A lot of the things which happen in the show will still happen in this story, but not necessarily in the same order. Sansa is being smart and using the time wisely; she knows roughly how long they've got because of the timelines she has made.

In this chapter, Jon is being Jon, aka brooding, and Sansa is plotting. If you look hard enough, you might find a bit of fluff. ;)

Jon

A lot of the things which happen in the show will still happen in this story, but not necessarily in the same order. Sansa is being smart and using the time wisely; she knows roughly how long they've got because of the timelines she has made.

In this chapter, Jon is being Jon, aka brooding, and Sansa is plotting. If you look hard enough, you might find a bit of fluff. ;)

For the first time since his death, Jon took himself to hand. The mundane and usually uncomfortable experience of having wounds stitched, was not something new to him. Having his wound stitched by a beautiful woman and getting incredibly turned on by it like some green boy, was entirely new. To make matters worse, it was clear from her subsequent actions, that Sansa became aware of his situation as she neared the end of her task. She'd gotten up and been too eager to leave to be oblivious to what had transpired. Now Jon had no idea how he was going to face her when she returned. It hadn't helped matters that the dress he'd loosened to rub the salve on her back, had dropped far enough to reveal enough of her breasts to determine the shape and size. Jon should have looked away and told her. He tried to look away, but when he closed his eyes it only made matters worse. Then Sansa tugged at his breeches and began to sew the wound on his abdomen. The moment she touched his skin, he thought he was going to explode. He'd glanced down at her, her head in a position which could have been mistaken for doing something else, and at that moment, her breasts almost on show, she locked eyes with him, and he wanted her to take him in her mouth. Then, just as he just about managed to regain some semblance of sanity, she bit down on her lip and lowered her eyes, which had darkened and were no longer Tully blue. He'd noticed her moving awkwardly in her seat and deduced from the pink of her cheeks and the darkness of her eyes, he wasn't alone in feeling the tension in the room, or so his imagination told him as he finished himself off.

Once his mind had returned to full working order, he wanted to slap himself for being just like every man Sansa encountered. She had been ogled, humiliated, raped, defiled, tortured, used and abused. He and Sansa were raised as siblings, and he was acting no better than the others. He was ogling her, indulging in fantasies about her taking him in her mouth. He was sick and twisted. Mayhaps it had come from his Targaryen side, they had a thing for their siblings. Or had he come back from death with a warped sense of right and wrong? A sexual deviant? Or was it him believing he was a bastard and born of lust. Whichever it was, this could not carry on. He dressed himself and headed out to see Tormund, they needed to go and visit the Freefolk, he needed to secure their loyalty for the upcoming battle.

Jon found Tormund in the dining room, talking with Pod, seemingly trying to work out how to get into the good graces of Brienne who wasn't anywhere to be seen. When Pod spotted Jon, his eyes went wide with fear as Sansa was technically unprotected. However, Jon could sense her presence through Ghost, who was close to her. Jon sat down and poured himself a horn of ale.

"Where is Lady Sansa?" Pod asked.

"She has gone to visit The Lady Melisandre, about something for the injuries she received from Ramsey." Jon replied. "Don't worry, she's safe. Ghost is with her. He can do far more damage than any of us."

"He's right. I've seen what that direwolf can do. Killed two fucking Thenns, then ate them." Tormund grinned. "Served em right. Vicious fuckers. What can I do for you King Crow?"

"We need to go see the Freefolk, make sure they will help us in the battle." Jon told him. "I was thinking about going early tomorrow morning. How far away are they?"

"Just over half a day's ride." Tormund shrugged. "You alright boy." he frowned. "You look...flustered."

"Tired, worried about the battle. Coming to terms with coming back to life and then having Sansa back. It has been a strange week."

"Ha, you need more goats milk. A hangover is the best cure for stress. It hurts like fuck, so you no longer care about what was worrying you in the first place." he laughed.

"When we get to camp tomorrow night, I'll get very drunk, I promise. At least I won't have to worry about throwing up all over Sansa."

"You two are still sharing a bed?" Tormund said quietly, frowning.

"Aye." Jon gulped down some ale. "She keeps having nightmares."

"Not surprised." Pod shrugged. "When Lady Brienne and I found her, she was like a terrified rabbit about to be eaten by a fox. Her injuries were far worse. She had bruises everywhere." Jon felt even more terrible, remembering only a few minutes ago he'd spilled his seed by thinking about her.

