Chapter Text
[1] in media res
The night was still young but already their group has consumed three bottles of Whyte Walker Blue, and were currently finishing a pitcher of Sunspear Sling that their newbie Satin Flowers concocted from the ingredients found in Grenn’s mess-of-a-kitchen. Their drinking spree resulted from their unit being sent on a break after two weeks of special reconnaissance in the Disputed Lands—the Association of Southwest Essos having asked the United Westeros for an intervention and assistance to stop the brewing land skirmishes among Lys, Myr and Tyrosh (a problem that has plagued the said region since the Doom of Valyria).
There was a lull in Grenn’s homey albeit cramped apartment as eight men tried to shake themselves awake, and tried to expend the alcohol in their bodies when a phone placed amongst the shot glasses on the floor began to ring loudly.
Aegon “Egg” Targaryen’s hand crawled slowly on the laminate flooring to stop his phone’s obnoxious ringing. His light purple eyes squinted at the screen and when he registered the caller, his body immediately tensed and he looked across his spot on the floor to stare at Jon Snow warily.
“Is it from our unit?” asked Jon.
“It’s from a unit but not ours,” and Egg held up his phone, screen facing towards Jon to let him see the caller’s ID.
Lt. Sansa Stark
Jon’s body froze, and even now his chest started to ache a great deal at the mere thought of her. “Don’t pick up.”
Egg looked at him incredulously. “This is not fair. I’m going to pick up! I’m going to answer and ask her to come here, make you two meet so you can take care of this business like a man.”
“There’s nothing to take care of. It’s over,” replied Jon even though his heart felt like being wrapped by a thousand sharp barbed wires.
“What do you mean it’s over?” asked Egg, his eyes squinting again, and now directed at him, in suspicion.
Jon snatched the phone from his brother’s hands and immediately pressed the power button to end the call.
“It’s final, Egg.” He then threw the smartphone back to his brother’s side who caught it swiftly with his left hand.
“Who broke up with who?” Satin, newly assigned to their squadron after finishing the Ranger Assessment and Selection Program’s eight-week course, prodded as he poured everyone’s shot glasses with his special made cocktail that he swore he learned from a Dornish girlfriend.
“I didn’t know the reason why we’re drinking was because Jon’s been dumped,” Grenn mumbled.
“I heard he’s the one who broke up with her,” Podrick Payne added as he shifted on the floor to reach for a slice of pepperoni pizza.
“What?!” the others cried out in chorus.
“Jon would never! Not in a billion, trillion years—” cried Pyp, who was so stunned that his large ears seemed to have moved from his outburst.
“Right. Jon loves her so much—” Dareon interjected.
“He’d gladly take a thousand bullets than do that, are you nuts?!” Halder shot back at Pod.
“Seven hells, the man’s just in front of us!” Grenn bellowed.
Jon raised his glass of Sunspear Sling to Grenn in thanks, and downed it in one go. “Loving her is the least complicated thing about our relationship.”
“Oh gods, you guys started this,” Egg pointed to Pyp, Pod and Satin. “We’ve now got ourselves a loose-tongue Jon, so prepare yourselves for a ride.”
“You guys better me fill me up on this!” whined Satin. “I just shared earlier how Sarella cheated on me. And didn’t you guys swore this is all so we could bond and become a tight unit?”
“Jon?” His brother Egg raised a silver brow, presumably to ask for his permission to continue their conversation around him.
Said man just waved his hand, the one now holding an empty glass as he heaved a sigh and beckoned for Satin to fill it again. “It’s fine. Everyone at the barracks know. Hells, the entire regiment! Better that the kid learns it without other people’s personal twist.”
“I’ve always been curious as to how the two of them met,” Dareon remarked whilst trying to stretch his long legs on Grenn’s couch that he claimed for his own when they started drinking.
“It’s like a real chick flick,” said Grenn as he shoved a handful of taco in his mouth.
Forefinger playing with his shot glass, Jon stared at the ceiling as he began to narrate, “It started with a proposal…”
[2] the one with the proposal
It was the 87th annual Four Days Marches at the Crownlands, where soldiers of the seven states comprising United Westeros test their mettle on the 100 mile march, and at that time Lieutenant Sansa Stark was one of the supporting medics in the said event. Jon Snow didn’t know her then. To be fair, there were a lot of things he didn’t know back then.
