authorsnote: so hype for this chapter

do enjoy, I enjoyed writing it!

remember this is a book/show mix, at the moment the show is more prominent but there will be heavy targ/stark book lore heading forward.

songrecs: 7 years - lukas graham

Sansa knew exactly what the Dragon Queen was trying to do.

Once they had followed the Dothraki up the long winding stairs to the main Keep, they had been told the Queen would receive them in the main hall, and they had been led their immediately. No time to take a breath, refresh themselves, take a moment to acclimatise, no, they were thrust immediately into the politics of it all. It was a smart move, but Sansa would be damned if they gave anything away to the Southerners.

She almost laughed at that, her own internal tone even sneered as she thought of 'the Southerners', once she had wanted to be one of them, now she saw them for what they truly were, their entitlement, their cruelty, and the sooner they went back North in her mind, was the sooner the better.

She knew Jon felt the same way, he was glowering at everything in sight, and she laughed before tugging on his cloak as they made their way through the corridors.

"I didn't realise the walls had offended you so" She whispered conspiratorially and that drew a smile from him.

Sansa would not have them showing up looking anything but their best. If the Dragon Queen felt a few stairs would wind the Northerners she was sorely mistaken, they were very used to traversing much more hazardous conditions than neatly carved stairs, they were made of stronger stuff.

And they would not disgrace themselves, all of them stood firm backed, chins up, and though the South was warmer compared to the North (another thing to loathe, how she missed the snow already), they all stood in full Northern regalia, nothing fancy with gems or frippery, but good quality clothing designed not to show off but to battle the elements, though they still looked clean and formal.

Jon of course wore no crown; Sansa hadn't suggested it as she knew he wouldn't have heard of it. Jon was a King not because of some birth right (though she supposed that was different now), but because of who he was, what he had done, he needed no crown to define that.

No, instead he wore black, the heritage from his Nights Watch days, but with a Stark crest on his tunic. The sword strapped at his hip gleamed, and his long black cloak swept across the floor, he looked like a King without the need for a crown.

Sansa had seen that everyone's clothes were well mended, proudly displaying the Stark crest. Sansa had worn her best dress, black and grey, her black cloak with grey shawl at the shoulders, red hair shining under the torchlight. She didn't glare like Jon but wore no smile.

She was not the sort of diplomat to try and win with honey, not with these people.

No, in her mind the sooner this was over the better. They would introduce the two, explain why they had come and be on there way, no need for an extended visit. She understood it would take a few days to hash out terms, to discuss back and forth, but no more than a week did she intend to stay here.

This was not home, once it could have been, the South, but not anymore, not for her.

And though she had a stoic expression, firm and clear, there was a panic worming its way through her stomach. She could feel it, deep in her belly, spreading up across her chest and dancing up her spine, the underlying panic that would have become hysteria did she not clamp down on it. Being back in the South, even Dragonstone was almost too much for her.

Almost, that was the key word.

She could handle this, she would have to handle this, for her House, for her family, for Jon.

He offered her a smile as they approached the throne room, even held out a hand for her, gave her a squeeze. She offered him a genuine smile back, he knew just when to offer her comfort, but then with a frown he dropped her hand, and gave her a nod before stepping forward, and Sansa followed as they had planned, their men behind them.

The might of the North at their back; always.

The doors opened and Sansa rolled back her shoulders. She would feel deep satisfaction in throwing back the Dragon Queen's attempted tactics to ruffle them in her face, though not a glance of it showed on her face, her expression was clear as they stepped forward, and into the main room, she would not be rattled.

I am a Stark; I can be brave.

Would be brave.

He could admit it was impressive.

The throne room was large, high ceilings, carved walls, the large throne at the centre of it all, framed against a large wood lined window. The floor had been polished to within an inch of its life, and torches flamed either side of the throne, with Targaryen banners hooked too.

The contingent was small, some Dothraki, Lord Tyrion and Missandei had left them to use a back entrance and now stood to the right and left of their Queen respectively. He could see a commander and a few of his men dotted around too, but otherwise it was a small contingent.

They had done the same, he stepped forward with Sansa, Davos a touch back from them, Brienne at Sansa's shoulder (who had also refused to hand over her sword, and unsurprisingly no one had challenged her on that), and then ten Stark men, dressed in good, warm, practical clothing but it was neat and tidy, the rest of their men had melted away to their rooms, whilst a few more stood outside, Ghost had been led for food and drink by one of the Stark commanders. Jon wore no crown, and neither did the Dragon Queen.

