Thank you so much for reading/reviewing/following/favoriting/etc. I really appreciate it. This chapter was also posted to my tumblr, but Ive since added to it. It's ended up quite smutty, so WARNING: SMUT AND SEXUAL CONTENT IN THIS CHAPTER. It's not that graphic, but I thought a warning should be included. If it's not your cup of tea, then feel free to stop reading.
Jon Targaryen, second in line to the Iron Throne, is sent to be fostered at Winterfell when he is eight. He does not understand why his mother insists on it, but later finds he is of the North and a Stark, by blood though not in name.
Aegon, his older brother, tells him he's being sent away because their father hates him. Jon punches him in the nose. The older boy howls that he only repeated what Uncle Viserys had told him, and Jon clenches his jaw. It is then he hopes Uncle Eddard is kinder than Viserys.
He is. Lord Stark and his lady wife Catelyn are all he could have hoped for in parents. Rhaegar and Lyanna are kind and loving, yes, but Ned and Catelyn are absolutely devoted to their four, later five, children.
Robb is the brother he wishes Aegon would be. Jon and Robb are of an age and spend all their time together. Sansa is two years younger than him and already a little lady, though she tags along with them as much as she can. Arya is nearing four, and Jon is startled at how alike he and Arya are. They have the same long face, the same grey eyes and dark hair. They look like Starks. Robb and Sansa have red hair like their mother and clear blue eyes, and little Bran's eyes are blue and the tuft of hair on his mostly bald head is auburn.
Arya is the sister Jon wishes Rhaenys would be. He loves Rhaenys, but she keeps to herself. She used to spend more time with him when he was younger, until Aegon said something about Jon not truly being her brother.
At the Red Keep, Daenerys was the only true friend Jon had. She was gentle and sweet, but had a temper. She would not be cowed by her older brother, Viserys, or her nephew, who is older than her. Lyanna had once said something about Daenerys being a true dragon, and Jon couldn't help but smile at that.
But while at King's Landing he only had one friend, in Winterfell he is surrounded by friends. A year after his arrival the Ironborn rebel, and after the rebellion is quashed, Theon Greyjoy becomes a ward. He joins Robb and Jon in their lessons and training and games and squabbles.
As they grow older, the girls no longer play with them much. Arya still tries to run away when she can, skipping out on her lessons with the Septa. She's a wild one, and her will reminds him of Daenerys. Sansa listens to her mother though, and attends her lessons. She starts to spend more time with Jeyne Poole, and suddenly she never wants to go anywhere with them.
He meets her in a corridor one day when he is twelve and she is ten and she turns brighter than her hair.
"Sansa," he nods in greeting.
"Jon."
Her voice is high and strained and he raises a brow, much like how Lord Stark would.
"Are you alright?" he asks.
She nods, then twists her hands together nervously, "Jeyne just made me upset is all."
"What did she say?" Jon asks, walking next to her to continue on wherever she was going.
Watery blue eyes look at him, then away.
"She says you're to leave us, and when you do you'll never come back," she shares quietly.
"I am to leave, but not for many years. And when I do, I shall take you with me," Jon says after a moment's thought.
"Truly? You will take me to King's Landing?" she looks at him again, the sombre expression gone from her face.
"If Lord and Lady Stark allow it. Anything you want, cousin, just ask," Jon says lightly. He has missed Sansa. She has a calming effect on them all, and as much as he adores Arya, she's a handful.
Sansa responds by pulling him into a hug, turning pink, and scurrying down the corridor. Jon remains rooted in his spot, unsure of what that jolt he felt was when she had hugged him.
The royal retinue arrives in time for Jon's thirteenth name day. The King and Queen are accompanied by Aegon and Rhaenys and Daenerys and Viserys. Prince of Dorne, Doran Martell, the Hand of the King and Aegon and Rhaenys's grandfather, has been left in charge of running the kingdom. Rhaegar felt it imperative that after Tywin Lannister's ousting, the Dornish be soothed in some way as well as because of Rhaegar's feelings of guilt and remorse for Elia's death. Had Rhaegar known Elia would be harmed, he would have sent her and the children to Dorne along with Lyanna. He had cared for Elia, once. He loved her as a friend and companion, but never romantically. Still, every time he looks at Rhaenys, who is the perfect mix of both her parents, his heart aches. To soothe his own conscience, he made Doran Hand.
