Hello everyone! I have decided to continue writing this story for as long as I possibly can. I have a reputation of not completing multi-chapter stories but I aim, like Dany, to break the wheel.
Jon
Looking out at the white abyss, he couldn't believe they did it.
Vastly outnumbered and out-strategized, Jon had known in the pit of his stomach that the battle was lost. The Boltons had them herded like cattle and they were the murderous shepherds - meticulously slaughtering them as if the maneuver had been practiced countless times. He underestimated Ramsay's skill as a military strategist but held no respect for a man who did not fight alongside his own. Ramsay was cold, calculating, and ruthless, but he earned his respect through fear, not honor. Jon had led thousands to their deaths – Stark-aligned and Bolton alike. He was surprised the snow was not streaked with red, melted puddles of warm blood mixing with the fresh powder, staining the earth as a reminder of the lives lost. When Jon closed his eyes, all he saw were the bodies, all he could smell was death, and all he could feel was the cold wetness that seeped into his bones. He could feel the presence of their spirits as if their essences were the constant flurries that hadn't stopped even now, days after the battle. Winter is here, Sansa had said. That meant that the ghosts would never leave until the snow settled. If it ever happened.
This winter would be long, and everyone knew it. A nine-year summer meant an even longer winter. Jon could barely remember the last winter; it felt like an entire lifetime ago. In a way, it was, he thought. That was before he went to the Watch. Before his father, Catelyn and Robb had been slaughtered. Bran was just a newborn. And Rickon wasn't even born, Jon's heart ached. Sansa had warned him not to fall into Ramsay's trap, and she had been right – even if Jon hadn't done exactly as the Bolton bastard thought he would do, he would have killed Rickon anyway because he was a threat to Ramsay's power over the North as a trueborn Stark. He was a pawn, poor Rickon, for he was dead as soon as he entered the Dreadfort. With Rickon gone, and Bran was nowhere to be found, alive or dead, Sansa was the tightest hold Jon had on the North. The houses had sworn their allegiance to him, but he knew that their true allegiance stood with Sansa. She was a spitting image of Catelyn, a living reminder that Ned and his wife will continue to keep Winterfell safe. And without a single ounce of doubt, Jon knew that the reason why they could walk the halls of Winterfell again was because of Sansa. She wrote to Lord Baelish, she got the Knights of the Vale to rescue the Stark army from being brutally defeated. Jon had refused to listen to her when she said they needed more men, and she was right. He was focused on getting Rickon back, as if having his youngest half sibling safe would provide some kind of internal validation as a member of the Stark family, as if it would make Jon feel better by placing Rickon in his place to make his father proud, as if that would have changed anything at all. Because Rickon had no chance at survival. Ramsay would never have let him live, especially if he won the battle. Sansa had saved them all, to make up for Jon's inferiority complex and hastiness. Without her, they would have all died. That was why Jon knew the Northern families were truly aligned with her - the one who really saved them.
It was in this realization about Sansa that Jon knew that the North truly belonged to her; he was only half a Stark after all, as if a dotted line separated him, where half of him was a mother he never knew and half was Ned Stark, and he couldn't figure out which side. Like his half-sister, Jon was never meant to rule. I had been able to keep the Night's Watch under control, but does it really count when my own men ended up mutinying against me? He furrowed his brow and listened to the silent sounds of the forthcoming winter. The birds had moved south by now, where they would not wake up with ice crystals in their feathers. The trees were completely bare - even the heart tree had lost some red leaves and begun to look like every other tree around, save for the face of the Old Gods carved into the trunk. The flakes fell in completely silence, creating a blank reality that almost felt like starting over to Jon. But standing on the ramparts of the castle every morning, he knew that this wasn't starting over, but moving on.
"My Lord," a voice broke Jon from his reverie. "The council is meeting after we break our fast. Rumors from King's Landing must be addressed, as well as sorting out business with the Stark vassals and winter rations." Ser Davos Seaworth was a man of few emotions, his beard turning grayer by the day, but he was the best Jon had as an advisor at this point, austere as he was.
The wind blew through Jon's locks, frigid and unrelenting. His furs whispered across his neck and jawline like a delicate secret. "You must call for Lady Sansa to join us, as well. I want her present at all meetings and in all decision-making concerning Winterfell and its vassals." He was adamant at making sure his sister was included because after all, she is the Lady of this stronghold. The Northern houses had declared him King of the North, but she was Lady of Winterfell. A figure as important as she should be involved in all affairs, domestic or foreign.
"Of course, My Lord, rightfully so." Davos took his leave, turning back to duck inside the castle walls to save himself from the wind. Jon took one more look out at the sea of white surrounding Winterfell - the lands he came to know so well as a child that have now become alien to him.
