Where will we go?

Summary: Jon Snow's musings mostly over his relationship with Sansa Stark. How does one become from being an older brother, to half-brother, to a brother once more until he wasn't but something else entirely?

Loosely follows the TV Series, the day after their reunion at Castle Black with flashbacks of their life in Winterfell.

Jon

We ride at dawn.

I took a deep breath, a long sigh of warm-battled-cold mist in its wake, my gaze stretching beyond the gate, beyond the wall, beyond the white expanse of snow and frost and night.

The gate has just been barred after we sent off Lady Brienne to ride for the Blackfish. We would've ridden away from Castle Black with her to start our campaign but – I rubbed my face at the split memory of this morning – I had to get my head in sorts first.

I blinked, righted my back and made the start towards my quarters.

I shook my head.

No. It wasn't just my quarters anymore.

It was ours, my sister's and mine – A reluctant mutual decision, but one borne from desperation and familiarity.

She does not trust anyone completely to stand guard at her door now that her Swornsword was sent off. Not even when Brienne hadn't left yet. Even with my best men, I would still agree with her wariness. And I would sooner kill myself than leave her vulnerable.

Time and time again, we have been betrayed, Sansa and I…

Who else could we cling to but each other? In my life right now, she is my responsibility – my possibly only living family – my fight.

At first night, I gave her my room – the Lord Commander's, what meager finest Castle Black could offer. I made to have her, her privacy and best comfort for what its worth. I don't even know the extent of her horrors yet I wanted to give her everything and anything at all. Even insisting Ghost to stay with her and her Swornsword at her door and I would take the adjacent room nearest hers. Which wouldn't take much to arrange as her Sword loyally follows her where she goes.

But in truth, it made me unbearably wary to let her out of my sight – to not guard her personally as if in one blink she could disappear and I'm to be left alone once more.

Or worse, for her to be taken to another level of hell while under my keep.

I thank the gods, old and new that she thought the same.

On the night of our reunion when she was finally warm, clean, and fed, I couldn't help but look at her. Mostly just to make sure she was real and in front of me – that I am with family. And I noticed that she would try her best not to, but she stole glances at me too before the tension broke with a memory of her choosing and the smile and laughter that followed.

How could we not?

The relief that we both felt from the sheer fact that we were both alive what's more reunited was indescribable for no matter how brief this would last given the circumstances; this was our only respite of happiness in a long time.

The moment I saw her unmount her mare from the balcony, turning at last to face me, both of our eyes searching each other's face, everything else faded away to just the incredulity that she was here.

Here.

She came here.

To me.

I all but flew to her and her to me as we locked each other in an embrace so tight and meaningful and right and so surreal, hoisting her higher as she nuzzled her cheek to mine, our hands gripping at what we could hold. Never mind that never in a million years would I ever imagine a more emotional scene of reunion like this ever happening for me, Jon Snow and her, Sansa Stark.

There was no awkwardness in it at all – this moment. Never mind the relationship we had or the lack thereof when we last saw each other.

This moment was just one of pure happiness and relief – a sweet relief that I haven't felt in such a long time.

We were simply just Jon and Sansa, a family separated for too long and have suffered too much alone.

And once our high has subsided somewhat and we were left alone in my solar, the reality of which is that we were Jon and Sansa, the least close among our siblings were now alone together did the awkwardness come in. But it was few and muted, overshadowed by more important things.

Starting with knowing we were far different from who we were back then.

She was still Sansa, yes, with her lovely face and meaningful smiles I've always come to know from a far when I saw her last. But as I have died and have been reborn… I frowned

So had she.

Despite the obvious physically, there was a shadow that clung to her. The smile that used to light up every room never reached her now darkened eyes. It didn't suit her. Darkness didn't suit one with fire-kissed hair, and eyes the color of sapphires. But darkness did cloak her, dulling her flames, and extinguishing all light from her eyes.

As I examined her, a person I called family, never mind that we are kept at arm's length, I remembered.

We were never close as children and even then until we last parted. But I knew her enough.

The Stark Beauty, as they called her.

The most beautiful to have graced Winterfell some would claim. And a beauty that she was – is. And sadly, what she was most often only known for. True, she carried the face of a Tully, auburn hair, fair skin, and eyes of the brightest blue. She was every bit a lady, all grace, cleverness, and talent befitting a true noble that was Sansa Stark. But not everyone knew that she was far more than just a face.

