It takes him a long time – far too long, given the growing terror inside him – to find his sister and, by the time he spots her at the balcony looking over Castle Black's usual training grounds, eyes turned skyward, Jon breathes a sigh of relief.

"There you are."

"Hello, Jon." To his further worry, her voice sounds— off, somehow, as if she's on the verge of tears. There's nothing visually alarming and the place seems entirely deserved, save for them, so he takes another tentative step forward, following her gaze and making a sound of acknowledgment when he realises what it is that she's seen.

The sky is filled with the ghostly green of the northern lights, shifting from one shape to another, illuminating them both from time to time, making the snow gleam wherever the light reaches. It had felt like being in an entirely different world the first time he had seen it and it only makes sense that she would feel the same way.

Sansa nods in response to his wordless appreciation and, when she faces him, he sees a stray tear making its silent way down her cheek. "I've never been this far north," she says, the words barely above a brittle whisper. "I had heard stories, of course, but—"

"It's different when you see it with your own eyes," he finishes for her. "I know."

There are a million things that should be on his mind right now – the Night King and the army of the dead and taking back Winterfell and, and, and. And all he wants is to stay right here and watch his sister watch the miracle above them for the rest of his life. Seeing her arrive had felt like a miracle; he never wants to let go.

It's terribly cold and they should both be going back to their beds, and yet, "The Night's Watch has a story of its own about them."

There are few things Sansa likes better than stories and songs, he remembers, and is quietly pleased when she prompts him for more. "What story?"

"It's said that they're horsemen riding across the sky to seek out the souls of the dead so that they can be one with the gods. They took the forms of men a long time ago, but once, when they came for the soul of one of the Kings of Winter, he demanded to see the realm of the gods before he was taken there. They turned into beings of pure light and brought him along so that he could see his kingdom for the last time, and then— Are you cold?"

"No." But she'd shivered obviously enough for him to spot the lie and Jon takes his cloak off without another word, turning it sideways so that it would cover both their shoulders, waiting for Sansa's sigh of resignation before he continues.

"And then," Jon says, happily resuming his tale once his sister stops fretting under the furs covering them, "the King of Winter saw both the North and the realm of the gods and said that he would like nothing more than to remain there with them, in the in-between, and guard over both worlds as well as he can." He knows how fairytales end, but he doesn't want to finish this one just yet – he feels stuck between two worlds too, and just as unwilling to leave that momentary calm behind for either of them.

Fortunately, Sansa had grown up on the same fairytales that he had, and Northern ones always have just the ending he's looking for.

"And they live there to this day?"

Usually, it's how a story finishes when it ends in a marriage and a feast, not in a suspended state of anticipation, neither here nor there but at complete peace all the same, but Sansa knows him well enough to know that this, precisely, is what he wants.

"And they live there to this day."