To the anonymous reviewer who called this a 'f-ed' up retelling of Robert's Rebellion' I'd like to kindly point out that this is an AU. Robert wasn't sentenced to death, he was killed at the Trident instead of Rhaegar, which I'm pretty sure was mentioned in one of the chapters (four or five, I think). If not, my apologies. Ned obviously feels horrible about the deaths of his brother, father, and best friend, and Aerys truly was mad, but it's been twenty years. He's worked past that and tries to support his sister however he can, and that support means being civil with Rhaegar.

I also made a mistake in mentioning 'Joffrey Martell' in chapter 5. There's no Joffrey, just Myrcella. Sorry! I'm also very sorry for the wait, but classes have gotten to be very demanding early this semester.

KING'S LANDING

Sansa fidgets, staring at herself in the mirror. Her hair is half up in intricate braids, with the rest in curls down to her waist. Catelyn laces up Sansa's dress, a crisp Stark white with grey embellishments at the wide sleeves. The dress skirts over her slightly rounded stomach, hiding her pregnancy from view.

"You look beautiful," Catelyn says, knotting the last tie.

"Really?" Sansa chews on her lip.

Catelyn smiles and squeezes her daughter's shoulder, "You're already married, you've nothing to worry about."

"The Targaryens keep the Seven. What if he changes his mind?" Sansa asks nervously. Lyanna and Jon keep to the old gods, but the king and his other children don't.

Catelyn shakes her head, amused, and moves to sit Sansa down on the bed.

"Jon has been in love with you for ages, sweetling. You made a child together," Catelyn says with a small smile.

Sansa smiles back, a bit hesitantly. She feels a bout of nausea, but manages to hold it back. Catelyn runs her fingers through Sansa's red curls, making sure they're just right.

"I wish Robb were here. And Arya," she says quietly.

Carelyn nods and pats Sansa on the shoulder.

"It's time, dear."

The Great Sept of Baelor is splendid, as it was for Aegon's wedding. Jon wears black with just a hint of red on his cuffs and stands next to the Septon. He's shaved for the occasion, mostly at Daenerys's insistence. His aunt sits with his sister, and his parents, who are essentially babysitting Rickon and Bran. Viserys sits with Arianne and the Martells, and Lady Cersei looks extremely unenthused about the ceremony. Rhaenys sits next to Lyanna, Bran on her other side, and Rickon next to him. Daenerys sits at the aisle seat to keep Rickon from running off.

Catelyn walks in quietly, not making a fuss at all. Daenerys stands to switch seats with Rickon, Catelyn takes the aisle seat. Daenerys sits back down and tosses her long silver hair over her shoulder.

"How is she?" Dany asks in a whisper, leaning behind Rickon to speak to Cat.

"Nervous, but fine," Catelyn answers with a small smile.

The doors to the Sept open, and Sansa walks down the steps, smiling nervously. Her grip around Ned's arm tightens, and he smiles at his daughter. Her maiden cloak, white with a direwolf, trails behind her.

She looks up after reaching the bottom step and her eyes meet Jon's. He looks younger, with his beard shaved, but he's still her Jon. His eyes light up the instant he sees her, and a smile crosses his face. She smiles back, practically beaming. The uneasiness she felt moments ago dissipates the closer she gets to Jon.

Ned lets go of her and kisses her on the forehead, nods at Jon, and makes his way to sit next to Cat.

The Septon speaks, but neither Sansa nor Jon pay him much notice. Their eyes are trained on each other, and they parrot the words the Septon says without a thought. He takes the Stark cloak off her shoulders, and Sansa feels a pang of loss. This one was made especially for her, so they wouldn't have to borrow Aunt Lyanna's again. He drapes the Targaryen cloak around her, and she smiles. It's familiar enough, to have Jon's heavy cloak around her. It makes her feel warm and safe.

The High Septon declares them wed, forever and ever, and Jon takes Sansa's hand, gripping it tightly in his own. He pulls her close and she smiles, letting him press a quick, chaste kiss to her lips.

They turn to leave the Sept, and Lyanna and Catelyn look to be on the verge of tears, Ned's eyes are glassy, and Daenerys and Rhaenys are smiling and waving as they pass. Even Aegon looks happy, a small smile on his face.

