Honesty
Rating: T for language, no sexy based stuff going higher than PG13. Far tamer than the books/show.
Pairing: Sansa/Jon
Setting: In the TV show world, starts after season 6 with Jon being crowned in Winterfell.
Content Warning: Mild violence, pregnancy, character death, Incest only in that they were raised as half siblings.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters appearing in this fic. They belong to GRRM and I love him for them. I make no money and would never wish to make money from his creations. On the other hand, please don't post this anywhere else without my permission, thank you!
Comments: I have read some absolutely amazing ASOIAF fanfictions since season 6 ended, I have written this completely in the TV universe but certain book elements may creep in because my mind blurs sometimes. This is also the first thing I've written in over two years and, well, I think it shows, but here it is anyway. This started simply, it was Jon/Sansa romance. Simples. Then Bran wanted to come home. Then Arya. Then Tormund wanted to have a voice. Then Tyrion had something to say. Then I realized how it ended and worried that I couldn't write it. But I found a way and brought in the wights. Most other characters are purely background.
Summary: After the battle for Winterfell, Jon and Sansa have to make it their home again. They have to make themselves whole first. AKA innocent bed sharing evolves.
The Second Night After the Battle
It was past dark out. As far North as she was, it was barely ever light during the daytime. Despite everything, it was something she still had unexpected good memories of from her time in King's Landing and then the Vale – light and warmth. Not that she had a dislike for the dark and cold, no, far from it. In fact since the first moment that Sansa Stark, seated atop a horse had crossed in to the North with Lord Baelish, she had felt the cold creep into her clothes, past her skin and on through her bones and she had welcomed it. She was of the North, after all and her time spent South had awakened that knowledge within her. Even when she had been home the last time, as a Bolton Bride, Winterfell and the North had still felt welcoming. Something had still felt powerful to her inside the walls of her home. Perhaps it was that something that had kept her going through the pain and tears the Boltons brought her. They were gone now. Winterfell was hers once more. There would be no more pain or tears in the safety of her home.
The Battle of the Bastards had been two days ago and the Knights of the Vale were still present, occupying Winterfell lands with Lord Baelish also still present. In those two days, Sansa had managed to avoid Lord Littlefinger as much as possible. Of course, she had been born within these walls and knew everything about every passageway despite the sacking and rebuilding. Until he had stumbled onto her in the Godswood, the one place he would know to find her of course. No matter, she thought, shaking all thoughts of him from her mind. No one would find her where she was going and especially not at this late hour. She could not sleep. Being safe and warm at home did not bring her enough comfort to help her sleep. The rooms were filled with Stark loyalists, men and women who hours earlier had declared themselves for their new King in the North, Jon Snow. Sansa knew that she was safe. She was the only trueborn Stark in Winterfell. She believed the bannermen. She believed Jon. King Jon. A slight laugh escaped her lips at that thought as she glanced around her. No one was following her and no one seemed to have seen her as she crept down the long, dark passageway. Occasionally she heard a loud cheer, a raucous round of laughter from a group and she was aware that it was the Lords still drinking after Jon's coronation.
Whilst all of the battle weary men seemed happy to drink, laugh, stay awake for hours, Sansa was exhausted and desperate for the peace that sleep brought. Sleep had barely brought Sansa Stark any peace since she had last worn that name. It was not about to change any time soon. Lighting a few candles as she passed, Sansa made her way through her family crypt and came upon that of her father. Like her Aunt Lyanna, Uncle Brandon and Grandfathers of old, Eddard Stark had his likeness in place on his crypt. It had probably been started before Theon had led his sacking. Gently Sansa ran a few fingers over the face of her father, thankful that she could not see his bones.
How decayed would they be after these years? Would flesh remain on them?
Banishing the thoughts from her mind, Sansa was reminded of a time when she would never have even had thoughts like those.
"Oh, father," she sighed heavily and sadly. "We should never have left. I should never have had dreams of the South. Then you might still be here. You would never have let Joffrey… or the Boltons…" She still found it hard to speak his name. "Or Littlefinger. Would you have trusted any of them, father? Because you trusted me and I betrayed you."
Abruptly, Sansa turned and left her father's crypt. She could not bear to see his face any more. He was not the reason she had entered the crypts at such a late hour because she was not actually the only Stark in Winterfell. Only one step through the darkness was needed before Sansa could see the other Stark that had returned home with her. He was laid out on a table or bed of some-sort, it was too dark for Sansa to see much properly. Sheets covered him, presumably until someone could treat his body and prepare his bones for his crypt; a crypt that needed to be built. A crypt that would skip over without ever filling one for Ned's first born. Robb's bones were long since gone, thought Sansa sadly. Her fingers reached out for the coverings, almost with a mind of their own, but she snatched them back in time. Moving her candle along the body's length, Sansa saw that the top of his head was uncovered and this time she did reach out to gently tangle and untangle his curls.
