Again, we are treading close to "The Key," here…but I'll be changing it up.

She didn't want to see the Queen. Not that she didn't like her, but she represented things to Sansa.

Jealousy.

Command…power…certainty…things that, if she were honest, Sansa wished she had more of. Instead, she was standing at her window, unsure of what had occurred, why it had…why she had done nothing to stop it.

Because, she reminded herself, she had wanted it.

And that was the key here.

She was so ashamed! After her yearning, it had happened…the gods had allowed it. Just as they had allowed her to be beaten by Joffrey, sold by Littlefinger, and raped by Ramsay. And now, the gods saw fit for her to be a sinner unlike any sinner since Cersei Lannister, for she knew she was incestuous.

Sansa closed her eyes, and shame blanketed her like a cloak. It would protect her from Jon…she would not allow it ever again. Never would he attempt it…she would be mute and good. She would need to recapture some of her old self, much as she loathed to. She misliked her old self…but that girl would never have dreamt of kissing her brother, let alone desire to.

…and she wondered very softly if it had been all she had experienced that drew her to this desire. That perhaps it wasn't all her fault…

She opened her eyes, resolute. She would not waver. She had seduced him somehow…she knew not how. A spell, a trance of some sort had obviously mired his senses, and she would need to be strong and disallow further action on either of their parts.

"M'lady!" called the maid.

Sansa turned. "Yes?"

"The Queen…she's here."

Sansa nodded. It had only been a few hours since she and Jon had arrived at Winterfell, and the Queen had been fast on their heels.

She smoothed herself out and left her room.

Jon had greeted the Queen and her Hand, not unnoticing of the change in their air. They had grown closer.

He scoffed a bit at that. This Queen was something. She had no qualm with involving herself with a dwarf.

Not that he saw anything wrong with Tyrion. He always rather liked him…but the choice was nevertheless a strange one, and he wondered a bit at it.

His stride was long as he made his way down the hall. He thought that he should alert Sansa, but then thought better of it. He would not bother her.

He was not looking forward to sitting with the Queen and her company. He rather just wanted to be on with it.

Jon went to his rooms to change for dinner, which was not something he did ordinarily. But Catelyn had taught him some things, and he meant to make an impression on the Dragon Queen. He would not be lying down, he would be fighting for the North and the North's faith in him.

He swallowed as he pulled his shirt on. He would not think of Sansa. Not now.

He couldn't.

It hurt.

Because he knew that she was right…what good were they if they were behaving like the dead Queen and her brother?

…and the Hand. Sansa's former husband…

He felt ill, and left the room in a hurry.

It was folly to continue to fret over such things. No good would come of any of it. Sansa had made herself clear. And she could be stubborn.

He walked into the dining hall, smaller than the Red Keep's, and saw the Queen, her Hand…

And Sansa, all waiting for him with patient looks on their faces.

He nodded, then sat at the head of the table, a place becoming a bit more comfortable for him. "Well, it is good to all be here," he looked around.

"When do we leave for the Wall?" asked Daenerys.

He looked at her. "The armies of Westeros are assembling around Winterfell. We have only to wait for Riverrun and the Lannister reinforcements. Then we should be ready."

"When is that?" she asked.

"I'd imagine that we could expect them in an hour or two."

The Queen nodded. "Good."

"And when these reinforcements arrive, I have plans to drive the battle," said Tyrion with a nod. He sipped long. "I was just conferring with your sister, and she told me that you might have some observations to offer regarding this."

Jon looked at Sansa. "I…not really," he looked now at Tyrion. "I haven't anything more to add than what I'm certain you have drawn up…but I'd like to see the plans."

"Of course you would, and I suggest we do so following our meal," he sipped. "There is much to discuss."

Daenerys was smiling at him. "My lord understands that though there is an immediacy of moment, there is still time enough for wine."

He tipped his cup. "And where would we be without time for wine?"

"Clear minded," replied Jon. "There is an army of dead on the move."

"You know that I am in complete agreement with you, Lord Snow, but even you must understand how ridiculous that sounds," said Tyrion, bemusedly. "An army of dead. What a time we live in."

"Now," continued Jon. "Is not the time for jokes," he said with some heat.

"My lord, if an army of dead does not inspire humor, if only for the preservation of the mind, I know not what will," he drained his cup.

"Jon is not accustomed to much in terms of mirth," said Sansa. "He has always been serious," she smiled at her brother.

Tyrion's gaze flitted between them and then filled the wine once more. "I see. Well, I cannot afford to not have a laugh. I have learned from a very young age that if I don't laugh first, I shall be laughed at. And that, my dears, I've had my fill of. So I best them at their own games, and enjoy myself along the way."

Dany cleared her throat. "And what, King Snow, do you suggest in terms of reinforcements?"

Thus the conversation went, until they adjourned to the receiving hall, where Jon spoke with generals and Dany met them.

Sansa was along the periphery, watching them. She felt at war with herself. She wanted to go over and pull Jon away from her, but also wanted to do what was best for him.

Perhaps being with the Queen, in whatever capacity he could was what was best for him.

And though she had some ideas about the forthcoming battle, it was Jon this time who could boast experience, and so she kept mostly quiet.

They received the generals, the commanders…it took what seemed hours. Sansa was growing tired of it, longing to get to the Wall and on with the battle that was coming.

"Jon!" came a voice, someone that Sansa did not know.

…but Jon clearly did. "Sam Tarly!" he exclaimed, going over to him. "What are you doing here?" he smiled large, and gave him a hug.

