Sansa pushed open the door quietly, and slid inside the room. She leaned against the wall, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness of only a few torches. Near the front of the room, there was a few barrels of grain, some burst open and spilling onto the stone floor. There were shelves against the back wall, also covered in food storage. One of the shelves was moved aside, and the brick wall seemingly pushed in, revealing a door. In the room the door led too, Jon glanced up, and waved her in.
She sat on an empty crate, watching Jon shuffle through a leather pouch of letters. The smaller, hidden room was lined with crates and bookshelves.
"What is this place?" she asked. She always thought there was only grain storage down here.
"Father kept records down here." he said. "Hardly anyone knew of it, thankfully, so it was missed when the Bolton's sacked the place. Rob mentioned it once."
"Are you looking for something?"
He shrugged. "Something that wouldn't be here. But it's worth looking for. And it gives me peace to look, I guess."
She watched him as he worked for a moment. Jon was so calm most of the time, a trait Sansa found herself attracted to. After the pure chaos of her existence, from the constant torment of Joffery, the death of her father, the death of Joffery and being on the run, the scheming of Littlefinger and then the terror of Ramsay. But now Jon, reserved and quietly fierce, a pillar of strength in a crumbling world. She felt as though the gods had finally sent her a blessing, and given her exactly what she needed.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked after a long moment.
"I'm not sure." she said softly.
He set down the letters, and crossed the room. He knelt beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"It's not exhaustion sickness." she said. "And Ramsay hasn't left me without a final parting gift."
He blinked, and then his mouth opened in abject horror.
"Sansa-" he began, but she shook her head.
"He's still here. I thought we won but...we haven't. He's still here."
"No." he said, his voice rough. "No, Ramsay is dead, Sansa. What left of him is in the cold hard ground and we are here, in our home."
"The child will be a Bolton, Jon." she said through clenched teeth. "Unless you are legitimized, the name Bolton will live in Winterfell long after us." she said.
"Sansa." he said. "It would be a Stark, and a Stark alone. Nobody would question it."
"Of course they would." she hissed. "Maybe not the people of the north, but legally..." she trailed off. "I have to kill it, Jon. I can't have it. I can't."
"You know as well as I you'd be putting your life at risk, if you tried anything." he said. She bit down on her bottom lip, willing the tears gathered in her eyes not to fall.
"I don't know what else to do." she said.
"We could..." he trailed off, thinking. "We could write to the northern houses, for someone's son. Wed you quick enough-"
"No more strangers." she said. "Not for a long time."
"Alright." he sighed. "I'm so sorry. You don't deserve this torment."
She closed her eyes, pressing her gloved fingers against them. They sat in silence. Jon looked at her, at her undone red hair falling in waves. At the way her eyes seemed so young and old, all at once. She had grown into a breathtaking beauty, nobody could deny that.
"Could I legitimize you?" she asked. "As the Head of my house, could I?"
"I don't know." he admitted. "I think if there's a chance Bran is alive, but...I don't know how powerful you are."
She gave him a look.
"You are about the only person I trust, Jon." she said. "We can ask the maester, but if I'm remembering correctly, only a king or the father...if you were legitimate you could legally change the child's name to Stark."
"The father. Our father." he said, and stood. He gathered some papers and brought them to her. She looked down at the handwriting of Ned Stark, ran her fingers over it. "We could find a legitimizing order, down here, Sansa."
"We don't know if that exists." she said, in a questioning tone.
"We look to see if it does. If it doesn't, your script is close enough to his..."
She nodded, putting the pieces together.
"And you know he'd do it, Father would, in these circumstances." she said, and smiled. "It's brilliant. Come on, let's look."
For the next few hours, they tore the room apart. They read every dull correspondence about security patrols, ale shipments, bickering houses. They found pieces of journals, with dates, Ned writing down a memorable interaction or milestone with his children. They laughed to the brink of tears about one noteable disaster in which Arya had set free the goats by accident, not closing the pen in the midst of play. They'd chased the 40 odd flock of goats around the courtyard for an hour, hoping they could catch them before Ned found out. He did, and he walked out of his room to see all of his children running like chickens in the muddy courtyard, following the goats in gleeful desperation.
Even though they had the moment of laughter, the hours passed and nothing was found. Sansa sat in a corner, and was just about to put ink on parchment, when something caught her eye.
Near the base of the floor, in the stones lining the wall, she caught a shadow of something. She moved quickly, crossing the room, falling on her hands and knees. Just barely, she saw the outline of their house sigil.
She crept closer, leaning down to inspect it.
"Bring your knife!" she called, and in a moment she felt Jon beside her.
"Do you see that?" she asked, indicating the small sigil.
