The room was quiet, yet from the depths of his sleeping mind he swore he could hear softly approaching footsteps. Passing off the sleepy thoughts, he rolled onto his other side, unaware of the person slipping into his bedroom unannounced. It wasn't until he felt the dip of the mattress beneath a body that his senses awakened and his eyes flew open. Hovering above him was a pair of lovely blue eyes, the silvery hair aglow in the dying firelight. "Daenerys..." His voice rasped her name, loins stirring as they always did when he looked so closely into her beautiful eyes.

But then... Then he realized something was off. Something just wasn't right. Tears were filling her eyes, regret making them wide and unblinking as she looked down at him. And that was when he caught the glint of the blade in her hand, that was when he saw the blood already stained across the front of her dress. "Daenerys, what in the hell are you doing-!" He nearly rolled off his side of the bed in his attempt to get away from her as the blade plunged down, nicking him in the arm as she gave a little cry.

"There can only be on heir," she whispered and then suddenly, everything began to make sense. The blade was raised high over her head and he knew what she was about to do. The knife came down, aimed straight for his very heart, and Jon closed his eyes against it. He couldn't face her this way... He couldn't fight back against a woman he loved, not again. But the came the shout of a man and the clang of the blade as it hit the floor. And then Daenerys was falling back, yanked backwards by the force of a hand. When Jon opened his eyes again, Tyrion stood there, hovering over the dragon queen who lay in a ball on the floor, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

And then...

And then he woke up.

When Jon looked beside him, he found Sansa there asleep, her body rolled away from him as she softly snored. He could not stop himself from reaching out, gently touching her temple, brushing away a lock of red hair. They had been spending more and more nights together, improper as it was, but for the most part most of the court and kingdom was unaware of the budding love between the one time siblings. Jon knew better than to bring slander to her name by getting caught in any inappropriate situations. He supposed the only two people in the world to know the truth would be Tyrion and Brienne. Even Arya was unaware of the depth of their relationship.

Feeling wide awake despite the late hour, Jon rose up from bed, careful to avoid letting the cold slip beneath the blankets as he went. Pulling on yesterdays clothes, he took to the window seat, staring out into the darkness of the courtyard while the moon glowed high overhead. This gave him the chance to think about all that had transpired those last few days, to think even about the dream he had just woken from. He could remember it like yesterday, when Daenerys had slipped into his rooms that night at Winterfell. Jon could not hardly blame her for what she had done- after all she had experienced, after everything she'd gone through to get to where she had been... Only to have it all ripped out from under her? And to think... Jon hadn't even wanted this. He hadn't wanted to be King, except for maybe in the North. Had she only talked about it with him... Had she only spoken to him, rather than act on impulse as she so often had... Then he could have told her she could have it.

But, that was then and this was now. There was no going back, no taking back the actions that Daenerys had displayed that night. Even if he had said no, I don't want it, no one would have accepted her as their queen. Not after so many witnessed her almost unstable behavior. And so he'd had to throw his own blood into a dark, damp cell beneath Kings Landing, and hope she would learn her place. But, after the last few days, Jon wasn't so certain she had. Or that she ever would...

"Jon?"

He'd not heard her rise up from bed, so engrossed in his own thoughts was he. Looking up, Jon found himself staring back at Sansa, who stood before him in just her white nightgown, her unbound hair falling nearly to her hips. "It's cold," she observed, noticing how closely he leaned against the cold plane of glass that was the window. Jon said nothing and Sansa gave a little sigh, taking a single step closer to him. That was when he opened his arms and she climbed up onto his lap, folding herself into his embrace, returning warmth to his chilled body. "Was it a dream?" Her voice came a few minutes later, surprising him, for he had thought she'd drifted off back to sleep.

"Yes," he admitted, knowing better than to lie to Sansa, who couldn't tell one to save her life, but could sniff them out a mile away. She snuggled closer to him and he tightened his grip on her, resting his chin atop her head. "About that night..."

Of course, Sansa knew what he meant; she remembered that night as well as he did. She remembered her first sight of the dragon queen, with her beautiful eyes and her silver hair, her arm on Jon's as if they were man and wife. Sansa recalled the wave of jealousy that had washed over her, surprised at how quickly it had come that day. But then she remembered that night, the night when Bran had told them all in the room that day the truth about Jon. The truth about who he was. Everything had changed in that moment, for all of them, because suddenly it wasn't Daenerys with the strongest claim to the throne. And suddenly, Jon wasn't the Stark family bastard, either. In fact, he was anything but a bastard.

