authorsnotes: minor edits - 2022
again lil' things changed, I am enjoying re-reading this story, do lemme know if you are enjoying reading or re-reading too!
songrecs: feels like home - chantal kreviazuk
She wasn't sure what had propelled her forwards, what had motivated her to fling herself towards three towering beasts and the huddle of people stood in front of them just to get to Jon.
Normally Sansa would never be so brave, so bold as to simply break rank and take a chance, but this time she had, she had to. Any plan had gone out of the window the moment she had seen him, seen Jon. He was here, and he looked good, really good, so much like her Father it had almost startled her.
She had moved as soon as he had stepped onto the ground, uncaring that she was surrounded by dragon's that could roast her on the spot. He was here, and all she could think about was going to him.
Part of her knew it was because it was her only chance, by the looks of it the Targaryen's and their people would not be staying long, no they would be leaving as soon as they came, this meeting more of a formality than anything else, they would not linger. That gave her just one chance, one chance to escape the Vale, escape Robert and his neediness, and more importantly it was her one chance to escape Littlefinger, to escape his schemes, his plans, the looks he gave her. She knew this was her one opportunity to be free of him and free of this place.
And so, she had taken it.
She had been nervous, extremely so, shaking as she waited, waited just a second before acting. With shame and colour in her cheeks she remembered their frosty relationship as children. She had taken on her Mothers contempt for him, treated him awfully, shunning him, ignoring him, laughing at him, like a child, an idiot who didn't understand, just parroting her mother. That had stopped her momentarily in her tracks, she had been ready to fling herself at him, and yet became scared to do so, questions flying through her mind.
Would he accept her? Or would he shove her away with a sneer? A sneer she had often directed towards him in her younger years…would he turn from her? Could she blame him if he did?
But she had known she had to risk it, regardless of the outcome. Surely Jon rejecting her was better than remaining here with Littlefinger? Yes, she was thankful towards him for having rescued her, but she did not trust him, only a fool would trust that man, and many who had, had ended up dead. She also knew she was in danger around him, with the looks he gave her, the way he hugged her, the kisses he had tried to force on her.
She had to get away from him, staying here would only bring her ruin. She was not Alayne Stone, his bastard daughter, she was Sansa Stark, Stark. Surely, she had some political leverage as the Eldest Stark daughter. Perhaps if Jon rejected her the Targaryen's would still take her to be married off, or perhaps she could appeal to Tyrion? He had always been kind to her. With those thoughts swimming around in her mind she knew she had to act, and so she did.
As soon as Jon stepped down from his dragon, she had pushed her hood away and took a step forward. Littlefinger had whispered, a whisper that was both terrified and angry for her to fall back in line, to get back and stop acting out. She had ignored him, and as soon as Jon was on the ground she had rushed forward, ignoring Littlefinger's cry out to her, ignored his shout and Robin's cry.
She would not remain here, she could not, and this was her chance. She didn't care if Jon rejected her, if he laughed at her and told her to stay back, if he sneered at her like she deserved. As long as he took her with him, for political uses or any other reason, it was better than remaining in the Vale, anything was better than being stuck here.
And so, she had ran to him, hurling her body forwards, too quick for the Vale soldiers to realise what she was doing. She hadn't cared that some of the men with her brother held out spears, or that the dragons seemed to eye her, ready to burn her. She hadn't cared, she had only flung herself at Jon, desperate to get to him. Crossing the small expanse to him had felt like walking for miles, rather than the few short steps she had to take to get to him. But then she had, she had reached him.
And she had hesitated.
Scared, scared of rejection, terrified he'd turn away from her. But he hadn't. She had seen the look of recognition in his eyes, the light of hope like a flame across his face. His expression had surely mirrored hers, one of hope, one of utter joy and shock, and that, that had encouraged her.
And then, once he had opened his arms, she had ran the few short steps left between them, and thudded into him, hearing his gasp as she knocked the wind from his body, but he didn't move, he just clutched her as she clutched him, so tight they might squeeze one another to death. Her feet lifted from the ground as he crushed her too him and a sob left her lips as she squeezed him tight, so tight, as though she would never let go.
Tears had sprung from her eyes, and she had sobbed as she held onto him, tears soon running down her cheeks. For a moment, it had been just the two of them, clinging to one another, family reunited, everyone else as gone as two members of the Stark pack came back together.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Jon" She had whispered in his ear, and she had felt him shake her head, clutch her closer for a moment before reluctantly placing her down. As he did, he pulled back, cupped her cheek and looked her over, checking she was okay. As he did, she placed her hand on top of his, her tears still streaming, though she smiled as she looked up at him and he smiled at her.
