d met not long after Jon had formed the band and they were still playing in seedy bars in exchange for free beer. Although Sam had no talent for music, or at least not the kind of music the Watchers on the Wall played, he had a knack as an agent. He was too modest to admit it, but Jon considered him singularly responsible for the band’s success. “Well, I’ve got us scheduled for a couple of shows in the Westerlands next month. Crakehall, Lannisport, Fair Isle... And, uhm, Pyp, a music school in Ashford’s invited you to be a guest lecturer, if you’re interested. It’s just a couple weeks teaching kids to play the drums.”

“Sweet! Two weeks’ vacation in the Reach,” Pyp laughed.

“Pyp, you’re not going if you can’t take it seriously,” Jon said, but he couldn’t help but laugh as well. “Now, I’ve got some new stuff I’ve been working on, if you guys are ready to play…”

And so the band meeting continued as it always did, and ended as it always did, just the four of them, drinking and smoking. Now that Jon was a little less than sober, he picked up his guitar and started playing her music again. Pyp, Grenn and Sam fell silent as he played. He finished the song and looked up to his three best friends staring at him as if he’d sprouted horns. “What?”

“That’s a very pretty song,” Sam said. “Who’s it for?”

He faltered. “It’s not for anyone.”

“Last time you started playing mushy acoustic songs was after Ygritte dumped you,” Grenn interjected.

“Ygritte did not dump me, it was a mutual parting of the ways. And I don’t play mushy acoustic songs.” He could feel the corner of the notebook digging into his back where he lay on the couch. “An aspiring artist gave me some stuff and asked if I’d look it over, that’s all.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Since when do you do shit like that? You hate when fans give you demos.”

“Is she hot?”

“Beautiful, but—no, wait,” Jon stumbled.

Pyp clapped his hands over his heart and fell to the ground. “Our Jonny Boy’s in love!” He collapsed in a fit of giggles.

“It’s not about the girl, it’s about the music!”

“The music you make between the sheets?” Pyp sniggered.

“Ok, that’s enough. Band meeting over. Goodbye. See you next week,” Jon said, physically ushering Pyp and Grenn out the door. He slammed the door and leaned against it with a heavy sigh.

“So what’s the deal?” Sam asked as he wandered the practice space collecting their empty bottles and assorted garbage.

“There is no deal,” Jon snapped. “Someone gave me some music. I played it. It’s pretty good. End of story.”

“Does this someone have a name?”

“No one you know. Please, just drop it.” Sam gave him a knowing look, but to Jon’s relief, didn’t press the matter further. He wasn’t sure why he felt so protective of Sansa’s work. It was private, a shared secret between the two of them. But that’s stupid, he told himself. She didn’t share it with me, she just left it behind. I practically stole it. “You can go home. I’ll finish cleaning up here. I got some stuff I want to finish off anyway.”

“If you’re sure.” Sam threw the last few bottles in the bin, and headed for the door.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“You listen to Sansa Stark, right?”

Sam’s face flushed. “She’s kind of a guilty pleasure, yeah. Why?”

He considered telling Sam. Sam would understand more than the other two would. Pyp and Grenn would just tease him about being smitten by a pretty face, but Sam would understand that it’s about the music. It always is. Then again, Sam wasn’t the best secret keeper. No, better to keep this to himself. “No reason. Night Sam.”

Once Jon was alone, he pulled the notebook out from the couch cushions, going through each page one at a time until he found the song he’d been playing earlier. He plucked the first few chords on his guitar again before setting up the recording equipment.

The studio space had belonged to his father when he was still early in his career. Rhaegar Targaryen was something of a perfectionist. Before he had entire orchestras to work with, he would play, record, and layer each part for each instrument himself to see if the actual thing matched the music in his head. And he’d spent his inheritance to create this recording studio to do just that. When his career boomed and he outgrew the need for the space, he’d gifted it to Jon, the only one of his children who followed his footsteps into music. Jon didn’t know if it was born or learned, but he’d inherited that sense of perfectionism from his father.

It was that compulsiveness that kept Jon up all night, recording and re-recording Sansa’s songs. He only intended to play the one that had been running around his head all day. But once he’d played, tweaked, and finished that one, almost without conscious thought, he flipped the pages to another and began again. Sam had insisted that Jon rent an apartment more than half an hour away from the studio by public transport, because, he reasoned, if Jon lived any closer, he’d be tempted to work all through the night. Most nights, Jon was able to set things down and walk away, preferring his own bed to the lumpy pull-out couch. Not tonight, however. He stayed, working all through the night. Only when the first traces of sunlight began to creep through the windows did he close the notebook, turn off the equipment, and let himself fall asleep on the couch.

Chapter Text

Unknown number: I need it back

Unknown number: Can we meet?

Unknown number: Somewhere private

Jon woke up to the buzzing of his phone. Gilly better be having the baby, otherwise Sam had no reason to be texting him at this hour… He reached for his phone on his bedside table and squinted as the brightness on his screen blinded him. I need it back. He tossed his phone across the room and shut his eyes tight. “Woke up at four in the damn morning by a wrong fucking number,” he growled to himself as he tried to settle back in to his pillows.

He was nearly back to sleep when the thought struck him. I need it back. The notebook. Sansa. He crawled across his bed to retrieve his phone, fumbling to change the brightness settings before hastily typing a reply.

Jon: When and where?

Unknown number: Soon?

Jon: Send me a time. We can meet at my band’s studio downtown.

Unknown number: Tonight? 9:00pm

He turned the ringer on his phone to silent and tried to fall asleep again. The sooner he gave her back her music, the better. He’d already spent way too much time on the little princess. This was the last thing tying them together, and after tonight they’d go back to how they were, living entirely separate lives. No one even knew they had crossed paths. It would be like none of this ever happened. That thought put a smile on his face as he finally drifted back to sleep.

***

Jon arrived at the studio at half past eight. He wasn’t about to risk having her arrive first, find him not there and leave. And the anticipation had left him too fidgety and antsy to stay at home. Was anticipation the right word, or anxiety? While he waited, he tried to work on his own music, which he’d been neglecting while he distracted himself with Sansa’s work, but he found himself unable to focus. His eyes kept drifting to the clock on the wall.

8:47…

8:53…

9:00…

9:13…

She’s late, she’s probably not even coming, I fucking knew it, Jon thought bitterly. He wasted his evening, coming all the way down here to get stood up? Princess indeed. Just as he’d decided to give up on her and packed his things up, the buzzer rang. He groaned but pushed the call button. “Come on up.” He pressed the button to release the front door and waited.

She breezed through his door a minute later, a large hood pulled over her head and bug-eye sunglasses perched on her nose. If it weren’t for the worried crease in her brow, he would have laughed. No, he did not envy her fame. “Do you have it?”

 “Yeah.” He nodded to where the book was resting on the table.

“Oh, thank the Seven,” she said and clutched her notepad to her chest like a mother clinging to her child. “Jon.” She turned to face him, taking off the sunglasses to make proper eye contact. He hadn’t noticed how blue her eyes were before. “I want to say sorry for being so rude to you before…”

“Don’t. You don’t need to. I was the one being a dick.” She nodded in agreement. “Do you want a drink, coffee or anything?”

“Do you have any tea?” She dropped the hood of her jacket and shook out her hair.

He dug through the cabinets of the kitchenette. “Out of tea. Anything else?”

“Coffee’s fine, I guess.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked around the room. “Do you live here? Is this your apartment?”

“Nah. This is just a practice space for the band. I live further uptown.”

“Oh.”

There was a lull in the conversation as he set the coffee to brewing. “I, uh, played some of your stuff,” he coughed. “And I should be the one to apologize. You’re incredibly talented.”

She seemed surprised. Did she think that he wouldn’t have looked through her book? Or was she surprised that he liked it? “That’s nice of you to say, but it’s really not any good,” she said, stroking the spine of her notebook lovingly.

He poured her a mug of coffee and gestured to her to help herself to cream or sugar. “I’m eating crow here, Sansa. Don’t be modest. If you’d been playing music like that this whole time, I never would’ve said what I did.”

She gave him a shrewd look.  “But you still would say those things about women like Margaery and Cersei? All those other ‘pop princess bimbos’?”

He felt like he was stepping into a trap but couldn’t quite see her angle. “Yeah, but you’re not like them—“

“Yes I am.” She rolled her eyes as he was about to object. “Or should I say they’re like me. You see this,” she waved her notebook in front of his face, “and suddenly you think I’m a real person. All those women you wrote off are real people too. Sure, Margaery has never written a single note of music in her life, but she doesn’t sing a single word she doesn’t want to. She does absolutely all of her own PR and she’s a wizard at it. You’d be hard pressed to see any gossip rag airing her dirty laundry. And Cersei practically invented pop music. She might have ‘used daddy’s money’, like you said, but that’s because no one gave her a chance, because people like you thought she was just a pretty face with no substance. She had to build something entirely new, all on her own. I wouldn’t have a career at all if it weren’t for her.” She dropped herself into the nearest chair and folded her arms with a huff.

Jon didn’t quite know what to say. “—do you want me to apologize to them too?”

She took a delicate sip of coffee before replying. “No… Just, you need to realize that you don’t know what’s going on behind the scenes. You’re judging us on the very shallowest aspects of our lives.”

He let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I did tell you I was being a dick…” That seemed to make her smile. “I can at least say sorry to you.”

“You were right about me though,” she said, defeated, her fiery airs from before burning lower now. “I don’t perform my own music. The stuff on my album, it was written by some team of random guys I haven’t actually met. They pay a couple of stylists to pick out all my clothes. Half the time, someone else runs my social media accounts. It’s all very synthetic.”

“But why don’t you do your own music?” he asked, taking the seat across from her.

“Because I can’t. No one’s interested in what I write, and if it doesn’t make money, it doesn’t get made.”

“People would be interested if they heard it.”

“I tried. You don’t think I tried? My dad gave me this journal when I was twelve. When I first started seriously working toward this career, I hoped—but my managers won’t sign off on it. It’s no good.”

“Have you ever listened to it?” asked Jon.

“Just when I was writing it, I’d play a bit on the piano…”

“No, that’s not the same thing. Here.” He pulled his laptop from his bag and opened his recordings. He dropped headphones over her ears and hit play. “Just… listen.”

She let her hands rest on the large headphones and closed her eyes, surrounding herself with nothing but sound and the lingering scent of coffee. As she listened to her music played on Jon’s guitar, her eyes welled up with tears. Halfway through the playlist, she clicked stop and tugged off the headphones.

“What did you think? I know you wrote it for the piano, but I hope you don’t mind the guitar.”

“I think it sounds lovely.” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “You play so well.”

“If you played that for your managers—“

“No,” she said in one biting syllable.

“You said you’ve been writing since you were twelve? What’s the point of it if you’re just going to keep it all to yourself?” He was getting frustrated. How could she have so little confidence in her own talent? This music consumed him for weeks. The world deserved to hear her real voice. “If it’s just that your people won’t put it on an album, fine. I have recording equipment here. I’ll help you put out your own album. Sansa, you’re too good to keep hidden away.”

She closed the lid and pushed his laptop away. “I’d probably get sued for breach of contract if I did that. I can’t afford to piss off Casterly Records. It would be the end of my career and it’s not worth it.”

“You’re making excuses. If this is something you want—“

“I said no.” She realized how harsh she sounded, and continued more softly. “It’s a generous offer and I’m glad you like it so much, but it’s my music and I say no.” She tucked her notebook securely under one arm and tugged up her hood with the other, preparing to leave.

“Wait,” he said. He popped a CD out from the disc drive of his computer. “I burned a copy of your music. Take it. Listen to it. If you change your mind, I’m here.”

She took the disc from his hand and slid it between the pages of her notebook. “Thanks, but I’m not changing my mind.” Without a goodbye, she turned and walked out.

Jon sighed. As excited as he had been at the idea, there was no way they were out of each other’s lives just yet.

Chapter Text

He was right to expect that he hadn’t heard the last of Sansa. Before the week was out, she texted him again, and he couldn’t quite name the feeling that arose when her name flashed across his screen.

Sansa: I can’t believe how much work you put into this

Jon: Does that mean you changed your mind?

Sansa: Don’t worry about it.

Jon: that means…?

Sansa: Don’t you have your own music to work on?

Jon didn’t want to push it so he let her change the conversation, but he wasn’t going to let it go. She texted him the next day too, and before long, they were texting frequently. Suddenly, Sansa Stark was his friend? Jon wasn’t sure he was quite ready to admit to that, but there were more days that they talked than not.

A few weeks later, she was in his apartment, sitting crossed legged on the coffee table in front of him, plucking idly at his guitar. “You know, I bet Robb and Arya would lose it if they knew I was here with you.”

“Who?” Jon asked. He was stretched out across the couch, his large white dog, Ghost, lazing across his legs.

“My brother and sister. They loved your band,” she told him.

“So that’s how you’re familiar with my stuff. I wondered.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit hard to miss when someone’s blaring it through the entire house.” She hummed along to the tune she was attempting to play. “It’s also how I know you’re a brilliant writer.”

“I thought you said my music sounded like traffic,” he chuckled.

“The music does, for sure. But your lyrics. Once you dig through all the noise, your words are poetry.”

He snorted. “I don’t know whether you’re being flattering or insulting.”

“How could that possibly be an insult? I’ve never been a fan on Watchers on the Wall, but I’m still a fan of you. I used to print off your lyrics and tape them to my walls,” she confessed, her cheeks burning pink.

He couldn’t help the smile that stole over his face. “I guess we’re even now, then. I’m a fan of yours too.” He kept his eyes on Ghost on his lap and could only see her out of the corner of his eye, but he thought her face just went a shade redder. “Do you want me to teach you how to play that?” he asked, vaguely gesturing to the guitar.

“Hm? Oh, no, that’s alright.” She set the instrument in its stand and leaned over to stroke Ghost’s fur. “So,” she said, “is anyone else in your family musical, or just you?”

“My dad writes music,” he said, intentionally skirting around the question. He wasn’t ashamed of his father, not in the least, but he’d deliberately chosen a stage name as to avoid being accused of riding Rhaegar’s coattails. “But everyone else, no. My sister, Rhaenys, is a vet, and my brother,” he laughed, “Aegon’s been off ‘finding himself’ in Essos for the past year. He calls it ‘sabbatical’, but family gets to make fun, right?” She giggled in agreement. “What about you?”

“My mom was an actress, on stage, for a few years before she got married. Musicals and stuff, so she can sing. She made us all do piano when we were little, but only Bran and I kept it up.”

“I thought you said your brother’s name was Robb?” he asked.

“I did. I have three brothers: Robb, Bran, and Rickon.” She counted them off on her fingers. “And one sister, Arya.”

“Full house, huh?”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “Especially when you add five dogs.” She patted Ghost’s side with a solid thump when he moved to sit next to her.

Jon’s jaw dropped. “Five kids and five dogs? Your parents must have been insane.”

“They never intended to get five dogs. But my uncle Benjen’s dog had puppies, and he invited us over to see the litter. While he was trying to talk my dad into adopting one, we’d each fallen in love with a different puppy. They put their foot down at first, but my dad was butter when confronted with the five of us begging, so we ended up with five dogs. It was fine when they were small, but they grew up to be about the same size as Ghost here.”

Jon was choking on his laughter. “We had a cat growing up. Well, Rhae had a cat. That little fucker would bite and scratch anyone who got close to him, except my sister. –I’m pretty sure she still has that old bastard too…”

The conversation came to standstill as their giggles subsided. Sansa fiddled with her phone, thumbs moving in a flurry as she responded to some waiting message. That worried crease returned to her brow as her phone pinged to alert an incoming message. “I have to get going,” she said and tossed her phone into her bag, a little too roughly.

“Everything ok?” Jon asked, standing up to walk her to the door.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” she said tartly. Then she sighed, “No. Joffrey just got home earlier than I was expecting… But whatever. It’s fine.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. When she dropped her hands, she was smiling again. “Thanks for having me over. It’s was nice, just hanging out like this.”

He returned her smile a little awkwardly. “Yeah, for sure. Uh, we’ll have to do it again sometime.”

Sansa opened her mouth to say something else when her phone started ringing loudly in her purse. She grimaced. “I really gotta go. Bye, Jon.” She ducked out the door, tugging her phone out as she left. “I’m on my way now.”

Jon closed the door after her. He’d known plenty of people who ran off the moment they had the chance to be alone with their significant other. Sam was still like that, even after years with Gilly. Jon admitted that he had probably been a little like that with Ygritte too. But normally it was excitement and love (lust?) that pulled you out the door. Sansa definitely didn’t look excited when she learned Joffrey had come home early. She looked more like a kid who had been caught out after curfew. Jon shrugged to himself. Not everyone has the same kind of relationship, and even though he was friends with her (yes, he couldn’t deny it anymore. They were friends.), he really didn’t know that much about her personal life. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was odd. Every time she mentioned Joffrey, she seemed odd. None of that was his business though, he told himself.

Chapter Text

Sansa was over at the studio again. It was weird how normal seeing her sitting at his piano had become. Not that she was really over a lot, but Jon thought she looked comfortable here, relaxed. He watched her long fingers dance across the keys, pausing only to scratch a few notes down in her notebook laying open on the bench beside her. “Writing something new or fixing something old?”

She dropped the pencil and looked over her shoulder at him, smile lighting up her eyes. “Something new. About a boy who loves two things; music and his dog.”

“You’re pulling my leg.” He reached for her notebook to check, but she pulled it away giggling. “C’mon, show me.”

“You can’t see it till it’s done!”

“You do realize I can hear it when you’re playing, right? Why can’t I look at it?”

“It’s not the same.” She placed the book back on the bench when she was sure he wouldn’t make another grab for it and picked up her fallen pencil.

“Are you ever going to show anybody?” With that, the teasing atmosphere dissipated.

She bit her lip and shook her head.

He moved her book and sat down next to her. “Why not?”

“Even if I wanted to produce my music, it’s not ready yet.” She took the book from him and ran her fingers over the worn cover. “It’s not good enough. I mean, if I were still at home, posting music online, sure, but I’m a professional. I– this is going to sound so egotistical, but I’m famous. I’ve got different standards now.”

Jon rested his hand solemnly on the cover of her notebook. “I know you think I’m biased, but I swear, your music meets every possible standard.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and tugged her book out from under Jon’s hand, stowing it safely away in her bag. “You’re biased.”

“Seriously,” he said, making measured eye contact. “What’s holding you back on this?”

“A lot of things.” She sighed heavily. “I really don’t think any of it is good enough yet. And to get it right… that takes time I just can’t spare. It might be worth taking the time, if there was a guarantee it’d be well received, but there’s not. And on top of all that, there’s still the lingering issue of getting sued by my label.”

Jon scribbled her list down on a scrap piece of paper. “Ok, let’s look at this one problem at a time.”

Sansa tugged the pen out of his hand. “Jon, enough. I can’t express much I appreciate your belief in my music, really. But this isn’t going to happen.”

He raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I give up. Is that what you want to hear?”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

And that was the end of that conversation. Or, it should have been. He had every intention of respecting her wishes. She didn’t want to go public with her music, fine.

Not fine.

She didn’t have the spare time, but he sure did. He spent his down time recording and perfecting just one of her songs. She said it wasn’t right yet, well, he’d make it right. He needed to show her what this could be at its full potential. He polished off the rough edges of his previous recordings. He added a full arrangement, recording each part and layering and building the song on his computer. He even sent it to his father to critique, something he never did, even for his own work. He needed this to be at its best. He wanted to show her how to be confident in her work.

When it was perfect, or as good as he could get it anyway, he created a throw away email address to create a throw away youtube account to post the song anonymously. He couldn’t afford to have someone trace it back to him and try to give him credit for the song. When she was ready to claim it, it had to be hers. Once posted, he waited a few days, an antsy anxious few days watching the views slowly creep up, before sharing the music on his own social media accounts.

Jon Snow @JonSnowsGhost
Not WoWs style but WOW

After his endorsement, the views and shares on youtube exploded. He might not be as famous as she was, but he still had a good sized fanbase of his own at his disposal. The response was better than he’d hoped. If this didn’t make her see…

***

“How could you!”

He pulled the phone a few inches away from his ear. “Sansa, calm down.”

“You had no right to post my music. That was private.”

“I didn’t post it. Youtube user flo286 did,” he teased.

“Jon, I know it was you.”

“Have you seen how many views it got? Did you see the comments? People love it.”

“That’s not the point!” He heard her take a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was shaky. “You don’t understand…”

“What don’t I understand? You said your music wasn’t good, you said no one would buy it. You’re just pissed I proved you wrong.”

Now Sansa was fuming. “I’m pissed because you violated my trust. I’ve never shared my music with anybody. I share it with you, and you post it online in front of the gods and everyone! After I expressly told you not to.”

“I didn’t know that…” He wavered. He knew she kept her music private, but not sharing it with anyone? She wouldn’t have shown him if she didn’t at least share it with her family, her boyfriend, someone…

“You knew I didn’t want to do anything with my music. Take it down.”

“Sansa.”

“Take. It. Down.”

Jon listened to the lingering dial tone after she hung up. Of all the scenarios he imagined, he never predicted she’d react so furiously. He gave her a few minutes to calm down before he tried to call her back. ….And it went straight to voice mail. This was not his intention at all. His kneejerk reaction was to get angry too, to leave it up, post another one. But she seemed so upset. Not mad, though she did sound mad, but underneath it, really wounded. He didn’t want to be responsible for her feeling this way. He pulled the video and deleted his tweets.

Later that evening, he tried to call her back. He assumed she’d turned her phone off, taking some time to cool down. But it went straight to voicemail again. He left a short message. “Hey, it’s me. I took it down. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to break your trust. Call me back? I want to know we’re still ok.”

They weren’t ok. She didn’t call him back. Not that night. Not the next day. Not for weeks. When he tried to reach out to her online, she blocked him there as well. He was as good as dead to her.

Oh well. He hadn’t wanted her in his life anyway, he told himself. All he’d wanted since she’d left that notebook on the bar was for them to go their separate ways. Somehow, after that night, they’d gotten closer. Too close. Now things were back to the way the always should have been, her playing her trashy pop shit across the country, and he’d go back to scrounging up shows with his 'terrible band'. Good riddance.

Chapter Text

“Jon?”

It had been one hundred and four days since Jon had last heard from Sansa Stark. Not that he’d been counting. When his phone rang in the middle of the night, he unconsciously swiped to ignore the call, not even fully waking up. When it began to ring again almost immediately, he sleepily accepted and put the phone to his ear. Hers was the last voice he expected to hear on the line.

