Shades of Black

by Esslyt

TRIGGER WARNING anxiety/depression/implied suicide/drug abuse/ Modern AU with a bit of magic

1. Freak

Chapter 1

First darkness of the day started to hug the light green building on a hill, slowly enveloping it in its blissful silence. On the 1st floor, in one of the countless rooms, slender fingers were clenching the white sheets. A clear fluid was dripping into the plastic in her vein and she patiently waited for the fluid to disappear from the bottle above her head. The ceiling was high, a bland white surface was persistent in its simplicity and gave her no response. She was alone, two beds next to her were hauntingly empty, white, with untouched sheets, waiting for some poor soul to call them their home. An invisible weight was sitting on her chest, something she had trouble explainin even to the physiatrist. A constant grasp, not painful, not even overly bearing on her ability to breathe, just a numbing sensation of a burden she tried to avoid. It seemed like she could never breathe fully because of it. Some nights, she would wake up shivering from a nightmare, her, washing her palms from layers of green mold, sinking them fully into the burning alcohol, scraping the surface with sharp knives, cutting her skin in the process. Sometimes, she would dream she was chased through the woods, never being able to run fast enough. She would run to a building with a yellow facade, trying to turn the doorknob but always finding the door locked. One time, she wore a dress made out of green and blue velvet, just like her mother wore. And her skin became all blue velvet, her face and chest, soft and dark. Just as she started to enjoy this new reflection, her face would start to fall apart in pieces, falling on her beautiful new dress and ruining it with warm blood and dragging pieces of skin. In those nights, they would give her her medicine and tie her hands to the metal edges of her bed, leaving her in a dreamless state of emptiness. Medications didn't help her forget, they only made her not care or react to the images in her head. She saw them clearly, pictures of her family, events that happened after that, people that hurt her, and how she hurt them back and a person she became at the end. No one ever apologised for making her this way.

She used to be so innocent that everyone that knew her described her as a last smidgen of hope and light this world has. Gentle, kind and out of this world beautiful, she was modest and reserved in her virtuous nature, a maiden, a virgin. Everything good with the world found it's home in her presence. There was something deeply perverse in the way that image was ruined. Almost a divine portrait of a sixteen year old girl was dressed in a red sequin dress, drenched in bourbon somewhere in a smoke filled room and touched over and over again until it had lost its shine. She was still strikingly beautiful, but her eyes grew heavier, dimmer and finally, dead. They were like pale, glazed glass, an icy home that shined, but never exerted any warmth. Nothing is the thing they were, nothing is what she felt, not because she didn't wanted to, but because she wasn't able to. When nothing matters, nothing is a threat. Maybe she could have been able to live like that till the end of her short and tainted life, but now, there was no way to know for sure. Something uneasy found it's way into her chest and settled there, waiting. Soon, the nightmares started to happen, vivid splashes of flesh and faces haunted her when she slept. So she stopped sleeping. But then the air around her became thicker with each passing day and it took a great effort to breathe. And her solemn, forgotten heart beat like it was screaming in agony. The nights became impossible to bear and she finally collapsed after a month of hiding from whatever was haunting her. That's when they took her to St. Helens hospital and left her there. No one came for her in the days to come, and surprisingly, she didn't cared for leaving. If she could have it her way, she would forever stay in this state, frozen and unaware of the past, present and the future.

The doctors had no complaints, she was a quiet and cooperative patient, taking her medication and spending the day in her room. When they told her to speak to psychiatrist, she did. A tall figure, over 6 feet, with white patches of hair and big goggles watched and listened as she spoke. Her words were empty, no emotion and no meaning. She pleaded to the doctor to make her feel something again. He didn't respond.
After she turned sixteen, it seemed like all of her life became a string of fabricated pictures she would color in like a child would, convincing herself that her skin has turned from porcelain to ivory to steel, that she knew why she lives the life she is living, that she somehow chose it. She was so young, so naive, so unaware of how the world did it's bidding. - She is a gentle soul. - the nurse told her father one time when she was in a hospital. - One wrong look and she could collapse, she is so fragile.

Everything in her life became a lie, a glistening, expensive lie she lived because of one man. Petyr Baelish. He took her in after her family was brutally butchered, gave her a home and a sense of a shelter. In the first year, he was distant, but always made sure she had everything she wished for. Even though he clothed her, fed her and kept her warm, she knew nothing about the man. He liked his home clean and tidy to the point of obsession and he always smelled the same, mint, musk and a hint of tobacco. One time, he heard her sing, sitting in the living room, an empty gaze in her eyes. Every time since then, he would ask her to come in his office and sing for him after dinner. She would sit in a large leather chair next to the window, looking at the gardens of Harrenhal, covered in a black blanket and hummed a tune she remembered her mother singing. He would sit at his desk and drink wine, rarely even looking at her. He told her he likes to hear her sing in the background, it made him calm knowing exactly where she was. Petyr Baelish was a rich man, there was no doubt in that and he didn't advocate any kind of false modesty. Even his servants wore better clothes than most of King's Landing. He owned nightclubs and bars all over the Seven Kingdoms. Some even say that he managed his business in way that no honorable man would, but Sansa didn't care for that. She was alone, but sheltered. He never mistreated her and had no interest in the girl besides her basic needs.

All that changed when she turned sixteen. He took her to one of his lavish establishments, a hotel, a casino and a nightclub all in one. A real Mecca for all things luxury and decadent. She used to read about such places in books, where men used bills as lighters for their cigars and played high stake poker games for all things imaginable. Even people. He gifted her with a red silk dress with sequin bust that cinched her small breasts and a black fur overcoat to keep her warm in that cold January night. Room designated for poker was filled with bearded gentleman dressed in suits, musty with sweat, brandy and tobacco. Serving girls were dressed in underwear decorated with feathers and zircon bustiers that left little to the imagination. Even though the room was dim, everything seemed to shine. From her diamond earrings to crystal clear glasses filled with alcohol and smirks men gave to one another between deals.

- If I win, will you sing for us sweetling? - Petyr asked.

Sansa promised herself after her family died she would never allow herself to be afraid so she accepted his offer. Petyr won that night and Sansa sang for them. Her voice was always shaky, but it was the thing that gave her singing substance. There was almost palpable somberness in her singing, tunes flowed easily like water but sounded nothing like it. If one could taste her singing, one would describe it as mellow summer wine and dark chocolate melting over it, rich and not everyone's favourite.

The one with the name Roose Bolton suggested Petyr should make her famous, a film star beauty like Sansa should not go to waste. That's exactly what happened. Sansa liked the power she gained over men, they showered her with jewels and riches from all over the world, scented salts and oils from Essos, snake skin from Dorne, silk and delicacies from the Reach, everything was hers. And when the night came, she enjoyed them in other ways. Some she liked because of the way they looked, tall and handsome, some she found interesting enough to talk to and some she took to her bed because she didn't liked the way their wives talked about her. She took them because she could. Petyr always told her to take what she can, if she chooses so. Their wives envied her, but the men wanted to kill for just a moment with her charming, radiant presence. Petyr was no different and even though he never shared her bed, she held a strong grasp on him. Once she realized the power her looks had over him, she took advantage of it. Because she could. It was the only thing left for her, endless stream of raw power she played with. Cersei told her that once, that a woman had a peculiar influence over a man and if she uses it correctly, he would give her the world.

No friends and no family, she filled her existence with extravagant dinners and parties, avoiding the hole that persisted in her. Until now.

- No family members? - she heard the doctor the other day.
- Just one. - a half-brother that lives up North. - the nurse answered.

Baelish did come to see her, one time, but she felt like she would break in half if she saw him again so she declined his invite to return to Harrenhal. She had the money and she could go anywhere in the world. But she wanted to go home, go North. Last time she saw Jon they were children but he was the only family she had left. She needed to be with her own blood, the need for someone hers was undeniable. What would Jon say when he sees her? Would he even care for his estranged half-sister? She had to know for herself. He was her last hope.

Sansa was quietly pacing around the grand hall of the Westerosi bank. Her heels made a sound that echoed around her, bouncing off the marble walls. It was well pass normal working hours of a bank, but Sansa knew a wealthy banker that knew a security guard that let her in.Friends and foes can be found in strangest places. - She remembered Petyr's words. The banker wasn't her friend, but he wasn't a foe either, just a man she sang for once. Her name had a weight to it, a meaning and an image behind it and it was all Petyr's doing. Her fiery red hair and face pale as snow was recognizable from the Dorne to the Wall. With all the fame and gossip that surrounded the social elite of King's Landing, Sansa feared what Northerners thought about her now, after what happened. She was of noble bloodline, after all. Long time ago Starks had dominion of the North; they were the high lords and ladies with vast lands to control and thousands of vassal lords and knights sworn to them. It was like something from an old novel with kings, queens and gallant knights in armor that shined like moonlight, old times when honor held a great value in everyday lives and it was all so very different than the world they lived in now.

- Mrs. Stark? – A thin man with a pointed beard called her name. She turned with eagerness in her eyes. – Please, come with me. – He pointed in the direction of one of the small rooms in the background. Sansa followed him without a word. She sat in a padded chair across the man as he started to type on his computer.

- How much would you like to extract from your account? – the thin man asked. Sansa thought for a moment. How much money did she really need? She was just visiting Jon and had no plans on making any big purchases while in the North. She didn't know how long she would stay and it was never in her plans to move permanently there. She loathed King's Landing and all she knew for sure is that she couldn't stay a minute longer than necessary. She did on the other hand like the security and the freedom money gave her. - A thousand Gold Dragons. – She finally said. The man continued to type, not looking at her.

- Hmmm… - he stopped. Sansa frowned waiting for him to say more. – I'm sorry. Mrs. Stark, there is not enough funds in your account to make that transaction.

- That's impossible. – Sansa smiled politely. – Please, do try again. – Man sighed and continued to study the screen.

- No, I'm sorry. – His voice was dry. – The available amount for the transaction is 398 Moons and 7 Stags. – Sansa felt like someone just punched her in the stomach, kicking the air out of her lungs.

- There must be some kind of a mistake. – She was slowly getting impatient. – I haven't used my account in weeks and the last time I checked there was more than a thousand Gold Dragons available. – Her hands started shaking as she was clenching the leather handles of her purse.

- There was one transaction… - the thin man squinted at the screen. – Four days ago. Most of your funds have been allocated to the account in Braavos.

- I told you, I haven't made any transactions in weeks. – Sansa felt dizzy. This all seemed like a bad practical joke, like someone was toying with her.

- Well, there is a copy of the verification with the date and signature on it. – She heard the slow hum of the printing machine. The man handed to her the paper with the conformation that almost all of the money she had is to be allocated to one account in the Iron Bank of Braavos. And at the bottom of the paper, Sansa saw her signature. She felt like she could faint. Noticing her shock, the thin man continued – If you think that there is some fraud in play, I advise you to investigate. But unfortunately, this is all I can do for now. Her face became a translucent gray color; her chin was shaking and her palms were sweaty. She told the man to give her whatever is left of her money and left the bank in a hurry. While driving in a cab back home, there was only one name she could think of – Petyr Baelish.

Sansa left her apartment early that morning. She couldn't stand being in there longer than she needed. Now, her lovely apartment was infested with bad memories, the rooms seemed smaller and more crammed with meaningless things. In one hand she was holding a large suitcase filled to the brim with clothes and in the other her leather purse she held as close to her as she could. On her way to the train station she stopped at the jeweler, offering him most of the valuables she owned. Most of the jewelry was gifted to her, it was tainted with ulterior motives and she had no trouble giving it up. Emeralds from the Riverlands and extravagant necklaces and earrings from Essos, all of it was to be crushed, cut and molded into something new. She managed to get couple of hundreds Golden Dragons for her jewelry and she felt like a great burden has been lifted of her shoulders. All of the money she packed in a bag that was at the bottom of her purse, never leaving her side.

The train ride was peaceful and Sansa almost found herself falling asleep listening to the numbing sound of the train rolling on the tracks. But she didn't allow herself to sleep, not now when she felt more exposed than ever. She thought about Jon while watching the rainy horizon passing them in a blur. She hadn't seen him since they were children. It was almost fourteen years ago, she was seven and he was nine. He liked to pull her hair and she loathed being in his presence. She knew he was alive and well, he had sent his condolences when her parents died and she would hear about him now and then from family friends and people she knew in the North, but nothing more than that. He was a professional soldier for a while, after getting his engineering degree. Even though he lived alone for most of his childhood, it never seemed to stop him working tirelessly for the things he wanted. A well-paid job, a home and a normal life. Nothing in his life was given to him, Jon was one of those rare people who had to work for every little thing he had. Sansa, on the other hand, had everything handed to her. For all she knew, Jon could hate her, turn her away and close his door forever. He had every right to do so. He was never part of any family function or gathering and out of all the Stark siblings, Sansa hated Jon the most. It pained her to see her mother be so hurt by what her father did and she always had seen Jon as a permanent stain on her family name. But, there was nothing she or anyone else could do when her father decided to give a part of their inheritance to Jon. Funnily enough, now, she saw herself as a disgrace, a child that is no better than a bastard. In her moments of doubt she was even thankful that her family was dead so they couldn't witness the person she became.

