Sansa II

She knocked on the open door, looking in at where all of her brothers were gathered with her half-brother, Robb and Bran and Jon laughing as Rickon pointed at items in the room and tried to speak their names. As Sansa stood there, her youngest brother pointed at a table and said "chair", causing the laughter to start anew.

Sansa knocked again, louder. She cleared her throat and said in a slightly loud tone so as to be heard. "Jon?"

Bran was explaining to Rickon the difference between a chair and table, but both Robb and Jon looked up. "Sansa," Jon said, sounding faintly surprised. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes, um...I mean, may I speak with you?"

Jon and Robb exchanged looks, and whatever passed between them passed in that silent way that they did - Sansa found herself jealous of them, sometimes; she could never have the same kind of bond with Arya - and Robb stood. "Come on, little man," he said, swooping down and lifting Rickon up and over onto his back. The little boy giggled and clung to his shoulders. "You too, Bran," added Robb, and Bran smiled and got to his feet, taking the hand that wasn't holding Rickon's leg. Bran looked at Sansa curiously as they passed, but other than that, none of them said a word.

When they were gone, Sansa closed the door behind them and turned to look at her half-brother. Suddenly, all the words she'd rehearsed were gone.

"Come and sit down," Jon suggested, pointing to the end of the bed beside him. Sansa nodded and walked over, sitting down and folding her hands in her lap, staring at them. "What's wrong?" To his credit, Jon was trying to sound like a wise, helpful older brother, but Sansa could hear the surprise and confusion in his voice - 'why would she come to me?', she imagined he was thinking.

"I'm sorry, Jon, I really am. I never meant to be hurtful, or rude, and I certainly didn't mean to dishonour you in front of our visitors. I was just trying to correct Arya, because she was being wrong, and you are a bastard, and I spoke because my mother wasn't there to speak, and then when Arya said it was cruel to treat you as a bastard I just got so angry because it was like she was calling our mother cruel, and-"

"Stop now," Jon said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, horrified to find her eyes prickling. She would not cry. That was absurd. "Don't be upset, Sansa. I accept your apology."

"Really?"

"Truly," he said, laughing. "You were perhaps a little...harsh, but you're still my sister, and you have apologised."

"Half-sister," Sansa corrected automatically.

Jon snorted. "Half-sister, then."

"Sorry."

Jon didn't reply that time, squeezing the shoulder that his hand rested on in a reassuring way. They sat together in silence for a few moments before he spoke. "For what it's worth, Sansa, I don't think your mother is cruel, anymore than I think you are."

"You don't?"

"No," Jon said, but there was a sadness in his deep grey eyes, a look she often saw on her father's face when he spoke of his past. "No, she's never said a cruel word to me, Sansa. She's just...cold. She...just just doesn't like me."

Sansa stared at him. "I don't..."

"You don't like me much either, Sansa," Jon went on. "But the difference is, you have the family love, the link. You are sometimes harsh, but at the end of the day you will come and apologise, because you don't really want to hurt me. Your mother...your mother is not my mother. She's just...a lady who is married to my lord father, and I'm just a bastard. She's cold, as cold as ice. She keeps as far away from me as possible, and when she does speak to me, it's frosty and clipped. But she isn't cruel, no. She's just a mother, and a wife, and I'm a threat to both in her eyes."

"That's...that's a good thing, right?"

Jon smiled at her, rueful. "No, not really," he said. "Sometimes it feels worse."

They sat quietly for a while, and then Jon spoke once more. "Thank you for your apology, Sansa."

"Y...yes. I should go."

Jon nodded, and Sansa hurried to the door. She opened the door, and paused. "Jon?" she said, not turning around. "You might just be my half-brother, but you are my family."

Jon made no sound for a moment. "Mind you apologise to Arya, too," was all he said, but Sansa could hear the smile in his voice. She left the room, collecting her thoughts in the hallway for a moment.

Jon Snow was nothing but a bastard. But, deep in her heart, she knew: bastard he may be, but he was a bastard of Winterfell, blood of the Starks. And as her father once told her, the wolves of a pack should stay together.