He glanced up at her, she was pretty, as many had said but that meant nothing to him, pretty hardly made a good Queen. Of course, to him it didn't matter if she was a good Queen, as he and his had no intention of being ruled by her, though he hoped for the sake of the South she was.

She wore fine clothing, as did her men, and the Dothraki carried harsh curved weapons, the more formal soldiers' spears strapped to their backs. His men were unarmed but he wasn't worried, Northerners didn't always need weapons to win a fight, and he had Longclaw at his hip which had seen him through many a battle.

As they stepped forward, he glanced at Sansa, who in some respects mirrored Queen Daenerys. Her expression was clear, her clothing black too, they both clasped their hands in front of themselves and both left their hair long and flowing, though the Dragon Queens was the colour of ice, Sansa's of fire.

Usually he preferred ice, but not in this instance.

But here they were, and though he was trying not to glare, he knew he looked uncomfortable, he felt uncomfortable, his instincts raised, and a desire to grab Sansa and leave, sprint back to the North where everything was known screamed at him, but he was a brave man, and he knew why he had come, why he had needed to come.

"What fights ice"

"Fire"

He hadn't had a choice, and he wasn't leaving until he'd exhausted every option to get the Queen on side, short of bending the knee of course.

His people wanted to win the war, to live, but they also wanted to be free, perhaps even more, he would never sacrifice that on their behalf, never.

"Here we go" Sansa muttered under her breath, and he near smiled as Missandei started talking, of course Sansa had a good ear for all of this, and though he'd initially been worried about her coming, he wasn't surprised she was invaluable to helping him navigate the situation.

But then, that was how they worked, he the sword, she the shield, he would cut down their enemies, organise the supply lines, lead his men into battle and draw up their plans, whereas Sansa would fix the men's armour and rally them, would drink soup in the barracks and then negotiate with a Southern house, would advise him on the courtesies he needed as King before gutting someone who was about to stab them in the back.

He may be the King, but Sansa ruled by his side.

"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful Heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andal's and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains"

It was only the thought of Sansa chiding him that stopped him raising his eyebrows; Southerners, by the gods she may have not been born here, but she was already one of them.

And yet, he knew they needed to introduce him in a similar fashion, as Sansa had said, moments like this were about displaying courtesies, about 'playing the game' as much as he despised it.

"Here we present Jon Snow" One of the Northern men stepped forward, and Jon near smiled, he wasn't sure if Sansa had deliberately chosen the man with the thickest accent, but he could see a sparkle in her eye, though her face remained smooth, "King in the North and Lord of Winterfell, Protector of the First Men"

He had insisted the end bit be added, the First Men were his to protect, the responsibility he held true, his responsibility, not the Dragon Queens.

"Next to him is Lady Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell" The man said, and Jon felt pride blaze in his chest, for his family, for Sansa, for them.

The North was theirs, and Jon would die before he bent the knee.

He wished Tormund was here to hear him say that he sounded like the freefolk, which to him was a compliment, he understood their desire and need to be free more than ever now.

They would not kneel.

"Thank you for travelling so far my Lord, I hope the seas weren't too rough" The Queen said, and he felt Sansa stiffen next to him at the slight, it didn't bother Jon as much, but he didn't tamper down his glare, Sansa would have his head on a pike if he answered to that.

"Apologies I understand our caller has a Northern accent, but Jon Snow is King in the North your Grace, he is not a Lord" Davos spoke for them then, and Jon near smiled, were he not trying to keep an impassive expression.

"Forgive me..?" The Queen asked then.

"Your Grace this is Ser Davos Seaworth" Tyrion said, Sansa was still and stiff beside him, she would talk he knew when she needed to.

"Forgive me Ser Davos, I never did receive a formal education" A pause, "But I could have sworn that I read the last King in the North was Torrhen Stark, who bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen, in exchange for his life and the lives of the Northmen, Torrhen Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity" Another pause, this time measured, "Or do I have my facts wrong?"