As soon as they passed the Neck, the ground was covered in a thin layer of snow that grew thicker the more north the train went. Jon lived in a remote village in the outskirts of Winterfell in an old two story house, framed with tall pine trees on each side. A wide porch was covered in snow and there was no light in the windows. She knocked on heavy wooden doors, her gentle hand covered in black leather gloves. Sansa heard the rustle on the other side and a hunched, thin woman with face gray as ash opened the door slightly peeking through. She looked at Sansa from her toes to her forehead with a frown, studying the slender young woman standing in front of her.

- What do you need? - the woman asked.

- I'm Sansa Stark, Jon's younger... - Sansa started explaining.

- I know who you are. - the lady interrupted her. - I asked what do you need? Her rudeness caught Sansa by surprise but he persisted. - I'm here to visit my brother.

- He can't see you right now. - the woman said swiftly and started closing the door.

- Please. - Sansa stopped her holding her right hand on the door. - I traveled all the way from King's Landing.

- I told you miss, he cannot see you right now. - woman was visibly annoyed by Sansa's presence.

- Why? Did he knew I'm coming? - Sansa's voice became higher. The woman sighed.

- He's in bed with fever and will probably die by tomorrow morning. - she bluntly said. Sansa didn't even had the chance to process this new information and the lady closed the door locking it. She felt the all too familiar feeling of unease settling in her chest. The cold air started hurting her lungs as she tried to take deep breaths. She came all the way from King's Landing just to see her brother, her last family member die. She saw herself being the only person at his funeral, burying that stranger into the soft ground. Thoughts blazed through her mind, scattering around her and then returning like thousand of small needles, piercing every part of her being. - Hey, open up! - she started yelling, pounding with her fists at the door. Everything around her became shaky and before she could see the door open, her thin body landed in a fresh layer of snow on the porch.

She woke up hours later, laying on a futon next to the open fireplace. Slowly peeling herself from the cushions, she tried to remember what happened. Without a doubt, she had another panic attack. A sore spot on her head was a proof of how bad it truly was. Sansa was alone in the living room, her coat was still on and her purse was next to her head. She frantically searched for the money and was relieved when she found out it was all there. The living room was in dissaray, it was dimly lit, dusty and brown. Just as her eyes started to explore her surroundings, she heard the voices in the corridor approaching her. A male voice, deep with a thick Northern accent and another one, belonging to that old woman. A tall man entered the room, hair and beard in a peculiar shade of grayish red. He approached Sansa slowly.

- Are you okay? - Sansa slightly nodded watching the old lady still with a frown on her face. - You'll have to excuse Mrs. McWagen, she means well. - the man continued. - I'm Grenn, Jon's friend. - he introduced himself.

- I'm Sansa, Jon's sister. - she finally said. - Where is Jon? Grenn shared a concerned look with Mrs. McWagen before saying - Upstairs.

- Can I see him? - Sansa felt her voice shaking. They were all silent for the moment, Mrs McWagen was looking at the crooked floor while Sansa waited for one of them to speak. - I see no harm in that. - Grenn smiled.

The air in Jon's room was warm and stale and the room was lit only with one candle at the bed stand. Sansa walked slowly closer, inspecting the face buried in the pillow. Dark curly hair framed his wide forehead, he was pale with pink scars on his cheeks. A large bandage that stretched over his chest was drenched in oxygenated blood. He struggled for every breath and Sansa could almost feel his pain.

- What happened? Is there a doctor? - she turned and asked Grenn.

- He didn't want one. - Grenn quietly answered.

- I'm afraid Mr. Snow can't afford one now. - Mrs McWagen added. Sansa's eyes widened in shock hearing that. - We have to call a doctor. He needs medical treatment, quickly. - she came closer, almost touching the edge of his bed. - Do you have a car? We need to get to the hospital. - she heard her voice breaking. Grenn and Mrs McWagen only stood there watching her look at Jon, then them, then Jon.

- He got shot. - Grenn said. - If we called a doctor, he would have to report it to the authorities. - There was great sadness in his voice, but none of the ferocity to help his friend. - I respect his wish. - Grenn added.

- He is going to die if we don't do something! - Sansa started yelling again. She didn't care why Jon got shot, who shot him and why he didn't wanted to call a doctor. He was her only remaining relative and she didn't come this far only to watch him die. Jon muttered something hearing her. She sat at the edge of his bed looking at his heavy eyelids lifting revealing the darkest eyes Sansa ever saw. She touched his hand. He was blazing hot.

- You... - Jon whispered.

- Jon, shhh, don't... - she squeezed his fingers in her hand. This was the first time after so many years and it might be the last time she will ever talk to him. - Call the best doctor there is in Winterfell. - she turned, her blue eyes piercing through Grenn. - Call someone!

- Yes... - Grenn said with the slight smile.

- I will pay for his time and silence. - Sansa added quietly, her eyes resting on Jon's. - He has to live... - she whispered. - You have to live Jon... - her white fingers touched his face. His eyes were closed and he whispered.

- You...are you a dream?

Chapter 2

Sansa was in Jon's home not more than couple of hours and she could already feel bad memories latching onto the objects around her. It happened sometimes with certain items. When something happened that struck her deeply, things she associated with people or situations, became somehow strange, shifted and she started to fear to look or touch them. Jon's clock that hanged on the wall in the living room was no different. With every new tick, Sansa felt the tension in her muscles rise. She was sitting on an old sofa, her long legs crossed, one hand over her belly and the other clenched in a fist, covering her mouth. The sofa smelled of old fabric, dust and mold and it made Sansa even more on edge. The smell of mildew consumed her and she felt an almost incontrollable urge to clean. In her head, she already rearranged the furniture so this room can remind her less of the fact that Jon might die tonight.

Grenn promised to call the best doctor he could think of and convince him to come to this remote location Jon called his home. Sansa begged him to take Jon to the hospital, but Grenn was unrelentingly against it. No matter what Sansa said, she couldn't breach the wall Grenn built around Jon's decision to be as secretive with this as he could. When she asked him how Jon got shot, she was met with a vague answer that Jon got in a fight in a bar and got shot. He claimed he didn't knew much more, but Sansa, spending so much time in the King's Landing fabrications of truth, knew he was lying. Grenn avoided her and decided to stay in the room with Jon and Mrs. McWacgen hid herself in the kitchen, scrubbing the sink. Every little sound made Sansa's belly cramp and the sound of a cleaning sponge repeatedly rubbing the metal was driving her crazy. The weather outside was getting worse and the snow started heavily falling on an already thick white layer on the ground. Sansa worried that the doctor might not get here in time.

The sound of the car tires made her jump. She ran to the window and saw a small car pulling over. A bald guy in a chunky gray coat approached the front door. She rushed to answer it, but Mrs. McWagen was faster. She let the man in taking his wet coat and hanging it.

- Good evening Miss Stark. And you, dear Mary. I know this particular night isn't, but that wouldn't be much of a greeting, would it? - he smiled. - I'm doctor Luwin. - the man said offering Sansa his right hand.

- I'm Sansa Stark. - said Sansa feeling the warm, wrinkly skin and it's comforting grasp.

- If I may ask what happened here. - said Luwin while they were climbing up the stairs to Jon's room.

- Grenn can explain. - Mrs. McWagen answered before Sansa could react. Her thin smile and small yellow eyes gave no emotion.

- Oh, I'm sure he can, Mary. - Luwin sighed. He was carrying a rugged brown bag filled with what Sansa hoped was medicine. They entered the room. Grenn was sitting in the corner, nervously cracking the knuckles on his hands. Luwin walked to the Jon's bed without hesitation, slowly inspecting him. He was gentle, but fast. He lifted Jon's bandages revealing a deep wound, rimmed with black and purple bruising.

- There is no need for any of you to watch this. - he turned, looking at each of them individually. - I'll come back when I'm done. Mrs. McWagen turned and walked away almost immediately. She was a cold woman, Sansa thought. If she knew Jon, she didn't care for him, otherwise she would feel even a little bit disturbed by the state he was in. And if she didn't, she was still too distant for any normal human being to be in this situation. Grenn on the other hand, couldn't hide the way he felt. Sansa noticed he seemed more tense now that the doctor was here then before, he was twitching and playing with his fingers and he didn't say a word since he called Luwin.

Sansa cared for Jon not dying tonight. It wasn't sadness she felt, it was fear. Fear of something slipping away just before she could grasp it. She felt his pain, but not his wound. The way he was trying to breathe reminded her of the cage intertwined with her own ribs. Sansa didn't feel like crying, in reality she felt no emotional connection to Jon. It was the way of how loosing him would feel that frightened her. He was the last of the Stark she had left in her life, even though he didn't shared her last name. Selfishness made her crumble in front of his pain, not compassion.

She and Grenn left the room leaving Jon in Luwin's hands hearing his indistinguishable mumble while Luwin tended to his wound. They sat in the living room in silence. Grenn buried his face in his palms and Sansa curled up on a futon holding her knees to her chest. If he lives, what would he say to her?

- Did Jon ever mention me? - Sansa broke the silence. Grenn looked at her, his eyes red from exhaustion.

- He said he had a sister in the South. - Grenn stood up and walked to the liquor cabinet. He poured whiskey in two glasses and handed one to Sansa. - No, thank you. - She refused. She couldn't stand the smell of alcohol.

- Suit yourself. - said Grenn drinking the entire glass at once. - Jon doesn't talk much about his family. - He continued. - I knew the man for years and I knew nothing about him.

- I can understand why he would be like that. - Sansa thought of all the times Jon wasn't part of her family.

- He doesn't talk about anything much, really. - said Grenn while pouring another drink.

- This may sound odd... - Sansa said carefully. - But what does Jon do for a living? Grenn chuckled hearing that. He sat across her, resting his back in the soft cushion. - He used to work for the military, after he stopped being a professional soldier. And now, with so much things being different in the North, he stopped working.

- He doesn't have a job? - Sansa asked, not expecting an answer. Looking around her, it made perfect sense. Jon's home was more of a ruin than a house, with wallpapers peeling off in the corners and old furniture covered in dust.

- My father left him a part of the inheritance in his will. - Sansa frowned thinking about where could all that money went.

- Our father. - Grenn noted. - He was Jon's father too. - he finished quietly.

Sansa felt a hard sting hearing Grenn say that so easily to her. There was no denying that they shared a father, no matter how much Sansa still wasn't aware of that. Eddard Stark was always her father and Jon's was his mistake, not a son. The room was filled with silence again and the only thing Sansa could hear was that damned clock ticking.

They heard the steps on the corridor signaling that doctor Luwin was finished. Mrs. McWagen followed him holding a seven pointed star in her hands. She was praying.

- I did what I could with the time that was given to me. - said Luwin. - Jon will be fine. - he smiled. - Oh, thank the Old Gods and the New. - Mrs. McWagen's face lit up with hope. Grenn thanked the doctor, but still remained reserved in his reaction. She was sure that there was something Grenn was hiding.

- I took the bullet out. Our friend had mad luck surviving his one. If he got shot a bit higher, the bullet would have pierced the lung. - Luwin explained.

- Would you care for some tea? - Mrs. McWagen asked. Hearing that Jon will recover, her voice became full of warmth. - I would love to. - Luwin nodded. Grenn shook his head, still holding his whiskey.

- And you, Miss Stark? - to Sansa's surprise, Mrs. McWagen's offer seemed genuine. - Yes... - Sansa answered. Mrs. McWagen went to the kitchen, humming an unrecognizable melody. Luwin sat and continued talking. Grenn and Sansa were quietly thankful for the talkative doctor bridging an uncomfortable gap between them.

- I managed to stop the bleeding. He lost a lot of blood, but the wound didn't had the chance to get inflamed. - Mrs. McWagen brought the tea interrupting Luwin's speech. Mint and chamomile, for the nerves and the belly, as she said.

- I'll come in two days to check on him. - Luwin took a sip. - In the meantime, give him plenty of rest, plenty of painkillers and change his bandages if needed. - Luwin looked at Sansa. - Your brother is the most stubborn person ever to be born to this world. If he could, he would change them himself. - Sansa smiled at that, it was the first real thing she learned about Jon.

The kind old man stayed only for a little bit, finishing his tea and he left in the same mood he came - calm. He insisted on Grenn calling him immediately if something would go wrong and assured him that no one will ever find out that he was there. Sansa paid the man handsomely and he almost seemed offended by the money. He took it nonetheless and Sansa didn't regret any of it.

Mrs. McWagen prepared her guest room, a small room on the second floor, all painted in white. The smell of fresh sheets reminded Sansa of how tired she truly was.

- I'm sorry for being this way today. - she said while she and Sansa made the bed. - He doesn't trust people and I don't trust them either. - her small frame seemed even smaller now when Sansa had a better chance to look at her.

- That sounds like Jon. - Sansa sighed. - Even though I know nothing about him, that sounds like Jon.

- I still think you shouldn't have come. - Mrs. McWagen added. - He likes to be left alone. - Sansa felt her gaze passing up and down her body. - And from what I've heard, you don't seem like someone who's company he would enjoy.

- With all due respect, Mrs. McWagen... - Sansa raised her voice. - I think I have a right to hear that from him.

Mrs. McWagen smiled gently and said - I don't think ill of you, dear Sansa. But he might. And you must know that.

