authorsnote: wooo, quick update

shorter chapter than usual but for me was perfect to write. I loved it and ngl got a bit emotional! did you? let me know what you thought!

I do hope you enjoy, fav/follow for updates!

lil PSA, I am currently working on a new asoiaf fic! follow my page to keep updated...

now onto the story. do enjoy, and review!

songrecs: umbrella - j2, jvzel

Something was wrong.

Seriously wrong.

That was all she could think, as she picked up her skirts, as she dismissed Lord Royce, as she hurried across the courtyard at a pace not considered polite, but carrying her to where she needed to be, and where she needed to be fast.

And she needed to be with Jon, she knew that immediately, every instinct and feeling inside of her screaming at her that something was wrong, and so she needed to be by Jon now.

But this was different. Normally when something was wrong, a nightmare, an emergency, she'd be at Jon's side, they'd solve it together and she'd be in great comfort for being with him, reassured just by his presence and his reassurance, but she knew this wasn't like that, not now.

The wrongdoing was Jon himself.

No that he'd done anything wrong, but there was something wrong with him. That was so rare. Normally she was the one hurrying to him, seeking soothing words and a crushing hug to chase away a horrid dream or a need for reassurance, Jon rarely seeks that from her, and he doesn't now, but he is hurrying away from her, head down, turning in the opposite direction from her.

That scares her, Jon never avoids her, they are always seen together, the people of the North joke that King and Lady must be attached at the hip. They never turn from one another, even if in a bad mood or in need of time alone. They always sit together, dine together, gods they sleep in the same room.

And so, she knows somethings wrong, somethings wrong with Jon and she has to smother down the panic to hurry to his side, to assure herself she'll stay calm and fix it, she has to, it's Jon. She'd do anything for him, just as he's done anything for her.

It is simple really, when she considers it, tries to break it down in her mind:

Something is wrong with Jon. She needs to fix it. She will fix it and it will all be okay. Simple.

It has to be something to do with him meeting with their Father, he'd been fine before then. She briefly debates seeking out her Father, who she can spy leaving the crypts, for surely, he'll tell her, but no, she'd seen the look on Jon's face; horror, and so she knows he needs her. She knows he'll tell her what happened, they don't keep secrets from one another, not ever, and so it's to him she goes.

The snow is thicker in the Godswood, less walked upon and so it's ankle deep as she hurries forward, skirts hitched up, not at all ladylike and yet she doesn't care, she doesn't care as she spies Jon beneath the Weirwood tree, kneeling before it as though in prayer, shaking. In fact, then she breaks into a full run, not caring who see's the Lady of Winterfell acting so undignified, not with Jon trembling.

Jon, she must go to him.

And she does, near skidding to a stop by his side. She didn't think to approach gently, to ask if he wanted her here, to be soft, no, instead dashes in front of him, falling to her knees to match him in an instance, her hands finding purchase at his shoulders, no softness here, only worry, panic, fear, for him, for Jon.

That panic only doubles as his gaze meets hers, he looks terrified, and she feels her own heart stutter in fear, what's happened?

Jon is brave, the bravest man she's ever known. He charges into battle with a hardened scowl, no hesitation. He has always been brave, never one to back down or flinch, and yet seeing him looking scared, it terrifies her, and the words she intended to spill, to urge from him, to insist, they die on her lips, dry like the wind they make her pause.

She has so much to ask, so much to say, and yet at that look, the look Jon is giving her, one of pure, unadulterated, fear … what can she say?

"Jon" She manages, shaking a little herself now, and she knows how bad it is when he doesn't pull her forward to warm her up, doesn't offer her his cloak, only looks now like he might faint or throw up. "What happened?" She's whispering, why is she whispering? Only the Gods can hear them here, and yet she can't make her voice go any louder, "What happened?"

Nothing, not a sound, and she grips him tighter, her heart thudding in her ears, what has Jon so shaken? It shakes her.