The Great Hall is as grand as it was for Aegon's wedding, but instead of red and pink and yellow roses, they are white and blue, and the hall is decorated with flakes of gold and silver and fake snow.

Upon their arrival to the hall, Sansa's eyes tear up at the bunches of flowers in each corner and table. It even smells like home.

The food is served as soon as everyone is seated. Rhaegar stands and toasts his youngest son and his bride, much as he had for Aegon and Margaery.

The hall of revellers raise their goblets and cheer while Jon and Sansa look down at their plates with flushed faces. Lyanna discreetly dabs at her eyes with a napkin, mad at herself for acting like a silly girl. Catelyn reaches her arm across the dais and takes Lyanna's hand. Grey eyes meet blue and Catelyn smiles at her goodsister. Lyanna offers a watery smile back. They're both ridiculous, women grown, crying at their children's weddings.

The appetizers are cleared and before the main course is served, the music starts. Sansa looks at Jon and he offers her his hand. She seems surprised, and she smiles at him. Jon will dance despite his indifference towards the activity for Sansa's smiles. He'll do anything for her, he thinks. Sense tells him he shouldn't, that a man should not bend to his wife's wishes so easily. But she's Sansa and he's Jon and it's always been them. Even when they were children running around Winterfell, they were drawn to each other. Both were mindful of their courtesies, listened to Lord and Lady Stark more than the rest of Sansa's siblings, and while they may have distanced themselves from each other the older they got, they were still, well, them.

They glide (Sansa glides, he stomps) onto the dance floor in the Great Hall, and pulls her close to him. She presses her chin onto his shoulder, for she's nearly as tall as he is. He breathes in the lavender in her hair and sighs contentedly. Nothing can tear them apart now, not the King, not Aegon, not the gods, nothing.

Lyanna and Rhaegar take to the floor, as do Aegon and Margaery. The younger couple twirls towards the newlyweds.

"Sansa, we're sisters now," Margaery says with a bright smile.

Aegon nods, gazing at his wife. Sansa struggles to hide a laugh. Aegon never really liked her, he just wanted what Jon had. Except now Aegon is wed to the prettiest girl in all the Seven Kingdoms (or so they say, but they say the same of Sansa, Daenerys, Rhaenys, and of Allyria Dayne, and Myrcella Martell) and quite possibly the cleverest.

"I've always wanted an older sister," Sansa says with a smile. It looks genuine enough, but Jon can tell it's forced. She misses Arya. They all miss Arya.

"We'll have so much fun," Margaery grins, and now Sansa's smile is real.

Aegon and Jon share a look, and the two decide to separate their wives before they're forgotten entirely.

Jon's dance is interrupted when Ned Stark swoops in to dance with his daughter, and Jon ends up finding himself dancing with Lady Catelyn.

"Aunt Catelyn," he greets.

"I suppose I'm your aunt and mother-in-law now," Catelyn points out, and Jon nods.

"It's not…strange is it?"

"No, my dear. It's not," Catelyn says calmly, reassuringly, in the way only she can, and the way Sansa's learned to do. "You came to us when you were a boy, yes, and we tried not to treat you so differently from the children…"

"But I'm not your son," Jon finishes, "not part of the pack."

Jon looks down and Catelyn lifts his chin up, blue eyes unflinching.

"Never think you're not part of this family. You are Targaryen in name but Stark in spirit and heart. For a long time I thought I was an outsider, too," she says.

Jon scoffs, because his aunt seems so at home in Winterfell.

"It's true. I thought I was out of my element, a fish surrounded by wolves," Catelyn explains, then smiles, "but I was wrong. Just yesterday Cersei Martell frowned at me and said I've become a real she-wolf in my later years."

She's smiling, practically laughing at the intended insult Lady Cersei flung at her. Jon smiles, too. It's not an insult at all.

"You're just as much a Stark as any of us. Keep my daughter safe and happy," she says, adding a request.

"Of course, my lady," Jon nods, and Catelyn pats his shoulder.

Across the floor, Sansa dances with her father.

"Are you sure you're okay to dance so much?" Ned asks, glancing at his daughter's imperceptible belly.