"She's mighty pretty, your sister." Tormund agreed. "Probably best you sticking close to her. I'll not lie, it is strange you two sharing a bed, but she needs protecting, and this is a bad place for a Lady like her." he lifted his hands up as Jon glared at his wildling friend. "Not that she's my type of course, I only have eyes for one beauty." he grinned.

"He's trying to find out what would convince Lady Brienne to be his." Pod snorted.

"What? We would make beautiful giant babies." Tormund had drifted off into a world of his own.

Jon turned to Pod. "Tomorrow I'm leaving Sansa in yours and Lady Brienne's capable hands while I go and speak with the Freefolk. I'll leave Ghost, so you don't need to worry about her protection at night. I'll have a word with The Lady Melisandre, see if she can give her a sleeping draught to stop her from dreaming."

"I'll tell My Lady." Pod nodded, getting up. "If you'll excuse me." he said, leaving the dining room, nodding his head on the way out as Sansa and Ghost appeared. Jon felt his face go red, Tormund looked at him with a strange expression.

Sansa sat down, seemingly unaware of Jon's discomfort. "I just received a raven." Sansa whispered. "I'll be going to Moles Town tomorrow." she said as Jon felt his stomach turn, all traces of his embarrassment gone.

"You can't go alone." Jon told her.

"I'll take Brienne and Pod. He won't try anything. Anyway, I need to buy some material, I can't continue to wear this dress." she shivered. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. I can control him." a sly smile crept across her face, worrying Jon even more.

"He better not lay a finger on you." Jon said angrily.

"Him and what fucking army?" Tormund laughed. "Did you not hear, she'll have the big woman with her." he clapped Jon on the back. "She'll be fine. Anyways, you underestimate your sister, she's a warrior alright. She just doesn't use the same type of weapons we use." he turned to Sansa. "Am I right?"

Sansa blushed. "I'm not sure about that."

"You had to live with that fucker Ramsey, you survived. In my mind that makes you a warrior."

Sansa smiled coyly. "Thank you, nobody has ever called me that before." Jon wanted to laugh, he knew Sansa was playing Tormund, although his wildling friend was correct, she was a warrior.

"I'll be going to see the Freefolk tomorrow morning." Jon told her, Sansa's face fell and Jon felt something lurch inside of him. In truth he needed the time away from her to sort his feelings out.

"How long will you be gone for?" Sansa asked.

"Don't worry little Lady, I won't keep your brother too long. Although he might come back with a sore head. I intend to get him very drunk. Maybe one of the ladies might wipe that miserable look off his face for the night. I'm sure coming back from the dead..." Tormund started.

"That's enough." Jon blushed. "I don't think my sister wants to hear that kind of talk." he noticed Sansa's face drop. "Anyway, goats milk and well... they don't mix."

"Ah I see. Fucking or drinking... hard decision." he said as Sansa rolled her eyes and smirked. "See, even your sister finds it funny." he turned to Sansa. "He probably can't get his little pecker up when he's drunk. Mind you, he's a god now, the man who came back from the dead. Who knows what he can do."

Jon wanted the world to swallow him up at that moment. Sansa was laughing with Tormund, although he wasn't sure whether she genuinely found his japes funny or not. He mouthed the word sorry to Sansa, but she just shook her head and smiled. A few minutes later, they returned to his chambers with food and ale. Jon wanted to talk to her about what happened earlier, but Sansa was too interested in sharing something, which she deemed more important.

"When I return from Moles Town, I'm going to search the library. I want to find out from first hand accounts of what happened when Queen Alysanne and Prince Jacaerys visited the wall. I've narrowed down the timeline to establish when the magic in the wall stops working. Melisandre says the spells are still here. I'm beginning to wonder if it might be an idea to leave her here at Castle Black to keep an eye on the magic." Sansa frowned. "Jon, are you listening to me?" she asked.

"I'm just worried about you meeting Littlefinger. He wants you, and I don't like it." he growled, Sansa placed her hand over his.

"Don't worry. I know he wants me. He's already kissed me before today..." Jon's eyes widened. "But, I can handle him. And when he is no longer useful, he will die. Although I might be more creative this time." she shrugged.

Jon looked down at her hand and he wrapped his fingers around hers. "I can't help but worry. You're all I've got left in the world."

"And Bran, and Rickon, and Arya." Sansa reminded him.

"Rickon will be dead in a few weeks. Bran is not really Bran anymore, you told me the woman who he came back with said he died in the cave they were staying in. what happened?" he asked. "Your parchments never went into too much detail."

Sansa took a deep breath. "The children of the forest created spells to protect the cave they were staying in."

