authorsnote: qohor begins to live up to its name

do enjoy

songrecs: bloodstream - stateless

It happened again the next morning.

And again.

Two mornings in a row to be exact.

She would wake with her head tucked into the place under Jons chin, tucked safe and cosy, closeted away from the world, in a place where she knew she couldn't be hurt.

Jon would be holding her close, a hand at her waist, his nose in her hair to take in her sweet smell, his other arm tucked under her head, making sure she had somewhere to rest.

They would be far too tangled up for siblings, far too close for brother and sister.

Two mornings in a row.

And neither said a word.

They woke, washed, dressed, Sansa with flaming cheeks, Jon with his eyes on the floor. Neither would recognize it, and after an hour or so the awkwardness would ebb away … at least a little. Still, he didn't kiss her forehead anymore and she found it harder to pretend to be his wife, squirming a little whenever they spoke to market sellers, or she took his arm in the busy square.

She was glad she could blame her blush sometimes on the sun, though she wasn't sure Jon or even she believed it.

And then at night they'd eat a final meal, usually in the tavern one down from the apothecary where their room was and then retire. Wash, for the heat required it at least twice a day, she would sit and sew, Jon would read, practice his High Valyrian, play with Ghost, she would pet Ghost, and then they'd turn into bed, back-to-back, pretending they wouldn't gravitate to one another in the night.

Pretend they didn't seem to crave one another in their sleep.

On the third morning, after the awkward awakening (where Jon's thigh had somehow ended up between hers, and she'd woken feeling hotter than the weather warranted, and had ran to the bathroom), the washing, and the avoiding one another's gaze, all awkwardness was forgotten when upon leaving the tavern a man in black, different to the fist they'd spoken to, blocked their passage.

Jon, immediately grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him, blocking the person blocking them then, his hand finding his sword, and Sansa clutched at Jons arm, as the man, with long blonde hair and a laugh looked down at them.

"Remember Jon Snow, with your sister-wife, the Many-Faced God remains unhappy" He turned to leave, but Sansa with a wince at his phrasing (that it hit a touch too close to home), and grabbing Jons shoulder to stop him retaliating, it didn't have much luck though.

"As I've said I follow the Old Gods" The man just grinned though and turned, disappearing into the crowd, they waited until he disappeared and then Jon turned back to Sansa, offered her his arm, and awkward or not, her cheeks still flaming, Sansa took it.

"Maybe we should visit the temple" She suggested with a sigh.

They hadn't yet gone to see it, putting it off for two days, but not intentionally. The first day they'd slept for so long after weeks on the road, Jon in particular. He had been so exhausted Sansa hadn't been able to stand the thought of waking him, and had instead sewed, sat with Ghost and found herself watching Jon sleep, where he looked more peaceful, eased of the burdens of the world, the burdens she so wished she hadn't put on him.

The second day it had been necessary to visit the main market, get some food, pick up more balms and creams for the extreme sun, a shawl or two for Sansa's pale shoulders, and Jon a book on High Valyrian phraseology he'd spied – she was surprised, never remembering an endless appetite for learning, but hadn't said anything, or noted her jealousy over just how quickly he was picking up the language.

The second day also allowed them to see a bit more of Qohor, not much but a bit more. It reminded her of Pentos, in that it was so different from Westeros, so foreign, and yet it was do dissimilar from Pentos too.

The buildings were a deep black, candles flickering in every window even during the daytime. Figures and statues adorned most of the buildings, spires and climbing towers were signifying the Temples, of which there were many. She could hear odd noises as they walked down the Market, like animals, or humans, or one imitating the other. She could see flashes of light in the distance.

She wondered what happened at night, but Jon made sure to board up their room, keep the drapes closed, a chair tucked under the door, and the bolt locked.

They had rarely explored, but now on the third, Sansa knew, it was time.

She knew Jon knew they had to, but she also knew he felt disturbed. At being noted, at being named, at for some reason these strange religious men being interested in him. But he nodded then and she knew he agreed, they needed to know if they were being watched, they needed to know if there was trouble.

They needed to see a bit more of Qohor, the bit that she feared and even Jon was wary of.

And so, Sansa only paused as Jon went back into their room to retrieve Ghost. He was of interest in this strange City but not out of place, and any who dared linger on him quickly turned away at his bared teeth and Jons glare. Sansa knew Ghost was important if they were walking into danger and was very happy as the direwolf as tall as her hip circled her skirts as they made their way to the temple, people giving them a wide birth.