“Are you there? Jon?”

“Y-yeah.” He sat up in bed. It was hard to hear her, wherever she was. “Sansa, what—”

“I want to do it,” she sniffled. At least, it sounded like a sniffle. Is she crying?

His brain was still foggy from sleep, working hard to catch up with the mere fact that she was calling him. He couldn’t even begin to process what she was talking about. “Do… what?”

“My music. I want to record it. Can you meet me at your studio?”

“Now?”

“Yes. It has to be now.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll see you there.”

Jon checked the time on his phone. 2:36 a.m. The buses had stopped running hours ago. He’d need to call a cab or an uber or something. It was too far to walk in the middle of the night. He almost called her back to tell her to reschedule at a more reasonable hour, but she’d sounded urgent. And this was the first time she’d reached out to him in months. This wasn’t a social call.

An hour later, he got out of the cab in front of his building. Sansa was already outside, waiting for him. When she saw him she let out a sigh of relief. “I thought you wouldn’t come…”

I shouldn’t have, he thought sourly. To her, he lied with a shrug. “I was already down this way anyway. Should we go up?” She nodded and he opened the door for her.

Under proper lights, not the orange glow from the street lamps, he saw how red her nose was and how puffy her eyes looked. She had been crying. She didn’t seem ready to volunteer the reason and he didn’t ask. Instead, he busied himself with making coffee, while she sat herself at the piano and began warming up. Jon wasn’t sure what to say to her. Where have you been? Did you miss me? How dare you call me for a favor after nearly four months of radio silence… Instead he asked, “Do you still take your coffee the same?”

She shook her head. “No coffee for me, thanks.”

“You sure? It’s late…” He poured himself a cup and held out the pot for her, but she shook her head again. Jon shrugged and took a long swallow of it black. He had a feeling he’d need it at full strength tonight.

“Can we start now?”

“Yeah.” He set his mug on the top of the piano and turned on the equipment. “But first; what changed your mind?”

Sansa had already begun to play. “You did,” she said weakly. “I listened to the cd you gave me and–”

He was too tired to listen to her lie to him. He switched the equipment off with a snap. “That’s not it.”

She stared at him, eyes wide. “Y-yes it is...”

“Why did you call me, crying, in the middle of the night?” And how is that connected to the music?

She angrily wiped the tears out of her eyes. “Jon, I just want to play…”

“Fine. When you tell me why you called me now, after you threw a fit and cut me off for four damn months?” He glared at her, daring her to look away.

She met his challenge, steely look in her eye. Not breaking eye contact, Sansa tugged off her shirt in one fluid motion. She stared him down a moment longer, then turned her eyes down to the keys and began to play again. Jon was taken aback by her sudden, strange action, until he saw what she had intended for him to see. The skin on her back was smooth and pale, except where the white expanse was interrupted by mottled green and purple bruises. He sucked in a breath. “Sansa.”

She shook her head and began to play louder. “Just,” she said quietly, her voice breaking, “just record.” Jon obeyed and turned everything back on then stepped back to watch her play. She was a vision, the music she was playing a haunting contrast to the horror on her back. Unthinking, he pulled out his phone to capture the image before him. He silently snapped a photo, then he sat back to watch. He watched as she played one song after another. When she stopped playing to cry, he moved to sit next to her on the bench.  He didn’t touch her for fear of breaking the illusion or crossing her boundaries, but she seemed to find strength in his proximity and continued.

It was past sunrise when she pushed herself away from the keyboard and wiped her eyes again. “Do you want to talk about it?” Jon offered.

She rolled her eyes and let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “No. But I suppose I have to, don’t I?” Jon gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not the first time, you know. But it’s the last. I swear it, this is the last time.”

Jon picked up her shirt where she’d dropped it on the floor and handed it back to her. She tugged it on and to all the world, she looked like nothing was wrong. “Do you need a place to stay? I have a spare bedroom at my apartment. Or the couch here pulls out, if you’d rather be alone.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to put you out so much. I can stay here. It’ll just be a few days, I promise. Just until I figure something else out.”

“Stay as long as you need to.”

“Can we still work on the album?”

“What album?”

“My music. You offered…”

From the moment he first saw the ugly splash of purple on her back, he’d forgotten why she called. She changed her mind. “Sansa, what does the music have to do with any of this?”

She looked at him like he was missing something obvious. “You didn’t pay attention to the lyrics, did you?” Jon confessed that he’d read them but nothing specific stuck out in his mind. “Of course…” This time as she played, she sang.

"I’m made of porcelain / Isn’t it a sin / When you touch me / you break more than skin.”

She stopped when she’d finished the chorus and looked at him expectantly. “I wrote that the first time he ever hit me. That was the song you posted, Jon. It wasn’t just the music I didn’t want exposed.”

He felt the guilt pool in his stomach like lead. “I had no idea…”

“I know you didn’t. I was so mad at you and you didn’t even know why… But I’m done with him. I want to make my music. I don’t want to lie anymore.”

He nodded. “We can work on the album. But you look fucking exhausted. Get some sleep, we can start fresh tomorrow.”

“I’m not tired…” She stifled a yawn.

Jon looked at her, disbelieving. He pulled out the couch bed. “Well, I’m beat. The sheets… are probably gross, but they should be fine for one night. I can bring some fresh ones if you need ‘em.” She sat herself down on the lumpy mattress. “There’s food in the cabinets, some of your tea… If there’s anything else you need–”

“You’ve done too much for me already. I shouldn’t have called you.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

Sansa pat the bed next to her and he sat down. She rested her forehead on his shoulder, hiccuping softly as if she might cry again. He put an arm around her shoulders. “I didn’t know who else to call. I don’t have anyone—”

“The police. You should have gone to the hospital. Sansa, what if he broke your ribs?” He kicked himself for not thinking of that sooner.

“I’ve had broken ribs before.” Sansa gently prodded the worst bruise with her fingers, wincing slightly. “This doesn’t feel the same. What good would the police do anyway? Take a few photos that’d get ‘leaked’ online two days later, and pretend to do an investigation until Cersei buys them off with an autograph and a smile,” she sneered.

“You’ve done this before?”

“I didn’t call the police, but the hospital staff was legally required… Thankfully, Petyr got the photos pulled before anyone could make a story out of it.”

“Why didn’t you leave?” Jon asked.

She stood up abruptly and wrapped her arms around herself like she would unravel if she let go. “Everyone thinks it’s as easy as walking away. But Joff can be sweet and gentle and loving… Why would I throw that away for a couple of bad times? And it’s not just the relationship I’m walking away from here. His mother is my manager. Their family owns the label I’m signed to. My whole career is tied to him. It’s not just breaking up.”

“It isn’t ‘bad times’. It’s abuse,” he nearly shouted. “I can at least help with the career part. I know the legalities are going to be complicated, but we’ll figure it out. Cersei’s not a sea witch; she doesn’t own your voice. This doesn’t have to be the end for you.” He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “If I go home for a few hours, are you going to be alright here by yourself?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Try and sleep a bit, ok?”

Sansa agreed and stretched out of the sofa bed. “I’ll try, but how old is this couch? I can feel the springs,” she complained with a wry smirk.

“We can figure out better arrangement later.” Jon rubbed his tired eyes. “After a long nap and maybe a shower. I can’t think anymore.”

“Me neither. Good night. Or should I say good morning?”

“Good morning, Sansa.” He smiled softly and headed towards the door.

Chapter Text

They spent the next three weeks recording Sansa’s music. Jon had put all Watchers’ stuff on hold to focus on this, though they were on bit of a downward trend right now so luckily he wasn’t cancelling shows, just a couple of practices. Of course, his bandmates were suspicious. Jon was normally very strict about regular sessions. He made excuses as to why he was cancelling now, but he didn’t pretend to think that they believed him. “It’s going to be amazing,” Jon told her as they listened to the final recording of her vocals.

“If it’s amazing, it’s because of you. I couldn’t have done any of this with anyone else.”

“We make a pretty good team, huh?” He clinked his mug against hers in salute. “I think I can finish it from here. I know some musicians who might be willing to help round it out a bit.”

“Please tell me you don’t mean your band,” she said, trying to keep a straight face, but she couldn’t help the corners of her mouth from tugging up into a smile.

He rolled his eyes. “Very funny, but no. I actually know some people in the King’s Landing Royal Symphony. I think I could convince them to do a little work on the side.”

“Do you really think they would? That would be incredible.”

“I’m not making any promises, but I’ll ask.”

“What did I do to deserve you, Jon?” She smiled and rested her hand on top of his.

Jon felt the skin on the back of his hand burn under her touch and pulled away from her, maybe a little too quickly. “Have you figured anything out about living arrangements yet?” Sansa had spent the last few weeks alternating between the studio and Jon’s guest bedroom, despite her promise that she’d only be staying a few days. Jon was beginning to fear maybe the arrangement was permanent. Or maybe that it wasn’t.

“Not yet.” She shrugged. “It’s complicated. I don’t know what I can afford.”

“What do you mean? Aren’t you worth, like, millions?” he asked.

Sansa tapped her fingers on the side of her coffee mug. “Something like that, but, I don’t actually have access to all of my money.”

“You don’t? Then who does?”

“Petyr Baelish. I mean, I have access to some of it, but I don’t know if it’s enough to rent an apartment or to live on or anything. I need to talk to him, but, I just… I’m scared.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Scared?”

“It’s hard to separate him from Cersei from… everything. And you know I haven’t talked to Joffrey yet. I don’t want Petyr tipping him off before I get the chance.”

“You should talk to this guy. It’s your money, what’s he gunna say, no? And, I’ve liked having you around, but you need to get out of here.” He playfully shoved her towards the door.

“You’re right. I’ve totally been putting you out. I should’ve done this weeks ago. I’ll call Petyr. He’s always been looking out for me. He’ll be there for this too. Once he knows the whole story…” She pulled out her phone, finger hesitating over Petyr Baelish’s number. He would be on her side, right? Though, he had helped cover up Joffrey’s abuse before. But she hadn’t asked for his help then. He’d help her if she asked. He had to. She tapped the call button and anxiously put the phone to her ear.

“Sweetling.” Petyr answered on the first ring. “We’ve all been terribly worried about you. Where have you been?”

“Mr. Baelish. Petyr. I’m fine. I’ve been…” Her eyes met Jon’s briefly and he nodded, “…with a friend. But, there is something… I need to talk to you about my finances. Can we schedule a time to meet? The sooner the better.”

“Of course. Come by my office this afternoon.”

“I’ll be there. And, this is just between us, right?”

“My lips are sealed. See you soon.”

She hung up and returned her phone to her pocket. “I’m going to see him this afternoon and get things straightened out. I’ll get my things and it’ll be like I was never here.”

“That’s great,” Jon said through a slightly forced smile. “But, y’know, it hasn’t been terrible having you here… I mean, Ghost likes the company…”

She smiled knowingly. “I’m going to miss Ghost too. But I’ll still come visit sometimes.”

“That’d be nice.”

She nodded and went to the guest room to gather her things. Not that she’d accumulated a lot in the three weeks since she’d been here. She’d left her apartment with only the clothes on her back and whatever odds and ends filled her purse, and only bought a handful of clothes to tide her over. Ghost was laying on the mattress, covering her clothes with his thick white fur. “You know, with all your hair on my stuff, you won’t even give me the chance to miss you.” She scratched his ears and his tail thumped solidly against the bed. Despite the dog obstinately getting in the way, Sansa managed to get all of her things packed away in the spare backpack Jon lent her.

“Got it all?” Jon asked from the doorway.

“Yeah.” She hefted the bag onto her shoulder and checked the time on her phone. “So, I should probably get going…”

“Right…”

“But, we’ll still see each other. We’re friends, right?”

“Of course.”

There was a bit of an awkward pause as they each struggled to figure out how to say goodbye. In the end, they didn’t say anything more than they had already, only hugging each other briefly as Sansa headed out the door.

Sansa called a car and went to meet Petyr in his office. His secretary ushered her right into his office without a wait. As soon as she entered, he stood up and kissed her cheek. “Sansa. Please, sit and tell me what’s going on.”

She sat in the seat opposite his, but instead of returning to his plush chair behind the desk, Petyr took the seat beside her. Sansa nervously fussed with the hem of her skirt. “I need to know… I- I want…” She fumbled for the words. She had practiced what she was going to say on the way over, but now that she was here, she had forgotten her script.

Petyr placed his hand over her to stop her fidgeting. “Tell me what’s going on,” he reiterated, voice soft.

She sighed and started again, slow and focused. “I want to move out. On my own. Without Joffrey. And I need your help.”

“Did something happen between you two?”

She frowned at him, not believing he could be so ignorant.  “You know what happened.”

“I suppose you’re right. I do have an idea,” he conceded. “You’ve been out of touch for a few weeks, where did you go?” His eyes flicked between her face and the door.

“It doesn’t matter. I just know that I can’t go back to that apartment. I can’t be with Joffrey anymore. Please.” Again, she caught his eyes drifting towards the door. She furrowed her brow and followed his gaze. “Are you expecting someone? I can come back later.” His hand squeezed tighter over hers. When she heard the angry clacking of high heels, Sansa suddenly realized who he was waiting for. She tried to pull her hands away from his, but Petyr held fast. “I asked you not to call her!” she hissed.

Cersei strode into the room, not even sparing the secretary a glance. She nodded briefly to Petyr before setting her sights on Sansa, who began trembling under Petyr’s grip. “Sansa, love. Where have you been?” Her voice was soft, but her eyes were sharp.

Sansa couldn’t meet Cersei’s eyes when she spoke. “Joffrey hit me…” She could feel the lump building in her throat, her eyes clouding with tears. Don’t cry like a stupid little girl; stay strong.

Cersei stroked Sansa’s hair softly, but she cringed just the same. “You must know how sorry he is. He’s been desperate to find you.”

“She wants to move out,” Petyr informed Cersei. She dismissed him with a sharp glance.

Petyr stood up and moved towards the window, allowing Cersei to take his seat to meet Sansa’s eye. “Of course. You’ll stay with me and we can find a counselor for you two until you can work things out.”

Sansa shook her head. “No. No, that’s not what I want.” She tried to sound resolute, but it came out as more of a whine.

“I know Joff has a bit of a temper. But do you really think it’s fair to break his heart over something like this? You could help him get better. You know how much he loves you.” Sansa looked to Petyr for help, but he wouldn’t meet her eye. “He was absolutely beside himself when you didn’t come home. We nearly called the police to look for you, but could you imagine the scandal?”

Sansa nodded, resigned. Everything was about appearances, even Cersei’s concern for her personal wellbeing.

“So you’ll come home with me?” Cersei said, picking up Sansa’s bag before she could refuse. Sansa stood up and Cersei put a hand on her back, guiding her towards the door. “You’re doing the right thing. Thank you for calling me, Petyr.” He nodded but still refused to look at either of them. Cersei ushered Sansa out of the office and down to a waiting car. “Is this all you have with you?” Cersei asked, rifling through Sansa’s bag. “You’ve been gone for three weeks. Where the hell were you, a homeless shelter?”

Sansa shook her head, but didn’t answer. She wasn’t about to tell Cersei about Jon. She wouldn’t keep it from Joffrey and Joffrey would never understand, it’d just make things worse.

“You can’t just run away from your problems, Sansa. You’re not a fucking child anymore. Stop acting like one.” Now that they were alone, Cersei dropped any pretense of concern.

“I wasn’t running away…” Though maybe Cersei was right. She had run away. Or tried to. But she had every intention of breaking it off with Joffrey properly, if not necessarily face to face. She hadn’t been running away, not really, just trying to gather her thoughts.

“Disappearing for weeks, not letting anyone know where you are, if you’re safe. You could have been dead in a ditch in Flea Bottom for all we knew.”

You probably would’ve preferred that, Sansa thought. Dying tragically young would boost sales. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make anybody worry.”

Before long, they arrived as Cersei’s penthouse. When she opened the door, they were greeted with a barrage of roses filling the foyer. Cersei smiled and plucked the card from the nearest bouquet. “Joffrey must have gotten my message. Here, darling.” She handed the card to Sansa, who accepted it with trembling fingers. She couldn’t have arrived at Mr. Baelish’s office more than an hour ago. How could he have gotten all these delivered so quickly? She had a queasy feeling in her stomach, and curled up the card, unread, in her fist.

Seeing Sansa standing frozen in the entryway, Cersei handed her back her bag. “I’ve had the guest room at the top of the stairs prepared for you. Take a shower and clean yourself up. You look like hell.” Numbly, Sansa headed up to the room Cersei had assigned her. She shut the door but was dismayed to find no lock. She pulled the lounge chair across the room to bar the door and reached for her phone, but it wasn’t in her backpack. She could have sworn she’d had it when she left Jon’s. Cersei must have taken it in the car. This is great, just great. She wanted to scream, she wanted to throw something. Instead, she threw herself on the bed and cried. Sansa was out, she was free, and thanks to Petyr Baelish, thanks to her naïve trust in Petyr Baelish, she was back under Cersei’s thumb, a little bird in a gilt cage.

Fine, if Sansa wanted to get out of this, she’d have to bide her time, play their game. But first, she would shower. She had no doubt she’d be seeing Joffrey before the day was out, and she would have to look presentable for him. He wouldn’t want to see that she’d been crying.

She was right. Just after Cersei called her down for dinner, Joffrey entered the apartment. Without a word, he made his way over to her and kissed her hard, his hands on her arms gripping just a bit too tight. “I called you a hundred times. Why didn’t you answer?” He made an effort to sound concerned, but Sansa noticed that angry little vein in his forehead. She hadn’t answered because she hadn’t wanted to speak to him, and whenever her resolve weakened and she reached for her phone, Jon reminded her why she was there in the first place. What they were doing. Jon.

“Joffrey, give Sansa some space. You have some things to work out together, don’t you?” Cersei reprimanded gently.

“You are coming home though, right?” Joff asked, hands still possessively on her arms.

Sansa shook her head. “No. I’m staying here.” She looked to Cersei, who nodded encouragingly. “At least… until we work things out. With a therapist.”

“Anything you want. So long as you’re still mine.” He kissed her again, more softly this time.

“Of course I’m yours.” And she was, wasn’t she? She’d sold her soul to Casterly for a taste of fame, and Joffrey was the price she had to pay. Sansa was foolish, stupid and foolish, if she thought leaving would really be that easy.

Chapter Text

Sansa had moved out of his guest bedroom a week ago. Ghost definitely missed her. He kept pacing around the apartment, periodically checking the room where he expected her to be. Whenever he heard footsteps in the hall, Ghost ran to the door and sat at attention, ears alert, waiting. “It’s just the neighbors, buddy,” Jon muttered, pulling the large white beast bodily away from the door. Still, she’d been gone a week and he hadn’t heard from her once. She’s breaking up a long term relationship, moving into a new place… She’d call when things settled down. He was still working on finishing her music, she’d at very least call soon to see how it was coming along.

In the end, it was almost a month before she finally called him. “Hi, Jon.”

“Hey. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Things have been a little complicated.”

“I can imagine. Break-ups always are, yours especially.”

“Yeah, right,” she said distractedly.

She didn't seem comfortable with this line of conversation, so Jon changed the subject. “The album’s almost finished, by the way. You’re going to love it.”

“Actually, that’s why I called. It’s just…” she hesitated. “I’m having second thoughts about this whole thing.”

“You are? What’s changed?” Jon had a sick feeling he knew what. “You’re back with him.” It wasn’t a question. It would explain why she'd kept away so long, why she spoke so reluctantly. 

“It’s not that simple,” she said, as if it was just that.

“Yes it is,” he snapped. “How could you forgive that piece of shit?”

“I didn’t say I forgave him!”

“Then how— The last time I saw you, you were ready to move out and dump his ass. What the hell happened?”

“Things didn’t work out that way…”

“How the fuck did they work out then?” He didn’t mean to shout at her, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. This was all so wrong. Seriously, what had happened when she left his apartment?

“I really don’t need this from you right now, Jon.”

“You need it from someone.”

“Gods, you never know when to let things go!”

“Apparently neither do you,” he bit back.

Sansa took a shaky breath and started again. “I just called to tell you to scrap the music.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Just forget it, Jon.” He’d gotten familiar with the sound of her crying over the time they spent together and it wrenched his heart to hear it now. “Forget everything. Goodbye.”

He threw his phone against the wall, shattering the screen. Ghost jumped up at the sound, and sensing Jon’s agitation, he nosed at Jon’s clenched fist, trying to comfort his master. Jon pushed the dog away. He couldn’t get the image of her bruised back out of his head.  And if he had anything to say about it, she wouldn’t forget either. Sansa had given him everything he needed to remind her what kind of monster Joffrey was. Everything Jon needed to expose that creep to the world.  He stormed out the door and made his way down to the studio. Normally, the time would have cleared his head, calmed his temper. But not this time. He was still seeing red when he got there. Which he used to fuel him as he worked to complete the album they had begun together.

***

“Sam, I need your help with something.” Jon had been working furiously and had finalized the songs a few days before. Now the trick was how to get it out there. Preferably without getting sued by Casterly Records, but he would take the lawyers if that’s what he needed to do. He remembered all too well the frantic, angry tone in her voice when she demanded he take down her music before and the chilly silence that followed. Jon would miss her presence in his life, but if this would get Sansa away from Joffrey, for good, he’d be willing to make that sacrifice.

Sam got to Jon’s apartment two hours later. “What’s so urgent? You sounded kind of manic on the phone.”

“I’m putting out an album.”

Sam was caught off guard. “What? You didn’t tell me–”

“It’s not WoW. It’s… remember that girl I told you about, months ago? The one who asked me to look at her music.” Sam nodded. “It’s her.”

“Oh, alright. You have the music recorded? Then we just need to make a few calls and—”

“I should warn you,” Jon said. “This is going to have some complications…”

Sam paused, confused.

“The artist is Sansa Stark,” Jon clarified.

“Sansa Stark…” Sam searched Jon’s face, looking for any sign that he might be joking. Jon kept a straight face and Sam’s fell. “You’re serious. But she’s signed with Casterly. Why aren’t they putting it out?”

“Because they won’t produce the music she writes. This is something she wants.” It is, he told himself. She said she was having second thoughts, but that was only with them breathing down her neck. This is what she wants.

Sam blanched. “We’re going to get sued… ”

Jon ignored Sam’s panicked mumbling. “I think we have a chance, if we do this quietly. Try not to use her name until it’s released. I don’t care if we get sued after the fact as long as they don’t prevent us getting it out there. Once it’s out, they won’t be able to rein in back in.” He handed Sam a copy of the album sample. “Please, this is important…” He just hoped that she would see what he was trying to do this time. He knew he was taking a risk. Jon desperately hoped he would be helping her and not making things worse.

