A/N:
Only 4 more chapters to go, you guys.
As always, your reviews have been so encouraging. Thank you for being wonderful.
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Chapter 10 - Abstinence: Restraint Is Never Easy
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From the moment Bran opens his eyes, all Sansa can do is kiss his cheeks and weep in happiness for the brother she once thought was lost. Jon hugs him so long, she thinks she might have to pull him off her brother.
Bran is weak as he stays in bed as per their Maester's instructions. He cannot eat as much as he used to. But his mind is sharp, and so he says the same words more than once.
"I cannot be here. I must leave. She shouldn't have brought me here."
"Where will you go?" Jon asks, his eyes curious.
"I need to go beyond the Wall. I cannot be here."
Jon refuses. Bran is the last son, he says gently. He must take up his duties and be the Lord of Winterfell. Father would have wanted that. Yet, Bran refuses curtly, inviting no argument.
"Winterfell is yours," he tells Jon. "And yours," he tells Sansa. "I don't want it. I never did. No one can know that I'm here. Promise me."
Sansa promises her brother because as long as he is awake, she is happy. Jon stays silent.
"At least wait until you have your strength back," her half-brother says reluctantly.
"I will." Bran smiles, relief on his features. "Where's Meera?"
Sansa's gaze flicks to her half-brother, but his expression reveals nothing. "She's been wanting to speak to you for days, while you slept. She watched you when your sister and I couldn't."
Sansa knows the smile Bran shyly shares. She remembers that same smile on her lips when she was young and innocent and Joffrey Baratheon had smiled at her.
"I would like to see her."
Jon nods, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment. "Very well."
Sansa stands just as her half-brother does, and watches as he opens the door to the Bedchamber. Meera rushes in, ignoring the curtseys of Lords and Ladies as she kneels by Bran's side. "You scared me."
Bran looks at her with apology. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
"Don't do that next time. I couldn't wake you for a day."
It is Jon's hand that takes her hand gently to lead her away from her brother and the girl, their soft words a reminder of the innocence she once had and lost. When they take their leave and close the door behind them, his hand leaves hers. Sansa curls her fingers closer to her palms and she smiles whilst they walk together.
"I wonder if I should be making plans for a wedding soon," she jests.
Jon's laugh is hearty. "I suppose, considering she is of noble birth, she would be a good match."
His words surprise her. Yet, what surprises her more is how she had not thought the way she once would have. "I don't care about those things anymore." Her voice is soft as she says, "Truly, I don't think any of us should."
There is surprise in her half-brother's eyes, but his smile is sweet.
"Would you marry again?" he asks her gently.
Sansa is startled to admit that she had not thought on such things. "I suppose I would have to, one day, if it is required of me. I wouldn't want to. I am perfectly satisfied with being without a husband for the rest of my days," she says lightly. She says her next words carefully, her glance falling on Jon. "As I am sure that one day, you will be perfectly satisfied being with a wife."
Jon does not look at her, nor does he seem to have heard her until they turn to enter the Great Hall. "Aye," her half-brother says bitterly, his words soft. "One day."
The silence between them becomes long, until the large doors of the Great Hall is thrown open and a man is thrown in with it.
A young boy, falls to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks as he shakes. He is followed by Tormund and Davos, whilst the former grins widely as he grabs the boy by the scruff of his neck and tosses him like linen towards Jon's feet.
"Go on, then, you little shit. Tell him what you did."
The boy whimpers. "I did nothing, M'lord. I swear it!"
Davos steps forward, his voice gruff. "He is your king, boy. Show His Grace the respect he deserves."
"I swear! I swear! I did nothing, Your Grace."
She watches as Jon stands taller, his face betraying nothing. "What's happened?"
Davos moves closer as Tormund kicks the boy and laughs when he whimpers. "Seventy four ravens have been sent, Your Grace."
Jon's brows furrow in confusion. "Seventy four?"
"One for each House in the North, I reckon. We saw them take flight. We managed to shoot arrows into a few. This is what they said." He gives the letter to Jon, who reads it silently before he says the words aloud.
"Jon Snow is not the Bastard of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. He is a Bastard son of another. He is a fraud. A coward. Hear my warning, my Lords, for he will ruin you and your Great Northern Houses."
Sansa watches as the boy's eyes widen. He is kneeling before her half-brother before Jon can finish reading the letter, his own words said through tears. "I swear it, Your Grace, by the Old Gods and New, I didn't know. I cannot read, Your Grace. My mother, she was a whore, my father, I never knew him. I was an orphan for as long as I could remember. A man paid me to send the ravens. I didn't know! I swear it, Your Grace. I didn't know he wanted me to send such words. If I knew I wouldn't have. Please, Your Grace, you must believe me."
"What was his name? The man who gave you this command. Tell me, do you know his face?"
"I… I don't know, Your Grace. He came to me at night. He had a hood over his head. I didn't see his face."
Jon stares at him for a moment before he turns towards his trusted companions. "Take him to the dungeons and question him. I want to know everything."
Tormund's grin is wide, like a babe who was given too many sweets, and Jon sees it as well as she. "Not by you," he says to the Wildling, whose smile drops. He shares a look with the Onion Knight who nods before he gestures to the Wildling, and they both grab onto the boy and drag him away from them, while he screams for mercy and understanding.
Jon is silent for a moment before he turns towards her. "There is only one in Winterfell who would make such a claim."
Sansa stays silent, for she knows of who he speaks of. She can see the anger in him from the way he crushes the letter in his fist and the way his lips form a sneer.
"I will have his head for this," he says through gritted teeth.
"You can't kill him."
Jon looks at her as if she has offended him, his surprise apparent. "Why can't I kill him? This is an act of treason."
Sansa breathes deeply before she speaks, because she knows his anger as well as her own. She knows he does not take kindly to words unless they are uttered in a calmly manner. "You cannot kill him for this because it's not treason."
She sees the way his shoulders stiffen and his eyes blaze, and she stays him with a gentle hand on his chest.
"You were named King in the North by your subjects who swore their swords to you. Littlefinger did no such thing. He is a guest in our house, but he is not a liege Lord of the North. Do you understand? If you take his head, we will have House Arryn against us. We cannot afford to have any more enemies."
Jon's anger is not abated, she knows, so she says her next words carefully.
"I will speak to him. I will make him leave Winterfell."
"How will you manage this?" he asks her stiffly. "He won't leave without you."
"I don't know," she answers honestly. "But, we have no any proof that he is behind the ravens. You must remember that."
As she moves to take her leave, her hand about to lift from his chest, he stops her when he raises his hand so that it falls on hers. He is silent, as he bows his head and she watches, just as he does, as their fingers entwine, whilst he still holds her close. When his eyes rise up to meet hers, his words are sincere, but his gaze is far from innocent.
"Thank you, Sansa." She wonders if his heart under his leather is beating as maddeningly as hers. "I know that I don't often listen."
"It's nothing," she says, as she pulls her hand away and reluctantly lets his fingers fall from hers. "You're learning."
His smile is brief, and hers is sad.
Before she closes the door to the Great Hall, she sees the way Jon opens the parchment that had been crushed by his hand only moments ago. Sansa watches as he seats himself on the nearest chair, his eyes reading the same words over and over as a darkness settles in him and a sadness settles in her.
As she leaves, she hopes to one day tell him that no one reminds her of her father more than he does.