The Night the Pack Turned

Desperately, Jon tried to find some words to say, even just one other than her name, but everything escaped him except for her eyes that were staring straight through him and the softness of her skin under his fingers. He had promised her honesty. He had also promised her safety and his thoughts and feelings would scare her, he was sure of that. The porcelain white of her skin was tinged with pink and he wanted to foolishly believe it was a flush from him. It always reminded him of fresh untouched snow and then he would always wish that the rest of her body could be as such, but he knew the truth her clothes hid. If only he could have rescued her from King's Landing before Father's beheading, before she had to witness such a horror and then suffer the beatings. Robb or the Lord Commander may have been forced to charge him with desertion, but she would have been safe. He doubted that he would have felt like that or even fully considered her then for the Sansa he knew before was not the Sansa he had seen in the snow at Castle Black.

He had returned from the dead with no ability to live and then he had seen her, a woman grown who, even under the furs and cloak, even with a clearly pained face, slightly drawn from her time travelling, there was still a beauty that no man could deny. He saw it more and more from her, especially when it was the two of them alone and even more so when she was freshly awake on a morning. It was becoming too difficult to keep trying to think it was a brotherly concern. His refrain it's what Robb would have done meant less and less each time he thought it. His thumbs wanted to stroke her lips, to part them and he ached to put his lips on hers. The feeling of her forehead and cheeks under his lips was not enough, not anymore.

But he was her brother, no her cousin though they shared a father, and he was her King and a bastard, too. She had no need for a second brother now that she had Bran back by her side, she had no need for another King by her side or a bastard in her bed. Her face heated under his hands and he saw the flush creep up from the top of her dress, yearning for more of her heat, the heat that he felt at night in the bed that they truly should no longer be sharing and that they barely even were. He knew they should not even be alone in her chambers now, let alone all night, sleeping so close and yet keeping such a distance that it pained him each night. He could not tell her what he was feeling. He could not be as all the others and simply take from her what he wanted. Surely she could not want him, too?

There was a shift and their noses suddenly bumped. Jon did not remember moving, but he felt unable to control himself or trust himself. His eyes met hers and then he forced his tightly shut, wondering if he had truly seen desire reflecting back from hers. He should move away, unsure that he physically even could. She had shifted in to him, hadn't she? He should move away, unsure who had actually closed the distance.

"Jon?" Her voice was barely a whisper and he felt her word more than heard it.

Forcing his eyes open, he saw her breath catch and his voice came out as a whisper, so hoarse that even he barely recognized it. "I can't…" her hands flew up to his, still cupping her face and he wondered if she could truly understand what he was trying to say. "I can't make-"

There was a sudden knock on the door and all four of their hands dropped at the same time. He immediately sat back on his haunches and she stood as a voice called through the door. "There's been a raven from the South, your Grace." Sansa moved past him to attend to the door as Jon remained where he was, finally whispering what he wanted to say. This is not what Robb would do.

"I can't make you mine."

GOT – GOT – GOT

The Dragon Queen was in Westeros, that was the news that the raven had brought, causing an emergency meeting between Jon, Sansa, Ser Davos, Tormund and Brienne. Bran had been informed the following morning when he and Meera had finally broken their fast, a week passed since then and despite the situation he had found himself in with Sansa, nothing had changed. It had not been mentioned. Clearly she did not hear his final whisper as she opened the door to the raven's news. Not since the news that Queen Cersei sat upon the Iron Throne had news from the South thrown Winterfell in to such confusion. Not that Ser Davos believed the words the raven brought. It was a message from The Twins, passing on information Edmure's bannermen had heard from further south. According to the news spreading across the Riverlands, Daenerys Targaryen had come to Westeros on a fleet alongside Theon Greyjoy's, of all bastards, Jon thought, allied with the Dornish and Highgarden. Jon knew little of them, cared little for them. Tormund cared nothing for any of the news other than not believing the newest Queen had dragons, wanting to meet this Queen in battle purely to see the dragons. Sansa had been concerned, she still was in truth. She knew the Queen of Thorns from her time in King's Landing and knew that she would, for the present time, be allied against Cersei. None of them knew what would happen after the Dragon and her allies fought Cersei. Because surely they would win that battle?

Would they come further north? Would they hold issue against the North for rebelling against the Iron Throne as Robb had? Would she hold grudges against the Starks for their Lord Father's part in the death of her family? And of course, she had no knowledge of Jon. This Queen that was raging war on the South, that wanted the Iron Throne and, presumably the seven kingdoms, that was his Aunt. She was the only connection to the Targaryen half of himself, but, truly, did that even matter to him?

