1.) SANSA
"Aegon Targaryan"
"True born son"
"A stronger claim than any of them"
Winterfell was buzzing with talk of Bran's revelation. His announcement upon Jon's arrival, confirmed by Sam's knowledge from the citadel, had thrown the castle into a flurry of rumor and speculation. Smallfolk and nobles alike whispered amongst themselves, wondering what would happen next.
For his part, Jon had become withdrawn, he seemed troubled by this new knowledge. Sansa often found him in the crypts, keeping watch over her aunt's tomb. His mother…
How strange it must be for him, to find that she had been here all along, her bones resting beneath them, watching over her son.
But Sansa knew he could not go on like this. It was rather like Jon to brood in this way, shutting himself away from the rest of them, guarding his innermost thoughts. But it had to end, they needed him, she needed him.
The northern lords grew restless in the absence of their king's leadership. She had managed them well enough in his absence; she could handle a few gruff Mormonts and Umbers after all. But they expected their chosen king to take up his post again when he returned to Winterfell. His newfound connection to their beloved, and long gone, Lyanna only added to their expectations. Her brother's effective abdication of all responsibility threatened the tenuous peace she had so carefully brokered amongst the northerners. She was Ned Stark's daughter to be sure, and they respected her to a point, but their choice was clear. Jon was the king they wanted. As well as she had performed her duties as Lady of Winterfell, and as much as they had loved her father, they had never fully accepted her. Without her brother, as she still thought of him privately, they were wont to fall into the squabbling and power struggles that had weakened the North and allowed the Greyjoys and then the Boltons to steal away her home and her family.
These thoughts weighed heavily on her, and she often sought out the solace of the godswood. She didn't pray as she had when she was younger, but the quiet grove was the best place to mull over her thoughts, and it was were she felt closest to those that were lost. The weirwood was said to hold the memory of all the old Starks, and she liked to think a part of her mother, her father, her lost brothers, and all the others watched over her there. Her thoughts there were not the innocent, hopeful devotions of her youth, but she supposed it was a kind of prayer nonetheless.
Lost in these musings, she didn't notice him coming up the path from the castle until he reached the entrance to the grove, where he stopped short, seeming suddenly unsure of himself.
"Lord Tyrion"
"Lady Sansa"
It wasn't the first time she had seen him since the arrival of the Dragon Queen and her army, but the times before had always been in a crowd, when she had others to distract her and demand her attention, so they had exchanged only the requisite pleasantries. Now she was faced with him alone, and she found herself unsure of what to say.
What do you say to your onetime husband, or had he been a jailer? No, that was unfair, he hadn't been a jailer, but his father was. The man he killed. She would have liked to hear that story, but there was no delicate way to bring it up. Besides, that was dangerous territory. He may very well be angry about her abandonment in the wake of Joffrey's murder. She hadn't fully comprehended the deadly trap she left him in until she was not so safely hidden away in the Eyrie. It had been all Littlefinger's doing of course, but she felt a twinge of regret for the role she unknowingly played in framing him. He was lucky to make it out of Cersei's clutches alive. They both were.
"I thought I might find you here, I recalled your old fondness for the godswood in King's Landing, although the weirwood here puts all others to shame, it must be as tall as the castle itself"
His statement pulled her from her reverie on jailers and deadly traps.
"I often come here, it is where I feel most like a Northerner"
"Ah, yes of course, and you look every bit the Lady of Winterfell sitting here in the snow, I'd prefer four walls and a roaring fire myself, but you Northerners are hardier than the rest of us"
She regarded him silently; she would let him say his peace before she offered any response. She found it was best to listen, gathering information and working out hidden motives before she entered the fray of conversation.
He launched abruptly into what she could only assume was a well-rehearsed speech.
"I'm afraid I have had little chance to speak with you since I arrived my lady, but I hope our rather, shall I say, complicated past will not keep us from working together as allies. You are your cousin's most trusted advisor, and we will all need to work together in the days to come, if we wish to survive"
"He's my brother"
"I'm sorry?"
"Jon. He's still my brother, I still think of him that way, I mean."
He paused and considered her words.
"Yes, of course my lady. Your were raised together, you have the shared pasts of a brother and sister."
She looked into his mismatched eyes for the first time since he had begun speaking, trying to discern his thoughts, pondering her next move, was he friend or foe?
He met her gaze with what looked like sincerity, perhaps he will be an ally, but she still can't say what he really wants. People always want something from her, grasping for her beauty or her family claim, her influence over Jon or her hand in northern politics. But Tyrion had seemed different to her at times. He was more earnest perhaps, or if not that, simply kinder than most people she had known. He could play the game of lies and secrets skillfully, but he had a soft spot for broken things. He was always kind to her in King's Landing, she knew her fate could have been far worse without his protection, flimsy as it had been in the face of Joffrey's cruelty and Cersei's spitefulness…But there were more pressing matters at hand, it would not do to dwell on the past, she had to keep her mind fixed on the present. Survival is all she thinks of now, and she is not a broken thing.
She breaks her silence and addresses Tyrion, turning the conversation back to Jon.
"He listens little to my counsel these days I'm afraid. I told him not to go to Dragonstone at all. He hasn't done himself any favors with the northerners you know, bending the knee to your queen. They don't trust southerners, not after everything that's happened"
"It's true my lady, the North has reason to be angry, but I'm sure Jon believes, and I must say I agree, that a united front is the best hope we have of defeating the dead, and my ice queen of a sister if it comes to that"
"Perhaps you are right Lord Tyrion, I know Jon thinks of nothing but defeating the Night King, I'm sure he is glad of Danaerys' army. I feel safer myself thinking of two dragons between myself and Cersei"
He grinned ever so slightly at her last remark. If there was anything that could bring them together it was a shared bitterness against his sister.
"Yes my lady, I find I sleep a little sounder knowing there are two dragons, a horde of Dothraki screamers, and a whole host of Unsullied between myself and my dear sister"
They sat in silence for some time after that, and Sansa found it was strangely peaceful to sit quietly under the weirwood with Tyrion Lannister.