authorsnote: name a more iconic duo: prettylittlepetticoats (me) and starting a new wip, jon centric, with some crazy twist, an element of ensuring my bby sansa is okay, lots of fuckery and stark supremacy? hmmm...

well, here we go!

this idea came to me and I couldn't not write it, so I do hope you enjoy! this is a longfic, intended to do something I haven't yet done with asoiaf … and that's all I'll say! read on to see more...

songrecs: jenny of oldstones - florence and the machine (pods version slaps too)

It was over.

The snow stirred in the air, the icy frost shivering them to their bones. Everything was unmoving now, piles of bodies, human and wight, all still. The only movement was that of the wind whipping through the Godswood, even the Weirwood tree's leaves remained still, red, and unmoving, almost frozen. Everything was still, eerie, silent.

Except for the crunch of a boot on the ground, boots, against the snow, coming toward them.

Them.

The battle was over, and they had lost.

They had fought valiantly, the houses of the North, the Knights of the Vale, the ragtag refugees of the Riverland's and yet it hadn't been enough, how could it have been enough? With the Dragon Queen unwilling to even meet with them if they didn't kneel, and Cersei still ruling the South, no one had come to their aid, no one had helped them, they had been left to stand in the snow alone.

All ravens had gone unanswered, or the replies had been snarky and unhelpful. None had taken the threat seriously; none had been able to see past their own petty squabbles and thirst for power. Well, now Winterfell had fallen, they'd soon see how serious the threat was.

They had tried, they really had, as soon as they had heard the army of the Others crossed the frozen sea at Eastwatch they had mustered every force, they had opened up the gates to every house, sent ravens, stockpiled food, trained harder and faster, had put together as best a force they could to stop the army at Winterfell, to stop them taking over the world.

They had failed.

There had been too many, far too many, wights and Others. The wights overwhelmed them with sheer numbers, and any fighter who held out was cut down by the Others, including all those they loved.

Bran who had arrived home different, had been slaughtered by the leader of the Others himself, the Night King as his name was whispered, before Jon could get to him, he got to him first. Meera his friend was dead at the entrance to the Godswood, and then Bran lay in the snow just feet from them, eyes closed, gone.

Arya, who had defected from the House of Black and White, who had come home different too, had tried to save Bran herself, had leapt at his murderer, and yet, her neck had been snapped before she could strike the final blow, and she had crumpled like a rag doll, gone.

Ghost had taken down so many, ripping through wights one after another, before an Other had gutted him personally, even in death he hadn't made a sound, gone.

Tormund, Sam, Ed, Brienne, Pod, Davos, Gendry, all dead, all gone.

Only they remained.

The women and children had hidden in the broken tower, cowering in the empty structure, and yet they had been found, rooted out, slaughtered, only Sansa had managed to survive, to make it to him, covered in blood and shaking.

She wasn't shaking now though, neither was he, they knew it was over.

The inevitability of death, of knowing death was near was strangely calming, for a moment at least.

Here they stood, under the Weirwood tree, the only ones left. Winterfell silent now, the dead silent, and the Others, 6 of them stood at the entrance, making it clear they would not be leaving the Godswood alive.

He had killed several himself, the Valyrian steel at his hip one of the few weapons against them, unable to find enough dragon glass to make a difference, but he knew he stood no chance against that many, and then there were the hoards of wights at their back, more Others too. No, there was no fighting his way out of this one, not this time.

'We all like what we're good at'

Who had said that to him? He couldn't remember, but he remembered his answer,

'I don't'

He wished he had, maybe if he had, if he'd thrown himself into battle with enjoyment, maybe they would have won.

"Stop that" He turned then, to Sansa, his cousin, as Howland Reed had revealed weeks earlier, to which he'd near collapsed, and Sansa had held him close, promising him it was okay, that he was still a Stark where it mattered, in his heart, he hadn't believed her, but it had been a comfort for a while.

"Stop thinking you could have done something more or different" She slipped her hand into his, and offered him a weak smile, he could see the tears in her eyes, and he hated the most that he couldn't save her, or Arya, or Bran, none of them, and yet not being able to protect Sansa, sweet Sansa hit him harder. He'd give his life to have protected them, and yet he couldn't. Failed.

'No one can protect me' Sansa had said once, when she had escaped Baelish, found him at Castle Black, the tips of her hair still black. When she had leapt into his arms and he had held her so close they had almost been one person. When she had rallied him to take back their home, he had vowed to protect her, promised it. He had vowed he would, he had failed.

They all had.

"I'm sorry" He said, as he gripped her hand, as he pulled her close, into his arms, and she went, shaking again now, the peace over. They both knew what was coming.

'Winter is coming' The Stark family motto had always been true as to what was to come, and here it was.

He glanced at the Others, they had come to a stop, almost like they were letting them say goodbye.

