Hello wonderful friends! Here is a lengthy chapter for you. I hope it makes up for the painfully short one from before. I don't have much to tell you on this one so enjoy! - FlamingRose

December 31, 1916, The Tyrell House

Ned Stark stifled a yawn, a bit unsuccessfully, and received an elbow to the side from his wife.

"Ned, I am in such good spirits tonight I will not have you ruin them by dozing off against this wall."

"Sorry, my love. Robb, Jon, and I had a long trek this morning to get home in time to ready ourselves for this." As promised, Ned took his son and nephew hunting. It was the last few days of the waterfowl season, and he didn't want to put it off to next year. If this year had taught him anything, it was that you never knew how much time you had.

"He's brooding again," Benjen murmured to his brother. Ned followed his gaze to Jon standing against the wall, Robb keeping him company.

"He's always brooded before," Ned pointed out.

"Yes, but he was getting a lift in his spirits lately. I was hoping…oh I don't know…" Ned knew what Benjen was hoping, but he wouldn't dare say it in front of Catelyn. Ned wasn't completely against the idea of such a young man as Jon pursuing his daughter. He was brave, and gentle and strong. He could not ask for a better match, but Catelyn was a little more concerned with social propriety than he was. She knew the whispers that would follow her daughter the way they followed Jon.

"Sansa also seems to have been a bit out of sorts lately," Ned mentioned cautiously.

"It's for the best," Catelyn assured him. She comfortingly touched his arm with a look. He wondered if she truly believed that.

Ned had heard the whispers at the Lannisters. Jon was dancing with the finest, most eligible young women at the ball, and with every one, Sansa included, there were disapproving glances from the other old families. Really, they could be such snobs. They called him a son of a clerk as if it was a dirty word, as if their grandfathers and great grandfathers weren't once clerks who rose above all obstacles to create the lives of luxury and wealth they so mindlessly enjoyed now. He watched his nephew lean against the wall looking about awkwardly, not daring to dance with anyone tonight. It saddened him to know such whispers were not far from his mind.

Jon leaned against the wall, Robb keeping him company. He missed the woods. He missed being there with Uncle Ned and Robb with only the trees to hear their conversations. He wanted so badly to be back there. The woods were quiet and cold; there were no whispers, expectations, or social norms . Just nature. Just peace. Now he was back in the city, struggling to socialize at the Tyrell New Year's Eve party. At least it was a more hospitable atmosphere than the Lannisters. Jon fiddled with his necktie, hoping no one looked at him. He'd drawn too much attention at the Christmas ball. He wouldn't make the same mistake tonight.

Arya joined her brother and cousin on the wall. She was dressed in a dark brown dress that had small beads dangling from the edge of her necklines. Sansa had helped Arya select it for the occasion.

"Margery Tyrell would like to know when you plan on dancing with her this evening. She was quite taken with you at the Lannister party. We all were." Arya batted her eyelashes at Jon and cracked her mischievous grin when he groaned, his face contorting into a grimace.

'That's what happens when you decide to dance, Jon," Robb said with a nudge, "you did this to yourself when you danced with my sister."

"And then danced with all of her friends," Arya added.

"I was just trying to do right by Sansa," Jon lamented, "I didn't want to become a hot commodity." He was sure the mothers of all of those girls were as upset as he was about this new development. He was catching a couple of disapproving looks tonight.

"Ah, but you are now. You don't want to keep the ladies waiting," Robb teased. Jon's discomfort was amusing to Robb. Most men would jump at the chance of being in his cousin's position. Theon, for example, would love nothing better than being wanted by every woman in the room. Robb looked across the room to where Margery and Myrcella sat speaking together. Margery looked up towards the two young men on the wall, glancing at Jon before meeting Robb's eyes. She stared at him daringly, almost as a challenge. He looked right back and could've sworn there was a tinge of a smile forming on her lips.

"Don't worry cousin," Robb addressed Jon, Never taking his eyes off Margery, "I'll save your hide this night." Jon watched as Robb confidently made his way to Margery Tyrell who graciously accepted his invitation to dance.

"Thank God," Jon exhaled.