He could still hear the Lords of the vassal houses in his ears from nights ago like a ghost; haunted by the fact that this was never to be his life. It should still be Lord Stark's, Catelyn at his side. It should have been Robb's. It was Robb's, and Jon swore that he would be their shadows walking the corridors, their voices in the Great Hall, their minds in all decisions until he couldn't hear the chants anymore.
"The King of the North! The King of the North! The King of the North! The King of the North! The King of the North!..."
Jon sat at the head of the council table, while Sansa would sit on his right. At the rest of the table sat Davos, Petyr Baelish, and Tormund. Tormund looked incredibly uncomfortable in the wooden chair with intricate direwolf engravings on the back, his eyes darting back and forth from his fist folded on the table and Lord Baelish. It was obvious the man made Tormund uneasy, with his permanent smirk, his tunics never had a single crease, and he saved all of their asses in the battle. Tormund was smart enough to know when someone would want something in return for their favors. The last to enter the room was Sansa; she wore a simple gray dress with black embroidery, with her black cloak, and her auburn hair in a loose braid tossed over her left shoulder. Her cloak was billowing behind her as she walked gracefully. All four men stood as she entered the room. Baelish quickly moved to pull out her chair so she could sit, and Sansa visibly grew stiffer the closer she walked to him. But nonetheless, she accepted his chivalry. Jon noted the knowing smirk on Littlefinger's face, as well as Sansa's apparent coldness toward him. Jon folded his hands on the table and nodded toward his sister in acknowledgment. Her eyes were determined.
Davos cleared his throat, "My Lord, My Lady, I have received word from King's Landing that Cersei Lannister has taken the Iron Throne in her name." Sansa whipped her head towards Jon and back again to Davos. "What happened to King Tommen?" She inquired.
"Cersei blew up the Great Sept using caches of wildfire left underneath the city from the Mad King's rule," Baelish filled in. "About a hundred or so deaths were accounted for. Including Lord Mace Tyrell, Ser Loras Tyrell, and Queen Margaery. The High Sparrow and Kevan Lannister, the Hand of the King, were also killed."
"If Tommen wasn't there, then why is he dead too?" Sansa asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Let's just say, My Lady, the naming of King's Landing now has two meanings - a King landing on its shores, and King Tommen landing on the cobblestones after jumping from his bedroom window." Lord Baelish raised his eyebrows to get the message across without being insensitive. Young and credulous as he was, Tommen was not a bad king. He just had corrupt management.
"So how does this affect the North?" Jon spoke up, causing everyone to look in his direction.
"Quite honestly, I don't give a frigid fuck about the South. They know nuthin' about us. Our culture. How we survive. All they care about is their sweet summer wine and meaningless flower festivals," Tormund grumbled. Jon chuckled, "Well, it would seem that our fucks would be frigid, seeing as we're the ones who perpetually live in ice. In fact, I think I learned how to walk in snow before on solid ground."
Ser Davos cleared his throat, "Seeing as the Boltons were aligned with the Lannisters, and a bastard of Stark and a trueborn daughter have singlehandedly taken over the North, no doubt there ought to be trade problems with the South during this long winter."
"Singlehandedly?" Littlefinger mumbled to himself. Sansa threw him a hard glare, but only Jon saw it.
"We must be careful with our rations. It may be possible to expand the greenhouse if we are lucky. Within six months, we could have more food growing for the villages. The grain we have managed to find will last us two years. But we need more than two years worth of grain if we have no idea when this winter will come to an end." Davos was right, expanding the greenhouses would be ideal. "But now that the first snows have fallen, getting glass from Dorne will be an awful venture in itself because the paths would be blocked." Davos was again, right. Tormund looked bored, but Jon doubted he knew how far away Dorne really was, or why it held value when it came to getting glass.
Sansa picked up the conversation torch, "What if in the future, we encouraged other major villages to build their own greenhouses for the winter? For now, might I suggest we write to Wyman Manderly and have him build some since he has sea access. The snow blockage on the Kingsroad wouldn't affect him and he could get the supplies easiest. Then, in some months time, the villages closer to the Neck can be better cared for while we focus on the more Northern villages." Jon's ears perked up. His sister's idea was perfect for winter times; it would allow villages to manufacture their own food and famine would drastically decrease if it was done right. Unfortunately, her idea would have faired best before the changing of the season so the people could be prepared by now. No one disapproved of Sansa's proposal, and all nodded in approval.
"Also, there is news from the Twins," Littlefinger said quietly, "Walder Frey was found dead with his throat slit. All three of his sons have also disappeared."
