Snow.
When she was younger how she use to hate the freezing white flakes. Blanketing the landscape of the North in a permanent state of frosty loneliness. Life in the North was difficult, dangerous, and at times desolate. The weak perished. As illustrated by history's lessons of Southern army's who believed their numbers meant anything in these frigid lands.
No, you needed ice in your veins to survive here.
And survive her family had. For centuries they ruled over the hardy folk and nearly mythical land compared to their Southern counterparts. They stood as a beacon of courage, honor, and bravery in a realm where lies, deceit, and treachery seemed to permeate from every corner. Eventually the sickness of the South found its way into the pristine white North. Tearing her family apart.
The Game of Thrones had taken everything from her.
Her Father, the rightful king. Kind, brave, and fair. Because of her naivety he lost his head to the bastard and vindictive monster that was the tyrant Joffery.
Her Mother, the loving Queen. Loving, understanding, and warm. Betrayed by their former ally.
Her Brothers, all so young. Lively, courageous, and so much like their father. Cut down or lost to the Seven Kingdoms.
Her Sister, her best friend. Sarcastic, sassy, fierce. Possibly dead, or even worse.
As Sansa rode on horseback beside Brienne of Tarth towards the famed Castle Black her mind ran wild reminiscing on her family. The empty forest, snow banks, and chill in the air brought forth images of her family, and her former life in the North. How foolish she had been. How naive to leave the safety of the North. To leave her loving and whole family. The daydreams she had of valiant knights, lavish feasts in honor of just wars, of castles and adventures. When in reality the South was nothing more than a festering cauldron of stagnation. The air in Kingslanding full of the stench of corruption and servitude. The moment she had arrived Sansa had been nearly choked by the pungent scent of decay.
Being back in the North she could finally breathe. With a deep intake of the cold Northern Air her head was finally clear.
This is where she belonged.
Back in the wild, harsh, but true land.
Sansa was broken from her thought by the uncertain voice of Brienne.
"M'lady, if I might protest once more. How can we trust that your brother is even at Castle Black?"
Sansa barely turned her head in response, her tone resolute, "Jon. His name is Jon. And, Brienne I just know… I cannot explain it, but I know that Jon is at Castle Black. He has to be."
Her sky blue eyes locked on the path that would lead them to Castle Black.
To Jon.
When she received word that Jon was at Castle Black and alive her heart fluttered in hope. A feeling she had not given herself the luxury of entertaining. What she endured at the hands of those monsters. Worst of all that bastard Ramsay… No.. She wouldn't allow him any room in her mind.
With every second she drew closer to Jon, and to safety.
As a young girl she always watched Jon Snow from a distance. She saw how her Mother would stare at the curly haired boy with such disdain. Never pressing the issue, Sansa had kept her distance following in her Mother's footsteps. But, she never truly hated Jon. In all actuality she always watched him with curiosity, and eventually envy and respect. He fought for everything that he had. When Rob trained, Jon trained harder. Every sword thrust, every battle tactic, and every lesson he pushed harder than her late brother. Whether it was to upstage him or to prove his worth it showed as they grew up. Jon became a man to rival her father. The day he had departed for Castle Black, forsaking any chance of an ordinary life; any chance of a wife, children, a sense of normalcy Sansa's heart ached. How she wished she would have reached out. Had let him know how proud she was of his decision to serve on the wall.
More than anything Sansa wishes she could have had more time to get to know him.
Smiled with him.
Laughed with him.
Grieved with him.
They both had lost so much. Endured so much at the hands of this cruel world.
Her delicately gloved hands curled around the reigns of her horse tighter. She would see him again, they would be together again, and nothing would tear them apart.
When the lone wolf dies, the pack survives.
Trotting through the gates of Castle Black Sansa surveyed the surroundings. The sun began to set nearly an hour before painting the castle courtyard in a subdued icy blue hue. Smoke lingered in the air from the various fire pits burning to bring some sense of warmth to the Wildlings and Brothers of the Nightswatch.
A grizzled Wildling man with fiery red hair and a beard to match eyed her party as they passed by. Sansa felt a sense of unease as his gaze followed Brienne, glued to her sworn protector.
