Sorry for the slight delay in posting, I had a lot of real life stuff to attend to and it took me a long time to write a particular element of this chapter. (I bet you will be able to guess what it is :p) Thanks for all of the kind reviews- for whatever reason there was a slight influx after the last chapter, and I really appreciated them! They helped me to stay motivated through writing this other almost equally important chapter.
Anyways, hopefully you find this offering to be thought-provoking, and will join me again for part 15. I'll be working hard on it whenever I have the time, and hope to post it fairly efficiently in the near future. Thanks again for reading!
That night Sansa and Jon found themselves together in Jon's chambers for the first time in nearly a fortnight. They both remained in their nightclothes to uphold the usual decency, of course, but the atmosphere still felt notably different.
They lay together in the darkness, Sansa curled contentedly into Jon's chest.
"It was terrible, being alone again." she muttered quietly, before either of them had fallen asleep. "I hardly slept while you were gone. The nightmares returned."
Jon opened his eyes a smidgen to peer down at her through the shadows. "You know," He started softly, "if we marry we'll be able to do this every night without any secrecy or sneaking around. For the rest of our lives."
He thought he saw her smile in the gloom.
"I look forward to it." she breathed exultantly, her breath warm on Jon's chest. "No more secrets."she trailed off sleepily, her body relaxing as she slipped closer to oblivion.
"No more secrets." Jon repeated quietly, his heart yearning for the moment when that would be true.
"That's a fine new tapestry." Lady Alys mused flatly the next morning as the occupants of Winterfell broke their fast in the Great Hall. "I've only just noticed it…" she admitted, drawing her eyes to the hanging behind the high table. Her tone was perceptibly jealous...
Jon immediately turned in his spot at the long table to regard the new tapestry, apparently not having noticed it the previous night either. As soon as he observed the size and prominence of the image he shot Sansa a slightly frantic, concerned glance. He seemed to be silently shouting really? It had to go there, right where she would see it?
In response Sansa took a long sip of tea, glancing at Jon slyly from behind her mug. Once she had set it loudly back on the table she smiled cunningly at Alys. "It was a rather nice gift, that hanging." she muttered, her voice dripping with false charm. "I find it to be suitably grand and imposing for the Great Hall- a place of decision-making and reign."
"Indeed." Lady Alys mumbled, her face somewhat pressed. She quickly turned and took Jon's arm, much to Sansa's disgust. "Once we're married we'll have to have something similar made. Perhaps depicting us side-by-side in battle." She crooned.
Jon only nodded, his face pallid.
Peripherally, Sansa saw Arya shoot her a knowing glare. She felt a nudge on her arm and heard Arya whisper. "I know she's becoming insufferable, but you need to watch yourself…"
Sansa raised an eyebrow and exchanged a series of inconspicuous faces and expressions with her sister. They had become quite adept at communicating silently as of late. She had enlightened Arya this morning about her pact with Jon, to which her sister had reacted surprisingly well. She certainly seemed to prefer losing Jon to Sansa than to Alys, at least.
It's strange, really, how accepting Arya has been of everything...almost as strange as all of her newfound advice-administering and rule-abiding. She is much matured since we separated long ago. Sansa reflected pensively. I can only hope that the rest of the world will be so forgiving when Jon and I expose our true intent.
After the morning's eating had concluded, Lady Alys pressed Jon into taking her outside of the castle walls for a proper "tour". He was hardly in a position to refuse under the watchful eye of Lord Karstark. Regretfully Arya and Sansa watched them go, riding out the main gate on a pair of handsome Stark horses. Sansa thought she saw Jon cast a beseeching eye back towards them as the doors closed.
As soon as the thunder of the shutting oak gate had died, Sansa exhaled defeatedly, wondering what to do next. Slowly but surely we are losing each other. She noted sadly. We need to act quickly, before fate seals gates of its own against us.
Bran's return had been announced that morning before all of Winterfell's staff, soldiers, and council. To most of the new individuals manning the castle, the return of the youngest living Stark was joyous, though it did not elicit the tremendous magnitude of change that Jon had warned of. The new servants and soldiers had pledged themselves to she and Jon, not Bran, who was a relative stranger.