"Aye." he said, and stuck his knife between the rock and the cement. After a few moments of careful work, he'd loosened the rock enough to pull it out.
He stuck his hand in the hole, feeling for anything. After a moment, he pulled out a glass box. He opened it, carefully, setting the delicate lid on the floor. Inside was a letter, folded neatly, with "Ned" on the front.
"Looks like your script, too." he noted, and Sansa leaned over, trying to get a better look.
He opened it, and began to read aloud:
"Ned,
You must swear to me and all the gods to protect my son if everything falls apart. No matter what happens, it can not be known to anyone who he is. You know as well as I do Robert's appetite for vengeance is stronger than any other. So protect him, keep him safe, do what you have to.
Do that, for me, if nothing else.
Lyanna"
Sansa's eyes were wide as he finished.
"Aunt Lyanna had a son? At the end of Robert's rebellion, that must have been-"
She met eyes with his.
"The end of the rebellion. That's when father brought you home." she whispered.
Jon felt a crushing blow of complete loneliness. Now, not even was he a bastard of who he thought was his father, but a bastard of a complete stranger. Disconnected from all his siblings, now. A double bastard. A Stark and Targaryen bastard.
"Well." he said gruffly. "That doesn't help us any."
"Oh, Jon." Sansa said, realizing the look on his face. Now twice orphaned. She felt a stab of grief for him low in her chest. "We'll legitimize you."
"And what if anyone finds out, Sansa? That not only am I not even his son...but a nephew?" he asked. "Or if anyone living knows, aside from you and me. They'll know it would be a falsified document."
"Nobody knows." she said. "Just you and I. Please. Let me do this for you. For us."
There was a long pause. He swallowed, thinking how he much rather be Ned Stark's son than a Targaryen, a house he knew nothing about, had no pride for when he saw their banners fly.
As thought Sansa heard his thoughts, she leaned towards him, stroking his face.
"You are a Stark, Jon." she said as comfortingly as possible. "Either way, that is what matters."
He nodded.
"Come, help me make sure I can make it identical." she said. She stood, crossing to the desk and taking a seat.
She pulled out a stack of her father's letters, and examined the script with careful scrutiny.
Jon was behind her again, leaning over her shoulder.
Sansa startled as she realized how aware of him she felt. It was as though something clicked together in her brain, and changed her senses. She could feel how close he was to her arm, hear his breathing, calmly waiting. She looked at his hand on the table, strong and wide. Covered in bruises, and with a bandage around two of his fingers. She wondered for a moment, vaguely, how the roughness would feel on her bare skin.
She shook her head, looking down at the paper, brushing away the feelings as quickly as they came.
"It is quite similar to mine, isn't it?" she laughed, thinking of her father. Feeling a small connection to him. She tried to savor it for a moment. "Perhaps we should know how to phrase it?" she said, sounding concerned.
"I'll tell you what to write, I've looked it up before." he admitted. She didn't say anything, as he sounded a bit embarrassed.
He spoke slowly, watching her long fingers pen carefully what was nearly an exact replica of Ned's text. Anyone who knew him or corresponded with him, or even just saw the papers he had here...it was nearly foolproof.
"There." she said after a while, finishing the letter off with his signature. "Now this." she said, and stood, handing him the letter written from Lyanna.
"It might be dangerous to keep." he said.
"We could put it...back where we found it. It's very well hidden-" she tried to bargain with him.
"This room will be under complete scrutiny as soon as we tell anyone about that." he nodded towards the legitimizing letter. "We must burn it."
"And must never mention this again." she said in agreement. He nodded. He took the letter, looked at it for a long time. Longingly, maybe. Then he crossed the room, and tossed it into the flames.
"It's done with." he said.
"I think you should go reveal this to the maester." she said, folding the parchment neatly, following him to the hearth.
"And then we can christen your child Stark." he said. The word 'child' brought tears to her eyes again, and she felt the raw fear deep in her belly.
"Sansa," he said, reaching for her. "It'll be alright, you understand? I'll be here, and we'll be here together. I'll help you, every step of the way. You're not alone in this, not anymore."
"How can I keep him safe?" she asked. "How can I even look at him...at it." she spat, looking down at her own belly. "It's his poison in me, growing."
"It's not just him, Sansa." he said. "It's you, it's yours. You'll give him all the love and strength you already carry in your heart. You'll teach him to be brave, to survive. Like you've done. To be as stubborn and determined, and as...scary as you."
This won him a small smile.
"There. And now-" he motioned to her letter. "Now I can assure him he'll be just as Stark as us."
"Thank you." she said, and leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek. She stuffed the letter into his hands, and watched him as he walked away.