Jon and Sansa looked at one another, knowing that Walder Frey had been the perpetrator behind Catelyn and Robb's deaths, as well as countless Stark bannermen. "Did they ever catch the person who did it?" Sansa asked, "Because I'd love to personally thank them." Her expression was soft but her blue eyes were as cold as ice.
"Word has it that there was a new servant girl on that very night. There had been a feast. Jaime Lannister and his bannermen had been there after taking back Riverrun for the Freys. The girl hasn't been seen since. But not much investigation is going on for it. Oh, but I could only imagine why." Littlefinger reached for his goblet and took a long sip of wine. "Also, Sansa, I am sorry, but the Blackfish died in the siege of Riverrun by the Lannisters. Now that the Freys will soon abandon it once they hear of their Lord's passing, your uncle Edmure Tully will soon retake his place as Lord of Riverrun. I would suggest reaching out to him and providing any help he may need. His assistance might come in handy later." She nodded, and Jon still noticed her apprehensiveness. She owed him for helping them in the battle, and Jon had an itching feeling that Baelish had already told her his terms, and she didn't like it.
Jon felt an odd sudden need to protect Sansa from Lord Baelish. The man was a snake who preyed on the credulous. Sansa used to be the type of person that Baelish used to manipulate, but what struck him the oddest is that she wasn't that person anymore. The man did sell her as a political pawn to the Boltons and subjected her to months of pain, but for her to be still visibly cold and veer away from him, something else must be bothering her.
After the meeting concluded, Jon lightly put his hand on Sansa's shoulder blade as a message saying, We need to talk. Sansa looked up and nodded at him, getting up out of her chair, smoothing her skirts, and walking beside Jon. He led her outside to the gardens because everyone was likely to be inside. The sun had started to set already, but Jon felt like the day had barely begun.
He turned to his sister, "I noticed you seem to have another reason to avoid Littlefinger." Her eyes darted around, looking at the ground and then back at Jon. "Let's just say what he wants in return for the use of the Vale's Knights is more than I bargained for." She sighed, "He told me of this picture he painted of himself on the Iron Throne." Jon raised an eyebrow, "...with me at his side, as his Queen." Sansa looked disgusted at the notion. "He essentially said his payment was my hand. I know he was in love with Mother for all his life, and I'm just a living image of her. I'm a breathing reality of something he could never have, and he is trying to manipulate me into giving him what he wants. But I will not tarnish Mother's memory like that. I won't stand beside a man who only wants me because I remind him of her. I'm not her."
"So my guess is, you told him no?" The snow fell lightly, flakes starting to dust the tops of his and Sansa's heads. The wind was still for once, providing a calmness over the Winterfell gardens.
"I told him it was a pretty picture."
"I'll take that as a yes."
"Jon, I want you to promise me something," Sansa stopped walking on the path and turned to face Jon,"that regardless if the North sees you as their King, I want you to keep me involved as your equal. As a Queen of sorts, if you will. I want to have a say in the things that involve Winterfell and the rest of our lands. It's what Mother and Father would have wanted for the both of us, to help one another create a united and stable North." Her eyes were pleading, her cheeks turning slightly pink.
"I know how much it would mean to you in order to be in their place," Sansa shifted her feet and looked up the small distance at him. "Which is why I told Davos this morning that I want you involved in everything. No matter what it is. You will be consulted, advised, and you will give final approval." Her eyes grew wide and Sansa immediately wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. Jon cradled her head, which fell just into the crook of his neck, and held her tightly around her waist with his other arm. She shook gently, and it was then that Jon knew the coldness she fronted was a defense mechanism. Sure, the Lannisters subjected her to emotional torture and public humiliation - she begged for her father's life only for Joffrey to break his word and assassinate Lord Stark anyway. Ramsay subjected her to psychological and physical torture. Jon couldn't blame Sansa for having her walls up. She was taught that it was better to keep your walls up than let people in because betrayal comes from your friends, not your enemies.
They released one another, and Sansa softly smiled at Jon before slightly nodding at him and turning back to go inside. The sky had turned from blue to burnt orange by this time, the sun slowly dipping below the horizon line. He clutched his furs a little closer to his body before he, himself, turned back to return into the warmth of Winterfell's walls. It had barely felt like home back when he was young, but it definitely felt like home now. Jon had learned to associate home with warmth and safety. He left that home when it was frigid and unwelcoming to go somewhere even more frigid and unwelcoming. Despite his struggles with who he was and why he wasn't good enough to be their leader, Jon felt better knowing Sansa was by his side. She was right, they needed to make the North stable again, bring all the houses together again and create something better for themselves.
Winter might have come. The snow might not stop. The cold might get worse every day. But for once, Jon felt a little warmer.
This chapter took me only two days to write because I was so excited to finally have some down time to write for you guys again. Hope you enjoyed!