More than that, she was the one whose heart was the biggest and also the most delicate. A trait she kept quiet save for unguarded instances. Because even though it was the best part of her, it was a trait that could be exploited in this wretched world. And she could not afford to be exploited.

All Starks were to be as strong and unyielding as the winds of winter.

Of course, she was on more occasions, a brat who fancied herself a princess in all ways and used to getting her way no matter how deceptively polite she would ask. Often she was wrinkling her nose in displeasure at her younger spirited siblings with their antics. Of all of her…our siblings, she was the one who most differed, favoring subtlety and refinement over brazenness and raucousness. She clashed with Arya the most, that little tomboy. More from disappointment that she lost her to her brothers once more, making her a traitor in her eyes of having no one to share her interests with.

But it was a good thing she had her Robb. Yes, hers. To which only further drove our younger siblings away from her in fits of jealousy, me included at times.

She favored Robb who could pass as her fraternal twin with their identical hair and eyes and that unmatched air of elegance only one born to rule could have. In her eyes, she was her hero. A true prince that inspired songs and stories, one that she would hold as a standard when she was to marry in the time to come. Robb in turn was just as bad in indulging her, calling her princess and never denying her anything, claiming that of everyone, she was the one who needed him the most. At which I only snorted at to mean that she was the only one who welcomed his protection and doting affection, unlike the others, again me included, who were more showing of our independence.

We can't blame her. It was no secret that all of us put Robb up on a pedestal. He was our own young Lord Protector. He could do no wrong and was clearly the golden child. We all looked up to him.

He was everything I aspired to be, second only to our father who was even harder to reach.

…And he had everything I could never hope to have, given to him on a silver platter, only because I was born out of honor.

It wasn't easy to quell the jealousy at first. But it was easier to crush resentment before it has sprouted.

Before the knowledge of my status was made aware of me, I used to dream of being the strongest, the most powerful, the most respected and honorable Lord of Winterfell, Lord Protector, Warden of the North with a family as big as ours. With me looking more and more like my father than Robb did, I was nothing but pleased. I wanted to be exactly like him even preferring to put auburn hair on every faceless lady I would imagine to be my lady wife and imagining having dark and red haired children running around the household exactly the same as us. So I worked harder, studied longer, and trained more in hopes of being worthy to inherit my Lord Father's Winterfell. I dreamed of winning sword fights, outriding the fastest horsemen, and being well known for my honor and justice just as he was.

I quirked a smile and let out a huff of disbelief.

I guess I wasn't as different from Sansa after all. Dreaming of kings and knights and castles and maybe even dragons.

But all that changed when I found I was a bastard of the North.

I've heard it being whispered when I wasn't looking, for as long as I could remember. When I was old enough to understand what it meant, I dismissed it still. My father loved me. My mother –

And that's when I understood.

I never really thought much of why Lady Catelyn regarded me cooly. I just thought that she just preferred Robb more. Every parent has that secret favored child. And I knew he was hers.

But then Sansa came.

Then Bran.

And suddenly it all added up.

And suddenly, my father finally with conflicting eyes brought me to the Godswood and told me himself that yes, I was of his blood… and that of some other's.

I was a bastard, he admitted.

One who was born out of wedlock, he confessed.

Of his blood still, as he pressed proud, and reassured.

A Stark.

But all I gathered, all that confirmed, despite eyes that for the first time wavered with an emotion I could not place, was that I was a bastard.

His blood.

I understood while the world I knew shifted.

To everyone's knowledge now including my own, I was Eddard Stark's bastard.

The sole blemish of Eddard Stark's honor.

A bastard who could not inherit anything.

A bastard who could never be a lord, much less a king.

A bastard with no mother to know…

And all my dreams of being lord… of having red and black haired babes… of marching to battle holding up the Stark flag… all turn to flames.

It was easy then. Very easy to be jealous of my brother… Half-brother. Because it didn't matter that I rivaled him in all our training, not even when I proved at times to be even better than him. It didn't matter that I looked a spitting image of one uncontested Stark more so than him the trueborn.

It didn't matter because even if he was weak or clumsy or unskilled, Winterfell was Robb's to own by right and all my other desires along with it.

But Robb wasn't weak. He wasn't the least bit clumsy. And for all the absurdity, no one would ever dare think to call him unskilled.