"You do, your Grace" Sansa spoke before Ser Davos could and Jon resisted a smile, he trusted Sansa completely, she knew better than any of them how to handle situations like this, "The last King in the North before my brother, was King Robb of House Stark, when the North and the Riverlands rebelled against the oppressive Lannister rule" She paused then, "You weren't here of course"

"No" The Queen sounded harder then, but Jon did not flinch, "However, Torrhen swore to House Targaryen, not Lannister, and again in perpetuity" She paused then, but her composure had cracked just a touch, "What does in perpetuity mean Lord Tyrion?"

"Forever" He echoed, he sounded more measured.

"Forever" She repeated, her composure clawed back some, though she still sounded cold, "So I presume, my Lord, you're here to bend the knee"

And Jon knew it was his time to speak.

"I am not" Simple, but to the point, Jon's way of diplomacy.

"Oh" The Queen did not sound surprised, "Well that is unfortunate" She sounded calmer now, but the ice was underneath, Jon could appreciate that, but it did not change his stance, nothing would, "You've come all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?"

"Break faith?" Jon felt the need to speak then, even if it was from an emotive place, he even smiled at the gall of the Queen, her expectations were ridiculous, "Your Father burnt my Grandfather alive, he killed my Uncle, he would have burned the Seven Kingdoms…"

"My Father was an evil man" The Queen interrupted, "On behalf of House Targaryen I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family" She sounded sincere Jon noted, "And I ask you not to judge a daughter for the sins of her Father"

Jon knew she didn't know about his heritage, but the way she spoke, it resonated with him, and she seemed sincere for the first time, perhaps they could reach an accord, he hoped so.

"We can forgive your Grace" Sansa spoke then, jumping in with her cool tone before the Queen could continue, "But the North remembers, we do not forget"

Jon felt that pride blaze in him again, and only nodded as the Dragon Queen looked at him, she'd barely glanced at Sansa, and when she did her expression hardened.

"Our families were allies for centuries, and those were the best centuries the Seven Kingdoms had ever known, centuries of peace and prosperity with a Targaryen sitting on the Iron Throne, and a Stark serving as Warden in the North" There was the word 'serving' and it told Jon everything he needed to know; he served his people, not any Southerner.

"I am the last Targaryen Jon Snow" Well, she was wrong about that, "Honour the pledge your ancestor made to mine, bend the knee and I will name you Warden of the North, we will save this country from those that seek to destroy it"

They had the same goal in a sense, but Jon's priorities, those of the North, of his people, would never align with hers.

Jon glanced around then, to Sansa, who's expression was slightly harder to, to Ser Davos who gave him a nod, Sansa glanced at him but said nothing, this was his time to speak, he was the King after all, his decision to make.

And yet it had been made before they had ever left the North.

"You're right" He began, "You're not guilty of your Fathers crimes, just as I am not beholden to my ancestors' vows"

Her expression hardened further then, the ice underneath indeed, and any sincerity was banished from her expression, she was a Queen not used to hearing no, clearly.

"Then why are you here?" She threw back quickly, he supposed he should be thankful she didn't lead with a threat.

"Because we need your help, and you need mine" He said, Sansa had almost suggested not going straight in with some mystical Northern threat but that was one point Jon had put his foot down on, he understood why it might be wrong, but Jon was a plain speaker, this was why they had come.

"Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?" She asked, and Jon knew to go along with it, for now.

"I did"

"And did you see the Dothraki? All of whom have sworn to kill for me"

"Aye"

"And yet, I need your help?" She said sarcastically, Sansa remained stiff, and Jon knew she was furious, but better at hiding it.

"Not to defeat Cersei" Ser Davos piped up, "You could storm Kings Landing tomorrow and the city would fall, hell we almost did it and we didn't have dragons"

"Almost" Tyrion interjected, he was colder too, the mirror of Sansa, and Jon felt a twinge of annoyance at that he ignored.

"But you haven't stormed Kings Landing" Jon pressed on, he would not get bogged down in posturing, "Why not?" He asked, but made no room for answer, "The way I see it you don't want to kill thousands of people, it is the fastest way to win the war but you won't do it, which means at the very least you're better than Cersei"

"He's right" Sansa spoke then, "You should storm Kings Landing, it is the smartest move, but you haven't, which is something I suppose" Sansa said with a shrug, and he noted the Queen look at her properly then, as though evaluating her, before she turned back to him.