She was free, free! His reaction had shown her, he wouldn't just take her away to use for her name, no, he'd take her away because he cared, because he loved her, loved her like a sister, as she loved him. He'd take her away from this awful place, with the horrible men, and her pretend Father. He'd take her away, probably back up North, to Winterfell, to home! A place she had once never dared to hope to return to. He'd stay with her, take her to Bran and Rickon, and they'd find Arya together, and the Stark pack would be reunited. It was perfect.
And then everything had been thrown into chaos.
She had only managed to whirl around as she saw Jon stride over to Littlefinger, grasp him by the throat and pin him to the ground. "Jon no!" She had called out, not to protect Baelish, but because of the soldiers of the Vale, all drawing arms ready to advance on Jon in an instant. "Jon!" She screamed out as she saw the tips of their spears and their worried faces, no!
She would not lose him now. She took a step forward, unsure what she'd do, but needing to do something, as did his dragon had moved forward, the great green one spreading its wings and growling under its breath, it stepped in front of her, as though shielding her whilst trying to reach his rider. She tried to reach Jon, but the dragon kept her back, as Daenery's opened her mouth to bark commands and all hell seemed to break loose.
Sansa had only felt fear run through her. She had just found Jon, the thought of him being hurt, of the Valemen reaching him had terrified her. She had called out, screamed to him in fear, they had just found one another! They had just been reunited! She needed him, Bran and Rickon needed him, she could not stand to see him hurt, how cruel that would be now.
But then a deadly roar had sounded, and the action in the courtyard stopped.
Jon hadn't quite been able to believe his eyes, that she was here, right in front of him. He had recognised her the second he had stepped down, even without her red hair, dressed in Vale clothing, it would have been impossible not to spot her. Her posture, her mannerisms, and then when he had seen her face, her smile, the features of Catelyn Tully reborn, as clear as day.
It was Sansa, and his own smile had broken out on his features. She was here, his little sister … cousin now he supposed, but little sister to him all the same.
He had been looking for her for a while; bands of his men had been roaming the countryside in search of her, and Arya. The latter had proved harder to find, and remained missing, but now he had one of his sisters back. Sure, Arya had been the sister he was closer with, but he loved Sansa all the same.
Yes, she hadn't been the best to him growing up, shunning him, repeating her Mother's mannerisms, but they'd still shared those precious sibling moments.
When she'd fallen in the courtyard scraped her knee, and he had carried her sobbing to Maester Luwin, stroking her hair and holding her hand as the Maester had stitched her up. When he'd caught her in the kitchen stealing lemon cakes and promised not to tell anyone so long as he could have some, and they'd spent the entire night sat on the floor stuffing themselves full. When he'd punched Lord Bolton's eldest son Domeric in the nose at age 10 because he'd told Sansa her braids weren't pretty, and then she'd braided his long curls to make herself feel better and he hadn't taken them out for two days.
Sure, over the years they'd grown distant, but regardless Jon would always love her, always remember those moments. Jon would never blame her for acting like her Mother back then, she had been a child. He loved her all the same.
And evidently, she felt the same way.
He did notice her hesitate as she approached him, fear and worry in her eyes. He too had been nervous, a lump forming in his throat. Was she relieved to see him because of the love she felt for him? Or because she was thankful to be rescued from this place? Surrounded by strangers and all? He'd been unsure too, but had made the first move, opening his arms to her, allowing her to make the decision, the power to reject him, for he wanted her to be comfortable.
And then she'd ran to him all fear in her eyes gone, grinning from ear to ear as she did so, he'd swept her into his arms, clutching her tight, relief and happiness coursing through him, clutching her so tightly he was sure he might bruise her. She was here, she was safe, and soon enough she'd be back up North with him.
He didn't care that the Valemen had raised their weapons, or that Littlefinger was glaring at them from across the courtyard. He was a King now, with a dragon of his own and the backing of the Targaryen family. Sansa was his family too, and damn right he'd be taking her home. She belonged in Winterfell, with him, Bran and Rickon and Arya when they found her. The Stark pack reunited. He was King, he would protect them all.
It was strange that, being a King. He'd been born a bastard, never to be anything more, and yet he'd gained so much. Lord Commander of the Night's Watch turned King in the North, and then suddenly a legitimate child, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. The right to the Iron Throne had been his, and yet when he'd explained this all to his new brother, his aunt, he'd immediately made clear; he didn't want the Iron Throne, would never move his seat to King's Landing, never wanted to be a Southern King.
