A/N:
So here's another chapter. Thanks for the reviews, keep em' coming!
Also, I have something to say.
When I first posted this story, I had the pairing set as Jon/Sansa. But then I remembered, that when I first got the idea for this story, that I'd intended on having Aegon come to the Vale and marry her, and it was going to be all romantic and stuff! So I reset the character pairing to Aegon/Sansa.
But then that didn't feel right, so I removed the pairing setting altogether. I don't know why, but suddenly Jon/Sansa feels more right to me. Actually, I think I do know why! It's the fault of all those amazing Jon/Sansa fics I read! Damn you Jon/Sansa shippers! You sucked me in!
Anyway, thiis clarification for anyone who might be confused about why the pairing setting kept changing. I'm sorry.
Also, please review. :)
The Gates of the Moon was a stout, majestic castle. It had a moat. Upon seeing it for the first time, Jon gaped, turning back into the boy in Winterfell who dreamed of seeing the world someday.
Upon entering the castle, Jon had a strange sense of anticipation, like something was waiting for him. He couldn't fathom it. He just felt a shiver as he entered the castle, and his heart was pounding. Perhaps because he feared being recognized. His father had grown up in the Vale, after all, and Jon looked like him, and wore black besides. Starks were endangered these days. Someone would almost certainly recognize him.
Melisandre told the guards she was there on behalf of Stannis, to negotiate with the Vale for their support, and that she requested an audience with the Lord Protector, Petyr Baelish.
"I thought Lysa Tully ruled here," Jon whispered, confused.
Melisandre kept her gaze level and ahead as they were escorted through the halls of the castle. "Lysa Arryn has long been dead. It is her husband, Petyr Baelish, that rules here now."
Littlefinger.
Jon recognized the name. Petyr Baelish had grown up in Riverrun with Lady Catelyn and her siblings. He'd lost a duel with Brandon Stark over Lady Catelyn's hand. He remembered Sansa excitedly repeating the tale to Jon and Robb in bed one night, sighing over the romance of it all.
Back when they were young, Robb and Sansa used to come to Jon's room and share his bed.
The memory made Jon sad.
He never missed his family as much as he did in that moment. He was suddenly consumed by memories of them. Sansa, teaching him to dance in the Godswood, giggling as he tripped awkwardly over his growing feet. Robb, punching a stable boy in the face for calling Jon a bastard. Arya, jumping out at him from some bushes and scaring him out of his wits. Bran, leaping from a window to land in his arms, giggling. And Rickon, toddling after them all, trying to keep up, only to fall on his rump and wail, and Jon running back and picking him up.
"Here," a guard said brusquely, pushing open a door. Melisandre glided ahead of him and through the door, and Jon followed. He glanced around warily. He felt uneasy for some reason.
A small, sly man with a cunning green gaze and a pointed goatee was sitting in the Lord's seat. Jon didn't know why, but he immediately distrusted him on sight.
Melisandre glided forward and bowed her head. "Lord Baelish." She said smoothly.
Lord Baelish stood from his seat and approached them. "The infamous Lady Melisandre. A pleasure. What brings Stannis's Red Woman to the Vale?"
"Business, of course," Melisandre said calmly. "I'm here to negotiate on behalf of Stannis Baratheon, the rightful King of Westeros. But you knew that."
Baelish smiled thinly. "Indeed."
He looked at Jon then. Jon Snow tensed up, and tried to keep his face blank. He returned Baelish's gaze levelly.
Lord Baelish suddenly had a sharp expression as he looked at Jon. "And who is your companion?"
Jon shifted uneasily. Could Baelish know who he was? Jon looked like a Stark, after all, and besides having known Brandon Stark, Baelish had been part of Robert Baratheon's court. He had been in King's Landing with Father and the girls.
Melisandre waved her hand dismissively. "A man of the Night's Watch, escorting me."
Jon cleared his throat. "Ben Snow."
Jon had chosen an alias to use. Ben, short for Benjen. Snow, because he had the look and mannerisms of a highborn, yet he couldn't use a name from any noble houses because it would arouse suspicion.
Littlefinger narrowed his eyes and smiled. "So you are."
He began conversing with Melisandre once more, completely ignoring Jon.
Jon was all too glad to be ignored. He stood there and stared ahead, tuning out the conversation between Baelish and Melisandre.
A figure peeked into the entrance of the room. As Jon watched, the figure walked in and became a young maiden. Her head was down and she clutched the skirts of her gown. Her hair was long and dark, partially obscuring her face.
There was something familiar about her… Jon couldn't quite fathom it, but-
She looked up, and Jon caught his breath.
What
It can't be…
There was a single moment, where everything was still; Jon stared, and she gaped at him, disbelief written clearly over her beautiful face. She opened her mouth, to say something, but-
"Alayne!"
Littlefinger's voice cut through the moment, and Jon remembered how dangerous it was to be a Stark, so he forced his gaze from her and assumed a blank expression. But underneath, his heart pounded, with relief and fear and gladness and confusion and worry and anticipation.
She, too, rearranged her expression into one of pleasant blankness. Her eyes flicked to Baelish, who was approaching with his arms outstretched.
"How are you, Sweetling?" Littlefinger murmured, as he embraced her. Jon didn't miss the way she recoiled and the look of distaste that quickly hid itself.
"I am well, Father," Alayne replied. Her blue eyes darted to Jon's and then away.
Littlefinger squeezed the small of her back, she cringed, and Jon felt angry. How dare he touch her like that!
Littlefinger pulled away and eyed Jon smugly. "This is my natural daughter, Alayne," he introduced smoothly. "She's a bastard, too. Alayne Stone. Alayne, Sweetling, why don't you show our visitors to the Guest Rooms?"
To Melisandre, he said, "We will continue our negotiations on the morrow, my lady." Melisandre inclined her head, her face smooth and unreadable.
Jon struggled to keep his eyes from Alayne. His gaze landed on Littlefinger, who was smirking at him. A feeling of dread filled him.
He knows.
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
Sansa walked ahead of the guests, her heart pounding in her ears. She felt his gaze on her back.
Jon, she thought. I can't believe it. Jon, Jon, it's my big brother Jon. And he's alive.
No words could describe what she felt when she first saw him. She'd been drawn to the Great Hall out of pure curiosity, having heard stories of the Red Woman from Myranda. She had walked into the Hall with her head lowered to reinforce her image as a lowly bastard, and then she glanced up to see a boy with wide gray eyes and unruly black curls, staring at her, and she knew, she recognized him-
Sansa felt like weeping.
"My lady," she heard his voice at her shoulder, low and husky. "Are-"
"Yes, we are almost there," Sansa said brightly. There were eyes everywhere. She glanced at him and saw his frown, but he said nothing more.
It registered that this was the first time she heard him speak. His voice was a little deeper than before, but still familiar- still home.
I cannot believe it, she thought, giddy. But then she remembered- Littlefinger. As long as he lived and Jon remained around her, Jon was not safe. It would not surprise her if Petyr had already deduced Jon's identity.
She risked a quick glance at him, and was startled to find him already looking at her. He had a sorrowful expression on his face.
Sansa quickly looked away.
This is dangerous, she thought.
Their father grew up in the Vale. Jon's face would be recognized.
With a jolt, Sansa realized his situation was quite similar to hers. An endangered member of the lost House Stark, highly recognizable by appearance and very well-known.
At least we are together now, she thought.
When the cold winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.
And I am no longer the lone wolf.
