SANSA
"Your grace." Lord Reed announced, prompting the others to rise as he did.
"A fine evening to you all." She said earnestly.
Greywater Watch was a humble keep, built in a way that was both curious and confusing. Many of the rooms attached to side halls which led outside to canopies in the trees but were somehow still a part of the structure itself. They said that the keep was built of old ashwood and reeds, very different from the stone and marble keeps of the Vale.
All the rooms she'd seen so far had been small yet this room was apart from the rest. Behind an iron hinged door lay a room larger than the others, with a council table that was fit for the lordly company it now kept.
Maege Mormont sat next to Galbart Glover on one side of the table while Howland Reed sat at the opposite end of the room. As lord of this castle, it was only proper that he be seated at one head of the table while Sansa sat to the opposite side. She knew who she wanted to fill the empty chair to her right, for it was a place of distinction.
Jon deserves it, she thought, even more than he might think.
The knight stayed quiet as he pulled her chair out for her, always remembering his courtesies. It made her smile. Once Sansa was seated, the others followed suit. For a moment it seemed like Jon would stand behind her, acting as a guard, but she gently pulled his hand down so that he would sit in his rightful place. He hesitated for a moment but eventually obeyed his queen.
For however long I remain one that is.
"The hour is late my lords." Jon said, sounding wary. "I had thought you would allow our queen some time to rest. Is something amiss?"
He's always so cautious now.
She knew he was not nervous by nature, her knight was just always preparing for the worst. It made her feel sad and grateful all at once. In their situation, they had every reason to be wary yet she wouldn't show her unease. These were to be her bannermen. She would act grateful and trusting of them.
Even if her fears since arriving in the Neck were well founded.
"No your… ser Jon." Galbart answered awkwardly. "It is just that Maege spoke the truth earlier. There is still much you should know. The lady and I had another reason for being here at Greywater Watch, besides preparing for King Robb's return north. We were… well… we did not want to delay the news any more than necessary."
Galbart's eyes remain locked on Jon the entire time he spoke, only giving her cursory glances. During their entire ride, Galbart had acted cautiously towards her, not wanting to offend but also acting reluctant to treat her as a queen. It led her to suspicions she knew Jon would not like.
Lady Maege reached within her cloak and presented a rolled up piece of parchment that she handled as gently as a newborn.
"King Robb, before his murder, tasked us with carrying his will here while the rest of his army marched towards the Twins. Greywater Watch was the lone secure Northern fortress from where we could attempt to locate you."
Sansa thanked the gods that Robb had been as much a king as she'd hoped. The will protected his rule and without it, the fates would've decided where his crown sat. She felt Jon stir beside her and saw an uncomfortable grimace on his face. It was likely he now sensed what she had on their ride here.
Jon must have seen it by now, she thought, how they act around him.
How they both defer to him, even now.
"My brother was as wise as he was brave." She could not keep the grief from her voice at the thought of Robb's murder. "Have you read this will, my lords?"
"We were party to its writing, we know its contents." The lady spoke softly, trying to treat the moment gently while Galbart looked on with pity.
"And I'm afraid it will change some things… my lady."
There it is.
The signs had been there since they arrived in the Neck and Sansa had half expected this since the Gates of the Moon. Jon clearly hadn't though. His face darkened and she saw his anger rising.
"It is proper to style a queen as your grace."
"No. I am truly sorry, but no." Maege sounded sincere and it took away some of the hurt. "Lady Sansa, I knew and respected your mother deeply, and having to say this to the daughter she so cherished wounds me deeply… but King Robb did not name you his heir."
"He didn't?" Jon appeared more crestfallen than she felt herself. Perhaps because he hadn't expected the worst like she had weeks ago.
"With Sansa wed to the Imp, our king could not allow Winterfell to fall into Lannister hands." Galbart said carefully. "He feared that once she became with child… that Sansa would not live much longer past the birth."
"He did not disdain you my lady, he had duties to his realm." Maege added.
"The marriage was a farce!" Jon's anger broke free. "The Lords of the Vale are shouting it from their castles for the entire realm to hear! It was never, er…"
Jon stopped then and she thought he almost blushed. He glanced quickly to her and she gave him a small smile to let him know he had not offended her.
"Jon means to say that I may have been wedded but never bedded. Tyrion Lannister did not take me to his marriage bed as a wife and I remain a maiden."
Both Galbart and Maege were stunned at her words. It was a moment or two before the Mormont woman recovered enough to speak.
"That… that is the sweetest news I've heard since learning you two lived!" Maege smiled while Galbart remained dumbstruck by the revelation.
Lord Reed remained silent however, watching all these developments without offering any of his own input. Again it fell to Maege to speak for Robb's will.
"But… I'm afraid it doesn't change what the king willed." Maege's joy slipped away from her face. "Another is still named as heir…"
"My brother had no way of knowing the truth of my marriage. I love him still and I will accept whoever he decreed as my king." She placed her hand on Jon's then, already guessing at the identity of Robb's heir.
Maege saw this, offering Sansa a small look of understanding. The moment passed however before the large woman elbowed the man beside her. Galbart reacted to the nudge by sighing.
"My apologies, I thought to… it is you Jon. The King named you his heir." The words hung in the air until Maege broke the seal and handed it Galbart for him to unfurl. "His royal decree legitimizes you as a Stark, as well as making you the heir to Winterfell and the crown of the Kingdom in the North."
"Our swords are yours, your grace." Maege nodded.
Jon's hand pulled away from her grasp at Maege's words, his face unreadable. Sansa found his hand again as he slowly shook his head against what he'd just heard.
It touched her that he felt so troubled.
He was my true knight, she thought, he can be my king.
"No." He closed his eyes and shook his head again, his brow furrowed as he appeared to be battling something within himself. "I am not… Sansa is the Queen, I can't do this to her. My lords, my lady, Robb didn't know the truth of her marriage or he wouldn't have done this."
"Jon, Robb loved you. He knew the kind of man you were… the kind of king you could be." She squeezed his hand to reassure him. "Those are the truths he knew. I know them as well, your grace."
Sansa smiled as she pictured a crown upon his head and knew he would still see her home. There was no doubt in her mind he would protect her and take back Winterfell. For a brief moment she saw him riding through the snow towards her again.
I trust him.
Even if he does not trust himself.
Jon plainly disagreed.
"No, no this is not right, I won't take it." Jon shook his head almost violently, causing Maege and Galbart to glance warily at each other.
No, that will not do. He's forgetting himself.
He can't show weakness like this in front of his bannermen.
"It is right." She soothed, placing her other hand over his to try and comfort him but he jerked away.
"Sansa, no… I am a Snow, not a Stark, no matter what any will might say. No matter how much I may have dreamed of being one as a boy…you are the true Stark here. I may be a bastard but I have my honor. Winterfell is to be yours, not mine. Never mine."
"Jon… Robb has simply given you what our father never could. I don't hold this against you, I promise." She tried to go for his care for her as a tactic. "Besides, this is as it should be. I grew up believing I'd be the lady of some castle south. Not of Winterfell. You know that."
It was the truth. In her youth she had dreamed of some dashing knight taking her away to a beautiful castle far from her home. She hadn't wanted cold, drab Winterfell as a little girl. Even if the woman she was now wanted it more than anything.
Fate is cruel like that.
