authorsnote: another update so quick? wild I know, I have been on a ROLL!

anywho, I hope you enjoy, I actually got a little emosh writing this chapter, and so hopefully it resonates with you too.

do let me know whatcha thought, I love your comments and reviews, but most importantly - enjoy!

songrecs: jenny of oldstones - florence and the machine / pods version (both are dope, but the former probably better for this chapter)

Even as she ran into the courtyard, even as she saw him sitting on the back of the wagon, even as she rushed forward to hug him, tears misting in her eyes, even as she heard her Mothers cry of joy, she couldn't quite believe it.

She had hoped it was coming, considering he hadn't returned with the rest of the Stark family under the Weirwood tree. She had known he was out there, somewhere.

Somehow that had been worse. She had always hoped he was alive, her little brother, innocence, joy and even the ability to walk taken from him at such a young age. She had hoped he lived, but when her Mother, Father and Rickon had been returned to her she had almost hoped Bran had died too, to be reunited with them, had secretly worried he was lost, not dead, lost to them forever, worse.

She was so thankful as she squeezed him tight before relinquishing him to her Mother, that she had been wrong.

"Thank god" Jon said, his voice gruff and she nodded, her hand slipping into his, as it was the most natural thing, the two of them offering comfort.

For a long time it had just been the two of them after all.

It was strange now, almost overwhelming that they had so many more people. They had grown so used to relying on one another, now they didn't have to, it was a lot to take in all at once, especially now another Stark had come home.

"Are you well?" Jon asked then, to his little brother, when hugs had been given and people departed the courtyard. Maester Walkan had hurried off to grab one of his own inventions, a chair he had worked on for people without use of legs, Sansa had commissioned it weeks ago in what she had thought had been an empty hope of Bran returning, she was so glad she had now, that her hope hadn't been unfounded.

"Yes" The way he spoke seemed different, more rigid, but she could hear a hint of Bran there, just a hint. She flitted her gaze to his companion, a girl she didn't know, dressed in wildling furs, but she was only looking at Bran, sadness on her face.

Yes, her brother was different, not just older, but different. She just wasn't sure how.

"We should get you settled" Jon said with a nod and Sansa did too, nodding to the servants, talking to them quickly to prepare an earlier dinner, so they could eat together.

The Starks all together … almost.

"Food can wait" Bran spoke then, stopping her thoughts of the last Stark missing before she could wallow in them, "We have too much to talk about"

Sansa did agree, but Bran looked cold, tired, hungry, surely they could speak once settled? "You need to eat" She offered, and she almost flinched as Bran's gaze turned to her, and then flickered down to her hand joint with Jon's. It was the first time she felt uncomfortable at such a look, and almost released her brothers hand, almost.

"Why haven't you told him yet Father?" Bran said, his gaze swivelling then, and Sansa realised then yes, Bran was much different, much.

"What?" Her Father spoke then, and she noticed his skin pale, eyes widen, "How do you know?"

She looked at Jon then, who glanced at her, eyebrows raised. She shook her head, their own little language to share; what was everyone talking about?

"I just do" Bran said simply, not offering more, "And they need to know too"

"I know" Her Father sounded a little defeated then, "Let's eat first" She noticed Bran go to open his mouth but Lord Stark held up a hand, "No Bran, we'll eat and then…" He turned then, her Father, to Jon, and his expression made her nervous, what was this about, "I'll talk to you alone Jon, in the crypts, like I promised we would"

"What is this all about?" Her Mother asked then, still stood by Bran's side.

"You're right" Bran said, and again she noticed just the barest hint of him in his own voice, it unsettled her, "Jon should be told first"

"Aye" Her Father said then, "Food then"

"But Father…" Sansa began, but again he held his hand up.

"No Sansa, I need to talk to Jon first" He insisted.

She glanced to Jon then, who squeezed her hand, and she knew that was a promise; he'd tell her after. And so, reluctantly she let it go, gave him a nod, and then squeezed his hand back, before releasing it and turning with a whirl in the direction of the kitchens. If they were to eat she'd ensure everyone got a good meal, and then hopefully, what ever secret was hanging in the air would be revealed.

