The courtyard had fallen silent at Jon's unexpected announcement. Sansa couldn't take her eyes off Jon. All eyes were on him, and he was also aware of it.
In that moment, with his hair tied back, and decked in his father's clothes, he looked every inch the Targaryen Prince he was. Her heart swelled with pride.
She noticed his sword dripped with Ramsay's blood, walked towards him, and handed over a black handkerchief with a white wolf in one corner and the three-headed dragon in the other. Jon took the cloth and wiped the blood from Longclaw before returning the sword to its sheath. Then Sansa placed the cloak over his shoulders and fastened it for him.
He gave her a nervous smile. "Have I done the right thing?" he asked, in a whisper.
She gave him a resigned smile. "There will never be a right time to announce you are a long-lost Prince of the enemy. At least father is here to help smooth things over."
Jon faced the crowd which surrounded them. Whether the revelation had surprised them, was a mystery. The Lords, Ladies and servants were all on their bent knees because her father was doing the same.
Sansa knew the gesture would make Jon uncomfortable, but it was essential, for he needed to become accustomed to such reverence. He hadn't liked it in his last lifetime, but at least he'd earned it. This time he would hate it even more, as all he had done was to be born with the right name.
Jon led Sansa towards Lord Stark and motioned for him to rise. As soon as her father stood, the rest of the Lords and Ladies followed. Allowing Sansa to assess the crowd.
Lord Varys, Prince Oberyn, The Blackfish, Tormund, and Howland Reed, were smiling. The rest looked at Jon with a mixture of curiosity and surprise. However, a few glared at him with contempt and hatred. But that was to be expected after the events surrounding Robert's Rebellion.
Sansa's attention returned to her father, Jon and her family.
"Winterfell it yours, Your Grace," Lord Stark said.
Jon opened his arms and embraced the man he had called father for most of his life.
"Thank you, Father,"
A lump rose in her throat, which she had to swallow. Lord Stark pulled back and turned to the crowd.
"My Lords and Ladies, It is time we returned to the Great Hall to answer your question, for I'm sure you have many," he called out as tears formed in his eyes.
"Aye," Jon agreed. "It's getting cold and dark. You lead the way as I must take care of something."
Her father nodded and led the Lords and Ladies back into the Great Hall. Once Jon and Sansa were alone, she handed him an empty glass vial. He stooped, filled it with Ramsay's blood, replaced the stopper, and returned it to Sansa, who put it in a pouch hanging from her dress.
Jon turned to one of the female servants, who was gawping at him. "Find someone to rid this from the yard. I want the body burned," he added.
"Yes, Your Grace," the woman replied. She gave him a quick curtsey and ran to the kitchens.
Jon turned to Sansa. "Let's get this over with."
"Are you sure you are ready?" she asked.
Jon took her gloved hand in his and kissed the back of it. "No," he told her. "But I never will be. If it were up to me, we'd be in that cave near Queenscrown."
Sansa blushed, memories of their time there, flooding back. "Well then, your grace. Lead the way and rescue father," she said.
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Two Stark soldiers guarded the door. Their eyes fixed ahead, not daring to stare at a man they'd known for years. All because of his name. Sansa knew Jon would hate it, but he didn't let it show.
For a moment, Jon and Sansa paused, listening to the clamour of voices inside. Her father wasn't even trying to control his Lords and Ladies. Lord Stark had bent the knee, and his bannermen were expected to follow his lead. He was letting them argue amongst themselves.
Jon nodded his head, and the soldiers opened the double doors. They entered the Great Hall, and a hush descended the room. The men bowed, and the women curtseyed as if they didn't know the protocol. Sansa felt Jon stiffen beside her, as they made their way to the dais.
Her father offered them the high seat, but Jon stood behind the chair he occupied during the trial. Instead, he had swapped seats with Robb as Jon was the higher-ranking noble. For now, Robb sat beside Lady Stark, who was looking around the room with pride. Sansa suspected it was because her mother was Jon's mother-in-law and aunt.
"I am a guest," Jon reminded him. He turned to face the hall.
"My Lords and Ladies, please be seated," he said, and everyone in the room obeyed.
Sansa removed Jon's Stark cloak once more, revealing his Targaryen clothes. Once free of the heavy material, he passed it to a servant behind them and pulled Sansa's seat out to let her sit, before taking his seat.
The double doors of the Great Hall opened once more, as Lady Shireen arrived with Ser Davos. They must have been informed of the announcement, as Shireen curtseyed and Ser Davos bowed before they took their seats.
Jon and Sansa looked to her father, for he was to tell the Lords of Jon's birth. It was fortunate that not only was Lord Reed there to vouch for her father's story, but Lord Varys and Prince Oberyn were additional witnesses.
Her father stood, and all eyes turned their attention to him. "I'm sorry I lied. Jon's birth was bigger than my needs. A secret which could have caused wars condemned Jon to death, should it have gotten out."
"Who knew?" Lord Cerwyn called out.