Sansa noticed Jon gripped his sword as they walked the streets, asking for directions only once before he picked their way towards the temple. As they got closer the massive dark structure was easy to spot, Sansa stepped closer to Jon and Ghost stepped closer to her, but they didn't stop until they were at the very front of the Temple, she knew it was the right one, as it was both the darkest and had the tallest spire.

Sansa found Jons hand on his sword comforting, more so than she cared to admit. She remembered the bandits on the road who Jon had cut down with ease, and she knew if anyone came for her, tried to hurt her, tried to even grab her, Jon would stop them. There was no ifs or buts, Jon would stop them, and he would keep her safe.

That was a feeling that never went away with Jon, awkward or not, she had never felt safer than she did around him, and if she were being truthful with herself, she'd never felt safer than in those first few seconds of waking, warm and comfortable in Jons embrace before reality set in. Never had she felt more safe, or precious, than in those moments.

It was strange to her as well, to feel so comforted by the violence. When she saw blood on Jons sword she didn't feel fear or revulsion, she felt glad he was keeping her safe, she felt comforted that he was more capable with a blade than any she'd seen.

She regretted he hadn't cut down Joffrey, she knew he would have done so with ease.

"Are you ready?" He asked, breaking her out of her thoughts, and so she nodded, clasped Jons arm tighter, took a deep breath and followed Jon up the steps.

For a moment Jon didn't step inside.

He had hoped he wouldn't have to at all, that they could just look at people surrounding it, and yet the steps had been empty but for worshippers approaching, there had been no one significant to question or follow, and so he saw no choice but to step inside.

Part of him wanted to walk Sansa back to their rooms, and come back alone, Ghost protecting Sansa as he infiltrated it, and yet that worried him, leaving Sansa outside his reach. What if they needed to make a quick getaway? Or something went wrong? No, he wouldn't leave her, he could surely protect her only if they were together, so even as he approached the door, and slipped inside, he ushered Sansa to follow.

"Stay behind me but stay close" He whispered before the door shut, and he felt Sansa squeeze his arm in acknowledgement. He kept her just at his back, Ghost next to him, covering Sansa too.

He was far more nervous about keeping her safe than himself, her life held far more value to him than his own did, if he had to die to keep her safe, he knew he would do so without hesitation, though he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Once inside the Temple, Jon heard Sansa gasp.

It was simple the Temple, and yet Jon could admit it was quite something to behold. There were statues, tall almost as the ceiling, candles burned bright at the base of each one, all except one, where only one candle burned, whereas all of the others had shrines, candles of different sizes and shapes, burning so furiously each statue was glowing, this one had only one, it was thin and black, with a small flame, the rest of the statue was in shadow.

Jon, almost instinctively stepped towards it, Sansa at his back, Ghost at his side followed, all three of them with silent tread. Jon noted the hall seemed otherwise empty.

And yet he carried on, as though he were meant to.

The statue they found themselves at the base of he didn't recognize. He was a Northerner, of the Northern Gods, and yet it wasn't hard to guess, as Sansa spoke in a hushed whisper.

"The stranger"

Jon looked up at it, the shadowed God, the face not legible, a hooded robe hiding it all away, he cocked his head to the side, it seemed familiar almost, though he couldn't quite understand why.

"Jon" She whispered breaking him from his thoughts, back into the present, and he turned at the concern in her voice, to find three men, stood in a loose arc in front of them. Jon turned immediately, pushing Sansa behind him, one arm wrapped backwards to keep her flush to him, Ghost stepped forward and snapped his jaws, and one of the men smiled.

"We mean you no harm" Jon recognized him then; the man who'd let them their rooms, the other flanking the middle person was the man who'd stopped them earlier, and Jon saw as they lifted their head, the middle man was not a man at all but a woman.

She did not lower her robe, but lifted her face, a face covered by a dark, red lacquered wooden mask. Only her eyes showed through, shining and wet, and when she spoke Jon gripped Sansa tighter, realizing she was shaking, Jon was surprised he wasn't himself.

"Thank you for coming" She said, her voice was gentle, she seemed quiet, reserved, Jon could see a peak of raven hair behind her robe, she wore no other adornment, plain clothes, dark, like the crow he'd once been, "To come here, is where the past should have sent you, and the future requires you"

"I don't speak in riddle" Jon said boldly, Sansa trembled behind him, and Jon wished he could take that away, but he couldn't, for now he was focused on the woman in front of him, he'd come here, drawn to it a little, to understand why he was being named, why he was being followed.