Despite all of that of which could fuel arrogance and conceit, Robb was neither. He was modest, kind, and most of all, fair. And this inspired trust and loyalty to him. And Robb being Robb, always championed me. Even going as far as letting our father consider me the heir. Which of course, was shut down immediately. But it crushed any ill I could ever have of my brother who was only thinking of my dignity.

And now he's gone. The King of the North, my brother, Sansa's hero…

Gone.

I remember Sansa would have Robb play the prince who would rescue her from the evil ugly troll, namely me on the rare occasions where she regarded me. I wrinkled my nose at that thought. Because that was who I was to her for most of how I knew her the moment she was old enough to understand and call me half-brother. Jon Snow, the wicked troll.

It wasn't that she despised me when we were growing up together. It's just that she was just being loyal to her lady mother…

It was no question that the Lady Stark did not like me, the Bastard, the one big failing of Lord Eddard Stark. And my stay there was a constant insult to her name.

It also did not win her any favor when there were whispers of me resembling Eddard Stark the most, more than her Tully-favored trueborn children, save for Arya. It only added to her cause of disdain.

It was never a problem though, interacting with my other siblings. Most especially when we were younger and no concept of Bastards was understood yet. Never once did anyone of them make me feel less of a brother to them.

At least they didn't ever intentionally did…

And often my sulking and isolation was of my own doing most of the time.

With Robb we could talk about fighting, sneak into taverns, talk about girls, well, more Theon and his big fat mouth and him while I laugh and listen to them bicker.

With Arya, I held a soft spot of affection for her because we shared the feeling of being compared to. Both treated as mere shadows of our older red-haired golden siblings. So as Robb indulged Sansa, I equally spoiled Arya. Among all of them, we were the most alike and it's not only just our appearance.

Bran and Rickon saw me as nothing less as their older brother who depended on me same way they depended on Robb.

But with Sansa, it was different. She was always the unreachable elusive one. There was no wildness in her that it set her apart from her more energetic siblings. In hindsight, save for Robb who matched her elegance but still in equal measure, was as wild as the others, she was different from the others.

She was often found as alone as I was, kept busy with lessons and learning and dreaming.

She was there but her heart and mind where elsewhere. I could see the same look in her eyes as if seeing my own in the mirror. She was as lost in her own home as I was in some ways. We loved Winterfell, that much I knew and saw. But we knew the transience of it – had the feel of wanting to pave our own way beyond its confines more than the desire to be kept in.

It made me all the more want to reach out to her. And I did at some point.

Sansa and I used to interact more when we were younger. It wasn't often. But it was definitely a handful more than when we were older. It's hard to believe but we did. Before the strictly civil conversations, polite acknowledgements, and plain passivity that everyone took notice of for the majority of our lives together in Winterfell, we were in our own way, a long time ago, closer than that.

It took longer though than for the others to bond with Sansa as there was always an unreachable gulf between us, one we couldn't explain as simply just one borne from having no similar interests. It was more than that. I guess there was always one in every large family. But nonetheless, it never diminished a familial bond we knew was there despite the lack of closeness.

It was one of those days where I found her admiring the various embroideries left by her Septa that I found courage to speak to her. She was five and I was eight by then and very much aware of my status.

"Hello Lady Sansa," I said shyly. Not finding enough courage to call her too familiarly.

She jumped in surprise then once she saw me, lowered her big blue eyes, face as red as her hair before she spoke softly. "Hello Jon." Apparently she was braver.

"The others are playing outside. Well, more Robb running after Arya in the mud. Would you like to join them?"

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I don't like Mother to find me dirty. And I don't like to be covered in mud."

I chuckled. She frowned for a second before blinking.

"Why aren't you down there…" she paused searching for words "…frolicking about?" She asked.

I almost laughed at her growing flowery vocabulary, which was already better than mine, seven hells, better than any of us.. Then I walked over the window and looked at Robb and Arya who were now wrestling in the mud, too deep in them that they were surely going to get a scolding and a scrubbing. Well, Robb more with the scolding as Arya was only three.

In truth, I wanted to be down there. But two things prevented me. One, I do not want Lady Stark to have more cause to get mad at me. Two, I was finally talking to my sister.

And somehow…it didn't feel right if I left her alone while I give in and play with her – our siblings. You could say I've been having my fair share of feeling left out and I was partial to anyone especially her to feel the same.

