authorsnotes: I started writing this and then had to spend like two hours reading targ history and theories lol

anyway, do enjoy, I love writing the targs!

also, pacing wise we've got a lot of introducing to do here, but a lot of events to cover so expect it to pick up a lil when we've been introduced

also pls stop asking me why jon is called jon here, why he fostered up north lol - IT WILL ALL BECOME CLEAR I PROMISE!

songrecs: 7 years - lukas graham

Her gasp shook the Keep.

His eyes, she surged forward quickly, her hands going to cup Jon's face, ignoring his surprised expression those purple eyes growing wider, his vocalised concerns that she barely heard, his worry, the knitting of his brow.

She ignored all of that.

Focused only on his gaze, that just the day before had been a stormy grey, Stark grey, pale, darker at night, the same eyes Arya had, the gaze her Mother had resented, for making Jon seem more Stark than Robb, who'd inherited the Tully blue, like her. Just the day before, she'd have sworn her life on it, on Jon having grey eyes, Stark eyes.

But now, clear as day, they were violet, purple, whatever you wanted to call them, gone were the grey, replaced by a vivid shade of purple, transforming his gaze, Targaryen purple, Targaryen eyes.

In every other way he was still Jon, still had the curly dark hair, the same stance, same height, weight, yes, his clothes were different, Targaryen red and black instead of Stark grey, but that was just to blend in, as she was wearing Tully blue, when prior she had been wearing black for her mourning for years. No, everything was as it had been when they'd parted just 8 or 9 hours before.

Except those eyes.

"Sansa what is it?" Jon's voice broke through her, his hands reaching to grip her wrists as her hands cupped his face, gave her a gentle shake, those purple eyes wide with worry now, that only threw them into more focus, Targaryen eyes.

"Your…" She stumbled over her words, just aghast at what she was seeing.

She knew it was foolish, after everything they had experienced, the Others, Wights, the Old Gods taking them back in time! This was what had her stumbling, shaking, clutching at Jon, after everything.

Perhaps it was because it was Jon.

Her Jon, the person who'd been with her through it all, who had never left her side since they had been reunited, who had stood among the dead with her, was different. Of course, it was still him, she knew that deep down, but as she looked into his eyes, Targaryen eyes, that was all she could focus on.

"Sansa" He shook her a little then, not hard, but clearly to snap her out of it, and yet even as she jolted and came back to herself, she couldn't take her gaze off of those eyes.

What was happening to them?

"Your eyes…" She finally managed to get out, though she knew her voice was filled with fear, with worry, with not understanding.

Littlefinger, awful as he was, had taught her time and time again,

'What is one of the most important rules?'

'To not know is to be blind'

And here they knew so little.

"Your eyes are purple" She whispered then, her own Tully blue eyes wide with fear, with worry.

The Gods had brought them back, and so perhaps nothing should phase her, and yet this was different, this was changing them. Yes, they'd made Jon a Targaryen here (more so), adapted a backstory that made sense for him, somehow let him keep his name, and they'd made her a Tully here (to her Mothers heritage) had her slip into her Mothers ancestral family.

And yet, nothing about them, as individuals had hugely changed, they were both just part of the other sides of their heritage.

But this… Jon's eyes, were the Gods making him more Targaryen than Stark? And if so, why?

What was this all for? They'd accepted it had happened, for what else could they do? But it made no sense, and they couldn't ignore that, Sansa couldn't.

"What?" Jon asked, wrenching her form her existential despair as he darted past her to look in the mirror near her sink, a gasp leaving his lip, shocked and ragged as he met his own reflection, and those wide, vivid purple eyes.

"Good gods" He said, reaching a hand up to trace under his eye, it had been a shock for her, she couldn't imagine what it was for him.

And yet, there was little time to process it, as she heard steps, and quickly hissed Jon's name; she was just thankful he was fast as he darted back over the threshold of her door, after all, being in her rooms would be considered inappropriate.

She felt a pang for that, for being separated from him so.

That, they would have to do something about.

"My Prince" A guard hurried up the steps (and as he did Sansa took a quick step back into her room, she had to be conscious of not standing too close to Jon, as they normally would), dressed in Targaryen black armour, a touch out of breath, "I apologise for not keeping up with you" She had to cover her smile at that, when Jon wanted to be somewhere he tore like a devil through a Keep, though she gathered he'd tried to ditch his guard and been successful for a moment.