"If you are up to playing hero, Joffrey seems to have set his tormenting on Ros this night. Or are your heroics reserved only for my sister?" Arya inquired.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm sure you do," Arya countered, "I'm not saying I'm not grateful for how you interfered at the Lannister ball, I am, but since then you and Sansa have been very odd with each other. And since Christmas you've been even odder."

"I'm not odd," Jon retorted, not liking where Arya was taking the conversation.

"Jon! Your behavior is bordering on bizarre!" Arya cried, "First with glances and gazes, walks in the snow—"

"Keep your voice down!"

"Private conversations in the corner of the parlor," Arya continued softly but fiercely, "then come boxing day, you never allowed yourself to even look at my sister. That, I'm afraid, falls under the title of odd behavior." Jon started walking away from Arya. He needed fresh air. His best bet was the balcony. He made his way there hoping the chill of the night air would inspire Arya to go inside and to leave him alone. Jon had no such luck. Arya followed him outside despite the weather. Her teeth chattered and her shoulders were in a permanent shrug against the cold, but she powered on.

"There is something going on between you and my sister and I want to know what it is."

"There is nothing going on!" Jon was careful to keep his voice down. They were alone on the balcony, and on one else was anywhere to be seen unless they were inside where music and conversation drowned out the noises from the outside world. Still, Jon was careful. This conversation was a dangerous one to have in public.

"Jon," Arya said softly, "you can trust me." Jon turned to look at his cousin and sighed when he saw her pained expression. In keeping his feelings to himself he had hurt her. He didn't mean to, just like he didn't mean to hurt Sansa, though by the looks she gave him lately he knew by avoiding her he had. He just didn't know what else to do. He had to keep his distance after what happened in the parlor that Christmas night. He looked at Arya standing in front of him hoping to connect. He had been alone with these thoughts for a while. It would be nice to share them with someone. If he could trust anyone, he could trust Arya.

"There's nothing—exactly—going on between me and your sister."

"Exactly?"

"I don't really know how to explain."

'The glances, the walks, the…tension?"

"Yes…" Jon replied, "I don't know how it happened, honest. It was gradual and then all at once, which doesn't make much sense, I know…"

"Jon, do you have feelings for Sansa?"

"I can't, I shouldn't. She's Sansa Stark, a young woman of good parentage and daughter of high society, and I'm—"

"Jon Stark, son of Benjen Stark. Benjen Stark: a well-respected citizen and pillar of the community."

"I am Jon Snow to this world. Orphan, son of a lowly clerk, nothing more than Benjen's ward, a great act of philanthropy…I'm not for her. She deserves someone kind, gentle, strong, a man of high standing and good moral fiber. I know Benjen insists everyone treats me as if I belong here, but I get the looks and I hear the whispers…Sansa deserves more than that."

"But do you have feelings for her, Jon?"

"Yes."

The word hung in the air. His admittance scared him. Now it was out. He couldn't take it back, even if he wanted to. He imagined trying to grab the words from the air to hide them away in his pockets. Even if he could, Arya would never allow it. She always kept him honest.

"Then forget the whispers. Forget all of it! You are more than whispers, Jon. You are a Stark. You are part of this world and you are part of this family, like it or not, and screw anyone who says otherwise! Even you." Jon stared, slack jawed at Arya. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't such a fervent confrontation. Arya took his stunned silence as an opportunity to continue.

"Now my sister is a lot of things, some good, some bad, and I don't always what to make of it all, but I do know that she deserves to be happy, and because you are afraid of your feelings and keep avoiding her, she isn't happy. I'm not saying you have to confess your love to her, but you have to speak to her. You can't give her the cold shoulder now. Stop being an idiot, Jon. Go find my sister and make things right."

"You're right," Jon said, slowly recovering from Arya's unanticipated but wise words, "I have to fix things…Arya?"

"yes?"

"You can't tell anyone. Not a soul. Not Sansa, and not even Robb—especially not Robb."

"But—"

"I mean it. I don't know what your sister's feelings are towards me, but I won't be the reason for her discomfort."

"Okay, I won't, but I think she likes you."

"I want her to think it Arya. No one can decide that but her, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I don't want her to spare my feelings. She must come to the conclusion on her own. And as far as Robb is concerned, he should hear it from me. When I'm ready." Arya knew Jon was right. He made a solid case, but she hated secrets. She liked things being put out in the open. It made things simpler.