"I said that I would see you home and that I'd see you with a crown. I vowed it Sansa." Jon looked desperate for her to take this from him.
I can't, she thought, Robb wanted this. It's what is right.
"That was a vow made by a knight and I trust King Jon Stark to bring me home just as much as him."
"I have no right to it!" Jon hissed as he clenched his fists and looked to the table. "That paper does not change who I am or what Sansa was born to!"
Galbart cleared his throat, preparing to take up the will's cause, when some mumbling came from the end of the table where the Lord of Greywater Watch sat.
His eyes closed, brow furrowed.
"Howland?" Maege had caught it too. "Did you wish to-?"
"Jon is right."
The crannogman had not mumbled that time.
His voice had taken a commanding tone and his eyes opened, displaying his eerie green eyes once more. As stern as he'd become, Sansa thought he looked paler than he had been earlier. His eyes were fixed upon the door to the end of the room yet when she glanced there she saw nothing.
"Howland… the King wanted this." Galbart recovered from the interruption and sounded irritated. "Jon is the last son of Eddard Stark and shall be King in the North, willed by the last."
Lord Reed sighed and appeared very sad to Sansa then.
"Ser Jon said it himself. Had the king known the truth he would not have asked for such." His eyes once again focused beyond them, still gazing at something invisible to the rest of them. "Jon is right."
She hoped the man did not mean to insult Jon. To say his bastard birth made him unworthy or something cruel of the like, she wouldn't condone that, not anymore. Just because he was their father's bastard did not mean he was unworthy.
He is a brave knight.
He saved me.
"We can't know that Howland…" Maege began to protest.
"I speak not of Sansa's marriage to Tyrion Lannister." Howland almost snapped. His lack of respect added an air of unease to the conversation.
Jon was the most put out. The lord's odd behavior made her protector eye the man carefully. At that moment the lord decided to meet Jon's gaze. She saw no malice in his eyes though.
There was only pain there.
"What truths did my brother not know my lord?" She asked, genuinely curious.
"King Robb named the last living son of Eddard Stark as his heir." The crannogman paused as he struggled with what he said next. "Jon is not that."
There was a pause and a silence fell upon the table. Then Sansa's anger rose.
"How dare you!? Father never denied Jon! Robb only legitimized what he always was!"
"He legitimized a half-brother, born of the same seed as his father." Howland swallowed and closed his eyes. "There is Stark blood in him but Jon is not of your father's line. He is no son of Ned Stark."
Sansa felt her eyes widen and her heart stop.
No son of Ned Stark.
The words made no sense. Jon had been at Winterfell since before she was born. Her father and mother fought over him at times but father had treated Jon just the same as his other children. She looked to Jon and saw shock clear upon his face. Her own feelings were all over the place.
"Forgive me Ned. And you Jon… you most of all." Howland seemed to pray, his hands balled into fists upon the table. "You most of all."
"My father claimed Jon as his own from the day he was born!" Sansa recovered her wits but the lord shook his head somberly.
"That is not true-"
"Anyone can see the boy is a Stark Howland!" Galbart shouted. "Stop this nonsense!"
"Jon is of House Stark, just not of Ned's line… but of his sister Lyanna's."
Sansa had no more words for that.
The others joined her in stunned silence. Galbart even spilled his wine in his shock. He made no effort to clean it and Lord Reed seemed too lost in thought to care for the mess upon his table.
"Lyanna's son? How can that be?" Maege asked. "She had no son Howland…we both knew her and she… she…"
The lady made a choked sound then, her face twisted as if struck by some sort horror.
"You can't speak of her time with… no, Howland that can't be…"
"I do Maege." The lord nodded. "It is no matter how much Ned and I tried to deny it. It is the truth of things."
"I don't understand." Jon struggled with his words. "I'm Ned Stark's son. Not my aunt's… he would have told me…"
"It was a tale he never wished to tell, for all our sakes." Howland lowered his head. "Yet one that must be told now…"
And so Howland Reed began a tale that would haunt Sansa for a very long time.
'We all know the story that is told, of how Rhaegar Targaryen stole Lyanna Stark and of the war that followed. It was a war that wrought such death and loss, where so many wrongs were committed, even against children.
Yet so much of that tale is wrong. No one knew that it started with an act of love.
For Lyanna was not stolen by Rhaegar but left with him.
Loved him.
For us who knew her well it's easy enough to believe.
Hers was always a wild spirit. Lyanna was a woman born as much to adventure and laughter as any man. As willful as she was beautiful, few men could think to try and tame her.
I'll admit that when I heard of her betrothal to Robert Baratheon, it was hard to imagine Lyanna being given to such a man. To be given to any man.
It was hard for Lyanna to accept as well.
Harder still after finding such a kindred spirit in the Dragon Prince she met at the Tourney of Harrenhal. Perhaps this all would have gone differently if those two had remained unpromised until that day.
How many people would have been spared? How fewer tears would have been shed?
It is best not to think on that.
I believe paints the lovers in a light they don't deserve. The love they shared was as true as any, truer than most perhaps. That love took them south, to the Tower of Joy, and there they hid from both their families. Their stay there was likely a sweet time for Lyanna, a time when their love was all that mattered.
For her to have that short happiness, the thought is some comfort to me.
That time was doomed to end… as doomed as their happiness. What followed after was wrought in so much blood… far too much. The murders of Brandon and Rickard Stark by the Mad King Aerys forced Rhaegar's return.
And his death.
If not for Ashara Dayne telling Ned of where her brother Arthur had travelled, we would have wandered for months. When we came upon that tower… the seven of us… the Kingsguard awaited our coming. Knights who were ready to do their duty.
All finer men than I had any right to be among.
Why did they guard the tower? Why were Rhaegar's most trusted swords here rather than with their prince? Why did no one ask these questions then?
That fight haunts my dreams still. The sounds of the killing… the dying of good men. The Kingsguard fell protecting Lyanna, our men to trying to save Lyanna.
In a way the memory is worse than the fight itself… to know that we all fought for the same cause. Lyanna knew it. During the whole fight she screamed at us to stop. Her cries always await me when I dream of that day.
Ned and I found ourselves the only survivors of the battle and so we went to her. We found Lyanna dying upon a blood stained bed. The entire canopy was adorned with the winter roses she loved so much, the petals fell all around her even as she wilted before our eyes.
She wept tears of blood, cradling a babe to her chest.
As she died, Ned made her a promise, to protect her son, to show him love. She begged for Ned to love the boy as he had loved her. To do what she and his father couldn't. As I held that child, a boy who looked so much like Lyanna, I saw the path before us as clearly as I knew the way home.
Ned saw the same.
As soon as Ned took the child our treason began. We would betray our new king to protect the son of a dead prince.
Eddard Stark was no ordinary man. For he fulfilled his promise. He made the boy his son, loved him as a son. To protect his wife, his new family, and even the boy himself, Ned made his nephew into a bastard. The boy would inherit no titles or forces that could threaten the new king.
The secret was ours alone. Should it ever be discovered, Robert's wrath would fall upon our shoulders, not theirs. Perhaps not even the boy's.
The child could live his life in peace… never knowing his mother but knowing the love of brothers and sisters. The love of a father who risked his life for him. We made a choice that day.
To make that child a bastard that lived rather than a prince who died.