His new thoughts kept him awake at night, caused him to awaken more frequently through out the night and, in truth and shame, the only thing that helped him through those nights was Sansa lying by his side. Sometimes he would wake from his troubled thoughts to her still slumbering and she always had a look of calm peace upon her sleeping face. That gave him hope for some reason. She was always there when he could not sleep, always there when he awoke terrified and soaked with sweat and always willing to comfort him with words and gentle hands. However they fell asleep, neither moved away from the other before they awoke, at least not on purpose. All of the awkwardness from their previous discussion and moment on the moon of Bran's nuptials had melted away like the quick summer snows. The only thing that seemed to bother Sansa was Arya.

It had been a few days after the wedding, after the Dragon news and Jon had been late to the training yard, caught watching over it from a window by Sansa.

"Has she spoken with you?" Sansa had asked, moving to stand by his side with no other words of greeting or warning. Arya had taken to training with the men for as long as the men trained, sometimes longer it seemed. She barely took time to break her fast or share any meal. When she was not training or quickly sharing meals with the others, she could barely be found and could seemingly disappear for hours on end, perhaps even for a day or two sometimes.

"Not much," he confirmed and Sansa had nodded solemnly. "She says nothing when we spar or patrol. She," he had sighed then, "is not the Arya that we knew."

"Are not we all different after our years and turmoil?"

"Aye," he had nodded. "But there's something… it's like there's something missing from her." It had been the first time he had admitted such a thing even to himself. The sisters themselves had not spoken about their time apart.

Watching as Sansa subtly kept glancing up at Arya, Jon knew that the younger Stark would feel her elder sister's eyes upon her and he wondered if tonight, after weeks of having both of them home, things were about to be said. Ghost made a nuzzle at his hand and then padded out of Sansa's solar, as if he, too, could sense the mood was about to shift. All three of them were sitting in Sansa's solar, the first time that Arya had kept company with any of them since Bran's wedding, and she had chosen to categorise and scutinise a small pile of weaponry that she had brought to Sansa. For her credit, Sansa had not baulked or returned to her childhood form at such an act from Arya, but she did keep watching her sister. There was perhaps some envy in her eyes.

"Quit eyeballing me," Arya growled.

"I'm watching what you are doing, sweet sister, what is the harm in that?"

"I didn't come home for you to sit judging me."

"Why did you come home?" Jon winced as finally Sansa asked what everyone had been thinking but were too afraid to ask. Arya almost reminded Jon of a cat and he worried that a little spooking would send her running back to wherever she had been hiding all of these years. Because wherever she had been hiding, it had taught her skills he could not even fathom to think of. When she was sparring in the training yard, she could keep up with him and even Tormund. Father had given her lessons in King's Landing, he kept reminding himself after Sansa had informed him of Syrio Florel and his lessons.

"I am Arya Stark of Winterfell. This is Winterfell, is it not?"

"And yet you barely spend any time in Winterfell. Where would you rather be?"

"Rather be?" Arya suddenly shouted, standing up with such force that her pile of weaponry clattered to the floor. Very carefully, Jon put down the ledgers he had been trying to concentrate on, focusing completely on the two sisters. "I would rather have been here my whole life and not sent to King's Landing with the Stark who wanted a crown."

With delicate precision, Sansa put down the needlework she had been doing and folded her hands on her lap, looking up at Arya. "And I would rather have learnt what it was to wear a crown far earlier, but that was not the question that I asked. Why did you really come home?"

"Why did you?"

"To take it back."

"You already had it. Littlefinger sold you back to it from what I hear."

"Aye, sold me, like cattle."

"Oh, poor little, Sansa, all of the time. Alter the bloody song, sweet sister. I am the one who travelled with murderers and rapists, pretending to be a boy, risking my life. I was the one captured by the Hound, sold, alone just trying to get home! And you? You got what you always wanted – a King, the Royal Court, a Lordly Husband!" Jon watched as Sansa stood up, her cheeks flushed in anger and probably shame. Those had been the dreams of a child. "And now, you waltz back in to Winterfell, getting a new King to fight off your husband that you never wanted, setting yourself up to be a Queen. Again." Arya began clapping in congratulations. "Aside from the actual Iron Throne, you got your heart's desire, Queen in the North."