“I’ll do what I can.” Sam didn’t sound confident.

“Thank you.”

“Can I ask… when—how long have you known Sansa Stark?”

“Six months… Maybe more than that. I don’t know exactly.” How long had it been since that night at the hotel bar?

Sam gaped at him. “But you hated her. I mean—you know what I mean.”

“I know, but then I got to know her. And she’s different than I thought she’d be. We’re… friends.”

“Is that what this,” he waved the disc, “is about?”

“No. I mean, yes, I want to do this for her, as her friend. But it’s good music, great even. I wouldn’t risk fighting lawyers just as a favor.”

“I’ll try, Jon. But I can’t promise anything. Casterly is huge. No one crosses them unscathed.”

“I know. I have a backup plan if it doesn’t work. I know I can just dump it online, but I’d rather do this the right way. I want Sansa to have the credit, there shouldn’t be any confusion about that. If I just posted it online, there’d be rumors that it’s someone else, an imitator or imposter.”

“Jon, what’s so urgent about this?” Sam asked. He knew Jon well, but he’d never seen him quite like this. There is something missing from his story. “I’ll help you, I will, but I need to know what I’m dealing with here.”

Jon pulled up a photo on his phone and handed it to Sam. “Her boyfriend. She came over a few weeks ago, said she was done with him. But she took him back,” he explained desperately, pleadingly.

Sam nodded in understanding. “And you think this will help?”

“I sure as hell hope so.”

“Let’s do it.”

Chapter Text

Cersei was flipping idly through the pages of a magazine while the stylist behind her dutifully trimmed and set her curls. The girl today wasn’t the one Cersei normally trusted her hair to, but she was highly recommended, and on quiet on top of that. Which was fine with Cersei. She hated making idle chitchat as if these women were her friends, not people she paid in exchange for a service.

“What’s that?” Cersei looked up from the magazine.

The girl behind her looked at the bottle in her hand. “It’s just a spray—”

“Not that, you twit.” She pointed toward the speaker on the wall. “What’s that playing right now?” Cersei wasn’t certain, but the voice on the radio sounded oddly like… Sansa Stark? But the song was wholly unfamiliar.

“I- I don’t— It’s just a cd Megga brought in,” she stuttered.

“Bring it to me.” Cersei snapped her fingers and sent the girl running to the back. A moment later the music stopped and the girl came fumbling back, handing Cersei the cd in its case as if she might bite.

Cersei waved the girl away and studied the case in her hands, temper rising by the second.

***

“What the fuck is this!” Cersei shoved a jewel case into Sansa’s hands. Sansa stared at it and was confronted with a picture of her own bare, battered back. Jon must have done this. He finished her album… “This isn’t anything we did. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Sansa couldn’t take her eyes off the cover, her fingers gently tracing the bruises. Had it really looked that bad?

“Sansa!”

She snapped up and met Cersei’s blazing glare. “I don’t… I—” What did she have to say for herself? This was her music, that was her voice on the album, and it wasn’t produced by Casterly. And she had never felt more proud of anything she’d ever done in her life. “I don’t want to work for you anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want to work for Casterly. I want out of my contract.”

Cersei took a deep breath, nostrils flaring as she tried to remain composed. “Think about what that really means, Sansa. If you break with us, you’ll never work again. Not with us, not with anyone. I’ll give you one chance to take it back, and tell me who helped you with this, and we can forget this ever happened.”

Sansa thought briefly of Jon and what suits might be filed against him for his part in this. It wasn’t fair, he was only trying to help her, only did what she had asked. “No.” She stood firm, wondering why she had ever been so afraid of Cersei before. “I can’t work for you and I won’t stay with Joffrey another day.”

“If you tried to slander my son, I will fucking bury you, you ungrateful, little bitch,” Cersei snarled, her composure gone to the wind.

“Do it. I don’t care. He’s a beast and I can’t work like this anymore, and if it’s this or nothing, then, I quit.” Sansa headed out the door with a determined step, just a hair under running down the hall. She heard Cersei screeching behind her and ducked out the fire exit to avoid security. She felt so exhilarated, she felt laughter bubbling up as she left the building, and Cersei, behind her for good. Why hadn’t she done this ages ago? She looked at the cd in her hand again. It doesn’t matter why, as long as she was going now. And she is going.

Her feet carried her back to the apartment she shared with Joffrey. He wasn’t home right now, wasn’t due back for hours, so she could gather her things uninterrupted. The giddy feeling grew as she filled her suitcase. When she opened her jewelry box, she was struck with a feeling of bittersweet nostalgia. Joffrey had given her everything in there, whenever he’d been feeling especially affectionate. Sansa went through the pieces one by one and it finally occurred to her what they all had in common. Each one had been given as an apology after he’d done something terrible. He had never truly been affectionate, never gave gifts as a token of love. And like that, the spell was broken. She replaced all the jewelry in the box and left it on his nightstand, hoping that the message was clear enough and not really caring if it wasn’t. Sansa repacked her suitcase, forgoing anything Joffrey had given her. She wanted to leave this behind her, leave him behind her, and start fresh.

 Once she’d gathered her things, Sansa dropped her key on the kitchen counter and left the apartment for the last time. She wouldn’t miss it.

***

“Ok, who didn’t turn their damn phone off during practice?” Jon snapped as an electronic chirp interrupted the music. He had been in an irritable mood for the past few weeks. He didn’t regret putting out Sansa’s album, not for a second, but the looming threat of retaliation from Casterly’s legal team was grating on his nerves.

Pyp coughed. “Jon? That’s yours.”

“What?” Jon slapped his hand against the pocket of his jeans where his phone was ringing loudly. He tugged it out and checked the caller id. “Ah, shit. Guys, give me a second, ok?” He stepped out into the hall and answered the call. “Listen, Sansa, if you’re just calling to bitch at me about releasing the album, save it for the lawyers. I’m not in the mood right now.”

“Jon, wait. That’s not… I left Casterly. I told Cersei I wasn’t doing it anymore and I just walked out,” she said excitedly.

“Really? That’s— that’s great to hear. I think you’re making the right decision.”

“I wouldn’t have done it without you. If you hadn’t finished the album…” Sansa hesitated. “I didn’t know you took that photo.”

“Are you upset…?” Jon knew she’d been vulnerable that night. He fully anticipated her to be angry about exposing her in such a private moment. Using that photo for the album cover had been a risky decision, one he and Sam argued over at length. Jon thought it took away any ambiguity about the lyrics of the songs, while Sam thought it was a bit voyeuristic.

“No. I mean… I think it’s perfect. For the album. Honestly, seeing myself like that, that’s what gave me the push I needed to go. I didn’t realize how ugly it looked.”

“Trust me, it looked worse in person.”

“I just called to say thank you.”

“Can I ask—?”

“Anything.”

“You left Casterly… What about him?”

“Him too. I’ve got all my things in a suitcase right now, and I’m waiting for a car.”

“Where are you going?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” she admitted.

“I still have a spare bedroom. –If you don’t have anything else lined up.”

“I don’t know… can Ghost forgive me for staying away so long?”

“He has been known to hold a grudge,” Jon joked. “But I think he could be moved.”

She giggled. “Well, if Ghost’s ok with it.”

Jon couldn’t contain the smile the split across his face. “Great. I’m at the studio now, if you want to come over.”

“I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“See you then.” He slid his phone back in his pocket and re-entered the studio, still grinning like a school boy.

“You interrupted our session for phone sex? Dude, gross,” Pyp teased, pulling a disgusted face.

“What are you even talking about?”

“You’ve got a dopey look on your face. If it wasn’t phone sex, what’s the deal?”

“I just got some good news, so… Someone is coming over. Can we call it early today?” Jon held the door open for them, though no one moved to go.

“Is it a girl?” Grenn asked, resting his bass in its stand.

“Is it her?” Sam asked.

Jon nodded.

“Her who?” Pyp asked, curiosity piqued.

Jon had hoped that the guys would leave before she arrived, but they were unmoving, determined to meet Jon’s mystery girl.

Half an hour after they’d hung up, Sansa entered the studio like she was walking on air, large suitcase dragging behind her. Jon lit up when he saw her. “Gods, I’m so glad to see you.” She beamed at him, throwing her arms around his neck.

“You too…” Jon breathed against her ear. Pyp coughed loudly behind him. “Oh, right.” Jon guiltily dropped his arms from around her waist. “These are the guys. –My bandmates, Pyp and Grenn. And this is Sam, our manager-slash-agent. Guys, Sansa.” Pyp and Grenn made polite how-do-you-dos, but shot him dirty looks, silently demanding the whole story, but Sam stood stock still, stammering, face pink. “I think Sam’s a bit star-struck,” Jon said in an undertone.

Sansa laughed. “That’s alright. It’s nice to meet you all.” She looked around the room and noticed their instruments lying around. “Did I interrupt you guys? Jon, I could have waited.”

“It’s fine. I know how much you like our music. Wouldn’t want you to miss it,” he said with a wink, to which she rolled her eyes. “No, we were just finishing up anyway, weren’t we?”

“Yeah, we were. So you gunna stay for a beer, Sansa?” Pyp asked.

“Sounds great.”

Jon groaned to himself. He wanted them to leave, to be alone with Sansa. But Pyp was already passing out bottles and settling in to get to know this newcomer.

She seemed so natural in this setting, drinking a beer with the guys. Pyp kept shooting Jon looks, clearly looking for some backstory, some explanation as to why exactly Jon had invited Sansa Stark here, of all people, but he was friendly and charming to her. Even Sam began to relax after his second beer.

Eventually, Jon was able to wind the evening down and usher the guys out. They were alone, sitting together on the couch, her feet resting on his lap, cup of tea warming her hands. “Sorry about them… I didn’t really think when I asked you to come over.”

“It’s fine. They seem like nice guys.” Sansa hadn’t stopped smiling since she’d walked through the door, and it was contagious. Jon couldn’t help but grin back every time he caught her eye.

“Eh, I think they’re alright.” They sat in companionable silence, while Jon sorted through the million questions running through his head. “So, you look good.”

Sansa mimed being affronted. “Excuse me?”

“Just, considering what you did today, walking away from everything like that. It’d be understandable if you were a bit anxious over all of it.”

She shrugged, taking another sip of tea. “Actually, I just feel relieved. I know I probably should be scared about how they’re going to retaliate, but right now, I just don’t care.”

Jon rested a hand on her ankle in a gesture of comfort, thumb slowly rubbing circles against her skin. “What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know, but I can't wait to find out.” She beamed.

Chapter Text

Jon rubbed his eyes as he read through the terms of her contract so he could better understand the grounds of the lawsuit. Sansa had been served with papers only days after she told Cersei she wanted out. Jon was surprised at how quickly they’d filed, but Sansa seemed to expect it. How is anyone supposed to read this stuff? It’s like lawyers speak a different language than everyone else.

“How’s it going?” Sansa asked, resting a hand on his shoulder as she skimmed the pages on the counter. Seven knew she couldn’t make heads nor tails of it.

“Not great,” he grumbled. “You have the worst fucking contract I’ve ever seen.”

Sansa’s eyes stung and she angrily wiped away the tears. “That’s not my fault. I didn’t know any better.” She had signed to Casterly when she was barely nineteen, and hadn’t had an impartial lawyer of her own to look it over. Cersei had assured her it was fairly standard and Petyr had overwhelmed her with legalese and she signed without reading the fine print. She had been so stupid about so many things.

“Hey.” Jon rested his hand on top her hers and squeezed gently. “I know it’s not your fault.” They had really taken advantage of her, practically set her up to fail. He had called a few other artists that were signed to Casterly, but no one had a contract like Sansa’s. The terms of her contract bound her to Casterly Records for ten years. Who signs a nineteen year old nobody artist for ten years? Every one Jon had ever signed for the Watchers had been one year at a time, allowing for renegotiation or the ability to walk away if things were unsatisfactory. The more he looked over her contract, the more shady dealings he found. And he hadn’t had his lawyer look at it yet. If Jon could find all this on his own, he was terrified to see what a professional would uncover.

Sansa removed her hand from his shoulder and sat down next to him, shifting through the papers scattered across the kitchen island. “I never should have dragged you into this.”

“You didn’t. In fact, I specifically recall you telling me to forget it.”

She smiled, but it was disingenuous. Whether Jon blamed her or not, this was still her mess. She knew she ought to be taking a more active role in sorting it out, but she didn’t trust herself to make the right decisions, considering all the wrong choices she’d made previously. Sansa promised herself she’d make it up to him after this was all settled, no matter the outcome. Even if she didn’t know how exactly she’d pay him back.

“C’mon, we’re going out.”

“What?”

Jon was already pulling on his jacket and holding out hers. “You’ve been cooped up inside all week, and I can’t look at any more legal documents tonight. Let’s go.”

“Where?” Sansa asked, slipping into her coat without waiting for an answer.

“Dunno, but it’s a big city. I bet we can find something.” He whistled to Ghost, who bounded across the room, jumping around impatiently as Jon fixed the leash to his collar.

They headed out into the autumn chill and strolled down the block, Ghost stopping to mark about every three feet. It was a lovely evening. It was right on the edge between seasons, and the trees lining the streets were starting to change colors, from playful summer greens to burning reds and yellows. It reminded Sansa of the weirwoods in the North, but their leaves were always red, even throughout summer. If it was this cool in King’s Landing already, it must certainly be snowing back home. Weird, Sansa hadn’t thought of the North as home in years.

“Are you hungry?” Jon asked, after they’d walked a few blocks in silence. “There’s a really good Dornish place around the corner.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever had Dornish cuisine before.”

“You’re not afraid of a little spicy food, are you?”

She shook her head and followed Jon down the street, listening patiently as Jon explained that this was the only truly authentic Dornish food in the city, and “trust me, I’ve been looking for years”. Jon went inside to order as Sansa picked a table outside, filling a bowl with water for Ghost.  

“This is my favorite food, so I hope you like it,” Jon said, dropping one Styrofoam tray in front of her and keeping the other for himself.

Sansa poked at the peppers on her plate before taking a bite. She chewed slowly, savoring the flavor, and swallowed. “This is pretty good.” Jon bit his lip as he held back a laugh, and told her to wait before she made her judgement. She looked at him curiously, until it suddenly hit what she was waiting for. She reached for a glass of water as her tongue began to burn, gulping it all down as quick as she could. “Oh, gods. Jon!!”

“Water’s not going to help. Here.” Jon passed her a small carton of milk to wash away the offending pepper. At this point, he was unable to help himself from laughing at her reddening face, tears falling from the corner of her eyes.

Sansa took a long swallow of milk and coughed. “A little spicy, you said. That’s what you call a little spicy?”

“Too hot for you?” Jon asked innocently as he took a large bite of his own dish. Sansa scowled at him and shoved her plate at him. “Try this one. It’s not as spicy, I swear.” He swapped his plate with hers. “If you hate it, we’ll go somewhere else.”

Sansa looked at it doubtfully as Jon dug into the food as if it was no more offensive than sweets. “I don’t know how you can eat that.”

He shrugged. “My mom’s Dornish. I was raised on this kind of food.”

“You’re Dornish?” Sansa searched his features, looking for some hint of his heritage. She couldn’t see Dornish in him. She always thought he looked like a Northerner, like her father’s side of the family, with his stormy grey eyes and dark hair.

“Ah, no. I’m not. My siblings’ mom is Dornish. She adopted me when I was four or so.”

“O-oh. I didn’t know.” Sansa politely refrained from asking more questions, but Jon could tell she was curious. But it didn’t feel invasive, he wanted her to know about his life.

“My dad is my biological dad, and my siblings are technically half-siblings. But when my birth mother died, my dad took me in and my mom -my dad’s wife, Elia- legally adopted me sometime after that. I barely remember my birth mother. Elia’s the only mom I know.”

“But I thought you said you were the youngest…”

He nodded. “Yeah, my family history’s a little complicated. But whatever, every family’s got drama. And it’s ancient history anyway.”

“My mom was engaged to my uncle before marrying my dad,” Sansa offered in example.

“Exactly.” Jon finished his meal and tossed his tray in the trash. “So do you like it?”

“Hm? Oh, the food, yeah. This is much better.”

“Great.” Jon picked up Ghost’s leash as Sansa boxed up her leftovers. He took her by the hand as they resumed their walk through the city, chatting idly about anything but their legal woes. They took Ghost to the dog park where he got intimately acquainted with a border collie, and were run out by her owner, screaming at Jon to keep his mongrel away from his prize purebred.  They stopped to watch a busker on the street who Sansa sang a duet with and posed for a quick selfie.

It was late by the time they got back to the apartment, well past dark. All in all, it had been a pleasant evening. No, pleasant was too mild a word for it. Sansa had the best night. Jon had the right idea, getting out of the house for a while.  

“Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?” Jon asked, taking her by the elbow to stop her before she went to her bedroom.

“We’ve been talking all night,” she laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it. Were any words more terrifying than ‘can we talk’?

“It’s— I wanted to say I shouldn’t have asked you to go before. When you went to talk to that Baelish guy.”

“Jon, don’t worry about it. It’s in the past. Everything worked out alright.”

“I know, but—” He raked his hand through his hair as he struggled for words. “I-… I just don’t want you to feel like I don’t want you here, like you’ve overstayed your welcome or anything.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

He nodded, and looked at her like there was something else on his mind but he just bid her goodnight and crossed the hall to his own room. Sansa stared at his door for a moment, wondering what else he could have wanted to say, before deciding against asking and going to bed herself.

***

Sansa was online the next morning, checking her social media accounts, although her social life no longer extended beyond this apartment. It was a routine, force of habit, if nothing else. Still, she was surprised when she logged on to find numerous links to some gossipy website accusing her of spending the night on the town with a ‘mysterious stranger’. Curiosity got the better of her and she followed the links. Photos of her and Jon, walking Ghost last night. She hadn’t noticed anyone taking pictures… Paparazzi was nothing new to Sansa, but still, somehow this felt like a worse invasion of privacy than before. Is this really what passes for news these days? Sansa frowned.

By now, it is no secret that the engagement of Sansa Stark and Joffrey Baratheon is at end (and all our dreams are shattered!) With Sansa’s new album out, she gave us a glimpse as to what might have caused the split, but was the real reason that she was trading in Prince Charming for Tall, Dark, and Handsome?

The photo hardly looked romantic at all, it was a miracle the so-called journalist was able to make an entire love story up out of mid-air. Ok, yes, they were holding hands, but Sansa’s almost positive there’s a picture of her and Robb in nearly the same pose when she was younger. But Robb didn’t smile at her the way Jon was smiling in that photo. Her stomach was in knots and she quickly closed the page. This was ridiculous. Jon was her friend, maybe her best friend, but that was it. I bet if I showed him that article, he’d laugh, she thought and tried to laugh it off herself. Somehow, that made her feel worse.

“Morning.”

Sansa jumped. “Hi. I didn’t hear you get up.” Sansa couldn’t meet his eye without thinking of that stupid tabloid. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. It wasn’t an inaccurate description of Jon. Suddenly, her face felt warm. Sansa put her hands on her burning cheeks. She wasn’t blushing, no. It’s just warm in here, or, or perhaps she’d just caught a cold. Of course, it was a fever. Had to be.

Jon shot her a funny look. “You feeling ok?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. I— I think I’m getting a little sick or something.” She coughed for effect.

“You sure?” Jon reached out a hand to feel her forehead, but she flinched away from his touch. “We’re supposed to meet with the attorney this afternoon. You think you’ll be up for it?”

“Of course. I think I’m going to go back to bed, try and sleep it off. I’m sure I’ll be better by this afternoon.” Sansa took her cup of tea and went back to her room. Her face was fully flushed now. What in the world was the matter with her? One little rumor and all of the sudden, she was making a fool of herself. It felt like high school, passing notes under desks, do you like me, check yes or no. Sansa remembered giggling with Jeyne Poole, who assured her that Joffrey had totally been checking you out last period, he so likes you! And with that recollection, the butterflies in her tummy turned to rocks. No. No, she did not have a crush on Jon, could not. She had made a worse mess of her love life than she’d made of her career and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to remedy either one. Jon had gone above and beyond supportive, but he deserved someone… well, someone less complicated. Sansa had done nothing but complicate his life since the day the met. Even if she wanted to be with him, which she doesn’t. Noo.

Chapter Text

“Holy shit.” Jon was sitting at the kitchen counter on his laptop as Sansa tried to make them breakfast. Jon insisted there were no strings attached to his allowing Sansa to stay, but she still tried to repay him any way she could. She couldn’t pay rent as Casterly had officially frozen nearly all of her accounts while their suits were pending, but she could at least keep the apartment clean and make a meal every once in a while.

“What is it?” Sansa asked, while attempting, unsuccessfully, to fold an omelet.

“Sam just sent me an email. You’re not going to believe it.” He turned the computer towards her so she could read.

“I definitely believe Sam sent you an email,” she said sardonically, not sparing him a glance.

“Very funny. Read it.”

“Can it wait two minutes till I finish these scrambled eggs?”

“I thought you were making omelets.”

“It’s scrambled eggs now. And I don’t want to hear you complain.” She waved the spatula at him threateningly.

“I love scrambled eggs.” Jon grinned as she handed him a plate with eggs, toast, and bacon, everything just a little bit burnt. Not bad compared to the waffles she made last week… “Can you read it now?”

Sansa rolled her eyes and grabbed the laptop, scanning over the email. “Are you kidding me!” Her jaw dropped. Sam had emailed informing them that their album had been nominated for a Grammy. “How—you didn’t submit it, did you?”

Jon shook his head. “No idea who did. But this is good news, right?”

“Yes. It’s so much more than I ever dreamed of. But—” Her face fell.

“But what?”

“How is this possible? We barely started litigation with Casterly. They could’ve prevented the nomination, why didn’t they?” Sansa could feel the paranoia whispering in the back of her mind. It had to be a trap or a prank. She had a vision of being doused in pig’s blood as soon as she set foot on stage, but this isn’t a horror novel, get a grip. But what other explanation was there? Sansa pursed her lips and poked at her eggs. “What are we going to do?”

Jon thought it over. He always suspected record labels bought awards for their clients and Sansa basically just confirmed it. Whatever happened to awards based on merit? But his distaste for these things was irrelevant to the position they’re in. And although he truly didn’t care that his own music never received these accolades, he was excited. For her. I mean, c’mon, a few months ago, she thought no one would want her music, and now? Album of the Year! It counted for something. “What do you want to do?”

