It was best that he avoid her, he thought. Avoid her…
Jon Snow was sitting up in bed, his eyes glazed over, trying to stop the incessant pounding in his brain from lack of sleep.
It wasn't working.
Jon got up and pulled his clothes on. The sun was up now, though the light was dim.
He sighed and headed downstairs. He walked with purpose, though he had no destination in mind. He grunted at a guardsman, then grimaced at a handmaid.
Then he stopped himself, thinking that he was being unduly severe on these people…none of them were at fault for his love for his sister.
Jon reached the map room, thought about it again, and decided to get some air. He put his furs on and went to the front gates, pushing them open himself. The hills beyond, holding Winterfell in a soft cradle, were slowly being covered in snow. There was a white glow to the air, and it held moisture from the constant falling snow; before long, the road would be treacherous. It was fortunate that the houses met the night before, for he wasn't certain if there would have been another opportunity to meet.
He kicked a stone in his path and walked away from the castle.
There was something wrong with him, he was sure of it.
Perhaps it was because he was a bastard.
Jon drew a deep breath. The winter would be long, he could tell. He hadn't known a long winter…
"My Lord!"
He turned. "What is it?" Tim, Winterfell's game keeper, was heading toward him.
"A crow! From the citadel!"
He went over and took the small parchment from the man.
Sam.
He unrolled it…
Jon,
There is word from King's Landing that the Targaryen princess will be landing. No one knows when, though I would imagine that you'll be hearing soon that she's there. There will be a changing of the guard, Jon. You need to be prepared and warn whoever sits on the Iron Throne that there is a bigger war ahead.
Hope you're well,
Sam
Jon stuffed the letter into his pocket. Targaryen Princess.
Just what Westeros needed…another Targaryen.
He walked to the Weirwood Tree in an attempt to find some solace. It was hovering in its glen, red leaves being peppered with white snow. It was lovely.
"I come here to feel closer to the land."
Jon turned to see Sansa right behind him. "I don't come here often," he admitted.
"You should," and she passed him, standing right in front of the tree now, looking up at it. "It's a peaceful place, and you seldom are in peaceful places," that remark was laden with meaning, and she did not look at him.
"Perhaps you are right," he swallowed. "You were always smarter than me, Sansa. I only ever acted on impulse…no reason."
Now she turned toward him. "What's happened?"
He smiled softly, for though she had not known him well during their childhood, she knew him well enough now that she sensed something wrong. "Word has come from the citadel. Apparently, a Targaryen princess has set sail for Westeros," he walked toward the tree. "I wish father was here. Or Robb…"
Sansa's breath misted with her exhale. "Anything is better than Cersei, Jon."
"Anything? You've heard stories of the mad King," he looked at her deliberately.
"I have," and her gaze fell.
"Then how can you say that? This princess might be just as mad as her father."
"Or she might not be," she looked at him, and her face had set. "From what I've seen of the world, Jon, I can tell you that it's foolish to think that you understand people. No one ever behaves the way you think that they will, and you can't count on anyone. You're alone. And a Targaryen princess might just be another princess, but what we have now is pretty awful."
Jon shook his head and thought about what must have happened to Sansa to create this hardened view of the world. She had only been vague about it all…"Why won't you tell me, Sansa, what really happened to you?"
He could see the tears welling in her eyes, and she looked at the tree, a derisive smile on her face. "Not here. I don't want to spoil the tree. Let's go back," without a sideways glance, she turned and headed back to Winterfell.
Jon followed her, he didn't fall into step next to her, he just followed along in her wake, Sansa commanding a stride quite different to what he was accustomed to.
They went into the reception room, smallish and dark, with a raging hearth. Sansa sat and took her furs off.
Jon did the same.
He looked at her raptly, but her gaze was on the fire, until she finally sat back. "When I was here, when I was a young girl, I thought that I wanted to be a Queen. I wasn't even certain what that meant, except that a Queen was regal and good. Beautiful," she smiled, now looking at Jon. "And when father told me that I was to go to King's Landing as Joffrey's betrothed, I thought that I was finally living my destiny," she paused, and looked at her lap. Sansa swallowed and shifted. "He was a monster. He hit me, berated me, humiliated me, and I lived in constant fear of him," she appeared to be fighting tears. "And when he took our father's head, he made me look at it, on a spike…and I knew then that I'd die there," her voice cracked.