Dinner shouldn't have been uncomfortable.

Bran was home, the family were together, only Arya was missing and she had faith she was out there somewhere or surely she would have returned under the Weirwood with their other lost family members. The family otherwise was back together, while again, the Stark clan reunited.

Of course at the start it had been wonderful. They had hugged, smiled, laughed, overjoyed they were near complete, near whole again. Sansa had allowed herself to relax a little, had grinned, had taken Jon's arm as he had smiled too before heading off first to get the kitchens to prepare an early lunch, a feast would have been nice but not during war preparations, regular meals would have to do.

Still, it had been nice, and they had all sat down. It was always awkward as Jon took her Fathers old chair and she her Mothers but the awkwardness was waning and she hoped would soon be gone all together. And so, even with that it should have been a good meal, a nice time, as Maester Walden brought down the chair Sansa had commissioned 'just in case' and Bran fit perfectly and then he was pulled up to the table, the good Maester manoeuvring him forward before he and the servants left them be.

Family, almost whole, reunited.

It should have been pleasant, happy.

It wasn't.

It was awkward for one. They weren't quite used to the new dynamic, to Jon and Sansa at the head of the table. She knew her Mother resented it and Robb and even Father found it strange. The first time they'd eaten together Jon had gone to vacate his seat before she'd kicked him in the shin.

The King sat at the head of the table, and only the King.

It was somehow more awkward with Bran returned home. She was of course overjoyed to have him back, but she could see he was different, very different. Even when sat with his family he didn't eat, he just sat, that vacant expression in place.

Bran was certainly not himself, as she had suspected. He had an oddly blank expression but spoke little and his face remained impassive, a mask. It unsettled everyone, most of all her Mother who seemed to be torn between acting as though everything was normal and trying to ply Bran with as much food as possible.

Her Father looked still white as a sheet and was also silent, but clearly was deep in thought, barely picking at his dinner, his mind clearly a million miles away.

Robb was trying to make conversation, but the atmosphere held no place for small talk. Eventually he gave up and took over sitting with Rickon, chatting to their little brother who still held his innocence and noticed little amiss.

Jon was brooding now, and she resisted the urge to fall into conversation with him. No, he needed to think, and so she sat, brooding a little too, though she wasn't quite as intense as Jon.

Still, after several minutes of biting down on her bottom lip she knew they couldn't all sit around silent meal after meal, and so with all the bravery she could muster she knew she needed to do something.

She shot a glance at Jon who's thoughts she knew echoed hers. But of the two she was the better diplomat (just barely, Jon was very good himself but a better commander, she a better spymaster and manipulator than mediator), and so she steeled herself before initiating.

"Bran, tell us of your travel" She glanced over to the girl who'd arrived with them, Meera of House Reed, her Father had stopped off at the ravenry before joining them insisting he'd send an urgent letter to Howland Reed to come to Winterfell, she knew they were old friends. "How were they?"

"They were what they needed to be" He responded and responded was the right word. There were no emotions in his voice, no inflection of emotion at all. His voice was completely and utterly devoid of anything, it unsettled her.

"Where were you?" Jon asked, rescuing her, seeing she was a little rattled.

They did that for one another, covered each other when one needed it. This time it was her.

"Beyond the Wall" Bran said then and her eyes widened before she turned to Jon again. To know he had been so close…

"You couldn't have stopped me" Bran said then, apparently knowing just what Jon was thinking, "I needed to go"

"Go where?" Their Father asked then, looking at his son as though he barely knew him. Perhaps he didn't, perhaps none of them did.

"To become the three eyed raven"

Only Meera seemed unphased by his words and perhaps Rickon, still so young and detached from the troubles of adults. She envied him in a way.

"What does that mean?" Her Father asked and she left the questioning to him. For now, she felt it was more important to listen.

Littlefinger had taught her that. When to observe, when to listen, when to interject, when to get involved and when not to. She hated the man for his betrayals but she couldn't deny how much he had taught her.