Daenerys and Arya get along well, which is no surprise to Jon. Sansa warms up to Rhaenys and Daenerys both. Robb and Theon try to welcome Aegon and Viserys, but the latter sneers at them while the former seems to find the North quaint and akin to some village.
Aegon does not find Sansa Stark 'quaint'. At barely eleven years old, she is turning into the spitting image of her mother, a truly beautiful lady. Jon notices the way Aegon leers at her, and the way Sansa smiles politely. Her smiles may be polite, but her discomfort is clear from her stiff posture. Jon nudges Robb, who swoops in to save his sister from the advances of the prince.
Jon does not notice the deflated expression Sansa wears on her face. He takes Daenerys for a tour of Winterfell, holding his aunt's hand in his. Robb and Sansa trail behind them, acting as perfect hosts. Sansa thinks Daenerys is the most beautiful girl she has ever seen, and Robb is clearly smitten. She fights a scowl as the girl with silver hair entwines her arm with Jon's. He smiles at her, and in the sunlight his eyes look violet, just like Daenerys's.
They go to the godswood and Daenerys looks around in wonder, letting the snowflakes rest on her face and eyelashes.
"Thank you for bringing me here," she squeezes Jon's hand while looking at the trees.
"I've missed you," he says quietly.
Sansa hears. Sansa freezes.
"And I, you. The Red Keep isn't the same without you," she confides with a small smile.
The royals depart days after Jon's name day. Lyanna attempts to coax him into leaving with them, but he steadfastly refuses. He is of the North. Lyanna understands. Would that she could, she'd disappear into the weirwood just to be home again. She loves Rhaegar, but once in a while she remembers she and he are the reasons her father and Brandon are dead. Why Robert is dead. She did not love Robert, but she did not wish for him to die.
Had she known he would incite a rebellion, she would have had Rhaegar speak to Lord Rickard for her hand in marriage after Elia had consented. (For Elia had consented. She knew she could not bear the 'third head of the dragon' and out of her respect for Rhaegar, whom she loved as a friend though not a husband, she agreed.) It is no use in what ifs, now. Lyanna regrets her son does not wish to return to King's Landing, but Winterfell is more home to him (and her) than the Red Keep will ever be.
His farewell with Daenerys is the longest, and he hugs her close, willing himself not to shed a tear. He is nearly a man grown. He needs to be strong. Dany pulls away from him and stands on her toes. She kisses him on the cheek and disappears into the carriage.
Sansa sees the way Jon smiles and she will never tell anyone of the way she cries herself to sleep that night.
He finds Sansa crying one day in the stables. He means to fetch his horse to go riding with Robb and Theon when he sees her sitting on a bale of hay, her knees brought to her chest.
"Sansa?" he says quietly.
She jumps from her perch, eyes wide and red and teary. She wipes at her face and wrinkles her nose.
"Yes?" she asks as if she'd not just been crying.
"What's the matter?" Jon asks, stepping forward.
"Am I ugly, Jon?" she asks bluntly. She and Arya share this trait. Sansa usually tries to be more polite, but she is also direct.
"Of course not. Why would you say such a thing?" Jon asks in surprise.
She sits back down on the bale of hay and scoots so Jon can sit next to her.
"Jeyne has been kissed, but I haven't. She said it was one of the boys from town, but she likes Theon. I know she does but she can't ever be Lady Greyjoy," Sansa starts to explain, rambling as only a twelve-year old could.
Jon nods, trying to process it, "Just because she's been kissed and you haven't doesn't mean you're ugly."
"Really?" she asks hopefully.
"Really," he offers her a small smile and pats her on the head like he would to Arya. But Sansa is not Arya, "You're the most beautiful girl I know."
Sansa nearly guffaws. She has seen Daenerys Targaryen, with her long silver-blonde hair and striking violet eyes and perfect curves and lovely smile. She supposes Jon is trying to be kind to her, and for that she is grateful. Are kindly meant lies really so horrible?
"Have you ever been kissed, Jon?" she asks, looking away in embarrassment.
"No," he shakes his head, "I hope it's not because I'm ugly."
"You're not ugly," she determines with a laugh. She looks serious for a moment and smiles, "You look a bit like Father when you're cross."
"So I've heard," Jon looks at the ground covered in hay.
"Jon?" Sansa says, drawing his gaze back to her.
"Hmm?"
