This is a little experiment and I have no idea where it is going. I am a spoiler free summerchild who still believes in Jonsa and so this fic will be canon-compliant until canon no longer allows for my shipping needs. Until then I'll follow each Jon/Sansa scene shot for shot, simply inserted my own prose to make way for the juicy internal conflict that hope is going on beneath the surface. If Jonsa happens, that's what I'll continue to do. If it doesn't then you still win because i'll likely make this fic canon-divergent smut instead.

For those of you who know me from my Captain Swan fics, this will be very different. Even if it does turn smutty, I doubt I'll take the dubcon route. That's just not Jon's style. But I promise to still deliver the level of quality sexiness you're used to. For more information of the other fics I'm working on follow me on Tumblr at .com and if you're hungry for smut, check out my Captain Swan / GoT crossover The Wolf and the Dragon.

This fic is also available on Ao3.

WARNING: This fic contains mentions of rape but does not contain sexual content.

Chapter 1:

When Southern Kings Call

Sansa looked down at the raven scroll in her hand. It was bone cold and there was a pit in her stomach. So the rumors were true. Her husband by law was back in Westeros and very much out of hiding. What did that mean for her? She looked up at her brother who was brooding in his usual way. He had promised to protect her. Would he ever marry her off to serve some political purpose? She shivered. Not at the cold. The cold had been the first to greet her when she'd come into the world. She shivered at the thought of being forced to once again leave her home. To be another man's plaything. "Do you think it's really Tyrion?" she asked, "It could be someone trying to lure you into a trap."

"Read the last bit." Jon replied without turning.

She looked back at the words bleeding out from the Targaryen sigil. The House of the Dragon. How could they hope to defeat a family who's signature was a threat in and of itself? "All dwarves are bastards in their fathers' eyes." she read allowed, "What does that mean?"

"It's something he said to me the first night we met."

Sansa blinked, compulsively annoyed that he had reminded her of the day their family had parted. The day that destroyed her life. All of their lives. The lives of the people they loved. Who knew that Jon would end up being the safest of them all at the Wall. They were two lone survivors, finally together after winning (or weathering) their solitary fights. She hated how she hadn't cared if she ever saw him again. Now she was anxious every time he was out of sight. Not because she didn't think she could survive without him, but because he was the only person in the world she could trust. Jon wasn't going to allow her to be beaten or tormented or raped. Jon would have killed Ramsay for her, if that had been what she'd wanted. In fact, he almost did.

"You know him better than any of us. What do you think?"

Sansa swallowed her surprise. Jon was also the only person who ever wanted to know her opinions and actually listened, the little bit that he did. "Tyrion's not like the other Lannisters. He was always kind to me but..." she looked away. They needed help, she knew that. But what happens when Jon leaves? What happens when he doesn't come back? She was a Stark, for now. But who will stop men more powerful than her from selling her off again. Without her brother there to protect her Littlefinger would take advantage of her vulnerability. "...it's too great a risk." she finished, looking directly into her brother's brown eyes. Where will we go. That's what he'd said and she was going to hold him to that. She read a bit of Tyrion's message and handed the scroll to Davos.

He reviewed what they knew. Daenerys had a great army and three dragons. She closed her eyes the moment he mentioned fire.

Of course he'll go. She knew it without a doubt. He was just like their father. Righteous, self-sacrificing idiots, the both of them. "You're not suggesting Jon meet with her!" Sansa snapped at the Onion Knight.

"No! No, it's far too dangerous."

"But?"

Her head snapped to Jon. She seethed. He wanted to go. In fact, he had already made up his mind. She didn't hear the knight's reply. Her eyes were boring into the side of her brother's face. He was going to leave her. She watched the snow dancing through the air. Beautiful and cold. Breathtaking and deadly. That was the North. But snow melts when summer comes. And Starks die when southern kings call.

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"A raven, my king, from the Citadel."

Jon broke from his reverie and turned to take the Raven scroll from Maester Wolkan. He unfurled it and read the words. At first he felt relief flood him, then his stomach dropped. His sister was not going to be happy."

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"I received this a few days ago."