"Don't" She whispered into his neck, "We did everything we could"

He nodded, though again he didn't believe it, blamed himself, but he didn't want to be expressing regret now. They had seconds left, if that, now was the time to try and find some comfort.

"I'll see you wherevers next" He said gruffly, reaching for some bravado, and finding none, his voice trembling.

"I'll see you there" Sansa whispered, her hands gripping his cloak, tight, not wanting to let go, he didn't want to let go either, he wouldn't, if they went, they went together.

"Don't let them kill me" Sansa said, and he felt like crying, he couldn't stop them, no matter how he wanted to, he couldn't. Failed.

"Sansa I…" What was he supposed to say? He had looked down death before, he wasn't afraid of it, not really, only afraid for Sansa. It was wrong that she had to die, she wasn't a soldier, doomed to die on the battlefield.

'He was not afraid of death, and if he must perish, let it be with a sword in his hand' Longclaw was at his hip now, the time for fighting was over. If he could protect Sansa he would, he'd pick up his sword and cut them all down, but he knew he couldn't, he knew it was over, and he wouldn't leave her to die alone.

"No, I know I'm going to die" Her voice was remarkably steady, but he could feel her shaking, "But not by them" She paused, and with a horror he realised what she was asking, but before he could say no… "Please Jon, please, you'll do it quick"

He paused then, swallowed, he knew the Others didn't toy with their prey, but he also knew how to kill Sansa with one blow, in seconds, and if this was her last ask of him, if it was all he could do … how could he deny her?

He never could, especially not now.

He nodded against her hair, placed a kiss to the top of it, before stepping back, and then placing a kiss to her forehead, lingering a second longer. He felt a tear drip down his cheek, and when he looked down at Sansa, tears were fresh on her cheeks too. How had it come to this?

"I'm sorry" He said again, cupping her cheek, and she shook her head.

"Don't be" She managed a smile, weak and watery, but it was a smile, and it warmed him, "I'll see you wherever we go, and I'll see you soon'

He nodded and grabbed the steel at his hip. He heard a boot against the snow, and knew their reprieve was up.

They were fast, but he was faster.

He didn't hesitate, he knew he couldn't, and so it took him only a second to lift his sword, Longclaw, his trusty companion, only a second, as the Others advanced, as a wind blew over the Godswood, as he looked into Sansa's blue eyes, filled with tears, but she nodded, and so only a second.

And he thrust Longclaw through her chest, and into her heart.

The light went out in her eyes almost immediately, the crunch of the boots in the snow stopped, and Sansa fell quickly, into the snow, eyes wide and glassy, red blood spreading over her dark gown, and then staining the white snow, in seconds, just seconds, she was gone.

He felt like collapsing, onto his knees in the snow, but no, he knew he had one more job to do. Sansa wouldn't have let them take her, her last act to be to ask for him to strike the blow, and he intended the same for himself, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of his death.

If they went, they went together, the same, he would join Sansa in the snow, by his only blow, as she had.

And so, he raised Longclaw, intended to end himself, and yet as he lifted it, something stopped him, something gave him pause.

Longclaw was glowing.

The Others hadn't just stopped, he noticed, looking up at them, they were stepping back, one even stumbled. He looked into their eyes, so blue, almost like Sansa's, but lacking any warmth, and they looked scared. No, they looked terrified.

He took a step forward, and they all stepped back, one even dropped their weapon, another stumbled again. Fuck.

Fuck, what had happened? He had never seen an Other scared. Only once, when he had had stopped a blow with his sword, only once had they looked scared, but not like this, not horrified.

He had no time to think though, to contemplate myths or legend, as Longclaw glowed, not just the blade, but the hilt, and then his hand, and then him.

He was glowing.

He couldn't even see the Others now, as they fled from the Godswood, as the wights behind them followed, running. He glowed, golden, his hands shaking, and yet he kept his grip on Longclaw, on his weapon. He turned to look at Sansa, dead on the ground, and yet, as the glowing grew stronger, gold, and bright, too bright, as it glowed, he could have sworn he saw a light return to her blue eyes.

A warmth the Others would never have.

He could have sworn it, but he had no time to check, no time to think, as the glowing grew stronger, and stronger, as it blinded him. He heard a scream, a shriek of horror, and yet he didn't know from who, was it him? He didn't know, all he knew, as the light threatened to overwhelm him, as it did, all he knew, was nothing.

Nothing at all, as the light flickered, and everything went black.

But it was only dark for a second, just a second.

Why was everything in seconds? Seconds to say goodbye, seconds for the wights to overwhelm their defences, seconds for the Others to advance and cut them down.

Seconds for Sam to die, crushed by wights, seconds for Brienne to run in front of Pod, and take two swords from Others, Pod managing to cut one of them down himself before dying to a sword in the back. Davos taking a blow meant for Arya, Tormund dying under a pile of wights but taking out as many as he could before being overwhelmed, so many other heroic deaths. Death and loss and pain.