'A bag of dragons buys a man's silence for a while, but a well-placed quarrel buys it forever'

'Always keep your foes confused. If they are never certain who you are or what you want, they cannot know what you are like to do next. Sometimes the best way to baffle them is to make moves that have no purpose, or even seem to work against you'

'There are two sorts of people. The players and the pieces'

'Everyone wants something. And when you know what a man wants you know who he is, and how to move him'

'In the game of thrones, even the humblest pieces can have wills of their own. Sometimes they refuse to make the moves you've planned for them. Mark that well'

Yes, he had been an awful man, evil and intent on getting what he wanted at all costs, but he had been smart and taught her much. Lessons she would live by until her death.

"It means I see everything" Bran said and when his gaze turned to her she almost felt a shiver in her spine, like he could see right through her. Could he? "Everything in the past, everything that has ever happened and everything that is happening now. Everything"

If she hadn't seen family members rise from the dead and heard of dragons and others she would have scoffed, but her brothers tale was not so tall as others she knew to be true.

It was disconcerting though, so much knowledge in one person. She shivered again at the idea he'd seen anything. For some reason she found herself glancing at Jon, feeling a touch guilty, before she turned back to Bran, his eyes still fixed on her, as though he knew what she was thinking. She was thankful he hadn't named that among his abilities.

"You looked so beautiful that day" Again his voice was without any emotion, "Dressed in gold, gems weaved in your hair, in the great Citadel, in the lion's den, the Capitol about to be married off, the golden bird in her cage"

She knew he spoke of her wedding, to Tyrion. She found herself trembling a little, as far as she'd come, as much as she'd put behind her … Kings Landing would never leave her she was sure, never. She'd still shake at that place on her death bed.

"You were beautiful" He said again and she found herself standing abruptly to her feet, her hands shaking.

"Bran that's enough" Her Father spoke then and Bran seemed to blink, but he showed no hint of guilt at his words, he didn't show anything. He took no delight in how he'd unsettled her, nor did he seem upset to have done so. His face remained impassive.

"It's quite alright" Sansa managed, before she stepped back, her food barely touched, "I just need to … check something with the cooks"

She didn't, she just needed some air. As strong as she was, as far as she'd come, she wasn't quite over everything. Not yet, probably not ever.

In a whirl of her skirts she hurried out of the hall, she didn't glance back as her Mother tried to ask her to stay, as Meera tried to offer an apology. She didn't look back, she didn't need to, the one person who she trusted the most to offer her some comfort, to remind her she was safe, she knew without looking back that he was already following her.

"Sansa"

It hadn't been hard to follow her, to see where she was going. As soon as she had stood to her feet he hadn't been far behind her, he never was, he'd always follow her, watch out for her, protect her, as she did to him.

He was the sword, she the shield, they protected each other.

'We have to trust each other…'

He was worried about her, but more worried about his own feelings. He felt angry, angry at his little brother. But then, was that his little brother sat at the table? Was that Bran? The Bran he remembered had been sweet and kind, always causing mischief, not a bad bone in his body. Was that shell, that person Bran?

Sure, they had all changed, they had all had to grow up far too fast, had all hardened and suffered too much. He was not the same person as when he'd left Winterfell, nor was Sansa, but he was still Jon, she still Sansa, Bran didn't even seem to be himself anymore, not at all, there seemed to be nothing of him left.

He tried to shelve his fury, that anyone would upset Sansa, and instead came to stop as she did, under the Weirwood of the Godswood. He smiled to himself, Sansa had longed claimed to be done with prayer, but this seemed to be the place she came for comfort.

And besides, they both had to believe in the Gods now, they had been shown the closest thing to proof that they existed.

"Sansa" He repeated. Her back was to him and she held up a hand then. He didn't heed it, still walking forward, even as she spoke.

"Just give me a minute"

"No" He said plainly. He wasn't being insensitive, he knew Sansa. He knew if he left her too it she would get in her own head, worry, panic and overthink things. He would be here for her, as she had been for him time and time again.

