Sansa awoke the next morning with a pounding headache, and the hint of nausea from the night before had blossomed into a crippling storm of coming sickness.
Once she'd emptied her stomach, she stumbled into the bath hall, and began filling the copper tub with warm water.
She undressed and sunk into the silky warm bubbles. She groaned, and put her head back, trying to quell the headache with deep breathing.
Most of the alcohol had left her system, so the headache was beginning to lessen. She knew she'd feel better if she'd eat, but all she had the energy to do now was lay there, and think.
She replayed the events from the night before, over and over. As fuzzy as some moments seemed, the one thing that ran clear in her mind was the kiss with Jon. She didn't feel guilty, not in the least. She hadn't felt she'd done anything wrong, and there was an inkling sense in the back of her mind that no mortal laws had even been broken. She began listing theories, thinking of every possible way that he couldn't be related to her.
She'd heard the story from Catelyn a hundred times in her youth. Ned goes off to war, comes back with baby. It seemed so unlike her father, the whole of it. Even her mother had said that, how surprised she was. Perhaps, maybe, there was another story to Jon's heritage.
Are you thinking this because you're trying to justify what happened last night, or do you really care?
Of course she cared, she thought. Feelings of lust, or love, or whatever it was she felt for him, aside, she cared deeply for Jon. He had saved her, and had done so much more. He was a hero to the realm, and he deserved to know the truth, whatever it was.
When she finished her bath, she returned to her room to dress.
Osha sat on the end of the bed, watching her. Sansa jumped.
"Brought you breakfast, m'lady." Osha said, a smile on her face, nervous, as she stood when Sansa walked through the door. "Thought you might need it, see."
"Oh...oh." Sansa shook her head, and then managed a smile in return. "Thank you, I really do."
She went to the table, and took a piece of the sausage off the plate, biting down on it.
"Food is the best way to cure wine sickness." Osha explained.
Sansa took another bite, and then another. The food filled her empty stomach, and with each bite she grew more eager. She sat down at the table, not even bothering to dress, just wearing the silk dressing gown tied around her.
There was another plate of food, and Sansa realized, quite guiltily, Osha was waiting for Sansa to finish before she ate, herself.
"Osha, please, sit. It's perfectly alright." she said through a mouthful of bread. Osha sat across from her, and took small bites of the food.
Sansa got lost in her thoughts again, staring at the window, near the spot where it happened.
"M'lady, are you alright?" Osha finally asked.
Sansa looked at her, as though just remembering she was there.
"I'm fine." Sansa said. "And it's quite alright if you call me Sansa."
"San-sa." Osha tried out, and then grinned. "Well, Sansa, then, did something happen last night?"
"Why?" Sansa asked, and then inadvertently touched her mouth. As though she could be burned there, or something. Osha raised a brow.
"I may be just a wildling, Lady Sansa. But I know a lot about people, just as much as you do. Especially men, and then the effects said men have on women."
Sansa sighed.
"It's nothing." she insisted. "Just some, confusion."
"Aye." Osha said. "Lady Sansa, I'm not so sure it's high on your priority list...but Bran...he has to be out there."
"Bran?" Sansa said, and then remembered. "Of course, Bran, of course. He's on our priority list, obviously, if he's not first he's second only to the impending threat of Whitewalkers. If you think there's any chance...any chance at all."
"Sansa...Bran has been communicating with me."
"What?" she hissed. "And you're only just telling me?"
Anger was bubbling in her stomach.
"M'lady, listen to me." Osha said firmly. "He was travelling with his wolf, Hodor, and a brother and sister. Sansa...Bran has abilities. He's a warg, but he also has visions. He's been learning about the past, and the future, and he's been trying to communicate with me, as well. In dreams."
"Dreams?" Sansa asked, narrowing her eyes. Wonderful, now she had to deal with Jon...and the fact that Rickon's nanny was losing it.
"He'll come visit you as well." Osha said, nodding. "I just wanted to tell you first, so you knew it wasn't just a dream."
Sansa took a bite of a small strawberry, and nodded.
"Have you mentioned this to Jon?"
"Don't need to." Osha said, her mouth full of food. "He's been having them too."
Sansa rolled her eyes, and took a final bite of breakfast before standing, and going to the wardrobe.
Osha stood as well, taking her plate with her, realizing she was no longer wanted.
"It's sunny out today, m'lady." she said thoughtfully as she passed Sansa on the way to the door where she and Rickon slept.
Sansa looked at her options. Lord Manderly, the day they arrived, ordered fine clothes to be outfitted in the rooms, and Sansa, she was sure, had received the finest of options. Everything was silk, crushed velvet, or the finest linen. All embroidered with golden or silver thread, intricate designs across the chest or waist, or sleeves. She reached for a dress in a pretty green blue, much like the color of House Manderly's sigil's field.
