I know this is a happy fic but I should probably put a trigger warning in here for Jeyne Poole's story line – just because to get her a happy ending I've obviously had to deal with the aftermath of what happened to her. Absolutely nothing graphic just references.
The Queen in the North
A casual chorus of cheers came up as they re-emerged from the trees, and a few ripe suggestions were thrown out as to what they had been up to. Sandor squeezed her hand and broke off towards the ale barrels, and her wolves came bounding up to take his place. Ghost pushed his head beneath her right hand and Alayne, who emulated him in everything, did the same on Sansa's left. As she walked slowly towards the party with a hand on the head of each wolf somebody called out a joyous toast, glass in hand –
"The Queen in the North!"
Somebody else took it up and just like that the early afternoon burst into a chorus of shouts and celebrations. Arya shouted something that was not quite The Queen in the North, but she supposed that from Arya the insult was as good as a toast.
She remembered. She supposed it was a large part of her duty to remember. She remembered the day she had known she was going to have to take the title; that Protector of the Vale and Lady of the Eyrie was not enough, as she had thought back then that it might be.
It was a freezing cold winter evening and she had sat alone as she often did. Everyone was lost to her, she had thought; her family, friends, Sweetrobin and Harry killed by Littlefinger and even he was gone now and at her doing. For that at least she supposed she deserved the loneliness, though if truth were told she did not wholly hate it.
She had got word earlier that day about the two fugitives from the north who sought sanctuary in the Eyrie. Fugitives from Winterfell. She did not understand; did not see how Winterfell could ever be somewhere anyone would need to escape. She realised for the first time, how little she knew of all that was happening in the rest of the world.
She still did not know them when they were brought before her. The girl was a tiny thing, all but hidden in her cloak, still shivering from the long climb, and the man – she had never seen someone whose eyes were so old. It took her several moments looking at him, aware of some recognition, imagining what he would look like if he were younger before she saw it;
"Theon," she said, she could not keep the bitterness out of her voice. He faltered and failed in his already poor effort to meet her eye.
"I don't want to see him now," she told Ser Lothor, who stood near her, ever faithful. He led Theon out, not harshly. Alayne turned to the girl, knelt in front of her and gently pushed back her hood. Her eyes widened; so did the girl's –
"Jeyne?" She asked, it was hard to believe it. A look crossed Jeyne's face that wanted to be happiness but came out as disbelief –
"Sansa?" She was delighted and devastated all at once, her friend restored but looking so different - even so the two girls flew together in a crushing hug. Sansa cried from a half dozen different emotions at once – but Jeyne; it was like she had forgotten how to cry, or she was used up with no more tears left in her. Eventually Jeyne winced and she pulled away but they stayed kneeling on the floor, hands clasped, staring at each other. Jeyne reached out and touched Sansa's hair timidly; she made a sound that was almost a little laugh –
"I almost didn't know you," she said; her voice was a whisper, like she had grown afraid to really speak – "You're still so beautiful".
Sansa's heart hurt her, looking at her friend she knew she could not say the same back and Jeyne would not believe her if she tried. It felt like a lifetime ago that she had last seen her; the two of them huddled together in Maegor's holdfast whilst Jeyne wept for her father. Gods, but it had been so long ago; not long before that they had giggled on the castle steps over stolen strawberry tart.
As the evening wore on and Sansa found Jeyne better clothes, made her warm and dry and found them both food, Jeyne told Sansa everything that had happened since the last time they had been together. Sansa fought hard – and succeeded- to stop herself from crying. She did not want to make anything worse for her friend; not after that.
"Jeyne –" she said, chin quivering but dry eyed, clasping her friend's hands so as not to hurt her with her hugs – "I'm so, so sorry".
"It's not your fault," Jeyne said and she meant it, but just as she said it Sansa realised with a terrible stab that it was. When Cersei had sent for her that night she wrote the letters, she had unthinkingly let it slip that Jeyne was with her; worse, she had let them know that Jeyne was the reason she had any idea what was going on in the wake of her father's capture and – it occurred to her now – Jeyne's own father's death. She remembered The Queen telling her Jeyne would be safe with Lord Baelish from now on, and in her memory Littlefinger loomed over Cersei's shoulder, a dark shadow running his evil schemes and plans for Jeyne between his fingers.
It was her fault, but she could not say that to Jeyne and Jeyne would not believe her anyway; her friend was too good, better than she was. She found something else true to say –
"I wish none of this had happened – I – if it could have been me instead of you I wish I could have spared you that. It should have been me – I –" she could not say the reason she was thinking – "You're better than me and - I'm a Stark. You should not have suffered for my family's mistakes."
"Don't say that –" Jeyne looked almost frightened – "Better than you – no – I – you would have done it all differently. I wish –well – I always wished I was more like you."
Now Sansa did start to cry; it was almost a relief – being with Jeyne – they had always been able to cry with each other. Just for this once, she could be a child again; just be Sansa again and nobody else.