"Why?" Jon asked.

"The three-eyed-raven was part of the tree, or something like that. He couldn't leave the cave so they protected him with magic."

"Protected him? From who?"

"The Night King? The army of the dead?" Sansa shrugged. "Anyway, when Bran was in one of his visions, the Night King appeared and grabbed his arm, leaving a permanent mark, which allowed him to track Bran wherever he went. The mark seems to have broken the magic spells which were protecting the cave. The wights were able to break in and they killed the old three-eyed-raven, the remaining children of the forest, Summer and Hodor." tears came to Sansa's eye. "Meera said Bran died in that cave with Summer. After they left Uncle Benjen just before they crossed under the wall, he changed."

"And Arya is a faceless man, an assassin. Nothing like the little girl I once knew." Jon frowned.

"At first we struggled to get on, but I like her more now." Sansa shrugged. "She is sneaky and terrifying, but there is an honesty about her. I'd trust her with my life."

"You and Arya, getting along?" Jon laughed. "That I can't wait to see."

Jon was glad of the comfort and ease they had found, despite the awkwardness of earlier. Sansa was sewing something, probably a dress or cloak, with utter concentration on her face. Jon began to wonder whether she was completely unaware of what happened earlier when she stitched his wounds. Had she taken the expression on his face as discomfort? Maybe she hadn't noticed the bulge in his breeches. Whatever he experienced, she didn't share. He was relieved in a way, his concern for their relationship was unfounded.

"Lady Melisandre told me that this is a second life, I have already lived through this once. We need to find out why. She gave me a sleeping draught." Sansa told him. "She wants me to relive my final dream to find out how I died."

"Why? Jon asked."

"Because it might explain the reason I've been sent back. I suspect that it is all down to the continuation of house Stark. I think that is why I was poisoned. For some reason, I took little notice of that dream once our family split up. It seemed to be of me ruling the north, then visiting Riverrun and being poisoned."

"Maybe being poisoned is what you've come back to change." Jon shrugged.

Sansa frowned. "But why would I come this far back? How would that change something which won't happen for another seven years or so? All I need to do is not go to Riverrun."

"Mayhaps what we do now is what plants the seed of discord into the mind of your killer." Jon suggested.

"You could be right," Sansa nodded. "I'm going to write to Lady Olenna."

"Why?"

"The Tyrells became allies of Daenerys. If we can save Lady Margaery and Ser Loras; Lady Olenna may become our allies as opposed to hers." Sansa smiled.

"Do we have time? I mean with the battle coming up." Jon was confused as to why this was so important.

"I am sending Lady Brienne to parley with Jaime Lannister." Jon couldn't believe she was contemplating negotiating with the arrogant man. "We have just over six moons to get Ser Loras out of Kings Landing. I'm going to tell her some of my memories, although not all of them, and there is one which will probably sway Jaime."

"Tommen." Jon surmised.

"If he can save his son, I believe he will be amenable to her suggestions."

"Will Cersei still blow up the Sept of Baelor?" Jon was concerned with how much Sansa was trying to change.

"She was cornered by the Faith Militant. They wanted to try her, she had no choice. I'd probably have done the same." she shrugged. Jon frowned at her in shock.

"You'd have killed all of those innocent people?" he asked.

"If I were Cersei, in her position, I would have gotten rid of the Faith Militant." Sansa put her sewing down and examined her work. "Of course, I wouldn't be stupid enough to have put myself in that position in the first place." she looked up.

"You admire her?"

"I learned a lot from her, I still do. Over the years, Cersei has become bitter and cruel. Her passion used to be Jaime and her children, although now I believe her love for Jaime is superficial. She wants to be like the Targaryens, sibling relationships and all." Jon flinched, but Sansa didn't seem to notice. "She uses Jaime for pleasure, but she also manipulates him. He knows this, but she has poisoned him."

"You want to remove Cersei from his life." Jon smiled as Sansa nodded.

"That is one ambition. Cersei lost Jaime to Brienne."

Jon shook his head. "The most handsome man in all of the seven Kingdoms..." he laughed.

"Brienne is all he ever wanted to be. He sees his sixteen year old self in her, before he killed Aerys. His love for her is pure. I'd like them to be happy together." she smirked. "Anyway, back to Cersei. Where once she was driven by her love for her children; their deaths, along with that of her father, have driven her to strive for one thing..."

Jon knew what it was. "Power, the Iron Throne?"