"Father, please, it's my wedding day. Let me dance as much as I want," Sansa requests.

"If you and Jon ever want to return to Winterfell," Ned lowers his voice, and Sansa grins.

"We're planning on requesting a leave tomorrow," Sansa whispers.

Ned lets out a relieved smile and presses a kiss to his daughter's forehead.

"They've made a dragon out of you," he sighs.

"No, we've officially made Jon a wolf," Sansa corrects, earning a laugh.

Ned loves his nephew as his own, and is glad his daughter is in good hands.

After much dancing, eating, and celebrating, the crowd thins as those with young children retire for the evening.

It nears time for the bedding and the women begin to gather around Jon, and the men around Sansa.

"There will be none of this," Jon announces, jaw set in annoyance.

The girls back away and he stalks over to where Sansa is surrounded. They scatter away from the cross prince. Jon lifts Sansa off her feet with ease, and carries her out of the Great Hall, much to the amusement of most wedding guests.

"How barbaric," Cersei mutters into her goblet of wine.

Ellaria and Oberyn had disappeared ages ago, and Tyrion, finally being useful for something, distracts Myrcella from the shy smiles of the Stark boy.

She sees Rhaegar and Lyanna smiling and laughing, and pours herself another drink. She should've been Queen. Her father had promised her that. She would be Queen and her son would be a king. Now her father's dead, Jaime's at the Wall, and all she has is some silly Dornish title proclaiming her a princess, a husband who ignores her, and a daughter. At least in Dorne daughter can inherit, she tries to comfort herself with that thought. She should have listened to Jaime. She should have married him. If the Targaryens could sin why couldn't Lannisters? She will see Jaime again, one day.

What are you doing, dear brother? she wonders.

THE WALL

"Fucking shitting fuck," Jaime mutters under his breath, rubbing his hands together.

It's bloody cold up North, and even colder at the Wall. Stark's brother, Benjen, had disappeared beyond the Wall weeks ago, and there was no word yet. It's been twenty years, and Lord Commander Mormont still looks at him like he's a common criminal.

Old Maester Aemon is the only one who shows him a little kindness besides the uneasy courtesies of Benjen Stark, but the man's blind and a fool, muttering about dragons and shooting stars and whatnot. Jaime scoffs. Clearly he and his great-great-great (great?) grand nephew share the same delusions, and Cersei wanted to marry Rhaegar, once upon a time.

He sours at the thought of Rhaegar, of the entire Targaryen lot. Prince Rhaegar stole himself a bride like a damned wildling and thousands paid for it in blood. Now the news is that both princes are getting married. They say eldest looks like a combination of Elia Martell and his father, while it's said the youngest looks more like Ned Stark than the man's own children.

How well did you love your sister, Ned? Jaime thinks to himself. When he heard old Ned's nephew is to marry Ned's daughter, he burst out laughing. Benjen had sent him a glare when Jaime asked if they're entirely sure the prince isn't Ned's son, given the descriptions of him.

It's lucky Benjen didn't run him through then and there. Jaime would rather live to see the next day, because he has hope he'll see Cersei again one day. He lives through the cold and shovelling out these damned stables, hands frozen around the wooden handle, for Cersei. Live for Cersei, live for Tyrion.

KING'S LANDING

Jon sets Sansa gently down on the featherbed in their chambers, having carried her up the winding staircases and down the corridors. She smiles at him, and he grins, untying his leather jerkin.

Sansa stands and her fingers move deftly and Jon stares at her, transfixed. Her eyes don't meet his and he places his hands on her shoulders and nudges her forehead with his. She looks up, and he kisses her. Her hands let go of the ties and she wraps her arms around his neck, running her fingers through the curls of his hair. His cheek doesn't burn against hers since he's clean-shaven for once, but she doesn't want the stubbly in-between period between this and his beard. She likes his usual beard.

Jon removes the pins from her hair as best he can with his eyes closed, and Sansa laughs against his mouth. She breaks the kiss and quickly takes out the pins and the braids fall away, Catelyn's work undone. Jon wonders how girls are so good at that without even looking in a mirror. Before he has time to ponder it, Sansa is kissing him again and he's so, so happy.

