Sorry for the wait and thanks to everyone who has read the story so far- your reviews and follows are highly appreciated! Now here's a new chapter from Jon's perspective...


Jon woke with the dawn; knives of sunlight pierced his curtained bed and roused him from oblivion before he could protest. As was the case every morning, he was momentarily confused and disoriented by the size and outfit of his sleeping chambers. As he always did immediately after this realization, he remembered that following recent events he was now taking his nightly rest in the Lord's Chambers of Winterfell.

I've slept in this bed a fortnight, and still every morning I feel I shouldn't be here. Jon thought strangely, as only a man elevated far beyond his expected position could.

Admittedly, Jon could scarcely believe that everything after his rebirth was real, and not a strange, strung-out dream. Had he really reunited with one of his kin? Had he really fought in a battle for Winterfell and emerged victorious? Had he really been named King In The North? It seemed too much good had happened for everything to be real; life simply did not work this way, especially for a bastard.

For a while Jon had wallowed in thoughts of indifference, wondering if he wanted to go on and continue to fight for the realms of men, which he had already left behind once before. Eventually, thanks in no small part to Sansa's presence, Jon had decided to continue- survival was, after all, the only way forward. A small part of Jon's thoughts secretly relished his recent accomplishments, filling him with pleasure at the thought of what his enemies would say of him now. All those who had ever sneered to his face or mocked him with contempt would surely tremble at where Ned Stark's bastard had landed himself; now Jon spent his days making pacts with great Northern Lords, fortifying Winterfell for war, and preparing the North for the coming of the Night King. Alliser Thorne would have fallen to pieces at the sight.

Another part of Jon's thoughts was plagued with guilt; he had not saved his brother Rickon, and he had stolen the Northern Throne (not entirely on purpose) from Sansa. He and Sansa had discussed the matter several times, and though she often insisted that the North would not rally behind a woman anyhow, Jon still felt he had taken advantage of the situation unintentionally. After Sansa's crucial role in the success of the Battle for Winterfell, Jon felt she would have been justified to ascend the throne herself. After all, she was more a Stark than Jon could ever hope to be...yet still he and the rest of the Northern men had succeeded in taking her due rights, just as so many other men had done before. Jon's heart constricted at the thought that he and the Northern Lords were no better than Joffrey, Littlefinger, or Ramsay Bolton.

I will make it up to her. She will rule Winterfell one day, I can feel it. Jon thought to himself. There was no use dwelling on the unfortunate matter, since things seemed to have reached a standstill anyhow. Only when the dead come marching, and the North is turned upside down, will things be guaranteed to change…he thought darkly.

Jon's deep train of thought was halted suddenly as Ghost leapt onto his bed, nearly smothering him under his immense mass of snowy fur. The direwolf nuzzled him insistently, panting and pawing at his master in an effort to make him rise.

"I'm up, boy. You're fine." Jon mumbled grumpily, patting the wolf heartily and conceding that it was at last time to wake. Ghost perked up and leapt from the bed to sit resolutely by the door, evidently eager to get out and be fed. Jon supposed that if there was one thing that roused him each morn aside from Sansa, it was Ghost and his unyielding hunger. Since the direwolf insisted on sleeping under Jon's bed like a watchful sentinel each night, it was always Jon who fed him once dawn arrived. A stable boy, in an attempt to be helpful, had tried to give Ghost his breakfast once and had nearly had his arm torn off, which meant that no one had been willing (let alone eager) to feed him since. So the duty remained with Jon, as it always had at The Wall.

Jon generally rejected servant assistance of any sort, aside from the preparation of his meals (since he was a dreadful cook) since he was not accustomed to having everything done for him, even after his time as Lord Commander. He was perfectly happy dressing himself, fetching his own horse, and sharpening his own weapons. When servants did call on him, he often sent them to Sansa, hoping that they might aid her in some way instead.

