authorsnote: sorry for the wait but this is something ...

do enjoy

songrecs: survivor -2WEI

"Who am I?"

Sansa flinched, not at Jon, who didn't even raise his voice as he responded to this strange woman; for Sansa could tell it was a woman behind the wooden mask, but at the woman as she tilted her head almost curiously, the men flanking her did not move a muscle, they didn't even flinch.

Sansa knew she needed to be strong. Jon was stood a touch in front of her, protecting her, she knew, warmth spreading across her chest at how he always seemed to put her first, how he'd put her first from the very second they'd reunited.

Ghost stood next to his Master, guarding her yes but standing by Jon's side. She had noted one of the men glance at the direwolf, Ghost silent as ever had only shown his teeth, never a sound coming from his muzzle, but the sharpness of his teeth and claws on the floor speaking for themself. Ghost didn't need to growl or snap his jaws to show his threat.

And yet Sansa felt nervous. She couldn't see anyone else in the Temple now, but the shadows seemed to flicker and move as the candles did, who knew how many people were hiding? And why did they want them here? She tried not to tremble, to show strength, to not seem weak.

She remembered in Kings Landing, being so scared she could weep, but forcing herself not to be. To lock down walls of ice in front of her eyes, to imagine the great structure taking over, hiding her from prying eyes, hiding her fear. She didn't have to do that with Jon, to hide behind walls, but here she tried it, finding it easy to smooth her expression once more, clutching her hands together and digging her nails in hard enough to draw blood to stop them shaking.

She would not flinch again.

She would not show these people her terror, and she knew Jon needed to focus on riddles they threw at him for whatever reason, not on her trembling at his back.

She couldn't, no wouldn't, be a burden. She had been one too often, even on this journey, she had to be anything but weak, not that stupid girl Jon did not need to carry.

She listened to the riddles too. Why did they want Jon here? She was not offended at no mention of her, she was a noble Lady yes, but only of Westeros and a disgraced house, she was not very important, but in truth Jon was even less so, a bastard of a disgraced house and technically a deserter. Why did they seek him out? Why?

It felt like they were both missing something key, and yet either knew what it could be.

Why would they be focused on Jon? A bastard of no name? Even she was inconsequential. Why were they focused on either of them? Why had they taken the effort to lure them here? Why all the bother? Why?

Sansa tried to think, as the priestess spoke, all in riddle, never giving them a straight answer. Even as Jon asked she just seemed to smile beneath her mask, and Sansa found herself glaring. Why couldn't anyone be straight with them? Why?

She tried to unravel them in her head;

'To come here, is where the past should have sent you, and the future requires you'

'That you, one drop in the snow, one drop aflame, you Jon, named wrong, must understand, to go 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'

And yet none made any sense, even as Sansa repeated them back to herself, tried to pick out any meaning, there was just nothing, and she could tell by Jons glare, they meant nothing to him as well.

She tried though, repeating them again in her mind and then focused on the one that lingered for some reason;

'That you, one drop in the snow, one drop aflame, you Jon, named wrong, must understand, to go back'

And the words that had followed …

'To know what?' Echoing around the room, ricocheting off the walls of the temple so high she could barely see where they ended, where they ended, and the stars began. 'To know what?'

'Who you are'

A gasp left her lips which she couldn't quite smother with her bloody hands, a smear of it across her lip as she tried and failed, as it came to her, not the whole answer, but enough of it, the Priestess even smiled at her before she spoke.

"You're talking about his Mother" Sansa said in a hushed voice, and she felt Jon tense in front of her. She'd never been privy to what he knew of his Mother but she knew it was next to nothing, remembered hearing him beg their Father for answers and getting nothing in return, Sansa had never even considered it could be anyone but a commoner.

Had she been a fool in that too?

Had she always been a fool?

Had they all been? The Starks? Had their Father known something he'd never said?

"Who is she?" Jon asked clipped, his tone barely hiding the longing only she could hear. She admired he betrayed little in his tone.

"Well done daughter of wolf and fish" The Priestess said smiling now, that was clear even with the mask, the glint in her eye, "You may be more significant to this story than we thought" Her eyebrows knitted at that, she would have once been offended at the idea of being insignificant, now she welcomed it.

Insignificant meant invisible, meant left alone, meant without torment, without judgement and notice, meant being able to slip into the shadows and watch, it came with its advantages. She'd learned that long ago now.

"Who is she?" Jon asked again, he sounded angrier now, the desperation not quite so hidden now, and Sansa flinched, went to take his arm, but the Priestess spoke first, spoke before she could, though Sansa noticed her gaze flicker.

"Once you know, come back" She said simply and then bowed her head, "Come back and realise, it was always right in front of you" A nod, and then even as Jon stepped forward, sensing this was over, that he couldn't allow it to be, she disappeared.

Sansa blinked twice in confusion, at the smoke that had suddenly disappeared, how the priestess and her two guards had disappeared, how now they heard talking, saw figures visiting at the statues, still not the Stranger, but the temple had filled again, only a handful of people, but enough.

