authorsnote: shorter chapter but I was keen to get this up

did everyone watch the HOD final? O M G soooo good! House of the Dragon has inspired me heavily to write the targs (and my fav boi Jon) so hoping the final gives me a further flurry of inspo! did you enjoy? let me know, I loved it and want to scream we have to wait so long for S2!

anywho, do follow, do review if you can, and most of all enjoy!

songrecs: the night we met - lord huron

The trip was a short one to say the least.

As soon as he pulled Caraxes into the air (and it was odd how natural it felt, how the dragon went with him, even placed a wing down for them to step onto and showed no dismay at Sansa accompanying him), Sansa let out a shriek, and then another, and a third.

Three might have been okay, but the fourth (more scream than shriek) did it.

"It's okay" He tried to yell, but her cry had set Caraxes letting out a shriek like roar, far higher pitched than Vhagar's growl into the skies had been when they had flown, and yet it still shook the walls near them, and he rapidly clenched his thighs, and urged Caraxes back to the ground, which he went to immediately.

He knew he shouldn't be so good at this; he'd never ridden a dragon before today, and yet it felt as easy as holding a sword or whistling for Ghost to come to his side. He supposed it was his Targaryen blood, and yet even then it felt almost too easy. Caraxes almost felt like an extension of him, and he was so sure of himself so quickly.

Had he accepted his Targaryen heritage? In the North he never had, he was a Stark, or a Snow, and yet here it felt easier, perhaps because of the setting, or his mother here, or maybe he'd grown into it? He didn't know; it still didn't feel natural, and yet now he didn't flinch as he thought of it.

He knew he'd need to reconcile his heritages, the blood of the Starks, of the First Men who he was proud to be descended from ran in his veins, but so did the blood of the Dragon.

He would need to marry the two, and it felt easier, but he didn't feel quite ready yet.

"Settle" Jon murmured, and yet he wasn't sure Caraxes could understand him.

As soon as they landed, Sansa practically flew down the dragon, off his back and onto the ground once more, and yet he took a second to place his hand on Caraxes' head, and felt something, not unlike he'd had with Ghost.

Connection.

Perhaps that was it, he wasn't sure, and yet right now he couldn't explore further, Sansa needed him, he could see her trembling from atop here, and as much as part of him wanted to take to the skies again (for the thrill, the rush? Or because it felt so natural? He wasn't sure), she needed him.

And that came before all else.

And so, he hurried down too, and as soon as his feet were on the floor, he glanced back and gave Caraxes a nod, and as though given a command the great dragon flew into the air, and Jon knew back to the Dragon Pit.

It felt like connection indeed.

"Sansa…" He began, he wouldn't laugh, that would be cruel, and yet he'd never known her to be afraid of heights, the walls of Winterfell stood high, and she never flinched on those, perhaps it was just dragons that frightened her.

"Don't you dare mock me" She practically hissed and he near recoiled, though a smile played on his features, he took great effort to squash it down. Sansa nor Arya had never liked being laughed at and were both equally creative and devious in their punishments, as children the few times they'd teamed up to retaliate to him or Jon had been terrifying.

"I wasn't planning to" He said, holding up his hands as though in defeat, "I guess we'll have to find a new meeting place?" He asked innocently, and only just held back laughter as Sansa stormed inside, and he hurried to follow her.

After all, where else would he be?

It was later that night, when dinner was done (she and Jon had sat in the gardens, apparently, they both had family dinners regularly, but a page had informed them both there weren't any tonight), did Sansa walk back to her rooms, Jon on her arm.

She had realised as they'd walked this wasn't the Red Keep, she remembered, just a version, and of course as she thought of the histories, she realised this wasn't the Red Keep at all, but the Aegon Fort, the Red Keep would come later, and yet there were striking similarities that had tricked her into thinking otherwise.

It was hard, but they both had to be aware things would be different, especially Sansa who had lived in the city before and needed to be aware of its differences.

