AN: Any recognisable dialogue belongs exclusively to the HBO Tv Show; Game of Thrones and George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire
Cripples, Bastards and Broken Things
We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark
Chapter IV – Jon
Catelyn makes him leave.
She wants time alone with her son, and so Jon does not protest, though he wishes she would allow him to keep a vigil beside Bran's bed, for he remembers the raven telling of the second attempt on Bran's life had come only days after he'd left for the Wall. Jon knows she hates him, and knows it will take more than he saving Bran's life to change this immutable fact of life.
He wonders if Ser Rodrik sees something in his eyes after, as Jon almost begs for someone to stand guard at the door, because the old Ser doesn't argue, though he is but a boy in this life and not the man he'd become.
Bran will walk again, of that Maester Luwin is certain, though he can not explain the sleep that the little Lord is trapped in. But Jon will take his victories where he can get them, and if Bran's sleep is as it was before, then his brother will wake, it will just take time. Jon wonders if he will always feel the same heart constricting fear he felt when he saw Bran pushed, though he supposes this fear will be what keeps his family safe, because he's already witnessed too many Stark's cut down in his lifetime.
He sees them, their deaths, every time he shuts his eyes, Rickon first, arrow after arrow punching hole after hole in his chest, bleeding out on the ground because Jon was too slow to save him. Robb is next, then their Father, because though he didn't witness their deaths he can still imagine them, and on his darkest days, Arya, Sansa and Bran join them, asking him why he didn't save them, accusing him of wanting their home for himself. Jon had told Sansa of the last, his voice barely above a whisper as he described his dream and she'd laughed, a sweet sound that was marred by the bruises on her face and the scars on wrists, and told him he was more like their Lord Father than she'd ever imagined.
Winterfell is silent as Jon returns to his chambers. The solemn hush that had fallen over the castle when he brought Bran into the training yard shouting for Lady Stark, refuses to lift until the little Lord is declared well. Jon isn't sure what the consequences of the fall will entail; in his last life they'd believed the sleep was a product of the impact, but Bran hadn't hit the ground, and he knows now something else is at work within his brother's mind.
Night has fallen and the Kings hunting party has yet to return to Winterfell, though Jon had not expected them to do so, for he remembers they were gone for days in his last life, and decides he wishes they would return faster, if only so they would leave just as swiftly. Robert Baratheon's visit to Winterfell was the beginning of the end for the Stark's in his last life, and in this life, in his second chance, Jon will see to it that the opposite was true. The rebellion that brought the Usurper to power had produced the very instrument of its downfall, and Jon is going to make sure that in this lifetime, the Stark's will be unharmed.
A lofty goal he knows, but one he will fight for until the very end. He closes his eyes as he shuts his chamber door, resting his head against the solid wood, and offers a silent prayer to the Old Gods that they'll see his family through. Jon hasn't seen this room in five years; when they'd retaken Winterfell, Sansa made him take Robb's chambers as they were the only rooms left untouched by the Bastard Bolton. Jon almost refuses to open his eyes and turn, certain when he does he'll find himself staring into the looking glass, with Robb's crown upon his head and his family dead.
He isn't given a choice, the cool kiss of steel at his neck making his decision for him and his eyes open in shock. He hadn't expected an attack in his chambers of all places, and finds himself feeling rather foolish with his life again, at the mercy of another. He's forced to turn around, and finds himself staring into eyes of Tully blue, Sansa looking every inch the warrior he knew and not the girl she is now as she holds him at knifepoint.
For a moment he simply stares, this had not happened in his last life, and he couldn't fathom what had- Jon stops. It was her eyes that cause him pause, eyes that no girl of three and ten should have, eyes of a woman who'd been broken over and over again until she no longer held all the pieces to put herself back together.
"We know no King," Sansa's voice trembles as she speaks, "but the King in the North, whose name is Stark." Jon finishes, and she crumbles, the knife she wielded clattering to the stone, Sansa following until Jon catches her in much the same way he'd caught Bran, one arm beneath her knees, and the other cradling her head. She lets out a breathless sob, and they're back at the Wall, clinging desperately to each other, scarcely believing the other alive.
"I knew it was you, I knew it was." Sansa whispers, her grip tight around Jon's shoulders, his broken sister unwilling to let him go. Jon knows what she's remembering, because he is too, when they'd sat in front of his fire and wished they'd never left home. "I saw you catch Bran, I saw you save our brother's life and I knew it was you."
"Sansa." He smiles, "My Sansa."
