authorsnote: idek what happened here, this was planned to be a set-up chapter, but nope, so HERE WE GOOOOOO

do enjoy, do lemme know watcha think!

songrecs: in the end - cinematic version (there is a sansa stark video by xladyxmacbethx that is set to this song and it is fantastic, go and check it out, it is entitled sansa stark | in the end).

It was just as she'd remembered.

Sure, there were small differences, no lion regalia, no Lannister Banners flying high and proud, the red and gold combination turning her stomach to this day, no they were gone, replaced by black and red, the Targaryen dragon, that made it easier, a touch.

But it was still the Red Keep, still the opulence she had once loved and grown to hate, still the crystal chandeliers and obscene wealth that had made her and did make her still long for Winterfell. It was the oppressive walls that felt as though they were closing in on her.

Her prison, her cage, gilded and strong, her jail, her coffin. Panic rose in her throat, her hand squeezing Jon's hard without her realising, not until he gently squeezed back.

"It's alright" Was all he could offer, out here, where anyone could be listening, and she nodded; she knew better than anyone how these walls had ears.

She tried to straighten her back, lift her head; she had a part to play here, to allow them to explore, as they had to; Jon was right, they could hardly stay locked in the room they'd woken in, no, they had to figure out what was going on.

She had to conquer her panic, shove it down and raise the walls of ice she'd long stopped using.

Here she had to, here had been where they were built, and here again she'd bring them back.

It shouldn't be so hard, should it? To raise those walls again, once they had been her constant companion. For years she hadn't dropped them once, not even for a second, a constant presence to keep her safe. She would need to do the same here, only to let them fall with Jon, no one else.

Jon had often been and remained the only one she could trust.

And she tried, as she followed Jon, rounding a corner to a set of stairs, a rich red carpet flowing down them. Jon glanced back at her, and she nodded, steeling herself, walls rising shakily in place; down they would go.

Sansa held onto his hand as they descended. It was quiet, no one around, and Sansa knew Kings Landing still operated much in the same way. The guards followed people, guarded rooms, not empty corridors, to their luck, as they reached the courtyard, enclosed, and surrounded by stairs and rooms, still empty of guards, of anyone.

It seemed luck was on their side … for now.

Everything looked too similar, and she knew she was about ten minutes away from falling into a puddle on the floor, walls crumbling like sand; this place had ruined her, had created a scar across her heart that would never heal. She had hoped to never come back, had promised herself she wouldn't, and yet after death she had returned. It was almost like a cruel joke.

'Does your Father not believe in the Gods?'

'He believes in them, he just doesn't like them very much'

A conversation she'd once had with Cersei, and she hated to find herself agreeing with Tywin Lannister. If this was divine intervention, as it only could be, did it have to be tinged with such cruelty?

The Gods were indeed cruel, but then she'd learned that a long time ago. Learned that when little Sansa had prayed and begged the Gods to take her home, to take her from the very place she now stood in, to reunite her with her family. Learned that when Littlefinger had whisked her away, kept her as a prisoner just in a shinier cage, learned that as the Others advanced on Winterfell and she and Jon made the last stand.

The Gods had always been cruel, it had just taken her a beat to realise it, since then she had known, and it was only reinforced now as Jon hurried them around a corner into the main corridor spanning the main entrance to the Red Keep.

They heard noises then, jolting her out of her introspection and slight pity party. Noises from the main hall, was that music? No, just a lot of talk, many voices talking over one another; Westerosi accents, but no voice she recognised, though they were too far away, and it was too loud to hear anything distinct.

Still, people were something they could go and explore; perhaps see any historical figures they recognised. It was better than nothing.

And yet as she took a step forward, Jon yanked her back, behind a pillar, just as two people walked past them, deep in conversation, and thankfully not noticing them.

Sansa was just thankful for Jon's quick reflexes as the pair walked past, allowing them to hear part of their conversation.

"Go and wake my son Maester" Sansa caught a glimpse of the two of them then, a Maester to the right, looking identical to the ones she remembered, same grey robes, same link of chains, carrying a heavy book, almost a prerequisite for Maesters. The woman however she didn't recognise, and yet she couldn't help stare for a moment.