"So you'll talk to Sansa?" Arya asked.

"Not yet. First, I have to rescue Ros," he replied. Arya broke into a smile.

"I'll lead you to her," she said as they walked back inside.

Margery was gorgeous in her gold gown. It was accented by rose colored bead work along the sleeve cuffs and seams and waistline of the dress. Intricate embroidery of roses along the skirt caught the light and glittered as she turned about the room led expertly by Robb Stark. Together they were magnetizing. It was hard to look away from such an aesthetically pleasing couple. Sansa admired the dancing couples, especially her brother and Margery. She was lamenting the fact she had been too late in interfering with Joffrey asking Ros to dance. The girl was in a beautiful plum gown, but her face did not match her radiant dress. Instead it was frozen in place, trying not to give way to the fear she felt. Joffrey had ended the dance and escorted her to a corner of the room where he kept a possessive hand on her as he spoke in her ear. Sansa wished she could go to the girl's rescue, but Cersei had been speaking to her for the last three songs about how she wished her son would turn his attentions to a more intelligent, more graceful creature—not someone so awkward as Ros.

"Really, a girl like Ros coming from brand new wealth should set her sights on someone more relatable."

"Relatable?" Sansa asked, the word grasping her attention.

"Yes. Someone who is part of her world, or perhaps one who is not part of ours. New money doesn't understand the nuances of high bred society like us. We have generations of understanding is all. It must be a lot to keep up with." Cersei sounded sympathetic, but sansa had a hard time believing her sincere. Still, she did her best to play the part of the agreeable partner in conversation.

"Ah, see that is an appropriate pairing," Cersei continued, her eyes fixed on Ros. Sansa followed her gaze. She watched as Jon politely interrupted to ask Ros to dance. Ros eagerly accepted, visibly relieved at the chance to escape.

"Ros and Jon, Ma'am?" Sansa asked.

"Why, yes. They are appropriately matched. Awkward in high society, only invited because of who they know," Cersei said, her voice dripping with disdain, "though Ros…even if her family isn't as established, Ros still comes from money. I guess not the ideal match."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Sansa replied cautiously. She tried her best to remain calm and agreeable, but she didn't like the sound of what Cersei was saying.

"My dear, surely you understand," Cersei said, "your dear cousin—as your family generously calls him—may have your Uncle's last name, but at the end of it all he has no fortune of his own, no name, no family history. Frankly, Ros would be marrying far beneath her if she chose your uncle's ward as a husband."

"Jon," Sansa said through her teeth.

"Excuse me?" Cersei inquired over the rim of her wine glass.

"My Uncle's son is named Jon," Sansa clarified boldly.

"Yes," Cersei drawled, "of course."

"And he has the fortune, name, and history of the Starks."

"I'm sure," Cersei said flatly as she took another sip of her wine, "now that is a handsome couple," she continued, nodding towards Margery and Robb, "Now a Tyrell would be an appropriate match for my Joffrey. Good connections, well-bred family…" Cersei prattled on about Margery's prospects, but Sansa was having trouble being attentive and engaged in the conversation. Her eyes kept straying towards the knight in soot covered armor who had just rescued yet another woman from Joffrey's clutches, even if just for a few moments. She tried her best not to be so obvious as she was in the presence of Cersei Lannister, and any sign of weakness was something she would be sure to notice. This particular weakness Sansa had for Jon was sure to add to the whispers of high society. Not everyone was as sensible as her family. Even after all these years, some still looked at Jon as one of Uncle Benjen's projects, not as his family. He'd always be a son of a clerk to them. Sansa having eyes for Jon would be the catalyst for many whispers about her family. She didn't care about herself, but she didn't want her family to suffer.

"He is handsome," Cersei said.

"Who?"

"Your uncle's ward," she said with a catlike smile and a quirk of an eyebrow, "there's no harm in looking, child. I enjoy the view of some stable hands and servants myself from time to time. There's no harm in having a look." Cersei's tone angered Sansa, but she kept her voice even when she repied, "I was just admiring Ros' dress. The cut is very flattering on her."

"Oh, yes, I suppose it is," Cersei replied knowingly. It was at this time that Arya approached them. Sansa wasn't sure if there was even a time she was so glad to see her sister.

