authorsnote: sorry for the delay, but to explore qohor we go...

do enjoy, do review

songrecs: don't blame me - taylor swift

As they ventured from their lodgings, clean, fed, bags packed and ready to explore their new home (for the moment), they did so in silence.

It wasn't a comfortable silence either, it wasn't one of ease they'd had on the road, or a companiable one they'd shared in the little house they'd rented. It wasn't one where Sansa felt comfortable to the point of exhaustion, as it had been on the boat, or a happy silence, as it had been when sleeping at the Wall, safe with Jon.

She still felt safe, of course, even with the awkwardness, and the way they'd woken up … her cheeks-tinged ping, she could never feel unsafe with Jon, or even truly uncomfortable, but no, she certainly could feel like her cheeks were as red as tomatoes and as hot as a fire.

She hated feeling like this.

It in a sense reminded her of the way Southerners did things. Never confronting anything, always a hidden agenda, never being truthful or saying what you meant. It made her nervous, it reminded her of times she'd promised to leave behind, times she had sworn she'd never live in again, nor live by. She should speak, not be cowardly and pipe up, express her feelings, her fears.

Should, should, should…

But she remained silent.

Her mind flashed back to the night before… and her blush darkened.

It had been innocent, she told herself. They were brother and sister simply seeking comfort from one another during difficult times, what was wrong with that? They were in a new, scary situation, of course they'd want to soothe each other.

But then she remembered…

Her nose brushing against his collarbone, a sign leaving her, her lips brushing his neck.

His face buried in her hair, inhaling her scent, his nose nudging across hers as he'd leaned down, a stolen memory coming back to her.

His arm on her waist, fingers resting gently on her hip, drawing a circle pattern in his sleep.

Her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under palm.

As they sat down for breakfast at the inn her cheeks were definitely the colours of tomatoes now, even she couldn't pretend all of that was okay between siblings, she just had to imagine her Fathers face, Robbs, goodness her Mothers, to know it wasn't okay, to know it wasn't normal; she'd never cuddled with Robb like that, breathing him in like he was the only air in the room.

And yet, a horrible traitorous part of her arose as Jon ordered them warm drinks and full breakfasts, and it told her … how nice it had felt. How incredibly comforting and safe.

And something else.

But she sipped her tea and ate her food in silence, Jon too, she chewed on her bottom lip, wrung her hands together and tried to collect her thoughts, only Jon looked stoic, as good at hiding his emotions as she was, which she was sure was a tall order.

In fact, he was better, a cool face that she knew an opponent in battle would struggle to read, but she wasn't his opponent, no she was his sister.

Though they hadn't woken up like it, had they?

Guilt squirmed through her, but it was hard, so hard to feel guilty, first because they really hadn't done anything wrong, but also because she hated feeling guilty for taking some comfort for the first time in years. She had suffered so much; didn't she deserve a reprieve?

Even if that reprieve only came in Jons arms?

It was when they stepped out into the street that he couldn't take it anymore.

Jon was a relatively honest person; he'd never live up to the honour of his Father before him, unfailing and always honest, he'd learned the world outside the North didn't appreciate that, that sometimes other things had to come before honour, that sometimes honour had to be set aside.

Like breaking his vows for Sansa, a choice he'd make again in an instance, and without hesitation.

And so no, honour wasn't everything, and couldn't be everything.

But he always tried to be honest, strove to stand by those values, to never let the Northern in him go, bastard as he was, he was a Stark bastard, he'd always live by those values, and try to embody them, try to embody what Lord Stark had taught him, his Father, tried to stand by what he respected.

And so, as they stepped outside, into the flow of people (and he knew now they'd slept and washed and were in clean clothes, Ghost at his heel, tummy's full, they needed to look around and get their bearings) he turned to Sansa.

He'd never done well with awkwardness, but Ygritte had cured most of it around women …

Not that he ever thought he'd be thinking of how to talk to women in regards to Sansa. Yes, of course he knew she was a woman, but she was his sister, not anything else, no not like Ygritte, or anything like that, she was his sister.

His sister.

But then his mind went back to the night before, and it was only sheer force of will that he turned to Sansa and continued what he'd planned to say (this time only moderately pink cheeked).

"Sansa" He said gruffly before clearing his throat, he felt horrendously awkward, which he hated too, he should never feel awkward around Sansa, she was the only family he had left.

Family, exactly.

"I…" He hesitated, but he knew he had to be brave here, seize the problem by the horns, they had too much to do today, each step they took a new one, danger lurking in the streets of the magical City, that they couldn't be at odds with one another, though Sansa's pink cheeks near unsettled him.

"We didn't do anything wrong" He insisted, but he knew he was just delaying something, a talk they needed to have, an expression of something? He wasn't sure, or maybe he was deep down, his own cheeks darkening, but he knew, for now, they weren't ready for whatever that was, he barely knew himself.

"Doesn't you having to say that imply we did?" Sansa asked, not letting the issue go easy as he'd hoped, he admired her for it, but he had to take a moment, though he nodded, she was right.