And so, he placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around. He wasn't surprised to see her eyes were red and silent tears had trickled down her cheeks. He knew Sansa hated crying, wouldn't allow anyone to see her like this, except maybe Jon. She didn't like to seem weak in front of anyone, even though Jon didn't consider sadness to be a weakness, Sansa did.

"I'm fine" She insisted, and Jon raised an eyebrow at her.

"Sansa" He said gently, and then pulled her into a hug. He was thankful she didn't resist (well only for a second before she crumpled) and let out a sigh of relief as she let out a small sob. Of course he didn't like to hear her cry, in fact it filled him with rage and made him want to cut down whoever had upset her, but it was better for her to let it out than bottle it up as she often did.

Jon didn't offer much, he didn't need to, Sansa just needed comfort and he'd known that when he followed her. He patted her back, stroked her hair, and held her close as she sobbed into his cloak, her little cries muffled as she tried and failed to hold them back.

"It's okay" He offered, because it was, "You're here, in Winterfell, home, safe aye?" She nodded at that, seeming to be reassured, she had left King's Landing, she had escaped, she was away from the Vale, she was safe, "You're here, you're safe, you're here"

He knew then he'd need to speak to Bran. Regardless of the trauma his little brother had endured, and Jon felt like a failure with the fact he'd been so close, and Jon hadn't been able to help, but regardless he'd need to talk to him. Changed he may be, but he wouldn't let him affect Sansa like this again, he wouldn't see her in tears again, not on his watch.

After several minutes Sansa pulled back, looking a little embarrassed, wiping furiously at her eyes, the red rings a little puffy. Jon offered her a smile, before he spoke.

"Don't feel ashamed" He said, taking her hands in his. He'd never been great at comfort, the wildlings would have scoffed and called him soft, at the Watch it was much the same, and so he wasn't well practiced, though with Sansa it came easier.

"I shouldn't be so weak" She whispered almost, clearly berating herself for needing a cry, to which Jon actually glared at her, which took her by surprise a little.

"You don't need to be ashamed" He implored her, and felt a bit better as she nodded, clearly his fierce tone having forced the point home, "You endured things Sansa, things few people could survive, never feel ashamed" He said, and he leaned forward then, placing a kiss to her forehead, knowing it was the right move as Sansa let out a little sigh of relief, of contentment.

"Shall we head to your room?" He asked as he pulled back, holding his arm up for her, "To rest?" She opened her mouth to protest and he cut her off, "Sansa" He admonished, for he wasn't trying to boss her around, but in her desire to cover up her little breakdown she'd no doubt push herself worse.

Thankfully she could see how serious he was no doubt and nodded again, having gone a bit quiet, as she did sometimes, and Jon just rolled with it, hooking his arm through hers before leaving the Godswood, thankful this time she wasn't going to argue with him.

"Thank you" She said gently a few minutes later, her fingers gripping at his tunic then, her gaze meeting his, "Thank you Jon"

"No need" He said kindly, and Sansa managed a real smile then as they left the place of the Gods, and went to the courtyard.

Winterfell, home, safe.

"Jon" He turned around, his arm still tucked through Sansa's to see his Father having cut them off as they entered the courtyard, a concerned expression on his face. For some reason Jon felt a tinge of guilt as his Father's eyes flickered to their joined arms but it faded as his Father pressed on, his expression still awash with worry, his face as pale as it had been at lunch.

"We need to talk" He said, "In the crypts"

"I thought we were meeting later?" He asked, not understanding the urgency if it were just for a chat.

"No, it needs to be sooner" His Father said, tone firm. Jon may be the King now and in charge, but his Father was still his Father and rue any man that refuse a direct request from Eddard Stark.

"Okay" He said with a nod, "Let me just walk Sansa back to her room and I'll meet you straight after"

"Aye" Again his gaze flickered to their joined arms and Jon felt that weird twinge of guilt before his Father hurried off, clearly worried, heading straight for the crypts.