To both keep and give peace…
We damned ourselves.
We turned a dragon to snow… may the gods forgive us for it.'
When Howland ended his talk, Sansa found her hands at her mouth.
There was total silence in the room save for the crackling of fire in the hearth. The whole chamber seemed to have grown darker in the telling, their shadows flickering along the walls. There were no words to say, nothing that could make sense of this. Only one thought echoed through her head.
Jon is not my brother.
He is the son of a Targaryen.
The son of a dragon.
As she sought Jon, she saw that the spilt wine had spread across the table in front of him. The dim light of the fire made it look like blood, the flames of the hearth leaping in its reflection.
Sansa's hand fell to her chest and her mind swirled.
Fire and blood.
"Peace?" Jon choked out.
His face was dark and his hands gripped the table tightly. He was hunched over the pool of wine, glaring at the lord. His eyes scared her. She'd only seen Jon make such a face once. When he was killing Lothor Brune.
"Live my life… in peace?"
"Ned wanted so much for you Jon-"
"What of what I wanted?!" Jon roared and Sansa jumped at the rage in his voice. "What peace have I ever known?!"
He rose to tower over the table and she feared he meant to hurt Howland so she reached for his arm but Jon threw her touch aside.
"An outcast in a home that was never truly mine? Living my life as the sole stain on the honor of Eddard Stark?" He paused then and raised his fists to the sides of his head. "The death! By the gods, all the people who died! The people I've watched die! The blood and the pain! I am the cause of it all and you dare to tell me- what peace did I have Lord Reed? Tell me!"
"Jon… you were loved. You are loved."
"By a father that wasn't mine! By brothers that weren't mine… sisters that… it's all a lie! I am a lie!"
The sheer anger pouring out of Jon was nothing she had ever seen from him. She was scared of him. She was crushed for him.
"Jon…" Galbart started but a long howl from somewhere beyond the walls cut him off.
Then Jon's cry joined it.
He grabbed his chair and flung it violently against the wall. It exploded into splinters and everyone but their host rose from their seats. The door to the chamber swung open and two guards entered with swords drawn while Jon started towards them.
"No! All is well. Let him be." Howland said, once again using his soft, commanding tone. "By the gods let him be…"
Jon pushed by the guards and disappeared from sight.
"Leave us." The lord commanded of them. "Leave us and do not enter again."
The guards left but the others remained staring at the crannogman.
He's a monster.
"Howland… how could you?" Maege asked in a red-faced rage.
"What choice did I have?" Lord Reed finally rose to stand, facing the fire instead of them. Ghost howled again and Sansa thought it was a mournful sound. "What choice did any of us have?"
She turned and began to walk out of the room.
"My lady… are you sure that is wise?" Galbart began to round the table towards her.
"Considering what wisdom has earned Jon today, I care little." She looked to Lord Reed with disgust. "He is the only family I have left. I know what it is like to feel alone, just as Jon must surely feel now. I beg your leave Lord Reed and ask that no one disturbs us."
She hoped the tone she'd used let no one mistake the last part as any kind of request. Without waiting for a response she turned to follow the man who had brought her here.
And had been damned for it.
JON
You know nothing, Jon Snow.
Melisandre's voice came back to him, a clear sound among the chaos of his thoughts.
The cool air outside Greywater Watch did little to comfort him. He imagined little would but still he had chosen his route of escape from the wooden fortress carefully. After almost running out of the gate, he'd taken the path they'd arrived on, finding his way to the trail he'd spotted earlier.
The path had been wet and the muck slippery yet he'd arrived at the shelter he'd hoped to find.
Hidden upon an island of sorts, the weirwood stood tall before him. It was the only company he wanted right now. Beyond the weirwood lay the swamps of the Neck, where the other trees rose like corpses from the muck, the fog around them their death shrouds.
This dry area was no Winterfell though. Nothing had ever felt as comforting as those walls and the country surrounding them. This swamp wasn't the godswood he'd sought sanctuary in so many times as a boy. He would run there to escape the whole world at times, to hide from every person who held his birth against him.
This place offered few of those comforts.
A part of him wanted to break down and weep. Another part wanted to fight and rage. Greater still was the desire to march back and force the crannogman to take back everything he'd said.
So everything would make sense again.
The lie itself made sense though. Deep down, he knew that. It explained so much. It fit so perfectly. It was Jon that didn't fit.
How could he?
Everything he thought he knew had been torn to shreds.
'She loved you Jon… loved you more than you can know.'
His father's words in King's Landing came back to him and he pushed the memory away, only to have others come unbidden in its place.
Running with Robb along the castle walls. Laughing with Arya and Bran as they threw snow at one another. Bouncing baby Rickon on his lap. Watching in awe as his father cleaned Ice.
Not your father.
An uncle, he lamented, only an uncle.
An uncle who'd lied to him for his entire life. An uncle who had let Jon grow up believing himself the bastard of an honorable man while thinking his true father was dead, a murderer and raper besides.
Jon took a deep swig of the wine skin he held.
He had stolen it from Willem during his flight from the fortress. His friend had been drinking with some guards at the entrance to the castle when he'd snatched it from the knight's hand. Jon had ignored Willem's worried cries while taking the first drink.
The crannog spirit burned down his throat now but less so than before. On the walk here he had drained over half of it. He was glad Willem and the others hadn't followed.
Only Ghost had.
The direwolf lay amongst the trees watching him intently. Those red eyes showed no emotion but Jon always thought the wolf was smarter than any animal had any right to be.
Had Ghost ever guessed at the lie?
Did he smell that my blood was different than the others?
"I fear Lord Stark betrayed you as well Ghost. You and your siblings were meant for his children… you thought you had a bastard… but I'm only a pretender."
Another swig. He never drank like this but the pain and rage was more than he could stand sober. Robar had taken him as a squire because he was Eddard Stark's son.
Another drink.
Robb had embraced him and bid him stay with his brothers one last night in Winterfell.
My brothers… my cousins…
Again he drank.
The pain he'd felt when he learned his father's death, of Robb and Bran and Rickon, it returned all at once and struck him. He had loved them so much. They were supposed to mean less to him he supposed, but the pain was still so strong. It was always there. That he stood now in such gloom was not lost to him for the place fit him well.
Promise me, Jon.
He had promised her. Sansa would be a queen and he'd help her return to Winterfell. Finally, finally, he would be able to help his family. But somehow he'd befouled even that and stolen Sansa's crown from her.
Now he couldn't even be the king to take her home.
I'm no more a king than I am a wolf.
Only the bastard of a dragon.
"I'd rather be your bastard!" He yelled at the weirwood, the spirit spraying from his mouth like a mist.
Jon needed his uncle, his father, whoever Eddard Stark was to hear him. He fell to his knees before the weirwood. The swamp mist was thick but Jon could still make out its mournful eyes. They gazed down in pity.
"I wanted no dragonsblood father… I only wanted you… the others… Robb as my brother… please… please… I only wanted to be your son…"
"Jon."
He looked to the weirwood's carved mouth, sure that he'd heard his name but the tree was silent. Its leaves were moving some, the branches creaking slightly in the wind, but nothing else came from it.
Jon drank again, a mirthless laugh coming forth.
I can't even feel the wind, he thought, that's been denied me as well.
"Jon."