"Excuse me," Arya said with perfect politeness, "may I please steal my sister? Our mother has asked for her."

"Of course dear girl," Cersei answered, "how is your mother? Poor thing…a sister stranded across the ocean cannot be easy for her."

"she is doing much better now, thank you for asking," Sansa replied quickly before Arya had a chance to say something she might regret. The girls left Cersei to go in search of their mother. Once she was sure Cersei wasn't looking, Arya pulled Sansa into a different room and found them a place at the window in the receiving parlor.

"Where's mother?" Sansa asked.

"I don't know. I just said that so you'd have an excuse to leave Cersei. I know you don't like her."

"I never said that."

"Fine, I don't like her. But I have noticed you to be quite tense around her. I thought I'd help you—come to your rescue." Arya grinned mischievously.

"well, thank you Arya. I will admit I was a little tense. I did not like our topic of conversation." Arya gave her sister an inquiring look."

"Social class," Sansa clarified, "basically more proof that…Cersei Lannister is a snob." She finished in a hushed tone. Arya's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Being so frank within the safe walls of Winterfell was one thing, but Sansa never spoke so boldly or slanderously in public where anyone could hear. Whatever Cersei said must have upset her enough to forget herself.

"I'm sorry it was so unpleasant," Arya sympathized.

"It's fine. I just want to go home, really. I like the Tyrells, and they've done a marvelous job this year, but I seem to be exhausted."

'We can tell mother," Arya offered, "we can go home."

"No," Sansa answered, "mother is actually enjoying herself tonight. She and father danced at least twice that I saw, and she's been smiling. I don't want to make her leave before midnight."

"Alright, but if you change your mind—"

"I'll let you know. Thank you, Arya." Arya kept her sister company in the parlor. There were very few people there, and as the band struck up for a foxtrot, the few people left in the parlor hurried to the dance floor in the other room; all except the Stark sisters. As the band played, Jon made his way past the throngs of people in search of Sansa. Ros was a bit of a clumsy dancer, but only because she was so nervous. Jon felt awkward with her, but she was very grateful and let him know time and time again how thankful she was. When the dance was done, he thanked her for the dance and left her with Myrcella before searching the room for a girl in a light purple dress and dark blue sash that matched her hairpin of silver and sapphires. She was nowhere to be found. He made his wayto the parlor and saw her sitting with her sister by one of the windows.

Sansa saw him standing there in the middle of the room frozen in place. He was looking at her intently—as if asking for permission to approach her. It was a request she would not refuse him.

"Jon," she said. Arya turned to look at Jon, then at Sansa, then back at Jon. Her observations went completely unnoticed by the observed.

"I better find Bran. Or Robb. Myrcella. And Ros," Arya stumbled, "I'll go." She hurriedly made her way out of the parlor. Jon and Sansa were alone again.

As much as he wanted to go to her, he didn't dare move. If he was going to say anything, he decided he should keep his distance. Sansa stayed sitting. She wasn't sure she should stand. She didn't trust her legs not to take her to Jon, bridging the distance that had developed since Boxing day. She was sure he had his reasons. She didn't want to disrespect them.

"Sansa," Jon began. He was having trouble saying the words.

"Yes?" she encouraged, her eyes hopeful. There was the hope again. He had to be brave, if only to preserve that hope. He couldn't disappoint her.

"I'm so sorry for how distant I've been. It wasn't fair to you."

"no it wasn't," Sansa agreed.

"I just didn't know what else to do really. Our situation is—peculiar."

"I understand," Sansa conceded. She admitted none of this was particularly simple or easy to navigate. Jon—as always—was trying to do right by her. Sometimes in moments of frustration and selfishness, she wished he wouldn't be so concerned with his duty or her honor, but she knew that if that were the case, part of his appeal would be gone. Jon is Jon, and she liked all of what that entailed. Whatever she didn't like, she'd accept anyways. It was a part of him, and she wanted him whole.

'Would you like to sit down?" Jon's frozen frame thawed at her words.

"yes, thank you," he said, already moving to sit beside her.

