Sansa

Arya and Gendry take their leave shortly after, but Sansa feels suffocated by the lingering tension in the room. When she glances at Jon, he's sitting by the hearth with his hands clasped at his forehead and his eyes closed.

"She was happier when she wasn't here." Sansa admits, her voice strained.

Jon opens his eyes and looks at her. "Arya?" he asks quietly, but with little inflection.

"I shouldn't have called for her. She and Gendry could have continued their grand adventures all around the world without the truth of our brother between them."

The words spill out unchecked, and Sansa immediately feels contrite. House Stark had suffered greatly due to the revealed truths of a brother.

Sansa burns, as if the poison of her words had etched a bitter trail in her throat.

Jon has turned away, his thoughts nearly a tangible cloud.

He's thinking of me, she surmises. Of promises broken and truths told that made him into a Queenslayer and sent him to the wall.

Sansa has never regretted her choice to disclose Jon's parentage to Tyrion, but she has long wondered if Jon spent his days beyond the wall imagining another life where his path had been different. Perhaps a life where he hadn't trusted Sansa with his Targaryen lineage. Perhaps a life where the Dragon Queen sat on the iron throne, and he slept in her bed.

"She had to know. " Jon says finally, his voice gruff. "I've seen what lies do. They fester and rot everything they touch."

Sansa feels gutted. Here it is, Jon's conviction laid bare. He's still turned away, his face hidden by shadow, but the rigid line of his shoulders speak to his distress, much the way they did that day in the godswood of Winterfell.

Under the heart tree Jon had stood beside Bran and insisted that Sansa and Arya pledge their oaths to keep his unnamed secret.

"I have to tell you something. But I need you to swear you'll never tell another soul." he'd pleaded.

Sansa had bristled, envisioning Danaerys with her claws wrapped around Jon's heart and pulling his strings. "How can we promise to keep a secret if we don't even know what it is?"

"Because we're family," he'd returned quickly, sure of its validity even then.

When Sansa laid her head down that night, she'd felt her sins creep out of the deep, dark recesses of her mind, as if the weight of Jon's secret had borne them out into existence.

She closed her eyes tight, and pressed her thighs together to still the ache between them.

Jon Snow is not my brother.

Sansa had made her promises, and then soundly broke them knowing that she risked dire consequences, knowing that it would enrage the Dragon Queen and undermine the hold she had over Jon.

The moment she revealed Jon's truth to Tyrion, Sansa understood that the ramifications of her choices threatened to rend asunder the tenuous relationship she and Jon had built since Castle Black.

Yet, she'd done what she must because the alternative meant a mad woman with a fire breathing beast would be unleashed over Westeros. There was a chance Jon may never forgive Sansa for breaking her vow, but it was certain that he would never forgive himself for the destruction of the realm.

She looks at Jon, sitting by the hearth in her chambers. Sansa feels it again, all these years later; that uncomfortable, maddening throb in her center. Her cheeks flush with heat, and she has an agonizing urge to lay herself bare to feel the chill of the room against her skin.

"Why her?" she'd asked Tyrion on the battlements of Winterfell, not even pretending to hide her envy.

The echo of those words reverberated through Sansa's veins for the years that followed, like a steady thrum inside her. It beat with a constant tattoo that only abated on those desperate nights when she allowed herself to sob his name into her pillow.

Jon looks up suddenly, as if he can feel the pull of her thoughts from across the room. Sansa goes to the side table and pours herself a glass of wine, ignoring his gaze. She takes a long drink, willing herself to think of something else, anything else.

"Are you alright?" Jon questions, his eyes full of concern.

Sansa peers at him over the rim of her glass. "Just thirsty," she murmurs, praying to the Mother that her voice doesn't quake.

She takes another large drought and sets her glass down with a resounding clink. Jon raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment further.

Instead, he stands and moves to the table. A jug of ale sits beside Sansa's wine.