"That was concerning" Sansa said, her voice still a little affected by her tears, but she seemed to be trying to get past it, having wiped her eyes and straightened her back. Sansa wouldn't ever let anyone see her be upset, equating it with weakness, only Jon was allowed to see her tears.

"I'll tell you after" He said, and Sansa nodded, it was a given he'd share what he learned. They had no secrets from one another.

"Can you walk me to the solar?" She asked, as much as it was Jon's, it was also hers, "Then when you're done we can talk there" He nodded then, seeing the merit in that, "And go over the accounts" Another nod as they changed course.

It wasn't long before they were at the solar door, two guards quickly taking their positions outside. Jon released Sansa's arm and offered her a smile, before pulling her in, dropping a kiss on her forehead once more. Her hand wrapped around his wrist as he did so, and Jon let out a small sigh.

"You'll be okay?" He asked quietly, and her gentle nod was the only thing that made him comfortable leaving her. She had suffered so much … he hated to leave her when upset, but his Father wouldn't have asked if not important.

"Go on" She said with a small smile, "I'll be fine"

"Of course, you will be" Jon nodded "You are" and that elicited a real smile from Sansa. Call her pretty or beautiful and she'd nod politely, call her strong (as she was) and you got a real smile.

"I'll see you soon" He offered in reassurance, and she nodded, seeming slightly better as she stepped into the study, giving him one last look and a gentle smile as she closed the door, no doubt going to immerse herself in reports as a means of distraction. When Jon needed to be distracted, he'd knock the stuffing out of a practice dummy or get sparing, with Sansa she'd tackle a farming problem or submerge herself in some complicated plans. They were similar in many ways yes but different in just as many.

With a sigh he made his way to the crypts, again he knew it must be urgent for his Father to need to see him so quickly. He felt a bit of apprehension at what could be so urgent. Was it something from the past? Was it something to do with Littlefinger? He knew it was pointless to speculate as he'd be seeing him shortly, but he couldn't help it, his mind was whirring.

He hurried then to the crypts, his long cloak brushing on the floor, Ghost had remained behind with Sansa as he often did. Even with Lady back Ghost still saw Sansa as his to protect which he appreciated. Both direwolves would sit at her feet and Jon trusted them to not only watch over her but offer some comfort too, because he knew even now, she was feeling a little better and would distract herself no doubt her sadness would linger.

Jon felt a surge of anger then. He'd glad take his blade to all the scum in Kings Landing and felt great regret he hadn't been able to bring justice to Joffrey and Tywin. He was thankful they were no doubt burning in whatever hell was after this world, and one day he was sure he'd hold Cersei Lannister down and either swing the sword or hand it to Sansa to do. They would get their justice, that was the only thing that kept his fury from erupting.

He nodded at people as he made his way to the crypts, and once he reached the entrance, he took a breath, nerves suddenly coming to him. He didn't know what this was about but felt suddenly nervous, what could it be that his Father needed to meet somewhere so private? And why had Bran raised it? With a deep breath he nodded to himself and stepped forward, descending into the crypts.

It was dark but the torches were lit. He always felt a bit inadequate when coming in here, seeing the generations of Stark, some Kings, some Lords, and now he was a King too. He always felt a bit like a fraud, but tried to shake that feeling away, especially with the fact he had slightly higher things to think of now, particularly his Father's cryptic behaviour and whatever information that he needed to impart.

As he rounded the corner he could see his Father, stood in front of his Aunt Lyanna's statue, and Jon took another breath and made his way forward, further into the darkness, surrounded by the Starks of old, about to realise he did belong with them one day, with the Stark family and name, just not in the way he thought.

soo thoughts?

I know jon came across a little domineering in this chapter, but our dear sansa often tries to cover her trauma to not seem weak, thankfully jon can see right through that and tries to offer her comfort and the space to have a cry if she needs to!

do tell me your thoughts, I hope you enjoyed and hopefully the next chapter will be up soon - the crypt! ahhhh I'm hype just thinking about you guys reading it soon!

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speak soon