authorsnote: here we go

and it begins

songrecs: all the things she said - tatu

Come night, the moon high in the sky overhead, Sansa Stark lay in her chambers, in Kings Landing, not quite the Red Keep but the Aegonfort, lay in bed and felt every possible emotion swirling around her head.

Fear, fear that she and Jon were so alone in all of this, that they didn't really know why they'd been sent back in time, or what they were supposed to do, or what they even could do.

Worry, worry that she wouldn't impress at the dinner, that she'd be sent away from Jon, that she'd be alone.

Terror, at being here, in Kings Landing, a place she'd vowed to herself she'd never return to. She could feel her hands shaking as she lay in the bed, to be stuck here, in the South once again, Winterfell so far, far away.

Nervousness, for what did this mean for her and Jon? To be betrothed. It might not be real for them, but it was to everyone else, and didn't that in essence make it real?

Her mind swirled with confusion, her teeth biting into her bottom lip, her eyes wide open as she looked at the canopy of the bed, sleep did not come easy.

As dragons roared through Kings Landing, and Sansa tried to remind herself it was okay, she had Jon.

But how did she have him?

She didn't know, and that was her biggest fear of all.

The next night they stood ready outside of the Royal Chambers, hand in hand, and Sansa could feel herself trembling.

She was dressed to her best, after she'd told her Father here of Jon's proposal (and her Aunts hadn't stopped squealing), he'd been overjoyed, acquiesced easily to her (or rather her Aunts) ordering a dozen new dresses, and had hurried to write to her supposed Mother back in Riverrun. Her Aunts had insisted on accompanying her to shop for a new fabric and gown (quickly put together by a seamstress), for the dinner tonight.

It had been silly, but Jon had called her beautiful and knowing his honesty she knew she must look it.

(And she now had a healthy blush to accompany her new dress).

Dressed in traditional Tully colours, her dress a sky blue with a little trim of grey, the Stark colour gave her strength, as she wore her dragonfly necklace at her throat, hand in Jon's, shaking yes, but she felt strong, she felt ready.

As ready as she could to face a trio if Targaryen historical legendary figures, with her supposed Targaryen betrothed next to her, who was really just Jon.

But then, Jon was different now too.

Whereas she felt like she'd just put on a Tully dress, already with the Southern hairstyle yes, but also her dragonfly necklace, a gift from her real Father, she hadn't budged an inch from the Sansa Stark she was, Jon seemed different in a sense.

It wasn't his fault, to be so quickly swallowed up by the prospect of a Mother, something she knew he'd always craved, to be brought into the bosom of a family wholly accepting, to shred the stain of bastard, to be accepted, to be part of things, to have a family he didn't have to second guess. But … wasn't he supposed to just be Jon all the same? Her Jon?

No, here he was a Targaryen Prince, with purple eyes, a place in court, power, as he'd had as King, but this time he wielded it alone, without needing her, and though he really was just the same (he had to be, didn't he?), still Jon, it made Sansa fret, for a reason she couldn't quite identify.

Their betrothal had calmed that, even as her cheeks had reddened and she'd felt something else she couldn't quite figure out … but now, waiting to go into the inner sanctum, Jon offering her a reassuring smile, she could only look at his violet eyes.

It all felt different, Jon and her felt different, close still always, but with an underbelly of something else. Something that made her nervous.

They were still Jon and Sansa, weren't they?

Yes, but it felt different.

Especially as she stood in Tully blue trimmed with Stark grey, Jon stood only in black and red, the colours of the Targaryen's.

Yes, things were different indeed.

Different, and simmering, like a pot placed to boil that might spill over, and she wasn't sure when it would. It made her nervous, but she there was nothing she could do about it, she had to adapt, to these new circumstances, but she could only do that with Jon by her side.

Her Jon, not Targaryen Prince Jon … hers.

When she'd started thinking of him in those terms, she wasn't sure, but she clutched his hand all the more tightly as he offered her a smile.

"You'll be fine" He whispered as the doors opened, "No need to be nervous"

She nodded, even as nerves squirmed in her belly, but plastered a smile on her face as they stepped into the Royal Chambers, the dining table set, servants waiting and ready, and King Aegon, Queen Visenya and Queen Rhaenys Targaryen waited for them, the King and Queens of legend. Figures come alive from the history books.