This morning Jon dressed himself in his smallclothes, leathers, and cloaks and then proceeded to the Great Hall. As he was traversing Winterfell's stony torch-lit corridors, he remembered his encounter last night with Sansa and felt his face redden at the memory. He hadn't intended to corner her in such a compromised state. As if our relationship needs more...tension. Jon mused.

Tension was the only word he could procure which might describe the connection he felt to Sansa. From the moment they had been reunited at Castle Black a couple moons ago, Jon had experienced the unusual feeling every time they shared the same airspace, which was regularly given the nature of things. Their interactions were undoubtedly charged, but Jon assured himself that the sensation was merely his excitement at being around a fragment of his old family. Even if the Sansa of today was notably different than the Sansa of several years ago...

I care about her, nothing more. I want to protect her, just as I would Arya or Bran. We separated as children and reunited as a man and woman grown, so of course things are different…

Jon passed through the doors to the Great Hall and noted that the long benches were considerably more empty than usual. Davos and a collection of knights occupied some space on the left side, but the right was empty save for Tormund and a few of his wildling brethren. Sansa and Brienne were nowhere to be seen.

"What of Lady Sansa and Lady Brienne?" Jon queried of Tormund, taking a seat on his left.

"So you've decided to join us, King Crow!" the wildling exclaimed, digging his fork into a large sausage. "A good mornin' to you, too. The Lady and her larger Lady have been gone since sunrise. They went out 'ter the Winter Village, I'm thinkin'." he mumbled through a mouth full of sausage.

"I see," Jon replied with a haphazard smile. "And do I take this emptiness," he added, gesturing to the quiet hall, "to mean that the Lords have decided to pack up and return to their keeps?"

Tormund shrugged. "Aye, for the most part. A couple of 'em seem hesitant to make the trip back, but the largest of the bunch 'ave gone."

"I s'pose that's to be expected, what wit' that white raven telling 'em winter is 'ere." One of the other wildlings pitched in. "Don't s'pose I'd be here either, if I had anyplace else 'ter go."

"As long as they return when the real war begins." Jon proclaimed sullenly.

"Maybe this means we'll finally 'ave some peace an' quiet." The other wildling muttered.

Until Littlefinger arrives. Jon thought internally, already dreading the prospect. Our troubles here never reach their end.

A servant girl presented him with a plate of food to break his fast upon before he could ponder the issue any further. The identities of the remaining Northern Lords were soon revealed to be Flint, Holt, and Forrester, when the three lords themselves appeared in the Hall a few moments later.

"If it suits your Grace, we feel it prudent to remain at Winterfell until we get a day's worth of sunshine to ease the trip home." Lord Flint appealed with a nod, mirrored on either side by Holt and Forrester.

Jon eyed them curiously, noting internally that the weather seemed favourable enough today, but granted them leave to remain as long as needed and invited them to break their fast in the Great Hall . Apparently satisfied with his answer, the three Lords accepted and took seats at the benches as well.

As Jon was about to resume conversation with Tormund, Lord Holt cleared his throat quite adamantly.

"Your grace, my men have sighted several deer in the wood by our camp, and wondered if you'd find interest in a hunt today, perhaps to bolster Winterfell's meat stores. You and your men would be welcome to join as well." He finished, nodding to Lords Forrester and Flint in turn.

"I have better things to do with my time." Jon murmured quietly, taking a sip from his flagon of juice.

"Better than stocking up on meat?" Lord Holt chided, eyebrows raised.

Jon opened his mouth to protest, but sensed that he didn't have much of a choice in the matter anyhow. "Alright." He conceded reluctantly. "You'll find I don't hunt like a lord, though. All my experience is with the Night's Watch."

Lord Holt waved his hand dismissively and gave a jovial laugh. "If your skills on the hunt are half that of your skills on the battlefield, we won't leave the glades empty-handed."

Apprehensively, Jon agreed to meet his Lords outside Winterfell's gates around midday. He knew there were many other tasks to be completed, but there was evidently some reason for him to be dragged hunting, and he wanted to learn what it was.

After Jon finished his meal, he headed outside to the courtyard, intending to ride into the village and find Sansa; he was craving the companionship of someone he wouldn't have to put on a false identity for.

