"The North knows no Queen but the Queen in the North who's name is Stark!"
Cheers went up but chills raced the length of her spine.
Queen in the North, Queen in the North!
The chant fills the room and Sansa sucks in a breath as she silently rose to her feet, sapphire eyes sweeping the ocean of faces before her. Her heart beat is racing and she can feel her pulse thumping in her wrists and ears. She takes a single step back and looks to Jon who's there beside her, his typically stoic face instead an encouraging smile. His nod is all she needs to face her destiny and so when she turns back to the men, she raises a fist and listens to them cheer.
[ x x x ]
"A raven, your grace."
Lord Royce backs from the room with a bow, once again leaving Sansa with Jon, the two of them seated in her solar. The fire roars in the hearth, casting warmth and light into the small space. From where he sits, Jon watches as her face changes, perhaps recognizing the handwriting before she reads the script. He sees her lips twitch with a frown, sapphire colored eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He wonders if she knows she wrinkles her nose when she's upset. "Who's it from?"
Jon's tenor vocals bring her back and she instead focuses her eyes on him. "Tyrion Lannister," she says without hesitation. Jon's eyes widen and he sits forward in his chair. "Hand to the King Viserys Targaryen." She finishes and Jon swears, rising up from his chair entirely, stiding forward to take the parchment from her.
"You will not go." Jon says a moment later, tossing the paper onto the table at his side. "It's obviously a trap."
Sansa smiles. "Jon..." She says gently, her smile softening his features. But then she sighs, shaking her head. "No, I suppose you're right," she continues, shrugging. It was true, she had once been married to Lord Tyrion Lannister, but hearing this new title of his surprised her greatly. A Lannister siding with a Targaryen? It was strange indeed. "Besides, I have much to do here... at home." Where she belonged.
[ x x x ]
When he raps on her chamber door, Sansa knows it's him. He always does the same sounding knock, tap tap tap, slow and precise just like him. "Come in," she calls as she peers into the looking glass, pinning the last braid into place as her door swings open. "You're here early," she says as she turns around to face him, only frowning when she sees his face. "What's wrong?" She rises from her chair, crossing the room to stand in front of him. He looks agitated, as if there's something on his mind that he's not sure how to say.
"A raven came late last night," he finally says. "A white raven."
"From the Citadel?" She's surprised and he can see it on her face.
"Yes, from my old friend Samwell Tarly. He writes with urgent news... That concerns Dragonstone." He watches as realization dawns on her, for they had only just received Tyrion Lannister's letter a few days before. "He says there is dragonglass on the island and plenty of it. We need that dragonglass to fight the Night King and his army." She studies his face for a long moment before she nods. Already her mind is churning with what these words mean for them.. For Jon. "I have already called for a meeting with the Lords." Sansa smiles. Typical Jon, always to business. But more thoughts are consuming her- she glances down at her desk just to her left and sees the letter from Tyrion that still lays there.
Suddenly, she knows what she must do.
[ x x x ]
"We need to mine it and turn it into weapons!"
Jon's powerful voice rings out among the men and cheers go up. These men respected him as much as they'd once respected their father, bastard or not. "Just two days ago, our queen received invitation to Dragonstone from Tyrion Lannister, Hand to the Targaryen King Viserys." Now there is a murmur of dissent, as if they all are thinking the same thing of who Jon mentioned. Sansa listens to him as he rallies the men to his side, as she knew he would, convincing them of their need to mine the dragonglass at Dragonstone. "In the morning, Ser Davos and I will ride for White Harbor and then sail for Dragonstone-"
"No."
All eyes swiveled to face their queen that had finally spoken, her lips curved in a small smile. "No?" Jon parrots back, surprise taking root in his features. "It is best that I go, if it is truly a trap, you would be their target. You know what happened last time a Stark met a Targaryen." That old fear of his lingers between them, unspoken; and I'm not a Stark.
"Your grace, I must agree with your brother," Lord Royce stands, offering her a quick bow. "It is too dangerous for you to go." She swears every Lord in the room but little Lyanna Mormont nods in agreement. "A Targaryen cannot be trusted... Nor a Lannister." This time jeers ring out, the North's hatred for these families stronger than ever.
"Your grace," it's another lord, rising up from his chair to address her. "Winter is coming and the North needs its queen here where she belongs."
She focuses her gaze on Jon again, she can tell he's angry. Let him, she thinks, I'm doing this for him. For all of them. "It is true... I am needed here in Winterfell." She says slowly, rising up from her seat behind the head table. She sweeps around to the front, to stand adjacent to Jon as she addresses the room. "But there will not be a Winterfell if we do not stop the Night King and his army of the dead. My brother has seen them, he will tell you we need this dragonglass." Reluctantly, he nods. "I will do whatever it takes to protect the North." She grips a hand into a fist at her hip, looking out at the men around her, sapphire eyes gleaming in the torchlight. "Viserys Targaryen has both dragonglass and dragon fire. We need both if we want to survive the war and winter to come." I am the blood of the North, the daughter of Winterfell. "Only a king can ask a king... It is the same for a Queen." "Besides, I am leaving the North in good hands."
