The Night a Stark Returned

It was half way from a full moon until the next, the nights of no moon and Sansa found herself much more relaxed within her family home. She did not want to believe that it was due to the moon, but she could not fail to notice the correlation. The sun was just setting, as she and Jon walked across the yard, wasting some time as the kitchen staff readied dinner. He had been training hard all day long, she had been watching as she flew around from place to place, checking rooms and stores that had been forgotten during the Bolton occupation. Everyone had said that the coming winter was going to be a long one, after such a long spring and summer, but truly no one knew how long it would be. The Boltons had, despite the sacking and abuse of able bodied farmers, managed to make quite a collection of food provisions. Robb had taken many of the men from across the North for his War. His war to rescue herself, she had to keep reminding herself. There had only been women left to farm, tend to animals, sow a final few seeds. Despite their stores, Sansa and Jon had both sat in the Great Hall and listened to the commonfolk, just as her Mother and Father had together, telling of their lack of food and already dwindling supplies. Sansa was not sure that they would all make it. It made her almost miss the Vale. It made her almost glad of all the bloodshed.

She grabbed Jon by the arm. "Look!" she declared and she moved away from his side, bending down in to the dirt.

"Sansa, what are you doing?"

She stood back up and held a blue winter rose in her hands, freshly plucked from the ground. Of course there were the crops that grew best in winter. Those foods might not be the tastiest, but they would keep them all alive. "We need to source seeds of all the best grown winter vegetables." She cut him off as he looked at her. "I know that Northerners already know which are best; I'm not dumb. I just mean that we need to concentrate on that. Raid our supplies for any of those vegetables and acquire new seeds. I know that the ground will be a problem, but perhaps if I could borrow a few good men to plough up some of the ground tomorrow." Most of Winterfell was covered in a frost except for nearest where the hot walls were. "We could use a spare room, one with plenty of light, to plant. Keep the ground warmer that way." The castle itself had been built over hot springs, with hot water constantly piped into the walls and floors. They could easily make an indoor garden.

He smiled at her and she blushed. "After dinner, I shall help you."

"Thank you." She reached up and placed a gentle kiss on the stubble of his cheek. His beard and hair were both wilder than it had been two weeks earlier, but he was clearly still attempting to keep it orderly.

He took the rose from between her fingers. She had been spinning it around and around, twiddling it between a thumb and forefinger. Sniffing it, his smile caused her to copy. "I have always loved the smell of winter roses."

"Because you are a Stark." Often she would remind him that he, too, was a Stark. Mainly to reassure herself that she was including him and keeping him an equal partner. She did not want him to ever think that she was pushing him out or envious of him being King. Honesty had been her promise, after all.

"Aye." With a gentle hand, Jon placed the rose behind her ear, his fingertips brushing her ear and then cheek. She felt a hot blush creep up her neck and cheeks, oddly remembering a time when Littlefinger had been this close to her and how awkward she had felt. There was no awkwardness with Jon. He suddenly seemed closer, but she was sure neither of them had taken a step. Perhaps one of them were leaning in to the other, she wondered. A call from the battlements brought them out of the moment.

"Horses approaching!" a guard called. "Wi' Night's Watch banners."

Sansa nodded with a smile and in an instant Jon had left her side, walking briskly to the gate, barking orders. She stood where she was for a moment, seemingly unable to move and then she could suddenly see an expanse of white. It was snow. It was all around her. Her eyes pinpointed something moving in the snow. It looked as small as insects and she tried to look closer. Yes, she could make out 4 people on horseback; two were clearly men of the Night's Watch and the other two were clearly not. Then she felt the wind in her hair. Freezing currents rushing past her. The snow on the ground was rushing past her as she circled the riders, around and around until she could see each face clearly. There was no noise, but one of the riders opened their mouth and she somehow heard her own name. Her name.

And then she was taking a step back, almost stumbling over. She was back inside Winterfell, in the yard. She could see Jon pointing and hear him shouting, directing people to open the gate. Hitching up her dress she ran straight across the yard. Jon managed to catch her arm as she ran past. Ignoring the pain from her bruises, she smiled at him.

"Sansa?" he questioned.

Tearing herself free she said one word before she continued running out of the gate and out of Winterfell. "Bran!"