"Still, that doesn't explain why I need your help"

"Because right now you and I and Cersei are children, playing at a game screaming that the rules aren't fair" He could practically feel Sansa internally wince, but nothing was betrayed on her face.

"I thought you liked this man?" The Queen threw at her hand.

"I do" He said firmly.

"In the time since he has met me, he has refused to call me Queen, as has his sister, he has refused to bow, and now he is calling me a child"

"I believe he is calling all of us children" Tyrion said diplomatically, "A figure of speech"

"Your grace, everyone you know will die if we don't defeat the enemy to the North"

"As far as I can see you are the enemy to the North"

"I am not your enemy" He knew Sansa wouldn't like that, but he continued, "The dead are the enemy"

"The dead?" She asked, eyebrow raised, and he wanted to curse, narrow minded Southerners. "Is that another figure of speech?"

"The Army of the Dead is on the march, the Others come for us" Jon continued; he wouldn't be deterred by mocking.

"The Army of the Dead? The Others?" Tyrion asked then, eyebrow raised too.

"Enough" Sansa interjected then, and her voice held the ice the Queen could only hope to imitate, "We should discuss this further in a formal council, when we have had time to think and process" She said, and at Tyrion's nod, Jon knew she had made the right move, they were making little progress here.

"We came here to treat with you" Sansa said, looking up at the Queen, though there was no deference in here, "Know that we will never bend the knee, but once we explain to you what is happening, you will help us, you must"

"I must?" The Queen threw back, and there was hostility there that hadn't been present with him, "You seek to order your Queen?"

"You are not my Queen" Sansa said, and she did not flinch, and Jon had never felt prouder of her, "But we will work with you" She paused then, measuring her words, "If you can see the sense to"

And at that Sansa turned away, in a swirl of her skirts, and Jon knew he had to follow. Diplomacy had slipped a little and the Queen looked furious, but he knew Sansa had made the right move, here they were squabbling.

"Your grace" He said with a nod, offering her the respect she refused him, before he turned away and followed his sister.

Ser Davos remained to speak of meeting later, of a council after dinner, but Jon followed Sansa.

They had much to discuss.

"See to it each house and keep sends a third of their grain and wheat storages to Winterfell" He spoke as he hurried through the corridors, Maester Walden at his side, Lord Royce too, "Have them ship it over, if we don't use it by Winters end we'll send it back" He paused then as Lady Catelyn walked next to him too, and made way for her to descend the stairs first, "If the entire North needs to flee to Winterfell we should be prepared"

"Maester you'll see to it?" He asked, and the new Maester nodded, and Ned felt a pang for Luwin.

Everything was so different.

The Keep itself was mostly unchanged, though he could see new additions, bits that had been replaced and improved, but the people, the people were vastly different.

Of course, he recognised some, and was pleased as they nodded at him, offered him a smile and a nod of the head, but this wasn't the home he remembered.

The home he remembered was long gone.

Still, Ned was not a man to linger on past mistakes, not when there was so much work to do, of course at night they plagued him, what he had done wrong, what he had messed up, and he knew from his dreams …

Lyanna

Benjen

Sansa

Arya

Robb

Jon

Bran

Rickon

Each night he dreamt of one of his children, of his brother and sister, of how he had failed them, of how he had failed them all.

And just two weeks earlier as Sansa had sat at dinner, Bran had spoken of her wedding, and she had fled from the hall… Jon running after her to comfort her.

He had sobbed that night, in the privacy of the Godswood, had sobbed for failing his daughters in the Capitol.

During the day was easier, especially now he held command. Ned didn't feel a need to be in charge, he had happily relented to Jon, but he knew he was good at it, good at organising, he knew Winterfell, he knew the North, and he knew how they needed to prepare.

It was good to feel useful, good to feel needed.

He had failed his family, had spent too long in the dark (though to him it had felt like a night's sleep) unable to help them, now was the time to make up for it, now was the time to redeem himself as much as he could (though he knew he'd never be fully absolved), now was the time to help the North, help his children, help Jon.

Jon.

The King in the North now, and Ned had never felt prouder. Whereas he had failed House Stark, and Robb had fallen due to his inadequate teachings, Jon had endured, he had remained, and he had won back Winterfell, had restored their family seat, and protected Sansa at his side. He had never been prouder of his nephew, of Lyanna's boy, and he could imagine her smiling down on him from the heavens above.