Sansa confirmed his hypothesis. "Exactly! Right now, her desire for power is stronger than her love for Tommen. By rescuing Margaery, Loras and Tommen, we will secure allies and food for the winter. After all, the Reach is the breadbasket of Westeros. Cersei will be happy to rule as Queen Regent, until Daenerys arrives. Kill Cersei and Daenerys, then put Tommen back on the throne with the right people by his side."

Jon smiled at her overly ambitious plan. "So you aren't planning to put me on the Iron Throne?"

"I'd prefer you in Winterfell, where you belong. Anyway, you make your feelings perfectly clear, you don't want it." Sansa told him. "Tommen will be amenable to allowing the north to be independent. I believe if Margaery stops supporting the Faith Militant, then so will he. We can blame Littlefinger and Ser Dontos for the death of Joffrey."

"What about Bran? Shouldn't he be King?" Jon asked.

Sansa yawned. "He's the three-eyed-raven, his place is in the north. I think I ought to get some rest." She got up and headed to the bed. Jon stared into the fire for a few minutes, contemplating whether he ought to join her. Sansa may have not noticed his reaction to her, but he couldn't forget her delicate touch, the feel of her breath on his stomach. "Jon, are you coming to bed?" she called out. Jon finished off his ale and placed the cup on the table. He got up and joined her under the furs; too weak to resist her.

That night, Jon's dreams were filled with copper curls, naked alabaster skin, soft curves and moans of pleasure. When he woke with a start, he was as hard as Valyrian steel, made worse by Sansa pressing up against him, while their arms were wrapped tightly around one another. If anyone found them like this, it would be deemed more than inappropriate, they'd be regarded as Targaryen's or Lannister's. Jon almost laughed, he was a Targaryen, and Sansa had been married to a Lannister, maybe it was fitting after all. Jon glanced out of the window, the sky was already beginning to brighten; he and Tormund would need to leave soon so they could reach the Freefolk camp by mid-afternoon. However Jon wanted to wait another minute; he wondered what would have happened if Rhaegar hadn't died at the Trident. In all likelihood, Sansa would have been his wife, and every morning would have been like this.

Eventually Jon gently disentangled their limbs, trying not to wake Sansa in the process, although she did murmur something which sounded like dissatisfaction. He made his way to the privy, and took himself to hand once more, again with Sansa dominating his mind. By the time he'd finished, made water, washed and returned to his room, Sansa was waking up, stretching in the bed.

"Are you leaving so soon?" she asked sleepily.

Jon knelt down beside the bed and took her hands. "The sooner I leave, the sooner I return."

Sansa laughed. "The sooner you leave, the sooner you can get drunk."

Jon tucked a loose tendril behind her ear. "I would never do anything of the sort...well unless it is necessary to get Winterfell back."

"Then I approve." Sansa nodded. "Be safe." she added.

"I will." Jon leaned in and instead of kissing her on the head like he usually did, he kissed her on the cheek, as close to her lips as he dared. "I'll be back tomorrow. You take care with Littlefinger." he ran his thumb down her cheek where he'd just kissed her.

Sansa nodded. "I'll be fine." she clasped his hand for a moment, before Jon got up and made his way to the door. He took one last look at her and smiled, removing the latch and opening the door. Outside, Ghost was keeping a close watch.

"Go on in boy. Look after her." he said, as the enormous white direwolf got up and disappeared into his chambers.

Jon and Tormund rode hard, arriving at the wildling camp by mid-afternoon. They dismounted and tended to their horses, ensuring they would be well-rested and fed for the return journey on the morrow. While Jon was feeding the horses, Tormund gathered the Freefolk elders to parley. Tormund told him the only two who needed to agree were Dim Dalba and the giant Wun Wun, both of whom he'd gotten to know at Hardhome. Once Jon was satisfied the horses were settled, he joined Tormund and the others, who were gathered around a fire pit, to discuss their future alliance.

Jon sat down. "I've come to ask for your help, to help me win back Winterfell from the Bolton's."

"We don't care about your petty wars crow." said one of the elders Jon didn't recognise. "Your land, your wars."

"This is your land now." Jon argued back.

"We said we'd fight with you, King Crow, when the time comes and we meant it," Dim Dalba argued, "but this isn't what we agreed to. These aren't White Walkers. This isn't an army of the dead. This isn't our fight."

"If it weren't for him, none of us would be here. All of you would be meat in the Night King's army. And I'd be a pile of charred bones just like Mance." Tormund tried to reason.

