authorsnotes: more chapters coming soon, edited 2023, lets go
do enjoy
songrecs: willow - taylor swift
'You have more of the North in you than your brothers'
- Tyrion Lannister to Jon Snow
-x-
When they stopped, Jon rolling off of her, both panting, flushed, and utterly spent, did their smiles slide a little.
Now it all came next.
The marriage had been an impulse decision, in acknowledging the truth; Lord Stark was a man of honour, devout, true, he would never break up a union recognised by the Old Gods. That they could count on, but as she looked up at the ceiling of Jon's childhood bedroom, as she cuddled under the furs and glanced at her husband, now and always, she knew that wasn't all they had to worry about.
They had planned, they had planned everything. They had thought of how to deal with King Robert, the Lannister's, the Others, everything. What they hadn't planned was anything deviating from what they had known, with things changing as they had now.
They had assumed things would follow the timeline as it had been before, but already things had changed; they had been discovered, and that would throw the timeline into doubt, could mess up all of their plans and schemes (for there were many).
She knew now they had been stupid, arrogant even, to assume they could play this life as it had played out last time, hell they had even written it down!
Stop Father going South.
Fortify the Nights Watch.
Stop Roberts death.
Expose Jaime/Cersei.
It had been planned out, to ensure the Lannister's lost their grip on power, and the North was strong once more. They had looked at it like a battle, going through each step to achieve victory. They had spent night after night, wide awake, gulping down harsh brewed tea leaves. They had thought they were prepared, they had worked and worked. Her eyes burning as she looked at the recent history of the War of the Five Kings, Jon yawning as he sketched out supplies, strongholds, and battles.
They had thought they were ready, prepared.
But now she could see, they had overlooked what would happen if things went differently, they had thought of the long term – stopping Father taking the position as Hand of the King, keeping Jon in Winterfell, shoring up the North, but they hadn't thought of the short term, of mainly not getting caught, not being exposed.
They had thought they could handle it, and she knew she was mainly to blame here. Jon was easy to hide, he would brood, frown and people overlooked him for his supposed status, but she had publicly stood up for Jon, she had made a fuss, acted out of character, and now they had been caught.
She just had to be thankful it was Father who had caught them, not her Mother, she shivered at the thought.
"It is not your fault" She near rolled her eyes then, she was sure Jon somehow, someway had the ability to tell what she was thinking, a way to get inside of her head, for he always knew.
"It is" She replied with a sigh, guilt curling in her stomach, she didn't want to ruin everything. She had grown since being that lost little girl with stars in her eyes, colder, more stoic, a player, not a piece, but clearly not enough – she had given them away.
"No" He said with a shake of his head, and when he opened his arms to her she shuffled forward into them, that was an invitation she'd never refuse, even though she was spiralling in that this was all of her fault.
"We weren't careful enough" Jon said with a shrug, "And we were bound to get found out, unless we ignored one another"
"Perhaps we should have done" She said gloomily, knowing how awful that would have been.
"We couldn't have" He said with another shake of his head, "Even if we had managed it, which I could not have, I won't ignore you" He placed a kiss to her forehead then, and she felt a little better, a little warmer, "We need to meet and talk for our plans, even that would have been noticed, you know it is true"
"I suppose you're right" She said with a small sigh as she eased a little.
"What?" Jon said, and she did roll her eyes then, Jon did like to joke sometimes. It was a side not many saw, only his brothers, Nights Watch and wildling, and his family, and her. "Can I hear that again?!"
"No" She grumbled then, tucking her head into his chest, hiding her face to which he laughed.
"How did that taste to say?" He mocked, and she felt her eyes must be rolling into the back of her head.
"Like that awful vinegar Old Nan makes" She said, and he laughed again before pulling her closer.
She was tempted to fall asleep, but she did not want her Father finding them like this in the morning, they already had enough to explain, and so with a small sigh she sat up, Jon didn't argue, for he clearly had come to the same conclusion.
Quickly she dressed, but left Jon's cloak. She wasn't feeling so defiant now, just worried.
"Sansa" Jon said, standing up then and pulling her into a hug, one she gladly went into, he could clearly sense her worry. "It will be okay"
"Will it?" She whispered, and he kissed her forehead then, gentle and tender, which she leaned into, worry spiking in her that this, them, would be hurt by their carelessness.