The North was his, and that was all, and from there a compromise had been easy. Still it was odd, to be a King, to wear a crown, to be a King of his men. It was something he'd dreamed of as a child only once or twice, of course, as all young boys did, but now it was a reality, and he found he liked it, it felt right.
As did being a Targaryen. Yes, he would always first and foremost be a Stark, always keep the Stark name, but now he knew his other half, his heritage. He had the blood of the dragon, and now Rhaegal stood by his side. Sure, it had taken a lot of getting used to at first (and he had vomited twice when Samwell Tarly had shown him the records from the Citadel), but now he had somewhat come to understand and accept his position. He would always be known as King Stark, but the history pages would call him a Targaryen too.
And now there was another Stark, Sansa and she would be coming home with him.
He'd keep her by his side, make her feel safe again. He heard her whispered apology and those words meant more to him than most he'd heard in his life. He needn't have worried about her rejecting him, evidently, she'd been scared he would push her away, and there was no apology needed as he shook his head, kissed her cheek, and pulled her back to look at her, to make sure she was okay.
Yes, she looked well as he pulled her back, his eyes scanning her face, but he doubted she'd been treated properly since fleeing Kings Landing. She was in the court of Littlefinger after all, a notorious man Varys had warned him about. No, he imagined Sansa had been through her own hardships, though he didn't know what, and part of him wasn't sure he wanted to know … such a thought made him furious.
Why hadn't Littlefinger bought her back to him? He had been declared King in the North with ravens sent all around, to every major and minor house declaring he had allied himself with the Targaryen's. He had sent additional ravens to all houses with a reward for safe return of his siblings. So why had Baelish not sent her home? Why had he dyed her hair and dressed her like a woman of the Vale?
So many unanswered questions, and yet he knew this man had been scheming. After all, as soon as he had arrived Sansa had thrown herself at him, risking rejection because clearly, she was so desperate to get away from this man, desperate to escape, he never would have rejected her of course, but she didn't know that, he had seen how she hesitated. She had risked in her mind being turned away. Sure, he understood they were siblings (or at least practically were), and they loved one another, but surely, she wouldn't have ran to him with such urgency if she was happy in her current situation? No, Sansa had ran to him like a woman desperate to escape, a woman out of options, and no doubt Littlefinger had something to do with that.
A growl shook through him then as he thought over such a thing, and he both felt rage within him and saw Rhaegal rouse himself in response to his masters emotion, but Jon had no need for his dragon now, no all he needed was his hands.
And soon he was using them, said hands clamped around Littlefinger's throat after storming across the courtyard, too quick for his men to interfere in time. All he could see was that this swine had kept Sansa from him, likely terrified and used her, and that made him throw out logic and simply want to strangle the man to death, to get revenge, not just for himself, but for Sansa , revenge for whatever this man had done to her, revenge for whatever he had done to make Sansa look so scared.
He didn't even listen as Dany called out to him, as the men of the Vale approached weapons drawn, and Sansa yelled out in fear. No, all he could see was red, until he heard the roar of Viserion, and his brother's words over the sudden silence.
He wanted to continue to throttle the man, but he knew he needed to let him go, to make sense of what happened. Jon had allowed himself to be ruled by his emotions, but he couldn't simply kill a Lord without just cause. He couldn't react like that, and so reluctantly he stepped back, shoving Baelish on his ass before he strode back over to Sansa, taking her hand, tucking her to his side.
Sansa seemed to calm as she clutched his hand and he glared across at the Valeman. Sansa was not leaving his side not now, not in the future, he'd like to see them try and take her away. He may not enjoy war, but he'd go to it for his family, always.
There was no need though. The Valemen threw down their arms in the face of three dragons and the members of the household soon bent the knee. Baelish was restrained and the atmosphere calmed a touch.
He turned to Sansa as things calmed down, "It's alright" His voice was gentle, for he could see Sansa was unsettled, but she needed to answer his brother's questions, they all needed answers. He clutched her hand in his and offered her a smile, "It's alright, you're safe" She nodded then, she believed she was safe which was good.
"So, tell me what happened here?" She bit down on her lip then and he gave her a little nudge of encouragement, to which she seemed to steel herself and nod, she would be okay, she would. He would make sure of it.