She did raise an eyebrow; shouldn't Jon have a Kingsguard member? Something to investigate.

"Um, shall I escort you to break your fast Lady Sansa?" Jon asked then, putting on a formal front and she nodded in approval, barely avoided rolling her eyes; they had parts to play here, as much as Jon and she hated playing them.

But as she took Jon's arm, and they reached the stairs, and she noted a Tully guard fall into place behind her (how had she missed that? Foolish, amateur, she should have known she'd have a guard, she had to do better, she was back in Kings Landing, she could not allow her guard down as she occasionally had in Winterfell), she wondered what they were playing their parts for.

Why had they been sent back? Why here, why now?

And would they ever know?

Breakfast was a quiet affair.

The Great Hall was quiet at dawn, a few Lords and minor nobles, none of his family here or Sansa's. Jon took a seat at the high table, and ushered Sansa next to him, and they ate mostly in silence, too many hearing ears to talk freely here.

As they were sipping their tea, Sansa with a plate of sweet treats (to which he smiled, he knew she had missed the sugary things with the simple fare they'd been eating for months at Winterfell) and Jon some meats and bread, they were joined.

He was alerted to it as Sansa sprung to her feet and he quickly did the same.

"Your Grace" Sansa said, dipping into a perfect curtsey, playing the perfect little lady, to which Jon near laughed, she hadn't been a simpering girl for a long time and yet she knew how to slip back into it, he wished she didn't have to, but they all had their parts to play here, and she played hers well, disturbingly well.

He turned to find it was his Aunt Rhaenys had joined them and smiled as she leaned forward to peck his cheek, which he returned with a smile.

He knew he needed to be careful, not to attach himself to his parental figures here, it would be easier with the King he thought (for now), as he'd had a Father, Eddard Stark, but it was hard with Visenya, his Mother here, and even Rhaenys, his ancestors but also Mother figures, something he'd never had.

One always did long for something they'd never had after all.

"Nephew" Rhaenys said with a grin, "Entertaining Lady Sansa?" She asked with a sparkle in her eye, and he frowned, his cheeks going pink (to his annoyance) to which his Aunt laughed and then joined them at the table, taking the left seat to the central chair, to where his Father here would sit, his Mother on the right.

"Yes Aunt" He said with a smile, "Showing her the Keep"

"How lovely" She said, and seemed genuine, "But remember you have a meeting with your Father and his advisors in just an hour, your Father will be displeased if you miss it, even for a pretty girl" She teased, and Jon knew she was pink in the cheeks.

"I believe I am engaged to sew with my Aunts, your Grace" Sansa said with a smile.

"Good, give them my regards" Rhaenys said, and Sansa smiled; Jon too, his Aunt was clearly a good Queen, the kinder face, whereas his Mother, Visenya was more of the cold ruthlessness, but with a kind smile for him.

"Of course, your Grace" Sansa said, both to him and his Aunt and he had to stop a frown, he didn't like her being deferential to him, it didn't feel right.

In Winterfell he'd been the King yes, but Sansa the Lady, and he'd never expected her to defer to him.

And yet the parts they had to play here were so different to what they had been at Winterfell, it would take some adjusting.

As his Aunt began to eat, chatting to a Lady at one of the lower tables, Jon turned to Sansa.

"Small council?" He whispered, ever so under his breath, and Sansa nodded, "Meet me after, in the gardens"

They needed somewhere to talk, and they'd have to find it after the meeting.

He wasn't worried for the Small Council equivalent here, having presided over his own, and yet there were some nerves about not knowing what to expect. And yet, he knew if they were to determine the state of the realm and their purpose in it, he needed to be in those meetings.

Perhaps that was the Gods had placed him as they did, as the Heir … he hadn't thought about that much and yet he grimaced, he'd never wanted the Iron Throne, and yet here he'd been thrust toward it.

Oh, how he longed for Winterfell.

And he knew Sansa did too. It felt wrong here that her part here was diminished, not that he'd ever let her be side-lined, but it was different here, in the eyes of men she was not his equal, both by gender and rank.