"I think you're right, we've earned a drink." he says, pouring ale into a large mug.

Sansa bites her lip to appease its urgent tingle, resolving to gain control of herself.

Jon takes a swig and sets his mug back down. He isn't looking at Sansa; his mind seems to be elsewhere.

"We'll have to be smart about this," Jon finally says. "The Three Eyed Raven can see many things, but he isn't omnipresent, nor omnipotent. I remember Bran- well, the Three Eyed Raven showing us the mark on his arm that gave the Night King the power to move beyond the wall."

"Yes. What of it?" Sansa asks, her interest piqued.

Jon turns to her now, his eyes bright.

"He was threatened, Sansa. The Raven orchestrated us all to defend him against the Night King, to protect him at all costs. But Bran is just a crippled boy. The Three Eyed Raven's power lies in the manipulation of others, and if there's one thing I have learned about people, it's that they can't be trusted to do what's always expected."

Jon moves closer, his hands gesturing imploringly.

"Don't you see? He operates on chance. The Three Eyed Raven may have some ideas about what could be, about how people work and what motivates them. He can use that to provoke certain actions. But in the end, we are masters of our own fate. He can't force our hand. He can't swoop down from the trees and peck our eyes out."

Sansa flinches at the end, as images of her dreams flood in of the Stark boy and his bloodied face.

"Theon died for him." she finds herself saying. "He stood before the Night King and fell at his hands. Not for Bran, but for that twisted greenseer."

Sansa feels heartsick remembering Theon on the funeral pyre after the Battle of Winterfell. His ashes were buried in the godswood; she'd taken a shovel to the dirt herself.

Jon puts his hand on her arm, and his grasp is an elixir of warmth against her skin.

"His death wasn't for naught." he says reassuringly. "Theon fought bravely for his family, for the North. He earned his redemption."

Sansa shakes her head, nearly laughing.

"That's just it, Jon. Theon died bravely protecting Bran, but he didn't stop the Night King. Arya did. And you were fighting your way through the dead to reach him yourself. If the Three Eyed Raven could see the future with perfect clarity, why would he need so many pawns for his game?"

Jon furrows his brow, but Sansa continues.

"I imagined a mythical, all-powerful being had taken my brother. I imagined the Three Eyed Raven could manipulate the will of those around him and see into the very fabric of time. We would never be able to defeat that. Bran would never be returned to us. But he's just a man. And every man has his weakness."

Sansa moves to a table nearby, where a stack of books rest. She'd returned the majority of the manuscripts and tomes to Maester Wolkan's library, but kept some that had seemed helpful to her search for information about the Three Eyed Raven.

She picks up a book with a red cover, its edges torn and frayed from time.

"It's a book of riddles." Sansa explains in response to Jon's confused expression. "Remember when Robb would bet us our puddings that we couldn't solve his riddles? He got them from this book. The raven that Meera received reminded me of something I'd heard before, but I couldn't place where."

She turns to a page near the end and begins to read out loud.

"How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have?" she asks solemnly.

She pauses a moment, then nearly whispers its answer.

"A thousand eyes, and one."

Jon's eyes grow wide. "Lord Bloodraven?" he asks gravely.

"Do you know of him?" Sansa questions eagerly.

"He was a brother of the Night's Watch. Lord Commander, in fact. His true name was Brynden Rivers. A bastard Targaryen."

"If he was Lord Commander, then there must be records of him at Castle Black." Sansa insists, hopeful for anything that could lead them to the truth of the Three Eyed Raven.

"I imagine so." Jon says, his eyes hooded in thought.

"Then it's settled." Sansa replies, closing the book of riddles resolutely.

"We're returning to Castle Black."

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A/N: Okay so I am about to go out of town on vacation for a week starting Friday. I had originally intended to have enough chapters written to continue posting, but the family emergency I had has derailed that. I'll post another chapter before Friday this week, but then it will be around the 9th or 10th of July until I post again. Please be patient with me.

Thanks!