Sansa steers him onto the bed and settles onto his lap.

"My wife," he mumbles, alternating between kissing her mouth and her neck.

"We've been married for a bit now," she refers to their elopement.

"Now I don't have to hide it," he says, looking up at her.

"Never again, my dear husband," she reaches behind her to unlace her dress.

Jon takes her hand and she shifts, turning around. Jon pulls at the ties, watching them come undone. Sansa gathers her hair over one shoulder and Jon pulls the dress down, the bodice pooling at her waist. He then turns his attention to the shift over her smallclothes. He damns the layers she wears and works quickly. Sansa stands, letting the dress fall to the floor and soon the shift goes with it. Jon's fingers ghost across her bare skin and she shivers.

She turns back around, barely covered in the gauzy fabric. Her stomach is still flat, but there's a barely perceptible roundness beginning to take shape. Jon tilts his head and Sansa smiles at the wonder on his face.

His hand finds its way to rest on her stomach and she tells him they won't be able to feel much for quite a while.

"But you're feeling well? No more nausea…?" Jon asks.

"I'm fine, Jon. More than fine," she says.

Jon pulls her close again and wraps his arms around her, head resting between her breasts and stomach.

"Can you hear anything?" she asks in amusement.

He furrows his brow, trying to concentrate. He hears Sansa's heartbeat, but it sounds distant.

"Jon," Sansa says quietly.

He looks up.

"You're overdressed," she informs him.

She pulls him to his feet and rids him of the leather jerkin that had been forgotten, then pulls the black tunic over his head. She unlaces his black breeches and she bites back a retort that he could join the Night's Watch with Uncle Benjen, what with one of the main Targaryen colors being black.

He steps out of them and Sansa presses a kiss to his lips.

"Sansa," Jon strokes her hair that glows in the candlelight.

"They're going to want to see blood, Jon," Sansa reminds him.

"I have a plan," Jon moves away from her and pulls the covers on the bed back. He takes a small dagger out of a drawer next to the bed and brings it to his palm.

"Don't you dare," Sansa snaps, taking the dagger from him.

"It'll just be a small cut," Jon says, "to preserve your honor—"

"To the seven hells with my honor. You took my maidenhead. We weren't married then, but we are now. The servants already gossip and the courtiers wouldn't dare say anything about the prince's wife," Sansa tries to reason, "and when the baby is born earlier than expected—"

Now, Jon interrupts. She has given a speech that was very similar once before, on the day they took each other's maidenheads.

"We'll announce that we were secretly wed in the godswood nearly two moons ago, married under the sight of the old gods, with Arya as a witness, as not to upstage Aegon's wedding," Jon says.

Sansa lets out a relieved smile, and Jon takes her hand. She sits down on his lap and kisses him slowly. Her fingers dig into his back, and before she knows it she's on the bed and Jon looms above her.

"I love you," he says quietly, drawing his thumb in circles on her leg.

"And I love you," she closes her eyes, letting Jon draw his fingers higher up her leg. Gods, they don't have to hide anymore. She smiles and Jon kisses her.

BRAAVOS

After a few weeks, Arya isn't as pale as she had been. She had been burned red and blistering for several days, but her skin is now a few shades darker from the sun. Gendry is even darker that she is, what with him being tanner than her from the beginning. He even teased her about his fair lady's delicate skin.

Arya smiles to herself, and shakes her head. She's walking towards the smithy, Needle sheathed at her side. She drags her hand along the stone walls distractedly.

Her path is suddenly blocked.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing all by yourself?" a young man asks in the Braavosi dialect of Valaryian.

Arya scowls and tries to move past him. He tries to put his hands on her and she unsheathes Needle, sticking it against his side. His eyes widen and he backs away.

"Crazy bitch," he mumbles, taking off in the opposite direction.

Arya rolls her eyes and continues on her way, Needle still in her hand. She gets strange looks from some men and women, but she's used to that. The Acadamy where Syrio had trained still won't give her the time of day and sometimes she hates being a girl. She wishes Syrio were here so he can vouch for her, but he's still in King's Landing.