It was the end of the second day when Jon decided to carry Samwell Tarly’s own rucksack so that his buddy could hasten his pace back to the camp. A redhead noticed the two of them limping, Sam with his swollen right foot, and Jon from carrying two rucksacks that each weighed 22 pounds. She called for someone to assist Sam towards a medical shelter while she blocked Jon’s path in order to stop him from his tracks. He furrowed his brows at her, his breath already labored from the fatigue of the eight-to-12 hour walk through Rosby’s streets, lanes and farm fields, and he honestly didn’t have any time for chitchats. Jon tried to shoulder his way past the medic but the tall redhead who’s almost eye level with him placed a gentle hand on his chest.
“If you keep this up, you may be discharged from the march due to injury…” her hand swiped up to reveal his nameplate, and her brows furrowed a little as she said, “Staff Sergeant Jon Snow.”
“I—I… my squadron and I need to come in first,” it wasn’t his intention but his words sounded harsh when it came out of his mouth.
The redhead chewed her lips as she tried to stare him down.
Jon stared back, unflinching even though her bright blue eyes reminded him of Val’s ice blue ones. Unwillingly, he shuddered.
“The reason you need to come in first can’t be to earn a vacation to ruin your ex-girlfriend’s wedding, can it?”
So she’s heard the rumors. The two of them were both referring to the fact that a reward would be given to the squadron who would complete the trek and report back to camp earlier than the rest, for the duration of the four-day march. Jon made the mistake of sharing this personal motivation to one soldier outside of his squadron and before he knew it, his dilemma has spread to the entire camp on just the first day of the event (though the “ruining part” was a by-product of gossip-monger soldiers).
There really was no point in lying, and he didn’t owe this medic any explanation so Jon simply answered, “It is.”
Her face, decidedly beautiful with pronounced cheeks, pert nose and full lips, broke into several fragments: part disbelief, part laughter, and part chastened.
She then gave him a curt nod and walked to his side to clear his path. With a pat on the rucksacks and a push she said to him, “Move along, soldier.”
#
Jon had just unlocked his car when the backseat door opened and in came the redhead medic from four days ago.
“W—what are you…” he stumbled at his words as he climbed in the driver’s seat in a rush.
“Congratulations on your chance to ruin your ex-girlfriend’s wedding! Coincidentally I’m off duty today. Isn’t that great?” and she beamed, too enthusiastically that Jon was sure she’s masking something.
“That doesn’t answer my question at all, Miss?”
Jon baited for her to finally introduce herself, but the redhead only smiled (this time more genuine than her earlier greeting) and waved him off. “If you ruin the wedding your way, your ex will be glad that she got rid of you, not regret it. But if you take me, you can make her regret all night. That’s what I meant to do.”
Take her? To Val’s wedding? Already Jon could feel a chuckle bubbling in his throat at the absurdity of her proposition. “I don’t think I need your help in this, Miss.”
“I’m making you an offer you can’t refuse!” she spat, her hands crossing her chest.
At least that Godfather reference was not lost on Jon. “There’s always a catch, though.”
The redhead nodded and smiled cheekily, “Well, you got me. I’ll do this under one condition, but first please do turn your mirror sideways,” and she crinkled her nose towards the rear view mirror.
Jon obliged.
“And look ahead until I tell you it’s fine to turn around.”
“Sir, yes sir.” He mumbled and was rewarded by a low titter from the medic. Next thing he heard was the sound of her undressing, her fatigue suit being unfastened—it made Jon clutch the steering wheel too hard to distract himself from the noise and what his mind might conjure from it.
“There’s this person that Father has set his eyes on as my husband-to-be,” she started. “He was my senior at the Vale Military and School of Medicine. I’m also told he’ll come as one of your captains, though I’m not yet sure as to which unit he’ll be assigned to.”
The next noise Jon heard was her scrambling in the backseat and currently making her way to the passenger’s side. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding then. When he was given the go signal to turn by a tap on his arm, he saw her now in civilian clothes, a white two-piece dress that looked smooth and soft to the touch—not that he would do anything of the sort.
“Let’s make it a deal for you to tell my husband-to-be that you’re going out with me, in exchange for me going as your girlfriend to this wedding.”