"You don't want Mother to find you dirty too, don't you?" She asked innocently but assuredly, effectively breaking me away from my brooding.

At first I was taken aback. Did she know? Did she finally know I was a bastard? Did she know that I wasn't exactly her true brother but half? Did she know that I was her mother's constant cause of pain?

I remember my heart sinking at the thought that she might have known for a while and maybe was the cause of our lack of interaction. Before shame could completely take over, with me preparing my exit, I braved myself to search her eyes and the look in them has shown it all. There was no contempt in them or anything simpler than just an educated guess and curiosity. She didn't know.

And right now I was just Jon to her, her older brother.

I shook my head and offered a small smile and a shrug. "I'm not going if you're not." I decided.

Confusion marked her face. "Why not?"

I just gave her another shrug, not really knowing what else to do or say.

Her brow puckered in thought before placing her hands on her hips. "Well I'm leaving this room but I'm not going there."

Curiously I asked. "Where will you go?"

Her brows rose and she smiled that radiant smile she was known for. Then shook her head before grabbing my hand as an idea formed in that quick mind of hers.

"Where will we go?" she corrected. I wasn't even given a moment to answer when already she was dragging me out of the door, and out of my own head, and finally into her enigmatic world.

"Where will you go?"

Sansa asked suddenly, her voice a soft almost whisper, her eyes holding mine, effectively breaking me from my thoughts. The volumes muting her controlled panic of the possibility of our separation.

I almost smiled at the irony and familiarity of that question, but instead I looked at her softly but determined before I corrected this time.

"Where will we go?"

And there it was. A spark in her eyes and an almost real smile before she answered with perfect conviction.

"Home."

And just as it was, that same day we asked the same questions, from the moment she lead me by my hand with her small delicate one, I knew that as much as she had Robb wrapped around her tiny finger then, I was also doomed to follow her no matter what.

I waited until she was sleeping soundly on my bed, making sure she was warm and comfortable, Ghost at her feet, before moving from the window to the chair I placed beside the bed.

I closed my eyes and more memories and thoughts of Sansa really being here assaulted my mind.

Looking back, after our first moment as I called it, she still favored Robb while I in turn doted on Arya who if not meandering on her own, followed me like a shadow. But we found our own little pattern.

At times when Robb was spirited away by Arya or the others, rough housing outside the keep or anytime I see all of my siblings except her together, I would find her.

And when I was hiding in a dark corner brooding, she would somehow find me.

More often than not, it was her who would find me than I her because she never was really alone that much. She had her Septa and numerous lessons, her mother, her father, and she had Robb who never fails to spare time for his little princess. No, she wasn't alone. But she was, at times, as isolated from her siblings as I was at that time.

And years and years later, with so much between us… too many losses, too many suffering, too many horrors still to be revealed to each other, we have somehow come full circle.

With her, as before, coming to me, finding me in the darkness once more.

I don't know if she realized that. Maybe she came here because I was the only family she knew was left. Or maybe just maybe, because it was our way.

It has always been our way, our own special thing. No matter how few and rare they came, it was ours.

I remember it all. When we do find each other, we don't really talk much. Often times, we were enveloped in agreeable silence. While she was practicing her writing, I would patiently just sit near her, reading a book at times. When she wanted to visit the horses and feed them sugar, I came with her. And when she would often find me in one of my moods, she would in turn, just sit near me. At times singing to herself never knowing it calmed me too. I guess we were just grateful for some company. I was sure I was at least.

She would break the silence at times with that curious mind of hers. And she would never take offense at my one-word replies and grunts.

And right now felt almost like before with our amiable silence.

For the longest time, and with no father and most especially no Robb to come rescue her or for her to turn to – it falls to me now to rescue her and do right by her. It falls to me to be someone she could turn to.

"You have no idea how much it means to me that you chose to come here," I whispered near her sleeping form while tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

One blue eye regarded me sleepily with a spark in them before closing once more, her lips gracing a lazy smirk. "I had to come." She yawned. "I felt in my gut that Jon was brooding again in the dark and alone" she teased knowingly, voice slurred, and heavy with drowsiness.

I looked at her incredulously then. "You were always particularly talented in finding me when I'm sulking away."

Then we laughed and slipped back to our slice of happiness, battles and horrors left for the morning as we both gave way to exhaustion, relief the last thing on our minds before sleep took over.