"Also ensure we are planting heavily in the Glass Gardens, squash, peas, sprouts, hearty vegetables to get us through Winter" He said, "Cat you'll oversee that?" He asked then and she nodded, as she had often overseen projects like this in the past.

"Lord Royce can you see to ensuring all armour, swords and mail are moving along quickly?" He asked then, and the Lord smiled at him, they had an older accord, worked well together and he nodded before bustling off.

"I'd forgotten how good you were at this" His wife said, and he offered her a smile, if this was what he could contribute he was happy, happy to help, to support his King.

Ned had not lost his honour, for all it had cost him, Jon was the rightful King, he had never even questioned it.

Though others had.

"Aye" He said with a nod, as they passed through the courtyard. He glanced out the gate and could see Robb leading their men and soldiers through drills, Greywind and Lady at either side of him, Tormund too. He had put him in that position; Master of Arms for the castle, understanding he would need a purpose too, and Robb was thriving in the role, already he had put together a schedule of practice and was running the men through drill after drill. Tormund was his second, Robb had been shrewd in naming him, to which the ginger wildling had laughed and clapped him so hard on the back Robb had near fallen over.

"Just practiced at it" He said, Ned had always been a humble man.

They all needed their purpose, and their primary one now was to support the King.

"Yes, because you should be the Lord of Winterfell" Cat insisted, and Ned had to resist the urge to roll his eyes and bite his tongue. He loved Cat, but everything she had feared, every whisper she had said of Jon as a boy in her eyes had come true, he had stolen her children's birth right. It was foolish, Jon had restored their House, not stolen it away, but Cat had always been blinded when it came to Jon, even now she knew the truth.

"Jon is Lord of Winterfell as he is King" He repeated, as he had to her anytime she had brought this up, he was just thankful she had only raised it with him, "That will not change"

"It is not his right" She hissed and Ned trudged up the stairs to one of the balconies, but then turned to look at Cat, he loved her, felt horrible shame for having left her alone in the world, but they would always disagree on one fundamental subject even now; Jon.

"It is" He insisted, "He won through conquest, through restoring our House, and he is a Stark, he is still of my blood, through Lyanna"

"He is a Targaryen" Cat said, venom full in her tone, "He is not a Stark, he is not even a Northerner"

"And neither are you" He threw back harshly, but paused with a sigh, he hated to fight with Cat, but felt a need to shut this down, "Jon is our King, he has the support of the people, as he should, and he will rule the North, there is no changing it"

"But Robb…" Cat began again, and he cut her off swiftly.

"Robb lost the crown" It was harsh but true, Robb had told him the tale himself just a few days after returning and had wept on his shoulder, to which Ned had lost a tear or two himself. He was doing better now, happy to oversee the Castle defences and would one day rule the Dreadfort, but he was a shadow of the boy he remembered, hardened by war, and losing the North.

They all had a long way to go to heal, but they had to live first.

"Jon is our King, he took Winterfell back, he restored our House, he protected our daughter" He knew he spoke harshly then, even raised his voice, but he had to, he had to get this across, "Jon is the King, I will support him in this completely"

"Have you seen the way he looks at our daughter?" Cat spat at him, "His own sibling until he knew the truth, the way they laugh and talk and sit together?" She asked and Ned sighed then, because he had seen it, he hoped Cat hadn't, preoccupied with Rickon and even talking to Bran, he had hoped she hadn't seen what he and Robb had.

"That is not the point" Ned said, for he had no real answer, he had seen it too.

"He will steal our children's birth right, and our eldest daughter" Cat sneered, he hated to see this side of her, this venom that was only present when it came to Jon, "And you will let him"

Before he could stop her, she turned in a whirl of her skirts and left, that was an unresolved issue and he rubbed his head.

Death had been more peaceful, without a headache, but he was glad to be here, complicated as it was, the guilt near drowning him at times. He had a place, he had a role to play, protect the North, protect the pack, protect his King.

And he would do so, even if it killed him again.

sooo thoughts?

we will see more of team stark! I love writing ned, cat is hard to write as she is more than just bitter but she will be an issue, more of robb next chapter!

I loved writing the dany/jon/sansa dynamic, more to come next chapter too! the north aint rolling over bby.

do fav/follow/review!

speak soon