I still own nothing but my computer and more shoes than any one girl needs.


Sansa sat at the head of the great hall with Jon by her side, as it had been the day the North named him their King. The air was thick with the smell of stale ale and sweat. It was a warm aroma, but the cold of winter pressed in on her, despite the fire at her back and the bodies tightly packed into the great hall.

She sat straight as an arrow, ignoring the desperate need to shiver. She would not show weakness before so many outsiders. Let them shiver and long for their sunny homelands. Let them believe the Lady of Winterfell was carved from Ice itself.

Despite the betrayal that she still felt at Jon's methods of gathering these allies, she was grateful to have her brother back. It felt right to once again have his quiet yet reassuring presence at her side. What did not feel right was the Targaryen woman's presence looming behind them as she stood beside the fire.

It did not go unnoticed to Sansa that the small queen refused to sit. Perhaps to ward of the chill. Perhaps fearing that her diminutive stature would diminish her authority in this place of large, burly men.

Sansa feared no such thing. She was of the north. She'd survived the Lannisters and the Boltons and reclaimed her home as well as her family name. She fought for everything she now had and she would continue to fight to keep it.

Unlike the Dragon Queen, she felt no need to posture about the city or send her dragons soaring low overhead to make a show of power. The North was not impressed by the efforts to imitate. Sansa knew well that the way to garner the respect of the North was to earn it through time, sweat, and tears.

Jon's little queen, it seemed, did not fully understand that lesson. She thought she could come here with a royal surname and a claim and that knees would bend before her. But Sansa had seen others who thought themselves worthy to rule simply because they had the privilege of being born with the right family name.

After all she had suffered at the hand of Jeoffery, she knew better than ever to blindly support a person, simply because they had the right name or title.

Jon had no name or birthright, but he had been named King in the North. He was a king because his actions were kingly, at least, that was, until he bent the knee to a foreigner.

"As soon as we heard about the Wall, I called all our banners to retreat to Winterfell." She said.

Silence weighed heavy in the room, though it was filled to capacity. She could feel the tension in the room, as though everyone held their breath to better hear her.

"Lord Umber when can we expect your people to arrive?" Her gaze sought out the young lord.

The small boy made his way to the center of the room. He was too young for the weight of his responsibilities, but that did not change the fact that they were his to bear. Sansa had been too young for many of the things she had been forced to bear. Even now, she was still young, though she no longer felt it.

"We need more horses and wagons, if it please my lady." The boy said. He spoke well for one so young. In time, he'd make a good lord. If time was something any of them had. "And my lord. And my queen." He glanced nervously at the dragon queen. "Sorry."

Sansa suppressed her amusement. She was sure the Targaryen queen did not appreciate being added last as an after thought.

"You'll have as many as we can spare. Hurry back to Last Hearth and bring your people here."

The boy nodded and hurried from the hall.

"We need to send ravens to the Night's Watch as well." Jon spoke up for the first time since introducing his queen. "There's no sense in manning the castles anymore. We make our stand here."

Sansa was glad to hear that her brother still knew how to make a stand, since he'd apparently forgotten how on his travels south to broker a peace with the Dragon Queen.

"At once, Your Grace." A Maester said, before retreating to do Jon's bidding.

"Your Grace." Lyanna Mormont rose to her feet. She commanded the entire room without even needing to demand the respect. Sansa thought Daenerys could learn thing or two from the child.

Lyanna looked at Jon with apparent disdain. "But you're not. Are you? You left Winterfell a king and came back a…. I'm not sure what you are now."

Murmuring rumbled around her and it sounded very much as though the other lords and ladies agreed with her.

Sansa stiffened, while she agreed with the sentiment, she felt a strong desire to speak up to defend Jon. She hated that he bent the knee, but she knew him well enough to be certain that he believed it to be the right thing to do.

Lyanna continued, "A lord? Nothing at all?"

"It's not important." Jon said.

"Not important? We named you King in the North."

The murmurs grew to a roar of support.

"You did, my lady. It was the honor of my life. I'll always be grateful for your faith."

Jon rose to his feet and the same silent respect the North attributed to Sansa fell to him.

"But when I left Winterfell, I told you we need allies or we will die."

Lyanna, sensing his authority, returned to her seat.