All eyes were on Jon as his voice boomed around the stone walls of the Great Hall at Winterfell. Sansa watched him from her seat. Her mind had been wandering. There was no point in listening. He had already discussed most of it with her earlier that day. But she was looking at him. He made a good king. Probably better than Rob. He had proved that by refusing Daenerys' summons. He had decided to stay. He wasn't going to leave his subjects. Or her.

Jon said, "Lord Tyrion has asked me to meet with Daenerys," Sansa blinked in surprise when he suddenly turned and looked her in the eyes. In just one instant his face told her everything. It was hard with both remorse and finality. No, she thought desperately, don't.

"And I'm going to accept."

The room erupted in in the exclamations of the high lords but Jon did not appear to hear them. Her brother did not look away. His eyes were dark and challenging. Anger exploded within her. Without opening his mouth he was telling her in no uncertain terms that he knew she disagreed and he was doing it anyway.

The lords shouted for his attention but the White Wolf did not release her from his icy stare until he had fully impressed his uncontested authority upon her silent dissent. Finally, he turned back to his subjects. "We need this dragonglass, my lords! We know that dragonglass can destroy both white walkers and their army. We need to mine it and turn it into weapons." The men grumbled while Lady Mormont showed no emotion. They knew he was suicidal. How could he not see how stupid he was being? Persistently, Jon continued, raising his voice over the rabble, "But more importantly we need allies! The Night King's army grows larger by the day. We can't defeat them, we don't have the numbers. Daenerys has her own army and she has dragonfire. I need to persuade her to fight with us." Sansa chose that moment to look over at Littlefinger. Fear filled her belly. She knew that look. He was pleased. Could anyone but Jon protect her from his schemes?

"Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather?!" she shouted at her stupid brother. "The Mad King summoned him to King's Landing and roasted him alive!"

"I know that."

"She is here to claim the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. The North is one of those kingdoms. This isn't an invitation, it's a trap!"

"It could be. But I don't believe Tyrion would do that. You know him. He's a good man.

Sansa was blind with rage just as Ser Royce stood up to question the decision in a manner more eloquent than she was capable of at the moment.

Jon responded with a speech about risks worth taking. Honestly, like father, like son. This was typical of him. Her poor bastard brother, determined to make a martyr out of himself. Perhaps it was his way of living up to the family name he aspired to. But martyrs made for useless kings. And lousy protectors.

"Now I know it's a risk," he finished, "but I have to take it."

"Then send an emissary, don't go yourself!" she pleaded, standing suddenly from her chair. It was everything she could do not to walk over and shake him until he came to his senses.

"Daenerys is a queen." he replied calmly, "Only a king can convince her to help us. It has to be me."

"You're abandoning your people!" she cried desperately, "You're abandoning your home!"

"I'm leaving both in good hands."

"Whose?!"

"Yours."

The great hall was all too crowded despite being deadly silent. All eyes were now on her. She looked around nervously. Just moments ago she and Jon had been the only ones in the room. Now it was full of strangers, all of them witnesses to the greatest act of trust and kindness she had ever experienced.

"You are my sister and the only Stark in Winterfell. Until I return, the North is yours."

Sansa let out a breath. She couldn't believe it. Jon had just given her the ultimate protection: power of her own. He was trusting her with his keep and his country, and for a moment she felt loved and happy. Then, out of the corner of her eye she saw him. Littlefinger, his eyes sparkling wickedly from the shadowy corner in which he was lurking. He was pleased, and that meant she should be worried. But Jon was still looking at her and she was drawn back to him, instantly feeling safer under his gaze. He nodded, giving her the command to rule his kingdom well. She nodded back. A promise to serve her king.

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It was quiet and dark in the crypt. Beneath Winterfell the Long Night and the death that came with it lingered long beyond the endless hours of dawn. Here lay the Kings of Winter, his father had said. He had often found Ned at his aunt Lyanna's grave, deep in thought. Lost in snow drifts that had long since melted.

Jon was nervous. Going to Dragonstone was what his father would have done. Not Rob though. Rob made different mistakes.

Through his thoughts one image haunted his mind's eye. The image of his sister begging him not to go. He could hear the fear in her voice as if it were echoing off the ancient walls around him. You're abandoning your people! You're abandoning your home!