“I think I want to go. I know it’s probably a terrible idea, but… But I want to go.”

Jon took her hand in his and looked her in the eye. “Do you want me to go with you? Y’know, moral support.”

She raised an eyebrow. “As my date?”

“As whatever you want me to be.”

***

Sansa was browsing through images of the latest couture, sighing wistfully. For the most part, she managed to get by on whatever meager savings she had (thanks in no small part to Jon’s generosity), but there were certain perks from life before that she would miss. Custom designer clothing being on the top of the list.

“What’s the matter?” Jon asking, peering over her shoulder.

“Nothing.” She closed the web page and powered down the laptop. “I just don’t know what I’m going to wear to this thing. This is my first red carpet without a stylist.”

“Hm, I’m not sure I can help you there.”

“I know,” Sansa pouted. “I know I won’t be able to wear any fancy designer gown, but I still need to find something nice.”

“You have nice dresses. What about that green flowery one you wore last week?” Jon liked the way the color of the dress had set off the red in her hair. That wasn’t something he had noticed before. He’d never paid much attention to women’s clothing, but with Sansa around, he was starting to learn.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, it’s nice, but it’s not Grammy Awards nice. I need a gown.”

“And picking something up at Macy’s isn’t going to cut it?”

“You’ve definitely never done this whole red carpet thing, have you?”

“Once or twice, but I can get away with wearing the same tux every time,” he said with a shrug.

“Women don’t get that luxury.” Sansa wondered if anyone would really notice if she re-wore a dress, maybe that pale lilac one she wore to Renly Baratheon’s birthday party three years ago… That had been a relatively low-key event, and she was only there as Joffrey’s date, not a celebrity in her own right yet. Maybe there weren’t too many photos of it. Except, no, she left that dress behind… Besides, if anyone caught wind she was recycling her wardrobe, everyone would assume Casterly had taken her for everything she has. Poor Sansa, left with nothing but rags. Couture rags, but rags nonetheless.

“I’m sure you’ll look fine no matter what you wear.”

“I want to be better than fine. This is going to be my send off, my swan song. It has to be better than fine.”

“What do you mean, send off?”

Sansa turned the words carefully over in her mind, trying to explain it to him so he might understand. Jon was so tenacious, he refused to consider that they might not win against Casterly. Even her lawyer thought the case wasn’t open and shut against her, although it was definitely going to be a challenge to prove. But in her heart, Sansa knew that Cersei was right, that, win or lose, her professional career was at an end. “I mean... If Casterly wins, then I’m finished. If, or when, we win, then… Then I don’t know what’s going to happen next. This might be my last red carpet.”

“What’s going to happen next is that you’re going to get your life back. You can do whatever you want.”

Whatever I want… That sounded nice, if only she knew what she wanted. She still loved music, would always love it, but all the strings attached, it wasn’t worth it. More than anything, she wanted to turn back the clock, before any of this, before she signed under Cersei, before she ever met Joffrey. But, in a cruel irony, if she never met Joffrey, she wouldn’t have met Jon. Not that that erased any of the bad, but one good thing was better than none. Still, the one thing she was sure of was that she wanted out of the music industry, at least for a while.

***

Sansa knew she had to stop thinking about the designer clothes she was missing out on, but she wouldn’t let that stop her from finding something truly fabulous to wear. With less than a month until the awards show, Sansa had taken to scouring all of the vintage shops and consignment stores in the city, hoping to stumble across a diamond in the rough. And she struck gold! Sansa returned to the apartment with a black garment bag slung over her shoulder and a spring in her step.

“I take it you found a dress?” Jon asked.

“Yes, and it’s—” Sansa couldn’t even find an adjective to do it justice. She just squeaked happily, twirling in place.

“Let’s see it.”

She clutched the dress to her chest and gasped. “No! It’s bad luck!”

“I think that only applies to wedding dresses and grooms.”

“Maybe so, but I’m not taking chances. You can see it on the red carpet, and not a moment before.” She hung the dress up in her closet, smoothing it out to discourage wrinkles. “This night might actually be alright.”

“Is it just me, or are you actually starting to get excited about this?” Jon asked as she buzzed happily around the living room.

Sansa sent him a cheeky smile. “I just can’t wait to see you in a tux.”

He feigned surprise. “Wait, you mean I have to get dressed up for this thing too?”

“Jon!” Sansa batted at his arm. “If you think you’re going to accompany me looking like a homeless biker, you better think again.”

“Homeless biker? Ouch.” She might have a point though…  A staple of Jon’s wardrobe was his worn-out leather jacket, and all of his jeans were distressed (that’s fashion-speak for ‘holey’). It’s not that he didn’t own nice clothes, he just never had a reason to wear them.

“Please?” Her eyes went wide and she actually batted her eyelashes. He didn’t know women did that outside of romance novels. How could he refuse?

Jon groaned, but winked to let her know he wouldn’t hold it against her. “Fine, fine, but I’m not wearing a bowtie.”

***

“Sansa, we’re going to be late,” Jon called from the doorway as he fiddled with his cufflinks. He hated tuxedoes and still loathed the award shows, a bunch of pretentious shits patting themselves on the back for work other people did… But he reminded himself that tonight was about her. Her music. And so what if most of these awards went to assholes and wannabes? Sansa actually deserved this.

“Wait one minute, I’ll be right out!” She shouted from the bathroom. Sansa curled the last few strands of hair and tucked it up in a style she hoped passed for elegant. She hadn’t had to style her own hair for an event like this since her senior prom. She double checked her make up for smudges, and took a step back to inspect the overall look in the mirror. This is as good as it’s going to get. Sansa tossed her lipstick in her purse and headed out. “Ok, ready.”

Jon looked up as Sansa strut down the hall like it was a catwalk. He wasn’t surprised that she looked good. She was beautiful in a way that always caught the eye, regardless of what she wore. But tonight, she was breathtaking. The dress she’d found was dark and strapless, made of some soft, touchable material. Velvet, maybe? His fingertips itched to find out. Her long auburn hair was curled and pulled into a sophisticated knot at the back of her head. The effect was very glamorous, very vintage movie starlet. Jon was sure he’d never seen anyone half so beautiful as Sansa looked that night.

“You’re not saying anything…” Sansa bit her lip and looked at him imploringly. “I know it’s not my best, but I thought it was passable.”

Jon belatedly realized he’d been gawking and sputtered out a compliment. “Passable? You are way beyond passable. I— You look incredible.”

Sansa’s cheeks turned an endearing shade of pink as she took his arm. “You look very handsome yourself.”

“Ready to go then?”

“Ready.”

Chapter Text

Jon and Sansa walked the red carpet together, his arm securely around her waist, his fingertips tickling her sides as he stroked the soft velvet of her gown. As the cameras flashed all around, Sansa was struck with a dizzying sense of déjà vu, so strong she had to stop to catch her breath. The last time she’d done this, it had been Joffrey standing beside her, her golden tormentor. Sansa felt a cold chill run down her spine, until Jon put a warm hand on her back. “You got this,” he whispered in her ear.

They paused only for a few photos, remaining tightlipped against any questions thrown at them and steadfastly refusing to stop for interviews. Let them write whatever story they want, they can’t ruin my night. However, the nagging press wasn’t the only threat to Sansa’s good mood. As Jon and Sansa pressed through the throngs of people, creeping slowly towards the doors, they passed Margaery Tyrell chatting with a reporter and Sansa, on an inexplicable whim, stopped to overhear.

“Margaery, you look stunning this evening, who are you wearing?”

Margaery gave a breathy laugh and twirled to show off the full effect of her gown. “It’s a Lynesse Hightower. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“You’ve been seen in the company of Joffrey Baratheon a lot lately. Is there anything there?”

She flashed an enigmatic smile. “Joffrey and I have been friends for years. And of course you know Sansa Stark recently ended their relationship, he’s been taking it really hard. I’ve just been trying to support him through his breakup.”

“Sansa Stark has made some pretty serious allegations against Joffrey. Care to comment?”

Margaery waved her hand dismissively. “I really don’t want to get involved in the drama. But I do know Joffrey, and I can’t believe he’d ever be the kind of person who…”

Sansa couldn’t listen to this anymore. She grabbed Jon by the elbow and tugged him inside. “I used to think she was my friend.”

“I’m not sure she’s actually friends with anybody,” Jon said. “Ignore her, let’s find our seats.” She nodded as Jon led them down the aisles.

“I just don’t get how she could be with him.” Sansa shook her head in disbelief. “Even if it wasn’t… I mean, I never told her everything, but she was the shoulder I cried on.”

“You told me she did all her own PR, right?” Jon asked.

Sansa nodded, unsure how that was relevant.

“I’ve heard rumors that she just signed with Casterly. I think it’s all a play.”

“What do you mean?”

“She probably used whatever it is with Joffrey to get into Casterly. They didn’t want her before, why would they now?”

“She wouldn’t really do something like that, would she?”

“I don’t know,” Jon shrugged. “You know her better than I do. Would she?”

Sansa frowned and nodded. “I remember her talking about how much she liked having a small label, but it did seem a little underhanded. Margaery’s always been… ambitious.” There was nothing wrong with Margaery using her connections to advance her career, it was expected, necessary, in this field. Still, Margaery’s comments were like barbs in her heart. Did she need to paint Sansa as a liar to achieve her means? Unless… Margaery couldn’t really believe Joffrey, could she?  Sansa glanced around the room, so many people she looked up to, so many people she worked with or might yet someday. How many of them, like Margaery, thought Sansa was just stirring up ‘drama’? How many of her colleagues and contemporaries believed she would make up a story like that? And for what gain? Sansa was on the edge of losing everything. Why would she risk that if she wasn’t telling the truth? She felt sick just thinking of it.

Her thoughts were drowned out as the lights went dark and the host took the stage, signaling the start of the show.

It was a spectacular of color and lights, every act pulling out all the stops when it came to costumes, choreography, pyrotechnics. Even Jon, for all his grousing, seemed impressed by the sheer level of theatricality involved in this aspect of the awards ceremony, though he had a comment against nearly every single winner when their award was presented. 

***

At last, it was time for the main event, Album of the Year. Jon squeezed Sansa’s hand as the host read the names of the nominees. He seemed as anxious as she was, maybe more so. Sansa almost laughed when she saw he was literally on the edge of his seat. When the presenter called her name, she nearly missed it, until Jon jumped up, dragging her with him. He threw his arms around her and kissed her cheek. “You earned this!” Sansa was numb as she made her way to the stage. She accepted the award, clinging to the statuette to stop her trembling hands as she made her acceptance speech. She prayed her voice wouldn’t shake half so much.

“I don’t have a speech prepared because I didn’t think I’d actually win, so bear with me.” Sansa scanned the crowd for familiar faces. The glare of the lights made it hard to see, but she found Jon easily, hands clasped before him as if in prayer. On the other side of the venue, she thought she spied golden Lannister curls. “I was up here last year, accepting this for music that I had nothing to do with, music I wasn’t proud of. Tonight, I’m accepting this award for music I wrote, something that a year ago I didn’t even imagine was possible. And it wouldn’t have been possible, if not for one person. Jon Snow.” Sansa found him in the crowd again and felt her heart in her throat. How could she even begin to explain how important he was in her life? How could she tell him…  Oh no. “Jon believed in my music, in me, when no one else did. Even when I gave him plenty of reasons to give up on me. This award is as much his as it is mine, because absolutely none of this would have been possible without him.”

Even from the audience, Jon could see the tears sparkling in her eyes. He heart swelled with pride at the sight of her. He only hoped she was as proud of herself. He thought she was giving him way too much credit. Everything had been her, her music, her voice, her strength. The only thing he’d done was get the album out to the public. As the wrap-it-up music began to play, she wiped away the tears that had fallen on her cheeks and she walked offstage. The presenter returned to the stage to introduce the next performer. It wasn’t until the act finished that Jon realized Sansa hadn’t make it back to her seat yet. He twisted around, trying to spot her in the crowd. When another award was presented and another act came and went, he began to worry. He got up and slipped his way backstage. “Sansa?”

Jon felt a tap on his shoulder. “Excuse me, sir, you can’t be back here,” a stagehand informed him with a haughty tone. “Please go back to your seat.”

“Yeah, just a moment. Did you see where Sansa Stark got off to?”

“Um, yes. She went to the dressing room to change before her set.” He gestured further back stage.

“Her set?” Jon stared at him, confused. “She’s not performing tonight.”

“Sh-she told me she was,” the boy stammered. “One second.” He pressed the call button on his headset and whispered furiously to someone on the other end.

Jon couldn’t wait for an answer. Something felt wrong. He pushed past the kid and made for the dressing rooms. “Sansa!” The stagehand followed him, shushing him loudly and warning that he might be overheard on stage. He pushed open every door and had to be physically restrained from checking the ladies bathroom himself. “Where the hell is she?”

The stagehand was panting, exhausted from running after Jon. “I don’t know. She said she was going to the dressing rooms.”

“Clearly, she’s not there,” Jon growled. He knew he shouldn’t take it out on the kid, but where could she have gotten off to? She couldn’t have run into Joffrey or Cersei back here. He’d seen them in the crowd during her speech and they hadn’t moved since. He tugged his phone from his jacket pocket. C’mon, pick up. It rang and rang. It didn’t even go to voicemail, it just kept ringing.

“Hey, come on. Cell phones on silent, people.” Jon heard the emcee from his spot behind the stage. He heard Sansa’s ringtone coming from the direction of the audience. Jon hung up and headed back to their seats. Had he simply passed her? No, her seat was still empty, her clutch purse resting on the cushion. Her phone was in her purse, of course. He relaxed a little. Sansa wouldn’t leave without her bag. She had to be around here somewhere. He waited the rest of the show for her to come back, constantly shifting and looking over his shoulder. The last act was about to perform and she still hadn’t come back to her seat. He fidgeted angrily and grabbed her bag, leaving ahead of the crowd. Why was she always disappearing on him?

Jon was waiting outside the venue, still expecting her to come out any moment, when he felt a tug on the collar of his jacket. He turned around in time for Joffrey’s fist to collide with his cheek. “What the fuck!”

“You’re the fucker she left me for?” Joffrey screeched, fist cocked for another blow.

Jon stumbled back a few paces, rubbing his sore jaw. “Sh-she didn’t leave you for me.” Nevermind the fact they weren’t technically together, Sansa left Joffrey for herself. But judging by his red face and popping forehead vein, Joffrey wasn’t in a state of mind for rational discussion on the semantics of his breakup. Jon wanted nothing more than to punch this prick back, he deserved it, but this wasn’t the time or place. Too many cameras around. All the time spent around Sansa had made him wary of scandal. “She left because you beat her!”

Joffrey laughed a bitter laugh, stepping closer to Jon until their faces were inches apart. “You can’t prove that was me. For all anyone knows, you’re the one who beat the shit out of her and took those photos. Trying to rake me through the mud. Don’t you think if there was any proof I’d have been charged with something?”

Jon put his hand squarely on Joffrey’s chest and shoved, other fist clenched and ready to fight if necessary. “Back the fuck off before I end you.”

Before Joffrey moved to strike again, a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Cersei stilled them both with a cold stare. “If you want to behave like children, do it somewhere else.”

Jon straightened his jacket with a snap. “Tell that son of a bitch to stay away from Sansa. She doesn’t belong to you anymore.”

Cersei made a show of looking around. “He is away from Sansa. Unless she’s hiding around here somewhere, hm? If you touch my son again, I’ll have you arrested for assault.”

“He’s the one assaulting people,” Jon hissed under his breath. He turned away from them and made his way to the car. Would she have gone home already? Why wouldn’t she have grabbed him before she left? He had only come to the show for her. He had no business here.

Jon entered the apartment to Ghost’s whining. He scratched the dog behind the ears. “Where’s Sansa, boy? Did she come home?” He moved around the apartment, Ghost dogging his heels. “Sansa?” He was met with only silence. He knocked on her bedroom door, but no reply. With an anxious heart he pushed it opened. Everything seemed exactly as she’d left it only a few hours before. He sat on the bed, sighing heavily. Ghost jumped up beside him, shoving his nose in Jon’s face. “Where could she have gone?” He stroked Ghost absentmindedly, waiting, waiting…

Chapter Text

“I’m so sorry. I think I have the wrong address.” Sansa was taken aback by the heavily pregnant woman who answered the door. “I’m looking for my brother, Robb Stark. This is the last address I have for him…”

“No, this is the right address. You’re Sansa, aren’t you?” Sansa nodded, a little wary. “I’m Jeyne. Please, come in. I’ll go wake him up.” The woman, Jeyne, stepped out of the door frame and ushered Sansa in. Sansa closed the door behind her as Jeyne waddled up the stairs. She inspected the front hallway as she waited for her brother. Some of the photos on the wall she recognized from Robb’s and her childhood, and some photos must have been of Jeyne’s. In the middle, in a plain silver frame, was a photo of Robb and Jeyne, the latter wearing a beautiful white dress, holding a bouquet of flowers, and Robb in a tailcoat, looking at her with adoration in his eyes. When did Robb get married? How could she have missed something so important in her brother’s life? She pulled her eyes away from the photos when she heard a creak on the stairs. Jeyne was standing at the landing halfway up the stairs, and Robb was coming down.

“Sansa?” Robb was rubbing the sleep from his eyes. When she smiled at him, he threw his arms around her, trapping her in a bear hug only a big brother could give. “What in the seven hells are you doing here?”

Sansa didn’t know the answer to that herself yet so she just shook her head and hugged him tighter.  “I’m sorry for turning up at your door in the middle of the night. I should’ve called or something.”

Robb brushed it off. “You can show up anytime.”

“Should I put some coffee on so you two can catch up?” Jeyne offered.

“Honey, its fine. I can make coffee, you go back to sleep.” He kissed her and placed a loving hand on her swollen belly. She yawned and headed back upstairs, leaving them alone.

Robb led Sansa to the kitchen and turned on the coffee pot. He leaned against the counter and gave her a serious look. “So what are you doing here?”

She fidgeted with the zipper of her hoodie, she picked up an overpriced change of clothes at the airport, and avoided meeting his eyes. She’d barely talked to him since she’d moved out, and in the last couple years, not at all. Robb and Joffrey had never gotten along, even at the best of times, and when push came to shove, Sansa chose her relationship over her family. How did she even begin to apologize for that? “I don’t know, Robb. I just… I’ve been away from home too long. I can’t believe I missed your wedding. I can’t believe I didn’t even know you got married. And you’re having a baby…”

“Life went out without you, Sansa. You can’t cut everyone off and expect us to wait for you.” His voice was harsh, but his face just looked tired.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Does Mom know you’re here?”

Sansa looked away guiltily. She was nervous to see her mother again. “Do you think I would’ve come here first if Mom knew I was in the North?”

Robb shrugged. “I suppose not.” He poured two mugs of coffee and passed one to her. “How’d you even get here so fast? Jeyne said she saw you at some awards show on TV earlier this evening. Aren’t those things usually live?”

She accepted the beverage gratefully. “I came straight from there. I couldn’t stay anymore…”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. It was like a panic attack or something, I just couldn’t breathe.”

“And you had to come all the way North to catch your breath?”

“I really didn’t think about where I was going.”

“But you’re here now.”

Sansa nodded. She was home. Growing up, Sansa thought the North was bleak and miserable. She envied her mother’s childhood in the Riverlands, and her father’s years at school in the mountains of the Vale. She had been ecstatic when Joffrey asked her to move with him to King’s Landing. Finally, it was her turn for summer and sun, her very own fairytale. Sansa and her mother fought over that for weeks. Catelyn had wanted Sansa to stay home and go to college, besides, Sansa was much too young to be taking such a serious step with her boyfriend. Sansa argued that she could go to school as easily in King’s Landing as she could in Wintertown (not that she did), and Mom needed to stop being so old-fashioned. Women lived with men before marriage all the time. Another item added to the endless list of apologies…

But Sansa was back now and determined to make amends, no matter how hard. She knew this was the right decision as soon as she felt the frozen wind bite her cheeks and heard the crunch of snow beneath her feet. The North was where she belonged.

“So what do you want?” Robb asked. The million dollar question.

“Right now? A place to stay for the night. If you’ll have me. And in the long run?” She shrugged and spooned sugar into her coffee. “I don’t know, but I’ll never be able to figure it out in King’s Landing.”

“I’ll blow up the air mattress in the nursery for you.”

She murmured her thanks. “Did anyone else get married while I was off being a terrible sister?”

“No, but Arya finally started dating Gendry when she turned eighteen. Do you remember him?”

“The tall, quiet kid with the stunning blue eyes?”

Robb nodded. “Mom wasn’t too happy, but I think she learned from you that fighting it wouldn’t help anything. But Gendry’s a good man.” Unlike Joffrey, he didn’t say it, but Sansa heard it loud and clear. “And Bran got into the University of Frostfangs, so he’s going to be heading up north at the end of the month. He’ll be really glad to see you.”

Sansa’s jaw dropped. “Bran’s graduated high school? He can’t possibly be that old already. That means Rickon's practically old enough to drive!”

Robb shrugged. “I told you, life continued without you.”

They spent the night sitting at the kitchen table, Robb catching her up on everything that she’d missed, and Sansa opening up to Robb about the past few years, though not about Joffrey, not all of it. She suspected he already knew, or at least, he knew as much as anyone else did. It was likely he’d seen the album cover, and he seemed to cringe whenever she mentioned his name. At least he’s not saying ‘I told you so’. She tried to avoid telling him about Joffrey at all, which was fine with her. She didn't want to talk about him anymore than Robb did. Instead, she tried to focus on happier things, all the places she'd traveled, all the people she met. Robb didn’t believe that she’d been living with Jon Snow. “You used to complain about me listening to The Watchers all the time.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I know. I told him that, too, to his face, that I thought his band sucked.”

“And that’s when he kicked you out, thus why you’re on my doorstep at midnight. Got it.”

“Actually, I told him that when we first met. But he told me I sucked too, so I guess we’re even?”

“I can’t believe it,” he said again, shaking his head.

She tapped her fingers against her mug. She didn’t want to talk about Jon just now. Sansa felt guilty about leaving him the way she did. He deserved an explanation, but she didn’t have one for him anymore than she had one for Robb. She couldn’t stay in King’s Landing, she knew that, and she couldn’t keep taking advantage of Jon’s generosity. Sansa had been selfish, taking up so much of Jon’s time, his space, even his money after Petyr had frozen her assets. What had she ever done for him in return? There was nothing she could possibly give him to make up for it all, except his life back. Jon had said he didn’t want her to feel like a burden. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t. Gods, would she ever stop being stupid? Jon hated her when they met, unapologetically, and from that awful first encounter, she managed to shoehorn her way into his life. It’s only… no one had ever complimented her music the way he had. Sansa hadn’t felt so connected to another person in so long, she let herself get carried away.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an alarm clock ringing from upstairs. “Do you need to go to work? I shouldn’t have kept you up all night.” Sansa took their empty mugs to the sink and rinsed them out.