Even though United Westeros was at a post-modern age, there were still families that practiced the Old Ways, one of them being political matches. Jon figured that the woman at his side belonged to one of those old families (and if she was, then she must be filthy rich as old families tend to come with old money). There was one flaw with her plan though, and he said as much to her, “…I don’t think us fake dating will stop your father from setting you up.”
The woman at her side, sighed softly. His mind shouldn’t wander so, but it seemed that everything about this medic was all soft and sacred to the touch.
“I need for them to delay this match, is all. Nothing’s been set in stone yet. I just need for Father to see my reason… but we’re not exactly on speaking terms right now. Learning that his one and only daughter is currently dating should give him pause, especially if my supposed fiancé’s family heard of it.”
Jon nodded at that and found the redhead silently questioning him with her sky blue eyes. There was a special look of desperation on them but Jon has a few questions of his own, namely: why did the redhead picked him out of all the soldiers in their battalion? Was his vulnerability—issues with his ex—made him an easy target to scheming women? Why was the medic still single when he’s sure men fall at her feet—her smile alone was criminal.
Jon grimaced at the last thought and to the redhead he just said, “Fine. Deal. Whatever.”
She now smiled at him in relief. “There’s a soldier.”
“May I ask why you won’t give your husband-to-be a chance?”
The redhead appeared to consider it but at the last minute, shook her head in the negative. “I’ll tell you after we’ve shared a few drinks.” Changing the topic she said, “Do you like my combat dress? I took care to choose a white one. I intend to be prettier than the bride if I’m to star as a cocky new girlfriend of the dumped-ex in this wedding of the century,” and to soften her boldness, her pink lips curled again in a soft smile.
“You’ve certainly given this a lot of thought.”
“I don’t do things half-heartedly, Staff Sergeant Jon Snow.”
Jon snorted and raised a brow at the medic. “In all your thoughtfulness, you’ve forgotten to tell me your name.”
The redhead contorted her face in shame, in a way that’s clearly an act. “I did, indeed.” She held out her hand as she introduced herself, “I’m your fake girlfriend, Lieutenant Sansa Stark.”
Jon was about to clasp her hand to shake it but stopped as her name registered something else in his mind.
“…y—you’re Colonel Stark’s daughter?”
“Outside of the barracks, yes.”
Jon closed his eyes as he felt an invisible vein popping on his forehead, now aware of the enormity of what he just put himself into. The Starks were certainly old family, and when it came to military connections, their influence extended to the navy and air force as well—this smiling woman before him, whose hands were busy arranging her long hair in an intricate side braid and blue eyes fixed on his overhead dashboard with pictures of Ghost and his teammates—could be practically and aptly called as “princess” of their garrison when her father’s the current commander of the United Westeros’ 98th Ranger Regiment.
#
“Did you love her?” Lt. Stark asked him as they walked along a footpath that would lead them to a large garden wedding Jon could never picture Val wanting in a million years. But that was just it, upon Jon’s enlistment in the army and Val pursuing law, the two of them just started to drift off, as if they were two paper boats set in a stream with opposite currents.
“’Course I did. We’ve been together for five years. Now, I don’t know if I still do.”
“And you’re here to find out?”
Jon nodded. What surprised him more than the breakup was Val’s decision to move on with her life, by taking a big step, almost a leap, when she told him she’ll be marrying the assistant prosecutor she met at an environmental law firm in Karhold (where she once interned for) after only half a year of dating him.
The lieutenant raised a dainty brow at him. “And if you find it in your heart that you still care, will you be that guy shouting for objection once the priest asked, or forever shall hold your peace?”
“I’m not that guy. There’s a reason I’m a soldier, and not in theaters. No bride would be happy if her wedding is ruined, besides.”
“How considerate,” she remarked as she reached out for his hand and twined their fingers. “Take heart, soldier.”
[3] in media res (ii)
“Egg’s not answering the phone,” Lt. Sansa Stark hissed as she glared at her phone’s screen.
“I’d wager he’s with Jon,” commented Myranda Royce, a general surgeon from Harrenhal VA Hospital, whom Sansa befriended when she served a one-year civilian internship there, before completing her military residency.
“That guy’s not answering my calls too.”
Randa pursed her small lips at Sansa. “Weren’t you guys on a break, so to speak?”
“We are, two weeks ago.”
“So then?” it was Mya Stone who asked next, another friend of Sansa’s and a nurse from the said VA hospital.