Chapter 3

- You should eat before going to the Sept. - Sansa heard her mother's voice. Her sister sat next to her, eating her scrambled eggs. Her leg was in a thick cast that reached above her left knee and her fingers were nervously tapping on the white surface. - Sansa, eat. - her mother said. - I don't want you to faint again. When Sansa was six, she fainted during the winter ceremony. She blamed the incense and the fur collar of her winter coat. Nonetheless, ever since then, Catelyn never let any of her daughters to go to the service without having a proper breakfast. Sansa fainted half a dozen of times after that unfortunate incident. - She's afraid she'll get fat. - Arya said with her mouth full of food. She always said what was on her mind, no matter how unrefined it was.

When Arya was born, Sansa cried secretly for days, fearing the loss of the love her parents gave her. But as Arya grew, so did Sansa's love for her. They rarely agreed on anything but no one could make her laugh like her baby sister. Wild and outspoken, Arya liked to impersonate the little quirks their mother had, the way she sounded when she was annoyed or confused and all the funny ways their father tried to teach them in the ways of the world. Arya broke her leg on her nameday and she loved to retell that story. Even being in pain, Arya laughed and Sansa laughed with her seeing her being forced to pee in a bucket because she couldn't move her leg and go to the bathroom. One time, she made her laugh so hard, Sansa ate a fly on accident, gasping for air. Their bond was once the only thing that mattered to Sansa, her trust and love for Arya was so deep Sansa thought that if everything should fail, she would still have her little sister. It was important that she has Arya. She carried a peculiar trait with her her whole life. Everything that would happen to her, she experienced deeper and longer than any of her other siblings. Some things never let go of her and in those times, Arya's laugh was all she prayed for.

- Ned, stop, Ned, he's dead! - They were standing in front of their home in Winterfell, her father was on his knees, his strong hands pressing on the chest of their neighbour, Rodric Cassel. But her father didn't stop. His back was turned and Sansa could hear him crushing the man's ribcage.

- Father... - Sansa called out to him, hoping he would turn. - Let me see you. - Sansa felt windpipe tighten. Her words woke up Mr. Cassel. He opened his eyes, looked at her and it seemed his eyes were all she could perceive. Her mother and father disappeared and all of a sudden, it was pitch black. Her body was drawn to the man laying on the ground. Sansa tried to move away, but her limbs became limp like rubber.

- He is dead Sansa. - Mr. Rodric said laughing. - Dead, all dead and rotten. She tried to scream, but no sound left her vocal cords. Something brushed her leg. She was in her room in King's Landing. A small lion cub softly purred touching her. Sansa took the cub in her hands, pressing it's warm body against her bosom. The lion was calm, his paws digging into the blue velvet of her dress. She caressed the animal, passing slowly though it's fur. The small lion slept on her chest for what felt like hours. It's affection comforted her, she rocked the cub like she would rock a child in her arms. It's delicate shape seeped over her skin and she enjoyed it. Her dress became wetter the closer she held the cub. She looked at the animal and saw two trails of bloody tears on its golden muzzle. Sansa threw the cub on the floor and its baby skull shattered, blood sprayed her face making her quiver in disgust. Her skin started itching and she dug her nails deep trying to take her dress off. The top was drenched in blood. A frantic image of her skin in boils that smelled of decaying flesh and medicine flashed before her eyes. Skin on her palms became firmer, thicker. Sansa watched the brown mold sprout from her skin, covering her fingers entirely.The knife, she thougt. She diligently scraped the layers off, but as soon as she saw the pink skin emerge, the new layer appeared making her scrape harder.

- Oh, trust me, she paid for what she did! Did it ever occurred to you that she suffered too? She probably relives that moment each day. - Sansa was angry, yelling at someone.

- No, stop. - she heard a male voice behind her.

- You're wrong. - Sansa said.

- No! Leave. Just leave, please. Never speak to me again.

- No, you can't be angry with me because I think you should forgive her.

- Leave!

A gunshot woke Sansa up. She inhaled the cold air, a sharp pain filled her lungs. The night was silent and the creamy moonlight was crawling into her room. She was alone.

- Let me die. - she whispered. - Please. She curled up in her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. - Let me sleep and never wake up. - her heart was racing but it was the invisible weight on her chest that hurt the most. She couldn't move and she barely allowed herself to breathe. Maybe, if she was silent enough, she would be left alone. - Please, let me die... - she repeated until the dreamless slumber took over her.

It was still dark outside when Sansa finally woke up. She walked to the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water avoiding her own reflection in the mirror. Black traces of mascara ran down her pale cheeks, framing her blue eyes in black. She caught a glimpse of herself in the small mirror when she reached for the towel. A stranger looked back at her. Ever since the first nightmares started, she felt like someone carved her out of her real life an molded her into a parallel universe with all the same players, but somehow slightly shifted. It was barely noticeable in her day to day life, but when she stopped and just rested for a bit, she could feel a little misstep in the way things moved around her. It felt wrong and most of all, it didn't feel real. Somewhere, in the back of her head, a hope lingered that she is just dreaming. All of it was a long, bad dream and she should wake up soon. She will go back to her old home in Winterfell, her old life and familiar ways. This can't be real, I must be dreaming, she thought to herself. Nothing this frightening could ever feel real.

On her way back, she passed by the Jon's room. Mrs. McWagen insisted on staying with him during the night, in case there was an emergency. But, when Sansa walked in, Mary was no where to be seen. Jon was sleeping on his back, his bare chest was covered with a heavy blanket. If someone were to see him now, they would never guessed that this man is recovering from a gunshot wound. He slept calmly, breathing steadily and Sansa allowed herself to sit on the edge of his bed. The sky was light lavender blue and there was enough light for Sansa to look at him closely now, alone and uninterrupted. He had a symmetrical face, black hair he got from her father and a messy beard framing his jaw. What were the last words they spoke? - She asked herself trying her hardest to remember Jon as a child. He was two years older than her and truth be told, she didn't knew life without Jon in it, one way or another. He lived with his adoptive parents until he was fourteen, left to join the military and continued living on his own. He found out he was adopted at he age of nine and that was first and only time he and the Stark family had any interactions. Sansa remembered his adoptive parents vaguely; a couple that was unable of having children of their own took him in when he was an infant and rased him as a Snow. Jon Snow, the last person that shared her Stark blood but in the eyes of Gods and men, he wasn't able to call himself that. He was the last thing left of her family. Sansa tried to imagine what life he could have lived, finding out such an important truth about who he is at such a young age. No wonder he preferred to be alone. Just like her, he didn't belong anywhere. Though, it was a different kind of not belonging that Sansa faced. She had a home and a family. She lost it while Jon never truly had it.

Jon squirmed turning in his bed. It never occurred to Sansa that he might wake up. If he does, what would she do? What would she say? I'm your sister, a foreigner that reached out to you now because I have nothing left. She sighed. Maybe Mrs McWagen was right, Jon owed her nothing, she was no one and according to everything she heard about Jon, it will probably stay that way. She touched his forehead; he was still hot, but not as nearly as he was before Luwin came. Just as she wanted to pull back, he grabbed her forearm.

- I saw you. - he whispered, opening his eyes. Sansa gasped in surprise, trying to pull her arm out of his grasp. His eyelids were heavy, but he looked straight into her eyes. She was lost for words, hearing his voice clearly left her motionless.

- I saw you in my dream... - he continued. His voice was coarse and deep, like a summer thunderstorm. - I saw you dancing in the flames. - his eyes closed again before he finished the sentence. His fingers relaxed, letting go of Sansa's arm. He still has a high fever - she exhaled in relief.

- What else did you saw? - Sansa silently asked. She waited for the response and just when it seemed he fell back asleep, he muttered - Me... - Jon replied. - Me holding you. Fucking you in the pyre.

Sansa felt her insides flip hearing that. Jon took a deep breath and turned his head to the wall. Sansa stood still, listening to him breathe. Only when she was sure he was asleep, she stood up and walked out of his room. Her mind was deadened, turning into a numb, senseless mass. She crawled back under the covers, thinking of how nothing she encountered seemed right. Jon might be wounded and unaware of his words but they were etched forever in her mind.

- You are a whore. - she remembered the last words he told her. - Selfish, two faced whore. But what disgusts me the most is that you are a coward.

A gunshot. She was the last person he spoke to before he killed himself. And she never allowed herself to think whether she is to blame. She would drive herself mad if she tried to dwell on it.

- Please, let me die. - she repeated sinking into her own thoughts. She heard him, whispering in her ear. He was the only person she could talk to.

- What happened to the soul you used to be?

- Imagine what you could have been - a pure one, the one that that moves against the world, not with it. One that loves and is loved. One in no need of redemption. One that is just right. They say that the definition of hell is your last day on Earth when the person you have become meets the person you could have been. What would you do if I told you how deep is the darkness of one's mind? Would you be scared? Called me a liar, a lunatic? If I told you that beyond anger, sadness and despair there is nothing. You don't feel cold, alone or frightened. You don't feel. You cease to exist. Once you go so far beyond anything a human heart can bear…it stops it all and starts beating endlessly into the silence. It's all dead. What I felt. I used to be something else. Now, I choose to be a monster.

- You're not a monster.

- But I am. If you knew what I did, who I truly was… you wouldn't even look at me. You shouldn't look at me, just move along and leave. No one plays with broken things, no one wants broken things. Leave me. My soul has grown cold, and my heart is a stone. They are silent tears, I don't cry, I eat them. I eat my tears for as long as I can possibly bear. And they I drown in them but I still don't allow myself to cry. I'm not worthy of my tears. Do you wonder if someone, somewhere, prays for you, wishes you well and thinks of you as the most beautiful creature ever to exist? I don't.

- I'll pray for you.

- No one would listen. Time only moves forward and we are its slave. After a while, even the Gods stop caring.

- Why do you care?

- Because it's the only way I know how to live. Some things take a deep root within us and no amount of change will affect it. Even now, I can still see my father clearly. He was my entire world once, you know. I watched he world through his eyes. If he told me the sky was green and the grass blue, I knew it was the way it was supposed to be. He told me – Sansa, if you were to murder a man in cold blood, I would still love you the same. I'm glad he's not here to see me now. I would rather die in agony than see the disappointment in his eyes. Oh, how I loved him. They stole everything. It is such a quiet thing, to fall. But far more terrible is to admit it. My fall was so glistening, I didn't even saw it. It was not until I couldn't recognize myself anymore that I started to notice – I don't want this. He convinced me that the new world awaits. That I was a stupid little girl who knew nothing and that he would change me, fix me somehow and that I would become all that I was too afraid to wish for. I didn't know what I wanted. My family was no more and all the happiness seeped through my fingers as I mourned them. They told me I had to grow up. They killed my family and after they were long dead, they took them from me. My father's words… meaningless. My mother's faith – a delusion. My sister's laugh – a joke. How can there be any good in this world when my father, the most honorable man I knew lived a lie.

- The life you lived is a farce, Sansa. They all lie, cheat and scheme. Your father loved your mother, but he still lay with another. If he was so weak, what do you think how the rest of us are? We are animals, Sansa. But even the wildest of us can be tamed. Watch them, learn from them and use them for what they're worth. There is no deeper meaning to human nature; it's the survival of the fittest. Don't trust anyone. There is no good or evil in the world. There is only power and ones with power define the rules.

- Do you believe in the good in the world, Sansa? – Her father asked. – Yes. – She answered. – Then, if you believe there is a great deal of good out there, there must be evil as well. Sometimes, man can only pray to be strong enough to resist it. Nothing makes us good, we just are. And nothing makes us evil. We just are.

- What will you do now?

- I don't know. I don't care. I want to go home. I need to wake up, Arson. I need to. I'm dreaming, aren't I? That's why it feels so numb. Oh, thank the Gods, that's why. It shifts just like in a dream, faces and shapes, they never stay the same and that must be the reason they are so ugly. You know, sometimes I think about her, she has a face of a viper and black curls just like Jon. She must have been a witch and my father is not the one to blame. I'm sure of it. He never did anything wrong. He would never hurt or leave us for that woman. There was nothing to forgive, he is not guilty.

She almost regressed to a childlike state of mind listening to her own thoughts. It always happened when she started thinking about her family; a true return home reviving the person she was last time when she was happy. In those moments, she was fourteen.

A gloomy Thursday sun graced the world with its presence. The snow stopped falling, wrapping the horizon in the white blanket. Her mother always used to say that the snow is like another chance for the world to paint itself. She saw Mrs. McWagen carrying the wood for the fire from her window. The thin woman was far stronger than she had let everyone to believe. Sansa wondered what her connection to Jon was. She could be his grandmother, a family friend or a simply cleaning lady even though all the things pointed towards Jon not paying her for her services. When she heard the rumble in the kitchen, she decided to leave her room and go downstairs. Mary was preparing the breakfast.

- Good morning. – Sansa said. Her body was wrapped in an oversized sweater with a thick collar. Jon's home was a cold place at night.

- Morning Miss Stark. – Mary said mixing the sour cream with crushed garlic. – There is oatmeal there. – she pointed to the counter with a rugged pot on it. – You must be starving. - Sansa poured the oatmeal in a bowl. It was bland, but warm, much like Mrs. McWagen herself. She seemed to be a lot less hostile now and she even offered Sansa tea.

- Verbena, good for the soul. – Her smile was crooked. – And it protects from the charms and spells. It's a holy plant in the North. – Mary continued searching for the flour. Once she found a half-empty bag of it, she sighed in relief. – Thank the Gods, I won't have to go out.

