authorsnote: I genuinely enjoyed writing this chapter so, so much!
I hope you enjoy reading it. do review and let me know if you did!
songrecs: can't pretend - tom odell (side note do check out the awesome jon/sansa youtube video using this song: Jon & Sansa | I can't pretend by AnneSoashi)
He wasn't quite the type to say 'I told you so' but as he trailed Sansa out of her parents room, not really anymore informed about events South, other than 'Don't trust Varys, or Cersei is ruthless' – which they had already known. He had hoped for more, and as Sansa took his arm, head bent and pensive he knows she did too.
As she said, they are fighting a war on two fronts, any information would have been useful.
However, their Father (why does he feel that odd pang again?), had not been in Kings Landing long enough and had always been terrible at spying and intrigue, and so had learned little. Sansa's Mother had gleaned a little more about the River Lords from her time in Riverrun and with Robb but not anything that useful.
He couldn't help again speculating as to why the Old Gods had sent the Starks back to them. He hated himself for wondering, shouldn't he just be happy they were back?! But no, his mind instead was focused on that one question: why?
He remembers the words the Old Gods had boomed in his ears…
'You must fight Jon Snow, you must lead, you must win the war against the Great Other. You must lead, you are a King!'
'The pack must be reunited; the pack must fight the oncoming storm. You Jon Snow will lead the pack! Fight Jon Snow'
'Lead the pack Jon Snow, you will hear from us twice more, but not at your call, at ours. Twice more King Jon, twice more, lead your pack'
He remembered them and could decipher nothing from them. It talked of what he must do; fight, lead, but not at how the additional Starks would help, or why they had been sent back, of how they would help him win, and fight. Nothing.
He did feel a little excited at the words he remembered, 'You will hear from us twice more…' Perhaps that would offer more? Again he felt a creep of guilt, he was pleased to have his family back, very pleased, but he had to think practically, and practically he couldn't see how they could help.
His Father yes was a great general, would help greatly with strategy and tactics and would fight fiercely in the wars to come. But was that it? A great fighter and general yes, but nought else?
Lady Stark would be of help no doubt for morale, would help with the glass gardens and the servants but she couldn't fight, and Sansa was already doing a fantastic job doing what Lady Stark had once done. So what?
Robb would be just like Father, a fierce general, a fierce fighter and Greywind too. But again, like his Father: could he offer anything more?
Rickon could likely fight by the time the wars came, but just as a foot soldier. Was that all?
The direwolfs would fight fiercely and truly, and would make quick work of wights, but not the Others. They would help, but no more than 5 soldiers would for each.
And so, he asked himself again; why?
He had no answer, no answers or solutions, only problems.
"Jon?" Sansa interrupted his thoughts then, which he was glad for, for they were getting him nowhere, "Are you alright?" She asked, leaning closer to him as they made their way down the corridors.
"Aye" He said, but at her look, a look that spoke of not believing and demanding he be honest he sighed, "Just thinking something awful"
"Awful?" She asked, a little worry inflecting her tone, he had noticed that. Sansa was great at fooling others, at hiding behind courtesy, intrigue, all she had learned down South, but less so with him. Her persona and perfect façade did crumble around him. He found himself honoured she could trust him so to be true with him.
"Yes" He said, and he knew he'd need to tell her, but he knew he wouldn't like her reaction, "Just being horribly ungrateful and speculating as to the Old Gods and our family" He winced then and turned to look at her.
"Yes" She didn't seem to skip a beat, "I've been thinking the same; why did they send them back?" He actually smiled then, that they were on the same page, that she didn't think him a monster for that was where his mind went, not to be overjoyed and grateful, but doubtful. "I've been feeling awfully guilty about such thoughts, I guess you have too"
He just nodded then, and turned, to pull Sansa into a hug. Two peas in a pod they were, both feeling terrible for their thoughts, thoughts they did need to think on though.
Again … why?
He was thankful when she relaxed into his embrace with ease, even let out a little content sigh, and he did the same. "I have" He said with a nod, squeezing her close, "Nice to know it's not just me"
"No" She shook her head, but made no move to release him, "I can't help but ask the question too"
"I just don't understand" He said, frustration seeping in now as he stepped back, and then Sansa tucked her arm through his again, and he managed another smile. Only she could elicit a smile from him now, with such doubt, worry and frustration. "The Old Gods said the pack was needed"
"What did they say exactly?" She fired at him then, and he nodded, remembering she hadn't been present for the encounter in full, hadn't heard the words boomed into his ears, words that at the time had felt like salvation, but now felt like a cruel riddle.
"The pack must be reunited; the pack must fight the oncoming storm" He said, leaving out the rest, this was the most relevant.