And all three offered Jon a smile, before turning to her.

They weren't hostile, as she stood still, but tall, back straight, hair shining, dress perfect, but they didn't give her the smile they'd given Jon, instead they seemed to be assessing her. Just for half a minute, looking her up and down, taking her in, she knew she couldn't tremble, even as nerves assaulted her, she would lose their good opinion immediately if she crumbled.

Instead, she clutched Jon's hand, kept her chin high, and was thankful as Jon spoke.

"Now we're done with all of that" Jon said, and rolled his eyes, he'd clearly become comfortable in his position quickly, she didn't know if that should worry or reassure her, "Can we eat?" He asked, and at that King Aegon laughed, and some, not all, but some of the tension in the room dissipated.

It was still odd though.

Odd as they took their seats, the King at the head of the table, Queen Visenya to his right, Jon next to his Mother, Rhaenys to the Kings left, and Sansa slid in next to her as the waiters filled them up on wine, though Queen Visenya had them bring ale for Jon, and then soup.

Odd, because first Queen Visenya and Queen Rhaenys chatted with Jon about his day, as though they were a real family, he spoke about sparring, about going to see Ceraxes, about the Council meeting tomorrow (Sansa had to remind herself it wasn't called the Small Council, not yet), and so on. It all seemed so natural, he spoke with them almost as when he spoke to her, yes, some awkwardness clung to him, and Jon would never be a 'smiler', but he seemed content, comfortable. He seemed happy.

And she hated that the idea of that stabbed her in the heart.

It was ridiculous, Jon was happy, and most of her was incredibly happy for him, most, but there was a part, a crushing insecure part, that meant he didn't need her anymore, that if anything she was just a complication here, just an annoying distraction, reminding him that they didn't belong here, that he was as much Stark as Targaryen. Just a complication.

Of course, that all whizzed around her head at such a speed she struggled to process it, but it was there, as she sipped at water, and just a bit of wine, before taking a few sips of soup before placing her spoon down.

Jon was all she had here, the Tully's were nice, but they weren't her real family, but she supposed that was the difference, Jon had, had them yes, but he'd never had parents, a real family, a Mother, an Aunt, he'd never had that, and here he did.

And he'd embraced it, and she was happy, but terrified at the same time.

Terrified.

"So, Lady Sansa" She managed not to flinch as she was pulled from her own thoughts into the discussion, she knew she needed to impress, and so without a flinch, she turned to Queen Visenya Targaryen, a hero of legend, she remembered Arya revering her, a true hero, and even Sansa had smiled at her long blonde hair, her rule over Kings Landing by Aegons side. But Sansa knew she had to hold her own.

Her hands clenched in her lap were screwed into fists, her nails digging hard into the skin of her plan, but her face was smooth, impassive, she was porcelain, turned to ivory, to steel.

I am a Stark, I will be brave.

"You were raised at Riverrun?" Queen Rhaenyra stepped in then, and Sansa remembered Jon telling her about how the dynamic between the three Westerosi rulers was different to how it seemed in the history books, it was closer, more intimate, the three were a team.

She near smiled at that; a team, like her and Jon, though Jon was part of the Targaryen team now too, she just hoped he was still part of hers.

"Yes, your Grace" Sansa said, she'd been covertly questioning her Aunts on her upbringing, had read through some letters in her things from her Mother, and was relying on knowing Riverland-ee customs, to get her through her supposed Southern childhood, compared to the Northern one she now cherished. "I was raised there with my Mother, Father, Aunts, and my new baby sister, it is a beautiful Castle, and I've always loved High Heart, your Grace" She said, she had visited it once as a child, and that helped her here.

Lending her own experiences here was crucial to ensuring she could get through this, because that was what she had to do, get through this, this was basically an audition to be Jons betrothed, his word alone would not seal it, she had to.

And would.

For more reasons than one.

"Hmm" Visenya said with a nod and a sip of wine, but she was no drunk like Cersei, there was steel in her eyes, steel and intelligence, and that famous Targaryen fury, Jon had never shown it, but it was legend in the books; fire and blood, "And can you read? Write? Sew?"