She had ice blonde hair, like the colour of crystal, flowing in intricate plaits in the style popular in the South. A sparkling tiara sat atop her head adorned with blood red rubies. Her gown was spun silver, with dragon scales embossed in the flowing skirt, more rubies are the belt, bodice and her throat, fingers and wrists. She was clearly a Targaryen, more than that, a Targaryen Queen.

And yet, Sansa couldn't catch a glimpse of her face to compare to the history books, not that paintings were always accurate, nor had she learned a lot about Targaryen history.

"Wake my son, he needs to be here for the court and feast" She demanded and yet her tone was kind, almost indulgent, "I imagine he was up late brooding again, or perhaps bashing the life out of the training dummies" She laughed then, and Sansa knew, this woman, Queen or not, loved this son she spoke of, loved him deeply.

She felt a pang for her own Mother then, long gone. At least she hadn't seen what had become of the Riverlands, of the North, of her own family, of her daughters.

"He is an accomplished swordsman your Grace, legend with a blade some already say" The Maester said, too with a smile, this Princeling was clearly popular.

"Indeed" Then there was pride in the Queen's voice, "He gets that from his Father, and yet my dearest already claims he's surpassed him"

That was the last they heard as the Queen and the Maester moved on, into the Hall Sansa realised, to which they'd circled around to.

Something like a creeping sensation was dancing up Sansa's spine, and she realised, with her hands trembling, but not now from the fear of where she was, but the fear of what she'd realised.

Sometimes she wished her mind wasn't so quick, hadn't been so honed by the players around her. Sometimes she still wished she was that naïve little girl, stupid and foolish, never one to catch on or play the game.

And yet that wasn't reality. Sansa had long ago positioned herself as a player. The spymaster to Jon's King, the woman at his right hand, the person who would keep him on the Throne at all costs.

That was Sansa Stark now, hence how she realised with a glance at Jon, just who the Queen spoke of.

"Jon" She said with a whisper, and he turned to her, hand on his sword, his mind on protecting them, she was too, just in a different way.

Jon protected with his sword, she with her mind. Hence the formidable team they made, and would need to make, especially if Sansa's suspicions were correct, as nowdays, they often were.

"I think the Prince she spoke of might be you" No point dancing around it, especially as Jon's brow furrowed, and he went to protest before stopping himself, realising quickly too how that made sense.

"Fuck" Was all he offered, to which Sansa didn't blame him, this made things much more complicated.

Just to what past had they come back to? What were the Old Gods, or any of them doing? Why put them here? Why make Jon a Prince? Why her a nobody? What was their plan?

Well, as Sansa scowled, her hands ceasing their trembling in the face of this problem, she knew she couldn't leave it up to the Gods to defend them, to protect them.

'The Gods have no mercy, that's why they're Gods'

Another line from Cersei Lannister, and one just as true as the last.

The Gods wouldn't protect them here, Sansa would.

To him, this was all new, though he already disliked it.

The opulence was off putting to him, his lips screwed up in disgust. He saw the gold lining the walls, the chandeliers hanging down heavy with crystals, the ornate paintings, and statues. It reeked of wealth.

He thought of the Wall then, of Wildling settlements, of the crumbling villages with not enough food, people scraping by, day by day, struggling like the people here would never have to. Perhaps he'd become too close with the Wildlings that he felt closer to them than anyone who could live here.

Though he didn't consider that a bad thing, he'd rather be freefolk than a Southerner.

Sansa hadn't really talked to him about her time in the Capitol, and he'd never asked nor pushed, knowing that time had been traumatising for her. Also, everytime someone had mentioned Kings Landing in front of Sansa her expression had become so tight, so uncomfortable, Jon had never wanted her to feel that way. As well, everytime he saw that expression he felt a murderous rage and had to be talked out of marching down to Kings Landing to root out the people who'd dared hurt her in that way.

He felt the same rising of rage in his chest now, to see this place, to see the show of wealth, he had to smother it down, offering a glare to a statue lined with gems instead of knocking it off it's plinth like he wanted to.