He'd been home since the moment he saw her in the courtyard at Castle Black. They hadn't been close, but that didn't matter now. He'd known her for as long as he could remember. She was the sole survivor of the only happy memories he'd ever had. This castle was not his Winterfell of his childhood had been burned to the ground and its ashes defiled by Ramsay Bolton. These people were not his home. Everyone he'd ever known had been slaughtered like sheep and they're dying bodies used as trophies to terrorize the rest. There was only one piece of home left.

Sansa. Sansa was home. Sansa was fights over broken toys and petty insults. Sansa was proof that such an innocent time ever existed in the first place. Sansa was the existence of House Stark itself. Forget ancient stones and the tombs of kings who knelt. The Lady of Winterfell was his holdfast now.

"I delivered his bones myself."

Jon turned to see Lord Baelish walking towards him. Instantly the hairs on the back of his neck stood up like the hackles of a wolf and his hand itched for the hilt of his sword.

"Presented them to Lady Catelyn as a gesture of good will from Tyrion Lannister." Jon didn't bother to look as the sniveling lord came to stand beside him. "Seems like a lifetime ago. Do give Tyrion my best when you see him."

Jon smirked humorlessly. Eloquent as always. He wondered for the millionth time if Littlefinger had known what Ramsay was going to do to his sister. His fist clenched as he remember the dark bruises he'd seen on her pale white skin.

"I was sorry when he died." Baelish said, pretending to admire his father's image, "Your father and I had out differences but he loved Cat very much. So did I."

Jon felt Baelish looking at him but had no interest in reciprocating. This man didn't respect his father. His obsession with Catelyn was evidenced by the way he looked at Sansa when no one was looking. If he thought Jon hadn't noticed, he was wrong.

"She wasn't fond of you, was she?"

Jon's blood turned ice cold. Catelyn's hate had been brutal. A stain on the few fond memories he had.

"Well it appears she vastly underestimated you. Father and brother's are gone yet here you stand. Last, best hope against the coming storm.

Anger flushed the cold from his bones at the insinuation that he was somehow victorious in being the last of his kind. Jon turned to Littlefinger, "You don't belong down here."

"Forgive me," Baelish replied without an ounce of sincerity, "We haven't ever talked, properly. I wanted to remedy that."

"I have nothing to say to you." he returned with no subtle intention before turning to leave.

"Not even thank you?" Littlefinger called after him.

Jon stopped in his tracks.

"If it weren't for me you'd have been slaughtered on that battlefield. You have many enemies, my king, but I swear to you, I'm not one of them. I love Sansa, as I loved her mother."

Jon barely had time to comprehend the treasonous words before he felt his face curl into a sneer and violent anger exploded through his body. All his saw was red. Whether it was the red of Sansa's long hair or the red of Littlefinger's bloody corpse he did not know but when he opened his eyes he had the wretched man pinned to the stone wall by the neck, his grip on his throat iron tight. Baelish squirmed and sputtered. Jon enjoyed watching him struggle to breathe. He saw Sansa's bruises. The way she could barely walk when she'd first stumbled into his arms. The way she still flinched at sudden movements and didn't like to be touched. He pressed harder, fueled by a rage he was unable to control. He was a king now, and that meant his sister would never be used as a tool again, but he could never free her from the desecration of her body that this man had caused. How dare he claim to love her. How dare he even speak her name. No unwanted hand would ever touch her again. Not as long as long as Jon breathed.

"Touch my sister," he warned, "and I'll kill you myself." He released the pathetic excuse for a man and stalked out of the crypt before he murdered an unfortunately necessary ally. He wouldn't have expected such a thing to upset him so violently, but the idea a man like that touching his sister made him want to smash something. The idea of any man touching his sister...

He shook off the thought before it had even formed and mounted his horse. Jon couldn't help but turn back to look at the woman he had just nearly killed for. She looked so sad, standing on the balcony, but she also looked at home. Their eyes met and he waved. Sansa smiled sadly but waved back. He urged his horse forward and hoped to all the gods that he would see home again. Wherever she was.

Thanks for reading! Please review. Feedback brings the updates. I'm not even sure if anyone wants to read something like this but if there's interest I'll try to get the updates posted a couple days after the episode airs. Next I'll be working on an update covering the Jon and Sansa scenes from 7x03 which will be posted by the end of the week. For sneak peeks in between updates or if you just want to chat follow me at .com. I love talking with you guys!

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