"We … I don't know what that was, comfort? Wanting to keep each other safe? Happy?" He paused then, pulled her close to a stretch of wall, as the city bustled around them, for a moment it was just them, "The Wall is lonely, I imagine Kings Landing was too, and I don't … there's no shame in needing each other"

"I know that" Sansa said her voice dropping lower, she smiled then, but it seemed tinged with sadness, how he wished to wipe that off her face, any hint of melancholy, "I do need you Jon, I can't deny that"

"And I you" He replied without hesitation, "We're family"

"Family" Sansa said, but she still seemed a touch sad, "I … I don't know what we're doing, but I need you Jon" She reaffirmed, and he pulled her close then, guilt eating at him, what would Lord Stark think of the way he'd woken up with his daughter? He didn't need to tell himself that, he knew. He knew how wrong he'd find it, Robb too, and Lady Catelyn would surely skin him alive.

But, apparently he and Sansa had accepted it, the comfort, for there was nothing more.

For now.

And that was what allowed them to nod, hold each other close and move on, the idea it was just family, and comfort, and nothing more.

For now.

It felt a little to Jon as he whistled for Ghost, who brushed Sansa's knees, that they were just delaying something, delaying the inevitable maybe, but for now, they just walked side by side, Jon and Sansa, needing each other.

And for now, that was all they could accept.

For now.

This market was not like the one they'd navigated in Pentos.

The stalls didn't overflow with items they were used to. There were no silk dresses here, no simple foods or scents they recognised. It was all foreign, new, exotic and often unrecognisable.

So were the people. Ghost garnered little interest here as he walked at their feet, practically attached to Sansa's skirts. Other people had animals, but it was a given, even Ghost, approaching the height of Sansa's hip was the norm here, a few people glanced, and Sansa flinched as Jon had to place a hand on his sword as a man in a cloak gazed hungrily at the direwolf, but otherwise people got on with their business.

A few people glanced at them, for it was too hot for a hood, even Jon wore breeches and a top (and his ever present cloak of course) with his weapons belt with no other layers. Sansa wore her green dress, the one that cross crossed in layers of silk across her body barring her arms and shoulders, it was too warm for anything else, though she felt dreadfully exposed, her pale skin pink.

They definitely gained looks, several women, shamelessly raked their eyes up and down Jon, but few men looked her way, those that dared caught one look at Jon and Ghost and hastily averted their gaze.

But people kept to themselves here, and to Sansa it seemed oddly freeing. There was little judgement, but it was odd, the people who did look at them, didn't leer, didn't gape, but eyed them as though they were the strange and exotic creatures, Sansa supposed that here they were, she almost laughed at that, here they were the foreigners.

"What do you think?" Jon asked her. She was clutching his hand tightly, some awkwardness has lingered after their talk but that didn't matter here, as she clung to him, so out of her depth in this new place, for now whatever had happened was put to rest, as they navigated this new place together.

Together always, that they agreed was more important than anything.

They needed food, and housing and all the things that had given them some security in Pentos before it had been ripped away, but Sansa here could tell it wouldn't be as easy.

Nothing would be anymore.

But they had no choice, she could not crumple into a ball and cry, or go inward to stop her fear consuming her as she had done in Kings Landing. She knew Jon couldn't just do as he was vowed, here they would have to get used to this new place, this scary place, and plan what came next.

What did come next?

She had some far-off view of returning to Westeros one day, reclaiming Winterfell, somehow, but that felt so far away and so impossible at the moment, it hurt to think of. They had to remain in the moment, they had more pressing issues to deal with.

They stopped first at a stall selling cheeses and breads, and some kind of broth neither of them looked at too quickly. Instead, Jon just passed over some coins, food was more expensive here, further East, what had cost them to buy this much food in Essos was near double here, but they accepted it, and Jon handled the transaction in quick High Valyrian.

Next came housing and Sansa felt annoyed she couldn't haggle here as she had in Essos. She had no idea how, but Jon had just grasped the language so, so much quicker than her, she'd joked on the road he'd probably spoken it in a past life, and so here he got directions to a large tavern at the end of the road, to which they walked.

It was early, and the sun high in the sky was turning her shoulders pink, she was thankful to quickly smear some lotion on her shoulders as she stuck by Jons side, and they approached the tavern owner, a man with a shock of blue hair, metal through his tongue, and a smile for her, and a bigger one for Jon.

"High Valyrian?" Jon asked, and the man nodded, flashing his tongue, Sansa felt distinctly uncomfortable and quickly took Jons hand.

She understood now why he'd presented her as his wife, and why men flinched away as Jon glared at them. It was protection, and one that she embraced, Ghost too, who stood vigil at her skirts, never far, Jon and his companion protecting her; she'd never felt safer.

"Yes, but I can speak the Common Tongue so your pretty wife can understand too" The man said with a grin, and Sansa tried not to flinch, she was too good for that, to show her discomfort, Kings Landing had taught her better.

Instead, she just straightened her back, imaging a piece of iron forcing it straight, a trick she'd often employed in Kings Landing, and dropped her gaze, though not deferentially to the floor, instead she just looked at Jon who nodded, he would do the talking here.