GOT – GOT – GOT

As Sansa had run past him across the yard, the winter rose had fallen from her hair. After all of the commotion, Jon had found another in the near darkness, picking it with the purpose of giving it to his sister.

No, he reminded himself. Cousin.

Sitting up on the battlements, squeezed in to the gaps in the high wall that guards kept an eye through, that arrows flew from in a siege, Jon felt his legs freely hanging down over the safe protection of Winterfell. After all, he no longer belonged in Winterfell, did he? He no longer had the birthright to lead the North as their King, did he? And he no longer had any claim on Winterfell at all. It was all Sansa's and Bran's, his sister and brother.

No, his cousins.

He shook his head and slowly picked off one of the brightly coloured petals, watching it fall down in to the darkness that was the ground somewhere beneath him. That morning, after a night with barely any moon shining, Jon had awoken as was now normal – in his sister's arms. No, his cousin's arms. He had spent the day as they now always did – training, cleaning, shifting furniture, broken bricks, rebuilding, un-building. He spent his lunch with her. He broke his fast with her and they had been heading to dinner together when Bran had appeared. He had been spending his days and nights with his sister.

No, his cousin. Until Bran had appeared.

Sansa had run out to the Night's Watch party, despite Jon's protests, and then she had rode back in behind a horsed Bran. Despite the shock of seeing his younger brother, a brother they had thought to be lost on the North side of the wall, Jon had helped his sister unhorse. He had noticed her wince as she moved her legs. He had noticed her pained face through out the joyous feast that had quickly been put together. Bran had ridden in with Meera from House Reed and two Night's Watchmen, and four horses between them. The brothers from the watch were men Jon was aware of, but not on friendly terms as such. They had been sent simply as guards for the King in the North's brother and bannermen's daughter – on Edd's orders. Bran and Meera had made it to Castle Black a few days earlier. Meera had, on all accounts been near exhaustion, pulling Bran for goodness knew how long. They had lost count of the number of days that had passed. Bran had even declared that he had no idea of the day, or the fact that it was winter now.

"It's always winter beyond the wall," Bran and Jon had agreed. The Night's Watch brothers had been thanked, fed and given beds for the night. Bran had then requested that only those trusted by Jon and Sansa to be present in what had been Father's, no Uncle's, solar. Jon had taken Ser Davos and Tormund, Sansa had taken only Brienne into a meeting that would change his entire world. There, Jon and Sansa had tried to tell Bran what had been happening in the world below the Wall, but Bran had wanted to hear nothing. He had said that he knew all that he needed to for the realms of men and then Bran had started his story as Meera fell asleep mid-sentence in the chair closest to the fire. He told them about the Night's King and a three-eyed raven. Sansa had looked doubtful and Jon had felt the same, but remained open minded outwardly after all he knew that the Night's King was real. As was his army of the undead. Bran had told them about the Children of the Forest, how they had created the Night's King – a man of the realm before their magic. He told them of their magic being used on Uncle Benjen who was trapped beyond the wall, magically neither dead nor alive. Sansa had grabbed his hand at that news, the news of their uncle. Yes, Benjen was still his uncle, the only person to be a constant. Bran had told them that Summer had been lost to him. And Hodor, too. The younger Stark had gone quiet at that, staring at the cold, barren wall for a long moment.

And then Bran, seemingly saving the best for last, had told Jon and Sansa, their closest advisors, about how he could warg into Summer and other animals, about how he could communicate with the Weirwood trees and see into the past and future. Jon had shared a look with his sister – cousin – about whether their brother – his cousin – had gone crazy. Talking with trees? Going so far North had driven the Stark mind mad. He had seen, in his dreams of madness, their father – uncle – in Dorne at the end of Robert's Rebellion. Ned had gone to rescue his sister from the Crown Prince, Rhaegar. According to Bran's dreams, Ned had found Lyanna abed having just given birth, lying in her bed of blood and then passing. Ned had then brought the babe home.