There is no worry in the world like the one she feels when Jon's in distress. It's so rare she's not accustomed to it, but when it hits her, when he's gone to battle or doing something risky, it's like a punch to the gut and a hand to her throat. It's too much, pure panic rushing through her veins. Others she worries for, others she frets about, but with Jon it feels heart wrenching.

"Tell me"

She's not sure why those words do the trick, perhaps it's her eyes, blue looking into grey, perhaps it's the grip of her hands, or the fact Jon seems to gulp down some air and straighten himself. Perhaps it's how scared she looks now, and Jon can't stand to see her frightened.

Just as she can't stand to be worried about him, Jon hates to see her scared, will do anything to chase away any fears she may has.

She remembers then, when she'd had a nightmare, she'd been back in Kings Landing, a dream she's had a thousand times before, back in her own personal hell, behind those walls, gilded cage, torment, and torture. She'd been back there, with Cersei's torments, Tywin's coldness, Joffrey's cruelty.

She'd been writhing and crying in bed, tears decorating her cheeks even in sleep. Jon had been working and had been over to her in seconds, shaking her awake, pulling her to his chest, cradling her close, muttering words of reassurance.

Words that one day he'd kill them for her, one day he'd give her Cersei's head. He didn't offer pretty platitudes that 'everything was okay', just promised he'd be the one to swing the sword, she'd be the one to pass the sentence, revenge. It had been just what she needed.

And then he'd held her, petted her hair, tucked her to his chest. When she'd awoken, he'd still been awake, muttering soothing words, holding her tightly, stroking her hair. He'd shrugged off her concerns about his tiredness and gone about his day with dark circles under his eyes.

She's always remembered his words when she'd asked why he's stayed up.

'I'll always look after you'

'I'll always be there for you'

'I'll always protect you'

And so, as he'd gone above and beyond to stop her being scared, as he always does, she knew she' need to do the same, to chase away his worries, even with her heart in her throat and her own panic threatening to consume her, she forces it down, shoves it aside and speaks again.

"Jon" Her voice is steadier than she thought possible, as blue meets grey, as she looks into his eyes, hoping she looks reassuring, her hands gripping him tightly, his anchor, "Tell me"

Reassuring him, as he always does her.

And yet his next words do nothing to reassure her but do immediately explain everything that has happened in the last minutes, explain it too well.

"I'm a Targaryen" Is all he says.

And now, she feels as though she is the one who may faint.

"What?" Her words come out almost strangled as her mind tries to make sense of what he just said. A Targaryen? What? What does he mean? Her mind can't even process it, and instead she just repeats herself, no more eloquent than before, just confused, shoulders shaking. "What?"

"A Targaryen" He repeats, and now he pulls his cloak off, wraps it around her shoulders, and she slumps into the snow, sitting back on her heels, and Jon does too, their knees touching, connected. She doesn't feel the cold on her legs, she feels a touch numb in her utter confusion, she doesn't think she's ever been this muddled before. "I'm a Targaryen"

"I…" She begins, but Jon speaks first, sensing he needs to explain what in the world he means, that she might just keep spluttering in confusion if he doesn't.

"F… Lord Stark just told me, my Mother, it's his sister, Lyanna Stark" Her eyes widen then, as it all slots together, arranges in her mind, like Littlefinger taught her when looking at details.

'There is nothing such as magic or mystics, it's all in the details'

Details, and so she knows, as it all comes together, she knows what he'll say next before he says it, "And my Father…"

"Rhaegar Targaryen" She whispers, and he nods, confirming it. It all comes into place, confusion banished from her mind. She doesn't need to ask their … her Father's motives, all too easy to see, but she knows now she looks more scared than before, she knows she must look terrified.

'I'm not a Stark' He'd once said, brooding as always as they'd lain next to one another, huddled to chase away the cold, hands intertwined.

'You are to me' She'd declared back, without pause, and Jon had smiled, kissed her forehead, thanked her.

Stark.

Targaryen.

Which is he?

He's the King in the North, or at least he is now, she knows that much, but can he be?