Well that had gone well, Aegon mused with a roll of his violet eyes. This meeting had meant to be nothing more than formality, a shaking of hands, signing of a treaty and they'd be on their way, another Kingdom under their rule, 6 Kingdoms united. They had a million things to do in Kings Landing, and he was aware his brother had just as many things to do in Winterfell. They didn't have time to be messing around with problems in the Vale, no, so this needed to be sorted quickly, though clearly it was not going to be.
Fantastic.
At least the situation seemed to be in control now, a roar of a dragon certainly resulted in silence. The men of the Vale had thrown down their weapons and Baelish had been restrained. Lady Sansa was by her brothers' side and the boy Lord of the Vale would no doubt do as he was told.
Aegon realised that he couldn't see any other Lords in the courtyard, no doubt Baelish's doing. They'd need to see to getting them up here, install one as a regent over the boy. That would work. Evidently, Baelish could not stay on here. Jon would never allow it, and though Aegon ruled the Vale, he would not go against his brothers' wishes in this. Also, technically Baelish had committed a crime by keeping a highborn Lady, a cousin to the King no less, hostage.
He realised then he probably should have referred to Sansa as Lady Stark and he winced. No one would reprimand him of course but he had to remember the little things now he was going to be King. He had to remember the social niceties and customs that were expected in the South. He was no pompous Prince, never would be but he had to ensure he followed the Westerosi way in these things.
At least he could think of one thing that made him smile, Jon was no more proper a King than he was, having manhandled a noble Lord without due cause. All the same, Jon was of the North, they cared less about etiquette there and more about results. Jon had already won them over by releasing them from the tyrannical grip of the Bolton's, and defeating the Iron Born at sea, handing the seat to the eldest Greyjoy girl and smoothing things over there with ease, installing a Northern harbour at Sea Dragon Point to ensure the North could dominate in the sea.
No, Jon had already won his people over, which Aegon admired, the Northern men weren't easy to bow, but they admired two things: the Stark name and freedom, Jon had given them both, and they would be loyal to him and his heirs for life, Aegon was sure of that. Aegon had to inspire the same feeling in the Southerners, he would have to, to ensure a peaceful rule.
And he knew the people of the South were easier to win over in some ways and not so in others. He realised one of his key ways to win them over would be in his marriage, that would be a defining moment, and cement his rule, or weaken it ... not that he would allow the latter to happen, he would marry whomever necessary to ensure his rule ran smoothly, he would sacrifice love in that regard, as all good Kings would do. Jon had once said to him, 'Love is the death of duty', to which Tyrion had countered, 'Duty is the death of love'. Both were true in a sense, but Aegon would do his duty, he would marry whomever necessary to ensure his reign.
"Aegon" He heard Dany then, looking at him with a confused expression as the courtyard fell silent, "Are you done looking gormlessly into the distance?" She said in a whisper so no others could hear. He glared at her as he turned his gaze back to Jon and Sansa, as he awaited the Stark girl's explanation, and Dany just rolled her eyes as they waited.
"I…" But no, explanation came, as she managed just one letter before shaking her head, and completely shutting down. Jon had reassured her for sure, and Aegon could see some steel in her eyes, but evidently, she was not ready to talk yet. Again, Aegon resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
He knew he needed to be less impatient now, needed to not have such a distaste for weakness, or such a low threshold for irritation. No, he had to be fair, kind, just, he was King, he would not allow that famous Targaryen temper to get the better of him, as it had in the past (and no doubt would in the future, nobody was perfect after all). He had to be patient, and he did sympathise with Lady Sansa, no doubt she'd had a bad time of it here, but all the same he needed answers, and needed them quickly.
"Shall we perhaps move this elsewhere?" He heard his Hand speak then, Tyrion would always have a solution, and clearly, he knew Lady Stark was likely feeling extremely uncomfortable, perhaps a change of scenery would benefit them? Aegon nodded and made his way over to Viserion. Staying in the Eyrie would likely cause Lady Sansa to remain mute, he wondered if once she was on the ground and away from Baelish's people, she'd feel better. It seemed as good as a setting as any.
"We'll move this to our camp at the base of the Eyrie" Daenerys spoke then, her voice commanding, evidently having the same thoughts as he was, "We'll take the brothel keeper, and return here soon to discuss our treaty" She said with a nod, but then turned her suddenly fierce gaze to the men of the Vale, "And do not use this time to come up with a plan to take arms against us, or we'll simply burn the Eyrie to the ground, our children do so love to set fire to things and we will not hesitate to let them"
On that note she turned away, with a nod at Aegon, she waited the rest of their party to join her on Drogon, before she took to the skies and gently eased Drogon down to the ground.