“This is, by far, the longest we’ve stayed on a ‘break’” and Sansa had to swallow the lump in her throat as her eyes began to water, “This time… he’s the one who called it quits.”
“What?!” her two companions declared in unison.
“I know. I know. It’s over,” she told her friends as she cursed herself for breaking down again.
“Staff Sergeant Jon Snow, calling it quits? That guy who looks at you as if you’re the Maiden come alive?”
“I feel bad enough as it is, Randa.”
Mya opted to rub Sansa’s back as she called for a waiter to clear out their table and asked for a menu of their drinks.
“I just can’t believe you guys are over. Nothing could ever come between you two—” Randa commented, placing her right hand under her chin.
“Except Father.”
“…oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Think he has a hand in this?” Mya asked, her fingers now combing Sansa’s unbound hair in a soothing manner.
“Of course he has! Father’s just got an impeccable timing. Jon and I have been arguing about moving in and the next thing I know he’s breaking up with me. Then I found out through Lt. Col. Cassel that Jon saw Father two weeks ago, just before he’d been deployed to Essos,” and just then, fresh tears bursted out of Sansa as she recalled the last time she saw Jon. “Sam informed me this afternoon that their unit’s back, but I haven’t even seen neither hide nor hair of him.”
“Ah, that bloody idiot,” cried Randa, her hand that was previously supporting her chin as she reclined on her seat was now tapping the table in her annoyance. “So what are you doing here, moping? Go see your boyfriend then!”
“That’s why I’ve been calling Egg!” Sansa shot back. “Jon’s phone’s turned off.”
In a homey restaurant in Greywater Watch and through a vision clouded by tears, Sansa dialed Jon’s number again, but the one who answered her was the operator informing her that Jon’s out of coverage area—and wasn’t that apt? Jon’s out of her reach now, especially as she’ll be flying to Volantis for humanitarian operations as part of the army’s medical support for peace operations in Essos, in 13 hundred hours the next day.
[4] the one with the reception
“Jon!”
All brides were said to be pretty on their wedding days and Sansa could see how the blonde lit up when Jon Snow entered the palace ballroom of her wedding reception. Val was lovely in her own right, with high sharp cheekbones, heart-shaped face with small thin lips, straight delicate nose and blue eyes same as the frozen ice of the North.
Jon’s hand started to sweat as he pulled Sansa to him and walked over to the blushing bride. Val wouldn’t know the effort the sergeant took to hiding his limping as his left ankle was still recovering from the moderate sprain he suffered after the 100 mile march.
“I’m glad you made it.”
“I couldn’t let you down,” Jon’s throat bobbed before he could say out loud, “Congratulations on your wedding, Val.”
Ice blue eyes met Sansa’s own as they unapologetically did her a once over and the bride asked, “So who’s your plus one?”
“Lieutenant Sansa Stark. Army surgeon,” answered Sansa.
Said bride widened her eyes. “You’re too pretty to be in the military!” Val blurted, obviously surprised at the information and a bit condescending for Sansa’s liking.
“It’s good that I don’t use my face for surgery then.”
The tensing of Val’s jaw was enough a payment for her jab that Sansa was prepared to soften her blow when a booming laugh that answered Sansa’s jibe was heard from their backs. When she turned, she saw a middle-aged man, ginger, fully bearded and broad-faced, who was walking towards them and eyeing her in amusement.
“Ah, you got yourself another redhead,” the said man mumbled to Jon in greeting as he clasped the sergeant’s shoulder to enclose him in a half hug.
“Tormund,” greeted Jon.
“I’ve always known it’ll come to this.”
There was an indignant huff from Val. “Are you sure you’re not just sore Jon didn’t pick you?” Her eyes were narrowed in pretend enmity.
The tall man half scowled at Val’s direction, and smiled sweetly, albeit awkwardly at Sansa. “I assure you that I wouldn’t steal Jon away from you, lieutenant.”
Sansa replied with a smile of her own, “I’ve heard that Freefolks used to do that in the Old Ways. But I’m glad to have found a friend in you… us redheads should stick together. Jon could bugger himself.”
Tormund clutched his chest, his brown eyes were shining as he barked, “Ah! I think I’m half in love with you—”
“Careful,” was all Jon said. And Sansa knew that Sgt. Snow was only playing along with her act, but the possessive undertone in that just one word made Sansa’s stomach flip unexpectedly.