"Whose?" It's Jon that speaks up first. He's all sharp edges again and she can't stop her heart from skipping a beat as their eyes meet.
"Yours."
[ x x x ]
"I'd feel safer if I were going with you," he says this for the tenth time that night and Sansa chuckles. "Or even Ghost. You should take him with you," at the sound of his name, the direwolf raises his head from his great big paws, red eyes peering out from the far corner of the room.
"A ship is no place for a wolf, nor an island," she scoffs, though her eyes are dancing as they meet his. They've been sharing wine and ale in his chambers and she can already feel herself begin to grow warm from the inside out. "I can take care of myself, you know." She adds with a wag of her finger. "Beside's I shall have Brienne with me." Another laugh dies upon her lips when she sees him sober, sitting a little straighter in his chair. "Truly Jon, I will be alright."
Hundreds of thoughts cross his mind; so many words he wants to say to her. "Jon..." His name is a plea upon her lips and he raises his gaze back up to meet hers. He could drown in those eyes. He can't stop himself from leaning in, catching her cheek with his palm, drawing her face close to his own. She's so close he can feel her breath like a whisper against his skin. He hesitates, suddenly unsure of the moment, and that's when she rushes in, capturing his mouth with her own. That was all he needed. The hand on her cheek slipped further back until his fingers became entangled in her soft red hair, let loose from its usual tight braids. "Jon!" She gasps when they break apart moments later, her lips parted and her chest heaving. This should feel wrong but it feels more right than anything else ever had.
Part of him knows this is wrong, but he can't stop now. He needs her to know the truth before she goes. "I love you," he says without hesitation before he leans in and kisses her again, the three words caught between them. He wraps his other arm tightly around her, drawing her in as close as he can, the feel of her pressed against him like nothing else he'd ever felt before. He's kissing every inch of her that he can and when she tilts her head back, he sinks his teeth into her soft, milky skin, a warmth rushing through his every limb. "Sansa..." He draws back, the sound of her name forcing her eyes back open. "We don't have..." She cuts him off with a kiss, a kiss that would have knocked him to his knees had he been standing. He can feel her hands in his hair, her tongue meeting with his as his grip tightens at the small of her back. Only then does he draw her up from the chair, leading her across the room towards his bed which he sinks down onto the edge of. "Turn around," he rasps, his heart threatening to burst free from his chest. Neither of them have any more time to contemplate if what they were doing was wrong.
She does as he bids, slowly revolving on the spot and drawing her long red hair over a shoulder. Sansa can feel his hands as they slowly begin to losen the laces of her gown- she shouldn't be, but she's surprised at how gentle he seems to be. She has nothing but violence to compare this moment with and she finds she's holding her breath as he unlaces her from her gown. But she releases it as the gown falls, knowing without any doubt that this was what she wanted. She's wanted it a while now, if she were to admit it. She pulls her chemise over her head and tosses it aside, leaving herself bare to his sight. When she turns around, Jon is looking up at her as if awestruck and she can't help but to blush beneath his gaze. A moment later, he's freed from his own clothes and he draws her down onto the bed beneath him. "You're perfect," he murmurs, brushing his mouth over hers, one hand enclosed around her breast, thumb lightly rubbing against her nipple. "My queen," he whispers against her ear and he hears her let out a breath as his hand travels further than her hips.
It's only a few hours later when Jon props himself up onto an elbow to peer down at her sleeping form there beside him. He wants nothing more than to tell her she can't leave in the morning, but he knows this stubborn girl all too well. Nothing will change her mind now. And so he sighs before he leans over her and brushes a kiss to her temple. At least... They had this night together, if nothing else.
[ x x x ]
Jon watches her climb into the saddle on her white horse, dark cloak a stark contrast to the beasts pure white coat. She leans down to speak to Brienne who had helped her up and then as if she could feel his gaze on her, looked back to where he stood. So far apart, neither could speak, but rather she raised her hand in a silent goodbye, one that he mimicked a moment later. Ahead of her, the lead guard called out for the gates to open and though it looked as if it pained her to do so, she turned away and spurred her horse into movement.
It was just as she went out the gate, that she looked back and met his gaze one final time. They'd not be apart long, she reasoned, she had no right to feel so upset. And yet... Sansa could not shake the strange feeling of dread that seemed to settle into her heart the further she rode away from Winterfell. Part of her wanted to turn back and return to the safety of its stone walls and Jon's arms. No, she tells herself as she tights her grip on her horse's reins. This is for the North. Hadn't she only just promised to do anything it took to protect her people and kingdom? It was a promise she intended on keeping, even if it meant sailing for what most would call a suicide mission. I am the blood of the North, the daughter of Winterfell, I must be strong.
And strong she would be.