Sansa slightly smiled looking at her. She was fast for a woman her age and her wrinkled hands kneaded the bread mixture with ease. Soon the kitchen was filled with the smell of freshly baked bread in the oven and Sansa started to relax more in her presence. Mrs. McWagen liked to talk. Her stories were short, intertwining with one another. She told Sansa about the herbs she used for her teas and how Northerners used verbena since the dawn of time for dream divination. Some Northern women could tell your entire future based on one dream. It made Sansa wonder, what would they say about her dreams. Mary rolled up her sleeves while cooking and Sansa noticed a small tattoo on the inside of her forearm. The tattoo was old and depicted an almost indistinguishable wolf head.

- If I may ask… - Sansa started the question carefully while she cleaned up the table after breakfast. – The tattoo. It's the Stark sigil.

- It is. – Mary started washing the dishes. Sansa waited for an explanation but she soon realized she is not going to get one so she asked again. – Do you have Stark ancestors?

- No. – Mary said. – No Stark blood in my veins. – She frowned. Sansa felt Mrs. McWagen getting more distant.

- I haven't seen the wolf's head since I was fourteen. – She remembered that day. It was the day of the funeral and all of the coffins were covered with white and green silk with an embroidered silver wolf's head on it.

- It was the way to know who is a friend and who is a foe when the Great War waged its destruction all over the North. – Mary sat on a chair next to Sansa. She turned her forearm so Sansa could inspect the tattoo closely. – Women usually did it themselves, with a heated needle and a bit of ink.

- Did it hurt? – Sansa was intrigued. It has been so long since she heard any northern stories.

- No more than a bug bite. - Mary chuckled. – It was for us to always remember who we are and where we stand. – she rolled the sleeve down. – We were loyal to the North. The wolf's head is much more than an old house sigil. It was what defined us.

Mary stood proud, straightening her back. – I'll go check on Jon. I wouldn't be surprised if he was fully recovered by now. – Mary's eyes filled with concern. – He has a strength of a horse. – Mary shook her head. – But sometimes, a mind of a big fat moke. – Sansa genuinely laughed at that remark. She might even like Mrs. McWagen.

Mrs. McWagen went upstairs leaving Sansa alone. She decided to fire up a fireplace. Her plan met an unfortunate end when she realized there was nothing that could help her light the fire. She looked around her, but no matches and no lighter in sight. She started opening the big cabinets in the living room and slowly rummaging through them. In one of the drawers she found an old photo album, its edges were torn and the picture on the front was faded. Sansa stood still, listening. Nothing. Mrs. McWagen was still upstairs. Her curiosity won and she opened the photo album.

The first thing she noticed is that there were no pictures of Jon younger than an age of six. She saw him on his first day of school, smiling proudly even though his both front teeth were missing. In one, Jon was sitting at the very place she had sat in the kitchen. – This is his family home. –Sansa thought. To her surprise, there were no pictures of his adoptive parents. It was always only Jon. Jon on a beach, Jon sleeping, Jon crying. And there were no pictures after he turned fourteen.

Just as she wanted to close the photo album and return it to its place, she noticed one photo that wasn't in the protective pockets of the album. Her stomach dropped looking at the familiar faces. It was that day when they took Jon to their home to meet them. She didn't remember that moment. They were all standing on the grass, next to the inflatable pool. Arya was five then, wearing nothing but her bottoms and pink sunglasses that covered half of her face. Robb saluted the person taking a photo, his other hand hugging Bran that avoided eye contact with the camera. On the far right there was Jon, his arm over her shoulder, standing so close to her, she could almost feel his touch just by looking at the photo. His curls were as messy as they are nowadays and he smiled looking at her. She remembered that one-piece bathing suit with pink and yellow roses. She saw her cousin wear it and after the constant urging she finally persuaded her mum to buy it.

Sansa couldn't help but smile seeing her siblings happy, forever frozen in time on that hot summer day. On the back of the photo, someone with a messy handwriting wrote – Me and my brothers and sisters. A small sun decorated the corner of the white background. It was young Jon's handwriting. All of a sudden, she felt sorry for the boy in the picture. She closed the album, carefully returning it in a drawer. She was so focused on not making a sound that she didn't even notice someone standing behind her.

- Sansa… - she turned and gasped looking at the grown Jon in front of her. – Sansa. – He repeated. – We need to talk.

Sansa felt the floor under her tremble. It wasn't the earthquake but her own knees betraying her. Her heart dropped into her stomach as Jon was waiting for her to respond. He was fully dressed and was standing next to the end table by the couch. Mary was standing behind him, looking at the carpet. Her small frame was made even smaller by hunching from, what Sansa assumed was fear.

- Yes, we can talk. – Sansa said with hesitation.

- Mary, would you be so kind to leave my sister and me talk in private? – Jon turned asking Mrs. McWagen. She gave a small nod and left the living room as quickly as she could. Jon was leaning on the end table, scrunched up where his wound was. His face showed no signs of pain; he was equally still as he was when Sansa last saw him. She wondered will he speak about what he said last night.

- You should rest... – Sansa said, taking a step in his direction. He looked at her, from her pale face all the way to her feet without changing his expression.

- It's my wound. – He said quietly. – If I die now, so be it. - The amount of crudeness in his voice made Sansa shiver. His face was almost pale blue and scars on his face appeared gray. Everything in his home was a shade of cool. All the furniture seemed like it was covered in a layer of ashy fog and when he spoke, it was like he was able to absorb all the warmth left in the room. Jon sat on the couch, slowly, carefully. – He must be in great pain. – Sansa thought looking at him struggle to sit down. His wound was on the left side of his abdomen but from what Sansa remembered Luwin saying, it wasn't quite deep. She walked closer, searching for the sign of his approval to sit next to him.

- I'm sorry that you had to find me like this. – He finally said. Words rolling off his tongue were heavy. He was out of breath and held his arm over his belly. – I don't know if you're happy or sad to see wounded.

- I'm glad you're alive. – Sansa said, offering him a smile with great uncertainty. She allowed herself to sit, but she was as far on the sofa as her body would let her.

- Are you? – Jon asked not looking at her. Sansa was lost for words. He knows she didn't like him when they were children and after that summer day, this was the first time they spoke. It was always through others that she knew about Jon's existence. She found out about him for the first time from her mother when she tried to explain them they had another brother. The uneasiness of her mother's words defined everything she ever thought about him. Her father never liked to talk about the issue and as far as Sansa could remember, it was the only thing her parents ever argued about.

- Yes. Why I wouldn't be? – She felt like she was lying. A fourteen year old in her certainly was. But twenty-three year old Sansa tried to avoid the fact that Jon might be right.

- I see. – He said. – I assume you hate me less, now that I'm a dying man. – Sansa couldn't discern if he was joking.

- We were children, Jon… - she said, surprising herself that she had courage to admit she hated him once. – I was…unaware…

- Why are you here, Sansa? – Jon interrupted her, turned his head and pierced her chest with his black gaze. Why was she here? Her heart was racing and there her head was buzzing with thoughts but she was too proud to fall apart in front of him.

- I wanted to see you. – She finally muttered. Jon chuckled and Sansa felt he was mocking her. For a moment, the silence grew between them.

- King's Landing parties are not fun enough? – He smirked. Sansa's fists were clenching in anger but she said nothing. His head was turned sideways as he waited again for her response. She swallowed his words, trying to stay calm.

- Listen, Jon. – She tried to reason with him. – I understand you are mad. But it was so long ago that it doesn't matter anymore.

- Doesn't matter? – Jon raised his voice. It was too intense for his muscles to bear and he coughed, cramping in pain. – It doesn't matter to you. – He added. – You're a spitting image of your mother, you know? – He grinned. – You look like her, act like her and you talk to me like she did. - A flaming ball of anger was forming in her chest. Her mother was dead and he still dared to talk like that about her.

- You know nothing about her. – She whispered.

- Ay, I know nothing about her. – He said. – Just like I know nothing about you. – He turned, looking at the fireplace. – The woman wanted me dead. – His fingers passed through his thick beard as he was frowning. Sansa was silent.

- Did you knew that? – Jon pushed that thought even further. – Of course you didn't. – He shook his head. – The Stark were a sinless, perfect family and me even existing ruined that image. - Saying that, his face became clouded in sadness. Sansa felt the emotion seeping from his words, she was never aware that they hurt him so much. Even though he spoke ill of her dead family, the weight of his suffering washed over her and she couldn't help but to feel it too. Just when she wanted to apologize, Jon started speaking again.

- But the thought that I would tolerate you in my home, after all that has happened and after all these years of resentment… It offends me. – He spat his words like poison. Sansa crushed underneath the truth he spoke. She hoped he forgot. But how could he? He was alone his whole life, a bastard son no one wanted.

- You should leave. – He whispered, not looking at her. Sansa stood up, her face tight with anger. She walked and stopped right in front of him. He had no choice, but to look at her.

- If it wasn't for me, you would be a corpse now. – She said, her lower lip shaking. Before he could say anything, she walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

- Yes… a corpse. – He whispered letting his head lean on his chest.

Mary walked into Sansa's room without knocking. The look on her face was one of genuine worry. Sansa was just finishing packing her suitcase and she tried to ignore the old lady standing next to her.

- He can be difficult. – Mrs. McWagen said. – But he is a good man. He wouldn't hurt you or anyone on purpose.

- Then you don't know him very well. – Sansa noted. The old lady sighed and sat on her bed. Her fingers were webbed like she was in prayer. Sansa was still cramming her clothes into her suitcase and only thing she could think of is that she needs to leave. Jon doesn't want her here, he never did, he never will. Maybe losing all she ever had was a punishment for the life she lived. All dues must be paid, and Sansa felt indebted to everyone.

- He needs someone here. – Mary continued.

- Oh, I think he has plenty. – Sansa hasn't felt this angry in a long time. She hasn't felt anything in the longest time and surprisingly, anger was the first emotion that had struck her. – He has plenty of arrogance. So much so that he can fill this entire house and never again be alone.

- What did you expect? – Mrs. McWagen asked her. – That you can walk into his life suddenly and uninvited and that he will meet you with his open arms? – Her words stung Sansa almost as much as Jon's did. – When you never gave him that privilege. – Mary's voice was soft, but determined. – I told him that you were here but I advised him not to rush into anything.

- Yet you helped him dress. – Sansa said. Mary looked to the side like she was ashamed. - I know what I did. – Sansa sighed. She stopped packing. – But I'm trying to do better.

- I know. – Mary looked at her with understanding. – You have so much to offer, Sansa. – Mary grabbed her hands, holding them tightly. Sansa's windpipe tightened in despair. She was right. But what could she ever offer to Jon? She was just as broken as he was, just as alone as he, penniless and bitter. Her eyes burned with salty water gathering in the corners. One shy tear rolled down her cheek. Jon made her cry where the whole world couldn't.

- Oh, sweet girl… – Mary said opening her arms and hugging Sansa. – He knows you saved him. – The old woman stared to cry. Hearing her, Sansa crumbled and started to sob on her shoulder. All those tears she ate every morning trying to be strong came bursting down her cheeks.

- He will never forgive me… - Her throat tightened filling with the overwhelming feeling of loss. – I know he won't. – Her chest quivered as she gasped for air. Mrs. McWagen slowly stroked her red hair. – He is all that I have left and he doesn't want me… - Darkness took over her, her vision was blurry from the tears.

- It is a horrible prison your thoughts keep you in. – Mary held Sansa by her shoulders, her warm gaze was passing over a red mess Sansa's face was now. – I saw it so many times in him. – Her coarse hand touched her cheek. – He forgave you a long time ago, Sansa. Now, if you could only forgive yourself…

Sansa closed her eyes. A feeling of weariness rushed over her body and she thought she could fall asleep in Mrs. McWagen warm embrace. – Rest, sweet girl. I'll talk with him. – That were the last words before a deep slumber took over her.

When Mary went downstairs, she found Jon in the same place where Sansa left him, sitting with an empty gaze in his eyes. Only now, he held a glass of whiskey in his hands. She approached him slowly, as one would to a wild animal. He didn't acknowledge her presence with a look but he did sigh as she walked closer.

- I know what you're going to say. Don't bother. – He buried his head in his hand, slowly dragging it across his tired face. But Mary was persistent and she, just like Sansa stood right in front of him, forcing him to look at her.

- Do you hate her so much? – Her question sounded more like a plea. Jon took a sip of his drink, visibly uncomfortable by Mrs. McWagen eagerness for his answer.

- I don't hate her. – He simply stated. – I just don't care for her.

- She is your sister and your guest. You are ought to treat her well. – A steadiness of her voice made Jon start to play nervously with his fingers. His palms stated to sweat as Mary became more aggressive.

- No. – Jon looked at her. – She is your guest. You let her in. – Jon stood up, holding his bandages with his wide hand. – I don't want anything to do with her or her life. – He started walking away slowly when Mary's voice stopped him.

- Jon, stop this madness right now! – She raised her voice. Jon turned and his face was furious. – She is the last family you have. And if you think you can walk away so easily from it, you're wrong. - Jon's face became distorted from wrench her words caused. He had no family and he didn't intend on Sansa becoming one. Little did he know that Sansa stood behind the closed door, listening. The voices woke her up and she couldn't help herself but go downstairs and listen.

- I love you like you are my mother… - Jon started. – But you know, more than anyone else what Starks were. – His voice was breaking and every word stabbed Sansa like a cold knife. – So rightful, they thought they had a power to mold and shape other lives. She is no different! – Jon yelled. – She thinks she can appear out of thin air and demand acceptance from me! – He struggled with breathing and he felt all of the blood leaving his head, making him dizzy. – Mary, please… - he managed to whisper before falling on the floor.