She rolled her eyes at the sergeant, and then went for Tormund’s hands. “Care for a dance, sir?”
The giant grinned at her and sent his friend a cocky ‘I win’ grin, clasped his big hands around her own and whisked her away to the dance floor.
Sansa blew a kiss to her pretend-boyfriend’s direction before being led away, and for a beat panicked at what she did, for she didn’t know if the sergeant was comfortable enough to go along with such a silly thing (and she’d look a complete moron if there was no follow through), but then Sgt. Snow raised his hand mid-air to act as if he caught her kiss, and he planted his balled fist to his chest, his lips curled in a small smile, the very first one Somber Staff Sergeant Jon Snow directed her way.
Sansa couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, and when she turned to face his dancing partner, Tormund was ready to tease her out of her mind.
#
Sansa had danced a plenty with the other wedding guests even though she didn’t know any of them aside from the one she’s been introduced to, Tormund Giantsbane. But even though the guys who asked for a dance with her all looked hard and rough, as most Northerners do, they’ve all been welcoming and warm to her as if they’ve known her a long time. Sansa could attribute that to Val and her now husband Stannis Baratheon, who have both made good friends in life.
She was walking to the bar at the end of the ballroom when she spotted the sergeant walking towards her with a drink. Great timing, soldier! Her mind exclaimed as she pulled a chair to rest her weary legs.
“No dance for me?” Sgt. Snow asked as he placed a glass of peach margarita on the table for her.
“You don’t look like a man who belongs to the dancefloor though.”
The sergeant smiled as he nodded, “No, I don’t.”
“And we don’t want for your moderate sprain to become severe sprain now, don’t we?”
“No we don’t,” and the man’s lips curled up even higher—a decidedly good look on his somber face—as he too pulled a chair to sit next to her.
“So, did you regret it? Coming here?” Sansa asked.
“I don’t,” the sergeant readily answered, his response sounding a refrain that he added, “I feel relieved, somehow.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve passed the Depression stage, if you, now all smiles is an indication. You’re on your way to Acceptance, might have even passed it already,” said Sansa with a shrug.
“Is that a doctor’s assessment?” the sergeant teased.
Sansa crinkled her nose to him as she drank the cocktail that was given to her. It was fruity with just the right amount of kick from the tempered triple sec and lime, and she’d wondered if Sgt. Snow personally picked it for her.
After pressing her lips together to chase away the last taste of her drink, she said to the sergeant. “I upheld the end of our bargain. Now don’t forget to tell Aegon Targaryen that we’re dating.”
And Jon visibly paled at the mention of her supposed fiancé’s name. “Aegon Targaryen?”
“Didn’t I mention it before? Why? Have you met him? I’ve heard he arrived at our barracks two days ago.”
“I’ve met him, yes,” and Sansa watched as Sgt. Snow slowly closed his eyes, as if a kid trying to swallow a vegetable he didn’t want to eat. It was reminiscent of the way he reacted when she finally told him her identity.
“Is it that surprising?” she asked as she took another sip of her delicious cocktail.
“Egg… Aegon, he’s my half-brother.”
He then opened his grey eyes in time to see Sansa choke on her drink.
[5] the one with the drinking spree
“I said I didn’t want to marry Aegon. I didn’t say I’d stay single forever!” and Lt. Stark thumped both her fists on the table to stress her rage. “What exactly did you say?”
Jon gulped his scotch hastily. It was his first time to have a drink with the lieutenant. And he was starting to see the effects of alcohol on her person. Gone was the mild mannered doctor with sweet smiles. In her place was a fiery woman, ready to combust with one wrong word, if her being flushed all over (red hair in every which way) and disjointed ranting was enough an indication.
Jon answered on the most relevant thing about them two, assuming it was their “relationship” that she was talking about, “I—I told Egg exactly what you ordered me to tell him. ‘I’m dating Lieutenant Stark,’ just that.”
She continued to glare at him.
“That was our deal,” Jon felt the need to remind her.
There was a strangled noise that bubbled up the lieutenant’s throat. “Why in the seven hells is there a rumor that we slept together?!”