He looked to the tree at first but then heard the snag of a twig behind him. Despite his wishes, Jon knew he had company then and it wasn't the gods. From what he knew of the old gods, they would never speak in such a soft, sweet voice. He turned and saw her walking through the fog, a flickering torch in her hand.
He had not heard her approach and Ghost had given no warning.
The traitor.
Jon turned and stood to face her but he did so shakily. His body felt warmer than it should and responded poorly to his wishes. Sansa's face became gradually clearer in the torchlight, and she placed the flame between two branches of a dead tree to hold its place. He could not look her in the eyes, noticing instead that her skirts were stained with the mud from following him.
Jon drank deeply from the skin again, the burning bringing tears to his eyes. He sucked the air deeply into his lungs and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He took another swig before he spoke again.
"Your grace… you should not have come unguarded."
"The guard I trust most is the one I came looking for." Her answer was spoken so softly that it was almost lost in the sounds of the swamp.
Sansa knew what to say and how to say it. He barely recognized her from the girl he'd known at Winterfell, and during their journey she'd changed even more in his eyes from the scared girl he'd found in the Vale. Now because of him and that damned will, this girl would not be queen.
Gods, what a queen she would be.
Facing her made it too hard to say what he wished so he turned away, stumbling on a root as he did so. Once again he was on his knees before the weirwood. While Sansa gasped he let out a drunken laugh, waving his hand to show he was unharmed.
"Sansa, what was done to you in there… what Robb's will said… I hope you know that I'd never wish that upon on you. I am no more a King in the North than I am a Stark. You shall have your home." He stared ahead at the tree without really seeing it. "It should be home to one of us at least."
He didn't want her to see his face. If she saw the pain his words caused him she might hesitate to take her rightful throne. Sansa was too giving like that. Another part of him wanted the gods to hear his words. To know that whatever plans they'd had for him would be thwarted.
As had all his hopes and dreams.
He could've been a Stark. Being denied it made his hands clench in anger. He didn't want the crown, but knowing that Robb had wanted him to be a trueborn Stark meant everything. To be a true brother to Robb and the others, it was something he'd wished for since he was old enough to understand that he wasn't one.
"Jon I have suffered worse than what Robb laid out in his will. It was wise and well meant. You are the one who is owed apologies… you're owed so much…" Sansa had moved closer to him. He felt a hand touch his shoulder but he threw it away and stumbled back to his feet.
"Not by you… you have treated me well. All the people who would owe me anything are dead. A father I never knew… a mother… a mother I think I loved but never knew… and an uncle who was the only father I knew… and I knew nothing Sansa."
He drank the spirit again, remembering how the red woman had tried to warn him.
"I know nothing."
It was funny. He thought once that he had a name to give his mother, Wylla, and even then he was wrong. Jon felt little joy in learning the truth.
"Father loved you Jon. He loved you as much as any of us. Surely you see that."
"I was his shame. That's what I always knew. I just thought it was his shame for bringing a bastard into his home, a constant reminder of the one mistake he'd made during his honorable life. Every time Lady Stark looked at me I felt it! Even you!" He hadn't meant to say that but his thoughts were blurring and it had come out. "I'd see it sometimes Sansa… you felt the shame too. I was the shame he carried. A lie he carried into his castle and placed before his lady wife."
Jon drank again and Sansa tried to grab at the skin. His grip was too strong and she shouted at him as they struggled.
"He was never ashamed of you Jon! The wrong was ours! If I could go back and throttle the girl I was for ever looking at you with anything but love I would!"
He watched a tear travel down her face in the moonlight as he moved away from her, his back pressed against the weirwood.
Her eyes are too pretty to weep so often.
"The love you had for a brother… but I'm not that. I never was. Who'd want me as their family? Truly? My life meant so many deaths… a war… how can anyone be asked to love someone born of so much pain?"
The shame of bastardy was nothing compared to this. After Lord Reed's story, Jon felt a new burden to his existence that he wanted no part of. His parents had caused the deaths of so many with their recklessness. His life had cost the lives of some the finest men in the Seven Kingdoms.
"None of that is your fault Jon. None of it." Sansa moved towards him again, her hands folded in front of her. Her eyes locked on his face and he couldn't help but look into them.
"You don't understand…" He raised the skin to his mouth but her hand stopped it from reaching his lips. She gently pushed it away from his face.
"I understand feeling responsible for people's deaths." Her hands grasped his shoulders and her blue eyes bored into his own. "You called me an innocent, one who meant none of the pain she caused and I was not an unborn babe. If you were right then, I am right now."
"I don't want this Sansa." His voice felt weak and pitiful. "I want them back… I want it to be like it was."
It was a plea. Perhaps to the gods, perhaps to her, he couldn't be sure. His shoulders slumped and he felt what strength he had leaving him.
"I know Jon, but it won't be."
Sansa embraced him then. Pulling her body against his, her hand guiding his head into the crook of her neck to hold him there. They'd only hugged a few times since being reunited and never like this. Her hold was warm and gentle. As pathetic as it made him feel, he let her comfort wash over him and started crying again.
She smells like the summer. She smells like the sunlight shining down in the godswood.
She smells of the home I had forgotten.
"I am here though. I'll be here for you, just as you are there for me when I need you. And I do need you Jon… winter is coming." She said softly, moving to look at him letting her hair brush softly over his face. "Those are our words Jon, Stark words, and Stark blood runs through your veins as much as it does mine."
"I'm so sorry Sansa…" He said into her hair. He felt Ghost beside them then, nuzzling into their embrace.
"I'm sorry too Jon. Don't forget that I love you. Please?"
He was surprised by her words but the answer came without thought.
"I love you too, Sansa."
Amongst the fog and trees, before a carved weirwood, the eldest daughter of Eddard Stark comforted the only son of Lyanna Stark.
The gods offered them that small comfort at least.
SANSA
She found Howland Reed breaking his fast with a simple porridge.
His wife had told her to seek him in what looked to be his solar, and when she knocked his voice had beckoned her. She had slept poorly that night and not because of the strange noises of the swamps outside her window. It appeared Lord Reed had had similar troubles. The man was as pale as when she'd left the lords to search for Jon, his strange green eyes glazed with a tired and haunted look.
He was simply staring into the bowl.
"Lord Reed."
"Your grace, I hope the day finds you well." He said as if she'd been expected.
"Better than Jon I'm afraid."
Last night's memory of Jon in her arms would not leave her mind. After taking the wineskin from him, they'd simply stayed before the weirwood, comforting each other for hours.
They spoke little more about the meeting and instead shared memories of Winterfell and their family. Almost none of their memories were of being together, which made her sad. Yet they found moments to laugh about, moments which made them smile to think on. He'd even told her of a time long ago, when she sang to him whilst he was abed with sickness. She'd forgotten that moment until he mentioned it.
Yet a part of the night felt full of loss. After some time Sansa realized they sounded like they were speaking of yet another brother she'd lost. Where once she'd had four brothers and now she had none, only a cousin she still knew far too little of. Jon seemed to sense the mournful tone to their talk and they'd returned to the castle not long after. Walking together in silence, arm in arm, the whole way.
"To fear for Jon… it is something your father and I knew well." Howland shook his head and gestured to a chair beside his own. She sat as the lord pushed aside the bowl of porridge with a look bordering on disgust.