She moves closer to him and cups his cheeks with her small, dainty hands, and kisses him softly. It's a quick kiss. Closed-mouthed, dry, and clumsy, but Jon thinks he'll never feel so happy ever again.
Sansa pulls away from him, blushing, and runs away, a smile on her face.
Somehow they keep up this game, this playing at kissing. It starts out innocently enough, but then things change. In the Great Hall for feasts and dinners Jon can't keep his eyes off of Sansa. He tries to avoid her in case he does something stupid. She in turn thinks he is mad at her and grows distant and quiet. He then confides in her of his worries, and she lets out a tinkling laugh before hugging him. Every once in a while they find each other in a secluded corridor or empty room to kiss, trying to convince themselves they are merely practising for their future wife and husband.
Jon is sixteen and set to return to the capital. He is giving his room a last fond look before he is thrown into the dragon pit once more. Eight years. He has been in Winterfell for eight years, and he does not wish to leave. Aunt Catelyn has seen that his luggage is attended to and she gave him a hug at dinner the night before.
"You have been with us for so long, I feel you are one of my own," she had told him. His heart swelled at that. All he really wants is to be a Stark. Then he had felt guilty, remembering how he and Sansa had played at kissing on and off for two years.
He is about to leave his room when Sansa appears in the doorway. She closes to the door and runs to him, kissing him hard on the mouth. It's nothing like before. He wraps his arms around her and she tangles her hands in dark unruly hair.
"You promised you would take me with you," Sansa whispers into his chest as he hugs her close.
"Aye, I did," he kisses the top of her head, "which is why you, Lady Catelyn, and Bran will be accompanying me."
Sansa backs away slightly, looking up at him.
"I spoke to your father after you told me you wished to see King's Landing. He and your mother agreed," he informs her.
"They have known about this for four years?" Sansa asks.
"Yes, my lady. Do you still wish to come to King's Landing?" Jon asks her, grey eyes meeting blue.
"More than anything," she smiles brightly and kisses him once more.
King's Landing is everything Sansa had hoped it to be and more. Her mother and Bran leave after three months in the capital, for Rickon is still so young and needs his mother back.
But still, she likes the capital. Aunt Lyanna is a peculiar lady and even more peculiar queen. She trains with the men and wears breeches whenever she pleases and sometimes Sansa thinks that Aunt Lya must have been a lot like Arya. The King is kind to her, if a bit distant, but his love for his Queen and his children and his siblings is clear. Viserys ignores her for the most part, but Rhaenys is more welcoming, and Daenerys is the most welcoming of all. Sansa is wary of Jon's aunt at first. She remembers her childhood jealousy and realizes that no, jealousy does not fade over time.
Aegon appears by her side constantly, and she is initially flattered by the attention, but it gnaws at her patience. While Daenerys and Jon go to the training yard or their lessons or even just for walks in the gardens, Aegon seeks her out. She tries to seek Jon out, and tag along with him and Daenerys, if only to get away from Aegon. But she cannot stand to see Jon and Daenerys together, laughing and exchanging japes and he looks at Dany the way she wishes he would look at her.
So Sansa distances herself once more. Jon raises a brow whenever she excuses herself from the room, and then he begins to avoid her altogether. She has been in the Red Keep for a year and he's not touched her since leaving Winterfell.
One night she steals into his chambers well into the night, silently congratulating herself for being just as stealthy as Arya.
She doesn't know what she expected to see. Maybe Daenerys curled up beside him, but he's all alone. She creeps closer to his bed and lightly sits herself down. She sheds the dressing gown, leaving her in a light blue chemise that reaches her ankles. The neckline is low, and the fabric stretches taut across pert breasts. The laces just under her bust hold the bodice together, and she pulls at it self-consciously. She lies down and Jon stirs at the weight. He turns, eyes still closed, and wraps his arms around her waist. Sansa stops breathing for a moment, and he says her name.
"Sansa," he murmurs.
She cranes her neck to look at him and his eyes are still closed and he cannot possibly know she is there. She turns in his arms and touches his stubbly cheek hesitantly. She then peppers light, feathery kisses on his forehead and eyes and mouth and jaw. His eyes open slowly and he smiles momentarily. In an instant his smile disappears and he nearly rolls off of the bed in shock.