Staff Sergeant Jon Snow felt like he’d been part of the Ice Bucket challenge: a large bucket filled with ice was dumped unceremoniously on him at Lt. Stark’s words. He struggled for something to say, “Because soldiers are… soldiers are… visionary?”
“Men!” she infuriatedly hissed and laid her head on the table in defeat.
Before Jon could stop himself, his hand was already brushing the lieutenant’s cheeks to comfort her (even though he’s still confused at the main reason of her drunken outbursts), echoing her words back to her, Jon said, “Take heart, soldier.”
Lt. Stark looked at him forlornly before nodding and closing her eyes to drift into a nap.
#
It was a summer night when Jon found himself having another drink with Lt. Sansa Stark. It has been quite a while since he last saw her (close to three weeks to be exact, but then who’s keeping count?) as his unit’s been deployed to Pyke to conduct special operations exercises and training. He’d been pondering on calling her when she found him at the archival research room typing up his report about his squadron’s time in Pyke and the discussed special mission units. The lieutenant insisted on staying, watching him work and though it was quite uncomfortable being under her gaze, Jon conceded without putting much of a fight, not when he knew it was a losing battle in the first place.
Egg came to the room to file his own report and there he’d watched as the two supposed betrothed interact as lifelong friends. He wouldn’t put it past his brother as Egg has a knack for making others feel at ease with him. There was an easy conversation that flowed between them, reminiscing their time in the Vale, and not for the first time did Jon think of why the two of them didn’t want to pursue each other. Lt. Stark was smart, beautiful, and funny in the most unexpected times, thoughtful and hardworking—she’s easy to love, if Jon’s being honest.
Now their drinking topic centered on his half-brother as Jon casually asked the lieutenant how the two of them met.
“We first met at a party in King’s Landing. I was staying at my high school friend’s apartment for the summer. A friend of a friend of a friend introduced us to each other. It was brief. He’s with his then girlfriend, Arianne, I think?”
Jon nodded. He remembered Arianne Martell. Egg dated her all throughout his high school life until he met Wylla Manderly that time he visited Jon’s place at Wolfsden after his graduation, and when they broke up, Egg started having casual flings until he joined the army.
“Must not have made the right impression?”
“The opposite!” Lt. Stark declared with a smile. “He’s very charming, very courteous, very attentive. He’s like a real life prince, so said my 17-year-old self.”
“Sounds like an ideal man, then.”
“That’s just it!” at this Sansa furrowed her brows. “He looks and acts and sounds like what my childish dream of princes were. It honestly freaked me out. It’s not fair to him, I know. But I think I’ll have a hard time seeing him as a real man. And I’m afraid that I’ll put him on a pedestal. I did those to my two ex-boyfriends. Now, Egg’s too dandy for my tastes.”
“Oh, that’s the silver hair working against you.”
The lieutenant gaped at Jon, then chuckled before taking a sip of her peach margarita that she always ordered whenever the two of them decided to have a drinking session, in part to keep the appearances that they’re dating and in part because they have nothing else better to do in the weekends.
After, the lieutenant appeared to mellow down as she disclosed her previous relationships and how wrong they have been which led her into thinking it must have been one of her father’s reasons as to why he took the matter of her marriage into his own hands, giving a political match a consideration rather than trust her that she’ll eventually find a man who’s just right for her. There was a Lannister whom she dated for close to two years back in high school who verbally abused her and had hit her a few times resulting for her and that boy’s family to become estranged with one another after years of being close associates. And when she found out that the Lannister boy entered into the lieutenant’s then first choice of medical school, rather than pursue his set goal in the field of architecture, she knew he did it to spite her. Fortunately it was her mother who suggested that she applied herself in a military medical school instead. It was the second best decision that she ever made, she told him. And then there was a Hardyng in her second year in med school who was a doting boyfriend the first few months up until she discovered that he’s having an affair with their Pathology professor. And the icing on the cake really (as the lieutenant put it), was the Bolton guy she dated for three weeks. He was a nurse at the VA hospital she once interned for, and was involved in a criminal drug scheme operating in their facility’s pharmacy. It had been an embarrassing episode in her life to say the least when she’s been entangled with the police investigations until her father put his foot down.
“So there you have it, my failure at the dating scene.”
Jon could only bob his head after such a revelation. “It’s been wild, yeah.”
“You think?” the lieutenant managed a wan smile.