It was wrong, and he knew she'd wish to be in that meeting with him, to observe, to listen, to watch, as she'd learned, as she was so good at using, and yet he'd just have to try and remember everything for her.

That was the way of it here.

The Gods had put them here for a reason, what that was he didn't know, but he did know they had to try and make it work.

Which meant playing their parts, hard as that would be, apart and treated differently.

After that breakfast went quickly, they ate and then Jon rose, his Aunt following him, for they would go to the Small Council meeting together he presumed.

"I'll see you later Lady Sansa" He said with a nod, and Sansa curtsied to him, and his Aunt, to which he disliked but nodded, before filing out, on to the Small Council.

He took his Aunts arm as they made their way down the corridors.

"So, Lady Sansa?" His Aunt asked, and he had to stop himself from sighing.

Of course, he knew he and Sansa couldn't be close here as they had been at Winterfell, it would be deemed inappropriate, and yet he knew just escorting her, sitting with her, would have tongues wagging.

Fuck, he hated politics, he was good at it (Sansa better) much to his annoyance, but he still despised it.

"Its nothing Aunt" He said, which was true, he and Sansa were close, closer than most were, because of their history, because of what they'd fought for, their trust and love came from a place of suffering, of fighting for their home and always swearing to defend it.

Nothing more.

(At least that was what he told himself, cousins they may be).

"Good" She said with a nod, squeezing his arm, and he hated how he leaned into the comfort, it was a weakness, but one he'd been without for so long it was hard to ignore, "You know you must marry a Valyrian woman"

"No sisters for me" He mocked and pretended to wince as his Aunt smacked his shoulder.

"No, but the Velayrons have many daughters, you remember Lady Lena? And her twin Lady Alissa?" She asked with a nod, "Both Valyrian, beautiful and flowered, not quite the Targaryen match I'd hoped for, for you, being the only prodigal son" She said with a grin to which he laughed, "But still good enough"

At his grimace she laughed.

"You have time yet, a little my Nephew, but you know you must wed" At that he just nodded.

It was strange, growing up he'd never thought to wed, no one would want a bastard, and then joining the Watch had stopped all of that. Even with Ygritte he knew it had never been a possibility.

Then as King in the North there had been very brief talk, about Alys Karstark (before she'd married a Then), or perhaps a Manderly daughter, but they had been at near constant war, no time for diplomacy or marriage pacts to secure. He'd been chosen as King in the North, and marriage had been a long way off.

But now? Now he knew Heirs had to wed, he remembered Robb fretting that when he saw his 16th or 17th nameday his Mother would present him with names, and Sansa had been betrothed to the cruel boy Joffrey at just her 12th nameday. He knew it was necessary, to build alliances, and he had wielded that himself, Alys and her Then husband a perfect example.

And yet, he'd never considered it for himself, a Queen at his side. Sansa basically held the role, and he'd never wanted anyone else to take her place (not that he'd analysed that too closely), and so it had never come to him.

He didn't want to here either, but it dawned on him it would seem odd. He supposed he could hold off by crying away on the basis of not wanting to be tied down yet, but he knew that would only get him so far.

And what of Sansa if he married? He knew they needed to confront that issue, of her being a guest here, to be swept away by the Tully's at any time, and knew any wife would not see him be close with another Lady. Gods it was confusing, and he hated having to untangle such a web.

Of course, the solution was looking him right in the face, only for Jon to be oblivious to it.

As was typical.

They arrived at the meeting room shortly after, him and his Aunt chatting away about the construction of the AegonFort he knew would one day be the Red Keep; he was glad it was not for Sansa, though he could use some secret tunnels surely.

As he stepped inside, he quickly looked around, he saw his Father sat at the head of the table, who offered him a smile, as did his Mother, at his right side, his Aunt went to take a seat to the left of her husband, and Jon took the empty seat next to his Mother.

Four other people were in attendance. He saw the Grand Maester though didn't know his name, recognised the Celtigar sigil on one mans tunic and it came to him this must be Lord Crispian, he knew the dark-skinned man with white hair was a Velaryon and then did not recognise the other.

Still, he didn't flinch at his unsure surroundings or companions and just nodded, and took his seat, thankful for his own stoicism. He smiled as his Mother patted his hands, and felt that dangerous comfort.

But he didn't fight it.