Mercifully Bran did not seem bothered by the lack of fuss. He seemed to be hung up instead on his own thoughts and troubles- likely regarding the impending Winter's War.
Last night, Sansa had asked the farrier to construct her brother some sort of special saddle, much like the original he had used several years ago, which would enable him to ride alone. His old one was much too small and very well worn; regardless, it seemed to have served as a suitable model, for the farrier delivered the completed product the next morning after Jon and Alys had left the castle.
As soon as Sansa and Arya were informed of the completed saddle they fetched Bran and, with Meera's assistance, helped him down to the courtyard where a gentle horse was waiting.
Sansa couldn't help but smile as she watched him jaunt around the yard, seeming the happiest he'd been since returning home. Watching Bran ride she could almost convince herself that he was not crippled- just an ordinary boy untouched by tragedy.
Hardly a boy anymore, though. She reminded herself. He's nearly five-and-ten...older than I was when I was brought to King's Landing, already betrothed to Joffrey.
Sansa suppressed a shiver and fixed her gaze back on Bran's carefree ride. She hardly wanted to dwell on the dark times in her past…
Eventually Sansa and Arya accompanied Bran out into the Godswood, he astride his gentle grey horse, they plodding along at his side. The reunited siblings exchanged gentle banter, frequently interspersed with Arya's characteristic teasing jabs. It was warm and comfortable, almost as though they were children again.
Sansa had entirely lost track of time, preoccupied as she was reminiscing and joking with her siblings. She was delightfully surprised when Jon ultimately joined them, finally free of Alys Karstark. His hair was windswept and mottled with snow from riding out on the moors, and he wore a distinctly guilty expression.
"What's the matter?" Sansa called curiously as Jon marched over. The smile which had appeared on her face upon seeing him weakened slightly.
Jon glanced at her culpably. "Lady Karstark kissed me." He admitted regretfully, his face twisted with displeasure.
Arya chuckled audibly. "I'm not all that surprised- she took you out on a sightseeing ride alone. Anyways, it's not like she's a bloody troll. It could be worse." she suggested humorously. "Besides, if you hadn't done it she'd be thinking you prefer the company of men."
Jon shot her an unimpressed, unconsoled glare.
Sansa took his arm gently. "It's fine, Jon, you just did what you had to." she assured him calmly. "And I couldn't care less, as long as I know you didn't enjoy it." she finished in a whisper, her insides surging with triumph.
He glanced back at her and gave a tiny smile, gladness clear in his warm, dark eyes.
"Speaking of kissing…" Arya started mischievously. "What ever happened to that silver box from the cave?" she added briskly with genuine curiosity.
Bran looked down at the three of them from atop his horse with evident confusion. "Kissing?" he muttered perplexedly. "Caves? What in the name of the old gods are you-"
Arya ignored him and continued. "Did you open it yet?"
A sudden look of revelation flooded Jon's features and he regarded Arya wondrously. "The chest..." he murmured in astonishment. "I had completely forgotten about it! It's still sitting up in my chambers!"
Sansa stared at him intently. "You don't think….?"
Jon locked eyes with her profoundly. "All of that stuff about your father leaving hints, about things being meant for us to find...it has to be." he finished amazedly.
He fixed his gaze momentarily on Arya. "Brilliant- your random, convoluted mind is." he teased affectionately.
She cast him a beaming smile. "Let's go get on with it, then!"
"Will someone please explain?" Bran interjected suddenly.
Sansa glanced at him securely. "I promise we can tell you everything after, but right now we have a very important box to open…" she implored pleadingly.
"Fine…" Bran mumbled irritably. "I'll go find Meera."
"Good plan." Sansa muttered with a nod, before following Jon and Arya out of the Godswood.
As Jon pushed open the doors to his chamber he noticed that beside him, Sansa was frowning. He glanced at her inquiringly.
She obliged with a sigh. "I've just remembered...the chest is still locked. How do you plan on opening it?"
"I'll find a way." Jon replied simply. "Perhaps by force."
"Didn't you say the lock was Valyrian Steel?" Sansa uttered anxiously.
Jon nodded. "That's what it looked like."
"Nothing cuts Valyrian Steel!"
Arya raised an eyebrow at her sister. "That's not true." she remarked simply.
