Just a short oneshot centered around 6x04's wonderful Jon/Sansa hug. Because after everything she's been through, Sansa deserves to have an extended moment of happiness. :)
Cold.
If Sansa were honest, she was actually surprised that the biting cold was what she felt the most as she, Lady Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne came to a halt in front of the massive gates, which rose high above them. Actually, it was probably a wonder that she was still able to feel at all, for after what she'd both seen and endured, it would well have been within her rights to believe that she was no longer capable of experiencing any hint of emotion at all anymore.
Her skin twitched at the thought, flinching backwards slightly as if Joffrey's words, so cruel and taunting and unable to feel the slightest hint of compassion towards those he so easily hurt, had hit her once again. As if the long and bony hand of her Aunt Lysa had snuck up her back and her cold fingers had latched onto her neck, sharp nails biting into her flesh as the older woman would hiss sniveling lies into her ears while daring her to look out of her prized Moon Door. As if the bastard Ramsay Bolton… Her body stilled, fighting against whatever memories were still engraved on the skin beneath (No! Nobody could ever know!) and Sansa straightened herself up in her saddle, hands gripping the reigns of the white mare Lady Brienne had so kindly offered her.
They had come to a halt, the knight in front and Podrick Payne at her side, and the encompassing silence as Sansa stared up at the large metal doors in front of them, gulping in anticipation. And her anxious disposition must have crept into her mount also, for her white mare tossed it's head back-and-forward as it whinnied in anticipation, stomping it's hoofs in the frozen ground beneath them, and the eldest Stark daughter felt a tendril of pure and utter dread settle deep in her stomach as they waited, and waited, and waited. Oh by the Old gods and the New, it felt like an eternity!
But whatever halt in time their initial arrival had caused, it went as soon as it came, and slowly –oh so slowly- did the two gigantic gates grind open in a deafening noise, and Sansa barely had the leisure of taking one long shaking breath and let it out in a trebling exhale before the gentle beast beneath her took a step forward, obediently following the lead the black stallion in front of them had set. It was too late to turn back now, and she could only pray that she had not just escaped one Hell to enter another. Lay Tarth might have been at her side, but Sansa had experienced at firsthand how men could so easily prance upon the occasion to commit the vilest and cruelest deeds to those incapable of defending themselves. And Sansa wasn't in a any position to do as such –the bruises Ramsay Bolton had taken tremendous joy in offering her still bunt as if they'd been inflicted upon her but a mere hour ago. And the stares the men (and boys) were offering her as the white mare slowly made it's way to the main court sent her skin crawling. Once, long ago, Sansa might not have come to expect the worst of men, but that girl had long since burnt out, the cruelty of the real world she had endured in King's Landing had taught her to think otherwise.
Unknowingly, the red-headed Stark tugged her hand slightly to the left as they crossed what could only be a flamed-haired Wildling, urging her horse a little closer to her protector, knowing (hoping) that if something were truly to go wrong, that she might not have to bear the brunt of it this time. Her hands clutched the reigns now, desperate for some form of anchor as she cast a fearful glance around Castle Black, a place she had only previously heard of through songs and her Uncle Benjen, and the reality of it was a lot bleaker than the tales of old.
They eventually came to a halt in the middle of the courtyard, and the suffocating feeling of being trapped was quick to surface, as, turning her horse around on itself Sansa realized with dread that there was nowhere for her to run, they were surrounded by men. She was suddenly grateful for the fact that heartbeats did not emit a very perceivable sound, for if it had, there was no doubt that her own could probably be heard from the far-likes of Winterfell and other places of the same distance. A shaking hand came to her horse's neck, and Sansa tried to steady her limb as it went up and down, up and down, up and down in what was a vain attempt at a soothing motion (whether for herself or the horse, she still wasn't too sure yet), anything to take her mind off the fact that there was nowhere to escape to and that the mare beneath her was still very real, and a very possible means for a flight if the need arose.