All in just seconds, but then that was life, just a collection of seconds, nothing more.

And the darkness lasted just that, but a single one, one second, no more.

And then he awoke.

With a gasp, he bolted upright, in bed, but not in Winterfell, not at the Wall, no, this was different, this place he didn't recognise, not at all, and yet here he was, still in the clothes he wore from battle, covered in blood, and ash, and grime. Jon was a stark contrast to that around him, this foreign place he didn't know.

The room was gold, the walls, covered in gems and jewels, opulence that made him frown. There was a pile of fresh fruit on the table next to him, and a balcony with open doors leading out to it, the sun shining in from it. Summer was still beaming here, not a hint at winter nearby. That unsettled him, when he had sent a raven South to Dorne to ask for aid, they had apologised but explained even they had started to get snow and couldn't send men up North in such conditions. So how was it sunny here?

He had no idea where he was, and he felt panic rise in his chest, he reached for his hip and was relieved to find his sword there, Longclaw, with the wolf pommel, something eased in his chest, a tension leaving him, as long as he had his sword, he could defend himself.

And yet, defend himself from who, where was he?

Jon scrambled to remember what had happened previously, if there was anything else, but nothing. All he could remember was glowing, the sword burning gold after he had taken Sansa's life before the Others could, and then darkness, but only as if he'd blinked, or closed his eyes for a few seconds to gain composure, it hadn't been dark long enough to even suggest sleep, and now he was here.

And where was here?

He went to stand, but before he could, to try and investigate where he was, he heard a mumble next to him, someone shifting in the bed, and he turned quickly to investigate. Had someone come with him? He turned his head…

And found Sansa.

Sansa, fast asleep, still in the same clothes she'd died in, he'd killed her in, the blood stained at the centre of her dress, ash across her nose, her hair wet and tangled. She looked like hell, and yet more beautiful than he'd ever seen her.

Sansa was here with him, and alive.

"Sansa?" He whispered, not quite believing it, she let out another mumble, and then her eyes opened, her blue eyes, full of life, that spark, not glassy and dead as they had been, but showing that sign of life he was sure he'd seen before the lights had blinded him. Maybe he'd been right?

God he hoped so.

"Jon?" Her eyes opened fully then, wide, and she sat up as quickly as he had, almost falling, he reached for her, grabbed her, steadied her, felt her arm in his hand and she was real, she was real.

"Sansa" He whispered again, reverence in his voice, and then they were clinging to one another, Sansa throwing herself into his arms as she had done when they'd been reunited once before, her fists gripping him, a sob leaving her lips, one left him too, he made no effort to suppress it, just holding Sansa close, stroking her hair, his hands shaking, as tears trickled down his cheeks.

They were here, together, alive, that was what mattered.

"Are we dead?" She asked as she pulled back, her blue eyes meeting his grey, and he shook his head, he remembered dying…

The twist of the blade, in his stomach, his side, his heart.

The groan of pain, the agony overwhelming him, and then numbness.

The darkness, nothing more, nothing less.

That was dying.

'What did you see?' The Red Woman had asked him.

'Nothing' The truth, 'Nothing at all'

This wasn't nothing, this wasn't dying.

But then, what was it?

"Where as we?" Jon asked, as he had no idea, perhaps Sansa would. He knew he was right as her eyes widened and he shot to her feet, hurrying to the door but only to look at it, she ran to the side of the bed, looked at something there, before hurrying across the room again. He stood to his feet too, comforted by his sword at his hip, watching Sansa as she ran out onto the balcony.

A low moan left her lips, one of fear and he hurried outside to follow her, the sun far too much for him, the warmth too, he was adapted to the cold, not this.

Whatever or wherever this was.

"What is it?" He asked, squinting, as his eyesight adjusted, and he looked out at the view, lots of red buildings, flat roofs, they were high up enough to have a proper view. He could see some docks, some shanty housing, a couple of septs, though small. He didn't recognise it, and yet as he turned to Sansa, as he witnessed the horror in her eyes, he knew she did.

And she did, as she gripped the balcony with white knuckled hands, she turned to him, and he felt a roar of rage in his chest at the fear in her gaze, wanting to banish it, banish it forever.

Yet, as she spoke, he knew he couldn't, not whilst they were here, however that had to come be.

"Jon…" She stumbled, and he reached for her hand, and she gripped his, hard, he had rarely seen her so scared, even moments before death she hadn't trembled like this.

"We're in Kings Landing"

sooo thoughts?

can I get an AHHHHHHHHHHHH

so, are we on board? I hope so! this story will have lots of twists, jon-centric, with other starks (sansa etc) along for the ride, and lots of other players too! primarily jon pov, with some sansa pov too, and possibly others.

I've sketched out the main story, but the details are still coming to me! I do hope you think it shows promise, and pls do review to let me know if you want more!

follow/fav for updates, review to tell me you're interest and I hope you are ready for this wild ride!

speak soon