However, the issue quickly became irrelevant, as Sansa and Brienne rode in through the gates as Jon was saddling his horse. He felt his spirits lift at the sight of her, unharmed and content.

"Jon! Were you heading out?" Sansa exclaimed as she noticed him by the stables.

Jon was relieved to notice that she didn't seem different whatsoever following their awkward encounter last night.

"No, I was hoping to find you, actually." He uttered with a hint of a smile. "What sent you out into the Village?"

Sansa dismounted her silver horse and came to Jon's side. "I wanted to find someone who gave me a gift yesterday." She answered, before rifling around in her saddle bag. She pulled out a small rolled-up piece of fabric and held it out.

Jon took it and let it unravel in his hands, quickly discovering that it was a small tapestry, neatly sewn in the Stark colours. It seemed to depict he and Sansa; there was a man and woman side by side, of equal height and each bearing the weight of a crown on his or her head. Direwolves were emblazoned on the figures' clothes and the woman had flaming red hair, which left little doubt as to who the intended subjects were. It was a detailed and flattering depiction- Jon was unsurprised that Sansa would want to thank the tapestry's creator. He supposed that she also liked that she and Jon were depicted as equals, and found that he didn't mind either...it seemed to portray the way things ought to be.

"It's very nice, Sansa." Jon replied truthfully, handing the fabric back to her.

Sansa smiled. "I'm glad you think so, because I've found the woman who gave it to me and offered to pay her to make me a bigger one."

Jon was a bit surprised, but not averse to the idea, so he nodded and decided not to object. It wasn't like it would go in the Great Hall or anything...

"I've also had an idea," Sansa added, "After riding around in the village for a while."

"What sort of idea?" Jon returned, wondering if he should be worried.

"There are lots of boys in the Village who seem old enough to wield a sword, and even some grown men, who aren't doing so right now, because they don't have weapons or training." Sansa proclaimed. Brienne stood soundless at her side. "I think we could train them, mayhaps have them man Winterfell."

"Seeing as we only have a handful of Stark men and some wildlings, I suppose that's a good idea." Jon said quickly, immediately warming to Sansa's suggestion.

"You think so?" Sansa retorted with a haughty, teasing smile.

Jon chuckled a little at her eagerness to help. "I'll send someone to canvas the Village for potential soldiers, and I'll train them myself."

"Yourself?" Sansa chided, unable to hide the shock in her voice.

"Yes, myself. As I would have at The Wall."

Sansa nodded. "Then we know they'll become great soldiers." she said decidedly, causing Jon's insides to warm pleasantly.

The rest of the morning proceeded uneventfully, but cheerfully nonetheless. Sansa helped Jon to sort through many old letters which had been received by her father. Jon arranged for the determination of a set of criteria to dictate which sort of Village citizens should be admitted inside the castle to train as soldiers. Sansa helped the cooks in the kitchens to organize their food stores and approved a set of meals for Littlefinger and Lord Arryn's visit. Jon oversaw Davos taking inventory of Winterfell's weapons stores. Lunchtime came and went, and soon Jon was heading out to Winterfell's courtyard, Ghost at his side and dressed to hunt, to find his horse.

He was surprised to find himself immediately ambushed from behind by Sansa, who was also dressed in warm riding clothes.

"I'm coming with you." She announced firmly as she strode up to walk beside him.

"Have you ever been on a hunt before?" Jon asked her coolly, raising his eyebrows. "It's not usually considered a place for a-"

"-Don't tell me it's no place for a woman, Jon. Wildling women hunt all the time, at least as Tormund tells it." Sansa lashed, cutting him off sharply. "I just fancy a ride, is all."

"Alright, but you'll stay close to me." He conceded, slightly anguished at her apparent stubbornness. Sansa looked pleased with herself.