She tied it on, and sat down to comb out her hair. A lot of the charcoal had faded, now, and her dark golden red was coming through. She patiently combed, parted, and braided her hair, and began making an intricate updo. Her skills of embroidery often transferred to her hair, as she had nimble fingers and the character that allowed her the patience to make mistakes, and simply do them over. And even though she'd sliced off a good length of her hair, she had plenty left.
She finished the winding braids atop the crown of her head, with small curls falling around and framing her face. She'd seen ladies at court wearing similar styles, and knew it was best to adjust to the fashion of court in order to seem more approachable.
She left, leaving to find the library, wanting to talk to Jon terribly. She found out from a steward that he and Rickon were in the council chambers, strategizing with Lord Manderly regarding the march back to Winterfell.
She wandered the empty halls of the castle until she finally came across the library. She satisfied herself by walking up and down the length of shelves, reading the tags of scrolls and binding of books, trying to find some hint of something that could help her. After spending an hour scanning countless birth records, and history of the north, she found a volume titled 'The Great Battles of the North from the First Men to Present Day."
She pulled this off the shelf, and brought it to a table. She flipped through, pausing at pages of stories she'd heard before, battles led by her great great grandfathers or uncles. The Stark house was a strong one, and most battles ended in victory.
She flipped through until the last few pages of the books. Her heart sunk as she read about her grandfather, and then her father and uncle Brandon.
Nearer the last few pages, she came across a battle titled 'The Tower of Joy." Her brow furrowed. She knew the name, but oddly enough couldn't remember the details. Then she saw Lyanna's name, and recalled that was probably why. Ned had hardly spoke of her aunt Lyanna, and the war following her kidnapping was one battle story Sansa never heard.
At the end of the war, Lord Eddard Stark and six of his companions (Howland Reed, Lord Willam Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, and Ser Mark Ryswell) approached the tower. They found it guarded by three members of the Kingsguard (Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, and Lord Commander Gerold Hightower). Eddard and Howland were the only survivors of the resulting battle. Eddard had the tower torn down to build cairns for the eight deceased.
After the fight, Lyanna Stark was heard screaming from the tower, and then found dying, alone, inside the tower by her brother, Eddard.
This struck Sansa as odd. If she was alone, why was she screaming?
She looked at the dates. She counted on her fingers. Her heart began racing. Had she really solved the mystery of Jon's parentage? She stared at the page again, counted again. It was exact, the day of the battle was near to the day 21 years before Jon's birthday.
She blinked, stunned. She'd only been puzzling about this since this morning, and here she was, the answer in front of her. She felt uneasy, sure there had been another force guiding her to this. Was it Bran, somehow?
Now you just sound mad. she scolded herself. Despite her doubts, she found a strip of linen in a desk, put it in the book, and then reshelved it, promising to bring Jon back later.
Jon was in a wide courtyard, with a cart of weapons beside him. Rickon knew how to shoot, yes, but had been too young to lift a sword when Jon was still at Winterfell, and following that, hadn't had much of an opportunity.
They'd just finished the meeting with Lord Manderly, and had decided to continue with 2,000 troops onwards to the wall, to reinforce the Watch. Jon was worried this wouldn't be enough, but Manderly insisted the other Northern Houses would follow his example, and could send aid of even more. Some of the left over men that would neither return to White Harbor or The Watch, would instead accompany Jon on a campaign to assure the rest of the northern houses would be just as united as Stark and Manderly were now.
Manderly didn't seem overly concerned about the reuniting of the houses, even if it was just Jon who called upon them. The Legend of Jon Snow had spread all over the north, and even further south. It appeared the rest of the realm didn't share the distaste for Jon the Watch had. Tales of his bravery in the battles he'd fought while Lord Commander, and even before, had spread. He was rumored to be one of the best swordsmen in decades.
And so this swordsman now would show Rickon how to duel properly.
Jon tossed Rickon a wooden blade, and Rickon frowned.
"I don't get to use a real one?" he whined.
"Trust me, once I best you a hundred times, and that wood meets your body a hundred times, you'll be glad it's not real. You'll wish it was made of pillow, actually."
He directed Rickon to stand across from him, and began showing him the very basics of fighting.
Jon could see very quickly, as Rickon practiced, he was naturally gifted, and took after Robb in the way his body moved. Jon became quite pleased, and was grateful the chore was more enjoyable for him than he originally thought.
After a while at this, Sansa found them, and walked across the courtyard.
Jon saw a flash of blue, and then dark red, and glanced up. Distracted from their duel, Rickon swung and smacked Jon across the ear with the wooden sword. Rickon dissolved into a peal of laughter, bending over, as Jon hissed, rubbing his smarting ear.