She sighs. Today is Jon's and Sansa's wedding. She hopes it's nice, and she hopes they're happy. Mother and Father and Bran and Rickon are there, too. A tear pricks at her eyes but she blinks it back. She made her choice. Gendry is her family now. If they can't accept him, then she won't ever go back.

KING'S LANDING

The announcement that Jon and Sansa had eloped, and that the wedding was just a formality, causes quite a buzz. Now they are all at breakfast together, and Rhaegar announces he has gifts for his children.

A servant sets an ornate wooden crate on the table, and Rhaegar opens it.

Dragon eggs. One of each of his children.

"One for Aegon, for his wedding," he hands a large egg to his eldest son, "one for Rhaenys for her impending travels," he continues, and Rhaenys takes it carefully, "and one for Jon, for his wedding."

Jon takes the egg as gingerly as Rhaenys had. Viserys glares up at his brother, mouth a thin line.

"Those should have been ours," he says suddenly, "mine and yours and Dany's."

"Viserys," Daenerys tries to soothe her brother.

"No!" he shouts, standing, "they aren't true Targaryens! Martells and Starks, the lot of them. We're the last ones, don't you see? The last pure Targaryens. Those dragon eggs should be ours," he begins to rant.

"Viserys, sit down," Daenerys's voice is as cold as ice, and she tugs on her brother's sleeve.

He turns to glare at his sister now, "You're okay with this?"

"They are our niece and nephews," Dany says calmly, controlling her temper.

"They're no dragons," Viserys sneers, and steps away from the table. He stalks off to sulk in private and Daenerys closes her eyes for a moment to calm herself.

"I'm sorry about your uncle, children," Rhaegar says, sitting down, "let's just enjoy breakfast, shall we?"

Sansa grips Jon's hand tightly under the table. Margaery tries to coax a smile out of Aegon, and Lyanna decides to strike up a conversation with Rhaenys.

Ned and Catelyn look at each other, then around the rest of the table. Ned's this close to taking Sansa and Jon back to Winterfell with them without even asking. Bran looks pensive, and Rickon mumbles about angry people ruining his appetite.

"Father, we'd like to go to Winterfell with Lord and Lady Stark," Jon says, looking up from his meal.

Rhaegar's pale brows furrow and he glances at Lyanna. She bites her lip. Her son has chosen her brother and his wife over his own parents. It stings.

"But the child," Rhaegar starts.

"I'm fine to travel, your grace. We'd reach Winterfell in a moon's turn. Please, I haven't been home in three years," Sansa's eyes look watery, as if she's about to cry.

And I've not been home in twenty, Lyanna thinks, not counting the short visit for Jon's thirteenth nameday almost seven years ago.

"Please let Sansa and Jon come home," Rickon pipes up, all childish innocence.

"It'll be a honeymoon," Aegeon says with a small smile.

"We could go to Highgarden," Margaery suggests, trying to ease the tension, "after all the future king should see the lands he will one day govern."

Sansa has to smile at Margaery for sounding so warm and clever all at once. The future queen has a head for politics.

Rhaegar takes a sip of honeyed wine and slams the goblet on the table.

"My children will not be leaving. Rhaenys and Daenerys off travelling is one thing, but you two, cowing to your wives' wishes is an entirely different matter. They are no longer a Stark and a Tyrell. They are Targaryens."

Lyanna sends a cool glare to Rhaegar, "They are men grown and don't need your permission, your grace."

"King Rhaegar, please do let Sansa and Jon come to visit. It's not like they'll be staying long. Just enough to quell her homesickness," Catelyn says diplomatically.

"I'm going, too," Lyanna says, "if Jon goes, I go."

"Lyanna," Rhaegar starts, then sighs, "Very well. Arrangements will be made. And when do you two wish to visit Highgarden?"

"In two weeks' time, perhaps," Aegon says, and Margaery nods with a small smile.

Daenerys and Rhaenys leave first, going with the Martells to Dorne first. From there, they'll take a ship to the Free Cities. Quentyn still tries to charm Daenerys, but she deflects his attentions onto Rhaenys, who stays quiet.

They will be away from King's Landing for several moons. By the time they return, Sansa's child will likely be born.