He followed along, leading through the corridors, hand on his sword, dressed in the black and red of the dragons. He wasn't one though, not in his own eyes… even after he'd found out the truth.

Jon had never been a Stark, always a Snow, being a Targaryen hadn't changed that in his mind, and likely never would.

The label of bastard tended to stick with a person, even if proven not to be true, that stain he would carry forever, and likely be stronger for it, regardless of the resentment that weighed him down too.

'Jon is not the son of Eddard Stark, but of his sister, Lyanna, and her husband, Rhaegar Targaryen'

'He's the Heir to the Iron Throne'

'He's the King in the North first!' Sansa had proclaimed, then Arya too said the same.

'He has Stark blood!'

'He's a Stark!'

'Of Winterfell'

A second crowning almost, a reaffirmation of agreement, half Targaryen yes, but half Stark too, and so still their Leader, their King.

He remembered every word of when that had happened, the reveal of his true heritage, both to himself and then his people. He remembered Sansa's fierce defence, Arya's acceptance, all of it. Parts had warmed him, to be so accepted, others had made him feel like a fraud, a liar.

Not Stark, not even Snow anymore, but a Dragon.

Even now, as he skulked around the corridors, one hand in Sansa's, the other on his sword, dressed in Targaryen regalia, more expensive than anything he'd ever owned; he still didn't feel like one of them, likely never would.

He wasn't one of them, hadn't been raised as one, had never identified as one, and so why would he feel like one? He felt much closer aligned to the Starks, and yet he wasn't really one of them either.

He was stuck in the middle, no mans land, alone.

Except for Sansa, his eternal champion, advisor, the one person by his side; always.

As he would be by hers now, as he pulled her to a stop, voices creeping over the walls now. He stopped Sansa before she could come into view, not entirely convinced their disguises would protect them. After all, they had no idea what his position was here, or Sansa's, or their place.

And yet, as the woman in finery and the Maester spoke, Jon began to get an idea. He was clearly a member of the Royal Family, which made his stomach roll, but Sansa? Where did she stand?

By his side, that was where, regardless of anything else.

And yet Sansa's mind had gone elsewhere, and as she spoke Jon wanted to protest, argue, and yet her words made sense, as had the Queen's when fitted in.

A Prince? A Targaryen Prince?

It was the life he would have had, had the Targaryen dynasty persisted, it was his birth right, it was what he would have been.

He remembered the words again…

'You're the Heir Jon' Bran had spoken, eyes too dead, but full of truth, 'The Heir to the Iron Throne, it is yours, by right'

And yet, as he and Sansa hurried away from the Throne Room, loud and oppressive, it felt completely wrong.

They didn't hurry back to the room, knowing someone would be coming for him now, and instead Jon pulled them into an empty room off the courtyard, a dining room perhaps? A long table in place, finery surrounding them again. This was his home here? His place? No, he'd never identified with somewhere less in his entire life.

He had always been an outsider, always been on the outside looking in, and yet here? Where he was apparently fitting in? He felt much the same, an outsider. He didn't belong here, neither did Sansa.

"What do we do?" He said out loud, not even asking for an answer, before he didn't have one, and as he glanced at Sansa, scowling, hands still now, and yet the tremble moved to her shoulders, he knew she didn't either.

"A Prince" He repeated, and he felt like a fish gasping for air, the shock of it hitting his chest, it was only years of taking on impossible information with a face of stoicism that had him just nod, "Fuck"

Sansa only nodded; fuck indeed.

"It at least means you'll have an element of freedom here" Sansa offered, her mind spinning now he could see.

It had been this way at Winterfell, Sansa's cogs turning in her brain. The two of them had always been like that, Jon planning, Sansa scheming, hand in hand as they came up with plans to protect their people. Jon with the battle plans, with the diplomacy, Sansa with the knife in her hand, with the bringing enemies to heel.

A team, they had always been a team, and Jon didn't care if she had the status of a kitchen servant here, she'd be at his side, a team. They needed one another.

On instinct Jon stepped forward, pulling Sansa into his arms. They both needed it, a moment, just a minute to hold onto one another, as among all of this, all of this chaos, and uncertainty they still had one another.