"Where did she go?" Jon asked, as he turned to Sansa and she near cried at the desperation in his gaze, and quickly took the hand he'd placed on his sword, and linked it with her own, intertwining their fingers.

"She's gone" She said gently, and Jon nodded, the anger draining from him, both knew a Priestess like that wouldn't be found unless she wanted to be, but as Jon's shoulders sagged, she pulled him into a hug, it might have been foolish, they might have still been being watched, but for a moment Sansa didn't care, she just pulled Jon into a hug, and smiled to herself as he wrapped his arms around her without hesitation.

"It's okay" She said gently, kindly, for all the kindness Jon had shown her, she was glad to be able to repay it, even if it paled in comparison to all he'd done for her, it was something, and something was better.

Especially as he made no inclination to move and she held him close and fast.

Right until the stars over the temple started to come out, but the Stranger remained standing alone.

That night in bed, she barely slept.

Their room was comfortable, the air hot, hotter than Pentos but manageable. Ghost was happily snoozing under the open window to allow the cool in, and the door was double locked, with Jon nearest it. He slept fitfully, having been quiet most of the day following their visit to the Temple.

Like an illusion, when they'd left it had been near night and Jon had hurried her back, not trusting a foreign city at night, especially Qohor where the streets would come alive with magic and mysticism. They'd eaten dinner, and each bathed before settling down in the quiet.

It hadn't been awkward, just … heavy. Jon had read his book on High Valyrian before rolling over and closing his eyes. Sansa, wide awake knew Jon had taken a while to drift off, an arm thrown over his eyes, his head tossing and turning, until finally he'd drifted away.

And Sansa hadn't slept a wink, watching over him in worry.

No book entertained her, her fingers itched and picked at her nails, as they often did when she was nervous. She couldn't quite explain it, this anxiety, this restlessness.

She'd felt it in Kings Landing, but it had been different, clear-cut anxiety, fear even, she'd paced her room, sewed until her fingers bled and her thumbs were like pincushions, but the feelings had been simple, grief, despair, enough fear dredging her through the blackness and the desire to hurl herself from the window, but an obvious feeling, as tumultuous and painful as they had been.

This was different.

This was an anxiety and a worry that she was missing something. An itch in her spine telling her to just fucking think! To just realise it was right in front of her. The Priestess had said as much; 'Come back and realise, it was always right in front of you'

And so why couldn't Sansa think?

She had sensed Jon wasn't up to discussing it as they'd returned to their lodgings, had disappeared into the bathroom, water running as soon as they'd gotten back, it was too raw, too painful, and she understood that, understood completely.

She knew the stain of bastard still haunted Jon, even with all he'd achieved since leaving home, knew it hurt to never know his Mother, couldn't imagine how it hurt that he no doubt suspected the same as she; that their Father knew, and had said nothing.

Who was she? Who was Jons Mother?

Who am I?

She tried to think, straining her mind, thinking of all she knew of when her Father had returned from the war, a baby in hand, Jon.

She hadn't been born of course but she remembered the stories, her Mothers fury, Robb being just a year old, the two being raised together, the scandal, that Lord Stark would raise his bastard alongside his son, it was different in the North, bastards weren't as shunned, but they weren't family, to be raised and taught alongside true born sons, to be treated as though they were noble too.

She thought on that, her Father insisting Jon had a real education, learned how to fight, and read and write, and all those important things. But more than that, how to be a leader, how to fight in a war, how to direct and lead troops, how to rule.

Jon had been given, as a bastard, the same education as Robb, the trueborn heir to Winterfell and the Lordship of the North. What did that mean?

"Jon" She shook him awake then, and his eyes snapped open instantly, in a flash he had the knife she hadn't realised he kept under his pillow in hand, and looked at the door, it was only as he turned and saw Ghost still sleeping and Sansa rolling her eyes did he calm.

"What?" He asked, sliding the knife back into place, wiping his eyes then.

"Did Father say anything to you at all about your Mother? Anything?" She asked, again that itch at the base of her spine, telling her she was missing it, missing something crucial.

"Nothing" He said in a gravelly voice before he propped himself up against the headboard, with a sigh, he looked exhausted, and she would have felt bad for waking him, but they needed to talk about this, and it felt so close … "Nothing at all"

"No hint?" She asked, frustrated, she couldn't imagine how Jon felt, "Nothing?"

"He said, when I left" Jon said, gulping down what looked like pain and she offered him a soft smile before he continued, "That when we met again we'd talk about my Mother, but .."

"You never did" She filled in sadly, before she propped herself up next to Jon, and as though it were as natural as anything in the world rested her head on his shoulder with a sad sigh, he shifted slightly to make it more comfortable, and they sat in companiable silence, both straining their minds, both arriving nowhere.

"He treated you like a son" She whispered, as a hush seemed to have fallen over the city, it was late, but Qohor danced on, but it felt like their conversation were happening in a bubble, quiet and hushed, "He taught you, loved you, but more than that, he was preparing you"

"For what?" Jon asked, "I've wondered this, what was he teaching me for? The Watch? I didn't need half of what I learned" He said with a shake of his head, that same frustrated expression of confusion on his face she was sure was mirrored on hers.