"Don't," she sniffed – "Don't wish that – I'm –" she realised Jeyne did not want her to hear her say how awful she was, what a terrible person she felt herself to be – how dare she wallow in such self-pity after everything her friend had survived?
"I've made so many mistakes," she finished lamely.
But Jeyne would not hear her. They huddled by the fire together, eating the last of the winter's lemon cakes, and Jeyne asked Sansa all about her own life since the last time they had seen each other. Sansa told it; she left out a lot – she left out Joffrey and the beatings and abuse – Jeyne needed no repeat of a story with so many similarities to her own. And she left out Sweetrobin and his death and the fact that she had killed Littlefinger.
But she did tell Jeyne of Littlefinger's death; how he had fallen from the moon, door at least. Jeyne liked that part and nodded more firmly than Sansa had yet seen.
"Good," she had said of his death, her eyes flinty for a moment, reminding Sansa of the north and the home that she missed. Later, as Sansa told her more, Jeyne's eyes filled with tears for the first time –
"You've been through so much –" she whispered – "I'm so –"
"Jeyne " Sansa said, aghast – "You can't say that to me – not when you've –"
Jeyne shook her head softly, her eyes large, almost smiling;
"You can't compare, Sansa," she said "Suffering and such things – we're all too different, it's not a thing you can compare." Sansa looked at her friend in admiration and wondered if she would ever be so wise or so sweet.
After that they talked about happier things.
Sansa told Jeyne stories made up out of bits of her life, things to make them smile, of building snow castles in the Eyrie and preserving lemons in the snow. She told her stories to make her grin like they had when they were children. She remembered how they had whispered about boys and kisses and – though it was never quite what they had whispered about she found herself telling Jeyne about Sandor Clegane and the night of the Blackwater; of a kiss and a song beneath a burning green sky and the cloak he had left her.
"Like a wedding vow," Jeyne said, and though she did not giggle any more she smiled and Sansa could not say she had not thought of that herself.
They talked through the night; wrapped in one cloak like sisters as the fire died down and it was Sansa's joy to see Jeyne emerge more and more from the shell of herself until she could almost recognise her friend again.
"And Sansa," Jeyne said seriously, as the grey light of dawn came through the window – "You have to forgive Theon –" she back pedalled hard, frightened herself by daring to say Sansa had to do anything – "I just – he really did rescue me – he was brave and – and – he suffered so much – you don't know Ramsay, Sansa – he –" Jeyne began to shake as soon as she had said the name and could barely get the rest out – "He's a monster" she whispered. And Sansa remembered a conversation in a garden of gold roses and she understood Jeyne's fear like it was her own. But Theon –
"He killed Bran and Rickon," she said, lips set hard.
"No –" Jeyne's eyes widened – she had only just realised that Sansa did not know – "No he told me – he – we – I mean on the way here – we talked and – they were two boys – but they weren't Bran and Rickon – he just wanted us to think they were. It was awful – and he knows that – he really does but Sansa –" this time Jeyne clasped her hands, eyes shining with the news – "Bran and Rickon are still alive! I mean I know Rickon is – somebody overheard someone at Winterfell say he was at White Harbour with Manderley's people – something like that, and Bran I don't know but – those people, they want to see one of you back at Winterfell – there –" Jeyne faltered, lost for breath; it had been so long since she had said so much or been so excited. Sansa finished for her;
"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." She nodded, stretched, stood up, pulling Jeyne up with her –
"I know what I have to do".
It was then and there that she had decided; she would take back the north for her family, so many of whom still lived after all, she would do it for the north who would rally behind her, she would do it for everyone they had lost and in truth, more than anything – she would do it for Jeyne. Jeyne who remained so wise and so courageous after all she had faced. She would do it for all of them, because they all deserved better.
She had forgiven Theon, and she had not taken either of them with her to Winterfell. Neither could face it and she was not going to push that. They had stayed out the winter in the Vale and now still wrote to her often from the Iron islands where they had gone to be alone together away from the rest of everything.
-x-
Sansa laughed beneath the chorus of cheers and roughly nuzzled the wolves as she sat back down in the clearing. She had never imagined back then how sweet and lovely her life might be, even less imagine all that she was capable of. She laughed again as Bran flew low overhead with Rickon clinging to his feet. Queen in the North she thought, with something like pride – now that it was true there were times – times like this – when she could just about imagine it.
_x_
So I've been planning this chapter for about a week since the idea of a Jeyne/ Sansa reunion scene came to me. I hope I've made it clear what different people they are and why D&D treating them as interchangeable is inexcusable and yeah for sure I may have ground my axe a bit in this chapter over some of the issues with this plotline in season 5! Also I feel Jeyne's been largely ignored/ treated shabbily in fanfic so I wanted to redress that a bit!
Next chapter: More hot dragon action, I'm thinking probably Gilly needs a pov chapter! :-D