It made it a touch easier however, to know now this wasn't where she'd been trapped, each room here was free from the abuse she'd experienced, and though it looked similar, and one or two things almost identical made her flinch, she was thankful it was the Aegon Fort, and not the Red Keep.

Of course, she still hated Kings Landing, wanted to run home to Winterfell or in this case Riverrun as soon as she could, and yet she knew that wasn't an option.

Jon's place was here, which meant hers had to be too.

"We can't stay together" Jon said with a frown, as they came to a pause in front of her door. She was in the guest wing of the Castle, with the Tully family, where she belonged.

And yet it didn't feel like it.

But of course, they couldn't stay together. In Winterfell they had slept many a night in the same bed, holding hands, just luxuriating in being together again, in having family back. They had never wanted to be alone, nightmares eased by companionship, and Sansa felt a pang that, that was about to be taken away.

They had often had a roaring fire to keep away the chill, Ghost would curl up at her feet. They would sleep side by side, she in nightclothes, Jon in a loose shirt and breeches, hands held, huddled together, just drawing comfort from being back together again, for not being alone.

And yet, there was nothing they could do; this wasn't Winterfell, and here Jon was a Prince, she a Lady, and it wouldn't be proper, they weren't alone, and if she knew anything about Kings Landing, she knew they were being watched.

They still had no place to meet in private, away from spying eyes, and yet even as Jon had hidden his laughter, she hadn't been able to contemplate getting back on the dragon, she had trusted Jon, even by extension trusted Caraxes in some ways, but dragon riding was most certainly not for her.

Perhaps it was easier for Jon, with Targaryen blood, but she was Stark and Tully, no dragon riding for her.

It saddened her a little, to think of Jon as different, and yet he had the Stark blood too, that made her feel a little better.

'I'm not a Stark'

'You are to me'

He was, and always would be, regardless of the other half of him. She was half Tully too after all, and yet she had always considered herself a Stark first.

It was ironic really, here they were both apart of the houses they considered second to their heritage, and for Jon it was likely worse, after all she loved her mother's house, Jon barely knew his.

But here they had each other, that was all they could trust.

"I have to leave you here" Jon said glumly, and she forced herself to nod, a little lump in her throat, neither of them wanted this. "It'll be alright though" Jon said, and she smiled a touch at that, Jon hated this as much as she, but of course he went to reassure her, he always did.

"I'll see you in the morning" Sansa said with a nod, biting down on her bottom lip near hard enough to draw blood, she shouldn't be so weak, and yet she felt a swirling in her stomach, burn in her chest, she didn't want to be parted, but there was nothing to do, "Come get me for a morning walk?"

"At Dawn?" Jon asked, and Sansa winced but nodded, sure she was no layabout, but the Nights Watch schedules had always been stricter than she'd allowed herself in Winterfell, and Jon stuck to those schedules.

"Unless you want to laze about" Jon teased, practically reading her mind, sometimes she wondered if he could (as she swatted him for his cheek), with how insightful he often was to her emotions, her feelings; perhaps he just read her well.

As did she, one of her talents, one she'd need to put to good use in Winterfell, and one she would here too.

"Dawn is fine" She said with a roll of her eyes, "Be safe"

"You too" Jon said, and then stepped forward, placed a kiss to her forehead that calmed her, Jon always knew how too, "You'll be fine"

She nodded, for she was being a fool, Jon and she didn't spend every night curled up next to each other (though they did most), and yet this wasn't home, and the separation felt harder somehow, much harder.

And so, she leaned into him a bit, placed a hand on his chest, before he released her and forced a smile onto her features.

"Dawn" She repeated, and Jon nodded.

"Dawn"

She hoped it would come quickly.

Come morning she felt a little better.

Yes, she'd slept poorly (being away from Jon, being in Kings Landing; understandable), but she felt better about the day, and as she washed, her handmaid helped her dress (in a Tully blue dress, this was how she'd dressed the last time she'd been in the Capitol), and brushed her hair, she even managed a small smile.