Jon was already partially out of his chair when it all happened in the blink of an eye. There was a harsh clapping sound as Sansa's hand made contact with Arya's face and then Arya had a dagger held at her sister's throat, a look of fear on Sansa's flushed face. Without a stumble or moment's pause, Jon grabbed Arya's wrist and slammed it against the wall, the dagger clattered to the floor. "Never pull a dagger on your sister again!" he roared before pushing the only Stark he still saw as a sister out of the door to the solar and slammed the door shut before turning back to Sansa.

She was on the floor, huddled up in a ball and sobbing, repeating over and over: "I didn't want that. I didn't ask for that."

Sansa finally fell asleep after Brienne and Podrick brought her some milk of the poppy and Jon encouraged her to drink it with the promise that he would be there when she awoke, but once she was asleep he left Brienne with her and went to find Arya. Despite her new found ability to seemingly vanish and spend hours if not a day or two hidden completely from sight, he found her by the old glass gardens with Ghost.

"How is the Lady?" Arya called bitterly as he approached.

"Is the Sansa you see now truly the Sansa you fought with daily as a child?"

"Clearly you see someone different."

"You say you were on the road with murderers? Sansa watched them cut off Father's head."

"As did I," she protested.

"She watched as a King was killed before her and the blame put upon her. Lannisters still want her head for it. She watched as your Aunt was murdered. She too was surrounded by killers."

"In a bed, not on the King's Road alone."

"Aye, with lord upon lord forced upon her. You say you travelled with rapists, what do you think Ramsay Bolton did?"

"What a lord's allowed?" she mumbled.

"Have you seen her scars? Heard of the beatings she endured? Two moons since and they still burn her."

"Aye and what of my life since Yoren got me out of King's Landing?"

"Yoren? That is my point, Arya. You have spoken not a word of what happened. How are we to understand?"

"Perhaps there is nothing to understand." With a twist, she jumped from the wall on which she was sat and when Jon looked over the side, she was gone with no trace in the snow.

For two nights, Arya was gone and Sansa said not a single word about her. Bran remained quiet, too, leading Jon to wonder what he had seen in his trees. Did Bran know where Arya had been? Did he know why she was so different? Jon always hesitated to ask, just as he hesitated to ask more on the subject of the Dragon Queen and his own mother and father. Bran did not like discussing what he saw unless he deemed it, but Jon often wondered what the boy had seen.

After walking the grounds one final time with Ghost, Jon headed back to Sansa's chambers, hoping that she had stayed awake as he was later than usual, his thoughts keeping his feet moving slower than usual. When he entered her solar, he immediately felt that there was something different and he glanced through in to her sleeping chamber. Sansa was curled up asleep with Arya next to her and Jon could not help the smile that spread on his face. Making a move to leave, Jon considered going to his own chambers to at least rest if sleep would not come, but then he realized that he did not really have chambers any more. Not as they welcomed more and more local villagers to escape the winter snows. Settling himself in to a chair with some furs over him, the fire's embers still glowing, Jon fell asleep.

"Arya," he whispered when he awoke, stiff in his chair, to see those eyes that were so like his own and so like his true mother's watching him.

She sat down on the low table, he shifted, his body still heavy with sleep. "I still don't understand."

"What?"

"You and her." He questioned her with a raised eyebrow. "Sharing her bed every night."

"It is not every night." He knew the objection was a lie, but he had believed few knew and those that did never mentioned it.

"I hear the whispers, Jon. Yes, you do. And I see a lot."

"Whispers? Who?"

"Most people notice that the King in the North never sleeps in his own room, that he shares with an unwed lady. I suggest if you ever have guests, you be more subtle."

"We do not require subtlety."

"Yes you do," she laughed and it was the first time he had heard it since the first night she had returned and in the training yard. Was it the same laugh his mother had? "How did Sansa let this all happen?"

"She has nightmares." As do I.

"I'll take over," she offered and his face froze. "That," she pointed at him, "that's what I don't understand. That look. That concern. You two never cared about each other before."

"We did. Just, not as…"

"Brother and sister?"

"Aye."

"And now she's your cousin?" He nodded. "Do you love her?"

He took a breath as if to answer her and then huffed it out slowly, the words unable to form. Simply nodding she stood and kissed his forehead, returning to Sansa's bed, leaving Jon confused and awake although he did eventually fall asleep. When he awoke next, it was to Sansa shaking him. That morning he learnt that his younger sister had left Winterfell and that the Dragon Queen was on her way. Three mornings later the dragons landed.