"I promise" He said pulling her close again, close enough they were almost one person, and perhaps they were, one soul, one heart. "I have a plan"
She nodded at that, they didn't speak of his plan, she had already guessed it, it was the only way after all.
They stayed like that for several minutes, just in an embrace before she pulled away, and looked up at him, Jon, her husband, her soulmate.
"Meet me in the Godswood at dawn" He nodded at her words, "We'll need to get our story straight"
"Aye" He said, and one last kiss, this time to her lips, and she knew she had to leave, and so, she made her way to the door, but looked back once, just once.
"I love you" She said, for she did, with all of her heart, and she knew through all of this, keeping Jon was the most important thing, above all else, that was her choice, she wouldn't lose him, couldn't lose him.
She hadn't done all of this, finding a way back, breaking the laws of magic and time, to get her family back but lose Jon, never.
"I love you too" He said with a smile, and with a nod she stepped out of his room, pulled the door shut, and went into the cold.
She knew she wouldn't sleep as she hurried to her room, she had planning to do.
She wouldn't lose Jon, not now, not ever.
He barely slept.
He'd managed to settle his wife, spin her a tale that left a bitter taste in his mouth; he hated lying, always had, always would. He had carried one lie with him for years now, and that blackened his heart each time he told it or affirmed it. He wouldn't have held onto such a lie for anyone else, anyone else but her.
Lyanna.
He hated lying, and yet when he had seen Jon and Sansa, his nephew and daughter, wrapped in an embrace neither should want, he had known he had to steer Lady Stark away, she'd have likely keeled over at such a sight.
He near had himself. To see them like that, unless they knew (and they couldn't), they should be disgusted at the idea. And the words they were saying … they had sounded crazed, he wasn't even sure he should try and pick them apart, understand them, for he couldn't, not at all.
Perhaps come morning they'd bring him answers, though … the way they'd looked at him when he revealed himself, he hoped it wouldn't be more lies.
Because, evidently when he had hauled them into his solar just a day or so earlier, they had clearly been hiding something from him, he hoped they wouldn't again.
He was surprised, his children weren't liars, sure, Bran and Arya lied about climbing, about secretly watching archery practice and Rickon lied about how much he hated peas. But Robb, Sansa, Jon? They were old enough now he trusted them to be true, honest, just as he had raised them to be, it troubled him that the latter two weren't.
"Are you alright Ned?" His wife asked then, rolling over to lie on his chest. She could sense his troubles. Part of him wanted to confide in her, for like the secret about Jon he hated keeping things from her, but he knew he couldn't reveal this … at least not yet.
"Fine" He promised, placing a kiss to her forehead before settling down. He felt morning would be turbulent, perhaps it would go easier with some sleep, and so he tried to get some rest, but it wasn't easy.
And as he finally dozed off, he thought about his sister.
He dreamt of red stained sheets, the smell of winter roses, blood on his hands, Ice stood near the door, Howland bleeding down below. He dreamt of William Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, Mark Rysewell, littering the Dornish sand. 6 arrived, only 2 returned.
He dreamt of Arthur Dayne, of the baking sun, of Lynna's cries, Wylla the wet nurse's expression of fear. He dreamt of the bundle in his sister's arms, of Jon, black of hair, grey eyes, no hint of his Father in him.
He dreamt of the Tower of Joy, of Jon, of Lyanna.
And he hoped tomorrow he would get the answers from her son, and his daughter … though part of him already knew, they would be answers he would not like.
Dawn came quickly.
It was still dark outside when he slipped out of bed, washed, pulled on fresh clothes, his cloak, weapons belt and made his way out of his room and to the Godswood. The servants bustled about, but the rest of Winterfell slept, though he imagined his Uncle was likely wide awake after what he had heard and seen yesterday. Still, he came across none but the servants as he hurried through the courtyard.
It was strange, adjusting to being a bastard again, not that he'd ever truly shed that title, he may have discovered he was trueborn, but he would always carry that identity with him – bastard. It was just strange now, where he had once been treated like a King, he was now just a boy, lowly.
It wasn't the blow to his ego that bothered him, it was just so different, and he had gotten used to giving orders, not taking them, it would be an adjustment.
But as he rounded the corner to the Godswood, saw the red leaves of the Weirwood, the shimmering lake, some green still poking out from under the snow, he knew it was a necessary and worthwhile adjustment.
They were home, together, and they had time to prepare for the future.
Worthwhile.