“No, not today. I normally go for a run in the mornings, but I think I’m going to pass today. I am going to say good night and go to bed for a bit. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I think I’m going to do the same. Night, Robb.”

“Night. If I’m not awake by dinnertime… leave me be.”

“That goes both ways.” She hugged Robb at the top of the stairs before retreating to the nursery.

Robb slipped into bed, pressing himself against his wife’s back and laying a gentle hand on her stomach. She rolled toward him and kissed him sleepily. “How was it?”

“Little weird, but having estranged family members turn up in the middle of the night is always weird, right?”

She nodded. “Do you think you’re going to get un-estranged?”

“I hope so.” He kissed her again and settle in to sleep.

Chapter Text

“Tonight on Where Are They Now, we’ve got a very special episode about the disappearance of Sansa Stark. It’s been a more than a year since her first and only album outside of Casterly Records won Album of the Year, and a year since she’s been since in public. Before the release of that album, we all had been eagerly watching her rising career. No one expected the sudden turn it would take as she dramatically cut ties with Casterly and accused fiancé Joffrey Baratheon of domestic assault, though no charges, civil or criminal, have ever been filed…”

“Jon, turn that shit off. Seriously.” Aegon tried to wrangle the remote from Jon’s hands. He was spending two weeks at the vacation house in Dorne with his family, now that Aegon had returned from his extended vacation across the Narrow Sea. Jon loved his siblings, but sometimes it was hard not to feel like a little kid again when they were all together like this. Fighting over the remote was one of those times.  “That stupid show doesn’t know where she is any more than you do, and you’re not going to feel any better for having watched it.”

Jon tried to snatch the remote back from Aegon. “I know, but—”

“No buts.” Rhaenys, pragmatic as ever, unplugged the TV directly from the wall. “Listen, we know you’re in love with her, but she’s clearly not with you. She knows how to get in touch with you, doesn’t she? Don’t you think if she wanted to, she would have by now?”

“Especially since you’ve been singing that song from the Wall to the Water Gardens.”

It wasn’t until Sansa had been gone for two months, with no signs of returning, did Jon realize the depths of his feelings for her. He was in love with her. Had been in love with her for ages. He couldn’t pinpoint when it had started. It’d be romantic to say it began the moment he saw her in that hotel bar, but that wouldn’t be right. It would’ve been closer to the truth to say it started when he’d first played her music, but it wasn’t then either. Jon supposed the when of it didn’t really matter, all he knew was that it was true now. And he expressed it in the only way he knew how, the only way that might get her attention, wherever she was.

Music.

He’d written a song, laying out his feelings as explicitly as he could. I love you, Sansa Stark he’d titled it. No subtleties, no allusions. He didn’t want to allow any room for ambiguity or misinterpretation. He knew if he played it, she would hear it. That she’d come back to him. So Jon made sure to play it. At every show, at every venue, sent it to every radio station. It was his one ray of hope. At first everyone had been supportive, his family and friends. They willingly indulged him, but as time wore on, and there was no sign from her, no contact, they grew tired of humoring him. Even Sam’s eternal support was waning.

Jon wanted to be angry at them for not supporting him, but he couldn’t. To be entirely honest, he was getting a bit tired of it too. But he wouldn’t give up, couldn’t. Every time he played it, he was that much closer to her. Just one more time, he’d tell himself, until she wouldn’t come and he’d have to tell himself again. Just one more time.

***

Robb snuck up on Sansa as she was changing his daughter’s diaper. She wrapped up the squirming infant and rested her against her shoulder. “Hey.”

Sansa jumped, startled, and pat the baby on the back. “Oh, Minnie, look. Daddy’s here.” The baby babbled and reach a tiny hand out for him.

Smiling, Robb took Minisa from his sister. “Hi, sweetling.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and turned his attention to Sansa. “I got something for you.”

That piqued her curiosity. “It’s your daughter’s first birthday, and I get a present?”

“Not a present, exactly,” he said.

“Don’t be cryptic. What is it?”

Robb shifted the baby to free a hand and pulled a slip of paper from his pocket.

Sansa took it from him and looked it over. It was a ticket. The Watchers on the Wall. “Robb…”

“They’re playing in Tohrren’s Square next weekend and I think you should go.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? You’re not working right now, you have the time.”

“That’s not…”

“It’s about Jon, isn’t it?” Her silence told him everything he needed to know. “That’s exactly why I want you go. I know you want to move past everything from before, but why do you want to move past the good things? Jon was… a good friend to you, at the very least. I get why you’re hiding from Joffrey, but why are you hiding from Jon?”

“I’m not hiding from anybody,” she said, temper rising.

“You’re not? Great. Go to the concert.” Clearly finished with this conversation, Robb left the room, cooing over his infant daughter as they returned to the party thrown in her honor.

Sansa sat in the rocking chair in the corner and stared at the ticket in her hands. She wasn’t hiding. She felt a stab of guilt every time she heard Jon’s voice on the radio, singing to her. She thought the guilt would abate by now, or at least that people would stop playing that song. But every time she turned the radio on, she could hear his voice, crooning words of love to her. Why did he have to use my name in the song? If he hadn’t, she could pretend it was meant for someone else. That she hadn’t hurt him when she left. She tucked the ticket gently into her pocket and went to rejoin her family downstairs, trying to push Jon to the back of her mind, where she’d kept him all this time.

***

They were setting up before the concert when Grenn shoved Jon forcefully into a folding chair at the side of the stage and held him down with one strong hand on his shoulder. The look on both his and Pyp’s faces was almost comically serious. “What is this, an intervention?” Jon laughed, trying to slip out from under Grenn’s grip.

“Actually, yeah.”

Jon’s stomach dropped.

“We’re not playing Sansa’s song tonight, Jon.”

Pyp tapped Grenn on the chest to take over. “We’re not playing it again. Ever. It was a romantic idea, but now it’s just pathetic. She’s not coming. Give it up, dude.”

“Fine, you don’t want to play, don’t. But I—”

Pyp groaned. “Jon, seriously. Enough.”

Jon looked to Sam for help, but he just shook his head. Angry, Jon forced Grenn’s hand off him and stood, kicking the chair out from under him. “I don’t need your support. I don’t need you to play with me. But don’t fucking try and stop me. If I look pathetic, I look pathetic. I don’t give a shit. There are some things more important than that.” Jon glared at the two of them while they glared back. “Get on that stage at play the fucking show,” he growled.

“Don’t play the fucking song,” Pyp spat back before getting in place for the show to start.

***

Sansa followed Arya as she hurried ahead to claim an empty space in the grass, beer in each hand that she desperately hoped no one would knock into her and spill. Being here was bad enough, she didn’t want to smell like beer all night on top of it. Sansa had played enough concerts before but being on the other side was a different experience and it was a bit overwhelming. There were so many people and they were so loud. Arya claimed their spot with the folding chairs they’d brought. It was a good one too, with clear sightlines to the stage, though Sansa eyed their proximity to the speakers a little nervously. “Do you want to go deaf?” Sansa asked her sister as she passed her a beer.

“If your ears aren’t ringing for the next week, then what’s the point of going to a concert at all?” Arya asked with a grin, finishing half her drink in one go. Sansa rolled her eyes and slumped in the chair. Arya had been given a ticket too, insurance to make sure Sansa actually went. Sansa wouldn’t go alone and someone might as well get some enjoyment out of this. She still wasn’t exactly sure how Robb had talked her into coming, and the more unruly the group of guys behind them got, the more Sansa fantasized about how to get back at him for this.

The noise of the crowd swelled to a roar as the band took the stage. Like everyone else, Sansa’s attention was pulled to forward and her heart stopped as she watched Jon step forward and put fingers to strings.

She couldn’t tell what was more deafening; the blaring music or the pounding of her heart in her ears. She hadn’t anticipated that seeing Jon again in person, even if he was fifty yards away, would produce such a visceral reaction. Her mouth went dry and her knees went weak. Arya nudged her and made a circle with her index finger touching her thumb, asking if she was ok. Sansa nodded. Jon, so close and yet so far. But what could she do from here? Frustrated at this impotence, she tried to focus instead on listening to the music, screaming and dancing with her sister. Weird, but this was the best they’d gotten along in years. Ever, probably.

***

The concert was nearly at its end. Pyp and Grenn exchanged angry words with Jon, away from the mics before storming offstage. Sansa tugged on Arya’s sleeve and whispered, well, more like shouted in her ear. “Why are they leaving?”

Arya shrugged. “I think he’s about to play your song, Sansa.”

Sansa’s stomach felt like it was in knots, while everything else tingled with adrenaline. My song. Something clicked in her head and she knew what she needed to do. “I’ll be right back.” Sansa ducked through the crowds while Arya chased after her, shouting something incomprehensible through the noise. Sansa pushed her way towards the stage until she bumped into a huge security guard. “Excuse me, but I need to get back there.”

The guard’s laugh was a gravelly bark. “Yeah, you and every other groupie. Go back to your seat, honey.”

Sansa shook her head, frustrated. “No, you don’t understand. I’m Sansa Stark,” she said her name just as Jon sung it out from only a few yards away.

The guard barked again. “Of course you are. Listen, do you know how many girls come by here every night claiming to be Sansa Stark trying to get close to Jon Snow? At least you got your hair the right color.”

Sansa stamped her foot, aggravated. She tugged her I.D. out of her pocket and held it inches away from his face. “Is this proof enough?”

“Hon, that ain’t the first fake I.D. I seen tonight and it won’t be the last. Move along.”

Arya tugged on her shirt. “C’mon, you’re never getting back there. We can find another way to see him.”

Sansa waved her off. She spotted Sam over the guard’s shoulder. “Sam! Ask Sam. He knows me. Sam!”

Sam’s eyes widened as heard her shout. “Sansa?”

“Wait, you mean she’s the real thing?” the guard asked in disbelief.

Sam nodded and weakly shoved him aside. Sansa wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight. “How— I mean, you’re really—” Sam sputtered.

“Can I go—” She gestured to the stage and Sam nodded, taking her by the hand and hurrying her along, Arya following a few steps behind.

***

Jon’s eyes scanned the crowd as he played, searching for her, pretending that she was there in front of him. Not that he could actually see anyone through the glare of the lights. For all he knew, she was standing right in front of him. Please, gods…

As he returned to the chorus, the crowd’s roar raised to a deafening pitch, louder than before. He glanced to the side of the stage where Sam was frantically gesturing to him. When he sang the line, there was another voice alongside his own, singing “I love you” from behind him. His fingers fumbled over his guitar strings as he whipped around. She was standing there, light catching in her hair, illuminating her like an angel. Sansa smiled at him and continued the song, retrieving the words that were lost in his throat. He ripped the guitar from over his shoulder and moved to her, taking her in his arms and kissing her like a starving man. It sent chills down his spine when she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back with equal fervor. The crowd was screaming, but Jon couldn’t hear them. Nothing existed but the look in her eyes, the feel of her in his arms. She was here. She was real. Finally. “Gods, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he rasped.  

Sansa bumped her nose against his. “I think you were in the middle of something?” she whispered playfully and kissed him again.

He grinned against her lips and took her hand in his, holding on like it was his lifeline. Like if he stopped touching her, she’d disappear again. “No one wants to hear me finish that song.”

“I do,” she said, picking up his guitar from where he’d tossed it aside.

Reluctantly, he let go of her hand and began to play again. This time he wasn’t singing to an imaginary girl lost among the masses, but to the real one standing before him. “I love you, Sansa Stark.” She beamed at him and nodded encouragingly. She sang along with him, and even Pyp and Grenn resumed their places on stage to finish the night. “Thank you all for coming out tonight, I hope you had a great time!” He pandered to the crowd. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to kiss her again. Good night, everybody!!” Jon put an arm around Sansa’s waist and guided her offstage, kissing her intermittently. He couldn’t help himself. They had a lot of time to make up for.

“I can’t believe you came.” Jon cupped Sansa’s face in his hands when they were securely backstage. “I honestly thought I’d never see you again.”

Sansa’s smile faltered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have— I didn’t… You really owe my brother for getting me to come tonight.”

“Remind me to thank him sometime, hm.”

Sansa rested her forehead against his shoulder. “I don’t know why you don’t hate me for leaving.”

Jon stroked her hair, quietly shushing her. “We can talk about all that later, ok? Right now, this is good enough.” She nodded against him. “Stay with me tonight?”

“I-I don’t know… Arya and I are supposed to—”

“Seven hells, just go!” Arya shouted over her shoulder.

Jon laughed and lifted her chin to meet her eyes. “What do you say?”

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

Sansa awoke the next morning, wrapped securely in Jon’s arms, his soft, even breath tickling the back of her neck. She wished this moment could last forever. This or that moment last night when Jon… she blushed furiously against the pillow. This was by no means her first time, but in all their years together, Joffrey had never done half the things Jon did last night or made her feel half so good, so loved. Sansa would gladly spend the entire morning secure in Jon’s embrace, but she knew as soon as he woke, they’d have to have the conversation. That wasn’t something she could face on an empty stomach. She rolled over, kissing Jon’s stubbled cheek before easing out of bed. She dressed quietly and left a note for him on the night stand. Getting coffee, be back soon, xo. Sansa didn’t want to risk him thinking she was running out on him again.

He was awake by the time she returned, two cups balanced in a cardboard tray and a bagful of bakery goodies in her hand. “Morning,” he said through a yawn.

“I brought you a treat.” She set the coffee on the desk and held the bag out enticingly. “The bakery around the corner has those enormous cinnamon rolls you love.” She removed her own lemon scone from the sack and handed him his breakfast.

Jon moaned sweetly as he bit into the sticky bun, ignoring the plastic utensils at the bottom of the bag and the crumbs falling on the bedspread. “This is amazing. You are amazing.”

“And you are a slob. Housekeeping is going to kill you,” she chided with a laugh.

He shrugged, taking another messy bite. “I’m a rockstar. If this is all I do to trash the hotel room, I think I’m set.”

She couldn’t help but smile at him. With his hair in tangles and icing smeared around corners of his mouth, he made an endearing sight. But even her own breakfast couldn’t calm the nervous butterflies in her stomach. If anything, the caffeine in her tea probably made it worse. As wonderful as last night had been, they couldn’t avoid talking forever. He’d want to know why she left, where she’d been. She’d had a year to think about it and she thought she understood her own motivations, but would he? And if he doesn’t, what then?

Jon was less than halfway through his cinnamon roll when he noticed how quiet Sansa had become. He replaced his unfinished bun in the bakery bag and retrieved the napkins to wipe the sugar from around his mouth. “You ready to do this?”

She gave a shaky sigh. “As I’ll ever be.”

He crossed the room to her and took her hands in his. “Hey, look at me.” Her eyes locked onto his. “Nothing you can say is going to make me stop loving you.”

“Promise?”

Jon shifted his hold on her hands, locking their pinkies together. “Promise.”

She relaxed just a little and squeezed her pinky finger around his. “Where do I start?”

“Let’s start with something easy. How about at the award show?” he suggested. “What happened when you got offstage? Where did you go?”

“Nothing happened offstage…” she said. It would be easier to explain if something had occured. “I got the award and walked offstage and slipped out the back doors. No one even noticed. From there, I went to the airport and got on the first flight headed North. I was on my brother’s doorstep in Wintertown only a few hours later.”

Jon asked, “Is that where you’ve been this whole time?”

“No. He and his wife were about to have a baby, so I only stayed a couple of nights. Then I stayed with my mom for a few months. After that, I moved to White Harbor. That’s where I’m living now.”

“White Harbor? How’d you end up there?”

“They have an amazing theater district,” said Sansa. “I’ve been doing some acting.”

“Bet you’re fantastic at it.”

“Flatterer.”

“If you’re in White Harbor, how did you end up at the show last night?” he asked. “Tohrren’s Square isn’t exactly close by.”

“I was in Wintertown the past couple weeks, which is closer. The play I was in finished its run and my niece just turned one, so Robb and Jeyne threw a big party. I came home for that.”

“And Robb is the brother I have to thank?”

Sansa confirmed. “Yeah. Last week, at the birthday party, he cornered me and gave me a ticket. Said I should stop hiding from you.”

“I think I like this brother Robb.”

“I have a feeling you two would get along,” she said.

“I hope so.”

Sansa took a sip of her rapidly cooling tea. The feeling of butterflies in her tummy had subsided, but she was still waiting for him to ask the hard question, the why. Instead, he leaned back in bed and took another messy bite from his cinnamon roll. “Is that it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not going to ask me why…?”

He took a pensive moment to swallow his mouthful and wash it down with a long drink of coffee. “I do want to know… But… can I admit that I’m a little scared to hear your answer?”

Sansa left her seat and took a spot beside Jon on the bed, winding his sticky fingers around hers, and holding on, white knuckled. “You shouldn’t be scared. At least, I don’t think you should be.”

“Ok then.” He lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. “Why did you leave?”

“Well… for starters, I needed to get out of the music industry. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to do it again. I was too scared to even try. And then there was Margaery.” Sansa made a sour face at the recollection.

“What does she have to do with anything?”

“Don’t you remember what she said? She didn’t believe me about Joffrey.”

“So what? Fuck her.” Jon, straight and to the point.

“It wasn’t just her, though. She’s the just one who said it out loud. I was in that room, full of all the most important people in the industry, and I remember thinking, ‘what if they all think I’m lying?’ I knew then I couldn’t stay.”

“Ok. Ok, I get that. It’d be shitty to have everyone you know think you’re a liar. But why couldn’t you tell me you were going? Why vanish?”

Sansa pulled her hand from his and began to pace anxiously around the room. “I don’t think you would have let me go.” She held up a hand. “–No, wait, I don’t mean it like that. It’s only… Jon, you can be awfully pushy sometimes. You pushed when you posted my music online, you pushed to release the album after I told you not to, you pushed against Casterly— I thought you might try and push me into staying, into giving the music business another go, and I wasn’t ready for that.”

Jon was at a loss for words. “Sansa, I never meant— I just wanted to help you, you know that.”

“And you did. So much.”  Sansa sat at the foot of the bed, her back to him. “And I love that you’re so stubborn. It’s what makes you good at what you do. You’re only this pigheaded because you care so much. But I needed to figure things out on my own.”

“Sansa…”

“I’m not trying to blame you, really. I’m just trying to explain what I was thinking.” Jon put a tentative hand on her shoulder. Sansa took his hand and pulled his arm around her. “I didn’t know any of this at the time. I made my decision in about half a second. It was all a feeling, an instinct. It’s taken me all this time to sort out that one second in my life. I know I’m making excuses for what I did, and they’re not even good ones... Do you hate me yet?” She asked glibly, but there was a plaintive look as she met his eye.

“I think I made a promise that I wouldn’t,” he said, holding up his pinky in reminder. “But, if we’re being completely honest with each other, I did for a while. Hate you, I mean.”

“You did?”

“At first, I was scared. I thought something bad happened to you. I kept waiting to hear they’d found your body washed up in the bay.” Morbid, but Jon couldn’t stop his imagination from jumping to the worst case scenario. “Then I realized that you weren’t dead, you just left. And I didn’t understand how you could do that to me. We were friends, we were living together. I mean, what the fuck.” Ok, maybe there a little bit of lingering anger left in him.

To her credit, Sansa didn’t shy away. “So what changed your mind?”

“Sam did. He helped me realize I was only so angry because I cared about you so much.”

“Bless that Sam.”

“But I am hurt that you felt like you couldn’t talk to me. I thought we were closer than that.”

“We were. We are. It wasn’t you, it was me.” She laughed weakly at the cliché. “I was a bit of a mess. It took me a while to realize just breaking up with Joffrey, that wasn’t the end of things. I’ve had a lot of things to work out with my therapist.”

“You’re in therapy?”

“Yeah. My mom made it a condition when I moved back home. She said it helped her a lot after my dad died. She thought it might help me too.” Sansa had been reluctant to go at first, but her mother had been firm. Since it was impossible to argue when Catelyn Stark set her mind to something, Sansa had resigned to weekly appointments with Dr. Tarth. By the fifth or sixth session, Sansa had to concede that her mother might have been right.

“Has it?”

“I think so.”

They sat in silence for a while, Jon processing everything she’d said. He meant it when he said he wouldn’t stop loving her, but there were still unanswered questions, things he needed to know. “Why did you wait so long to find me? I put myself out on the line there. Everyone thought I was an idiot, waiting for you to turn up.”

“I don’t… At first, I thought it was a publicity stunt. I thought you were using our friendship and whatever interest after the Grammys to keep your name in the headlines.”

“What have I ever done to make you think I’d do something like that?”

“Not you, but it’s something Petyr would have done. He and Cersei always looked for opportunities like that.” The corners of her mouth tugged into a frown.

“Do me a favor and never apply any of their bullshit to me, ok?” It was almost offensive, after everything he’d done to help her get away from those people.

“I’ll try to remember that,” she said. “But, I decided that if it was a publicity stunt, you wouldn’t have kept it up for as long as you did.”

“And you still stayed away.”

“That was wrong, I know.”

“So why’d you do it?”

“Because I tried to convince myself you didn’t mean it. I thought any minute, you’d give it up and move on. You really should have, you know.”

“Eh, that would have made things too easy.” He kissed her forehead as she curled up against him. This felt right, this felt like something worth waiting for. But there was one more thing he needed to know. “If your brother didn’t give you that ticket… would I ever have seen you again?”

“I don’t want to answer that, and I don’t think you want me to either.”

“Sansa, please.”

“…About a month ago, I was in the grocery store, when I heard you on the radio.” It wasn’t an answer, but she prayed he would understand what she meant. “I heard your song… It wasn’t the first time. I’d heard it about a thousand times by then. My siblings got a kick out of sending it to me, I think Rickon still has it as his ringtone… The other members of the cast would sing it at me between rehearsals… I don’t know why it was different that time, but I started crying. I just broke down in front of the frozen foods and sobbed. One of the cashiers had to help me get home.”

Jon stroked a thumb under her eye, as if she was still crying now. She closed her eyes and relaxed into his touch, keeping his hand upon her cheek.

“I don’t know if I would have reached out to you, but I know I would have been miserable every day without you. I missed you so much, Jon. I didn’t let myself think about it before, but gods, I missed you.” She kissed him then, trying to show him the truth of it in both words and actions.