"Sansa…"
"Don't. Let me finish, at least this part," she took in breath. "I was getting used to the idea of never having my own voice. Of never being able to be who I wanted to be. But that didn't make it easier. I was resigning myself, and doing that makes for a bad taste," she held herself as though she was cold, though the air was warm around the fire. "Finally, Margarey Tyrell came to King's Landing, and Joffrey was taken with her. I became friends with her, but all the while I was hoping that he'd abandon me for her…and I felt terrible for it. To wish that monster on someone!" she wiped her eyes. "Someone who I liked…" she looked at the fore once more. "But it happened that he did, and I thought that I was escaping…I could come home…but no. I was to be married to Tyrion Lannister."
"The imp?" he asked, disbelieving.
"Yes, but he is much more than an imp, Jon. He was the only person, save Margarey and her grandmother, who showed me kindness. We were married, and he treated me with respect and delicacy," she swallowed.
"Did he…?"
"No. And I just told you that he treated me with respect. He didn't love me, Jon, just as I didn't love him."
Jon nodded. "I liked him, when he went to the Wall."
Sansa smiled a touch. "I don't want to talk about it anymore…maybe we can continue tomorrow," she rubbed her brow a bit.
"Why are you telling me this now, Sansa?"
She looked a him. "You said that we needed to trust one another. I'm telling you so that you understand me, and can trust me…"
He looked at the fire. "I guess I should tell you my tale of woe, then."
"Only if you want to."
"I haven't the intrigue that you have, nor the sorrow. But there is something to it," he paused. "I guess it all started when we left to look for Uncle Benjen. He had not come back to the Castle, and everyone was concerned. So, I went, for I was eager to prove myself almost as much as I was intent on finding him. I thought I was clever, Sansa," he looked at her. "But I got myself captured by Wildlings."
Her mouth set itself into a line as he told her this…
"And I still thought I knew what I was doing. Until I became infatuated with Ygritte…a Wildling in every sense. She was daring and true, and she fell for my act as well as I could have hoped," his gaze went to the fire now…"And I fell in love with her," he whispered. "And she and I climbed the Wall…I was getting back to Castle Black, but I was leaving part of myself once I arrived, I knew, for I had given Ygritte a part of me. A part I would never get back. I realized I had changed forever because of her, and that I wasn't the man I thought I was."
"Who are you?"
He looked at Sansa…"I don't know."
"You know, Jon. You just don't want to admit it."
He swallowed. "There's truth in that. But I can't understand the world, or where I fit into it. I never did. And now…"
"Now?"
"Now that we are here, and the Walkers are just beyond…I need to be the man I always wanted to be."
"Maybe you already are. Maybe it isn't so confusing," she offered, then stood. "I know we were never close, Jon. But we have each other now, and we need to fix on that. We are on the same side, and I haven't had someone on my side in so long…" Sansa swallowed. "I'll go see how things are in the kitchens. We have mouths to feed," and she left him there.
He didn't stand. He sat back and thought about what she said. And what he said. Sansa, his sister, had changed so much. Her sorrow had transfixed him, for he saw them now as kindred. And he recognized that as how he had developed his feelings for her. She would understand him as no one would, or could, for her turmoil was their link.
Perhaps he should just tell her. It would ease his mind, at any rate.
No…he thought…that was selfish in the extreme. She was relying on him now, and to change their relationship just when she was acclimating to her changed self would be disastrous. He would suffer as he always did…alone.
Jon stood. What was he thinking, confessing himself to her? He was a madman.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and went to the fire. He could use Melisandre now…
"Your Grace?" came a voice.
Jon turned. "Davos."
"Is everything all right?"
Jon shook himself out of it. "Yes, of course it is. What is it?"
"Well, I heard of the crow from the citadel, and was wondering what the note said."
He cleared his throat. "It spoke of a Targaryen princess making her way across the sea."
Davos was taken aback. "Is it true?"
"I don't know, but I trust Sam."
"And what will that mean for the Walkers?"
Jon looked at him. "I hope it means that should she overtake Cersei, she will come North with her armies and the other Northern Armies to fight."
Davos nodded, then turned toward the window. "You will need to go there. You'll need to present yourself to the Queen, if what you say is true."
"That's all? That's all you have to say on the matter?"
Davos appeared to start to say something, but it caught in his throat. "Everything is changed. The Walkers have done that. Nothing is as it seems, Your Grace. Surely you see that."
Jon nodded. "I do," and in more ways than that, he thought.
"Whether this Queen is a true leader is not known. Stannis wasn't," he looked at Jon steadily. "But I believe that you are. And should Westeros fall into disarray, I would look to you to steady her."
Jon swallowed. "I am no King of the Realm."
"With respect, Your Highness, you may need to be," Davos bowed, then left.
And Jon was there, feeling the cold itch his toes, wishing that so much was different.
Wishing that Sansa was there to assuage his doubt…