That night, while the whole house was sleeping, Daenerys had crept into Jon's room to murder him. She'd managed to murder a single guard and had planned to murder everyone that had heard the truth that day... But Tyrion had stopped her. The one person who knew her mind nearly as well as she knew her own... He had known what the dragon queen would try to do. Tyrion had saved Jon's life. She knew how hard that had been on Jon, for he'd begun to develop feelings for Daenerys and she him, but nothing could have stood in her way for the Iron Throne, not even a man she loved. Especially not a man she loved. And so Daenerys had done what she thought she had to do in order to secure her place, but had gravely overstepped.

Sansa also knew the truth of Jon's want to be King... He would have been happy in the North, he would have been happy without the Iron Throne. But after everything that had happened, he no longer had a choice. And so he bore the weight of the throne without a single complaint, knowing there was no one else who could do it but him. But, Sansa believed in him. She knew he would be a good king, even if he didn't think he was cut out for the job. "They want me to execute her..." Jon's voice broke into her thoughts and she tipped her head back to look into his eyes, eyes so full of uncertainty that it broke her heart. She slipped her hand into his and gaze it a squeeze.

"There's no need to worry about it tonight." She said softly, drawing his attention back to her, keeping her eyes on his. "You'll make the right choice when the time comes." She felt him squeeze her hand back and then they fell into silence, with her huddled up in his embrace, and him leaning against the window. Jon knew that Sansa wasn't wrong. In that moment, with her there on his lap, the last thing he should have been thinking about were matters of state. Instead, he breathed in her sweet, familiar scent and felt calming waves wash over him. Just having her there in his arms was enough to make him forget about everything else in his life.

They remained there until the feeling was beginning to go from his legs, until the moon hung so low in the sky that surely the sun was to rise at any given moment. That was when he realized Sansa was fast asleep. Carefully rising to avoid waking her, Jon carried her across the room to deposit her gently into his bed. Then, he climbed back in beside her, to draw her close to him and close his own eyes, falling asleep quicker than he had anticipated.

This time, when he slept, he dreamed of her... With her wide, bright blue eyes and her radiant smile. He dreamed of her swathed in white and gold, with a crown perched atop her fiery red hair. And then he dreamed of her beside him, clutching a soft little bundle close to her chest, while tears filled her eyes as she turned to look at him. He woke before he saw what the bundle held, but something told him he already knew... it had been their future. Looking down at Sansa's sleeping form, Jon smiled, and knew in the end, he would do whatever it took to protect her.

He'd do whatever he had to do to ensure a bright and safe future for her, for them.

[ x x x ]

"My lady?"

Sansa groaned, rolling onto her side while she drew the blankets further over her head. Though she longed to simply ingore Brienne there at her bedside, she knew she couldn't much longer. "My lady, its quite late." The woman went on as Sansa pulled the covers back down, revealing her pale, drawn face to her. "Are you unwell this morning?" It wouldn't have been the first morning that the young queen was feeling ill, as she'd just stayed in bed late two days before too. Brienne was beginning to piece everything together, but something told her Sansa had yet to discover it for herself.

"I'm fine," Sansa said, her voice a bit sharper than she meant for it to be as she kicked back the covers on her bed. As she rose up from the bed, she felt the familiar sensation of nausea rocking her, and she had to put a hand on the nearby table to steady herself. When it passed, she shot Brienne a look to keep her from speaking. "I'm fine," she repeated, though something told her she was anything but fine. Brienne, ever used to her lady's stubborn outbursts, sighed but said nothing as she gestured at the other table, where the maids had laid out a small breakfast for her. At the sight of the food, Sansa felt her stomach lurch and she knew it was happening a moment too late. Throwing up into the empty piss bucket, she retched until her stomach was empty, though the nausea had yet to pass. Sinking down onto the edge of her bed, Sansa turned her red rimmed eyes onto Brienne, who waved away the maids that had come running at the sound of Brienne's worried shout. "Perhaps I'm not so fine."

Brienne knelt down beside the bed, tenderly reaching out to touch Sansa's knee. "My lady..." She spoke softly, watching as Sansa bowed her head, red hair falling across her shoulders to hide her face from view. "Let me call for a maester." Sansa turned back to her then and met Brienne's gaze before finally nodding, knowing deep down there was no options left for her but that. Besides, part of her knew what was happening to her body, even if she was not ready to admit what that was. "I will return anon," Brienne stood, calling for Sansa's favorite handmaidens, telling them to draw their queen a bath and ready a gown for her. And then she was gone, to find the maester to bring back to Sansa.

[ x x x ]

"Sick?"