“So what does this mean for us?” he asked, when they broke apart to catch their breath.

“Well… I want to be with you.” She rested her head against his shoulder. “But King’s Landing and White Harbor aren’t exactly close.”

“Is that the only problem?”

“It’s my only problem. What about you?”

“Sansa, I was willing to ruin my career for the chance of seeing you again. I can do long distance.”

“I meant do you have any other problems, why we wouldn’t work?”

“Just one thing. You have to talk to me. I don’t mean ‘how was your day’ small talk, I mean, when you have a problem, especially if you have a problem with me, you talk.”

“I’ll try, Jon, really.”

Jon shook his head. “Trying isn’t good enough. There’s no wiggle room about this. I know it can be hard, but it’s the only way this can work. We need to be able to talk to each other, to trust each other.” I need to be able to trust you, was what he meant.                      

“I understand.”

“That settles things, then. I’m yours, Sansa Stark, and you are mine.”

“I’m yours,” she repeated, “and you’re mine.”

“When do you have to go back to White Harbor?”

“I have an audition on Thursday, so soon. But Arya and I have to get back to Wintertown today.”

“Can I come see you after we finish the tour?”

“I fully expect you to.” Sansa kissed him again as his calloused fingertips slipped under the hem of her shirt, sliding tantalizingly up her sides. She pulled his hand away just before he reached her breast. “Wait.”

“Are you getting shy on me?” He smirked against her throat.

“No, but my sister’s waiting for me.”

“Do you have to leave right this second?” he asked, kissing her neck.

“Mmm, I have enough time for a shower. I told her I’d meet her downtown for lunch at 12:30.”

“12:30? We have time.”

“We’ll have more time when you come see me in White Harbor.”

He pulled away from her and sighed. “I don’t want to say goodbye just yet.”

“Hey.” She rested her forehead lightly against his. “It’s not goodbye.” Sansa grabbed his phone off the nightstand and added herself as a contact. “There. You can call me whenever you want. I promise, I’ll always answer for you.”

“Fine…”

Jon settled back against the headboard as he heard the water running in the shower. It’s not a dream, not this time. And I’m not losing her again. Suddenly, he was struck by something soft thrown across the room. He pulled her tee shirt off his face and opened his eyes to see her smiling coyly from the bathroom door, bare from head to toe.

“I suppose you could always join me?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

***

When they got out of the shower, Jon offered to walk Sansa to where she was meeting Arya, which she cheerfully accepted.

Arya arrived fifteen minutes later than Jon and Sansa, who were late enough themselves. When Sansa complained about her tardiness, Arya merely shrugged. “I figured you were gunna be late, all caught up with, y’know.” She thrust her hips out in a rude innuendo.

“Arya!” Sansa was indignant but couldn’t stop the incriminating blush that colored her cheeks. To Jon she said, “I wish I could tell you she’s not normally like this, but I can’t.”

He laughed it off. “Just wait till you meet my family. Don’t worry.”

“Are you going to stay for lunch?” Arya asked him.

Jon looked to Sansa. “If I’m not intruding.”

“Not intruding at all. Trust me, you’ll be making my day,” Arya said, and dragged the couple to a table in the corner.

The three of them passed what Sansa considered to be a weirdly companionable lunch. Arya and Jon seemed to click right away. It was a refreshing change, though still a little bizarre. When she first brought Joffrey home, Arya had immediately despised him. Sansa, being young and naïve, figured that if the sister she didn’t get along with didn’t like her boyfriend, it was a point in his favor. She was no longer so young and naïve, and watching Arya and Jon making easy jokes with each other, having her sister like her boyfriend, it felt like a blessing.

Chapter Text

Jon wasted no time in getting to White Harbor after the band’s last show in Hardhome. They’d talked on the phone just about every day, but he couldn’t wait to see her again. He smiled to himself as he stood outside of her apartment building, an old brownstone in an artsy, gentrified neighborhood. Exactly what he pictured for her. “I’ll be right down!” She shouted from a window above his head as he pressed the ringer to her apartment.

“Why can’t I come up?” He asked when she spilled out the front door a few minutes later.

She laughed and kissed him hello. “Because I know if you come up, we won’t be get out of bed till breakfast.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“Yes! I want to show you around first.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him down the street. Sansa did her best tour guide impression, showing Jon around all of her favorite local hotspots, the theater where she performed, the bar the cast hung out at after rehearsals, the studio where she did yoga three mornings a week. Jon listened patiently, content to just be in her company.

“Are you hungry, there’s this great seafood place my landlord recommended.”

“I could eat, but seafood’s probably a bad idea.”

“What’s wrong with seafood?”

“Nothing, except it might kill me. I’m allergic.”

“I didn’t know that.” She hummed. “Ok, we can go somewhere else. There’s a ton around here.”

They walked through the city hand in hand as Sansa tried to think of a reasonable alternative. They ended up grabbing burgers from a hole-in-the-wall joint downtown. “How’d the rest of your shows go?”

“Pretty well. Turn out has been great in the North. And I think everyone’s relieved I’ve stopped playing your song. I know Pyp and Grenn are, at least.”

Sansa pouted playfully. “I think my feelings are hurt.”

He laughed. “I did tell you that song nearly ruined my career.” Jon snatched a handful of fries from her bag which earned him a light shove. “Y’know, at the show you came to, they actually had a quasi-intervention beforehand, tried to convince me to not play it. I’m glad I didn’t listen to them.”

“I did notice them walk offstage… Do they hate me?” She asked nervously.

“Hey.” He tapped her chin up with his fingers. “They were pissed at me, not you. I was a little… obsessed,” he admitted, “and it was driving everyone crazy. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”

“I should have come sooner…”

“You came. That’s all that matters,” he said, giving her a salty kiss. “Did you ever hear back from that audition?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t ‘right for the part’, but that’s ok,” she said, her disappointed tone at odds with her words. “The director said he liked me though. He’s going to keep my info so if there’s anything in his next show that might work better, he’ll call.”

“That’s great. You’re practically first in line.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, for a show that doesn’t exist yet.”

“Don’t worry about it. You maybe weren’t right for this part, but that doesn’t mean it was because you didn’t do a good job. You’ll get the next one, you’ll see. And you’re a shoe-in for this guy’s next thing. You’re all set.”

“I know you’re right. It just sucks. I really wanted to be in this show. It didn’t even have to be the lead.” She shrugged sadly and tossed her empty paper bag in the bin. “Ready to go?” She offered him her hand.

He finished the last few bites of his burger and took her hand. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know, but I haven’t been on a first date since I was seventeen, so indulge me.”

“You think this is our first date?”

“Isn’t it?” she asked. If Jon didn’t think this was a date, then she completely misinterpreted the last few weeks. “I mean, I thought—”

“Remember that night we got Dornish food in the city? I kind of thought of that as our ‘first date’.”

“Really?”

“Not then I didn’t, but in the time since, that’s how I’ve come to think of it. Is that stupid?”

Sansa laughed just a little and shook her head. “No, it’s sweet. I like it. I suppose it takes some of the pressure of today then, hm.”

“There’s pressure?”

“Not exactly, but, I don’t know. I told you, I haven’t done this in a while.” Remembering that night in the city, Sansa couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“About our ‘first date’. The morning after, I saw this tabloid. Someone had taken a picture of us. It accused me of leaving Joffrey for you.” Maybe that rag was right after all. Tall, dark, and handsome, her Jon.

“That is funny.” Jon wasn’t laughing, though. “Joffrey accused me of the same thing.”

“He did? When did you two ever meet?”

“Uh, after the Grammys. I was waiting for you. He came up and punched me in the face.” Jon rubbed his jaw where Joffrey’s fist connected, as if the bruise was still there. For a prissy bastard, Joffrey could sure throw a punch.

Sansa frowned. “He shouldn’t have done that.” It was her fault. If she’d been there… Well, she couldn’t take Joffrey’s vitriol, but she was at least used to it. And it wasn’t really Jon he hated, it was her.

“There’s a lot of things he shouldn’t have done.” Jon wrapped an arm around Sansa’s shoulders, and they didn’t talk about Joffrey again.

They kept up their trek through the city, walked along the river, strolled through the public gardens, where Jon, quite against the rules, kept picking flowers to put in her hair.

When the sun started to set, Sansa took Jon back to her apartment. It was a small studio, but it felt comfortable, not cramped. She’d strung fairy lights across the ceiling. Her bed was against the wall, doubling as a sofa, separated from the kitchen space by a lacy green curtain. She even managed to fit an upright piano against the other wall, a flea-market find painted a garish yellow. “Nice place.”

“It’s not really, but thanks. Make yourself at home.”

Jon dropped his jacket on a chair and ran his fingers across the keys of her piano. “So, have you given up on music, or is this just a break?”

“What makes you think I gave up?”

“You just haven’t said anything about it. I thought maybe…”

“I could no more easily give up on music than you could. I still write, but I don’t know if I’ll ever make a career of it again. I made a disaster of it the first time.”

Jon wanted to contradict her, it wasn’t her fault that things got so bad, but he held his tongue. He pushed too hard in the past and he wasn’t going to do that again. And besides, he still had her music, even if the world was deprived. He reached for her songbook resting against the music rest. “May I?”

She nodded. “Help yourself. The new pages are at the end.”

Jon flipped through the pages until he reached a song he didn’t recognize. Sansa sat down beside him and began to play. It sounded different than her older music, less melancholy than before. “That’s beautiful. Does it have words yet?”

“Not yet. If you think of anything, let me know. We could write it together.”

“You mean collaborate?”

“I don’t mean another album or anything. I don’t even want to release it, I just want to write a song with you.” She stopped playing and rested a hand on his thigh. This request wasn’t made on a whim, it was something she wanted to ask forever ago. She almost asked that they do a collaboration on a single for her album, but she never managed to find the right time to bring it up.

 “I thought you hated my music,” he teased.

Sansa bumped her shoulder against his. “I did, but it’s kind of grown on me. So what do you say?”

“I’d love to.”

Chapter Text

“There’s probably something I should give you a heads up about before we get there,” Jon said, flicking on his turn signal as he shifted on to the off ramp. It was his father’s birthday, which meant the whole family would be getting together at Summerhall, the vacation house in Dorne. Jon convinced Sansa it was time that she met his family. After all, they’d been officially together for over six months now. They were making the long distance work as best the could, near daily phone calls, even if it was quick a quick “'ood night'. Jon had visited White Harbor once, and Sansa had come down to King’s Landing three times, not including this current jaunt to Dorne.

“We’re practically in your driveway, and now is when you give me a heads up? Should I be worried?”

“Nothing bad, I promise.” Until now, he had managed not to tell her who his father was. Not that he was actively avoiding it, Jon told himself, it just hadn’t come up. But now they were on their way to meet him and he didn’t want her to be caught off guard when she walked through the door. “I think you know my dad.”

She looked at him curiously. “I’m pretty sure I don’t…?”

“I mean, you’ll recognize him. He’s Rhaegar Targaryen.” He glanced over to gauge her reaction.

Sansa was scowling at him. “That’s not funny.”

“I swear it’s the truth. I did tell you Snow was a stage name, didn’t I?”

“You did, but I assumed it was because you had a dorky last name.” She pursed her lips and searched his face for any hint of deception. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“Nope. Check my ID if you don’t believe me.” He fished his wallet out of his pocket and passed it over to her. Jon Arthur Targaryen.

“Oh gods… I can’t believe it. I’m going to meet Rhaegar Targaryen. At his house. For his birthday. Oh gods.” She covered her reddening face with her hands, fighting a losing battle against her giggles.

“You’re gunna be cool by the time we get there, right?” He asked, double checking the ETA on the GPS. “We’ll be there in half an hour.”

“I don’t know. If you’d told me a month ago, I’d be cool by the time we get there. But you give me thirty minutes?”

“I can drive around the block a few times if you need me to buy some time.”

“No! No, I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

“I’m not worried about me; are you going to embarrass yourself?” Jon teased.

Sansa tried glare at him but she couldn’t suppress her smile. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t know. I don’t tell many people. Rhaegar Targaryen is a big name in the industry. I don’t want people thinking I only got where I am because of him.”

“I still think I should’ve gotten more of a warning.”

“Sorry. It won’t happen again.” He grinned over at her. They turned onto his parents’ street. “Ready for this?”

Sansa nodded and like that, they were pulling into the long drive leading up to the house. House seemed like the wrong word. It was a manor, a manse, an estate. An enormous brick construction with white columns supporting the large front porch. The lawn was sprawling and pristinely green, with impossibly lifelike topiary dragons prowling along the iron wrought fence. It looked like the setting for a period drama, no real people could possibly live here.

“I know, the dragons are overkill.” Jon parked next to the fountain and unloaded their bags from the backseat, Ghost bolting across the yard as soon as he was able. Jon squeezed her hand as he opened the front door. “Hello? Anyone home?”

“Egg, is that you?” A voice called from upstairs.

“Wrong brother!” Jon called back up.

A second later, a dark head poked over the railing of the stairs. “Jon, what are you doing here? I thought you were coming tomorrow.”

“Um, no? I’m here today. Aegon’s coming tomorrow.”

“No, he’s here already. I mean, he’s not now. He’s running some errands for Mom. He’s supposed to be back any minute.” The woman at the top of the stairs seemed to just now notice Sansa and furrowed her brow for just a moment. The look was gone by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs. “We finally get to met the famous Sansa Stark. I’m Rhaenys.”

“I’m glad to meet you,” Sansa said politely.

Jon kissed Rhaenys on the cheek. “Who else is here? I thought Dany was supposed to come.”

“I know for sure Dany is going to be here tomorrow. Viserys said he might show up but he’s been in a bitchy mood lately, so who knows with him. But tonight it’s just us.” As an afterthought, she added, “And Sansa, of course.”

“Great. I’m going to put the bags down, then I’ll introduce you to my parents, ok?” He threw Sansa’s bag over his shoulder and headed upstairs.

Sansa lingered in the entryway with Rhaenys, who eyed her warily, smile dropping as soon as Jon’s back was turned. She stayed for a just moment before deciding to follow Jon, a step behind. “Is this your childhood bedroom?” she asked as his dumped the luggage on the bed.

“Sort of? This was the vacation home. We lived in King’s Landing during the school year, and here on the holidays.”

She nodded and looked around. It was clear there had been an effort to make it more of a guest room than a room belonging to a teenage boy, but there were still traces of Jon’s youth. Pictures pasted to the mirror above the dresser, the worn paperbacks on the shelves, an old guitar with snapped strings in the corner. “Your first guitar?”

“Yeah.” He picked it up and brushed the dust off the wood. “I can’t believe Mom hasn’t thrown it out yet.”

“Maybe this is why.” Sansa tapped one of the photos on the dresser. It was a polaroid of a young Jon, maybe eight or nine years old, sitting side by side with Rhaegar, both with guitars perched on their knees, grinning identically at the camera.

“Oh, no.” Jon covered the photo with his hand. “Don’t look at that.”

“No!” She pulled his hand away, giggling. “It’s adorable.” She kept a hold of his hands as she looked over the other pictures. “Is that Aegon with you?” She pointed to another picture of two little boys, fingers pulling at the corners of their mouths to show off their missing teeth. The dark haired boy was unmistakably Jon. The other little boy had shaggy silver hair, very much like his father’s.

Jon nodded.

“Gods, you were the cutest little kids,” she cooed.

“Come on, let’s go downstairs.” He took her by the hand and led her to the kitchen. Elia was at the counter, throwing ingredients into a mixer, Rhaegar sitting at the breakfast bar across from her, working on his laptop. Sansa was immediately reminded of living with Jon, mornings spent in just the same way. Jon knocked on the doorframe to announce himself. “Hey.”

Elia’s head snapped up and she smiled at him. “Jon, when did you get in?”

“Ten minutes ago? Not long. Did no one get my email that we were coming today?”

“I got it, I just thought you’d be later.” She rinsed the flour off her hands before pulling him into a hug. “Your father is too old for a birthday cake. I don’t know why I bother.”

Rhaegar smiled sweetly at his wife, dipping one long finger in the batter for a taste, before turning to Jon and Sansa. “This must be the beautiful siren who has so enchanted our young Jon.”

Sansa blushed deeply, Jon’s favorite shade of pink, as Rhaegar took her hand and gently pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She managed to stutter out, “It’s an honor to meet you, ser,” which makes him chuckle, not unkindly.

“We’re so happy you’re here, Sansa,” Elia said.

“Thanks for having me, Mrs. Targaryen.” Sansa held out her hand.

Elia waved it away and hugged her instead, like she was already a member of the family. “It’s Ms. Martell, but call me Elia, please.”

“Elia,” Sansa repeated.

“What are you working on?” Jon asked his dad, glancing over at his laptop.

“I’ve decided to write an opera.” Rhaegar invited Jon to look over his work as he launched into a detailed explanation on just how the inspiration had occurred to him. “It’s about Aegon the King and his conquest of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Excuse me, no shop talk in the kitchen,” Elia interrupted. She had a quiet voice, very soft-spoken, but she still managed to command the room. Rhaegar hung his head and tucked his computer away. “We have a rule in this house,” she explained to Sansa. “If they get to talking about music, they’ll go on for hours. The rest of us can’t get a word in edgewise.” Sansa could understand the frustration, but really, right now she wanted nothing more than to listen to Rhaegar Targaryen talk about his opera. How many people could say they’ve done that! “I forgot, you’re a musician too.”

“Yeah. Well, sort of. Retired, I guess.” Sansa wasn’t sure what her status was exactly.

“Don’t say it like that,” Jon said. “You still write.”

“And quite well, if I recall,” Rhaegar added.

Sansa couldn’t hide her surprise. “You’ve listened to my music?” This man had more in common with the great classical composers, he wrote symphonies, concertos. Sansa couldn’t picture someone like him listening to Top 40 pop music.

“Jon sent me a sample of it, some time ago. Of course, he wouldn’t name the composer at the time.”

Sansa turned to Jon, looking for answers.

“It was before I posted it online…” He rubbed his neck with one hand, keeping his eyes on his shoes. A guilty gesture if there ever was one. “I asked him to look it over, make sure it sounded alright.”

“You never told me that.”

“I never really got the chance.”

“You have no idea what it means to hear you say that, um, Rhaegar, ser.”

“We’ve actually been writing some music together,” Jon told him. It had taken a little bit to figure out how their writing styles meshed. Sansa was more freeform and loose while Jon was very methodical. But once they found a balance, they fell into a good stride. One song became three became, well, more. Enough for an entire album and then some. He wouldn’t say it outright, but Jon had been hinting that he wanted to record. Sansa, however, was still hesitant to do anything official. After all, her contract with Casterly was still technically intact.

“Only a few songs, and it’s only a hobby really,” Sansa clarified, but Jon was already promising to show some of it to Rhaegar later.

They were interrupted when the garage door off the kitchen opened, and Aegon came in with an armful of grocery bags. “I think I got everything on your list, mom. But what is heavy cream? Hey, Jon, you’re here! Rhae said you weren’t coming till tomorrow.” Aegon dropped the groceries on the counter and clapped a hand on his brother’s back in greeting.

Jon groaned. Does nobody in this family check their email? “She was wrong. Sansa, this is my brother Aegon. Egg, Sansa.”

Aegon shook her hand, his hold lingering. “Wow, you are even prettier in person.”

Sansa tittered and Jon nearly yanked Egg’s hand off of hers. “I think Rhae’s looking for you.”

“Eh, she just wants to complain about—” Aegon glanced at Sansa briefly and caught himself. “About who the hell even knows with her.”

Sansa wondered what that look meant. That paired with Rhaenys’ furrowed brow… It was probably nothing, but the paranoia still rankled in the back of her mind.

“You know,” Aegon leaned against the counter and eyed her appraisingly, “I saw you in Volantis a couple years ago. You have such an amazing energy on stage. Honestly, the best show I’ve ever been to. Better than anything Jon’s ever done,” he said with a wink.

“Funny, that doesn’t stop you from bumming free tickets every time I’m in town.”

“Speaking of—”

“No.”

“You see how he treats me? I bet you would never treat me so cruelly.”

“I’ll work on him for you,” Sansa said and nudged Jon with an elbow.

“Don’t encourage him,” Jon retorted.

“Boys, get along. And get out.” Elia kicked them all out of the kitchen as she put the cake in the oven and started on dinner. Egg went to find Rhae, and Jon took Sansa on a tour of the grounds. There was an enormous swimming pool just behind the house, and oh, look, it did have a barn after all. But they didn’t keep horses, Jon broke it to Sansa. The structure had been converted into Rhaegar’s studio and office. Unfortunately for Sansa’s inner fangirl, entry was forbidden without express permission from the man himself, but Jon promised to try and make it happen for her before the weekend was over.

They made their way back to the house just as Elia was finishing dinner. “Perfect timing. Jon, can you set the table?” She passed him a handful of plates and silverware and sent him into the dining room. “Sansa dear, can you get the others? I think they’re upstairs.”

Sansa obliged and headed upstairs. She followed the voices down the hall to one of the other bedrooms. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, really, but when she heard her name, she couldn’t help herself. She sidled down the hall and stopped just outside the door, left enticingly ajar.

“C’mon, Rhae, you have to at least give Sansa a chance.” That was Aegon.

She heard Rhaenys snort loudly in response. “Actually, I don’t.”

“She seems sweet, and Jon—”

“Gods, both you and Jon always get so stupid around pretty girls. It’s like you’re still thirteen and not grown-ass men.”

Sansa knew she shouldn’t be listening and frankly, she didn’t want to hear the rest of this conversation, so she interrupted them with a knock on the door. “Ahem. Dinner’s ready. Elia said to come down.”

Aegon’s  face appeared in the crack in the door. “We’ll be down in one minute. Thanks, Sansa.” In an undertone he added, “You didn’t, uh, hear anything, did you? Not that, I mean, we weren’t talking about—”

Rhaenys rolled her eyes and shoved him out the door. “Come on, Egg.”

Sansa followed the pair to the dining room. Jon pulled out a chair for her, next to his. She cast Jon an uneasy glance before taking her seat, but he missed the look.

Elia said a quick word of prayer before inviting them all to dig in. “Do you like the food, Sansa?”

“Oh, yes. Everything’s delicious.”

But Jon noticed the color in her cheeks that he knew had nothing to do with embarrassment. He had warned his mom that Sansa wasn’t accustomed to spicy food, and to her credit, Elia did go easy on the pepper. However, easy for Elia was still on the hotter end of the scale. “Mom, there’s yogurt in the fridge, right?” She said there was and Jon went to retrieve some for Sansa. “There’s a protein in dairy products that helps counteract the spiciness,” he explained.