He followed suit, sending one last glare to the soldiers of House Arryn. He paused however when he saw Jon climbing atop Rhaegal with Sansa (who was shaking from head to two and practically had to be carried by Jon onto the back of the dragon named for his Father). With a sigh he realised it came down to him to transport Baelish. That left a rank taste in his mouth, but he knew it was necessary, no matter how distasteful. Viserion did not like any but him riding him but for now it was necessary.
He gave his loyal dragon a pat on the side, and with a nod his men mounted Viserion, dragging Baelish between them. He ignored the brothel keepers' protests, and instead took to the air after Jon, plummeting down to the camp, ignoring Littlefinger's screams, if anything they put a small smile on his face.
Once they landed it felt as though she was finally able to breath. She was free! Away from the Eyrie with Littlefinger in chains. It felt almost impossible to believe. Part of her was convinced she'd wake on the next morrow, it having all been a dream. And yet it was real, she was sure it was real, it certainly felt real. The ride on the green dragon of Jon's had certainly felt real, and she had been shaky both on and off the creature, even though it seemed happy for her to ride him, something Jon commented on with a wry smile.
She now stood on solid ground and it felt a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Like a tight pressure had been constant on her chest for years and now it was gone. She was with Jon, she was free of King's Landing and Baelish, she was finally back with family, and soon she would be home.
Tears sprung to her eyes as she realised just what had happened. The feeling of freedom, the feeling of being Sansa Stark again …. It was almost overwhelming, hence her trembling and the urge to burst into noisy sobs. It was almost too much, and yet she had to remind herself that she was a Lady, a Lady of the North, she kept her dignity, even though all she wished to do was cry and run around in circles, overjoyed she was free from the clutches of Littlefinger. She would cry tonight, in the privacy of her own bed, not now, now she needed to be strong.
'I am a Stark, yes, I can be brave'
She would be.
She heard screaming as the new King landed. Aegon … he was more handsome than she imagined and those eyes, they were piercing, a deep purple. She hadn't meant to gaze at him, but she had for a second too long.
But she had to remember, she wasn't some silly girl anymore, dreaming about Princes and Knights, but she had been caught for a moment, caught in that handsome gaze.
'Life is not a song sweetling, you will remember that to your sorrow'
Another of Littlefingers lessons, one she'd do well to remember.
'Always know your enemy'
Another good lesson, and so she considered.
The new King seemed kind, handsome, if arrogant. She didn't know him to make a judgement and did not anticipate getting to know him, she'd be going North with Jon after all. All she knew was that she would never trust a King again … at least not a King of the South, never again. Once Jon took her back to Winterfell, she was never stepping a foot past the Neck again, never.
Littlefinger's screams seemed to dissipate as he was dragged from the white dragons back and taken into what was a suddenly heavily guarded tent. It was then she was shaken from her thoughts by Jon, who had given her a light shake to the shoulders but was smiling kindly to her. She smiled back at him, happiness blooming within her for the first time in months, maybe years.
Jon … how easily he had accepted her. She resisted the urge to throw her arms around him again. She had been so scared he'd reject her, and yet she felt foolish for thinking such a thing. He had scooped her into his arms, held her close and promised to keep her safe. And she believed him, she trusted him, her dear brother. He may be a cousin now but, in her eyes, he was her brother. He would make sure she was safe, she knew that.
"We need to go in now" He nodded his head to the largest tent, to which she could see the majority of the party walking into. The dragons had taken off as soon as it was clear they were not needed. She could see them flying overhead though, remaining close to their riders, but enjoying the freedom of the skies, she could even see them playing together a little, and she smiled at that.
The skies seemed so freeing, and yet she was free here now, and she felt it. She wondered if the dragons felt as free as she did.
And so, she nodded her head to Jon and took his arm. She didn't want to do this, to have to explain and drag up the atrocities she had faced, but she knew she must. She had faltered on the mountain, too terrified to speak in the place that had been her prison, and yet they had moved here to accommodate her, she couldn't not give her account now, she needed to be strong.
She had to tell them the truth, the new King, Jon, the Dragon Queen. She'd have to tell them all, and though that thought filled her with fear she just clutched Jon's arm harder as he led them forwards, determined, strong - she was Sansa Stark, she would not cower, not ever again.
'I am a Stark, yes, I can be brave'
She could be.
She would be.
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