"Well…I need you to know some things before you head North. Important things…" he breathed.

Jon nodded, noting the seriousness on his face and directed him to sit. "What news?"

Sam took a deep breath…wiped his brow. "Well…" he paused. "Have you got some drink?" he looked around, then taking note of the company now. His gaze rested on the Queen. "You're the Targaryen Queen," he said.

She cocked a brow, and smirked. "I am."

Jon blushed somewhat at his friend's impropriety. "Sam…what is it that you need to tell me?"

Sam took the goblet and drained the cup. "It's about Bran."

Sansa's face fell almost as fast as Jon's. "Bran?" they said in unison.

"Ya," said Sam, looking around. "You need to know before you go…"

"Know what?" Jon said, regaining myself.

"About your brother," he replied. "I've been at the citadel…been reading. It's been wonderful," he smiled. "But…as I've read about Westeros, I've seen him…your brother. He's all over the books."

"I don't understand," Jon looked at him confusedly.

"Bran Stark. There are loads of them scattered throughout history. "Bran the Builder. He built the Wall, and Winterfell. Brandon Stark, the Breaker, who defeated the Night's King. Bran the Burner, who burned the northern ships. Brandon Ice Eyes, who defeated slavers. And a dozen more…" he looked around. "I…I know it sounds mad…"

"What are you saying, exactly?" asked Sansa.

"I'm saying, that…"

"…that Brandon, your brother," began Tyrion. "Is the same Bran Stark who can be found throughout history."

Jon's brow furrowed. "Is that what you're saying?" he couldn't believe it.

"Well…yes. I know…but it makes sense."

"How? How does that make any sense?"

"He's been trying to stop the Night's King for centuries," Sam replied. "He's been traveling through time…"

"How is he supposed to do that?" demanded Jon.

"He's the Three Eyed Raven now," Sam replied, as though obvious.

"How do you know?"

"I don't. But it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"None of this makes sense," said Jon, sitting back.

Sam looked desperately around for some agreement.

"You know," began Tyrion. "We are fighting an army of the dead. Your brother being the Three Eyed Raven is no more mad than that."

"You believe this?" spat Jon.

Tyrion shrugged. "Why not?"

"Where is Bran now?" asked Dany.

"No one knows," said Jon. "We haven't seen him…Theon Greyjoy had said that he killed our brothers…" he looked at Sansa, who he knew had this information. "But then it was rumored that they had escaped."

"Then what Sam says, however illogical, is not impossible," said Dany.

"No, but…" Jon began.

"What if it's true?" breathed Sansa. "Jon. What if it's true. We could see Bran again." Her face held a longing she didn't realize she was feeling…the thought…it made her heady and almost faint.

Sansa didn't realize that so much of her suffering had been alone, until the thought of seeing her brother again filled her heart.

True, she had been beside herself when she saw Jon again, but she was quickly filled with a rage, and a desire to kill Ramsay Bolton. Now, she had only fear and shame…seeing Bran would be like rekindling her parents…she and Jon and Bran could make some family…with Rickon dead, her parents dead, Arya …gods knew where…likely dead…she swallowed.

"Sansa," Jon whispered. "It can't be true," he held her gaze. She was reaching, he knew it.

"I know it sounds mad," interrupted Sam. "But I'm no dummy, Jon. I'm a lot of things, but dumb isn't one. I'm telling you. Bran is just beyond the Wall."

Jon watched Daenerys stand. "We will be leaving at first light. My Hand and I will ride on the dragons, and if there is an opportunity, we will search for your brother from above. King Snow," she looked at Jon. "Have all of the commanders been seen?"

"Yes."

"Then we will take our leave," she looked at Tyrion, then turned and left.

Tyrion finished his drink. "Well," and he slid off his chair. "It seems I am to say goodnight. I hope that you both sleep well. Sam," he nodded. "It was a pleasure and most illuminating to speak with you," he nodded and left.

Sam stood. "I'll say goodnight, then."

"Where are you going?" asked Jon.

"To Gilly and little Sam."

"You'll stay in here. You're no soldier, and neither is Gilly," Jon stood.

"That's not…"

"Just get them," he smiled.

Sam glanced at Sansa then left.

Jon sighed, looking down. "I know what you're thinking…" he looked up at her.

"No you don't."

"You want to see your brother. It's natural…but Sansa…"

"He's your brother, too," she interrupted. "And with all the things we seen…why can't Bran being alive be possible?"

"It isn't just him being alive…"

"That's all I'm concerned with," she stood, holding his gaze. "I don't care if he's the same Bran who built the Wall, or the same Bran who created brown bread. I care that he's our brother. That's all I care about, and that's why I want to see him."

"I do too…but you must know…"

"You don't," she spat. "If you did…"

"Don't tell me that I don't love Bran," he stepped closer. "Mum thought that. She thought that somehow, it was my fault he fell. She blamed me for everything, because I was our father's bastard. And I never lived that down," he stepped still nearer. "And I never stopped hating myself. And I always, always loved my siblings," he was in front of her now.

"Mum blamed you?" Sansa whispered.

"Couldn't you see it?" he returned, looking earnestly at her.

She went to him and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling him hold her back, his breath, his heat.

"S'okay," he said softly. And he felt a pull and tug of kind, wanting only to stay there with her…

She pulled away. "I should go."

He nodded.

She stayed for a moment, looking at him; then turned and left the room.

The door's click was stunted in the stillness of the air.