Sansa stifles a giggle and leans over to see him on the ground. His shirt is missing and so are his breeches, and he scrambles around for the blanket to cover himself. Oh. Sansa lurches back onto the bed, thanking the gods he cannot see her flustered expression.
"What are you doing here?" he hisses, standing up.
"Do you no longer want me, my lord?" Sansa asks, staring directly into his eyes.
His brow furrows, "Why would you ask such a thing?"
"Daenerys," Sansa says simply.
"She is my aunt," Jon looks even more confused now.
He knows nothing, Sansa thinks.
"And I am your cousin." The malice in her voice startles him.
"I thought…I thought you wished for Aegon to court you. You have been spending more time with him. I thought you wanted to be Queen," Jon says slowly.
Sansa leaps from the bed and marches over to him. She pushes his shoulders back, glaring. She has only been spending more time with him because she felt Jon was slighting her. She thought he didn't want her anymore.
"You know nothing, Jon."
Her voice is icy and sharp. Before she can push him again he catches each wrist with his hands and brings a hand to his lips. Sansa's eyes widen and Jon steps closer to her. He lets go of her hands and instead holds onto her chin.
"You are my cousin. My sweet Sansa," Jon's voice is low and full of remorse.
"You're a Targaryen, are you not?" Sansa asks, knowing full well of the Targaryens incestuous lineage. For gods' sakes, Rhaella and Aerys were siblings. Surely Jon couldn't be so disgusted by the thought of his cousin.
"It's not the same. What if I were your brother?" Jon asks, brushing his thumb over her cheek.
"But you're not my brother. Please, Jon," her voice is small and her eyes are beginning to water.
His eyes wander over her face, down her slim neck and shoulders, to her breasts that are spilling over the bodice of her smallclothes, to her waist and her hips so beautifully outlined by the thin, clingy fabric.
He tilts her chin up and captures her lips with his and for once he is greedy. He cups her face with his hands and pushes her onto his bed and the scent of her hair and her skin (lavender and lemon, or something citrusy) fills his nose and he kisses her harder and deeper. Long fingernails claw at his naked back and he moves his hands from her face to her exposed collarbones. His thumbs ghost over her breasts and her nipples harden at his touch, straining against the thin cloth. He kneads and touches and pinches her gently, eliciting a moan. He pulls at the laces of her bodice, baring her pert breasts to him. He marvels at the sight of perfectly round breasts and dimpled, rose coloured nipples.
Jon presses kisses to her neck and there will undoubtedly be a mark on her in the morning. He moves his mouth down her body and engulfs a breast in his mouth while his hand works at tweaking and rubbing her other. Sansa's chest is heaving at this point and her hands bury in Jon's mess of curls. She closes her eyes and moans at the suction and small nips against her tender flesh. His tongue flicks against her pink, hardened nipple. Under his hand, her other nub pebbles. He lowers his other hand to her waist and to her legs. He pushes her legs apart and bunches her chemise up around her hips and Sansa bites his shoulder in order to stifle her moans.
"Jon," she sounds breathy and he falls to his knees in front of her. He pries her knees apart further and she moves to the edge of the bed, half lying down and unsure of what exactly she is supposed to do. He gently pushes her lips apart and puts a finger in her slowly. Sansa gasps and scrunches her eyes shut at the intrusion. He moves his finger in and out slowly, and her body shakes. He slips a second finger inside of her and she clenches around him, rocking her hips back and forth.
Jon kisses her on the mouth once more, all the while twisting his fingers inside of her. She's wet around him and her red curls are damp. He kisses down her neck and chest again, licking the breast he had ignored before. Her hands grip his hair tighter and he smiles against her. He continues his journey down her body, her bodice open to expose her swelling chest and her skirt hiked up around her waist.
He bends his head down and tastes her whilst pumping his fingers in and out and she bites her tongue so hard she draws blood. He laps at her, kissing and licking and sucking down her sweet wetness. She's red and swollen and her entire body is vibrating. Sansa breathes deeply, pulling at Jon's hair. She lifts her hips up and Jon's tongue darts deeper inside of her, his nose brushing against her sex. She lifts her legs up in the air, settling them over Jon's shoulders. Her hands clutch at the bed desperately while his tongue and fingers lunge in and out of her. She moves at the rhythm Jon has set, urging him to go deeper. The palm of his hand massages against her base and a third finger goes inside of her, causing her to cry out so loudly she's sure the criminals in the dungeons can hear. She can't hold herself any longer and she vaguely registers liquid running down her thighs and Jon finally lifting his head up.