Prince or not, Mother or no Mother (and he hadn't even began to unpack that he might have one here, as he'd always wanted, and yet it was wrong, Lyanna Stark was his Mother, even though he'd never met her), he had Sansa, and she had him.

That was all that mattered at the end of it, it was all that could matter.

For what else did they have?

Minutes passed and Sansa reluctantly pulled out of Jon's embrace. She wanted to stay, to revel in his warmth, the safety of his arms, and yet she knew they needed to plan; as Jon had said before, they couldn't hide forever, and not for much longer either.

They needed a plan, they needed a plan desperately.

"You're a Prince here" Sansa said, stepping back, and Jon nodded, falling into step with her; figuratively. This was how they planned, bouncing off one another, and this was how they would plan here.

They had ruled Winterfell, had prepared for the Battle of the Dawn, Jon had been the King, they could handle this.

They would have to, after all, what choice did they have?

"It means you have freedom, we can use that" Sansa said and Jon nodded. Sansa felt something in her ease; there it was, the flow of a plan, instantly making her feel safer.

Only Jon could do that for her, Jon and the knowledge she had a plan at hand.

"Aye" Jon said with a nod, "We can find out what time we're in, what's going on, my position" Sansa nodded again.

"What about you?" He asked, "A combat master is not going to cut it, they'll expect you to demonstrate"

Sansa bit down on her lip then, she'd thought the same. The weapons at her hips and breeches already felt foreign to her, she knew she wouldn't be able to hold up this persona beyond the look.

They needed something better, they needed to be convincing.

She paused for a second, every lessons he'd ever learnt running through her mind. As much as she hated many of her teachers; Cersei, Littlefinger, all of them awful, all of them right and only brought down by their own arrogance and ego, they had taught her much, too much maybe, each lessons absorbed into her skin like a poison, now she needed to draw it out, use them, better now more than ever.

'Convincing people of something they already believe is easy, you just have to keep feeding them what they already think they know and want'

Littlefingers words, perfect to this situation, curse on his grave, but he had been right more than wrong, had only had the foolishness to underestimate her, Jon's dagger across his throat had shown him that, especially as it had been at her order.

"The people here already know you're a Prince" Sansa said, "We don't need to convince them of that"

"We just need to keep it up" Jon replied, always on the same page as her, the two in synch, as they had been since they'd reunited. Jon and Sansa, one and the same.

"Yes" Sansa offered, "It's just me who is the issue"

"Don't call yourself that" Jon threw back automatically, and then offered her a sheepish smile at the roll of her eyes.

"But what…" Sansa began, and yet the thud of the door had Sansa jumping backward, Jon turning quickly, hand on his sword. Both on high alert, perhaps a touch too high as the guard, a white cloak hanging from his golden armour; Kingsuard, fixed them both with an odd look.

"Your Grace" He said with a nod at Jon, "What are you doing here? With Lady Sansa? And Lady Sansa what are you wearing?"

If she weren't so able to keep herself composed, Sansa would have let out a sigh of relief; she was a Lady here, clearly the guard upstairs just hadn't placed her, this would make things infinitely easier.

And yet she knew she couldn't be Lady Stark here, Northerners didn't send their children to ward down South, and so then who was she? She needed to find out, and she needed to find out now.

How much easier it would be to simply ask, and yet they didn't need people thinking them mad or stupid, no, subterfuge was essential here, frustrating as it was.

"We were just coming to the Throne room" Jon said, standing up tall. Sansa near rolled her eyes; Jon was employing the things she'd tried to drill into him as King that he'd basically ignored. In the North pomp and circumstance hadn't been necessary, and yet here it was, and here Jon was, looking like a Targaryen Prince, thank goodness, as irritating as it was it had taken him so long to do so.

He played the part, and Sansa felt something odd stir in her that she couldn't quite place, not yet at least.

"Then why are you dressed like that my Lady?" The Kingsguard asked. He was fair of hair, as everyone was here, not a day over forty, and with a kind face, a departure from the Kingsguard she remembered indeed, and yet she still tensed, she wouldn't trust anyone here, not anyone but Jon.