Sansa herself was trying to fight a grin by the time she approached the pair.
"Are you alright?" she asked Jon.
"You distracted me." he said, and she pinkened slightly.
"Can I borrow you for a few minutes?" she asked. "I need to speak to you about something."
Nerves bundled in Jon's chest, but he nodded, and set his own wooden sword on the cart. He patted Rickon on the back.
"Well done on that hit." he said.
"Thanks." Rickon said, beaming up at him.
Sansa and Jon walked side by side, in silence, back into the castle. She could hardly look at them, but when she did, she couldn't bring herself to stop. So she settled by staring straight ahead, her palms sweaty.
She led him down the long marble hallway, and then into the library.
"What is it?" he asked, looking at her, confused that they had ended up here.
"I found something." she said. She led him down the aisle, and pulled the heavy volume from the shelf again. He looked down at the cover, and then back at her, eyebrows up.
"Err?"
She grinned ruefully, and took it back from him. She led him to the desk, and took a seat. He stood behind her, waiting.
She turned to the page on the Tower of Joy.
He read it quickly, and then waited.
"Sansa, I know you want me to figure this out without help...but what am I looking at?"
She put her finger on the line "Lyanna Stark was heard screaming from the tower, and then found dying, alone, by her brother."
"Why was she screaming if she were alone?" she said.
"Because she was dying maybe?" Jon asked.
"Alright, fair point." Sansa continued. "But look at the date of her death."
"Three days before my birthday?"
"And where did father say you were born?"
"Barrowstone." he replied.
"The Tower was in Dorne." she said. "That's nearly a month's journey away."
"So perhaps he received me when I was a month old?" he offered.
"No." Sansa said. "I remember specifically mother saying you were near 3 months old by the time you arrived. If you were born in Barrowstone, father would have returned with you much earlier."
"Sansa, it's a bit of a stretch."
"It's not." she said. "Lyanna had dark hair, and dark eyes. Father's hair is much lighter, and his eyes were grey."
Jon frowned, but somehow, it did make sense. Something inside him tore, one side, fiercely loyal to Ned, who he had considered his father, and perhaps, he always would. But the other side...the other side that so deeply wanted Sansa, for it to be acceptable would open a whole new realm of possibility for him. Possibilities he never would have dreamed of, a few months before.
He was silent for a long time, and Sansa stood, turned, and leaned against the table.
"I can feel it, Jon." she said softly. "It makes so much sense."
"I don't know, Sansa." he said. "I'm not sure a hunch is enough to...make that real."
"Well." she said, and she tapped the book. Her finger rested just beneath the name Howland Reed.
"Lord Reed still presides over his house." she said. "It's on the way back to Winterfell. He would be the only person who would know, Jon. And perhaps...perhaps he can confirm the story."
"Fine." he sighed.
"What is it?" she asked. "Have I upset you? I thought you may want to know."
"Of course I want to know." Jon said. "And it truly does make a lot of sense. But I don't...see...why he wouldn't tell Catelyn."
"Do you know who's son you are?" Sansa whispered. "Do you know who Lyanna's lover was? The reason for Robert's Rebellion?"
He squinted, trying to remember. Honestly, the stories of the realm, there were often too many. It had been so long since his days of lessons, he couldn't recall the details.
"Rhaegar. Targaryen." Sansa finally said, answering her own question. Jon looked up, his eyes widening.
"Robert had them all killed." he said. "If Lyanna had a son with him...and anyone knew...Robert would have killed me too."
Sansa nodded, her eyes lighting up. She could see them pieces aligning in Jon's head, like it had for her just before.
"He was protecting me." Jon said softly. He looked up at Sansa, and smiled widely. "You're brilliant." he said, and she shook her head.
"I just had a feeling, Jon." she said. "It never felt like we were brother and sister, to me, anyways."
He nodded in agreement.
He closed the book, and reshelved it.
"We need to keep this quiet, for now, even if Howland confirms the story." he explained. "If whoever sits on the Iron Throne finds out, they might consider me a threat."
Sansa swallowed, and remembered what Joffery had done to Robert's bastards. She nodded, quickly.
"We can't tell anyone." she agreed.
He turned towards her, thinking.
"Do you remember what happened last night?" he finally forced himself to ask. He'd been wondering, desperately, that she may have assumed she'd dreamt the whole thing.
She nodded, slower now. She tried to read his expression, but couldn't figure it out.
"Have your feelings changed?" she finally whispered. "Do you still...want-"
"No." Jon said. "They haven't changed. And yes. I do still."
She blinked, and then stared down at her feet.
"Do you still feel you can't?" she asked, timidly.
It took him a long time to answer.
"I don't know." he finally sighed.
And then, with that, he left her.