"Jon," she murmurs, eyes glazed, a serene smile on her face.
He sits on the bed next to her and her gaze drifts to his manhood and she blushes. Without thinking, she reaches out to touch it, grabbing a hold of it through dark curls.
"Sansa," Jon growls.
She rubs her soft hand against his length, looking at it curiously. She doesn't know what it's supposed to look like, but it seems rather large. Her thumb and forefinger don't even meet when she wraps her hand around him. That is supposed to go inside of her, isn't it? She rubs her hand against him, thin fingers tickling him.
"Hmm," she makes a small sound and slides onto the floor, on her knees like Jon had just been.
"You don't have to do this," he says.
"I want to," she replies with a small smile.
Uncertainly, she brings her mouth to him and flicks her tongue against him tentatively. Jon rests his hands on her shoulders, his grip firm on her. She lifts his shaft up with one hand and licks him more assuredly. His nails dig into her bony shoulders and she sends him a wicked smile.
With her eyes trained on his, she bobs her head down, her lips enveloping around his length. Her tongue lashes out, licking and sucking and biting ever so gently. Her hand cups his balls and Jon throws his head back, eyes rolling into the back of his head. He bucks his hips forward, and Sansa takes more of him into her mouth. She slides her lips up and down his rigid length and releases him from her mouth in order to swirl her tongue around his tip. She circles him with her tongue, left and right, up and down. She licks him from base to tip, once, twice, three times, her tongue darting around a different area each time. Sansa hollows her cheeks, sucking on his tip before slowly making her way up his shaft. She can't fit the entirety of him in her mouth and she's not sure if she's supposed to. She leans her head back as if to make room, and Jon thrusts forward. She licks him as he inches ahead in her mouth, and Jon grunts her name.
Sansa Stark's mouth is around his cock. His sweet, sweet Sansa is sucking on him, minutes after he lapped at her juices. This is surely a dream, for this scenario has played out in his mind countless times before.
He feels himself reach his peak, and he leans his head down onto Sansa's shoulder.
"Sansa, I'm nearly finished," he closes his eyes and Sansa quickens her movements. His tip hits the back of her throat and she slides her mouth back down his length and instead kisses and licks him a few times. He spills his seed on her and he's horrified she'll be disgusted by him.
Sansa lets go of his now deflating manhood and wipes at her chest and soiled chemise.
"Did I do it right?" she asks, still on her knees.
"Very right," Jon croaks.
Sansa seems pleased with herself and she stands. Jon smiles at her, as if he can't believe she's real, and Sansa flushes. She's already pink and glistening with sweat from her exertion and arousal, so blushing doesn't add much colour to her cheeks. She pulls her smallclothes down, stepping out of them, leaving her as naked as Jon. She hesitantly sits on his lap and wraps her arms around his neck. He buries his head in the valley between her breasts, his hand absentmindedly stroking her back.
"Will you take me, Jon? As a man takes his wife?" she asks quietly.
"I cannot dishonour you," he starts, and Sansa sighs.
"And this wasn't dishonouring me?" she asks.
"I'm afraid, Sansa," Jon admits, looking up into her blue eyes, "I'm afraid Aegon will get his way and will marry you. I'm afraid I'll never get to touch you, hold you, or even look at you ever again. I'm afraid that if you are no longer a maid and he marries you, he will hurt you."
His voice is low and he looks ill at the thought of his brother even touching Sansa.
She presses her forehead against his, "I will never marry him."
She sounds so sure, Jon holds onto the small sliver of hope he has. Her eyes begin to close and he knows she is tired, her body having gone through something she'd never experienced. He'd never experienced it, either. Theon had taken him to one of the brothels in Winter Town once, but he could not go through with it. Up until now, he and Sansa had only touched each other with clothing as barriers.
Jon stands, lifting Sansa up, and places her carefully on the bed. He slides in next to her and pulls the heavy blankets over them.
They lie awake in the early morning hours, facing each other. Jon thinks she's the loveliest thing he's ever seen. His eyes trace over her body, repeatedly, for he tries to remember every curve and crevice and expanse of smooth skin. He will always remember her like this, with her hair dishevelled and in loose waves, tumbling down her back. She does much the same, taking in his muscles and abdomen and strong, muscular legs.