"I have brought those allies home to fight alongside us."

Sansa glanced over at the beautiful white-haired queen. The woman gazed up at Jon, her eyes gleaming with obvious adoration that made Sansa's skin crawl. She looked at Jon as though he belonged to her. Did he belong to her?

"I had a choice, keep my crown or protect the North. I chose the North." Jon said.

The murmuring built up again, but no one spoke out against him.

A chair scraped loudly as Tyrion Lannister rose to his feet, though doing so didn't make him any taller. Sansa considered the small man who had once been her husband. While she had once seen him as a monster, she knew better now. She'd seen what real monsters looked like. With the aid of experience, she could look back and appreciate the husband he had been to her. He had been gentle and kind. He had never taken a single thing from her that she did not offer.

"If anyone survives the war to come, we'll have Jon Snow to thank. He risked his life to show us the threat is real. Thanks to his courage, we have brought with us the greatest army the world has ever seen. We have brought two full-grown dragons. And soon, the Lannister army will ride north to join our cause." Tyrion said.

The protest erupted instantly and Tyrion raised his voice to speak above the growing outcry. "I know, I know, our people haven't been friends in the past.

But we must fight together now or die."

The weight of his final words shudder through the hall for a long moment.

"May I ask, how are we meant to feed the greatest army the world has ever seen? " Sansa spoke up. "While I ensured our stores would last through winter, I didn't account for Dothraki, Unsullied and two full-grown dragons. What do dragons eat, anyway?"

"Whatever they want." Daenerys said.

Sansa did not miss the implied threat as their gazes briefly met.


"Sansa," Jon called out as she strode away from the hall.

In the wake of drastically increased population of Winterfell, Sansa had intended to meet with Yohn Royce to discuss the redistribution of resources to accommodate many more mouth in want of food and bodies in want of beds.

"I am very busy, Jon." She said, not bothering to slow her gait as she crossed the yard.

She heard Jon jog to catch up with her. He caught her arm and she flinched at his touch. She didn't intend to flinch, for Jon's touch was one of the few that didn't make her insides scream and squirm in protest. But she struggled with touch of any kind if she was not expecting it, after Ramsay.

Sensing her reaction, Jon withdrew his hand.

"Speak with me." He whispered. He didn't say please, but the gentleness of his request was clear in every syllable.

Jon knew better than most what she had endured at the hands of the Lannisters and Boltons. Others knew what they had witnessed, Jon knew what she had confided in him which was so much worse.

She gave a small nod and changed direction, leading him into the castle and to her chambers.

Jon closed the door behind them as he followed her inside. She wasn't entirely comfortable having a man, even Jon, in her chambers, but she did not want any other ears to witness any words that might pass between them.

"Speak." She said, by way of invitation for him to say what he came to say.

Jon approached her, but he did not reach out to touch her this time, instead he held out a hand for her to take, should she want it. And she wanted it. She slipped her hand into his and stepped closer to him, resting her forehead against his.

Neither of them spoke right away. They just closed their eyes and breathed their intermingled air. The warm air Sansa invited into her lungs, knowing it had just been in Jon's, soothed her better than anything since Jon had headed South. A part of her had feared that like her father, uncle, and grandfather before them, Jon snow would not fair well south of Winterfell.

"I did what I had to do." Jon finally whispered.

Sansa nodded, because she knew he spoke the truth, at least his truth. While she did not trust the Dragon Queen, she knew they needed her aide if they were to have any hope of surviving the long night.

Jon wrapped his arms around her waist and her hugged him back, sensing that he was silently asking her for something. Approval? No. Forgiveness.

"And I'll do what I have to do." Sansa whispered. She felt him stiffen and hated herself for the gulf she was creating between them.

Though she knew Littlefinger would object, she did trust Jon. She trusted him as she trusted no one else, not even Bran and Arya. But that trust was not blind. She might trust Jon with her whole heart, but that didn't mean she would blindly follow.


Not sure if anyone is interested, but writing this is cathartic. Please feel free to let me know where you think Season 8 has gone wrong and if I can't I'll do my best to remedy. Although, I must warn you, I intend to stay true to GoT, so there will be character deaths... So many deaths. But not today!

Will write for reviews ;)