Sansa arrived soon after him, and she walked with a purpose, no doubt his Uncle had noticed that. They held themselves differently too. Jon was making more of an effort to hunch over, eyes on the floor as he had before (though he'd never truly stopped the latter, Sansa had scolded him about it more than once), but he would need to talk to Sansa. She walked like a Queen, not like a girl.
An adjustment.
Once she approached him, he smiled at her, and they shared a quick kiss. They had indulged in their own ideas of staying together the night before, but now as they both took a seat next to the lake, the cold snow barely a bother, (compared to the drifts and hills of snow from the future this light layer was nothing, and he had barely felt that either), they knew they had more important things to do.
He still glanced at the Weirwood for a second though, twice he had married her in front of it, and twice he had been the happiest man alive.
"So, what do we do?" Sansa asked, and he turned to her then, they had much to figure out, and he knew it wouldn't be easy convincing Lord Stark of what he knew he had to convince him of.
"It will have to be part truth, part lie" He asked, he didn't like lying, wasn't as good at it as Sansa (but then she had tutored under Cersei, Lady Olenna, Littlefinger for goodness sake; she was practically a spymaster herself), but he could, and would lie when necessary.
'You have to be smarter than Father, you need to be smarter than Robb. I loved them, I miss them, but they made stupid mistakes and they both lost their heads for it'
She had been right, was right, sometimes setting aside one's personal honour to succeed was necessary, that he had learned. Still, it didn't feel good to him, to lie, but he would do it to protect Sansa. He'd do anything to protect her and had.
His honour meant little if he couldn't protect her.
"I don't want to lie" Sansa said, and he knew she told the truth, as good as she was at it, he knew she found no joy in lying.
'We all enjoy what we're good at'
No, not everyone did.
"But it might be the only choice" She continued, and he nodded. He felt the same, he didn't want to lie any further and he thought of how much easier it would be to tell the truth, what a weight off it would be, but it had too many risks.
"The risks of telling the truth?" He found talking out risks, plans, concerns out loud was always more useful, to visualise them, to pick them apart.
"He doesn't believe us" There, that was the only risk. If Lord Stark did believe them, it would make things much easier, much, much easier, but there was too much risk he wouldn't.
"If he doesn't?" The same again; visualise, pick apart.
"He'll think we're mad" Sansa said, and he nodded.
"Think worse"
'Sometimes when I try to understand a persons motive I play a little game. I assume the worst. What is the worst reason they could possibly have for saying what they say and doing what they do? Then I ask myself how well does that reason explain what they say and what they do?'
Once Sansa had repeated that to him, 'a lesson from Littlefinger'. Jon hated the man, had long before he'd dispensed justice to him, and long after, but he had left behind lessons, lessons that (as much as he hated to admit it), had their use.
"He'll separate us" Sansa whispered, and he nodded, that was the risk. Jon could see Lord Stark thinking them addled, sending him to the Wall early and Sansa to a Maester to be healed. He could see a future in which Eddard Stark said nothing of such madness to anyone else, to protect them in his mind.
He wouldn't allow that to happen.
"So, we lie" Sansa said with a nod.
"Aye" He said then, taking her hands in his. It would be harder, more complicated, they would have to fully go it alone, to try and take on these impossible tasks with no help, whilst viewed as children, with no power or reputation, taking on the world. But they would be together, and that mattered more than all else.
"Okay" Sansa said, linking her fingers through his, "We lie"
And lie they would. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, but the idea of losing Sansa, of being torn from her after they had taken such a risk in coming back … that would leave a far worse taste, one he could only imagine, for he would never let that happen.
"You know my plan?" He asked this time, and Sansa looked up at him, her blue eyes meeting his grey. To others he knew they seemed cold, calculating, and he could see that to, but he also saw the warmth, the loyalty stirring in them, and he knew this was her battleground.
She nodded, as did he, her support was there; it was a risky tale to tell, a difficult one to pull off, but … it was the only way he could see getting through this.
And together they would … they had to.
honestly re-reading/re-editing this story I realised I've dialed back the magic/fuckery to keep it realistic, I might just go off the wall idk
some will be disappointed they ain't revealing to ned, nah our bbys are gunna weather this alone
also again, jon/sansa are WILDLY underprepared for actually travelling back in time, they THINK they prepared but thinking and actually being thrown back are two HUGELY different things - clearly lol
speak soon