"Are you going to ignore me again?" Sansa asks quietly. Her body is still buzzing and she does not know how Jon knew how to use his tongue like that, but she does not ask.
"No," he answers firmly, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
Sansa becomes skilled at sneaking out of her chambers in the middle of the night. She also becomes skilled at stifling her moans. She remains a maid, for Jon does not take her as a husband takes his wife. He is afraid she will be married off. She is afraid, too, despite her hopes that Queen Lyanna will not allow her to be sent away or wed to Aegon. She wants Jon to steal her, to take her so no other man can.
Jon does not take her as a man takes his wife, but he does do that marvellous thing with his tongue, repeatedly. And she takes him into her mouth and swallows his seed after learning that no, she cannot quicken with child that way. She would not mind carrying Jon's child, but as long as the threat of marriage to Aegon looms over her head she will not risk it.
She is near sixteen and the time for her to wed draws nearer with each year she ages. It is a wonder Jon is not yet betrothed at seventeen, then again, Aegon remains unwed and tradition dictates he marry first. At nineteen, Aegon does not appear to be interested in anyone. Anyone, save Sansa.
She does not miss the way Aegon glares at Jon or makes off-handed rude remarks about Lyanna. Sansa's hands ball up into fists and she curtly reminds Aegon that Lyanna is his Queen and should be addressed with respect.
Aegon regards her curiously, surprised at her tenacity. Daenerys hides a smile at that, while Jon merely looks at Sansa with pride and adoration. Sansa is no dainty flower. Behind her beauty there is pure steel, but only Jon can seem to see that.
Aunt Lya pulls Sansa aside one day and tells her that Aegon has gone to Rhaegar to speak of asking for her hand.
Sansa refuses, the panic settling into her heart. She is nearing seventeen now, and as discreet as she and Jon are, she fears they have been found out. There are eyes and ears everywhere in the Red Keep and King's Landing, Lord Varys has his little spiders in every corner. Sansa sports red marks on her neck some days, and leaves her hair loose and flowing to cover them up. Other times she wears dresses with high necklines. Eventually she becomes paranoid and tells Jon only to leave his mark on her where no one can see, and he gladly obliges.
Still, they must be careful. There's only so much kissing and groping one can do in secluded studies before people start to notice. Lady Olena Tyrell and her granddaughter Margaery have also recently arrived in King's Landing, and as charming as Margaery is, Sansa senses that the girl is up to something, what with her little spiders of her own, in the form of her cousins.
"Please, no," Sansa clutches Lyanna's hands in terror. Aegon can be pleasant when he wants, but there is too much of the Mad King and of Viserys in him.
Lyanna tells her she will speak to Rhaegar. Rhaegar suggests every other eligible girl of age. Margaery Tyrell, Roslin Frey, Myrcella Martell (Cersei Lannister's and the Red Viper's daughter, Aegon's own cousin on Elia's side), anyone but Sansa.
"I want a Stark," Aegon says, cool violet eyes glaring into his father's warmer purple eyes.
Sansa later realizes the price for her happiness has been her only sister, and breaks down crying in Jon's arms. Jon wishes he could do something, but the matter is settled. He can only hope to protect Arya from Aegon's moods.
Arya Stark screams at the news her parents give her and rips the letter in half. She writes to Sansa and Jon, begging them to do something, all the while the maids pack her belongings.
She does not hug her parents goodbye. She hugs Robb and his new wife, Dacey of House Mormont. She hugs Bran, who tells her to be brave and cryptically says something about a bull. She hugs Rickon. She even would have hugged Theon, but he has returned to Iron Islands as his mother withers away from illness. She does not hug her parents.
"Arya, we have no choice," Ned tries.
Arya stares past her father and mother, lips pursed.
"I would sooner die than marry him," she says, then turns sharply to face her parents, "blood will be on your hands. Either mine or his."
She steps into the carriage and refuses to look out the window to see her home one last time. She is being torn away from all that she loves, just because of some stupid prince. She's surprised he doesn't want Sansa. Aegon had barely looked at her all those years ago at Winterfell. She feels ill upon coming to the realization that Aegon probably wants to emulate his father as much as possible. And who looks most like Lyanna Stark? Arya, that's who.
Next: Arya arrives in King's Landing and meets Gendry, while Sansa and Jon try to figure out how to deal with Aegon's pestering.