Sansa's eyes darted around searching for any sign of Jon. Her chest grew tighter and her breathing shallower as the doubt in her mind grew with each passing second. He was not here. The rumors were false, Jon really was dead. She had led her only friend and her companion into a trap. They had closed the gate behind them, there was nowhere to run, nowhere to escape to. Her grip tightened even more around the reigns as her knuckles turned white underneath the leather gloves that sheathed them from the cold.
Not again, she let herself hope. The small flicker of of light within her began to fade.
Her party stopped in the middle of the courtyard, and dismounted their horses cautiously. Firmly planted on the earth Sansa turned, eyebrows cast downwards in a worried expression.
She raised her gaze to the balcony a few yards ahead of her. Immediately time froze. Sansa ceased to breathe, to think, to feel. Any worry or doubt in her mind was wiped away clean with only one thought. Jon.
There he stood at the top of the balcony. His curly raven hair pulled into a bun, as tendrils fell behind his neck. His full beard framing his face, color mirroring his locks. Soft brown eyes locked on her form. Hands gripping the rail of the balcony as he stared down at her, expression mirroring her own.
Shock.
Joy.
Sadness.
Guilt.
Love.
Sansa willed herself to move. To rush up those steps as fast as her tired legs would carry her. To open her arms and to wrap him in the tightest hug any person has ever received.
He was here.
He was alive.
Jon Snow was alive.
She wasn't alone.
Tears couldn't form in her eyes. The cold, the shock, and every feeling under the sun numbed her in the best of ways.
Snow began to fall harder. The air having grown thick almost as if in anticipation for their reunion. Sansa willed herself to move even just an inch. But, she remained rooted to the spot like the Godswood in Winterfell.
Jon began a slow walk down the stairs. His eyes never breaking from her, watching her like a wolf stalking its prey. Each step down felt like an eternity. Each second that ticked by seemed slower than the last. Once he reached the bottom of the staircase she allowed herself one shaky breath, her mouth parting exhaling the multitude of emotions racking her body at the very moment.
What could she say to him?
What should she say to him?
So much time had passed.
So much had happened.
She had made so many mistakes, she had cost her family their home. Her mind began to spiral with the negative thoughts that bubbled to the surface. Sansa didn't deserve this, she didn't deserve to be reunited with Jon. A man so noble, so kind, so good. She didn't deserve to be here with him. As he grew closer her sky blue eyes began to water. He would reject her, he would see her for who she truly was.
A liar.
A fool.
A traitor.
His soft brown eyes looked onto her with disbelief. His own mouth parted as if trying to come up with words to say. Sansa's heart raced as his steps drew him closer. The anticipation of being this close to Jon after so long. To be so close to her blood, her family, and her home.
Jon came to a halt not five feet in front of her. She quickly gazed into his face. A scar ran counter along his left eye. He had grown stronger since she had last scene time all that time ago. His chest was broad, straining against the armour that he wore. His presence exuded strength, courage, and warmth. His soft brown eyes staring into her own, the same care and compassion he had all those years ago in there youth. He looked so much like their father, all of the Stark features shining through stronger than any of the other children.
Jon Snow was alive.
Her body acted in its own accord, bypassing her frozen brain. She nearly leapt forward as he did the same. Her long arms wrapping around his neck as her hands grabbed fist fulls of his armour, squeezing so tight her fingers turned white. She buried her face into the crook of his neck as her soft body pressed flushed against his solid torso. His muscular arms wrapped tightly around her slender back, his hands digging into her cloak if not tighter than her own grip. He lifted her onto her tiptoes with the strength of his embrace. Sansa's senses were on fire. He smelled of pine, smoke, and a scent that was purely Jon Snow. He radiated heat, warming her chilled bones. She could hear his heavy breathing as he released a deep breath letting her know he held his just as long as she had.
Sansa nuzzled Jon's neck, his beard scratching against her pale cheek. She hugged him as tight as she could, as if it were the last embrace she would ever give. Every emotion she felt, every trial she had endured, every pain she had gone through led her to this moment. And, none of it mattered. All that mattered was the man in her arms. The man who would never hurt her. The only man she would ever trust.
Finally in his arms she was home.