"Oh, Rickon," she sobbed. It was her first true sob since she had jumped from the battlements with Theon. Maybe if she had remained a few days longer she would have been able to escape with Rickon. Or sway the Umbers to a different view. Maybe she could have saved him. She had not mourned Rickon after the battle, instead riding for Winterfell ahead of Lord Baelish, ignoring his protests and Sansa had got in to the keep to see Jon battering the Bastard Bolton. She still had not mourned Rickon, justice for the Bolton Bastard was more pressing and she had walked away from the dogs, leaving them to their feast and had still not mourned Rickon. Then there had been a night of fitful sleeping in the first clean room Jon had been able to find, "sod the others, Lady Stark," were his words. Alone in a strange room she still had not mourned. The next morning, this morning, she had visited the Godswood, possibly hoping to mourn, she had not decided. All day she had been kept busy or kept herself busy. There were still more pressing matters than mourning. Maybe there was never a right time to mourn, not with Winter upon them.
"I remember you as a babe newborn." She could not remember any of the others being that young anywhere near as clearly as she could remember Rickon. She remembered hearing her mother's screams, how Lady Stark had batted away wet nurses, how her father had smiled at having a third son. She remembered Bran and Arya running around, all chubby and toddling, but she had no memory of them any younger than when Rickon was born. "Your face was all scrunched up and you had dark hair like father, eyes like mother and I." The dark hair had fallen out, replaced with redder, Tully hair, but his eyes had remained unchanged. "Oh, how you screamed and cried. You were always screaming. Always red faced. You barely slept. I don't remember the others being so loud."
"I do."
Sansa jumped, almost dropping her candle on to her baby brother with one hand and pulling a dagger out with her other hand. Her dagger hand relaxed immediately as she recognized the voice, which was good as she really had no idea how to use a dagger other than stab it towards an attacker. As she replaced the dagger, she spoke: "I was in quiet, private, prayer." Her voice had hardened and the tears and sobs dried up.
Jon stepped out of the shadows, from deeper within the crypt. "I couldn't sleep with all of that noise so went walking. I apologise."
Of course, he had not followed her. She had accidentally followed him. "I am sorry. I am so very tired. How much, what did you hear?"
"That you loved him."
Sansa could not remember when she had last told anyone that she loved them, when had she last loved someone? She was unsure, it was too long ago. Had Jon heard her talking to father?
There was a long silence until she finally broke it, her hand returned to Rickon's curls. "He has hair like Robb's. And you."
"I shouldn't have played into Bolton's game," he admitted and she looked up at him. His eyes were focused on Rickon but glazed as if not focused on anything and everything at the same time. "I lost too many by charging. And you were right," he sighed, "Rickon was dead moons ago."
"No," she shook her head violently and tried to meet his eyes. Jon looked at her. "He was running to you. He knew, in those moments, that his brother loved him, was coming for him." She looked back down at the curls. "I wish I'd felt that at some point. Just once."
"Lord Baelish rescued you."
"Lord Baelish doesn't love me, he just wants to marry me."
"The Sansa I grew up with believed those to be the same thing."
"The Sansa you grew up with no longer exists."
"Oh, I don't know. I keep seeing sparks of her." Their eyes met again and she met his smile halfway.
"It's just you and I now, Jon."
"Unless you marry Baelish."
"Would you like me to?"
"Honestly?" he asked and she nodded. They had made a promise to each other as the snow fell and she meant to keep her word. "I don't know the man. He brought us the Vale. I know of his duel with Uncle Brandon. But I will never stop you trying to be happy. If he could make you happy…?"
"Lord Baelish serves to only make himself happy. He wants to sit the Iron Throne. With me by his side apparently. But I don't trust a word he says and I certainly do not want any kind of throne, especially the Iron Throne." Her body ached at the bruises and broken ribs from the beatings Joffrey ordered in front of the damn Iron Throne. Looking at the crypts lining the wall, the different statues with names that she knew, she continued. "I just want to live here and ignore the Throne, the Lannisters, the Vale, everything else."
"We need the Vale's men."
"But we cannot feed them. We cannot keep them warm now that winter has come. It's best if they go home. We have enough men to keep Winterfell, do we not?"
"We do. But not the Wall." Of course the Wall and the monsters Jon swore were coming.
"Does the Wall have food and warmth?"
"No."
"Then thank them, prepare them and send them home."
"Baelish strikes me as a man who'll want something in return for the aid he provided." She watched his face in the flickering candlelight, trying to see into his eyes. When she had betrayed father she had believed she was doing the right thing and everyone was punished for it. Her father, herself, Robb, her mother. Where even was Arya now? Her time with Joffrey and Cersei had shown her to hide her true thoughts, to guard her thoughts, words and actions. Could she truly un-guard herself to Jon? "Honesty, sweet Sansa."
"Are you proposing I marry him after hearing that I do not wish to?" Even without her maidenhead, she was still just a commodity to be sold and bartered over.
"Your rightful place is right here and I do not wish to have Baelish remain."
"Then send him on his way with the Vale knights. He may have the numbers, but we hold the North. He handed me over to the Boltons, sold me like a ship or a horse for breeding, to them and to their cruelty. The North remembers."
"Aye, it does. A problem for spring perhaps?" Sansa sighed and felt him take her hand, pulling her away from the dead. "You said you were tired. You should sleep." Her chambers were still not ready and she did not like the smell in the only room that was decent for her to sleep in.
"The nights are too long in Winter."
He chuckled slightly. "With my terrors, all nights are too long." Her mouth opened to ask him about his terrors, but they were at her temporary chamber. "There should be somewhere better for you to reside in on the morrow. Sweet dreams."
Jon gave her a smile as he walked away and she silently opened the door to her chamber, tears welling in her eyes. She was scared of the dreams that would come.