- Jon! - Mary screamed. – Sansa! – She shouted kneeling next to lifeless Jon. To her surprise, she walked in right away, startled by the sight that was before her. Mary didn't ask her anything. The women struggled trying to lift Jon and lay him on the couch. In matter of minutes, Mary called doctor Lewin. He was there soon, inspecting the unconscious Jon that didn't react to any stimulus, no matter how hard they tried. He was so different than the last time he was here. His movement was frantic and Sansa feared he couldn't save him.

- He lost a lot of blood. You shouldn't have let him out of bed. – Luwin sounded angry. Sansa looked at Mary that trembled in suspense but said nothing. – He has to go to the hospital and get an urgent transfusion. I can't help him.

- No. – Mary said shortly. – He stays here. – Looking at her, Sansa could see the woman that slammed the door in her face, cold, shrewd and distant.

- Why the fuck not? – Sansa was maddened with her. – What does he want to hide so badly that you would rather let him die than get proper help? – Her words swooped over Mrs. McWagen. For someone who was just exiled from Jon's life, she cared for him with such ferociousness.

- Listen to me. – Mrs. McWagen grabbed her arm. – You know nothing about Jon. – She hissed and her eyes darkened. – If someone found out he was shot, more than just he would be dead.

After anger came fear. Sansa was afraid. What did Jon do, what was so much more important than his own life? His willingness to die made Sansa shrink in her own skin. What was so crucial to her estranged brother? If it was worth his life, Sansa had to care for it too.

- He needs transfusion or he dies. – Luwin repeated.

- Here. – said Sansa rolling up her sleeve and revealing her thin, almost translucent skin. – Try me. He is my blood after all...

Chapter 4

It's an odd feeling, your own blood leaving your body. It reminded Sansa of her time in the hospital when they took her blood countless times. – For the tests. – They said. They tested her for everything, Hepatitis B, Hepatitis C, syphilis and lastly HIV. She was afraid may times before that, but nothing could compare to the waiting game she experienced when they told her she needs to be tested for AIDS. Sansa promised herself, if the results were positive, she would kill herself without one ounce of regret. – You are a whore. – The words rang in her head constantly.

Her milky skin became bruised from needles, swollen in places where cannulas were, red and painful to the touch. There was nothing but death around her. One night, a man died in the room next to her. It was quite a shock because people rarely died in the psychiatric units. He stole a fork and a knife when they were having dinner, held them in his sock and when the night came he stabbed himself repeatedly all over his body. Oddly enough he didn't scream while stabbing. Only when he realized the death came for its sweet reward, he became afraid and screamed as loudly as he could. Sansa heard the man, but it didn't concern her. Many screamed in there. He bled out on the floor and was found dead when the nurses came. Not only that he stabbed himself countless times, he dragged across the knife that was buried deep in his flesh. His bowels spilled and there was no way they could have saved him. If she reacted, would she have save him? The unit she was stationed was for mild mental disorders, there was no reason for the doctors to be overly cautious of their patients. Most of them wanted someone to listen to them. But the man died nonetheless. When will the death come for her? - she wondered. Sansa never wanted to hurt herself directly. She just felt that the world would be a better place without her in it. Her dying made all the sense, there was nothing left for her. She didn't care for her own life. How could she care for anything else?

- Doctor Luwin, can I ask you something? – She said when he finished with drawing her blood. He knelt next to the futon. A plastic bag filled with thick red fluid was in his hands.

- If it's in my power, I will do it. – He answered as he knew Sansa would ask for something. Sansa hesitated to say anything else after his response, but she had to finish what she started. – If you could… - she whispered. – Give me something to sleep better. – Luwin placed the blood in his brown bag. He fumbled through it for couple of seconds, being completely silent.

- I have trouble sleeping. – Sansa added.

Luwin sighed, his eyes still on his leather satchel. – I could give you something. – He finally said. – But I think any of Mary's teas could do the same as my pills. – He stood up, fixing his shirt. – I would give you something if it's truly necessary.

- It is. – Sansa said quietly, her teeth pressed from tension. – I want nothing from that woman. - Luwin stroked his beard, thinking. Sansa lied on the futon, stubbornly watching him. – I will pay you if I have to.

- Alright. – Luwin said. – I have something here. – He pulled a half empty silver packet of pills. – No more than one a day. – He warned Sansa.

She knew the name written on the packet. She used them before, but not for an easy sleep. A cold shiver passed through her body looking at the black letters. Did he have to give her these ones? Any sleep medication would help, but he gave her these. It's wonderuous how brave one gets when one is sure of being loved. And people, who are loved, were light as air no matter the circumstances. Sansa wasn't one of them but made sure she felt the same.

- Will he be okay? – She asked looking at the unconscious Jon on the sofa.

- He should. – Luwin smiled for the first time that day. – Luckily, you are a universal donor. There is no reason for him not to be. You should rest. – He advised. – Drink plenty of fluid. I'll tell Mary to bring you some water with sugar.

Sansa turned to her side while Luwin prepared the blood to be given to Jon. She couldn't look at them. Holding the pills closely, she closed her eyes, letting her head become empty. Many minutes passed, she heard Luwin leave and enter the room couple of times. He talked to Mary but Sansa couldn't distinguish the content of their conversation. She didn't care. In a different world, she might would. He was her brother and he was struggling for his life. But that wasn't the world they lived in. She had to fight for him because if she loses this battle, there would be nothing for her. Sansa smiled while looking at the edge where two parts of the futon met. She was truly delusional thinking that Jon would react any differently than the way he did. He could have been even more spiteful. Sansa owed that to his wound, he was simply too weak to be any harsher. In that moment, she was thankful for his pain. It was a pinnacle of selfishness, but it was the truth.

Luwin left shortly after he gave his instructions to Mrs. McWagen. Mary gave Sansa a cup of water with a bit of sugar dissolved in it. She drank half of it, leaving the rest on the end table next to her. When Mary left the room, she grabbed her pills with intention of drinking them. – Only one, Sansa. – She heard Luwin's words in her ear. Would she sleep forever if she drank them all? Would the blissful silence finally fill her mind if she decided to take that leap? A tempting thought that both dazzled and dizzied her. She looked at the pills and then at Jon. He was sleeping; his left arm was hanging from the couch, lightly touching the surface of the carpet. A single thought passed through her head, like a ray of light - if he wakes, she wanted to wake up with him. She took one, tasting the familiar bitter and powdery taste. Her head sunk in the soft pillow as she waited for the sweet pill to take its effect. A soft web covered her eyes and she fell asleep, calm and idle.

- They come here often?– A man asked her. She was in her room, siting at the white vanity. Her face was lit with the soft golden lights of the bulbs that surrounded her mirror. She loved her reflection. Her long thick hair cascaded down her shoulders in rich, fiery waves and her cheeks were glowing from the hot blood that rushed to her head every time she performed. A standing ovation, the crowd loved her. She dragged her long red nails across her breasts. A corset cinched them tightly and they lifted every time she took another breath.

- No more than you coming to hear me sing.– She looked at his reflection in her mirror. He grinned looking at the lace detailing on her back.

- I don't come here to hear you sing. – The man said, his voice was low and swollen with tension. - Then it must be expensive watching session. – Sansa chuckled.

A man stood calmly, his lips were parted and his breathing heavy. She enjoyed these moments immensely. They all shivered in front of her and heir cockiness disappeared the moment they saw her up close. Her words were swift like a sword, she never held back when they reached out to her. She wanted them to admit, to say exactly what they wanted before she allowed them to come closer. They all wanted the same thing, to take her to an expensive dinner and gift her with jewels. They bought her time and Sansa always made sure she charged them well. Most of them didn't dare to touch her because sometimes when we touch our idols, its golden gilt stays on out hands.

- Then what do you want? – Sansa asked, looking directly at his reflection.

- You. – He answered without a trace of fear in his voice. He was like so many others, young, handsome and well dressed. He wore a black suit that was, without a doubt, custom made. His broad shoulders strained the fabric. – You can't have me. – She teased playing with her lipstick.

- Then what is your price? – He persisted. Sansa bit her lip, standing still for a moment. – I'm not for sale. – She finally said.

A man chuckled hearing that. – Stop lying. – His words weren't delicate or refined. He was a man that wasted no time. – So men enjoy your time for free? – Sansa looked at his face in the mirror, her eyes cold with anger. – Better for me. – He raised his eyebrows taking a step closer. Sansa stood up, her pretty face was grim. She still refused to look directly at him.

- I will have to ask you to leave. – She demanded.

- There is no point in me leaving. – He muttered. – I will always be with you. She was surprised by his arrogance but she didn't let herself show it. She turned, wanting to see that man who thought he had the right to claim her without her breaking him first.

It was Jon.

A warm breath left her lungs recognizing him. His black eyes enveloped her in a tight embrace. He caressed her with his gaze, a warm, gentle touch that collected in her stomach and traveled down, to her very core. Suddenly, his perfume filled her nostrils. A fresh smell of citrus and pepper tickled her nose; it was vibrant, vigorous and smelled of a man at the peak of its strength. After it came jasmine and sandalwood, deepening the sensation, reminding Sansa of how close he stood now. At the end, the air smelled dark, filled with the smell of incense and musk.

- I know you… - She whispered, not being able to move.

- Yes. – He closed the distance even further. His palm touched her soft upper arm and the hair on the back of her neck stood up as he slowly moved his fingers down. – You know me.

It was like his touch was a form of an anesthetic; she felt the tension leave her as he touched the tips of her fingers with his. She closed her eyes, breathing him in fully. He was so dauntless in his approach that he touched the pale skin of her cheek. To his surprise, she leaned in. The room was spinning and Sansa felt like she had floated away in a black cloud. She found no way of fighting his presence. Her body was drenched in his poison and she quickly became addicted to the feeling lightness that carried her.

- You are the most beautiful creature ever to walk this world. – He pressed his body against hers. She felt his firm chest rising with hers. Her eyes were still closed and she parted her full lips involuntarily. Jon's coarse beard scratched her skin as his warm breath passed next to her ear, making her skin crawl. She heard a voice in the distance - Loving her was like shaking hands with the devil.Jon was a mad man for touching her. His right hand rested on her waist, but he didn't dare to move it. Sansa opened her eyes and was met with a blazing flame in his eyes that burned her red dress off.

- Kiss me. – She told him and it sounded like an order. He moved his right hand slowly upwards, barely brushing her breast and stopping only when he reached her face. He looked at her calmly, deciding to wait, to cherish this moment of absolute fullness between them. The air became thick like syrup and Sansa was lost in his eyes. He moved slowly, torturing her. Her lips tingled in anticipation. They were softer than velvet when he finally planted a gentlest kiss she could ever imagine. Jon tasted of home and Sansa wished for him never to move again. His fingers found a way to her hair, pulling it gently.

One. Two. Make it fun.

Their lips touched in a desperate motion, teeth clashing. He pulled her closer, leaving no room between them and his hands explored her back, pulling on the thin lace as he digged his nails into the pink skin. Jon became rougher in the way he touched her, it was like he starved for weeks and she was the only thing he wanted to eat. His tongue found its way into her mouth. It was wet, warm and thick and tasted of summer wine. She felt drunk just by tasting it.

He found its way to the silk skirt that was attached to the lace corset and he scrunched it up in his hand. He stopped, opening his eyes. A small bite tore Sansa's lip and she followed it by a loud moan. She liked it rough. He ripped her dress, his nails leaving a mark on her pale thigh and she knew she would carry that mark for a while. He threw the fabric on the floor, licking her top lip while his hands moved to her chest. He cupped both of her breasts, squeezing them hard and pushing her gently to the edge of her vanity. She leaned on the hard wood, almost sitting on it. After leaving her breasts, his hands traveled to the exposed flesh of her bottom, fingers digging in deep. She wrapped her long legs around his waist. He pressed onto her harder, rubbing his hard cock against her thin lingerie. Even through the two layers of fabric, he was throbbing.

- You… - he whispered biting her neck. Her skin burned in the places he touched. Sansa webbed her fingers in his curly hair, pushing his head, making him bite her to the point of pain. – You are mine. - Sansa gasped hearing him. She was the one who belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone. Jon looked at her, her cheeks were vermilion red and small drops of sweat rolled down her forehead.

- Say you're mine. – His voice was husky and low and as he spoke, Sansa became wetter.

- I, I… - She struggled for words. He grasped her hair strongly, pulling her head back. She loved every minute of it. – I'll fuck you now. – He told her licking his lips. – I'll fuck you like I always wanted. Hard, fast. You'll plead for me to stop, but you will enjoy it more than anything you ever enjoyed in your life. - He licked the sweat from her chest. – More than you ever enjoyed any man. – Jon pulled her left bosom out of her corset, taking her hard nipple in his mouth. He bit her, sending lighting to her uterus.

- Yes, fuck me… - She pleaded. – Fuck me, Jon.

As soon as she said that, he unbuttoned his pants releasing himself. Sansa couldn't help but look – he was straight, pink and thick. Jon's hand cupped her sex, pressing harshly. In one move, he ripped her lingerie leaving thin layers of fabric on each side of her labia. He spat in his palm and stroked his cock. Contrary to what she hoped, he gave her no chance to prepare herself. In one deep plunge, the red skin of his cock disappeared in her body. She was soft, warm and dripping wet. Sansa felt full, her walls stretched and grasping Jon's cock in tight embrace. He started moving faster and every time he plunged himself into her he sent shivers down her spine. Jon filled her all the way and she felt his tip hitting the end of her. It was sweet pain she felt as she moaned in his shoulder. He held her pressing his fingers onto the milky skin of her hips.