"The babe was Jon." Sansa had spoken in the silence. Jon was still unsure if she had been asking or realizing. He was still unsure if he believed any of what Bran said. Davos had sought the travellers nourishment and came back with what would be termed a feast given their lack of supplies. Word had quickly spread that Bran had returned to Winterfell and the kitchen had begun work with no orders to do so. Tormund had carried a still sleeping Meera to some chambers, Brienne following with food for when she awoke and Davos left the siblings to their privacy. No, not siblings anymore, Jon thought with a sigh.

Sansa had retired to sleep and Jon had remained, silently, brooding into his hands, his eyes refusing to shut. "I speak the truth," Bran finally whispered in to the dark. "You are not the bastard son of Ned Stark, you are the true-born prince of Rhaegar and Lyanna." With those words Jon had left the boy he considered brother. His feet had taken him up to the battlements, his eyes teary, but far from tired.

He picked another petal from the rose and watched it disappear into darkness.

"Are you not tired?"

He gave a heavy sigh. He had heard her soft footsteps approaching. There was no need to look up and see who it was. "How can I sleep when I don't know who I am?"

"You are still Jon. Father being your uncle does not make you any different."

"I feel like the blackness is coming over me." Another petal dropped down in to the void.

"Perhaps," she considered, "the black and red of your dreams are not your brothers and what they did to you, but of your true father. They are the colours of House Targaryean."

"I am not a Targaryean. I'm a wolf." He sighed again and then spoke quieter. "A wolf who still is not in your pack."

She tugged at his arm and he reluctantly, pulled himself back up from where he sat and stood up next to her. "You were always in my pack, Jon. I just never realized. There are times when I am a wolf and times I am a fish. Being Targaryen does not stop you being a wolf." She touched his cheek with her gloved hand and he felt the warmth. They both smiled and she added. "At least you are no longer a bastard."

He snatched himself away, his cheek suddenly cold without her touch. "You and your Ladies. Gods, Sansa, you don't change, do you?" The snow crunched under his feet as he walked away from her.

"Fuck Lords and Ladies, Jon, and fuck Kings, too." He stopped at her language and after a long moment, once the anger had dissipated, turned back to face her. "I meant that you now know who both of your parents are. There was no whore, no honour lost."

"Do I?" he demanded as if she could see the past as Bran imagined that he could. "Do I know that Rhaegar loved Lyanna? Or do I know that he raped her, forced her, was a monster like the Mad King? Father may have broken his honour in fathering me, but he was no monster."

"He did not rape her," Sansa asserted.

"How do you know that?"

"Would you love my child from Bolton? Knowing what he has done to me?"

"It would be your child, too. It would be part-wolf."

"I could not love it and I could not beg you to love it. I could not ask you to be dishonest to everyone in your life, to lie to your Lady wife, tainting that love, all for my monster child." She stopped under his intense scrutiny and he watched her. He watched as the sudden tension left her face and she took a deep breath. "Rhaegar loved Lyanna. I know it. And Targaryan's practiced polygamy."

"Well," he responded drily, "there is that advantage."

She playfully swatted him on his arm and he finally returned her smile. "If you want to forsake King in the North for the Iron Throne go ahead, but I warn you that I shall never set foot inside King's Landing again."

"Then that dream is gone," he jested in response. "As I shall never leave your side."

"I am no longer your sister." Was she trying to tell him that he no longer needed to protect her? That he no longer had to keep her safe and keep his promises? What would Robb do? There was an odd sadness in her eyes.

"There is that to consider, too." Although in truth, he had never really seen her as a sister in their youth. He had been too young to ever realize that Lady Stark was withchild and could not remember a time without a little red-haired girl being present in the castle, his father's daughter, but, no, Sansa had never really been his sister not in the same way that Arya had been, or how Bran, Rickon and Robb had been his brothers. When she had left for King's Landing and he for the Wall, there had been no goodbyes.

"Along with?" Her eyes still held the sadness that he could not place or fully name.

"Am I a prince?" He threw his arms out and smiled ruefully. "Or a King? Am I Targaryen or a Stark? North or South?"

Closing the distance between them, she cupped his cheek with her hand. Once again the warmth soon penetrated and comforted him. She seemed to be his one constant since he returned to life. "Whoever you want."

With her words he truly felt like he could do anything with her by his side. "Truly? I just want sleep."

"Come," she smiled and she led him through the castle and into the warmth of her chamber.