"We need lodgings" Jon said quickly, his Northern accent so much stronger than hers, and so foreign here, it gave her comfort, "For a month at first, maybe longer after"

"I have many properties" The man said, "Most above shops on this street, what do you prefer?"

"Our own room, outhouse and living space" Jon said, "Locks on the doors, and windows"

"The rooms above the apothecary are free" The man continued, "And for that I will take 30 of your Westerosi silver stags a month"

Sansa was glad she was used to schooling her face and Jon was so stoic – how was housing here so much cheaper? She supposed it was the inverse, Pentos had less housing and more food, but Qohor was a big City but emptier more traders passing through than permanent citizens, but food was scarce.

She also knew they were in a bustling part of the city, and it seemed safe, but it was more like one of the side streets of Kings Landing, she had seen towers and bigger houses out of the window of the tavern they'd slept in, that was where the many rich of Qohor resided.

"25 and we have a deal" Jon said and the man nodded grinning all the time, haggling was expected here, they shook, the man handed over keys and a small map and Jon handed over the coin. They still had plenty but with the price of food they would only last a few months, not six, not without work.

Sansa knew they'd have to come up with a plan, but first, to their new home.

She felt a pang in her chest for Pentos, and their little house, it had felt like home for a short time, she hoped she'd feel that here too, with their real home so far away…

Jon nodded, and took her hand again as they left, or went to leave, but the man spoke before they could, smiling all the way, she wondered if his cheeks hurt from it, it didn't seem so, and that unsettled her.

"You should visit the House of the Black Goat Jon Snow" The man said, laughing under his tone as he spoke. Sansa's eyes widened as Jon turned back, his grip hard on her hand but she didn't flinch, just froze, how did the man know Jons name?!

"How do you know my name?" Jon asked, fury lacing his tone, but there were guards at the door, tall guards with spears, she knew Unsullied guarded the city, and so Jon stayed his hand, for the moment at least.

"We know lots here" The man said, laughing out loud then, "And we knew of your arrival, and what that would mean, you have the blood of importance Jon Snow, do not waste it"

"I worship the Old Gods" Jon said without hesitation, and she felt pride surge in her, at his bravery, at his devotion to the North, she was thankful she had prayed again. "And I'm a bastard, not anyone of importance"

He was important to her; his blood be damned.

"How wrong you are" The man said with a smile, "Visit the temple when you are ready Jon Snow, and know, until you do, the Many-Faced God will be unhappy"

"The Old Gods are the ones I keep happy" Jon insisted, and then he whistled for Ghost, "You'd do well to remember that"

The man only grinned and laughed as Jon swept her out of the tavern, her skirts whirling, Ghost hurrying behind, the key clutched in Jons hand. The man never said her name.

"How did he know your name?" Sansa asked nervously as they hurried to the apothecary, and the side set of stairs up to their new home, though it certainly didn't feel like it. Gods, she missed Pentos, she missed Westeros.

She missed Winterfell.

"I don't know" Jon said, and as he opened the door and hurried her in, she turned back to him, barely taking the room in, she swore she saw his grey gaze flash purple again as they looked at each other, clutching hands, all awkwardness of the morning long forgotten.

"He didn't know yours" Jon said with a nod, "That's the most important thing"

She nodded, "Its strange, how could he know? We didn't meet anyone in the road, expect for the cutthroats and slavers you killed"

"I know, and we'd have spotted anyone following us, even if they had been in Pentos we'd have shook them off on the road" Jon shook his head, "I don't know how he knows"

"We are in the mystical City" Sansa said, biting down on her lip, she tasted blood and quickly flicked her tongue out, before forcing herself to stop, "Maybe that's how?"

"Maybe" Jon said, "But I don't like it"

"I know" Sansa said, "Me neither" She paused then, but continued "Do you think we need to go to this temple?"

"They are not our Gods" Jon said, and she nodded.

"I know" She continued, "But the man said-"

"The man is suspect" Jon said with a shake of his head, "We should move on, but we are running out of money"

"He didn't seem threatening … though that doesn't mean much I know" Sansa said, she had thought she was better at reading people, and though the grinning man hadn't seemed threatening she could never be sure, not in this world.

"Still" Jon looked around then, it was a good space, and he released her to walk through the living room which had a table, chaise and was framed by large windows, Ghost settled down on a rug by the door, Sansa followed Jon into the bedroom, where a large four poster bed stood.

"You'll sleep furthest from the door" Sansa nodded at Jons words, this time she didn't blush, no matter what she felt in Jons arms, it was always safe.

"And tomorrow we'll see the temple" He said, "Not go in but see it, we need to know if we're being watched"

Sansa could only nod again, and when Jon took her hands again, she clutched them.

Hard.

poor jon, poor sansa ;-;

overall, things are not going great in qohor, will things up? who know! (I mean I do, but ya'know)

do fav/follow, next chapter gods, temples, why are jons eyes wigging out? oh and angsty drama feels ofc

speak soon