Sansa gratefully accepted the yogurt. “Is that what it is?” She had to admit it worked, her tongue was burning less already.

Out of all of them, Rhaegar was the most sympathetic. “The first time I had dinner with Elia’s family, her brother put these insanely hot peppers in my dish. Told me they were bell peppers, harmless, but they were not.”

“Poor dear, he cried,” Elia teased.

“And Oberyn never let me forget it.”

Sansa appreciated the sentiment. It made her feel a little less embarrassed to alternate between bites of the entrée and spoonfuls of yogurt. The meal really was good, though, Sansa wasn’t lying.  

***

After dinner, they all gathered outside as Rhaegar built a bonfire in a large fire pit, also shaped like a dragon, fire burning in its belly and smoking curling out of the snout. “I’m sensing a theme here,” Sansa whispered to Jon.

“Really? I didn’t notice.”

“Ha-ha.”

Jon waved a dismissive hand. “It’s a whole family history thing.”

“Yeah, Targaryens; we have dragons and we burn shit,” Aegon interjected. “Pretty sure those are the family words.”

“Fire and blood,” Rhaenys corrected. “Though, historically, we have been known to burn a few bitches along the way.”

Rhaenys met Sansa’s eyes on the word ‘bitches’, and Sansa knew that was no coincidence. It had been mere hours since they met, and already Rhaenys made it clear that she took offense to Sansa’s very presence. They barely spoke, Rhaenys largely ignored any attempt at friendly conversation over dinner. As a born people-pleaser, Sansa was unnerved and frustrated. Her first impression couldn’t have been that bad. In fact, she knew it wasn’t. If there was one thing Sansa excelled at, it was first impressions.

“You know most of the histories are exaggerated fables,” Elia said.

“Which is exactly why opera is the best medium to tell these stories,” said Rhaegar. “History books can never capture the drama.”Aegon and Rhaenys groaned in unison to prevent Rhaegar from expounding further. “I’m truly blessed to have such supportive children…”

“We just don’t want it spoiled before it’s even started,” Rhaenys said sweetly.

“I actually agree with you,” Sansa said to Rhaegar. “Strict histories are too detached, and film really lacks the honesty that the stage has.”

“Yes! Honesty. There’s no barrier between the audience and the story.” Rhaegar was eminently pleased to have someone to engage with and Sansa was more than happy to oblige. “I like her, Jon.”

Jon wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. “Yeah, I do too.”

Chapter Text

Sansa woke early the next morning. It was always hard sleeping in a strange bed, and Jon’s window faced east. The gap in the curtains directed the morning sun right into Sansa’s eyes. Sansa got up and tugged the curtains closed, but it was too late, she was already awake. She nearly picked one of the books off Jon’s shelf when she heard harp music, soft and delicate coming from another room. Curiosity got the better of her and she went to find the source.

Unsurprisingly, the music was coming from Rhaegar, seated before a large pedal harp, plucking out a melancholy tune. It was a breathtaking picture, his long fingers skimming the strings, eyes closed, the sunlight turning his hair from silver to glowing gold. Sansa felt like an intruder, watching him, but she couldn’t pull herself away.

When he finished his song and opened his eyes, he wasn’t angry at her intrusion. Instead he smiled and said, “Good morning, Sansa,” and invited her to take the seat next to him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lurk.”

“It’s no bother. Music is meant to be shared.” He gestured to the harp before him. “Do you play?”

“The harp? No, but I’ve always wanted to learn. It’s such a beautiful instrument.”

“Here.” He got up and switched seats with her, guiding her hands into position over the strings and giving her cursory instructions. Sansa plucked out a slow melody, Rhaegar gently correcting her when she hit a wrong note.

“Is it true you’ve retired from music?” He asked.

“Not exactly. It’s just… complicated.”

“Your contract with Casterly?”

“Jon told you?” Sansa really shouldn’t be surprised, but it was still weird that she was ever a topic of conversation for someone like Rhaegar. She shouldn’t even be on his radar.

“Some of it. You’ve had quite a run of bad luck in your short career.”

“It wasn’t bad luck, I was just stupid.” She frowned as she pulled the wrong string and started over.

“Uninformed and taken advantage of. It’s not an uncommon occurrence for young people in your position. It’s a disappointing reality of the industry. I was worried about Jon when he first started. He was so young and so insistent that I not be involved. He wanted to do it on his own.”

“But Jon did alright for himself.” Better than alright. He was downright successful. The Watchers’ weren’t obnoxiously famous but they had a loyal fanbase and steady work.

“Yes. That’s because from the very start, Jon was never after money or fame. He just wanted to share his music.” Rhaegar sounded so proud and didn’t he have every reason to be.

“Unlike me?”

“I didn’t mean to imply that. I don’t know how or why you ended up with Casterly but what I know of the Lannisters, what I know of how they run their company, they don’t put money in unless they know they’ll get more money out.”

“Factory produced pop princesses,” Sansa recalled Jon saying, what seemed like a lifetime ago. It seemed almost weird that there was ever a time in her life when they didn’t know each other, despite all the ups and downs since they met.

Rhaegar chuckled. “Jon has a certain way with words, doesn’t he? Yes, Casterly saw you as something easily marketable.”

“I could’ve used someone like you a long time ago. When Cersei offered to sign me I thought ‘wow, she must really believe in me, I must really be good.’ I wish somebody had told me I was being used.” Sansa had been so starstruck that she barely been able to form a coherent sentence around Cersei. She would, and did, accept any scrap of attention Cersei offered her.

“Except,” he tapped his chin thoughtfully, “They did believe in you. Not necessarily the way you meant, but your contract is for ten years, yes? That’s abnormal. If nothing else, they believed you had staying power, that you’d be profitable for at least a decade.”

Sansa furrowed her brow. “Is that a compliment?”

“In a twisted way, yes.” He smiled at her and there was genuine kindness in his eyes. “I am loathe to agree with Cersei Lannister about anything, but she might have been right about you. You have talent, Sansa.”

Sansa swelled with pride. “Thank you, ser.”

“You don’t need to call me ser.”

“Right. Rhaegar.”

“Morning.” Jon appeared in the doorway of the den, steaming mug of coffee in hand. “Did you get breakfast yet, Sansa?”

“Not yet. Thank you for the lesson,” she said to Rhaegar before following Jon into the kitchen where he already had something frying in a skillet.

“What were you talking to my dad about?”

“Just chatting.”

“Uhuh. Do I have anything to apologize for?”

“It was perfectly nice, thank you very much,” she told him as she poured a glass of orange juice. Fresh-squeezed, delicious.

“That’s good. I’m glad you’re getting along.”

“Actually, about that…” Was this the right time to bring up Rhaenys? If Jon noticed anything off yesterday he hadn’t said anything about it. But Sansa was positive that Jon’s sister didn’t like her. Her window of opportunity was closed when Rhaenys walked in followed by a young woman with silver-gold hair. Must be another Targaryen, Sansa thought. She had he family look.

“Jon!” The newcomer threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on each cheek. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“You haven’t. It’s hard to keep in touch when you’re always in a different time zone.”

“We’ll have to try harder then, won’t we?” She pat his cheek, a weirdly maternal gesture coming from someone barely Jon’s own age. “So you have to catch me up. How’s your band doing?”

“Doing awesome right now. Actually, as soon as I leave here we’re flying out to the Stepstones to film a music video. Rhae, you’re still going to look after Ghost, right?”

“You got it, dude,” she said with a thumbs up.

“That’s amazing! But it’s not for that song about the girl who ditched you, right? Because, Jon, sweetie—”

“Ahem.” Jon put an arm around Sansa’s shoulders and pulled her a step forward. “Dany, this is my girlfriend, Sansa.”

Jon gave Dany a pointed look and the pieces clicked together. “Oh! Sansa. That Sansa.”

“Sansa, this is my aunt Daenerys. Dany works as an aide to a diplomat, what’s the guys name again?” Jon asked.

“Illyrio Mopatis. We’ve been in Slaver’s Bay for the past two years. The only city worse than King’s Landing might be Meereen. I’m so glad to be home for a while.”

“I’m sure it’s interesting work,” Sansa said.

Dany rolled her eyes. “It’s not. This aide thing is just a stepping stone. I’m trying to get into real politics but no one takes me seriously. Even though I do literally Illyrio’s entire job. Backwards and in designer pumps.” She kicked up a heel for emphasis. “It’s a thankless job.”

“But you love it.”

“I really do.”

“Where’s Egg?” Rhae asked, snatching the bacon off Jon’s plate. “I thought we could all do something today. Go into town or whatever.”

Jon pulled his plate out of her reach. “I haven’t seen him. I think he’s still in bed.”

“When you find him, let me know,” Dany said. “I need to go find my brother too.”

“Rhaegar’s in the den,” Sansa told her.

Dany nodded and wandered down the hall.

In the end, they didn’t go into town but ended up playing cards by the pool. It started off with easy games like Go Fish and Crazy Eights, but competitive natures prevailed and now they were on their fifth hand of poker.

“Read ‘em and weep.” Rhaenys lay a flush down and scooped up the chips in the kitty. “Looks like Little Miss Sansa owes me three hundred bucks! Pay up.”

Sansa tossed her own cards down on the table. Of course she lost, she’d never played poker before and she was still hazy on the rules. Not to mention the poor hands she kept getting dealt but that was just bad luck, right?

“C’mon, we’re not playing for real money,” Egg said, shuffling the deck and dealing another hand.

“You’re only saying that because you owe me even more.” Rhaenys stood up and stretched. “Who needs another beer, anyone?” She took a count and went inside to retrieve the beverages.

On a whim, Sansa got up to follow her. She had been caught off guard by Rhaenys’ cold attitude towards her and spent all night trying to decide if there was genuine hostility between them or if Sansa was reading too much into things. But after spending another day in her presence, Sansa was sure of it; Rhaenys hated her. Sansa’s instinct was telling her drop the issue, pretend it didn’t bother her, but she didn’t want to roll over anymore. Now she was going to get to the bottom of this.

“Why don’t you like me?” Sansa confronted Rhaenys when they were alone in the kitchen.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rhaenys folded her arms across her chest and met Sansa’s eye defiantly, body language completely at odds with her words.

“I get why you’re putting on a front in front of Jon and the others, but, it’s just us here. Let’s be honest. I feel like you’ve been snippy and giving me dirty looks the whole time I’ve been here. I’ve been trying to be pleasant to you. If I’ve done something to offend you, please, just tell me.”

Rhaenys leaned against the counter and looked Sansa over. “Fine. You’re right; I don’t like you.” 

“Why?” Sansa asked. “What did I do to you?”

“It’s not what you did to me. It’s what you did to Jon.”

That took Sansa by surprise. “What did I do to him…?”

“The way you left him last year. Do you even know how devastated he was?” Sansa opened her mouth to argue but Rhaenys pushed on. “Of course you don’t. He was heartbroken and you just left him in the dark. Until la-di-da, you change your mind and decide you want him in your life again? What’s going to happen when you change your mind again?”

“That isn’t how things happened.” Sansa resisted the urge to stamp her foot, barely.

“Except that it is. I’m sure you had your ‘reasons’.” She used air quotes around the word ‘reasons’. What a reductive gesture. “But there isn’t a single one good enough to justify walking out on him without even telling him goodbye. Do they not have phones in the North? You should have at least called him.”

“I should have and I didn’t.” And she would feel guilty about that until the  day she dies. “But Jon forgave me and he is the only person who needs to understand.”

“Jon has a big fucking heart. You don’t get to take advantage of that.”

“I’m not taking advantage.” Sansa huffed. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Hey, you asked why I didn’t like you. I’m just looking out for my brother,” she said with a shrug and pushed past Sansa.

Sansa stepped between her and the door, barring Rhaenys’ exit for just a moment longer. “I am sorry you don’t like me but we both love Jon. For him, can we please try to get along?”

Rhaenys returned Sansa’s pleading look with a sharp glare. “Do you love him, really?”

“I do.”

Rhaenys searched her face. Sansa didn’t know what she was looking for, but whatever she found seemed to be acceptable. “For Jon, I’ll try. But don’t expect me to act like we’re best friends.”

Sansa agreed and stepped away from the door. Rhaenys gathered up the beer and left without another word. Sansa sighed heavily and rested her forehead against the doorframe. She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Everything ok?” Jon asked, running his hand soothingly across her back.

“It’s fine,” she said relaxing under his touch. She considered telling him about her tête-à-tête with Rhaenys, but would that break the truce they’d formed? And what about Jon? She knew first-hand what it was like to have your family disapprove of your significant other. She didn’t want to put Jon in that position, not when she and Rhaenys had agreed to try for peace. But she made a promise to Jon that they’d talk about their problems. Even when Sansa’s instinct was to bottle it up, especially then. And a promise to Jon was more important than a treaty with his sister. “It’s not fine. Your sister hates me.”

“I know Rhae takes a while to warm up, but I don’t think—”

“No, she actually hates me. She said so. And I don’t know how to fix it…”

“Did she say why?” he asked.

“Because I’m a selfish little girl who floats in and out of your life with no concern on how it impacts you.”

Jon sighed. “I’ll talk to her.”

“No, Jon, don’t.”

“She can’t talk to you that way.”

“I asked her to. And we’ve reached an understanding. It’s… it’s fine.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to talk to her?”

“I don’t want to cause a problem between you two.”

“Ok.” Jon held her close and kissed her forehead. He would talk to Rhae later though. Whatever her intentions, Jon wouldn’t let Rhaenys make Sansa feel unwelcome. He knew that as the oldest, Rhae always felt it was her duty to look after him and Aegon. But he wasn’t a little kid with a lisp anymore and Sansa wasn’t a schoolyard bully. It was touching that his sister was still watching out for him but he was a grown man and this wasn’t any of her business. “Do you want to get out of here for a while?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, it’s alright. Let’s go back outside.”

***

The rest of the weekend passed more calmly. True to her word, Rhaenys stopped her snide remarks about Sansa, as much as she could help it anyway, and they even made pleasant conversation a couple of times. Not best friends but it was a start. As for the rest of the Targaryens, Sansa felt almost at home with. Dany was absolutely fascinating, having travelled all over the world, she had a million stories to share. Aegon kept flirting with her just to get a rise out of Jon, which worked way too easy. And as promised, Jon did manage to secure a tour of Rhaegar’s studio in exchange for sharing one of their songs.

Sansa was sad to go when the weekend was over. “I don’t want to go back to White Harbor,” Sansa whined as Jon drove them back to the airport.

“I don’t want you to go either.”

“Jon, I’m serious.” She took the hand not on the steering wheel, prompting him to look at her, so much as he safely could while driving. “I’ve been thinking about moving back to King’s Landing.”

Jon raised his eyebrows in question. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” She thought about it every time she came down to visit Jon and every time she had to fly back was that much harder than the time before. She had already searched for apartments online, seeing how close to Jon’s neighborhood she could get while staying within her budget. It wasn’t until this weekend though that it turned from a fantasy to an active desire. Meeting Jon’s family was an actual step forward in their relationship, groundwork for a real future together. And more than anything, Sansa wanted that future. “There’s nothing in White Harbor that isn’t also in King’s Landing. And King’s Landing has you. That alone is reason enough to move. I want to be wherever you are.” Sansa bit her lip and willed him to speak.

He did, after he pulled the car to the side of the road and parked. This wasn’t a conversation to have side-eyed while weaving through highway traffic. Jon unbuckled and turned in his seat to face her. “This is something you really want to do?”

“It is. If you think it’s a good idea…?” She’d understand if he thought it was too soon but she really wanted him to agree. It would make things so much easier to catch a bus to see each other than scheduling flights back and forth.

“I- I think it’s a great idea. my completely selfish opinion is that you should do it. I like seeing you in person way better than over FaceTime.” He was fighting a smile but Sansa could see the pull at the corners of his mouth. It only lasted a moment before a shadow passed over his features. “But I’m not the only one in King’s Landing, you know.”

“I know. I’ve thought about that too. I’m not thrilled at the possibility of running into Joffrey on the street but why should that prevent me from doing what I want? He doesn’t get to be a factor into this decision.”

“So you’re decided, are you?”

“I still have two months left on my lease, so I can’t move anywhere right now. But it’s a very tempting option.” Even more tempting when Jon leaned across the gearshift to kiss her. Slow and sweet and full of heart. Not quite making out like teenagers steaming up the windows, but that was probably for the best. They still had flights to catch after all.

Chapter Text

In the end, moving wasn’t a hard decision to make. Of course she would miss the friends she made in White Harbor, but Sansa’s only real hesitation was being so far from her family again. But after talking with her mother and Robb and one surprisingly helpful conversation with Arya, Sansa had made up her mind. Two months later, she packed up everything she owned and was back in King’s Landing. The plan was for her to continue living independently, in an apartment of her own, but she quickly fell into the habit of spending most nights at Jon’s until she was moved in in all but name.

They continued to write music, whenever Sansa could steal time away from his band. The Watchers was still his priority, but this side project was important to the both of them. Many mornings were spent down at the studio, the air filled with the complementary sounds of Sansa’s piano and Jon’s guitar as they penned new melodies.

“I don’t think these lyrics work.” She circled the line and handed it over to him to review.

He sat down next to her and plunked out the chords, singing under his breath. “I don’t hear it.”

“No?” She pursed her lips and played it again. “Still sounds off to me.”

They’d found a loophole of sorts when it came to their music. They couldn’t release an official album together and by the terms of her contract, Sansa couldn’t accept any money or even claim a writer’s credit, but they could post their music online for people to download. And if people wanted to donate, well, there weren’t any rules against that as long as the money went into an account with Jon’s name on it. That Sansa didn’t have access to. Wink.

For a long time, Sansa thought she would never again have a future in music, that once again her songs were doomed to live and die between the covers of her journal. Stubborn as he was, Jon wasn’t going to accept that. After lengthy conversations with Sam, a few expensive phone calls to the lawyers, and one late night stroke of inspiration, he’d figured out the solution. The second best thing to Casterly going up in flames entirely, but this way he’d avoid an arson charge.

“Like a Youtube channel?” Sansa asked with a look askance when he told her his plan.

“Not exactly. We could build our own website. It’d be official.”

“And you’re sure this won’t make things worse?”

“Yes,” he lied. Jon wasn’t absolutely positively sure but he’d give this plan a solid ninety-five percent. Maybe ninety... Definitely over seventy-five. “As long as we don’t put your name on it Casterly can’t do anything about it. It’s a little ethically grey and I don’t feel right denying you credit, but it’s better than nothing, right?” He thought it was a genius plan anyway. And it was just temporary. As soon as Sansa was out of her contract, she would get all the credit she deserved.

Sansa took three days to think it over. When she came back to him with an answer, she only had one question. “What will we call ourselves?”

(That turned into a week long debate.)

***

Once the site was up and they started posting music, a spark had ignited in Sansa. She was determined to make up for all those years of silence, of keeping her music under wraps. Working outside of a label, any label, gave them both a sense of creative freedom that allowed them to try new things. Sansa grew away from pop music, experimenting in the jazzier end of the spectrum, and Jon was moving closer to ‘actual music’ as Sansa liked to tease him. Though he was absurdly proud of one song he wrote that used sound bites from actual construction sites just to make Sansa laugh.

Jon’s solution was clever and it must have worked, too, because the site had been up for over a month and they hadn’t received a cease-and-desist order. The first week or so had been nerve-wracking, waiting to see if this loophole held up or if they were just breaking rules. But the number of visitors to their site grew, as did the number of downloads and still nothing but silence on the legal front. Sansa wondered how big this loophole was and was itching to test its limits. “Do you think we could play a show?”

“What, us?”

“Yeah. Not a full concert or anything. Just a couple songs at a club. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m past my dive bar days.”

“It won’t be a dive bar. I’ve been looking at a couple places. There’s this club downtown, The Mockingbird, I think it’d be perfect.” She pulled up the venue’s website and showed him. “They’re looking for acts, too.”

Jon scrolled through the website as he thought over her suggestion. The Mockingbird wasn’t the kind of venue he’d look twice at for The Watchers but this wasn’t for The Watchers. It was small and intimate, with dark moody lighting, a cocktail lounge more than the bars he’d played in before. Between their individual fanbases, they could easily fill a venue many times larger than this place with the right promotional efforts. But this was Sansa’s first public performance in nearly two years and their first time performing as a duo. Not too mention, it would do better not to draw Casterly’s attention to them if they didn’t already have it. She had the right idea, starting small. “Yeah, ok, let’s do it.”

With Jon on board, Sansa set to work organizing their set. It was a difficult task, narrowing down their songs to the best few when, in her opinion, they were all the best. Her headphones were near-permanently stuck in her ears as she sorted through their discography, swapping out one song for another or rewriting the set list entirely. Jon made a token effort to help but he was glad to step back and let her do this. Besides his work with WoW keeping him busy enough, he was happy to just watch her go. Her excitement was ill-contained, not that she was trying, and it was this passion that he’d fallen in love with. Jon saw it, the first time he’d played her music, the first time he saw it even, hiding between the pages. He didn’t want to admit it back then but he’d been impressed with her the moment she slammed her book on that bar. And he realized much later that it was the reason why he couldn’t shake her from his life. This passion just underneath the surface, suppressed and neglected by the people around her but smoldering still, he couldn’t let go until he saw it conflagrate. 

Once Sansa got confirmation from the venue that they were a go, she even went down there about three times just to get a feel for the place, the lighting, the acoustics, the general ambiance, making sure their performance would fit with the vibe of the space. A week before they were scheduled, Jon found Sansa digging through his closet, her planning so thorough that she was down to picking out what he would wear, which is where he had to draw the line.

“I’m sorry.” She smiled sheepishly as she refolded his shirt and stuffed it back in its drawer. “I just—”

“Hate the way I dress?”

“No!” She’d come around on the whole tough guy look, really, though she did sometimes try to introduce some color into his wardrobe. Tried and failed, he wouldn’t budge from his excessive black. “No, I’m just nervous is all. Keeping myself occupied helps and I sort of ran out of other things to do.”

“Because you’ve never played a live show before," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Not one like this. You started out with small gigs in bars. I skipped that step.”

“Playing to a couple hundred people can’t be scarier than playing to thousands.”

“It is. With big crowds, everyone blends together, if you can even see anyone at all through the lights. But I’ve checked out the view from The Mockingbird’s stage. Even with the stage lights on and the house lights down, you can still see people watching you.”

Jon laughed and held her hands in his. “Sweetheart, I think you picked the wrong career if you’re bothered by people watching you.”