"You must think me very cruel, so careless for telling him as I did. To share his true origins in front of others… it is a poor excuse but know that was not how I planned it. Often how and when we wish for events to occur is not possible."
She had not come to hear his excuses. That her father had trusted this man and called him a dear friend had lulled her into thinking that he would not harm them.
Petyr claimed to have been mother's dear friend as well.
That was lesson of she would take to heart for Lord Reed had already harmed her greatly by hurting Jon.
"You took a crown away from him. You took his father away from him."
"A crown we both know he did not want. Your father may have never revealed this to Jon, that's true. I did not have that luxury." The man did not flee her glare nor did he seem to challenge her. His tone reminded her of Maester Luwin when he taught her lessons he knew she disdained.
"I am not a man who hopes for too much from the gods, yet I pray Jon will forgive Ned and love the only father he ever had."
As do I.
Sansa did not say so though. Something had bothered her about the tale but she hadn't the time or the energy to question it the night before. Depending on the answer Lord Reed would give her, she preferred to ask him in private.
"You said my aunt chose to leave with Rhaegar. Why would she choose to be a mistress to a prince? Rhaegar was already married to Elia Martell."
He had even had children. The Lannisters saw to their murders just as they'd murdered her own family. She realized then that both sides of Jon's family had been murdered by House Lannister.
"Yes… Targaryens have an interesting history in regards to wives. Rhaegar married Elia of Dorne out of duty to his father." At that he cupped his hands together before his chin and raised an eyebrow at her. "Lyanna on the other hand, he married out of love."
Sansa nodded. She'd feared as much.
"He took two wives, like Aegon the Conqueror did." She whispered the next part. "So Jon is not my father's bastard nor is he Rhaegar's. He is Rhaegar's trueborn son, the heir to the Iron throne."
Whichever identity Jon chose would lead to a crown and enemies sharpening their blades against him. The Lannisters and the Tyrells on the Iron Throne to the south and Roose Bolton to the north.
Howland nodded at both her words and fears then.
"You understand now the fear we felt for the boy. Rhaegar's children had been butchered and Ned saw their small bodies with his own eyes. He spoke against that crime but Robert was blinded by his hatred for Rhaegar. Their murders pleased our new king. We both loved Lyanna too much to see her son suffer such a fate."
Sansa saw no hint of deception in the small lord's pained face or his tired eyes. He reminded her very much of father then, when he came to her rooms in Winterfell. The day that Bran fell. Father had had the same exact face while he was explaining to her and Arya that Bran might not ever wake up.
"In truth Jon is heir to nothing but war." The lord continued, leaning back against his chair and gripping the arm rests. "Just another claimant to a throne already picked over by the lords of this realm like hounds fight over a bone. He would be but a symbol for all the others to rally against and destroy."
"You wouldn't allow him to be Robb's heir either. Jon could have been King in the North and never known the truth."
The Lannisters and Boltons would want him dead either way.
Whether he took the crown or helped her gain it herself.
Lord Reed shook his head once more.
"Robb named the last son of Eddard Stark as his heir without knowing he was Ned's last son. For the false reasons he thought to disinherit you and name Jon his heir. Was I to stand by while our lie stole your rightful crown? I loved your father too much to do that to his daughter."
The idea that he'd hurt Jon for her benefit was a cruel thing to think on. Sansa began to object but he cut her off.
"Today I intend to put forth that we set aside the will. I'd hoped to speak with Jon on the matter but it pains to me to think of such a conversation."
It was becoming quite normal for the crannogman's words to shock her into silence. Asking that Robb's will be put aside made her the heir again. Without meaning to, she saw the wisdom in allowing him to do so. Lord Reed asking for such would not reflect badly upon her and the others would look to her to see if she supported it.
Jon would also look to her.
Stop it, she cursed herself, such thoughts are unworthy.
"No matter what action I take, I place the two of you in harm's way." Howland ran a hand down his face. "I knew my friend and this was a fate Ned would never have wanted for his children. Whoever is named as Robb's successor faces challenges that could mean their death. I am a man grown and a lord who has seen much of what the game of thrones can cost. So I fear for what it could cost two so young."
The last words were so quiet they were just above a whisper. As he finished, Lord Reed looked towards the small fire burning just to the other side of the room. His sad green eyes watched the flames in silence. Soon it became apparent that he had nothing left to say.
Unfortunately for him, Sansa did.
"My father named you his dearest friend. Do as you wish but I ask one thing of you. Let me speak to Jon in your stead. Of what you propose and what you have told me."
That was not the move she should make. Petyr would have been disappointed but she could see the pain the lord felt. All for the well-being of her family, and she thought her real father would want her to speak these words.
"I fear hearing so much from you will earn you nothing but anger from Jon… an anger I am starting to feel you might… that you might not deserve."
"As you will your grace." Howland reacted little to her words.
Sansa stood to leave and was almost out the door when she thought he spoke again, his words too quiet to hear.
"My lord?"
"Jon… I was the first one to hold him." He still stared into the flames. "Lyanna let no else touch him before we arrived. She asked me to be gentle with him… she told me how he liked to be sung to. From the day I took him from his mother and placed him in Ned's arms, I was a part of his life. Bound to keeping it. Bound to fear for it."
Sansa thought he would say more but he didn't. She had to see Jon after this and wanted as much time with him as possible.
So she left the lord there, sitting alone in his solar with his fears and his memories.
JON
"My lords, I ask you to set aside this will."
Jon did his best to sound firm despite his discomfort in asking this highborn audience to heed him.
No matter what he'd been told last night, Jon had been a bastard his entire life and a knight for barely half a year. He had grown up trying to avoid offending highborns with his presence, not giving them counsel.
"Are you certain ser?" Galbart asked as he ran his hands over the will in question.
"Last night Sansa told me Robb had acted wisely and meant well. I believe she was right, she often is." He looked to Sansa and gave her the slightest of nods. "But Robb erred. I can no more be a Stark than the next King in the North. Sansa is the rightful heir to Winterfell and Robb's crown, not me."
"Jon, I did mean to sway you into doing this." Sansa broke in.
"Nor did you."
She had come to him twice while he'd been weak. The night before at the weirwood, when he'd been as angry as he was drunk, then again this morning when he suffered from the excesses of the previous night.
They'd spoken of Lord Reed's plans and Jon had been relieved to hear of them to be honest. He agreed that the truth of his parentage was a distraction from their quest to return home to Winterfell. While the lord's idea would make Sansa the heir, she had never pushed him into asking for the will to be set aside. Sansa had acted uncomfortable even mentioning it, and Jon suspected that she felt badly for benefitting from Lord Reed's proposal.
She was being unfair to herself of course.
I want her to benefit from it.
"You all heard me last night." He continued. "I supported Sansa's claim before the will was even read and I will fight for her claim even after knowing its contents. If you still urge me to inherit the crown I will simply disinherit myself to place her ahead of me in the line of succession. The will is for naught."
"The will also legitimized you." Maege added.
He tried to speak but his mouth became dry then. His whole life he had wanted to be a Stark and to pretend otherwise was beyond his heart's ability. Now the chance lay before him in Galbart's hands.
Sansa had urged Jon to accept that part of the will at least. Yet, deep down, he knew it was folly to consider that. They couldn't keep some parts of the will and reject others.