"What are you talking about?" Sansa muttered reproachfully. "It's the most powerful substance in the world!"
Arya smiled knowingly. "The only thing that cuts Valyrian Steel is Valyrian Steel."
"And how would you know that?" Sansa retorted, aghast.
"Because I paid attention when maester Luwin taught us about weapons." Arya replied cheerfully.
"She's right." Jon chimed eagerly.
"And," Arya added with a flourish, "we're lucky that Jon just happens to have a Valyrian Steel sword on hand." she finished gleefully. "The gods really do want him to open the shiny box."
Sansa smiled at her sister bemusedly, though internally her heart was thudding eagerly in anticipation. If we're right about all of these variables then Jon's lineage will finally be proven! She realized with a start.
Sansa watched in slow motion as Jon drew the silver chest out from one of the largest drawers in her father's desk. He placed it on the stone floor and instructed she and Arya to stand back and shield their faces.
She observed his expression as he drew forth Longclaw from the sheath on his hip. He seemed keen, brusque, and possibly overwhelmed by the magnitude of what he might be about to uncover.
Whatever secret this chest conceals will be exposed with a swing of Jon's sword. She mused prudently. Assuming that Arya and Jon are correct about the properties of Valyrian Steel, of course.
Jon raised Longclaw above his head, and Sansa turned away, laying her hands over her face. She could feel Arya at her side, and hoped that she was doing the same.
A long instant of silence passed, tangible and suffocating, before a deafening ring and crunch split the air.
Sansa quickly uncovered her face and turned eagerly to regard Jon. Her spirits leapt like a direwolf on prey as she observed that the ancient Valyrian Steel lock was askew and hanging open, having succumbed to Jon's attacking blade.
She found herself breathing quickly as she and Arya marched over and crouched at the box's side. Jon sheathed his sword and met them on the ground, his exhalations loud and anxious. He reached forward and detangled the lacerated lock from its berth with shaking hands, laying it gently aside on the stone.
Sansa held her breath as Jon opened the chest, its contents obscured from she and Arya's sight. She scanned his face warily for some sort of reaction.
Jon said nothing and reached inside the silver container- scarcely larger than a small loaf of bread- to draw out a piece of weathered parchment. Sansa's heart beat in her throat as she watched him read.
"Well?" Arya blurted impatiently on her left, clearly unable to stand being left in the dark.
"This is it." Jon murmured in a very small, very tentative voice.
"What is it?" Sansa asked gently, finally allowing some of her pent-up breath to escape.
"A letter from my mother."
Dearest Jon,
If you are reading this, then Ned has decided that it is time for you to know the truth about who you are. I am sorry that I could not tell you myself, but the gods are cruel, and they come for me even as pen this letter.
I do not know whether I am addressing you, my son, as a child or as a man grown, but no matter what your life has brought you up till this moment I am sorry, for I will have left you alone to face this world, a world which I know can be harsh and unforgiving toward even the most stoic and hardened of men. I pray that somehow this heartless world of ours has treated you well and kept you happy anyhow, even if others have continued to toil and war over its surface.
They may tell you that myself and your father were the root of this war, the one which waged even as you came screaming into this world. Perhaps there is an element of truth to such accusations, but I find myself doubtful that out of such darkness could come such blessing and vibrance. By that I mean you, my son, the grace of my life, whose blood is that of kings, of ice and of fire. Maybe the nascency of your good comes at the cost of great chaos, but I, however selfishly, can think of nothing worthier for which our tepid order should be sacrificed.
Your father was Rhaegar Targaryan, a warrior and a prince. I suppose that makes you a prince of sorts as well. Even as I write the remaining blood of the dragon is being spilled across Westeros, but I trust that no matter what happens to Rhaegar's ancient house, his blood will live on in your veins, my son. One day when you read this letter, that fact might mean a great deal.
Rhaegar's blood unfortunately also condemns you to a life of secrecy and deception. You will have grown up being told that you are the son of my brother Eddard, but in reading this today you will know of our falsehood, and I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive us. I promise that forcing you into an upbringing of deception never matched our ideal intentions, but it was necessary for your safety. Once again, I am sorrier than I can say that I will not be able to explain all of these things to you myself.