"No" She said, "But you could never become Lord of Winterfell, the line of succession was too removed" She said, trying to think objectively here, as clearly their Father had, but it just wouldn't come to her.

What she wouldn't give to speak to him again, for more reasons than one.

To say sorry, to tell him she loved him, to beg for answers.

Not necessarily in that order.

"I don't know" Jon said with a sigh, and then in an even quieter voice, "I must have asked him a thousand times, for something, anything, even her name, and he just wouldn't tell me"

"He must have had his reasons" She said gently, but then she thought of her Father, on his knees on the Sept steps, she loved him, still did, so much, but he'd made stupid decisions, could this have been another? "He must have"

"Then what were they?" Jon whispered, and Sansa took his hands inbetween hers then, holding them close, trying to offer comfort, but what could she offer in this? In what their Father had robbed him of?

Because that was the truth.

"Well" Sansa said, a thought coming to her, "That might be our answer, why didn't he tell you? Maybe he couldn't?" She asked, thinking of her Father, who'd kissed her forehead, snuck her lemon cakes on the rare occasion she was in trouble, had held her when she'd scraped her knee. Remembered him hoisting Jon up onto his shoulders, teaching him how to hold a sword, scolding Theon for picking on him. Their Father had loved them all, he must have had his reasons.

"I don't know" Jon said, the raw honesty and hurt in his voice almost making her flinch as she squeezed his hands but didn't let go, she would never if he asked, "I don't know, if he couldn't .. what could have been stopping him?"

"Maybe it was shameful?" She said, hating herself for it, but having to voice it, they had to be logical here.

"A bastard is shameful, how could my Mother change that?" Jon asked, and Sansa nodded in the nook of his shoulder, her mind straining again, trying to piece it all together, like a puzzle she'd enjoyed doing as a child.

Silence dragged for a moment, and then –

"Maybe because it was dangerous?" Jon suggested, and Sansa raised a brow at that, at how it made sense, at how danger often fueled people to keep secrets, to hide things, at how their honourable Father, who had loved Jon so much, would be motivated by few things to keep secrets that hurt him, but danger would certainly be one of them.

"Too dangerous to tell you?" She asked, lifting her head, though she kept hold of his hands, they didn't shake, but if they did she would steady them, she would always steady them, "So your Mother might have been someone important? Someone significant then?"

"A Lady?" Jon asked, turning to face her now, eye to eye, side by side, hand in hand, on the precipice of something crucial. Sansa could almost feel it in the air, it was thick and heavy.

"Someone more important than that" Sansa whispered, glanced at the open window for just a second, at the sounds of Qohor, at drums on the horizon. "Women don't hold any real power in Westeros, a Lady wouldn't be dangerous"

"Then…?" Jon stopped, and they both paused, as it washed over them, as they tried to think, as their minds rapidly came to the same thoughts.

"A Lord would be" Sansa whispered, the pieces coming together in her mind, the bitter truth that women were insignificant in Westeros, that no woman could have put Jon in danger, except perhaps the Queen, or a Princess, but that didn't line up, and so … it could only be …

"What if..." She paused, speculating wildly now, but it added up, if their Father … her Father couldn't tell Jon his Mother because it was too dangerous, why would it be dangerous? Women didn't mean anything to anyone in Westeros in terms of power, and so if it was his Father instead, if Lord Stark wasn't …

"He wasn't my Father" Jon whispered, rapidly coming to the same conclusion as her, dangerous spoke to power, spoke to Jon being a threat, and there was only one reason he could be, not through his Mothers side, but through his Fathers, a Father not being Eddard Stark.

"But why?" The words no sooner left her mouths than the next as it all washed over her, as it all became clear, how could they not have seen it? "Oh by the Gods"

She thought of the Priestesses words, whispered them, and then even Jon flinched.

'That you, one drop in the snow, one drop aflame, you Jon, named wrong, must understand, to go back'

Jon's eyes met hers, and for the first time, she could have sworn they glinted a different colour, not grey, but …

"You're not my brother" She whispered, her fingernails digging into the flesh of his hands now, but he didn't flinch this time, didn't pull away, only squeezed, and that glint, his eyes never leaving hers, and there was something there, something beyond the glint, something burning … fire.

And her fingernails drew blood.

"You're not my brother"

Why was that what mattered?

"I'm not" He said, his voice strained, eyes wide, burning, as he looked at her, and they knew.

It all made sense, not just for him, and for what it meant, but for them, and what they had both been denying.

Come morning, neither knew, who crumbled first.

ooooooooooo and there we go

well, almost.

pls don't complain that the 'reveal' was primarily jonsa, this is a jonsa fic, we'll get to jon having a meltdown next chapter dw, though other stuff will come first

do fav/follow, more jonsa intensity to come .. oh and we're not done with the temple

speak soon