If Sansa was to be queen, Jon could not be a Stark.
As if sensing his thoughts Sansa reached for his arm then, her eyes pleading with him. As they had once before.
Promise me, Jon.
"As I said… Robb erred… the will is for naught." He felt like someone else was speaking the words. "I am no Stark."
"I will be honest ser, I found myself hoping to call you a Stark rather than a Targaryen." Galbart sounded somber as he poured himself some wine.
"You won't be asked to do either. None of you will. My name is Snow and so it shall remain."
"Jon!" Sansa protested, just as he predicted, for he hadn't told her of this decision beforehand. "Jon please, you don't have to! Howland will attest to your bloodline."
Sansa pushed at his arm, as if to bid him look to the crannog lord. Still he would not acknowledge the man.
"Let him do so, there is no shame in being Jon Targaryen."
"Less shame than being Jon Snow?" He said.
Sansa blinked as if he'd slapped her. He knew better than to throw that in her face after everything they'd been through together, but this conversation needed to end. As a child he had dreamed of dragons but he'd been raised as a wolf. A bastard wolf at that. He'd already denied himself his lifelong dream of being a Stark, forsaking a Targaryen name was no great sacrifice. Besides, there were other matters to discuss and Jon was quite done with this one.
Howland saved him there, to his displeasure.
"Perhaps one day Jon will take his name, perhaps not." The lord dipped his head in a respectful way. "Adding an unknown prince and possible claimant to the Iron Throne would only muddle what we seek to accomplish. I say we respect his wishes."
Jon felt a quiet rage against the man burn hot within him. He pushed it down, like he had so many insults towards himself over the years.
Dragons were beasts of fire.
Let me be ice.
"Northmen would've rallied to a son of Eddard Stark. A man knighted and bloodied by battle." Galbart looked half ashamed to be saying such for his meaning was clear.
No matter her family name Sansa might not find the support she'd need to make her claim to Winterfell. The North had followed Robb, a great leader, to some of the greatest victories seen in this war. Such men may not be as inspired by a daughter who'd been a prisoner of their enemies for the length of the war.
Jon reflected on the worries he'd had himself on that account while Maege made a sound that was half a laugh and half a grunt.
"Come off it Galbart." Maege sounded irritated but her eyes gave away the hope she had. "As if any northman would stand by and let the sister of their murdered king, the daughter of their liege lord, fight to avenge House Stark alone. I have more faith in our people than that. I say Jon is right. The will should be set aside."
Galbart took a deep drink from his cup before nodding.
"I cannot argue against what we've learned here. This will would do naught but hurt the North. I agree."
"Unless any of you deem to challenge our claim that Sansa's marriage to Tyrion Lannister was not consummated…" Jon paused then to see if any would. Only Galbart reacted, by pouring himself more wine. "Then she would be the eldest child of Eddard Stark and heir to Winterfell. And to Robb's crown."
"It is how I view her." Howland agreed. "The issue of her youth will come into question though."
It surprised Jon then how he hadn't considered that. They both had been through so much already it was easy to forget how old they truly were. He had reached the age of manhood only recently and while Sansa might be a woman flowered, she was younger still.
"The North needs a symbol, not a regent." Galbart said firmly, his eyes challenging the crannogman. "It will be divided enough when we announce ourselves against the Boltons and naming a lord on the queen's behalf will only hurt our cause."
"I fear you're right Galbart." Howland said. "But forgive me Sansa. You are not experienced in marshal matters or in matters of court or diplomacy."
"She brought the Vale to our side." Jon put in.
He was annoyed by all of this. The lord knew well enough that it was Sansa who had negotiated the alliance, the Vale was now their best chance at taking back the North.
"Why not continue as this?" Sansa asked looking around the table. "I may not be experienced but many of my bannermen are. Let my crown be a symbol and you all my counsel. It will be a sign of confidence in my rule and give all who doubt our strength pause."
They all were silent in consideration of Sansa's words. He saw the wisdom in it. Galbart and Maege were both experienced battle commanders. Despite his anger at the man, Howland Reed had been Eddard Stark's dearest friend. Jon believed the uncle who had been his father would have wanted these lords to help Sansa through the hard days ahead.
They will guide her to victory.
And I will protect her from danger.
"Who says she has no experience in diplomacy?" Maege laughed. "Seems to have quite a mind for it. I offer my counsel gladly, if you'd have it."
The other two quickly added their assent and Sansa smiled before turning to him. She was waiting for him to say something but he wasn't sure what.
"Jon… I'd have your counsel too."
He thought that a foolish notion.
Except the other lords were nodding in agreement before he could protest. It amazed him that such battle-hardened lords would be willing to accept him among their number. How he ever rose to such esteem in their eyes, he did not know. He could only blame it on Sansa.
"You have it your grace, though I cannot speak to its worth." His words made Sansa laugh and he thought Lord Reed was staring at them in an odd way.
He didn't care.
This is it.
"Our king is dead." Howland said solemnly, a hand lightly placed upon his chest. "Long live the queen."
Maege placed a hand over her heart and smiled as she gazed at Sansa.
"That you survived all your trials to find us here, others might call it a gift from the gods but I call it the mark of your mother. She was strong and so are you."
"I fought for King Robb Stark." Galbart followed the lady's lead and put his hand to his chest as well. "I will fight for Queen Sansa Stark."
None spoke then and Sansa seemed at a loss for words. So he rose from his seat and knelt, looking up at her surprised face.
"I swore that I'd see you returned to Winterfell and restored to your rights, do you have faith that I will uphold my vow?" Jon hoped the memory of that moment was as pleasant to her as it was to him.
If she was still surprised at the turn the meeting had taken it showed little. Sansa smiled down at him and shook her head.
"You have my faith, my trust, and my love ser. Always."
"I would have you as my queen Sansa Stark." He drew his sword from its scabbard and offered his blade to the girl who was once his sister.
The young woman who was now his queen.
The sounds of chairs moving came and Howland was suddenly beside him, kneeling with a sword held out as well.
"The Queen in the North."
Maege and Galbart were soon on their knees as well.
"My blade is for Queen Sansa Stark."
"The Queen in the North."
SANSA
I am not used to this.
The smell of cooking meat and the sounds of laughter were all around her. No one was in a foul mood despite knowing the truth of her. They only wished her well.
Once, such treatment had been normal for her at Winterfell but that felt like a lifetime ago. Becoming accustomed to it again was difficult but she was trying very hard. It was all so marvelous.
It almost made Sansa forget they were in a swamp.
Well, on the drier edge of a swamp in truth. Where there was room enough for people to eat and drink and celebrate her coronation. In all her girlhood dreams of becoming a queen, she'd never pictured a scenario like this.
Sansa could only imagine her reaction if two years ago someone had told her that she would become a queen but that her coronation would be in a swamp. That during people's cheers she would have to hold up her skirts to keep mud from ruining them.
The idea made her laugh.
The weather was cool but the sun was bright as the Reed pole boat journeyed through the marsh waters to the gathering place. The elevated patch of land served as a sort of field to fit the assembly of Neck lords, Northmen, and her escort from the Vale. Sansa had wanted as many allies as possible here.