– Oh, Jon, oh, Jon, yes… - Hearing her say his name did something for his eyes. They became even darker, maddened with desire. He wanted to devour her, crush her. Their tongues touched and were playing with one another without their lips touching. It was nothing like she ever felt. With each move, Jon claimed her over and over again. She felt powerless in his arms.

- What are you doing to me? – He asked her grabbing her long neck in a firm grasp. For a moment Sansa stopped breathing. He slowed down, pushing deep inside her, meeting his hips with hers. – Are you a witch? A demon? – His fingers started clenching harder.

- No… - Sansa whispered.

- I don't care. – He released her. – I would become your loyal servant if I had to. – He suddenly pulled his cock out, leaving Sansa with an overwhelming feeling of emptiness. He knelt, his dark hair disappearing between her legs.

- I would worship you… - He spoke slowly, moving his tongue up and down, from her entrance to her swollen bud. – Like a goddess. – She pulled his hair and she didn't care if it caused him any pain. It almost made him more eager to lick her folds. He was playing with her, sucking on her clit with no hurry. Sansa ached to feel him inside again. She looked down and her eyes met his. He started to speed up and Sansa felt closer to that sweet release.

- Don't you dare come without me in you. – He groaned. This time he was gentle, stopping and entering her slowly, letting her catch a break. – Will you come for me, sweet sister?

His question made feeling of shame collect in her chest. She was fucking her brother. But to her surprise, the feeling of carnal shame made her desire Jon even more.

- I will. – She looked directly in his eyes, her face motionless. – I will, brother. - Feeling her tense up, he groaned - Oh, fuck, Sansa... - her walls gripped him as she was coming on his cock and he couldn't take it anymore. Sansa felt his warm seed fill her up, spraying somewhere deep inside her.

- You are mine. – Said Jon taking a strand of sweaty hair of her face. He was still buried in her when he grabbed her face and kissed her deeply.

- Oh, Jon… - Sansa whispered waking up. Realizing what just took place, her right hand flew straight to her crotch. Even her jeans were wet. She looked to her right, at sleeping Jon. He was still in the same position. - No, no... – It was all she allowed herself to say before tears started rolling down her face.

Room around here became smaller and the walls started closing in. Her body felt as light as feather, a tingling sensation took over her limbs. She was lying on a futon but drowning in her thoughts. What if she was really a twisted making of nature, a vile freak that valued nothing? She just dreamt of fucking her brother and every part of her being enjoyed that. She had to leave. There was no other choice, no choice at all. This is the point from where there is no return. Is she truly that damaged she couldn't make a distinction between right and wrong? And if she tried to convince herself that this is wrong, would she be lying?

That single thought was the thing that pushed her over the edge. Sansa ran to her room. The walls were crashing down as she tried to breathe. There was no air, only a vacuous hole that spun her around endlessly. Her leaving Jon's home was the only thing that mattered. Sansa grabbed her suitcase, not even checking if she packed everything. She had a bit of money left and most importantly, she still had the sleeping pills. Sansa stopped, looking at them in the one of the pockets of her purse wondering will death hurt when it finally comes. Oh, how she hoped that it didn't, but not for herself, but for her dead family. She would tell herself that in those nights where a chance of a good night sleep was as far away as her sense of self that it didn't, that they died swiftly, painlessly. If she were to be honest, she was tired of thinking about them. There was no way, no Gods, old and new that could bring her family and her old life back. Too much has happened. She is too far gone. If it truly becomes unbearable, she will drink them, hoping that it will be enough for her to leave.

- You are a coward. – She heard his voice. So what if she was? If she wasn't so afraid, would she be already dead? Maybe, when she believed someone still cared for her, she wouldn't even think of it. Sansa always felt the suffering of others deeply and the thought of her hurting someone by giving up made her push through. It was a form of justification, an excuse for her not to take control and end the suffering that consumed her. But she was alone now.

She walked down the stairs quietly, trying to disappear as quickly as she came. Still, she hoped someone, anyone would stop her, reach out to her and tell her that it will all be alright. That the world has a way of sorting things out and that all of it would be erased and crumbled to dust.

No one was there. She stopped by the living room door. They were still open. She peaked through, searching for the sings of Mrs. McWagen. There was only Jon, peacefully sleeping on the sofa. She clenched her coat as she walked towards him, her knuckles white. She felt like crying, but her eyes couldn't make that wish true. In a strange way, she felt happy that she saw him, one last time. His face wasn't pale anymore, a pink flush laced over his cheeks, disappearing underneath his black beard. Her blood made that happen and her trembling heart had burst in pieces looking at him. Handsome, not overly tall and dressed all in black, he was nothing like the men Sansa knew in King's Landing. Jon was wild, rugged and unrefined, from his messy hair all the way to the faded jeans.

- Jon. –She called for him quietly. – Jon, I'm leaving. – It didn't matter to her that he couldn't hear her. She wanted to have a proper goodbye, the one she never had with the rest of her family.

- I do hope you live, I really do. – Sansa whispered, her throat tightening. – I just wanted to say… - The words barely rolled of her tongue. – I'm sorry. For everything. For your family. For mine. For what we did. – Her hand reached to him like she was trying to touch him, but never closing the distance all the way through.

- I guess I thought, maybe… You and I could be a family. But it was stupid of me to even think that we ever could. – Her eyes started burning, a small tear found its way down. As the tear touched her chin, she took a deep breath, stretching the iron cage around her ribs. – I'm so sorry Jon. – The second one followed. – If I could take it all back, I would. I'm not the person you think I am. And even if I am, I don't want to be that anymore.

It was like someone casted a strong light on something that was always half a shadow and Sansa broke down kneeling next to Jon. – I'm sorry. – She repeated touching his chest. It was warm in the place where his wound was. – If I could, I would fix it. – Sansa leaned gently on his left arm. – If you would let me, I could be your family. I need you, Jon… - Her warm tears dampened the sleeve of his shirt as Sansa caressed his wound. – I would gladly carry your pain. – She whispered. – If you would only let me show you that I still can.

She stood still for a while, listening him breathe. The sound of air entering and leaving his lungs calmed and lifted her from the fog in her mind. Her lips brushed the fabric slightly, tasting the salty tears. If she could just stop the time and never leave him, she could die in peace.

A soft touch brushed through her hair slowly. Jon's heavy hand rested on her head and she looked up. He was watching her, his eyes hugged her face in a warm embrace. – You saved me. – He whispered. – You saved me when I told you to leave me. – He gave her a slight smile. – I'm the one who's sorry. - Sansa looked at him, but said nothing. She never thought he would be the one who would be apologizing.

- You are my guest Sansa. – He continued. – And my sister. You deserve more than I gave you. – He tried to stand up, but was too weak.

- No, rest Jon. Don't strain yourself. – She took his hand in hers. – I'll go get you some tea or something to eat. – A lightness took over her voice. He was giving her another chance.

- No. – He closed his eyes, resting his head on a pillow. – Stay. You should stay. – Saying that, he squeezed her tender hand in his. And Sansa stayed there for what seemed like hours, watching him sleep. Sometimes, even a smidgen of bravery changes everything. Sansa was braver than she thought she could ever be in that moment. And apologizing to her brother was a salve for her tortured soul.

When he woke up, he found her sitting on a futon, looking carefully over him. Mary walked in to check on him couple of times, but said nothing when she noticed Sansa's coat and the suitcase. A smile lingered on her face nonetheless, seeing her still there. Sansa blushed noticing the old woman smirking gladly because of the sight in front of her, but she as well, was silent. She was afraid, if she speaks, it will all crumble. She couldn't risk it. They helped Jon up the stairs, and he, being as stubborn as he is, refused to admit he was still too weak to walk on its own. It was late afternoon when she found herself with Mary in the kitchen, helping her with an early dinner.

- Your brother is as stubborn as a mule. – Mary said after they had put him to bed. – I hope he wasn't such a pain when his mother gave birth to him. - Hearing Mary say that, Sansa sighed. The old woman noted the sadness that was on her face so she said – I'm glad you're still here.

Mary was a cheerful woman and Sansa had to admit to herself that she had been wrong about her. She cared for Jon deeply, so much so that she didn't care if she would hurt someone defending him. Her gray hair was in a tight bun and Sansa couldn't figure out how old she was. There was still some vigor left in the way she moved and no matter what she did it never seemed to be too difficult for her. Sansa didn't quite know what to ask Mrs. McWagen or how to talk to her, so she just listened to whatever stories she would tell her even though they were never about Jon or his family. She told Sansa how to differentiate good onions from the bad ones and how to tell if the rice is perfectly cooked. Even though Sansa was eager to find out what her connection to Jon was, she decided it is best if she told her. It was like Mary knew what was on her mind and she started to open up.

- I knew your brother since he was a little boy. – Mary said, tending to the pot of soup on the stove. – What a happy little fellow he was. – She chuckled. – He might never admit this, so it's best for you to hear it from me. – said Mary grinning. – He was one of the sensitive ones, you know, growing up. He surprised us all when he said he wanted to join the military. – Mary took the soup of the stove. – We all thought he ought to be a poet. Can you imagine it? Jon, a poet? – She asked Sansa.

- No, I can't. – Sansa answered. It was hard for her to imagine Jon being anything.

- He could never hate or hurt anyone. – Said Mary sitting next to Sansa. – I'm so glad you are here, dear Sansa. I'm old and Jon needs someone of his own to have when I'm gone.

Sansa never thought she might stay forever in the North. Her coming back was a poor plan, both in theory and in execution. – I don't think I'll stay here for long. – Sansa said quietly.

- I understand you have a life in the South that you might go back to. – Mary stood up, pouring two cups of tea. – But at least for now, you'll stay here. – She gave one to Sansa. It was verbena. – They say tomorrow should be one of the coldest days in living memory. A blizzard is upon us.

- I don't think I have much to go back to… - Said Sansa looking at the green liquid.

- Jon told me you are a singer, a popular one. That must be a wonderful life to live. – Mrs. McWagen's eyes searched for an answer on Sansa's face to a question she didn't ask and instead of continuing down that path Sansa just said – Jon talked about me?

- Oh, no. – Mary smiled. Her teeth were damaged and yellow. – But he loved to listen to you. – Sansa was surprised by a sudden wave of honesty from Mrs. McWagen. It seemed like only certain parts of Jon's life were forbidden to talk about.

- Grenn told me he didn't spoke about me. – Sansa looked at her old, wrinkled face. Mary took a sip of her tea and then continued. – I think he was ashamed to admit he liked all that girly music. – They both laughed. A thought of Jon listening to her sing intrigued her. She felt it was almost like she had always been there with him.

- The dinner is ready. – Mary walked to the counter and poured the soup in a bowl. When she served it on a plate with a piece of bread she handed it to Sansa saying that she should be the one to take it to Jon.

- He shuts down easily. – Said Mary. – You should take this opportunity and talk to him. - Sansa nodded knowing she was right. She took the plate and walked to Jon's room. He was in his bed, shirtless, leaning on the headboard. Sansa walked in slowly, trying not to spill the soup. He was silent but Sansa took it as a good sign.

- I…I brought you dinner. – She smiled.

- Good. – He muttered. She walked towards him, gently placing the plate on his end table. – It's barely, onions and chicken. Mary said it's your favorite. – Sansa was standing next to him, hoping he would let her stay for a bit.

- She knows me well. – Sansa looked at him while he took the bowl with his shaky hand and tried to scoop out some. A hot liquid poured down his naked chest making him clench in pain.

- Let me. – Sansa took the hot bowl out of his hands. – I can feed myself. – Jon protested.

- Do you want to burn yourself? – Sansa smiled at him, raising her eyebrows. – You know, I can only save you a limited amount of times. – Saying that, she instantly regretted it. Hoping that wouldn't make Jon mad, she nervously smiled, waiting for him to respond. To her surprise, Jon smiled back.

- So it's two for zero? – He knew she was the one who convinced Mary and Grenn to call Luwin. A tickling feeling of closeness crawled under her skin.

Sansa shook her head, her cheeks hurting from smiling at him. It made her happy, talking to him after all these years. She thought that Jon must be one of those people who are incapable of lying. When he smiled, it was wholeheartedly honest and pure.

- Here. – She said, offering him a spoon full of soup. He tasted the soup, his eyes not leaving hers. Small embers danced in the dark corners of his black gaze. She was almost convinced he forgave her.