“I only had two girlfriends my whole life. One was Ygritte in my senior year in high school. Didn’t last after graduation. And then Val. You can say I’ve been mostly single.”
Lt. Stark crinkled her nose to him as she stabbed her fork on a spicy ham-and-cheese fritter. And then she waved the food at him, admonishing, “No need to be so considerate, Jon.”
Surprise must have been clearly etched on his face hearing her say his first name when it was just the two of them, just his first name for the first time, rendering for her to add, “Figured we should be on first name basis now that we’ve shared some pretty heavy stuff. Not that yours were all particularly that.”
Jon only shrugged and stuffed his mouth with buffalo cheese curds.
“Fine. Stay enigmatic, soldier,” the lieutenant relented as she finished her glass of peach margarita and asked the bartender to serve her another one.
“I’ll get some truths out of you one way or another.”
“Until then, I have another question to ask, Sansa…”
The redhead turned back to him after ordering Jon another drink as well with a smile noting how he called her by her first name.
“What’s the first best decision you’ve ever made?”
Sansa immediately lit up at that and she inched closer towards him as she shared, “One time, before my senior year, I ran away from home, all the way to the Neck to meet up with my friends in Greywater Watch and attend the Unsullied’s final concert in their hometown.”
Jon couldn’t believe it. The Unsullied was one of the legendary rock bands in United Westeros, and one of his personal favorites. “Back in ‘09? No way did you attend that concert!” Jon exclaimed. “You have to line up for days just so you could purchase the tickets. And even then, the ones being sold were not the best seats as they’ve been selling out fast.”
“Well, I happen to have a very gorgeous friend, Margaery, with real great connection in the music industry. She’s a Tyrell, if that has any meaning to you.” Lt. Stark then moved her brows up and down in a suggestive look.
And meaning it has to Jon. The Tyrells were old family invested in the music industry, owning The Reach Records, a top-tier record label that has been around for decades, and Jon knew this because he dabbled in music at a community college in Torrhen’s Square before deciding to enlist in the army due to Egg’s coaxing and Father’s encouragement.
“Pics or it didn’t happen,” Jon challenged the lieutenant.
Said woman opened her mouth in disbelief, and then her eyes flashed as she immediately reached for her phone and rapidly searched for proof that she went to that infamous concert.
“It’s not my intention to gloat but you asked for it,” and then Sansa shoved her phone to Jon’s face. On the screen he saw a younger version of the woman before him being embraced by no other than Joramun Bracken (the band’s frontman), kissing her temple while looking at the camera playfully.
“Seven hells!”
“Best day of my life ever,” declared Sansa with a wide grin as she raised her cocktail in salute.
“I’d give anything for Joramun to kiss me too.”
And the lieutenant laughed loudly at that. “I believe you. He’s so sweet and very cool. The backstage pass was given to us by Margaery’s suitor, if you must know.” And Sansa used her forefinger to swipe the old pictures saved in her phone, showing him other pictures of herself with the rest of the band in goofy poses, and a brown-haired girl (smirking as if she knew all the secrets of the world) Jon could only assume was Margaery Tyrell.
“Damn rich brats!”
The lieutenant giggled and brushed Jon’s cropped hair in an act to comfort him, and gods be good as he ordered for his heart and mind not to overplay the gesture.
“So where were you when this was going down?”
Jon was thankful for the distraction Sansa provided by him recalling one of the worst days of his life. “I was down in King’s Landing then, stuck in the hospital babysitting my older brother who was recuperating from a torn ligament. My sister Rhaenys’ backpacking in Essos, both their parents were on a business trip, so I’m the only one left to peel his apples for him and bring him fresh clothes.”
“Oh, that’s rough,” she said sympathetically, her fingers still busy playing with his hair absentmindedly. Her other hand on the table though began to tap a series of beats that Jon instantly recognized coming from one of the Unsullied’s most famous songs, What a Shame, and to his surprise she even started to sing the chorus as she teased him so (and she has a very good singing voice):
Oh, what a shame!
I should’ve gone to you
Run to you
Fly to you
Swim to you
Oh, what a shame!
I shouldn’t have
let you go
And as Jon watched her sing and laugh at her own silliness in a seedy-looking bar in Barrowton, not for the first time was Jon struck by the thought that, yes, Lieutenant Sansa Stark was easy to love.