"Must" Sansa said, and he could see her eyebrows knit together as she considered, "And yet though Father and Robb can fight and command well, and Rickon can join the army and Mother help with running Winterfell I don't see a 'must' in this"
"I was thinking the same thing" He admitted, "And like you feeling terrible for thinking so"
"Yes" She said, biting down on her lip then he could see, which prompted him to reassure her, even if he didn't fully believe his words himself.
"We have wars to fight" He insisted, "We're just being practical" He saw her nod, but the guilt lingered in her eyes, as it no doubt did in his.
"So what do we do?" She asked and he let out a sigh, he knew she meant about their question: why? But honestly, it just made a million more to pop into his head.
What do we do about the Others? About our lack of troops, supplies and defences?
What do we do about the Dragon Queen? And the fact her cold shoulder might soon be replaced with fiery breath?
What do we do about Cersei? She won't stand to see Sansa doing well for long.
So many questions, so few answers.
When he didn't answer Sansa spoke, "Should we go to the Godswood?"
"I thought you were done with all of that?" He teased, just a hint, for it made him feel better, and her smile made him feel better too.
"Well I was" She said with a shrug, "Until you know, the Old Gods spoke directly too you and returned our dead family members!"
He did laugh then, and her laughter that followed was music to his ears, "Fair enough"
They both continued to laugh, feeling a touch lighter as they made their way, arm in arm, to the Godswood; it was better than nothing after all.
They needed answers, perhaps the gods would deign to answer them as they had answered his prayers … in one sense or another.
It was of little surprise to either of them when they did not receive the answers they craved.
She felt calmer though, sat at the edge of the lake, underneath the still branches of the Weirwood, Jon by her side, looking troubled yes, but a touch calmer too. Jon's moods often affected her own, and the two of them sat, side by side, still, seemed to ease them both a touch.
"I should have known we'd get no reply" He said with a shake of his head, and she instincitively reached her hand out to cover his, and she noticed his shoulders sag a touch, some tension bleeding out as he interlocked his fingers with hers.
"Why do you say that?" She asked, and she near smiled at the irony. Once she had sworn off any Gods, now here she was defending them.
"They said to me" He said, looking across at her, and she felt a little pang at how tired he looked, how weighed down, even though he seemed calmer. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, she only wished she could ease more of his burden. "They said, you will hear from us twice more, but not at your call, at ours"
"Hmm" She considered that and thought back to her earlier musings, of Cersei, who had taught her so much, regardless of how evil she was; 'He believes in them, he just doesn't like them very much' She was horrified to realise she was agreeing with Tywin Lannister.
Why did the Gods have to be so cryptic? Why couldn't they be plain? She supposed it was because they were Gods, but it was none the less irritating.
"I guess we must wait for them then" She said, and Jon nodded, for what other choice did they have? The Old Gods would not come when called, and so wait they must.
"But we can plan in the meantime" She followed up and Jon nodded again but said nothing more, just stared out at the lake, hunks of ice drifting across the surface, the snow very lightly fluttering down on top of them and the water.
"Are you okay?" She asked, moving a little closer, to sit next to him, her hip touching his, their hands still twined. She felt a shiver of cold, and Jon rubbed her hand then before chivalrous as he was wrapping his cloak around her too. She knew he barely felt the cold anymore.
"I'm just worried" He admitted and she felt some warmth that he talked to her about these things, trusted in her to confide in him, even if his words worried her.
"About?" She knew the answer of course, or rather answers, but she felt Jon needed some space to speak, or rant, or vent … or all three.
"That we'll lose" His voice was quieter then, and she found herself shuffling even closer, to tuck her head onto his shoulder, and he gently rested his atop of hers. Both there for one another, in a silent display of comfort and companionship. It was needed.
It was peaceful, beautiful, to be tucked together, as snow fell on them, as the beauty of the Godswood surrounded them.
It was truly beautiful, and she felt herself appreciating it all anew. The lake, cracked with ice and ice blue water, little drops of snow causing ripples on the surface. The ground, covered in a blanket of white, tiny shoots of green struggling to break through but breaking through all the same. And then the Weirwood, so magnificent, it's long swaying branches, the red rich leaves, the sap making the face of their Gods, the trunk stark white. It was a thing of beauty, of the Gods, of the North.
"I wish we could just stay here forever" She whispered, unprompted, as the thought had popped into her mind, as it had, when looking at the Godswood again, "No war, no fear, just peace, here"
"Me too" Jon whispered back, and she let out a small sigh, of contentment, that they both wanted that. They were alike, in that kind, what they wanted, what they needed.
She knew it was hard, they both wanted to protect their people, to care for them, save them even, but they also had already both lived such hard lives, at such a young age. They had suffered, bled, hurt.
Why couldn't they rest? Hadn't they earned it?
Peace.
"Maybe we should" She whispered again, "Hide away in the snow, amongst the powder, away from it all"
"If we could" Jon replied and she nodded, shuffling closer, turning her face into his neck, hiding, like she had expressed.
"If we could" She mumbled and he nodded then, linking his arm through hers. They both wished they could, but both knew they couldn't.