Days passed in peace. Jon was recovering well, his wound healed quickly and he was not the one to admit his current weakness. He insisted on eating with them in the kitchen and he refused any help Sansa and Mary offered. In those moments, Sansa was reserved. She cherished the fragile relationship she and Jon shared and she didn't dare to do much with it. When he spoke, she answered and not more. Yet, she yearned for his closeness more than anything. He was like a ray of light that carried her to unimaginable levels of lightness she never thought she could experience. His laugh was like a thousand silvers bells and his eyes lighted up when he showed the row of pearly white teeth. She tended to stay in his presence as long as she could, as long as she thought it was acceptable. She followed him up to his room and she helped him get undressed. She snuggled him into bed like the son she never had and she made sure he was always content. They communicated in small nods and smiles, never allowing themselves to speak about anything real. Sansa somehow knew Jon silently agreed to this, he never asked anything deeper or sensitive and she obliged to her part of this agreement. They didn't spoke about that day when he held her head and her tears while he comforted her, forgiving her for everything known and unknown. Jon sensed Sansa was deeply troubled woman and more than anything, he wanted to protect her, to preserve the goodness he felt in her that day when she felt apart in his arms. Jon held her while she melted away in her sorrow, like a little girl that was so unaware of the ways the world could hurt her. He could still feel the way she shivered under his fingers, crying. She was smaller than a single speck of dust, so humble and open. She exerted warmth he couldn't get enough of. It seemed she didn't complain about a thing after they reconsolidated. Sansa smiled when he smiled at her and she talked only when he asked her. It almost seemed like she was a happy, empty shell.

- Sansa, can I ask you something? – Jon spoke while she ruffled his pillow, preparing the bed for him.

- Sure. – She answered, playing with the sheets of his bed. Jon looked at her, trying to breach the invisible wall she held up trying to uphold the sense of normalness between them. It was a thin, glass wall and he could see her clearly though it, but he could never touch her. Jon wanted to ask so many questions. Thinking about her, he remembered how he liked to listen to her music. It was always the same emotion she tried to convey – a girl that with a mind free as a bird, but cruelly chained to one place. She smiled while she sang, but her words were somber and heavy, she cried through her music.

- Why did you come back? – He spoke slowly, trying not to scare her. Sansa stopped with whatever she was doing with his pillowcase and looked up. Her back was turned on him and he couldn't see her face.

- I wanted to see you. – She looked over her shoulder, at Jon standing next to his bed.

- Oh, I know, you told me that. – Jon turned his head, touching the wooden board of his bed. – What I meant to ask is – why now? – After he gained some of his strength back, he spoke with his lungs full. He had a Northern accent, not as heavy as Grenn's, but he still couldn't hide it. She loved to listen the soft vibrations his words were. There was something twisted in the way she perceived them, every tone his voice had crawled under her skin, making her core tense up. No matter how hard she tried, only thing she could hear listening to him was those soft words he spoke in her dream.

- There has to be a reason to visit a family member? – Sansa asked Jon instead of answering.

- Hhh… - Jon chuckled. – We were never a family. You understand my confusion. – His head was turned sideways and he looked at her back covered in a thick layer of wool. Jon's gaze burned Sansa's back. A familiar but a strange feeling rushed through her body. They were positioned exactly like in her dream. She was sitting on his bed, her back turned and he stood behind her, asking her questions she didn't knew answers to.

- I know. – Sansa said quietly. – You were the last family I had. I had to start somewhere. – The silence grew between them. She felt the mattress underneath her bend as Jon sat next to her.

- It's a good start. – He smiled.

- It is? – She turned, her chest facing his. – You don't hate me? – She asked him naively, like a child would. Jon laughed at her asking that. Sometimes, she truly was like a little girl.

- No, I don't hate you Sansa. – He could see the sings of relief passing over her face as she smiled at him. They smiled a lot at one another, sometimes not even being aware of it. They both felt obliged to, she because she didn't have another place to go and he because she saved his life. He reached out and touched her. It was a surprise for him, as much it was for Sansa. Feeling of his hand cupping her cheek felt all too familiar. In the days behind them, they didn't seem to be uncomfortable by touching one another. She helped him up the stairs, piercing his personal space with her white arms. It came naturally, for him to touch her in a gentle manner, the same she touched him when he was too weak to walk.

Jon noticed her blue eyes growing dimmer as he touched her. She didn't move, she didn't even say a thing, but yet, he felt like she was scared. He removed his hand from her soft cheek, feeling her fear. He didn't meant to hurt her in any way and they parted ways as he laid in his bed, ready to sleep.

Sansa dreamt of him that night, a small lion cub decaying in her arms. She woke up screaming. Everything around her was a thick fog that made her head dizzy. She knew Jon walked in, hearing her. She held her covers close to her chest, shivering. She couldn't see clearly, she was a half-blind, scared little bird that passed out in his arms.

- Sansa… - He whispered holding her. – Sansa, what happened? – He shook her by her shoulders, but she gave no response. Wrapping her in her covers, he laid next to her, caressing her hair. Sansa smelled of lavender and peonies, a sharp, but sweet scent. She was so small when he held her and he couldn't help himself but to hold her. It was stronger than him, the wish to keep her safe, even from herself. He never hated her. She was too beautiful for him to force himself to resent her for anything. He tried to convince himself that she was everything that her mother was, cold and hateful woman, calculated and cunning. But Sansa was, underneath everything she was, was a softer than a snowflake and if he even dared to touched her, she would melt away. She was so unaware of this fact it was almost magical to watch her switch between a determined young woman and a confused little girl. Jon loved her the most when she was like a little child, uncorrupted and innocent. Only few people manage to grow up but still seem so oblivious to the world. Sansa was one of them. Everything she was seemed to disappear when she came into his home. He knew who she is, how famous she was and what kind of ornate life she must have lived far away from the North. But it was not this Sansa that sang for him so many times. Not this girl. No one this broken could ever be so flamboyant. This is the Sansa he wanted to know. Other versions of her seemed scary to him. The one he had on his poster when he was twenty years old, a tall girl in a black satin gown with icy eyes haunted his dreams and that was the version of her he hoped he would never encounter.

She pushed her body closer, resting her head on his chest. Jon wondered why he was still there. There was no reason for him to be there, she slept peacefully, leaning into his left arm. He felt this same moment boil in his blood years ago. She was never his sister; she was an object he desired growing up, talking with his friends consciously about who would fuck her harder if they had the chance. He never told them she was his sister. He was a Snow and she was a Stark, her father maybe made him, but he was never there and it almost made Jon happy to think about fucking a daughter of a man that left him behind like his worst mistake. A dark corner of his mind enjoyed this thought immensely. He hated the Starks, he hated Catelyn for all she wanted to do with an accidental spill of her husband's seed and he hated Ned because he had five children and he could never make enough room for just one more. Violating their daughter in a sickest way possible mad the blackest side of Jon excited. But he lacked bravery to touch her. She was there, abandoned in the far North, left to his mercy and yet, he still couldn't make himself hurt her. He hugged her wishing he had strength to crush her small frame in his arms, to take his vengeance.

It was sick, all of it. Twisted, vile and sickening.

But they were alone. There was no one anymore. They are the only one left. If he would decide to take her right now, when she sleeps, he could. When she would realize what is happening, he would already be buried deep inside her. Vengeance would be his and she wouldn't even have a chance to protest. He thought of raping her that night, that one nasty thought kept him from sleeping. Every time he gathered the courage to move even for an inch, he remembered that the people he wanted to hurt were dead and this gentle soul in his arms didn't deserve this from her brother.

Her brother.

He was crazy even thinking he could ever touch her more than he did now. He was all she has left and he trusted her words. He could never hurt her. Jon kissed her forehead and left her bed just as quietly as he walked in. Sansa's red hair was scattered in strands of fire that burned across her pillow.

- I fucked you in the pyre. You pushed me into the flames and I died.– Jon remembered his fever dream. She rode on top of him; his body was strangled with vines that trapped him on the edge of the cliff. As she pushed down, his body moved slowly to the edge, skin burning off. His hands grasped her bosom pinching her nipples with his claw like nails. And the fires enveloped them, swallowing them like a million stars on a night sky.

Chapter 5

Loud voiced woke Sansa up. Her room was dim and cold. Living in the South and its mellow winters made her sensitive to the harsh air in the North. She didn't felt like leaving the safety of the warm blankets, but hearing Jon's voice downstairs made her curious. What was it that he did that was so secretive? The thought consumed her even though she never dared to ask. It felt like something illegal to speak about and illegal seemed the thing he was doing. Sansa met her fair share of men that dealt in all sorts of shady practices and she knew one thing – the less she knew, the better off she was. But none of these men were her brother and she never shared a home with one. Sansa sighed pulling a thick black sweater over her head. She did live with a man that had built his empire on less than honorable doings. Petyr Baelish. Even thousands of miles away, he was still a presence in her life. She called his office couple of times after she couldn't reach him on his personal cell phone. His assistant Ros always met her with the same words – Mr. Baelish is on a business trip in Pentos and he is not currently available. Can I take a message?

She spoke like she didn't know who Sansa was. Ros was a whore, a real one and she never tried to hide this fact. Sansa was sure there was a part of Ros that enjoyed in sharing her body with strangers. In a world where so many don't have a choice but to sell their body, Ros never seemed to be troubled with her profession. It was one of the reasons she climbed so high in his service. Petyr seemingly found no attraction in any woman but he appreciated determination to the point where there is no shame or conscience left. He took her money but Sansa couldn't figure out why. If Jon wasn't wounded when she reached him, that piece of information would trouble her more than it did now. But the money, no matter how much she had left was something she needed if she were to continue to live on her own. Without a proper education and no particular skill set, that money and Jon were only things she had. She tried not to dwell on it for too long. Otherwise she would drive herself mad because of the hopeless situation she found herself in. Petry never had any particular reason why he did the things he did, it all seemed chaotic in the moment but in the end, the cards he played would always be in his favor. In this instance, Sansa could only guess what his end game might be.

She got dressed and walked downstairs. The voices stopped arguing long before she reached the kitchen and she found Jon alone, sitting at a dining table. Small pieces of black metal were laid in front of him. He was cleaning a gun.

- Good morning Sansa. – He said pushing a small brush though the barrel. She muttered a small 'good morning' back walking to the kitchen counter. Jon didn't seem distracted by her presence and he continued cleaning the gun with great devotion.

Seeing him handle that gun reminded her that Jon was a professional soldier once, trained in all kinds of fire arm. She couldn't help but wonder how many times the bullet he fired found its way to the target.

- Coffee? – She asked pouring a cup of freshly brewed coffee into a mug. She strained her voice trying to cover the uneasiness she felt. It was something she had to grow accustomed to. Jon had his moments in the day where he refused to talk, building an invisible wall around him. Mary warned her about that but it still bothered Sansa that he could shut down so easily.

- Yes, thank you. – Jon answered with his eyes still on the gun. – No milk, no sugar. – Sansa nodded pouring him a cup. After she handed him the coffee, she took the milk, filling her cup all the way up.

- Rough night? – Sansa asked sitting next to him.

- No. – He answered, hearing himself lie. Sansa seemed she didn't remember his small nocturnal visit and he hoped she wouldn't. She sat in silence watching him in the corner of her view. He didn't touch the coffee and he was in no mood to talk either.

- I could never handle the coffee the way you drink it. – She tried to lighten up the mood. – Too bitter.

- Yeah. – Jon smiled but it never reached his eyes. – Milk and sugar, it does sound like something you would enjoy. Jon started to assemble the gun back and the whole process intrigued Sansa. She watched him freely now and her shyness disappeared in the peaceful manner Jon handled the gun.

- Have you ever held a gun? – Jon asked noticing her curiosity.

- No. – She said quietly.

- Would you like to? – Jon handed her the gun, the grip facing Sansa.

- I…I would. – Her thin fingers wrapped around the grip carefully. The weight of the thick metal surprised Sansa. It weighed her wrist down and she held it like she didn't know what it was used for. The tip of her index finger passed across the trigger. It was a natural positioning that her hand made holding the gun that frightened the most. It was designed to be held in this way and if she pressed the trigger something on the other side could die just from this little, almost insignificant move of one finger.

- Don't worry. Safety is on. – Jon added looking at her holding the gun awkwardly. – I guess you weren't meant to hold a gun. – He smiled taking the weapon back. Sansa smiled back, relieved that the coldness of the gun was no longer between her fingers.

- Do you know a lot of women that were meant to hold a gun? – Sansa asked taking a sip of warm coffee.

- Not a lot, but I do. – Said Jon putting the gun back in a holster next to him.

- So women don't generally use guns? – Pleased that all this gun talk had put him in a better mood, Sansa wanted to continue the conversation. Jon stood up, taking the holster and putting it in one of the kitchen cabinets. He leaned on the counter, one hand in the pocket of his jeans and other holding the mug. It was almost unimaginable to think he was gravely injured just days before. His shoulders were relaxed and neck slightly bent forward making his messy hair to fall down his forehead.

- No. – He was still reserved in his answers.

- What do they use then? – Sansa turned in her chair, looking at him. She was afraid that she might push some wrong buttons asking him so many questions but it seemed that for now, Jon was along for the ride.

- More refined weapons, I would assume. – He shrugged.

- Like knives? – Jon smiled slightly listening to her. It was pure curiosity that made Sansa ask these questions. Just like a little child, she was oblivious to the fact they were talking about killing.

- Poison. – Sansa frowned in confusion. – When you hold a gun, most of the time, the other person knows what is up against. – Jon continued. – A smart man or a woman never reveals that they are about to kill. We clink glasses as a sign of trust. A violation of that trust seems far more dangerous that any gun ever made. – His voice became heavier the more he spoke. Jon placed his mug in a sink, not finishing his coffee.

- You must be hungry. There is some bread in the oven and I'm sure you have been acquainted with my kitchen by now. Eat what you please. – Jon turned and left.