That hope didn't last long though, for soon enough (much too soon in fact) both Podrick and Lady Brienne were setting foot aground, and it was with sickening dread that Sansa realized she had no other choice but to do the same. Her hand lingered on the soft white fur once she had found her balance, desperate to still preserve her one saving grace and when it touched thin air when the horse was lead away, Ned Stark's eldest daughter could swear she might have lost her balance and tripped forward, her anchor to safety now gone, vanishing into thin air.
She bit her lip and upon realizing her hands were trembling, Sansa shoved them under her cloak any hint of weakness and they would use it to their advantage. Brienne of Tarth might have been only a step away, but so Walder Frey when her Mother and brother had been massacred at the Twins, he had done nothing but watched in sickening glee as the life was wrenched out of her family. And as heir to Winterfell, she couldn't let such a thing happen again, Starks were strong, Starks endured, Starks were survivors, and as far as she was aware, she was the last of them.
It was with a pang that she realize dhow dearly she missed those she had once deemed but annoying siblings –Robb's calm and aspiring demeanor, Arya's ever incessant wishes to be anything but ladylike, Bran's reserve and placidity, Rickon's eagerness and infectious smile. And then there was-
Jon.
Turning around to the wooden stairwell leading into Castle Black itself, Sansa didn't dare to believe it at first. (She'd let wishful thinking and childish beliefs hurt her too much already to let herself sink into them again). But after a moment of silence and the vision still had not vanished, the young man –tall, dark hair, broad shoulders, and so very like Father- could only be one person. Jon.
And the bubble of warmth that bloomed in her chest at the sight of him had never been something Sansa would have thought she'd experience at the sight of her half-brother, the bastard she had always tried to push away and mock for his probable less-than-noble parentage. But he was whole and he was there and he was real –and still very much alive, and she kept her eyes on him the whole time he descended the few steps separating him from the ground, a gait so similar to the once Lord of Winterfell, afraid that if she averted her gaze for but a second, it would turn into a faded vision and disappear forever, like the rest of her family had.
She felt herself twitch in anticipation again, but unlike a moment ago, where dread and fear had coursed through her body, now it was impatience and eagerness, it was trying to imagine what the next five seconds might be like and wishing Jon were already down there over and over again, yet when he finally reached the battered grounds of Castle Black, she dared not move, not even when he took a few steps towards her, the look of disbelief still clearly painted on his face.
He was but a few feet away now, having come to a halt in front of her, not daring to invade her personal space, and the thought that Jon might actually be afraid of her rejecting him (which, if Sansa were honest, he was entirely in his rights to believe given how little she had had to do with him when they had still been a family in Winterfell, back when things had seemed so easy and bright) broke her heart. Did he really believe her to hate him still, after having being separated for so long? Did he realy believe her words to him all those years ago still rung true?
It would seem so, for as a few moments past, moments in which nobody dared utter a word, Jon had yet to move, and to see him like that, gaunt, exhausted and almost apprehensive of how she might react urged Sansa into proving him wrong, and for once, just once, she let go of any lady like advice her Mother had once taught her, breaking into a run to cover that short distance separating them as quickly as possible before jumping into her brother's arms and wrapping her own behind his back, hoping it would convey how much it meant to her that, after everything, he was still there for her.
Head buried in his shoulder, Sansa wished she could utter the words that she so badly needed to say to him I missed you so much, or I'm so sorry for how I treated you, or even yet I still want you to be my brother, but her throat felt suddenly unable to give a voice to what she wanted to tell him so badly, and the feeling of strong arms coming to wrap themselves around her back and hugging her close (like Father's would once upon a time) urged her to bury her face in his shoulder, the feeling warmth, of Winterfell, family and Jon bringing tears to her eyes.
And maybe to the outer world, it would just be seen as a sister's delight at being reunited with a long lost family member, but for Sansa, it was more than that: Jon was the only thing she had left, he was her brother, he was home.
And right now, that was enough.