Jon Targaryen

He woke with the taste of his new name on his tongue. A dragon, he thought dimly, a dragon and a wolf. Melisandre had come to him the morning after his resurrection. "You are our leader" She had murmured in her deep, warm voice. "You are the true king of The Seven Kingdoms. Jon Targaryen, son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. She died birthing you, but not before extracting a promise from your late uncle Eddard, to raise you as his own, protect you." Jon still shuddered at the words. He felt betrayed, ashamed but he understood. He knew know why his father, no his uncle, had refused to tell of his past, he had wanted to keep Jon safe. The thought cheered Jon slightly but his mind still strayed to the darkness of his childhood, raised a bastard, despised by Catelyn and his siblings, whichever ones were left were now only cousins. Jon sighed and pulled himself out of his small chambers, Ghost trailed along after him, head bowed low.

Daenerys Targaryen

"Ser Jorah!" She called as she hurried towards the pit; she heard the squeak of his boots on the tiled floor in response. They strode into the darkness of the pyramid as quickly as possible. Dany forced herself not to second guess, even though the whole plan felt rash and wild. No, I am a dragon, this plan is strong and we will win, she thought to herself. "My queen, the Lady Sansa will need more time to rouse the North. We need not head into battle just yet; wait another week or so to begin preparing… Please?" "NO!" Dany shouted, seeing him wince. "It will take us another two months at the least to arrive in Westeros, more than enough time to rally her troops." She shoved open the hot, reinforced doors that held her dragons once again. "My babies." She cooed, walking into the scorching den. "Time to learn to fight."

Petyr Baelish

He was drunk on Sansa, it was the only way he could describe it. She was all he wanted and needed. When she spoke his stomach dropped and all he wanted was to kiss her small, firm mouth. When she walked by him he could smell the scent of flowers in her hair and her eyes sparkled with hidden mirth as she wandered the lonely halls. He shook his head, don't be a fool, his mind scolded internally, she is a child, not near as beautiful as her mother and definitely not as smart. But another part of him, a larger part, warred against this. She is the most beautiful woman in Westeros, a child no longer, her hair is silk and her skin is porcelain but even that part of him conceded she was a foolish, naive thing. When he had felt her maidens blood pooling beneath him he had finally felt at peace, her face was pale but her eyes had sparkled and he had fallen asleep with a smile on his face. It was so hard pretending she was still Alayne when all he wanted was Sansa. He took her whenever he could, against walls, behind tapestries, whenever they could get a moment alone, she loved him, he could see it in her big, honest, blue eyes and maybe he loved her, he didn't care, either way she was his, forever.

Jon Targaryen

The letter was handed to him by one of the young wildling boys; a slip of a thing with only three teeth to his smile, Jon thanked him and sat down by the hearth to read. His mind was drifting to his men as he picked up the paper, he didn't think he could ever trust them again, not that he thought any would attempt to harm him, not after witnessing his rebirth. He only just noticed the seal of The Eyrie on the piece of parchment before cracking it open. He had heard that Littlefinger had weaselled his way into being protector of the vale, Jon frowned, wondering what that fool wanted. The letter was three lines long, scrawled but neat, as if the Maester was in a hurry. He scanned it quickly. Jon, you probably think I am dead but I survived. I escaped the Lannisters and Kings Landing and I am so close to Winterfell and the North I can taste it. Please Jon; you are all I have left in this whole world, save me. The parchment fluttered from his hand as he saw the signature that followed. "Sansa." The name came out of his throat in a croak and he noticed the tears running down his cheeks. He tried to understand, she is alive, she is alive, but how? He had given up the hope of any of his family being alive but here was Sansa, his little princess, trapped in The Eyrie, so close to home, so close to him. He readied his horse instantly and called Ghost to him, Melisandre watched but said nothing, she just nodded at him and that was all Jon needed. He rode off into the ever-thickening snow with a group of wildlings at his back, pushing the horses as hard as he could. I am coming Sansa. He thought as the Wall shrank behind him.