Sansa was the High-Born Lady, Sansa was the Heir to the North now Robb was gone, Sansa wasn't a bastard Northerner, Sansa was who no doubt the Lannister's would be searching low and high for, and so why had she not once been mentioned in Qohor? Why had they named him insignificant as he was?

"No" The woman said gently, he didn't trust her, or any of them, and yet she was calm in a way that stopped him cutting past her to the door, besides hadn't he come here for answers? Both to keeping him and Sansa safe, and in a sense to understand why they had said 'Jon Snow' when summoning, and not 'Sansa Stark'?

Why him?

"But you will understand" She said gently, "That you, one drop in the snow, one drop aflame, you Jon, named wrong, must understand, to go back"

More riddles, Jon had never had a head for them, he didn't dare glance away to ask Sansa, she was still shaking, but silent.

"Speak plainly" He said, "I'll do the same for you, I'm a Northerner, that is how we speak" He said, "I don't have time for riddles, you asked me here, so speak plain"

"How you speak is how you go" She said then before taking a step back, "Speak and understand that to go home again, the home that is yours, and yours alone, not of lion or stag, you must know"

"Know what" He demanded then, his voice ricocheted around the Temple, throwing the question, 'Know what?' 'Know what?' 'Know what?' around the room.

"Who you are"

And then flames as high as the ceiling seemed to strike from the candles, and Jon kept his eyes meeting with the womans, as he could have sworn, he heard a roar.

"I'm surprised you found them"

He shook his head at that, better to be underestimated, even by a friend, than guessed too correctly, but still, "My birds reach goes far, though it is much thinner in Qohor"

"And the mockingbird?"

Even here, in the depths of the Castle, they had to talk in riddle. Yes, it was unlikely the spies would ever fall fail to spies, but they could never be too careful.

After all, they spoke of life and death, and even more important than that, they had oh so much to lose.

"He hasn't tracked them as far as I can see" And he did see far, "But it might be a matter of time"

"We need to ensure that time is lengthy" The Pentoshi spoke with a sigh, "The more we know and they don't the better"

"Obviously" He said, "Only he could have the resources to trace them further, other than us, she is of little interest to those in the East, and the Queen nor the Hand can extend so far"

"Has the Hand asked of her to you?"

"Of course" He said, indeed, Lord Tywin at every Small Council meeting asked after Lady Stark in front of a furious Queen so fallen out of favor for her foolishness in letting the Key to the North slip by it was a miracle she was allowed at the meetings, and the King, still ranting and raving, demanding ever head until Sansa was found, "But I have managed to convince that even my reach is limited"

"If only I knew" The Master chuckled and Varys shared one before correcting himself, arrogance was the first to come before the fall.

"I'm glad they don't" He mocked, before back to the topic at hand, "Did your men check the road?"

"They did" He said, "And the man of the Watch did not exaggerate, men dead up and down the stretch they took, and the guards at Qohor reported the bastard boys blade was crusted with blood, the boy is gifted"

"A pity" Varys said, "It will be of use to the Stark girl, but we must get rid of him sooner rather than later then, a bolt to the eye perhaps, distasteful but quick"

"Perhaps not" Varys raised an eye at that, but awaited, his friend was no fool, if he spoke it more often than not had cause.

"The people of Qohor talk of the boy, talk of … him being special" He said, "Do your birds not report?"

"My birds are focused on Lady Stark, what do the people say?" The Spider asked, had something slipped from his web?

"I have only heard whispers, apparently the Temple know the truth and have been luring him there, but we are weeks behind as you know" That was true, being so far East it was frustrating, information took weeks to get to them, the Stark girl and bastard brother had arrived in Qohor near 3 weeks ago, and they had just received word of their arrival, it was maddening. "We must hope in the next update my men, many who can go into the Temples have word as to why he may be important"

"Yes" The Spider said, but again that promised more time, and he had an idea, "And so perhaps it is time I look into this Jon Snow, and chiefly, into who his parents might be"

"Surely Eddard Stark is the boys Father" His dear friend said, but as a Pentoshi Master, he was foreign, didn't understand Northerners as Varys had come to, didn't understand the Starks, few did outside the North, Varys could only pretend to.

"Rarely did a Stark break an oath, especially not Ned Stark" He said gravely, remembering the mans foolish honorable demise, "No, there may be more to the story of Jon Snow, and I will find it"

woooop, secrets are unravelling, what will happen next?

I'm enjoying qohor but damn the source material on it is THIN, you are going to have to accept some creative license here.

do enjoy, more jonsa next chapter, more mysticism, and whats that? did we hear a roar?

speak soon