Jon kept a careful eye on her as they rode off, and also paid close attention to the actions of the bannermen and wildlings nearby. Though no one had raised an audible protest at Sansa joining the hunt, he had perceived some distaste in the men's expressions. As the riders traversed the moor, aimed at the looming Wolfswood, Jon's horse fell into step beside that of Davos. Sansa's vivid hair was visible two riders ahead; she appeared to be in conversation with a wildling spearwife who was atop a shaggy grey mount.

Davos greeted Jon gladly, inclining his head. "Your Grace."

Jon nodded in response, his eyes not leaving Sansa. "Was I right to let her come?" he mused uncertainly.

"From my few interactions with Lady Sansa I gather that she seems a strong-willed woman, who would not have taken no for an answer." The Onion knight suggested tentatively.

"That she is." Jon agreed. He heard hoofbeats on his other side, and a moment later Tormund had rode up beside him.

The redheaded wildling sneered, his expression unimpressed. "Any time you want to get away from these dainty southern sun-beaters, just say the word and we can ride off in the other direction for a real hunt."

Davos gave a chuckle. "I can only imagine what you'd think of the true southron lords..."

"I say if I met one of 'em, I'd have his tongue out before he could utter enough words 'fer me to decide."

Jon listened contentedly, enjoying the easy company of his trusted friends. The hunt proceeded monotonously, with hardly a sniff of any beast for a long while. Ghost tracked the large group of hunters from a distance, occasionally disappearing into the bush after his own scents. Jon, his bannermen, and the free folk rode through the wide forest trail that he and the Stark children had frequented in their youth, sending outriders off regularly into the forest with the hounds in hopes of finding something to hunt. If there is life to be found in this wood, Jon thought to himself, there's no way we'll get anywhere near it with a group this size.

Sometimes an outrider would sound his horn, signalling that the crowd should give chase, but whatever creature had been sighted was always gone by the time the whole group had gotten moving. On the bright side, Sansa seemed to be enjoying herself, despite the lack of proper action. She conversed with nearly everyone, and brightened the mood of the men considerably. All those who had sneered at her presence initially had been entirely won over.

Eventually, Lord Holt found his way to Jon's side, under the pretense of lamenting the day's misfortune.

"Rotten luck we've had...rotten, I say. My men swear there've been a dozen beasts in this vicinity in the last week." He implored gruffly. Immediately his expression changed, as though undergoing a transition to the real matter he wished to discuss.

"Blessings to the Lady Stark- her presence sure cheers the men after many cold hours in the saddle with nothing to show for it. A good, northern woman, she is, and pleasing to the eyes." He declared beseechingly.

Jon felt indignified at Lord Holt's proclamations; a stirring protectiveness threatening to make an appearance. Sansa's not here for you to gawk at. He thought irritably. He was quite unprepared as Lord Holt shifted direction entirely.

"My daughter Lora has a similarly bright spirit- into a fine woman she's grown. Lovely blond hair and eyes blue as The Bite itself-" he drawled on, quickly losing Jon's attention.

Jon resisted the urge to laugh- he had known there was a reason behind this ridiculous hunt, and it was ludicrous that Lord Holt had devised the affair entirely for the purpose of cornering him and underhandedly proposing a match with his daughter- whom Jon remembered as being quite large and homely. He wasn't surprised, considering that a constant barrage of marriage propositions had become a regular feature of Jon's days as a newly crowned king. However, this particular offer was unusual in its highly planned nature. None of it did anything to change Jon's mind though; he didn't intend to marry for the sake of it. Only serious political gain, or perhaps powerful desire, could make him truly consider such commitment.

To Jon's blessed relief, Tormund and his keen eyes noticed his entrapment under Lord Holt's meandering proposition, and soon a proper diversion was incited. A bunch of the wildlings appeared to have caught sight of something down a ravine to Jon's left, (whether there was actually something there remained to be seen) and they immediately pummeled down the thickly treed slope in a frenzy, sending the rest of the bannermen into chaos. Jon made a rushed apology to Lord Holt and ducked away, cantering into the trees after the galloping free folk. He noted that Sansa and Davos followed his lead, and soon the rushing group had left the bannermen, and the proper trail, quite far behind.