“That’s only part of it. I haven’t sang in public in a long time, what if I’ve lost it? And what if our music’s not as good as we think it is, what if people don’t like it? What if no one even shows up? What if—” She lost herself to anxious babbling.

The only way Jon could get her to stop was by kissing her quiet. She melted against his shoulder. “We know people like our music, we’ve got the downloads to prove it. Three hundred people are RSVPed online, so we won’t be playing to an empty house. And you know you haven’t lost your voice so don’t even try that excuse.”

Sansa sighed and collapsed on the bed, pulling Jon down alongside her. “I know you’re right, but I can’t help it.”

“Were you this obnoxious before your first performance?” Jon asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders so he could toy with her hair.

“And then some. I got sick twice and Petyr kept telling me how important it was for my future and how many people were in the crowd, which only made it worse. Cersei’s solution was just to give me alcohol. I was half-drunk the first time I took the stage.”

“Hey, me too.”

“You got nervous too?”

“Nah, the guy couldn’t afford to pay us but he let us drink for free. Even though I was underage at the time… It was a really seedy bar, we never shoulda done it. Also, my dad doesn’t know about that one, so keep it to yourself, yeah?” Jon knew that Sansa frequently went to lunch with Rhaegar when he was in the city. He didn’t know everything they talked about, but in case he was ever a topic of conversation Jon wanted to be covered.

Sansa giggled and cuddled in to his side. “We’re going to do just fine, aren’t we?”

“Are you kidding? We’re gunna knock ‘em dead.”

Chapter Text

The first show at The Mockingbird had gone incredibly. Sansa couldn’t say what she even had been worried about. This was just singing, this is what she loved, this is what she did. Being back on stage with a mic in hand felt like a homecoming and performing with Jon was the most natural thing in the world. If she ever got nervous, one smile from him set her right again. From the first song, they had the crowd enraptured and by the end, they’d been pressed to do three encores before ceding the stage to the next act. Sansa was positively over the moon with giddiness when the manager personally invited them to perform again next month, or “whenever you like. The place was packed!”

With the open invitation, they found themselves playing The Mockingbird monthly, every third Thursday, and playing longer shows each time until the night was almost entirely theirs. It was a near perfect arrangement and Sansa loved every moment of it. This was a pure musical experience.

Tonight was no different, another night at The Mockingbird. Sansa was in the dressing room, touching up her makeup while the opening act finished up and waiting for Jon. Normally, they would arrive together, having reserved the day for this, but Watcher’s business had come up and Jon couldn’t reschedule. He apologized, but Sansa didn’t mind, as long as he was here for their show. With her makeup as done as she could get it, any more would be overkill, she doublechecked her phone. Jon had texted [be there in 5] more than five minutes ago. She wasn’t too worried but they were on any minute. Come on, Jon.

There was a knock at the door.

“Just a minute, I’ll be right out.” She heard the door open and close. At the sound of the lock sliding into place, she turned in her seat. She was expecting Jon, but the man who entered the dressing room was decidedly much less welcome. “Joff.”

He smiled wickedly and offered her a bouquet of roses. “How surprised was I to see your name on the billing tonight. I just came out for a show with Margaery, when who do I see is headlining? It’s like fate.”

Sansa swatted the flowers away. “You need to leave.”

“Babe, I just want to talk.”

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. Go.” She flicked her wrist towards the door and turned away from him, praying she wasn’t as visibly shaken as she felt. Why did he have to show up here, now? She reached for her phone on the dresser. Jon was supposed to be here any second, but just in case…

Joffrey didn’t take her invitation to leave, however, and snatched her phone out from under her fingertips before she could unlock the screen. “Ah-ah. You can get this back when you talk to me.”

Sansa glanced from her phone held above Joffrey’s head to the door. She couldn’t reach her phone, he was too tall, and he was between her and the door. “What do you want?”

“An apology, for one.”

A laugh escaped her before she could even think to stop it. “Me, apologize to you?” She clapped her hand over her mouth when she caught that dark look in his eye, that rage she never wanted to be on the receiving end of again. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for a weapon, anything she could protect herself with. Coming up short, she thought she might be able to dart past him to the door if he moved on her.

“Yeah, you should fucking apologize. We were together since we were kids and after all we’d been through, you dump me by telling my mother it’s over? We were supposed to get married, Sansa, we were supposed to spend our lives together.”

Sansa thought it was worth mentioning that for all they said they were engaged, Joffrey had never actually proposed to her. It had bothered her then, but what did that matter anymore. “After all we’d been through? After all you put me through, you deserve a whole lot worse than what you got!” Where did this nerve come from? If Sansa had been able to stand up like this to Joffrey before, so many things would have been different.

“What exactly did I put you through, huh? Put you through your dream job, is that it? Made your dreams come true, yeah, I’m a real fucking monster. Do you think my mother ever would have looked twice at you if I hadn’t asked her to? Baby, you’re not that good. Look at you. I mean, really. Without me, what are you even doing? Playing in dive bars for tips? You’re nothing without me.”

He dropped her phone to the side and stepped towards her, his evil green eyes burning on her, that look that used to make her cower but she wouldn’t be cowed anymore. Sansa glanced between him and the door. One more step and she’d have her opening. There it is! A shift to her left and she was able to weave around him and make a break for the door.

Sansa fumbled with the lock, wrenching the door open just as he grabbed her arm. There was a thwack as it smacked him in the face. Blood trickled down his forehead where the edge of the door had split the skin. He bellowed and charged after her as she fled to the hall. Something snagged her wrist and her vision went blurry as something hard connected with her cheekbone. He’s never hit my face before. She barely had time to marvel at the novelty of sensation before he had her throat pinned between his forearm and the wall, robbing her of breath. Sansa gasped against him, digging her fingernails into his wrist trying to pry herself free. “You fucking used me, Sansa. I gave you everything you ever wanted, I made you famous. You just took it all and walked away. Like you don’t owe me.”

Air came rushing back into her lungs as Joffrey was pulled off her and sent to the floor. Jon had arrived, taking Joffrey down with a single hit, standing over his prostrate form like an action hero. “You don’t ever touch her again, hear me?”

Jon cocked his fist for another blow but Sansa grabbed his wrist before he could let it fly. “Jon, don’t!”

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t cave this bastard’s face in,” he snarled, wilder than Sansa had ever seen him. His grey eyes had gone black in their rage and his every hair was standing on end. It was like looking at a wolf in the wild, Sansa thought, hackles raised and ready for the kill.

Sansa put a hand on his shoulder and pointed to the little red light in the corner. A security camera. “We have proof.”

It took Jon a couple more heaving breaths to cool the adrenaline in his system before he could think again and realized what she meant. Proof. “Sansa…”

“Leave him, Jon. I don’t want you to get arrested too.” She kissed him quickly before pulling him down the hall. Jon made one more threatening gesture to Joffrey, who flinched in the corner, and followed Sansa to the security office.

There was a freckle faced young man watching the monitors, while boredly surfing the web. “Excuse me, the security footage, it gets recorded somewhere, yes?” Sansa asked, jolting his attention away from his phone.

“Uhm, yeah, yes. Why?”

“Outside of dressing room B, go back about ten minutes.” The boy obeyed and rewound the video until they saw Joffrey skulking down the hall. “There. Starting there, can I get a copy of that video?”

The boy nodded and plugged a flash drive into the computer and with a few clicks it was downloaded. He passed it over to her and she stored it in her pocket. “There will probably be people who ask you to delete the video. I bet they’ll even pay you. Take their money and do it. But if the police ask, tell the truth.”

“Of course, Miss Stark.”

“Thank you. I owe you one, I really do.” She would have to speak to the club manager and get him a raise or something. With the evidence safe with her, even if Joffrey or Cersei thought to check the cameras, Sansa started forming a plan. There had to be a way to use this to her advantage.

Just outside of the security office, someone caught them. “Sansa!”

“Margaery?” Joff said they were here together but Sansa was surprised to see her all the same. “What are—”

“Don’t do it, Sansa. I know what you’re thinking, but please, you don’t want to do this.”

“Margaery…” Sansa heart broke for this poor girl. Yes, Sansa had been angry when Margaery took Joffrey’s side over hers but she still wouldn’t want to wish that beast on anyone. “I have to do this. If I don’t, someday you’ll wish I had.” Assuming Joffrey hadn’t already hurt her too. Unlike Sansa, isolated and alone in King’s Landing, Margaery had nearly her entire family nearby. Did that make the difference?

Margaery’s tearful face turned to a bitter scowl. “Why! Why do you have to ruin things, Sansa? You threw away your career, fine, but don’t take the rest of us down with you!”

Sansa understood where this was coming from, perhaps better than anyone. But for beautiful, brilliant Margaery to be under Joffrey’s thumb, it just wasn’t right. If not in retribution for her past, Sansa had to do this for Margaery’s future. Someday she would understand, she had to. “You don’t need Casterly and nobody needs him,” Sansa said in parting. She reached out to squeeze Margaery’s hand, but the other girl recoiled and stormed away.

They left the club moments later, the show they were supposed to be playing entirely forgotten. Jon hailed a cab on the street and climbed in behind her. In the dim light, it was hard to see, but Jon stroked a thumb under her eye, worried about how nasty the coming bruise was going to be.

When they got back to the apartment, Jon asked, “Are you going to take the video to the police?”

“Yes, but not yet. I need to make a few calls first.”

“Before the cops?”

She pursed her lips. “I’ve got an idea. It might not be exactly ethical, but, I think I can use this as leverage against Casterly. Let me out of my contract or I press charges.”

“You should press charges anyway,” he said as he pressed an ice pack against her shiner.

She waved the ice away. She wanted her bruise to be as big and ugly as it could. “Oh, I will. Whether they sign or not, I’m going to the police and sending this video to every gods-damned tabloid I can think of. But Joffrey has always been Cersei’s weak spot. She would let me out of the contract if it might protect his reputation.”

“You don’t think they’re going to be pissed when you double cross them?”

“Of course they will be but I don’t care. I’m ready for all of this to be over. This is my way out.”

“Ok.” He breathed through his nose, a little huff to express his concern but he wouldn’t contradict her. “This is your decision, Sansa. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

“I know. I love you.” She kissed him and went to find Petyr Baelish’s number. She knew he’d answer for her, at very least, he always did. If she had any chance of getting a meeting with Cersei, Baelish was the key. It rang three times before he answered and she jumped into action. “Petyr, it’s been such a long time.”

“Sansa. I must admit I’m surprised to hear from you.” The cold tone in his voice was not one Sansa was familiar with. It shook her briefly, maybe he wasn’t the weak link she thought, but no, no, she knew her target.

She put on her sweetest voice for him, high pitched and girlish, and terribly embarrassing to do in front of Jon, but it would melt Littlefinger’s perverted resolve. “I know. My lawyer would throw a fit if he knew I called you, but I need you, Petyr.” She heard the little hitch in his breath and she knew she had him. Gross old man. “I just want all this ugliness to go away. Can we meet tomorrow? I know we can figure out some kind of arrangement that’ll make everyone happy.”

“Yes. Ahem, yes, I think we could make something work.”

“Oh, wonderful. Does ten o’clock work for you?”

“I’ll clear my schedule for you.”

“Thank you so much! And, you will call Cersei for me, won’t you? It’d be so nice if she and I could reconcile. We used to be so close.” The lie made Sansa’s spine tingle  and she cringed just a little bit.

“I’m sure she’d love to see you,” he said, a little stilted. No doubt he hoped he was getting her alone, but no, Cersei needs to be there. Petyr alone would sell Joffrey down the river in a heartbeat.

“Fantastic! Oh, I’ll be so glad to have all this sorted out. You know I never meant for any of this to happen, don’t you?”

“Of course, sweetling. These things get out of hand so quickly, how could you know any better?” He said, clearly condescending to her. She would be offended but that’s exactly what Sansa wanted from him. Let him think she was still a stupid little girl. “I’ll see you tomorrow at my office then?”

“No!” She said, a little too sharply. She cleared her throat and recovered. “No, I was thinking we could get brunch, at the Highgarden Café, across the street from your building?” She had learned one thing from her past mistakes and she knew better than to let them have the home field advantage. They would meet on neutral ground so they couldn’t catch her off-guard again.

His end of the line was silent and Sansa was afraid that maybe he’d caught on to her game. But he returned with a brief, “Whatever you wish,” and that was that.

Sansa hung up and shuddered. “I do not like that man.”

Jon had been listening to her entire conversation, piecing together Petyr’s half of the conversation based on Sansa’s reactions. “You’re going to meet them tomorrow?” He tried again, unsuccessfully, to ice her eye. It was already starting to swell and looked something awful. “Is that… safe?”

“We’re meeting in public, I won’t let them corner me again.” As she talked, she set up her other security measures. She saved multiple copies of the footage and already typed up emails to the worst tabloid stations she knew, everything ready for the next day. One click and the cat would be out of the bag. It would all be done before Cersei could finish her drink and gods knew that was fast enough.

“Do you need me to go with you?” Jon offered. The raging wolf Sansa had seen in him earlier was gone, but something of it still lingered, a loyalty, a protectiveness.

Sansa stroked her fingers through his hair, pulling him close to her. “No. If you’re there, it might tip them off that this isn’t what they think it is. And besides, I need to show them that this is me. That I can stand up against them on my own and they can’t bully me anymore.”

***

Dressed to kill in a tight black dress and sky high heels, cat-eye sunglasses and a designer scarf covering her bruises, Sansa strode into the restaurant the next morning. This was the day of reckoning. One way or another, Sansa was getting what she wanted. “Good, you’re both here. Shall we get started?” She sat down and pulled her laptop from her bag. “Cersei, did Joffrey tell you we ran into each other last night?” Sansa pulled off the shades and proudly presented her black eye to them. Overnight it had developed a brilliant purple hue, tinged with black and blue around the edges. It was hideous and Sansa loved the drama of it. “Just like old times.”

“I told you before, if you try—”

“To slander your son, you’d end me. I remember. But it’s not slander if it’s true.” She opened the security footage from last night and hit play. It was difficult to watch but seeing Cersei’s face made it worth it. Her lioness snarl fell and she gaped at the screen. Sansa wished she had caught that on tape too. “I have proof. I have witnesses. If you don’t tear up my contract, immediately, I’m going to the police and your golden son will be arrested and tried for assault. Maybe even attempted murder," she said, pulling off the scarf, exposing where Joffrey had constricted her breathing.

“Sansa, you don’t want to do that,” Petyr warned.

“I really do though. I don’t want anything to do with Casterly and I never want to see either of you again. I don’t want to fight so let’s see if we can do this quietly. I can delete this video right now. But in order for me to do that, I’m going to need you to sign the damn papers.”

“You little bitch…” Cersei hissed.

“I learned from the best,” Sansa shot back.

Petyr put a hand on Cersei’s wrist before she could lash out. The pair communicated silently for a moment before Petyr released her. “You win, Sansa,” he said with an odd mixture of pride and disappointment. He called his assistant to bring the paperwork and fifteen minutes later, after reading the fine print this time, everything was settled and the papers were tucked in Sansa’s bag, only needing to be notarized and filed.

Satisfied, Sansa made a show of deleting the video and passing the flash drive to Cersei for added assurance. As if that was her only copy, please. “Don’t say I’m not a woman of my word. I would say it’s been nice working with you, but, why end things on a lie?” Sansa waved her fingers and strolled out of building, unable to stop her grin, even through the ache just under her bruised eye. She hopped into the car where Jon was waiting. Though he couldn’t go in with her, Jon refused to be far away for her confrontation. “They signed, it’s done!”

“Not quite yet,” he said and directed the driver to the police station.

It didn’t take long, giving her statement to police, Jon giving his as witness, sharing another copy of the security footage. A nurse checked out her eye and took a few pictures. On the ride home, waiting only the briefest seconds after leaving the precinct, Sansa hit send on her pre-loaded emails, and by the end of the day the story was running on most major outlets. Watch Joffrey Baratheon attack his ex, Sansa Stark, in a fit of rage. And the next morning had a delightful new addition, Joffrey’s perp walk as the police led him, handcuffed, out of his mother’s apartment building. Perhaps it was a little crass, but Sansa and Jon popped champagne and spent the next three days celebrating her newfound professional freedom.

Chapter Text

“Sansa Stark! Before we start the interview, can I just say, I’m such a big fan! I’ve been half in love with you since your first single,” the interviewer, a young journalist named Willow, gushed. Sansa smiled politely and thanked her, it was always lovely to meet a fan. “Sorry, now that I got the fangirling out of the way, we can start.” She signaled to the cameras to start rolling. “I’m so excited because tonight, our guest is the one and only Sansa Stark, who has promised to give us an exclusive interview before she launches her Phoenix tour. I already got my tickets, but they’re going fast.” The camera panned out from Willow to include Sansa in the shot. “So! This year has been pretty much the Year of Sansa, wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, I don’t know that I would put it that way, but it has been a really good year for me, yes.” 

“After a nearly two year hiatus, you come back swinging. In the past year, you’ve already released a number one album that went platinum in record time, you directed your own music video that is genuinely Oscar-worthy, and you’re working on a nationwide tour. Sounds like you’re on top of the world right now.”

Sansa laughed sweetly. “I kind of am. But I can’t take all the credit, I have the most amazing people in my corner.”

“Yes, you’re working with the Royce label now.”

Sansa confirmed. Shortly after her emancipation, Sansa enlisted Sam’s help to find a more trustworthy agent. He helped her connect with a young woman name Mya Stone, who was fierce and smart and took no shit directed at her or her clients. She had practically exploded when Sansa told her of her struggles under Casterly and was appalled at the terms of her contract. She vowed then and there that none of her clients would ever work for that company again. It was Mya who set her up with Royce, promising that this would be a much better fit than Casterly. An easy promise to make, it would have been hard to find a worse one.

“How has your experience with Royce been different than what you had at Casterly? Cersei is an icon in this business, do you ever miss her mentorship?” Willow asked.

Sansa kept the frozen, camera-ready smile on her face. She was prepared for questions about Cersei and Joffrey but that doesn’t mean she welcomed them. Of course this poor girl didn’t know the whole truth of things, how could she, but no, there was not even the smallest part of her that missed Cersei. But it wouldn’t do to give in to this tabloid journalist’s lust for drama, so she said, “What I love most about working with Royce is that I feel like I have a great deal control when it comes to my music. It’s what sets Royce apart from anywhere else I’ve worked, they really believe that music is above all an art form and they encourage creative expression. It’s really exciting.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t the gossipy answer Willow was looking for, nothing to inspire new feud rumors or rehash old ones, but Sansa refused to give her anything more. Willow recovered and continued. “There was more to your decision to leave Casterly than just professional disagreements though, yes? The internet exploded with speculation after your independently produced album, Steel, was released, depicting your relationship with Joffrey Baratheon as less than picture-perfect." Undestatement of the decade. "Is it safe to say that was something of a dark period in your life?”

“I actually wouldn’t say that, no. Yes, I wrote the music during some of the hardest times I’ve ever endured, but the album… When you bottle up all of those negative emotions, those big, dark secrets, it can be incredibly cathartic to finally release them. Working on the album was difficult, but every day was a little bit easier than the last. And when it was released, when I found out it was released, that was one of the happiest days of my life.”

“Even happier than Joffrey’s arrest? Seems like you would’ve been looking forward to that one for a while.”

This girl must be new at this, Sansa thought, because that was a completely inappropriate question, not to mention embarrassingly transparent. She would have to learn some subtly if she wanted to succeed in this line of work. “That wasn’t a happy occasion.” Yes, it was actually, but it wasn’t becoming to admit it to the world at large. As far as anybody knew, the video of the assault had been leaked by an employee of the club, not put out by Sansa herself. “I was just relieved to know that he wouldn’t be able to hurt anybody else.”

“Like Margaery Tyrell? She was dating him at the time of his arrest. Do you think it’s likely—”

Sansa interrupted before she could get the question out. “I don’t like to speculate about the nature of their relationship. That’s not something she and I have discussed.”

“On the topic of Margaery,” Willow segued. “You two seem to be good friends now, but it hasn’t always been the case, has it?”

“I’m not sure how exactly to answer that. I’ve always been very fond of Margaery. She reached out to me when I was just starting and gave me some very valuable advice. And—”

“And she also dated Joffrey, almost immediately after you broke up, some even suggested that there was an overlap. She was very Team Joffrey, discrediting your abuse claims, or at least she was until he was arrested.”

“I can’t fault her for who she chose to spend her time with.” Sansa tried to remain calm but these questions really tried her patience. She refused to be made out as catfighting with her colleagues. “She had the facts and made a choice. But we’ve reconnected, yes, and I’m very glad for that.” Margaery called Sansa a few weeks after Joffrey’s conviction. He managed to skip a trial by pleading no contest to the aggravated assault charges, which Sansa was grateful for, if only because it meant she didn’t have to testify. Margaery apologized for shouting at Sansa the night of the attack and for everything she’d ever said in Joffrey’s defense. This whole crazy situation has made her rethink some things, her priorities had been all out of order. She terminated her contract with Casterly, officially retiring from the music industry, and decided to dedicate herself to her film career. That was always where her true passion was anyway. “In fact, I’m writing a song for her new movie, the remake of Florian & Jonquil. It’s always so much fun working with her.”

“Florian & Jonquil has always been one of my favorite stories,” Willow said and Sansa agreed. “Wow, writing songs for musicals. Is there anything you can’t do? No, really, I mean it. From your first single to your latest release, you have covered just about every genre under the sun. Way to prove the haters wrong. But some of your best music, in my opinion, is not your most well known. I'm talking, of course, about Snowbird, your duo with Jon Snow. I think it was so unique and so brilliant. Will we ever hear from that side of you again?”

This line of questioning did surprise Sansa. Though she and Jon developed a small fanbase, their brief period as a twosome was largely overshadowed by their individual careers. She’d never once been asked about Snowbird before. “At this point, I can’t say. That was… I wrote a lot for that while I was on hiatus. Not that I’m trying to steal all the credit, Jon is a brilliant musician. I loved working with him. I love him, period. But, yeah, I had a lot more time then to work on that side project, but we’re both so busy now. It’s hard to say if we’ll revisit that. I do hope so.”

“Speaking of Jon Snow, it’s hard not to notice that ring…" She gestured to Sansa's left hand, and specifically, the sapphire ring sitting on her fourth finger. "Are the rumors true, did he pop the question?”

Sansa smiled fondly at the ring, the pale stone winking back up at her. Tabloids had a funny way of catching half-truths, but they never got the details right. Jon did propose, but they weren’t engaged, no; she and Jon married two months ago.