After eating some butter on toast and cheese she went to the living room. Mary was nowhere to be seen and Sansa wondered where she could have been. A deep snow was covering the horizon but Sansa could clearly see the fresh shallow tracks of a car on the road. Someone was here, either last night or this morning. Like so many times before, she concluded it was better not to ask too much questions.

Jon was sitting in a living room with a book in his left and a glass of whiskey in the right hand. She never saw him with his reading glasses on and that sight amused her. They had a thin black frame around the glass and made him seem so different from a man that had cleaned the gun in the kitchen not too long ago. She gazed over the bookshelf reading the titles. Jon read a lot of Russian literature and almost every novel Dostoevsky wrote cold be found squeezed between other classics from Shakespeare, Wilde, Tolstoy, Joyce, Austen… She grabbed the one she read before, Pride and Prejudice and sat on the futon next to the fireplace. Warm flames hugged her body and she wanted to spend the rest of the morning like this, with Jon, reading. The title of the book he was holding caught her attention. It was The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.

- I never liked that book. – Sansa said after a long silence.

- Me neither. – Said Jon raising his look away from the pages.

- Then why are you reading it? – Sansa asked.

Jon sighed wrinkling his forehead. – I find it interesting. – He simply stated. – A perfect painting ruined for someone else. – He slowly hummed. Sansa felt the cage around her chest tighten.

- But I don't blame Dorian for what happened to him. – Jon added watching her closely. Sansa's head emptied as the she felt cold sweat piercing the skin of her palms. She started to nervously play with the corner of the page she was reading, bending the paper.

- You don't think he is to blame for what happened to his image? – She finally found the strength to say something. Jon though for a moment, studying her face.

- No. He is the victim.

His words left Sansa silent. She tried to forget she had read that book a few years ago. Lavish life Dorian lived reminded her too much of her own and she suppressed every memory of her ever visiting that world.

- Then who is to blame? – She insisted on the answer while trying to hide the fact her body was betraying her. She pulled on the edge of the paper, dampening it with the cold sweat of her palms.

- Henry Wotton. – Jon answered emphasizing every sound that name made.

Petyr Baelish.

- He was an orphaned boy, left alone with nothing but time. – Jon gazed through Sansa, speaking quietly and steadily. – It is a horrific crime to corrupt a young soul. – When he spoke it was like he detached himself from the current situation and continued to dwell in a world known just in his head. – Ay, I don't like it. – He finished shaking his head.

- I wonder how my portrait would look like. – Sansa said unaware of the words leaving her mouth. A small piece of yellow paper was torn by her fingers. Her blue eyes became wistful and her face expressionless. Before she could take it back Jon said – I know. I wonder that sometimes too. She couldn't distinguish whose painting he was referring to, hers or his own so she asked – You wonder about your portrait?

Instead of answering, Jon stood up and walked to the liquor cabinet.

- Yes. – He said pouring another glass of whiskey. He poured another one, handing it to Sansa. This time, she took the whiskey. She wanted to ask him what was so wrong with his image, but she was too terrified she would have pushed too far. The silence collected between them as Jon sat back on the sofa, placing the book on the end table.

- Everything gets torn with wear. – She whispered looking at the glass filled with caramel colored liquid.

- That's true. – Jon almost chuckled at that remark. He sipped his whiskey slowly, letting the smoky flavor cover his tongue entirely before swallowing. On the other hand, Sansa poured the alcohol straight to her throat. The burning sensation of hard liquor was never something she enjoyed.

- Did you ever regret anything so strongly that you thought that there was no hope of return? - She asked carefully. Whiskey made her throat burn and it all collected in a ball of fire somewhere in her chest.

- Maybe. – Jon answered. Sansa waited for an explanation but Jon went silent as a grave after his stingy answer.

- I did. – She said not being sure of what she tried to accomplish with her question. If she told him, if she showed him, would he understand? Would he even care? Her thoughts became words faster than her fear was taking over her and she continued. – Nowadays everything seems like regret.

- We all have our demons. – Jon added emptying his glass.

If he were to give her something, anything that was a bit more from what he was telling her now, she felt she might find it in herself to tell him who she really was. There was no need for him to know, deep down she was aware that it is not necessary for her to reveal how she lived before she came into his home. But she wanted to tell him and hearing him talk like this only multiplied that wish. This was a perfect opportunity. They were alone. Two scenarios played in her head simultaneously. If she never speaks about it, they will continue to live in this glass house that surrounds them and a thin alliance they share. If she were to tell him, he might see her in a completely different light. Light she could never escape. Would that be better or worse than the first option, Sansa didn't know.

- I killed many men in war. – Jon snapped her out of her thinking. It was more like he was thinking too, but aloud. – And when I really thought about each individual one, I found something similar to regret.

- That must be…horrible. – She whispered.

Jon knew what his regrets were. He regretted the way he treated her, he regretted the thought of raping her, he regretted the way he hated her. Somewhere in him, he regretted the way he hated her mother and his father, the way he couldn't let go of all that time he mourned his own destiny. Once, long time ago, Sansa was something untouchable, unrelatable, a distant image, an idea of a singer whose music he liked. Now, she was as real as any part of his life, human and palpable. Sansa Stark that lived such a comfortable life even after she lost her parents, seemingly not touched by any of it, perished in his arms as he held this visibly tormented young woman. Jon demonized her in his pain. He was angry for letting himself believe she was anything more than a simple girl starved for affection. The fact he was the last one that could give her what she needed filled him with guilt.

- I regret the way I treated you. – Jon finally said.

- I regret that too. – A thin smile stretched Sansa's lips. Her glass was empty too.

- Aren't we a happy pairing? – Jon managed to laugh. The lightness of his approach pulled Sansa out of her own dark thoughts.

- Yes we are. – She managed to return the laughter. – Isn't it tragic that we had to live through so much shit just to find a way to talk to one another?

Jon was surprised by the language Sansa used. He could never imagine her using profane words but it somehow suited her. He silently agreed, respecting that she was so direct.

- You should swear more often. – Jon smirked.

- It's the whiskey. But you think should? – Sansa frowned.

- It suits you well. Like black does… - He stopped looking at the black wool of her sweater. Sansa quietly gasped noticing his eyes passing down her neck and chest. Her eyes met his. There was something different about them; they were alive, like a deep pit filled with thick black oil that moved and glistened in every color imaginable.

- It does?

- Yes… - His voice became hoarser. – So very much. – Sansa felt invisible strings piercing though her lungs and pulling her towards him. The walls were closing on her, but she felt no discomfort, no anxiety. She wanted them to push closer.

- Like a gun? – She continued.

- Yes. – He repeated. – A gun suits you.

- I didn't quite know how to hold it... – Said Sansa remembering how her fingers fondled the smooth cold surface like she was holding something that felt like an extension of her arm, but still so strange.

- There is time to learn. – Jon said breaking the eye contact. When he grabbed the book from the table, Sansa gasped for air. Her skin started tingling under the surface, a slow, but formidable wave. Her eyes turned to the book. She saw the letters but she didn't read them. She rather watched the page like a still picture, a swarm of black ink on yellow paper.

Jon stood up and walked to the shelves, returned thePicture of Dorian Gray in its place and took his reading glasses of. – I don't think I'll ever finish reading that book.

- You don't want to know how it ends? I always read the ending before I start. – A shift between a young woman that just a moment ago swore and a little girl that eager for a happy ending even in books like these was a thing that continually fascinated Jon. In short time that they spent together she had proven herself to be brave, compassionate, forgiving and a loving human being. But when she was scared or cornered she spat fire and growled like an injured dog. Still, she saw herself weak and undeserving of redemption. On first sight, there was nothing more to Sansa than a pretty face. If she was mute, one would never know a world she held in her. How could she survive the things that have happened to her but still be so innocent at times? So untainted, untouched, she cherished a little girl in her more than she knew. Jon was convinced he wasn't the first one to underestimate her. On the other hand, Sansa was the person that underestimated herself the most.

- No. – Jon sighed. – I don't want to know.

- Oh, then I wouldn't… - Just as Sansa started to speak, the sound of front door opening interrupted them both. A short man with thin brown hair covered in snow walked in. Behind him was Mary, completely covered in thick fabric.

- Edd. – Jon said man's name.

- We need to talk. – His voice was reedy and his accent almost as strong as Grenn's. His coat was thin and damp. Everything on him seemed to hang, from his long hair, receding hairline, wide forehead to his patchy beard and boney hands. He was very thin and he reminded Sansa of a praying mantis. He looked at Sansa and then at Jon and said. – Alone.

- Sansa, would you be so kind and leave us to talk in private? – Jon said. It was an order, sharp and short. She obliged and walked out thinking that is for the best to not know anything.

Jon wasted no time. Hearing the doorknob click and the doors close he looked directly at Edd, his face motionless and his jaw tight.

- You got the packages? – Jon asked.

-Yeah. – He reached to the inside of his coat and pulled out a plastic bag filled with white powder. – Rest is in the car. - Jon took the bag, licked the tip of his index finger and dipped it into the soft powder. Licking it, his tongue felt numb in the place he touched it.

- We'll cut it. – He said closing the bag. – Multiple times. How much is in the car?

- 30 pounds. Sam took the rest. – Edd answered taking his coat off. – Otherwise it would not fit. 50 pounds, man. No more or less that he agreed on. – Mary stood next to them, silent. She took Edd's coat and held it not taking hers off.

- He gave you a good deal, ay. But that's not the thing that worries me. – Despite what he was saying, Edd leaned on to the soft sofa cushion relaxed.

- There is nothing to be worried about. – Jon's face was grim like so many times before when Edd would come. They called him Dolorous Edd, he was never a bringer of good news and when he did, they were delivered dry as his boney appearance.

- It went without a hiccup. – Jon's fingers passed through his coarse beard. – The sooner it's over, the better.

- It ain't going to be simple as we thought. – Edd took a deep breath and continued. – That bastard Bolton knows your baby sister is here.

Hearing Sansa's name in the same sentence with the man he despised ran through his chest like a spear. - How? – He growled.

- I don't know. – Edd answered. – But if he knows she's here then he knows you're alive. I told Grenn that one bullet ain't going to make your stubborn ass die. – Edd chuckled. – If a ram ran through you spilling your guts all over Winterfell you would tell that asshole that he missed your liver. – Jon smiled at that comment. Edd was like a brother to him and he grew to love his sense of humor.

- He doesn't scare me. – Jon muttered.

- Well, I always said you were crazy to think that. – Edd added. – His old man is mad but he is a sunshiney daffodil compared to Ramsay.

- We can't hold on to this for too long, Edd, especially not now. – Jon noted.

- Well if they shoot me no one would give a tiny rat's ass. – Edd raised his voice. – If they shoot you again and you jump of the planet it's all over. – Edd sighed. – My old man was no Eddard Stark. You're the one that's needs to get the fuck out of here, as far from Winterfell as you can. He tried to kill you once and I don't think you can fib your own death two times in a row. Man has a nose of a bloodhound and he knows you're up to something.

Jon knew Edd was right but he was tired of fighting. All his life he fought for something, his new and old family, for a normal life, in the war, with and against the world. It was an endless string of tilting at windmills and in the end Jon thought it got him nowhere. But now he had no choice but to continue. If he told Sansa to leave, where would she go and would she ever feel safe now that Ramsay knows about her. If he were to hurt her because of him, he would never forgive himself. She was a liability he never meant to have. Now, it made perfect sense for them to part ways. A better option would be if they roads never met. An irony was the thing Jon's life was. He built alliances based on his father's name, father that never loved him and when he finally reconsolidated with his sister, he put her in a shooting range.

- If I leave, Sansa goes with me. – He whispered. Mary gasped hearing that.

- No, Jon. You can't. – Those were the first words she said after carefully listening two man converse. – She will be sleeping with a gun pointed to her head all the way to the Wall.

- What is it about Sansa that makes us not see eye to eye anymore? – Jon seemed angered. A strong yaw revealed that his teeth were tightly clenched. When he was angry, Jon was like an animal that just woke up form a long slumber, irritated and impatient.

- She'll be sleeping with a gun to her head from now on and there would be no one to stop that. I'm her brother! – He spat his words at Mary that listened to him silently. Deep down, she knew he would mellow down as quickly as he got angered. – I don't want for her to get caught in the middle of the crossfire.

- And she has the money. – Edd intervened. – Thousands upon thousands of Golden Dragons that, I'm sure, she would gladly trade for your protection.

- No Edd! – Jon started yelling. – She doesn't own me anything and she needs to be left out of this.

- Then tell me how do you plan to protect her, herself and the...things you have in the car? – Mary asked. Jon clenched his fist in agony, but said nothing.

- Well, you have to leave. – Edd, just as Mary, didn't react to Jon's anger. – Whether she comes with you is, truth be told, less important. – A shallow smile covered Edd's mouth.

- Where is Sam? – Jon asked, already being slightly calmer.

- On his way to the Wall. I hope his fat ass didn't get stuck somewhere in this deep snow. – He smirked. – You should go, the sooner the better.

Jon pressed his fingers up against his temple, thinking. When he finally spoke, his voice was somber and heavy. – I'll go for the Eastwatch.

- Yes. – Edd said. – And you better hurry if we were ever to see that money. And Jon laughed not because what Edd said was particularly funny.

- Mary, get me my gun. – Jon ordered. - Tell Wallace I'll be visiting him.

- I will. – Edd stood up, taking his coat. – Grenn and I can tend to matters here.

In that moment, Jon wished Sansa held a gun longer so he could teach her how to shoot.