Before they leave, Dany hugs her nephews close, and even hugs Viserys. She hugs Rhaegar and promises she'll take care of Rhaenys. A member of the Kingsguard, Ser Arys, goes with them, more for Rhaeneys's protection than Dany's.

She wishes Sansa good health, and curtsies to the Starks. Bran Stark looks a bit dismayed by Myrcella's departure as Cersei Martell ushers her into the wheelhouse.

Myrcella stops before going inside, turns around, and waves.

"Bye, Bran," she smiles at him.

Bran waves back, and Catelyn frowns slightly. Bran is far too young to be preoccupied with girls already. Cersei has a similar look on her face, and their gazes meet. At least they can agree on this.

Rhaenys is busy saying goodbye to her father, stepmother, and brothers. She hugs Jon and Aegon, then Lyanna, then finally Rhaegar.

"You remind me so much of your mother," Rhaegar sighs, "the moment you wish to return home…" he trails off.

"I know, Father," she smiles at him.

She leaves his embrace, says goodbye to her goodsisters and the assembled in-laws, then departs with Daenerys and the Martells.

The Starks leave next. Rhaenys had taken her dragon egg with her, as if possessed by some force greater than her, and Jon is now doing the same. His egg rests in a small, cushioned box. Sansa had looked at him strangely, and he shrugged.

"If you found a direwolf, would you keep it?" he had asked.

"I don't know," Sansa replied, pursing her lips, "maybe, if it was a pup."

"This is a dragon pup, then."

"Jon, you know there haven't been any dragons for ages and ages."

"I know."

He doesn't tell her about his dreams of strange creatures with shockingly blue eyes or howling wind and snow. He doesn't tell her of the fires and the burning buildings and burning bodies. They're just dreams, after all.

Jon and Sansa bid farewell to Margaery, Viserys, Aegon, and Rhaegar. Rhaegar looks solemn, and Sansa can now see the resemblance between him and Jon.

Rhaegar kisses Lyanna's cheek, and she looks at him tiredly.

"We'll be back," she says simply.

"Will you?" Rhaegar asks, knowing she's longed for the North for so long.

Lyanna sighs, "My stupid prince."

His mouth tugs into a small smile. If she still insults him like that, there's still hope. Perhaps some time apart will do them both good.

Without further fanfare, Jon and Ned mount their horses, surrounded by a guard of Stark bannermen. Sansa, Catelyn, Lyanna and the boys sit in the wheelhouse, and soon they're out of sight of the Red Keep. Lyanna thinks she'll ride later, but for that she'll wait until they're on the Kingsroad. She refused a Kingsguard accompaniment, saying that she and Jon are perfectly safe.

Ned glances at Jon as they ride, and he speaks quietly.

"I will be going to Storm's End shortly after our arrival home," he says.

"What, why?" Jon asks.

"Lord Baratheon wishes to find his nephew and Arya. He asked the King to legitimize him as heir to the Storm Lands since he's Robert's eldest son, but the King refused."

Jon's jaw set tightly, and his grip on the reigns strengthened.

"Why would Father refuse?" Jon asks in confusion, "Arya's reputation will remain in tact, the smith could become a lord and they'd still get to be together."

Jon doesn't understand why his father does not wish for Arya to be found. Aegon is wed and happy with Margaery. Arya's in no danger from that, nor is she likely to accept any offers for her hand. All he wants is for his family to be together and happy again, and his father is destroying his hopes. He wonders why his uncle tells him this now, but he doesn't dwell on it.

"Old grudges, I'm afraid," Ned says with a sigh, "Robert was my best friend. The least I can do is make sure his son is safe and cared for. If I had known he had a son with no mother, I should've looked after him. I knew about the older girl, but her mother is still alive…" Ned trails off, lost in thought. He failed Brandon and Father, and he failed Robert. Sometimes he thinks he failed Lyanna, too. Lyanna and Jon, both. But they're coming home now. Once they find Arya and Robert's son (Gendry, Ned reminds himself to use the boy's name) everything will be all right.

Up next: Travels North, more from Braavos, travels from Dorne across the Narrow Sea, a departure for Highgarden with an extra guest (coughRenlyandLorascough) and plotting. This is starting to get really, really convoluted. Then again, it's called A Tangled Web for a reason. Thank you for reading.