Her nervousness had worsened when she saw the throngs of crannog people waiting along the water's edge. Her hands trembled as she felt the gaze of what seemed like hundreds of people on her. She worried that the sight of her would disappoint them. That they would ask for someone else, a man who'd fought in battles and not some girl who'd spent the war as a prisoner.
Howland had interrupted her worries, leaping up to the prow of their boat and balancing perilously upon its edge while cupping his hands about his mouth.
"All hail Sansa Stark! Queen in the North!" He shouted far louder than she would have expected of a man the lord's stature.
The cheering that answered was surprisingly loud. People began clapping and shouting her name. Not angrily or in derision like in the capital, but with hope.
When the boat hit land and she was helped down, the crowd parted for her, still applauding. Women were throwing things at her and it turned out to be wildflowers. Then she saw Ser Willem toss a man's hat in the air with a yell and she had laughed, especially after the now hatless man acted displeased and tried to quarrel with the Royce knight.
A new fear had gripped her after the cheers died down, that these people only cheered for her because they expected her to save them from their enemies and their troubles. Then she saw men bearing northern sigils upon their clothes. The Mormont bear, the Glover mailed fist, an Umber giant. Some even bore the Stark direwolf, and one of those men was large and fearsome looking. She felt strange that she did not know the man while he almost wept to cry out her name.
Seeing the survivors of Robb's army did away with much of Sansa's fear. She wasn't just a queen in name. They wanted her to lead them.
Could Cersei ever say the same of the people in Kings Landing?
She did not take their love for granted. After all these people had endured, after so much sadness and death she wished happiness for them. Sansa vowed to use her crown to do just that.
Fires burned to the edge of the clearing and Lord Reed's people were seeing to the cooking of food, sending many delicious and fine smells wafting through the air. The feast was everything Sansa could have wanted. She watched her men of the North make jests with the crannogmen who hosted them. Elsewhere men of the Vale took turns asking girls of the Neck to dance.
And the music!
It seemed like the people of the Neck had been done a disservice by the Seven Kingdoms in that no one knew them for their lively playing.
She knew few of their songs though, most being native to the bogs and swamps of the crannog lands. Some of the minstrels plucked at harps nimbly but most used string instruments that she'd never seen before. Adding to their sounds were the hasty beating of drums that would no doubt be seen as improper in other courts.
Not at hers though.
These sounds were joyful and full of life. That was how her people looked right now and it was how Sansa felt. Truly both were worth celebrating. She hoped if Winterfell was ever hers again that there'd be music there.
Tables had been brought out and Sansa sat in a large yet humble seat upon a raised platform that had been constructed only that afternoon. Considering how often Greywater Watch apparently moved, she shouldn't have been surprised at how quickly the crannogmen could raise structures.
To her right Howland Reed sat in an honored position which befit his role as host. Next to him were his lady wife Jyanna and Maege who hailed her fighting men happily. Calling her Maege was a hard thing to do but the Mormont woman had insisted Sansa start referring to her bannermen like the loyal friends that they were.
The seat to her left was empty but Yohn sat beyond that, deep in conversation with Galbart Glover and Hallis Mullen. She had insisted that Hal be given a position of esteem as he had so dutifully guarded her father's remains.
"To the Queen of the North! May her rule be as magnificent as she looks!" Willem shouted from the other end of a table further down the platform. "And may she forgive the Vale for sending such an ugly rabble to bring her here!"
Tankards and cups were raised along with shouts and cheers and Sansa smiled at the Vale knight. He had been such a delight during their journey north and she'd grown fond of him. Yohn shook his head at his sworn man's words.
"I should've had him hung years ago." He followed those words with a deep, rumbling chuckle that betrayed his true feelings. "Ser Jon will speak to the wisdom of that."
"You think me so easy to be rid of?" Willem called back. "I'd simply stretch my lord!"
This time Yohn and Sansa joined in the laughter as Willem began pestering a serving girl if she'd prefer him taller.
Jon would have laughed too.
She searched for her northern knight who was supposed to be sitting next to her. Jon had been present throughout the ceremony and his demeanor during had reminded her so much of father. Not cold like some said, but stern like a lord. She hadn't seen a hint of the frightening anger he'd shown in the swamps a couple nights ago.
Everything had become so crazed once she'd been named queen. A torrent of Neck lords and northerners had come to kneel before her. Jon had been by her side the whole time but seemed distant somehow. Sansa prayed that he held no ill will towards her.
They had spent so much time together traveling from the Vale and she disliked how little they saw of each other lately. Jon had arrived in a different boat than Sansa and had only taken his seat next to her for a short while. After the toasts had been made and the food served, Jon had quickly excused himself.
When she saw him leaving she'd hailed him quietly, to ask if anything was wrong.
"Pray forgive me your grace, there is something I must attend to, but I promise I will return." As Jon strode away, she'd feared that her prayers would go unanswered.
All I have is at his expense.
He could have been a Stark.
A king.
But instead Jon had named her queen. He had been the first to do so without her asking. While her bannermen had done the same, Jon's act had mattered more to her somehow. Thinking of his loyalty and his earnest care for her threatened to make her cry, so she put the thought aside.
Instead Sansa watched as her friends and subjects smiled and laughed. She knew this would be a day to cherish for a long time.
We'll have to cherish it, she thought, for the hard days are coming.
Sansa was not naïve. She knew most of her days as queen would not be so happy. She still had a war to fight and a home to restore. Her father had died serving a crown and her brother had been killed for naming himself king. Her people had lost men and homes fighting for a crown. It was up to her to set all of that to rights.
All of these burdens came with the crown she bore.
I don't even have a real crown.
Ashamed at such a petty thought, she swept it away. Her people were offering her what wealth they had along with their very lives for her house. She thanked them by sulking and acting like a little girl who still dreamt of knights and songs. A pretty crown on her head wasn't important.
The knights of songs aren't real.
These people made you a queen, she reminded herself, that's better than some silly crown.
Still she worried on that some, wringing her hands at the symbol she lacked.
A crown makes you someone to be feared…
Symbols could carry as much importance as armies. When Petyr had been trapped in the Eyrie, he'd never acted like he was trapped. He sat in the symbol of power for the entire Vale like it belonged to him. No matter how besieged he was, the Lords Declarant still wanted his abdication rather than to starve him out. The power of the place had made him a force to be feared.
Sadly Robb's crown had been lost to their enemies. His queen was still being besieged by those same enemies at Riverrun. During all the preparations for Sansa's coronation, no one had had time to forge a new crown for her rule.
She was still thinking on it when Howland's voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Your grace, might I beg your leave for a dance?"
His arm was outstretched and though his strange green eyes still looked sad, his smile was warm. His offer had come at a good moment too, almost as if he knew that she was troubled by her thoughts.
"Gladly, my lord." Sansa took his arm and rose. "One dance from me is small payment for all you have done."
"Naming my dearest friend's daughter as queen will forever be a moment I cherish fondly. Sharing a dance with my queen will be a memory that warms me for the nights ahead."
Applause began as they made their way to the small clearing that was designated for dancing. Those already doing so stepped aside at their coming. The minstrels took up a pleasant tune, not one familiar to her but easy enough to follow.
She had loved to dance as a girl. Howland led her through some steps and she remembered why she loved it quickly, the pair falling into a comfortable rhythm.
"If only your father could see you, Sansa. I hope he wouldn't be too jealous to see me on your arm."
She laughed.