"What do I need protecting from Jon?" Sansa asked quietly.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's in your nature to protect," she replied, "I always find that is your motive for the things you do that I don't understand, so what is it you are trying to protect me from by being distant?" His eyes darkened a bit. The brooder she'd seen lately made his return. She saw him start to slip into himself.

"I didn't want to subject you to the whispers. I'm used to it, but I don't want that to be the case for you."

"You are more than whispers, Jon."

"That's what Arya said," he said with a small smile.

"Arya is right," Sansa said. She could tell he didn't believe her.

"I need you to know something, Jon," Sansa said carefully. He was always trying to protect her, always trying to make things better. She had to try to do the same for him.

'what is it?" he asked.

"You can't believe the whispers—about you." He still hadn't looked at her. He was looking down at his folded hands.

"They're right, though," he replied dully, still looking at his hands. She scooted over to clasp her hand on his shoulder, only the fabric of their clothes separated them she sat so close, but she didn't care. She couldn't have him disconnect now. She wasn't going to let him keep believing in some arbitrary classist hierarchy built out of the insecurities of a few elite.

"No, they're not," she insisted, "you are deserving of the name Stark. You belong. You're brave, gentle, and strong. Uncle Benjen sees it, and Father and anyone who has spoken to you for more than a minute can see it." He still hadn't looked at her. She felt the moisture come to her eyes. The distance was threatening to come between them again. She couldn't lose him, not when she'd just gotten him back. She could hear people in the next room start counting down to midnight.

"Why can't you see what I see?" she asked him, her voice breaking. It was that change in her voice that prompted Jon to finally move. When he looked at her, and placed his hand on top of hers, clasping it between his hand and his shoulders she could no longer keep the tears in her eyes. They dampened her lashes and fell onto his hand as she dropped her forehead on his hand. She couldn't help but cry in relief. She felt him kiss the top of her head and lean against her as the ballroom erupted into cheers of happy New Year. The band began to play, and the people sang. Alone in the dark, quiet parlor, Sansa closed her eyes as she felt the vibrations of Jon's voice as he hummed along to "Auld Lang Syne." She wished the moment would last forever.

As the song came to an end, they separated, and Jon fished a handkerchief out of his pocket to give to Sansa.

'Thank you, Jon," she said as she dabbed at her yes, wiping the tears away, "I don't know what came over me. I'm not always so emotional. I must be tired." They were back to sitting on opposite ends of the seat. Arya came into the parlor just then to find Sansa. She saw her sister was crying, but she also saw her smiling. She figured it was a good sign even with the presence of tears.

She promptly made her way to her and sat between them, taking Sansa's hand in hers. Shortly after, groups of two or three started to trickle into the parlor, and Jon made a mental note to himself that Arya was becoming more and more clever, astute, and stealthy with every passing day. No one would look twice at two sisters sitting with their cousin.

"I told mother you wanted to go home. She says it's fine if you do. We are all to go home with Jon and Uncle Benjen. Mother, Father, and Robb are staying here a little longer."

"Mother and Father should stay," Sansa said handing the handkerchief back to Jon, "I haven't seen either of them so carefree since before May."

"I think Margery may have played a part in the arrangements," Arya said with her signature smile, "She and Robb danced twice in a row. And they looked particularly familiar during "Auld Lang Syne""

"I wonder how serious it is."

"You can never tell with Robb," Jon commented, "at least I can't."

"Margery is her own enigma," Sansa added as she stood, "it may only for the night, or it may be forever." Arya and Jon followed suit, and after saying their goodbyes, Jon, Sansa, Arya, and Bran followed Uncle Benjen out to the circle drive.

On the way to the Stark house, Sansa drifted to sleep despite her best efforts to stay awake, and Jon could not help but steal glances at her from time to time. How extraordinary she was. And the fact she saw so much in him…it was more than he could ever hope for. He wasn't entirely sure it wasn't a dream. They came to the house, and Jon and Benjen escorted the younger Starks to the door. Old nana opened the door to usher them inside, and warned everyone to be careful not to wake Rickon. Jon smiled as he caught Sansa's eye before she disappeared behind the door. He closed his eyes for a moment before following Benjen back to the vehicle. The cold air surrounded him, reminding him he was alive. He wanted to remember what this felt like. As long as she looked at him like that, he could take on the world.