I loved your father, whatever anyone else may tell you, and I know that he loved me in return. Our bond, though perhaps remarkable and unconventional, blessed me with you, for however short a time. I love you, Jon; if I could I would give you everything- the world, the sky, the moon and stars, all of it for you, so you might begin to understand how much I love you. Whatever happens or wherever you find yourself, never doubt that you have been loved, and will be loved by many more after I am gone.
I pray that Ned will show you this great love, and raise you as a father should. I hope that you will grow to be brave, gentle, and strong. When one day you read this, I hope that it might help to fill any emptiness I have unwittingly bestowed upon you in my passing. I know that an old piece of parchment is no substitute for watching you grow up- seeing you learn the ways of the world, swing your first sword, experience tireless adventure, find love of your own- but it is all I can offer before I must leave you. Do not despair, my son, for wherever I am you can be sure that I have always been watching, and will continue to do so, until one day you join me. I will see you again, my prince; until then learn carefully, fight bravely, love passionately, and live greatly- just as I know you can- for the both of us.
Love always,
Lyanna Stark
Sansa read over her aunt's words several times. She etched into her mind the image of the delicate, arched writing, and of the elegant signature emblazoned at the foot of the document. It was undoubtedly authentic, seeming to radiate her fallen aunt's spirit, if such a thing was possible.
Lyanna's poetic farewell to Jon seemed to leave within Sansa's mind a deeper imprint with each re-reading. She felt her throat swell at the beauty and tragedy of it, and at Lyanna's ethereal final promise that she would see him again. The words ignited within Sansa a strange, intangible hope, imagining that she might one day be reunited with her mother and father, Robb and Rickon, her direwolf Lady, and all of the others she'd lost.
Jon appeared pensive- just as was to be expected- as he sat on his bed and watched Arya and Sansa read the letter.
When finally all three had perused it intently, Sansa watched him inquiringly. Jon should be the one who decides what to do next...she decided ardently, waiting for him to say something.
"I suppose this proves it." Jon eventually murmured tightly. "There's enough evidence here to convince at least the majority, I'm sure."
"How does it feel?" Arya inquired gently. "To finally have connected to your mother? Haven't you always wanted that?"
Jon regarded her with a soft smile. "It feels enlightening. All those times when I was younger and felt incomplete...this was what was missing- an explanation, at least a partial one- but…" he trailed off hesitantly.
"But what?" Sansa pressed quietly.
"It's nothing. Sort of...pointless, really." He insisted with a small shake of his head.
"What?" Arya urged more incessantly. "You have to tell us now you've said that."
Jon sighed in concession "It's about what she writes in the last line- I will see you again." He started tentatively.
"That's a beautiful line, Jon." Sansa noted with trepidation.
He shrugged. "I know. It's just that...remember I died once already, and...there was nothing there."
Sansa and Arya's faces fell visibly. "You never told us that." Arya whispered grievously.
Jon regarded them grimly. "It's not something we should be worrying about now, I know, and I don't mean to spoil the letter- it's a great thing to have found for other reasons." he promised them dutifully. "It's just that I can't stop thinking about how the one consolation she tried to leave me- that at least in passing I might get to see her, and everyone else who's gone- is false." he finished grimly.
Sansa watched him with tears in her eyes- a man brought to his knees by mortality and his own humanity. She took his hand firmly and stared into his eyes with affirmation.
"You cannot worry about what will or will not happen when you die, Jon, such that you forget the rest of your mother's words." Sansa began resolutely. "learn carefully, fight bravely, love passionately, and live greatly." she recited, her voice trembling with emotion. "Live, Jon. You must do this and the others, if not for yourself then for me, for Arya, for Bran...and for the North."
He looked up at her deeply, his expression fierce. "You're right." he muttered firmly, already seeming broaden and emanate a more willful aura. He rose from his bed, something seeming to have shifted within his mind. "This letter is the key. With it I can finally tell the North the truth- that House Targaryen lives."
Sansa watched him in amazement and pride. It's as though he sat down a Stark, and rose a Stark-Targaryen. She mused avidly. And if all goes to plan, he is to be mine. She realized with a jolt of breathless anticipation.