"My father was a terrible dancer!"
Her father's poor ability at dancing had shamed her once. Now she honored his memory for the true man he had been. Still, remembering his poor footwork and stiff movements at feasts made her laugh.
"My mother however, she would have found you a fine partner."
It was nice to think of her parents warmly. Most of her memories were tinged with grief and while that feeling still lingered, Howland had a way about him. He led her well and made her feel graceful. Sansa was spun around and laughed and thought once more of her mother and how beautiful she was when she danced. Mother's smile was always so radiant, her hair catching the firelight.
Soon enough the song ended and Lord Yohn asked for the next dance. Sansa had seen him dance several times with her mother at Winterfell and she reminded him of such.
"If any man deserved your lady mother more than me, it was your father." The bronze lord smiled at her as they did their steps. "I had to settle for dances, but such dances they were! That I have been blessed to dance with another such beauty is something I am thankful for."
"As I thank you for your kind words and all you've done for me." Sansa said sincerely. The man had become their great hope from the Vale and so much of her future plans depended on him staying so devoted.
"You're taking a fine man from my service." Yohn said as he led her hand in hand through a step. "Jon will be hard to replace. I hope one day that you'll send me a son to foster at Runestone. It would only be fair."
Sansa could have kissed Yohn then for the hope he offered in those words. If the lord could speak to such dreams, she felt less silly for having them herself. Of getting married and bearing children, of perhaps bringing a future grandchild of Yohn's to play with her future sons and daughters in Winterfell.
"Consider it a pact my brave lord." Sansa said as the dance concluded, kissing the man upon his cheek.
After him Galbart asked for a dance. Then Willem, who at one point pretended to falter and Sansa had to steady him to the laughter of many. After the knight came several Neck lords and soon it seemed like she had danced for hours.
Then as a Lord Bogg held her hand high and led her in a quick circle, she caught a glimpse of her missing knight.
It was Ghost who caught her attention first.
The direwolf stood out amongst the other spectators taking in the festivities, the white beast looking serene amidst all the activity around him. While Ghost's eyes were following no particular dancer, the knight beside him only had eyes for her.
Jon's expression was far-off and thoughtful and she worried for a moment that he was troubled. Those worries fell away when their eyes met and Jon smiled warmly at her.
Some crannog girls were huddled near the knight and his wolf. They were much too young to dance at such a feast but they reminded Sansa of Jeyne and herself in their youth. The two of them would do as these girls did now, watching and gossiping at who danced with who and how well.
These girls appeared quite taken with Jon, their eyes moving from him to her several times. She could understand why. Jon was a tall and handsome knight now. They probably hoped he would ask one of them to dance for this splendid occasion.
As the song ended, she thanked the lord and started to make her way to where Jon was standing. Before she could get too far though Jon's voice rang out, loudly and demanding of attention.
"My lords! Good sers!" He raised his hand above his head so people could see who hailed them. "People of the Neck! Men of the North and the Vale!"
He made his way towards the center of the dancing area, throwing his voice to meet those at the furthest parts of the field.
"I fear we have done our queen a terrible disservice!" Jon shouted in a tone much more grandiose than she'd ever heard him speak, and Sansa wondered what he was up to. "Thankfully some daughters of the Neck helped me in trying to make it right."
He waved then at the group of young girls and the boldest ran forward to him with something in her hands.
"Our Queen stands before us without a crown!" Jon yelled as he turned to face Sansa.
The girl had her back to Sansa as she handed Jon whatever she carried before running away just as quickly, blushing and giggling.
"I hope that she would accept this one for now!"
Jon held a ringlet of bright blue flowers and raised it high so all could see. They were of the same kind that she'd remarked upon during their travels through the Neck. Each flower had its stem tied around the next to produce a green band, three flowers high at the front and slimmer at the back, like a bright, beautiful blue tiara. Jon walked forward and knelt, presenting the crown before her.
He made me a crown.
Her eyes brimmed but she held the tears back.
You cannot weep… a queen must show poise.
"I would accept it gladly if you would do me the honor." Her words surprised him so she whispered as low as she could. "You offered me the crown so it is for you to give it to me."
A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth and he nodded. Rising to stand tall before her, he lifted the crown of flowers and placed it lightly upon her head.
She felt truly a queen then.
"A fine crown!" Maege shouted and others echoed her cry.
It was something so well done that Sansa thought any attempt to fabricate such would have turned into a dreadful mummery. That the gesture was so genuine made it a moment worthy of a tale.
Such stories are good to have, she thought, people love those worthy of tales.
"I thank you ser! A Queen could ask for no better crown." She looked up into his grey eyes and saw no anger in them. They beamed with happiness and Sansa knew then that somehow her prayers had been answered.
He bears me no ill will.
Then a wicked idea came to her and Sansa knew she had him trapped.
"But since you are so keen on pointing out mistakes ser, you too have been remiss in your duties!" She called loudly for all to hear. The crowd hushed as Jon stood at a loss for words. "I'd ask what kind of a knight leaves a feast before doing his queen the courtesy of asking her for a dance?"
The laughter came quickly and loudly. Men began haranguing Jon for his manners and blindness at forgetting such a woman. Willem was yelling the loudest of all, some jest about Jon needing to bathe first. She hadn't seen Jon look so embarrassed in such a long time, and she felt like enjoying the moment a little longer.
"If I remember correctly, King Robb once said that you'd make a better gardener than a dancer!"
More laughter and calls pelted the knight then. After enduring it all with flaming cheeks, Jon nodded and raised his hands in mock defeat.
"If the Queen would forgive me my failings, I'd gladly ask her to dance." He held out his arm and she feigned indecisiveness for a moment before gladly reaching for it.
The minstrels returned to their playing and more joined in the dancing. Galbart with Lady Jyanna. Lord Royce with Lady Greengood. Willem with Maege, who laughed to lift up the short man and spin him about.
She only saw the others in passing though. Her eyes wouldn't pull away from the knight before her. As they danced, Sansa saw that Jon seemed just as entranced. His eyes did not leave her face and she knew they would be alright.
The knight she feared held ill will against her had forged her a crown.
My cousin.
Who gave up a crown for me.
To make me one himself.
"If I remember correctly, Robb said I'd make a better septa than a dancer." Jon said quietly but he continued to smile.
It's a good smile, she decided, he does it too little.
"Part of ruling is the tales that people will tell of me Jon. This whole day is a beautiful beginning to a reign but what you did… it is worthy of song."
Jon's face fell some at that.
"I didn't do it for appearances Sansa." Jon's tone was more serious than she'd expected. "I did it to make you happy."
"I-I didn't mean… I was just…" She felt foolish all of a sudden. Plotting and scheming at such a time. "I couldn't help thinking about what others would say. I'm sorry."
"No, no, you're right. You're a queen now. Such things are important for you to think on. I'm glad you do." The serious face melted away and he offered another one of his rare smiles as he led her through a different step. "I don't know if anyone else has mentioned it, but you look beautiful today."
"As it happens you are the first, and I would say you make a very pretty knight ser." He shook his head at her but she couldn't resist adding.
"And despite what Willem says you smell quite pleasant."
******A_Cold_Wind_Blows betas this work and he's awesome. I usually post snippets or previews on Tumblr. DolorousEdditor is the name so let me have it.******