Sansa Stark

Every time he raped her she thought of Winterfell. She pictured the snow covering the battlements and her family racing around the courtyard, playing and laughing, only now she played with Jon, always the two of them, throwing snow balls, making snow men or just talking about their futures. Jon wanted to be a king and Sansa a queen, the pretended to rule The Seven Kingdoms together. But the fantasy didn't last. When Petyr finished in her Sansa would smile and hold him and say pretty words. He loved her; she could see it in those quick, brown eyes. The looked more like a puppy dogs now, than a rats. But Sansa didn't care, some people have to get hurt and he was one. She didn't dye her hair anymore. When it was required to be Alayne she covered it over but she refused to dye it and Petyr accented after her pleading with him and running her fingers across his chest. "I like you better red." He had whispered into the crook of her neck one night. Sansa had giggled and thanked him but inside she had shoved him away from her and pulled her soft her from his prying fingers. She noticed she didn't feel whole anymore. Every day more and more of Sansa slipped away, or the Sansa she had been. A new one was taking her place, strong and hard and cold as the North. She accepted than Jon might not come, the raven mightn't reach him, he might even ignore it and she made herself feel nothing at the thought of Jon not caring. But try as she might, the smallest part of Sansa still hoped that one day her black knight would sweep in and take her home but until that day, she would keep going, survive.

Petyr Baelish

He woke with a start, his senses screaming as he felt the cool blade biting ever so slightly into his throat. Sansa sat atop him, her long hair surrounding them like a red curtain. "What are you doing sweetling?" Petyr whispered, feeling the knife slip deeper. "Stop talking." Sansa answered quietly, her face as impassive and still as stone. "I have had enough of your talking. It is my turn now. I am done with you Petyr. You helped me for a while but you have far outlived your purpose. You saved me from the Red Keep and got me much closer to home and much faster than I could have alone. But you can't do anymore. You don't get to touch me anymore; you don't get to hurt me ever again." With those last words the blade cut ever deeper. "But… You love me? I saved you." Petyr said his voice barely audible. Sansa's laugh was cruel and sharp but her face still didn't move. "You loved me." She said mockingly and Petyr paled at the ugliness in her tone. "I never loved you and I never would have, no matter how many times you raped me! You are cancerous and vile and you are stupid. Oh yes Petyr, Littlefinger, the man with a plan, you are ever so stupid. I used you Petyr and you never even noticed because I was too young, too silly… You were wrong." She smiled as she sliced viciously into his neck, cutting from ear to ear. I was finally bested, he thought as his life's blood poured over his bed clothes.

Jon Targaryen

The few guardsmen had put up no resistance to the fierce wildings and the angry crow; they huddled into the courtyard and waited as the rest of the keep was seized. Jon was amazed, only five guards and one or two staff, it was a ghost castle and his heart hurt to think of Sansa stuck here, alone, for gods knows how long. He pictured her as he had last seen her, a vision, with long plaits and an innocent smile. Please be fine, he pleaded as he opened every door, screaming her name. He finally heard a response as he neared the large chambers where a Lord should have slept. The door was ajar and he instantly saw the blood pooling on the cold floor. "Sansa!" He cried, rushing into the room, sword drawn. "Jon." The faintest of whispers. He turned; she stood behind the door, her hair sticking to the blood of her small clothes, a wicked looking knife clutched in her hand. "My Gods, Sansa are you hurt? Are you alright? Oh Sansa." He ran towards her and scooped her up into his arms, she felt light as air and at first her arms hung limply and Jon thought he had done wrong. But then her small arms wrapped tightly around him and her legs followed, a sob wracked through her entire body and all Jon could do was hold her close.

Sansa Stark

He understood. She didn't need to say a word about Petyr or how he had treated her but Jon knew and he comforted her. At first Sansa had tried to stop the tears, but after being strong for so long, she finally felt safe enough to cry. He never pushed her but eventually Sansa told him all that had happened to her since Eddard's death. When she finally spoke of Petyr, Jon's eyes flashed with an inner fury and vengeance but Sansa had needed to kill Petyr, she had needed that for herself. The rode back to the Wall was cruel. Thrice they were snowed into whatever shelters they had found, horses died and food began to dwindle when they finally saw the wall again rising up in the distance. Every night Jon would come to Sansa, he told her of his own path and Sansa listened avidly, she loved the way his mouth moved as he talked and how he constantly checked her reactions, to see if she was shocked or upset. She enjoyed his company, more than she ever did as a child; she loved having a brother again. And this one had come for her, her half-brother, when her true brother never had. He gave her his share of meals, even as she watched his already slim frame diminish. "You mustn't." She had insisted one evening as he kissed her cheek and handed her his food. "But I must Sansa; I will not lose you now!" He had replied evenly. "Nor I you." She had promised back, tearing the tough horse meat in two and handing him the bigger half as she gazed up at him.