"Remember Mance's camp? It stretched all the way to the horizon." Dim opened his arms up. "And look at us now. Look what's left of us. And if we lose this, we're gone. Dozens of tribes, hundreds of generations. Be like we were never there at all. We'll be the last of the free folk." his voice was tinged with sadness.

"That's what'll happen to you if we lose." Jon explained. "The Boltons, the Karstarks, the Umbers, they know you're here. They know that more than half of you are women and children. After they finish with me, they'll come for you. You're right. This isn't your fight. You shouldn't have to come to Winterfell with me. I shouldn't be asking you. It's not the deal we made. I need you with me if we're gonna beat them, and we need to beat them if you're going to survive."

Tormund pointed to Jon. "The crows killed him because he spoke for the free folk when no other southerners would. He died for us. If we are not willing to do the same for him, we're cowards. And if that's what we are, we deserve to be the last of the free folk."

Wun Wun stood up. "Snow." he simply said, his vocabulary was limited, but Jon appreciated the effort. As Wun Wun walked away, Dim Dalba looked at the men around him. The effect of the giant had a great deal of sway over the rest of the Freefolk, that was certain. One by one, they nodded in agreement.. Dim Dalba held out his hand to Jon, which he clasped, an unspoken declaration of agreement to fight.

Once Dim Dalba returned to his men, Jon turned to Tormund. "Are you sure they'll come?" he asked.

"We're not clever like you southerners. When we say we'll do something, we do it." Tormund promised, Jon sighed with relief, they now had two thousand fighting men.

It was after that when the goats milk came out, as did the stories. Normally Jon enjoyed this time with the Freefolk, but he couldn't take his mind off Sansa. Needing some peace and quiet, he left the main group and sat by himself under a tree, with just a horn of goats milk for company. However, it wasn't long before Tormund sat down beside him.

"You've just got yourself two thousand men to fight for you, but you look fucking miserable. Should we find you a woman to warm your bed for the night? It might cheer you up." Jon shook his head. "You died, you need to check that little pecker of yours still works." he smirked.

"Oh it works alright." Jon sighed.

"How do you...oh." Tormund grinned. "We Freefolk don't need to do much of that. We just fuck. I suppose it can't be easy doing that, what with your sister around."

Jon closed his eyes, Tormund needed to know at least some of the truth. "She's not my sister." he whispered. "The man who I thought was my father...Sansa's father...well it turns out he's my uncle."

Tormund frowned. "So you're cousins."

"Aye." Jon nodded.

"And you are sharing a bed?" Tormund raised an eyebrow.

"It's not like that." Jon blushed.

"Of course it is, you're brooding. I know you Jon Snow, you brood. And you've now got it bad for your sister cousin. You want to fuck her, but because you love her, the only thing you can do about it is wank while thinking about her." Jon said nothing. "Tell her."

"I can't. She's just been raped and abused. She sees me as her brother."

"But you don't see her as your sister." Tormund shook his head. "Why do you think that it?"

"My real father, his family are...different." Jon sighed.

"Different? How?" Tormund looked confused.

"What do you know of dragons?" Jon asked.

"Big flying fuckers that breathe fire."

"And the ones who rode them?"

"Weird. Silver hair, purple eyes, brothers and sisters fucked each other." Tormund frowned. "Your father is one of them?" his eyes widened as Jon nodded. Tormund looked more closely at him, one eye closed, probably because he was drunk. "Nope, black hair, can't tell the eye colour, it's too dark."

"They're grey."

"I'll take your word for it." Tormund nodded. "So your family is full of sister-fuckers. But she's not your sister."

"I'm regretting telling you this." Jon sighed. "Just don't tell anyone. Targaryen's aren't very popular in the north."

Tormund pursed his lips and pressed his finger to them. "Shhh...I won't tell anyone. Does your sister know?"

"Of course she does."

"Then why does she let you share her bed? Only lovers and siblings share the same bed. Unless you southerners are all fucking weird." Tormund shook his head.

Jon took a large swig on his goats milk, feeling the numbing effect quickly, his tongue loosened. "Gods, I'd love to make love to her. When she stitched my wounds..." he started.

"She did what?" Tormund looked shocked. "You let the woman you want to fuck, touch you all over?"

"When she started pulling my breeches down..."

Tormund snorted. "Enough King crow. You need to talk to your cousin. She's lucky, kissed by fire like me. Ygritte would approve." he nodded with a smile and clapped Jon on the back. "Well, I'm going to get some rest. We need to get you back to Castle Black, let you see your Lady love." he laughed, stood up and walked off back to the rest of the camp.