"Yes, your Grace" Sansa said, her fingernails digging hard into her hands, she had to remind herself this might not be normal elsewhere; all Ladies were educated alongside Lords in Westeros, and though that might be different in this time, she knew it was more because she was surrounded by Targaryens, and Targaryens were different.

She remembered sitting with Jon a day earlier in the gardens reading, he the history of Old Valyria, she the Riverlands, and Jon had read a quote, from the Targaryen landing at Dragonstone…

'The Targaryens were often seen as closer to gods, than men'

That was the people she was dealing with, and so she just smiled politely, and felt blood pool in her palm from her nails digging hard enough into her flesh to make it bleed.

She was back in Kings Landing indeed.

"I love to sew, I have little talent for any instruments, but I love to dance, I can read and write, and I enjoy reading about Westerosi history, your Grace" She hated this, dancing like some prized cow up for auction, but she knew this was necessary, awful but necessary.

Before she and Jon had died, she had vowed to never marry, had vowed she'd be a submissive to no man ever again, would never go through the indignity of this, and yet now she was enduring it. She did not cry, but she would later, her tears into her pillow, a lesson from Cersei this time…

'You cry into your pillow little dove, where no one can see, and then you hide that by day, no one should see you cry, no one'

"And how many children does your Mother have?" Rhaenyra asked next, sipping at her wine, handing a jug over to Jon he was reaching for.

"Two, your Grace" Sansa said with a smile, "And my Grandmother had three"

"Enough" Visenya said with a shrug. "You will need to birth the next generation of Targaryens after all, Lady Sansa"

"That's enough" Jon interjected, and she turned to look at him, it wasn't his place to interrupt here, and yet he did all the same, he did feel comfortable with his family, but she smiled; he also felt the need to defend her.

A selfish fear panged in her heart again, but she pushed it down, she'd never deny Jon what she'd had, damn her own insecurities.

Damn them.

She loved Jon, as family, and maybe there was something else confusing, something that made her heart ache, but regardless, she loved him, she'd never deny him happiness, damned be her own fears.

"Don't be rude to your Mother and Aunt Jon" His Father scolded him, King Aegon who otherwise had been silent, but she could see in his purple eyes, the same as Jons now, he was observing everything, intelligence lurked there.

"I'm not" Jon protested, it reminded her of Robb and her Father, and she felt a pinch in her throat, "But I think I can stop them questioning my betrothed" He said with a roll of his eyes.

"Mind those manners son" Visenya interrupted, but Sansa could see the fondness in her gaze.

"Then stop interrogating her Mother" Jon replied, "Sansa is an educated Lady, she can read and write, her script is nicer than mine"

"Hardly difficult" Rhaenyra said with a grin, and Sansa smiled, Jons Aunt caught that, and they did share a smile, and something inside Sansa eased.

"She is beautiful and clever and kind" Jon paused then, took her hand, smoothed a thumb over hers, and uncurled her fingers, "And will make a wonderful Queen"

Sansa's cheeks turned pink, but it wasn't just some silly blush, it was the very real, very scary realisation that she had been waiting a longtime for Jon to say that.

"My Queen" Jon continued, and their gazes caught, his Targaryen purple to her Tully blue. He kissed the back of her knuckles then, and Sansa had no idea if it was for show, but Jons gaze was only sincere, "And the people will love her"

Something in her heart quickened. Her mind tried to remind her, this was Jon, they weren't really betrothed, well no, they were, but it was complicated, he was Jon, her Jon … her mind was screaming, but she ignored it, ignored any warnings, that they were cousins, had been raised as siblings, that it wasn't like that, not for them.

He was Jon and she Sansa, Jon and Sansa. Family.

Ignored it, and just looked into his purple gaze.

And felt herself getting lost in it.

so yes, if it wasn't obvious jon/sansa pairing

but trust me, its gunna be a HELLA slowburn, there will be some fluff, but this is angst city bby, jon and sansa aren't even ready to acknowledge their feelings for each other yet, but it isn't all up to them ... I'll say no more!

I hope you enjoyed, do review if you can

speak soon