"Welcome all, thank you for joining me for this council" Not a Small Council yet, "You each have your role in running the realm, and I thank you for your service" He nodded then, and Jon knew the meeting had began, not too much formality or pomp he smiled, just as he did it.

"Tell me of Orys" He said as he turned to the Maester who nodded.

Of course, where was Orys Baratheon? Jon knew his history was spotty, better than it should have been, having read up on Targaryen history when he'd learned his own heritage (well as much as he could, war left little time for reading), but he couldn't recall where Aegon's Hand was, not that he needed to as the Maester spoke.

"The Dornish merely repeat their ransom demands your Grace" The Maester said with a shake of his head, "The weight in gold for each man captured and held at Wyl"

"Ridiculous" Visenya sneered, and Jon saw the battle commander in her then, "We will not bow down to those savages"

"They have Orys" Aegon continued, annoyance ticking into his expression, "We are losing the war"

Jon knew of the First Dornish War of course, the last Kingdom to hold out and grimaced, he was no conqueror himself, but then as he glanced at his Aunt his eyes widened (his purple eyes which he'd had exactly no time to process), and he remembered one key part of Dornish history.

They were six years into Aegon the Conquerors reign, which meant in just four years, maybe less, maybe a touch more, his Aunt would fall in Dorne, with Meraxes, and both would die.

He couldn't let that happen.

It was ridiculous, he barely knew these people! And yet as she caught him looking at her and offered a sweet smile, he knew he couldn't let her die like that. Perhaps it was because she was simply family, something Jon had always been fiercely loyal too, or perhaps it was because she was just too kind, and yet he knew he couldn't let her die, not like that.

But then what could he do?

Either sue for piece or conquer Dorne?

And yet he wasn't the King here, he wasn't the decision maker, and he knew his Father here wouldn't back down, hadn't, not for near 7 years after the current date; the thought of fighting a war for 7 years having just left one made him near feel sick.

He had to do something.

"What is the current continuing strategy Father?" He asked, perhaps he should know this, but he didn't and needed to, and was thankful when Aegon just gave him an approving nod, he wasn't sure what was expected of him, but as King in the North he'd been a Battle Commander, perhaps he could be of some help here.

"We are currently retreated" He said with a glare, not a man used to having do so, "They have Orys, and I fear provoking them may see him dead"

"He is already dead" His Mother sneered, though it was clearly directed at the Dornish, "They'd be fools to let him live, and savage as they are, the Dornish are not fools"

"They won't kill the Hand" Aegon argued back.

"I…" And yet he cut his Mother off.

"They will" He remembered then, how Orys hadn't been killed, but rather had his hand taken up, so he could 'never take up arms against Dorne again' which had been near equivalent to killing the man and had Aegon and Visenya set Dorne to the torch, not that it had mattered.

This time it had to be different.

Was this what he'd been sent here to do? It was maddening not to know, but what value could he have here? He was a good swordsman true, very good if he were being less modest, but he knew he was also an excellent tactician, modesty aside, he knew how to lead men into battle, knew how to order them and lead.

But surely the Gods had not sent him and Sansa back to simply conquer the seventh Kingdom with his Father here? There had to be something more.

And then it dawned on him, something that had been lingering in his mind but came to him clearly then.

The Others.

What other reason could there be to be sent back?

In their old life the Others had overran them, defeated them, and then presumably had rampaged through the rest of Westeros. Was this their chance to do it again? Stop it this time? And yet, he knew the Others had hidden for years, centuries after the defeat the War of the Dawn not emerging again until his own generation.

But … could it be possible to defeat them earlier?

That had to be it.

Which meant keeping the realm together, hadn't he preached that time and time again to his men and others? How united they could win, divided they'd lose, which had proven true, the South squabbling and refusing to put up a united fight, the Dragon Queen included had surely led to their demise, refusing to unite, that always being their downfall.

And yet this time he had a dragon, as did his family, but to point them North, they'd first need to win the South, and he had to keep them alive first.

"Jon?" His Father asked, eyebrow raised.

"They will never send your Hand back to you, either alive or unbroken" He said with a shake of his head, "As Mother said they would be fools to do so"

"You think they will kill him?" He asked, clearly he listened to his advisors, his own son included, took them seriously, which Jon respected.