She would not repeat the mistakes of her past, she'd paid enough for them.

"We were playing a game" She offered with a sweet smile, knowing how it was easier to play the fool here, as she had before, scowls and scheming would do her no good until she got the lay of the land, better to be the idiot, pretty, noble girl, as was expected.

"Uh hu" The guard said with a roll of his eyes, "Just don't let your Mother catch you alone with Lord Tully's daughter" He said with a shake of his head, "And you're expected in the Throne Room within the hour"

They both offered a nod, and then the guard dismissed himself. That was the good thing about being royalty here; the deference and lack of prodding, it would be key to ensure they could figure out what was going on, they didn't need people prying.

As soon as he left Sansa let out that heaving breath of relief; daughter of Lord Tully! She was a noblewoman here, it would make things much, much easier, she was not quite Jon's equal here, but close enough, her freedoms would be far less than his, but enough so she could stand by him, figure out what had happened to them.

There was much to be discovered after all, too much to comprehend at the moment.

Yet, that was their task, though first, Sansa knew she needed to present as the daughter of a Lord. Jon already looked the part of Prince, almost too well, she needed to match, she needed to do herself proud, lest she invite questions.

Presentation would be key here, thankfully she now knew how to get what she needed. Sansa hated this place, always had, and yet she'd lived here once, she'd learned it and gotten used to it. She knew what she needed to do, and so Jon followed her with a nod as she hurried him to the servants quarters; time to find her Ladies Maid.

It didn't take long, for her Maid to proclaim she'd been looking for her. The girl known as Tilly asked the same questions as the Kingsguard had, which Sansa brushed off, thankful she'd made Jon hide in as she followed her chatty Maid to her rooms, not as elegant or extensive as Jon's, and clearly only for a guest, but enough and telling her a little more about her circumstances.

Jon hid in the second set of rooms, slipping in as Tilly chatted away, and Sansa hurried her Maid out once she was dressed in her underthing's, and corset, ignoring her protests, and just promising to call on her when she went to bed, insisting she wanted to be alone, thankfully Tilly chatty as she was, nodded her head and hurried along.

And that was how she ended up stood in front of the mirror, Jon quiet as he laced up her blue dress, it had been a long time she'd worn anything this fine, she hadn't missed it.

But Sansa knew she looked good as Jon held out an arm for her, almost with a mocking smile, clad in Targaryen red and black, to her Tully blue, both of them looking the part of Kings Landing, wearing it as they should, hiding their disdain for this awful place.

And so, they made their way down to the Throne Room. This was their first chance, to learn what had happened to them, and what their next move was.

"Just remember" Sansa said as they hurried down the corridor, quiet still, everyone congregating for morning court they were due for, "They already know who we are, we don't need to convince, just be"

"Aye" Jon said and winced, his accent would be hard enough to cover, nevermind the Northern dialect, "I'll be strong and silent"

That had Sansa laughing, and Jon's grin, slashed across his face, gave her the much-needed courage to follow him into the Throne Room, hand on his arm, neither of them even thinking this might raise questions.

Not only questions, but stares as they stepped inside, court falling silent, everyone looking at them, three people at the dais standing up. Sansa didn't even notice the dragon skulls next to the great Iron Throne, just the eyes following them as they stepped inside.

A cough rung out, and then the announcer, carrying on, even as the hush had fallen.

"Presenting Prince Jon of House Targaryen, First of his Name, Heir to the Iron Throne, the Seven Kingdoms and one day Protector of the Realm"

"And Presenting Lady Sansa of House Tully, First of her Name, Daughter of the Riverlands and Riverrun"

Heir.

That was more than they'd expected, and as they were motioned quickly towards the Throne, Sansa gripped Jon's arm tightly, too tightly, and yet he didn't flinch, needing her strength, just as she now, so sorely needed his.

soooo thoughts?

oh yeeeaaah, who tf knows whats going on! jon's the heir to the throne, sansa's a tully! who knows? I do, mwahahaha, and you will soon too!

do lemme know your theories, what you'd like to happen and thoughts! I love to read your reviews and comments!

I'll be back soon, I promise, this story is so much fun to write.

speak soon