They stayed like that for a while. No matter the cold, no matter they had duties and responsibilities, no matter that guards waited outside, no matter they shouldn't, as siblings they were just a hint too close. But they didn't care, they just stayed like that. Cold, comfortable, content.
Until they heard a shout.
Peace broken.
Home
Winterfell
'The stone is strong… The roots of the trees grow deep, and under the ground the Kings of Winter sit their thrones. So long as those remained, Winterfell remained'
He wasn't surprised that he didn't feel a rush of joy at the site, just a slight thrum of relief, and perhaps a hint of happiness to see Winterfell's walls, to see the Stark banner flying proud over their Castle, to sense family nearby, Bran's family, more than one could think possible.
But of course, he had already seen all of this. He had seen the battle, Jon throwing himself into the Bolton's, a mighty roar leaving his lips, he had seen him and Sansa rebuilding the Stark home, laughing together, a lingering touch; he imagined they'd be relieved with the news he bought.
He'd seen the Old Gods return Bran's family, his family, but had felt utterly confused as to why he had only seen it, not been contacted, not felt anything.
Why did the Old Gods keep things from him now?
He was the Three Eyed Crow, why did the Old Gods ignore him?
He knew of course, Jon had called them forth, the Tower of Joy explained that, and long forgotten and some remembered prophecies explained why Jon was so special, so important.
He had seen all of that.
'Promise me Ned'
'His name…'
Names. Jon's name was not his own, but what was his name? Brandon Stark? The Three Eyed Crow? Both? One felt more prominent than the other, and one felt as though it were slipping away. He tried to hold on, did he? Was he meant to hold on?
'You will fly'
He would fly, Brandon Stark, should Bran Stark hold on?
A million questions, but he knew today he would get no answer. No, today he would answer questions, as another member of the pack returned. Was he still part of the pack? Yes. He felt a tiny hint of satisfaction that he could still feel that, clear as day; he was still part of the pack.
Today he would answer questions, reveal the earth-shattering secret that would disrupt the Stark's. He knew some would take the news well (Sansa), others would rage (Jon), many would fear (Lady Catelyn… Mother), others already knew (Father).
He had only wondered why his Father…Lord Stark hadn't told Jon already. They hadn't yet met in the crypt, perhaps that was why.
So, he would answer, and the questions he needed answered would continue to pile up. Perhaps now he was not supposed to question, to ask, just answer.
"Bran?" Was he Bran? "We're not far now, an hour or so"
He nodded, he knew that, Myra still looked weighed down by grief, he didn't feel a need to alievitate it, to offer conversation or platitudes. Myra had done her job, though as he considered Robb's return, of the wars to come he knew there'd be another role for her. Perhaps that would make her feel better.
He was slightly reassured that he felt good about making Myra feel better. Perhaps he was not so lost after all. Perhaps Winterfell would bring him back to himself a little.
But should he want that?
'Darkness will make you strong'
Would Winterfell make him strong?
He wrestled with his mind again and felt a calm settle over him as they approached the great castle. Brandon Stark, Three Eyed Crow, it didn't matter, it shouldn't matter. What mattered was what was to come, and there was much.
Starting with Jon.
"Your Grace!" A yell erupted, shaking Jon from his peace, from the rare moment of contentment he'd snatched with Sansa amongst all the chaos. He wanted to curse them, for taking away his rare moments of rest, but instead he leapt to his feet, knowing they wouldn't disturb him without cause. Knowing it must be important.
"What?" Sansa asked, holding her hands out and Jon pulled her to her feet, he noticed her brushing the snow from her dress, fastening his cloak tighter too her. He didn't mind, he barely felt the cold anymore, he didn't like to question why.
"What's happened?" Jon asked, as three guards ran into the Godswood, flanking a messenger who was red and panting, as though he'd been running.
Jon felt a spike of fear but swallowed it down, something he'd become expert at, even easier since he had returned. He could master it now, force it away, focus on the problem.
Fear wouldn't rule him, not anymore, not ever again, he wouldn't let it.
"Someone's here" The messenger said, trying to catch his breath. Usually he'd be patient, but not now, not when everything was so on edge.
"Who?" He demanded, and it was the guard that spoke then, more stoic, calm, though a little wide eyed.
"He claims to be Brandon Stark Your Grace"
He turned back then immediately, shock running through him, as he whipped around to see Sansa, wide eyed too, her breath caught in her throat as was his. They both shared a look, just for a second, and she nodded, he did too, and then her hand was in his and they ran, ran…
Another Stark had come home.
sooo thoughts?
I loved writing this chapter! I love writing little jon/sansa moments, my poor bby's, they just want peace!
I also enjoy writing other starks and be assured stark pov's will pop up. it will mostly be jon/sansa but others will be semi-regular
do let me know your thoughts, fav/follow for updates and speak soon