"Or maim him, torture him" He shrugged, he could hardly reveal what had happened, but had to hint, "They won't send him back as he was, why would they?"

"He's right" Visenya said with a satisfied smile towards him, "We should attack now, they won't expect us too, thinking we'll stay backed off for Orys"

"We sign his death warrant then" Aegon sneered, and Jon didn't intervene. He couldn't order a man's death, not for a war he didn't care about.

And yet they needed to win it, another glance at his Aunt, for more reasons than one.

He knew Dorne entered the fold eventually, under the reign centuries later (of a King he couldn't call to name, perhaps he needed to go through the histories with Sansa to remember as much as possible, information would be key to remember), so he felt less guilty about expediting that, though not guilt free.

Jon knew his guilt would only prevent him from making the ruthless decisions sometimes needed, and yet he knew not feeling it would be a worry.

For every life he'd taken, every war he'd waged, battle he'd fought (bar a few exceptions) he'd felt remorse, and that kept him human. Whatever had been in the nothingness at his first death could have taken that away, and so it was more the important to cling onto it.

There was a middle ground between the ruthlessness of his Mother, and being too soft, he knew that, he just needed to find and strike that balance.

"With an army?" Rhaenys asked, eyebrow raised, shaking her head, "The Dornish beat us in the field"

"No" Visenya scoffed, "We rain fire on them"

"That hasn't worked thus far" Aegon reminded his wife, "They hide, they take back camps, we can burn their cities, burn their Keeps but it doesn't win us Dorne"

Jon felt distinctly uncomfortable, how could he sit here plotting how to burn people? He wouldn't, he was no tyrant. Yes, he knew a united Kingdom was key, knew keeping his Aunt safe ran loyal in his blood, but he was used to leading armies, leading men; a fair clash, not burning Keeps and people to force them to submit.

He knew the answer, knew as he'd looked at the histories, and as he heard them now where they had gone wrong, but he couldn't bring himself to say the answer.

They should burn Sunspear.

Thinking purely as a tactician, it had been foolish to leave the Martells alive and free, out of belief they may have some weapon (he knew Dragons could be slain but hardly easily), or the misguided view their people would rebel against them if they hid. That was not how loyalty worked, the Dornish would be loyal to their own regardless, not foreign invaders.

Also, he knew burning Sunspear to ash would put the Dornish into disarray, burning the other key cities would see Dorne leaderless and easy for the taking. Sweep in an army then to take each Keep, perhaps keep a Martell alive to keep Sunspear, a woman and marry her off, or a younger son, or destroy them and replace with an opportunistic family.

That was the answer, but he could not stand to speak it, to condemn innocents to death for simply fighting for their own freedom.

After all, that was what they had done as Northerners, refusing to submit or bend the knee, he had ran with freefolk for Gods sake, he could not and would not be a tyrant, it would fly in the face of everything he stood for.

And so, he remained quiet, and felt traitor for it, traitor but right, he would not be a tyrant.

As King in the North he had been fair, reasonable, loyal to his own, he would not be a tyrannical Targaryen just because he felt kin with his ancestors here, and was growing to care for them so quickly, he would not.

It was wrong, and Jon knew his honour was worth more than that.

"Dismissed" His Father said jolting him out of his thoughts for they had wandered away from this room, and he stood then, and made his way to the door.

"Jon" His Mother's voice called to stop him, "Where are you going?"

"For a walk" He answered far too quickly, seeming guilty and she laughed at that, but let it go.

"Fine, but make sure you join us for a family dinner tonight, we're hosting the Velayrons who arrived today" She said and he nodded, glanced at his Aunt who grinned and felt his cheeks go pink before he hurried out, good natured teasing laughter following him.

He needed to see Sansa, so many thoughts were swimming around in his head he needed to speak to her, needed to work things out, and as he strode through the Keep, guard running to keep pace with him, he knew he'd drag her onto Ceraxes back if it was what it took to get them to speak freely.

They had much to discuss.

Too much.

poor bby jon, slightly dense lol, but also so in need of love 3

also, jon is known to be a brilliant tactician, and I'm making him even more so here; sansa is the spymaster, scheming etc, jon is the tactician, both diplomacy, jon knows what tf he is talking about.

anyway, next chapter we will meet some new faces! and move things along a touch... but how? wait and see!

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