Jon's worried vocals carried along the hall as he met with Brienne of Tarth, who was looking as grim as she always did. "A little unwell is all, your grace." She clarified, noticing the concern that crossed the king's features at the news of Sansa's illness. "The maester is with her already, I'm sure it's nothing more than a malady of the stomach." She did not disclose any more details with the king, figuring Sansa would if she so desired. "I just thought you should like to know."

"Thank you, Brienne." Jon said by way of dismissal, half tempted to join Sansa in her chambers, though he supposed it was no place for him in that moment. He'd go to her later, he decided. Besides... He had other things to deal with today.

As he strode down the corridors back towards his throne room, he was met by a terrifyingly angry Tyrion, who was coming towards him. "Your grace!" Tyrion spoke as they neared one another, his dark eyes burning in his face. "I must inform you, Daenerys was freed from her cell, she's escaped." For a long moment, Jon could not breathe, let alone speak. He stared down at his Hand and then further down the hall, to where sure enough a crowd was gathering, an angry mob of guards and courtiers alike. "It would seem we have less friends in this castle than we originally thought." Of course, not all men could be trusted, but Jon had not thought something like this to be possible. Of all things, he'd not thought this could ever happen. He thought he could trust those within his circle, those within his palace walls.

Now, he knew better.

"We must find her. And find those who conspire against us." Jon spoke the only words he could find to say and he went on past, Tyrion at his heels, to join the crowd gathering before the set of stairs that led to the dungeons. His eyes fell upon Jaime and he beckoned the man to follow him, the only other man he truly felt he could trust besides Tyrion. Everyone else... Could not be trusted, at least not yet. "Call a meeting." He said to Tyrion, who nodded, and at once set off to do as he was bid. "Send out a call to arms, we must search for her. She cannot hide so easily." He said to Jaime, who nodded and gave a little bow, making to leave as well. "Wait, Jaime," Jon's words caused the older man to pause, turning back to face him. "Post your most trusted guard outside Sansa and Arya's chambers, will you?" The man's features softened and then he nodded, before he too set off in order to do as his king commanded.

Jon's gaze swept the crowd, as if he might pick out the traitor among them, but of course he could not. Instead, he turned on his heel, forcing his way through the crowd back towards his throne room, where he would make his thoughts known. Where he would let the traitors know that there would be no escaping his wrath, once he got his hands upon them.

[ x x x ]

When Jon did finally join her in her rooms that evening, he was so full of pent up frustration he could not even sit. He walked back and forth, raging and storming about the days events, talking for what very well could have been hours before he suddenly came to a halt, to turn and look at her there on the bed, as if only just now remembering she was there. "Sansa, I'm sorry..." He muttered, reaching up to run a hand through his messy curls. "You are unwell and I am certainly bothering you."

At his words, Sansa gave a little laugh and patted the bed beside her, indicating for him to join her. But when he did sit down, she sobered, her blue eyes darkening as they met his. "I worry for you, it is dangerous now that she has escaped." Sansa slipped her hand over his and Jon smiled, the flutter of happiness she brought him taking over the anger and worry in his heart. "I'm fine, besides." She had every intention of telling him the truth behind her sudden illness. In fact, she'd been reciting the words in her head over and over all day, to be prepared to tell him when he did finally come to her. But now that he was there... Now that he had spilled all his worries and concerns to her over what had happened that day, Sansa found she'd lost her nerve. She couldn't stand the idea of just shouldering him with more things to worry about.

And so, she said nothing at all.

"I'm glad to hear it," Jon rose back up from the bed, going to stand across the room at the window, staring out into the darkness below. "I have new guards posted at yours and Arya's rooms." When Sansa opened her mouth to protest, Jon turned back around to meet her eyes, and she fell silent. "I will not ever risk your safety, Sansa." A small smile toyed with her lips and then she too rose up from the bed, crossing the room to meet him. He took her into his embrace and Sansa lay her head against his chest, his heartbeat strong against the shell of her ear. "I should go," he whispered into her hair a moment later, pulling back from her though it was the last thing he wanted to do. Sansa gave him a single nod, the kiss to her lips warm and gentle, and then he was gone, leaving her to the darkness of her chamber.

"Did you tell him?" Brienne's voice cut into her thoughts and Sansa turned to her lady guard, a little chuckle escaping her lips as she shook her head. "He'll want to know, my lady." Brienne went on, watching as Sansa returned to her bed, her palm pressed against the flat plane of her stomach.

"He has so much else to worry about. This can wait... It's early days yet, I won't burden him with it so soon." Sansa replied softly, knowing what she said was true. It would only be a few days before Daenerys was captured and all would be well again. Then she could tell him the truth behind her illness. Then she could tell him that she wasn't ill at all, but rather, was carrying his own child, the future heir to his throne.

She would tell him when the moment was right.