Jon smiled at Tormund's quick wit- he had successfully split the group and extricated Jon, which meant that some real hunting might finally occur. He clung to his black stallion's mane and crept lower on its neck, ducking the snowy branches overhead and willing the animal to gallop faster. Jon felt a surge of adrenaline- the likes of which he had not experienced in some time- swell in his chest as he whipped through the Wolfswood, trees streaking by endlessly on either side.

He lost his sense of where the wildlings were around him as he moved through the forest- surely they galloped nearby, but perhaps their grey furs blended into the whirling wood. He was, however, conscious of Sansa on his left. Her flaming crimson hair cast a haunting silhouette against the pale white and grey of the snows, and her body was bent gracefully into a smooth arch over her horse's silver back. She smiled heartily, evidently relishing the chase, and looked so familiar at that instant that Jon nearly fell backwards off his horse as he made the connection.

In this moment she was so clearly Ygritte, yet she was something startling and new at the same time. Jon had never consciously noticed it; but then, he had never seen her gallop through a forest on a hunt before. Shocking though it was, the sight was also bewitching, and Jon caught himself mesmerized by the ring of her laughter and the freed appearance of her form.

As they entered a large clearing the horses slowed, and Jon was harshly wrenched back to the present. He tried to refocus, but couldn't release the image of Sansa's gallop from his mind. She is so clearly a different girl than the one I left behind at Winterfell those many years ago...he rationalized internally, watching Sansa's breath cloud in the frigid air as she slowed her horse to a trot. Jon mentally urged his strange, confusing new perspective on Sansa to dissipate, and forcefully reminded himself that the direction of his current thoughts was entirely inappropriate. He was ashamed at himself for even contemplating traces of such an idea.

Once more, Jon willed himself to return to the present as Sansa turned to him, cheeks flushed and hair swept messily in all directions.

"It seems we've lost everyone." She called acquiescently, walking her horse nearer to Jon's.

Jon forced himself to meet her eyes and smiled despite himself at her obvious enjoyment. "Perhaps we outran them and left them all behind." He replied with a small smile, gathering his reins in his hands for something to do.

"And what of the animal Boreck supposedly sighted?" She added, glancing eagerly into the forest around the clearing.

Jon shrugged. "Nowhere to be seen."

As if on cue, he heard a sudden shudder in the bushes to his left, and was only allowed a moment of concern and curiosity before Ghost leapt into the clearing, blood smeared on his jaws.

"Scratch that, I think Ghost beat us to it." He announced with a laugh. Sansa regarded the wolf with apprehensiveness. She seemed to lose some of her pleasure at the idea of a massacred animal.

"Wait here, I'll go have a look." Jon said quickly, dismounting his horse and drawing his sword, just in case. Sansa nodded but seemed to be at a bit of a loss for words, and was quite content to remain behind.

He left her in the clearing and ducked into the forest, feeling slightly on edge at the unusual stillness. Snowflakes had started to drift down from the ashen sky above, and the atmosphere darkened considerably as soon as Jon was away from the light of the clearing. He heard the soft pad of Ghost's pawsteps behind him, and was immediately grateful for the company. He thought he heard the sound of the rest of the riders entering the clearing behind, but couldn't be sure, as the abundant evergreens in this part of the forest muffled noise well.

As the roots of a huge maple appeared underfoot, Jon was greeted by a sight which made his heart go cold. He had found the beast who had suffered at the teeth of his direwolf- a fox, by the look of it- but crunching on the carcass was an enormous brown bear, which bared its teeth and gave a guttural grunt as it acknowledged Jon's presence.

Gods help me. Jon thought hopelessly as the creature rose, filling the forest with its colossal bulk.

He immediately steeled himself and raised him sword, prepared to fight the animal, should it come to that.

This isn't the day I die. Jon told himself insistently, though he felt his assurance waning as the bear looked him over maliciously, its fur bristled with aggression.

Ghost growled and stood firmly by his side, his only ally in a fight he had not been expecting.