They had been sent back, and though her pangs for Winterfell threatened to make her chest physically ache, it hadn't been Winterfell in the end, overrun, covered in bodies and blood and pain, now they had a chance, what chance she didn't know, but it was better than cowering in the snow, waiting to die.

They had tried, and she felt a lump in her throat as she thought of her home, they had tried, but ultimately, they had failed.

But the Gods had sent them back; for who else could it be? She had thought about it as she had lay in bed, looking up at the canopy, who else could be responsible?

'I'm done with all of that'

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

'Praying to the Gods to have mercy on us all…'

Perhaps she didn't like the Gods either, but she had to believe in them, even when she'd set them aside, prayers unanswered they had been there, in her heart, deep down, and here they had rescued them.

Or doomed them regardless, whatever your perspective might be.

Still, there was more immediate stuff to do than have existential thought or crisis, after all there was much to do. She needed to meet Jon, and they needed to think about what to do going forward, where to meet, how to act, and why they had been sent back, what effect could they have here? What should they do? Much to do, much to learn.

And it started with fitting in, with having a place here; easier said than done for her.

Jon had a place here, as Prince, the Heir to the Throne, but she was a guest, a visitor, and would no doubt be sent back to Riverrun at some point, they couldn't let that happen, they had to find a way for her to stay, here, with Jon.

She knew the answer, just wasn't ready to confront it yet.

A rap on the door broke her out of her thoughts, and she stood, smoothed down her skirts. She'd already dismissed her handmaid and glanced once more at herself in the mirror. She looked beautiful, she wasn't vain, there were more important things, far more important than her looks, but she wasn't blind. Dressed in Tully blue, hair coiled in the complex plaited hairstyles of the South, face fresh, pale, and pink cheeked; she looked like a girl of Riverrun, a maiden old enough to be wed but no longer a girl.

And there was the answer.

Another knock and she moved quickly to the door, casting one last look at herself, before she hurried to open it, pushing her feet into silver slipper shoes as she did so. Her dress had long curved sleeves that fell past her wrists and she shook them back to pull open the entrance to her room, to see Jon.

And there he stood, dressed in Targaryen red and black, the tunic he wore was split down the middle, half red, half black with clasps in the middle, he wore black breeches, and had a sword and dagger at his belt, though not Longclaw, she supposed that was wise, Valyrian Steel would cause questions, though she felt an odd pang, that was Jon's sword, he'd carried it for an age and he had protected her with it more than once.

He looked handsome though, and like a Targaryen Prince, it was a bit unsettling, he wore no crown, no cloak, and had clearly picked out the plainest tunic he could (though it was rich in fabric and expertly stitched), his boots were high polished black leather, and his hair was left loose, cut to curl at his chin, he had kept his beard.

For a moment she took him in, Jon Targaryen, it was odd, and she wished now to see him in Stark colours again, in grey, with a running direwolf, she wished the same for herself too.

And yet, that wasn't them here, here they were Targaryen and Tully.

At least they had the same names, Jon and Sansa, he and her, that made it easier, and she presumed was some kind of intervention from the Gods; Targaryen's didn't name their sons Jon, or foster them in the North, she wondered how much the Gods had meddled, and how much they would find out they had in the coming days.

With a tight smile, a little sad, she finally moved her gaze to Jon's face, and though she did note the dark circles under his eyes, the tension there, she barely saw all of that, instead a strangled gasp caught in her throat, threatening to choke her, and Jon's expression turned to one of worry as he stepped forward to grab her, she didn't step back, but continued to stare at him, at his eyes, in shock, utter shock, looking into them.

His purple eyes.

sooo thoughts?

how are the gods meddling? he shall see! hahaha

also I had to end it on the cliffhanger, but don't worry, chapter 9 is already a third done!

I hope you enjoyed, more will be revealed, about jon's background here, sansa's, the whole picture of kings landing and beyond.

speak soon