Yes. Her mind immediately offers her, and she feels an odd relief in her lack of doubt. That isn't in question, of course Jon is still King, Northern blood runs in his veins, so does that of the dragon yes, but that doesn't make him any less Northern. She feels a fierceness come to her, no one will dare question that, she'll make sure of it.

He is of the North, raised in Winterfell, Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, and now King. He has earned this. She feels a passion stir in her heart, still thudding fast, but now with a fierceness. He is still King, screw his dragon blood, his Stark blood is what matters, and him, Jon.

"You're still King" She feels the need to say it out loud, even more for herself than Jon, "Always"

"How can I be?" He sounds broken, and she takes his hands in hers, feels a wither of fear and almost rejection as he pulls them away, gaze casting down. The sting of rejection is quickly replaced with a wave of sadness, that Jon doubts himself, that Jon is sad, her heart feels torn that he seems so hurt, she can't stand it.

Jon had once told her that her sadness is worse than his own to him. Anything that makes him feel sad, hurt, or upset, it pales to when she is upset and the effect that has on him. She hadn't quite understood that, when he'd told her that after the battle, but she'd nodded.

Now she understands, understands completely.

"You are" She asserts, and when he shakes his head she takes his hands again in hers, gripping tight as he tries to pull them free, so tight her fingers hurt, and yet she doesn't ease, "You are the King" Another shake of his head and she tugs his hands, shakes them, dips her head to force him to look at her, in the eye, blue to grey, "You're my King" She knows she sounds fierce, perhaps too much so, she doesn't care, "Until this day, until our last day"

"I'm a Targaryen" He repeats, and then he's clutching her hands as though they're a lifeline, as though they keep him afloat, as though it's all he has. "A Targaryen"

She's sure that's not true, but if it were, if all he had was her, it wouldn't matter. They only need each other, that she is sure of.

Yes, they have their family now, they have friends and subjects, and all of that is good, all of that is what they've fought for and will fight for again, but if all of it went away, if it all disappeared, Sansa knew she'd choose that, she'd lose everything, over losing Jon. And so, if all they had was each other, if all they could have was one another, that is all they need.

They are all that matters. Yes, others do to, but when it comes to it, Jon is who she needs, more than anyone, and it's not arrogance to know he feels the same for her.

When she pulls him into her arms he doesn't resist, goes easily, and it's a role reversal, for usually she seeks comfort in his, this time she offers it in hers, and that fierceness, that need to protect him, it's almost overwhelming.

"I know" Is all she can say though, for what else is there? "I know" She tries to soothe, strokes his back, and then his hair, rests her chin atop his head, places a kiss to his brow, as his hands snake around her waist, as his hands grab the back of her dress and ball into fists, fingers clutching, shaking, as though terrified to let her go, perhaps he is. "I know"

Targaryen.

Stark.

King.

She finds the last is the only one that matters to her.

But she's not naïve, not anymore. Now she's a player, a key player, and she knows it will matter to others, there will be implications, big ones, here in the North and wider. But, as she strokes Jon's hair, as she reaches out to wrap his cloak around both of them, as she clutches him just as tightly as he does her, a plan already begins to form in her mind.

Jon always takes care of her, protects her, tries to shield her from the dangers and pain of the world. Now it's her turn to protect him.

And protect she will, with everything she has.

The plan forms in her mind, taking shape and root, and as she clutches Jon, as he clutches her, under the Weirwood in site of the gods, she knows she will protect him, she'll do whatever it takes to protect him. Always.

King.

Her King.

That is all that matters, them.

ooooooof

so thoughts?

this was a lot to write! very emotional! I always knew sansa would accept jon without question but making my bby boy jon sad was hard! but trust me the angst will only get worse, haters of angst turn away now...

I do hope you enjoyed! now make no mistake there is much more to be discussed and our devious lil sansa has many a plan, but the reason I didn't include the part 2 of their convo (i.e. the logistics, coming next chapter), was because to me this chapter felt perfect, a purely emotional discussion before we move to practicality. I hope you liked it.

do review, follow/fav and all that jazz

speak soon