Jon's not sure how she's here, he's not completely certain he's even here really, but he'll take his blessings where he can get them and with Sansa by his side, a part of him feels he cannot lose. While he'd fought wights and Wildlings, she'd fought Lions and flayed men, and survived among them longer than anyone.
"Last night I retired as a widow twice over, as the last Stark in Winterfell, as a woman of nine and ten," Sansa whispers, her voice gaining strength as she speaks, "and this morning I woke as a girl, with none of the scars I gained from other's hands. Jon, if this is a dream, please, I don't wish to wake."
Jon holds her tightly, she's so much smaller than he remembers, but in his last life he hadn't much to do with his eldest sister, for she'd held her mother's hatred, therefore his only comparison is the woman she'd become after years apart. "Sansa, if this is a dream, I will not wake you, for I do not wish to wake myself."
Sansa is silent for a time, and Jon wonders where her mind is wandering. He's thinking of the choice that led him far from home, the choice that had led him to his death at the hands of his sworn brothers. He wonders if she's thinking of the South, of Kings Landing and all she'd suffered there, and the thought of doing it all over again. They had only just reclaimed their home, they fought so hard to return, sacrificed so many lives so they would be the Stark's in Winterfell once more… and now, young again, they were both slated to leave once again.
"I spent so many years, wishing, praying, hoping to return to Winterfell, and when I did, it was on the arm of the man who betrayed our father, the same man who sold me to the Lord who killed our brother." Sansa will not cry for her past, for it had been washed away with the years. "I escaped with a man who sought to kill our littlest brothers, but deigned to save me. The day I saw you at the Wall was the best of my life, because I knew you would fight for me and for our home, until your last breath. Then you were crowned King in the North and I knew, this would be our chance to wreak our revenge on those who did our family harm."
"This morn I woke as a girl again, a silly, stupid little girl, with a head full of fantasies wherein gallant Knights and proud Princes would sweep me off my feet in the South and I would live happily ever after." She turns to him then, sliding out of his arms and crouching before him on her knees, her blue dress dirtied by the dust on his chamber floor. "Jon, I remember this day, and the days that followed, I have dreamt of these days over and over, wishing every time I could go back and beg Father not to go South. We would be safe here Jon, you caught Bran, our little brother will walk again, and he can become the Knight he always dreamt of being, we can watch Rickon grow, and you and Robb can teach Arya to wield her Needle, and Mother and Father," She sighs, a beautiful smile lighting her lips, "They can grow old, together, with their family safe before them."
Jon is silent as Sansa grips his hands tightly, her smile disappearing, a lone tear caressing her cheekbone and lingering at the side of her mouth. "That is the fantasy I dreamt of while caged in Kings Landing… and that is what it will remain."
"Sansa." He sighs, he wants to protect her, as an older brother should, but she no longer needs his protection, if she ever did.
She smiles sadly. "My truest protector."
"It doesn't have to be a fantasy... we can change it, we can change it all." Jon whispers and as he wipes her tears he suddenly feels like a child, more so than ever.
"Do you remember what Father used to say to us, every night before we slept?" Sansa asks.
Jon nods, slowly repeating the words their Father whispered to them when the night was dark and the shadows reigned. "When the snow falls and the white wind blows, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."
"When the snow falls and the white wind blows, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives." Sansa echoes. "We could live and die in Winterfell Jon, and we would be so happy here, and if I truly believed we would all be safe, I would never leave our castle walls. I survived among the Lions longer than anyone Jon, and if it means that we can change it, if it means that Father and Mother, that Robb and Arya and Rickon will live, I will walk into Kings Landing with a smile."
Jon realises it then. This, is Sansa's chance. She'd learnt the Game of Thrones at Cersei Lannister's side, at Margery Tyrell's heel, and how to lose at Joffrey Baratheon's back. Her time in Kings Landing had changed her, she'd become a victim at their hands, and grown into a Warrior when their attention had wavered, becoming the master of her own fate the instant she chose to jump from the battlements at Winterfell. "You want to play the Game of Thrones."
Her answering smile would send shivers down the spines of lesser men. "You win or you die Jon." Sansa stands, and helps him to his feet, the knife she wielded at his neck palmed in her hand. She spins, the knife leaving her hand in a beautiful arch, and Jon stares as it impacts his bed frame with a solid thump, the tip embedded deep in the wood. She turns to him then, Tully blue eyes dark with malice. "And I have no intention of dying."
AN: And here, we find our Broken Thing.
23/12/2017 - Minor edits, spelling, grammar, point-of-view. Disclaimer.