"Up until recently myself, Lord Reed and Jon's wet nurse, Wylla." Lord Stark replied.
"Have you got proof he is trueborn?" Lord Karstark asked.
Jon took his hand in hers and held on tight. She could tell he was wary of the outcome. In their past lives, his true identity was known to a few, and Sansa wasn't one of them. She couldn't imagine what he must be feeling right now.
"Aye, I have the annulment of Rhaegar's marriage to Elia Martell and his wedding to my sister Lyanna."
"Are you saying, your sister wasn't kidnapped and raped by Rhaegar Targaryen?" Lord Glover asked.
"No," her father replied.
"So why did we go to fucking war?" Lord Umber yelled.
"Why didn't your sister write a letter telling everyone where she was?" called out another, but Sansa couldn't see who it was.
Lord Varys raised his hand, and her father nodded his head.
Varys rose from his seat. "My Lord Flint. I believe Princess Lyanna wrote to her father and brother. You see, she was last seen at the Inn at the Crossroads. The same day, a former colleague of mine was staying there. The man in question had a rather tenuous relationship with Lord Brandon and I believe he whispered words of kidnap."
Sansa was stunned. She knew Varys meant Littlefinger, for he had duelled with her uncle. But he wouldn't have gone that far, would he? Of course he would, she realised. Sansa looked over to her mother, who was turning red with anger.
"Who is this man, Lord Varys?" Galbart Glover asked.
"Lord Petyr Baelish," Varys replied. "Him feeding false information to Lord Brandon, who charged to Kings Landing to threaten a crown Prince. That, I'm afraid, was what started the war, not Lyanna running off with Rhaegar."
The room erupted into shouts and cries. They were so loud, that Sansa couldn't make out a word. She looked to her father, who sighed.
"It's not going well," Sansa whispered.
"It's going better than I expected," her father chuckled.
"You've already lied to us once, telling us he was Lord Brandon's son. Now you say he is Lyanna's boy. How can you prove to us he is the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna?" one of The Mountain clans cried out.
The thumping of a tankard on a table quietened the room. Prince Oberyn was on his feet. The northern Lords sat and awaited his words.
"We all lost friends and loved ones during the rebellion," Oberyn said. "I lost a sister, an uncle, and my niece and nephew, who were babes. Tywin Lannister's dog, The Mountain, raped and murdered my sister and killed her two children. I knew Elia, and I also knew Rhaegar. When I first met Prince Aegon, he did not have a beard. His face was so familiar, but I could not place it. Then he told me the lie Lord Stark told you and King Robert," Oberyn laughed. "Then I realised who he was. Once I saw Rhaegar's face in the boy, it was plain to see."
"But he's got dark hair," Lord Manderly said.
"So did my niece, Princess Rhaenys," Oberyn said, "Prince Aegon's half-sister."
That seemed to quieten the Lords once more. The murder of Rhaenys and Aegon had been a dark stain on Robert's Rebellion. To kill innocent children was despicable to anyone with an ounce of compassion.
"How can we trust him?" Maege Mormont yelled.
To Sansa's surprise, Princess Shireen stood before Jon could stand up.
"If we follow the Baratheon line, I am the heir to the Iron Throne," she said. "Prince Aegon could have let me die with my mother and father. That was to be my fate, but he didn't. Instead, Prince Aegon rescued me and sent me here to safety. That is the mark of a good man. He is a man fit to rule the Seven Kingdoms. I renounce my claim to the Iron Throne in favour of Prince Aegon," she turned to Jon. "You have the loyalty of the Stormlands, your grace."
"Thank you, my Lady," Jon smiled.
The Blackfish stood. "On behalf of my nephew, Lord Edmure Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident, I pledge my allegiance to you, Prince Aegon."
"Thank you for attending on behalf of Lord Edmure, Lord Brynden," Jon nodded to Sansa's uncle.
Jon stood to face the audience. "My Lords and Ladies. Rhaegar Targaryen may have been my sire, but make no mistake, Lord Stark was and still is my father, in all the ways that matter. I may not have his name, but I have his blood," he said. "My family's house sigil is Fire and Blood, but I was raised to the values of Family, Duty, Honour," he glanced at Sansa's mother and smiled at her before turning to the Lords. "But most importantly, I was raised as a Northman. My wife and I, have been assisting Lord Stark in the betterment of the financial realities in the north. Now the north thrives, rivalling the wealth of the Reach."
The crowd erupted in applause, with empty tankards banging on the tables. "Here, here," they called out.
"Unlike my forebears, I will not let the North suffer!" Jon said out. Sansa noticed his voice growing bolder. "Kings Landing is a shithole that needs repairing. But Robert Baratheon and his false heirs have done nothing to restore it. Instead, they have crippled the Seven Kingdoms. The royal coffers are empty. They need filling for there are wars to come. To the west, Euron Greyjoy will not sit idle. To the east is my aunt. She has hatched three dragons, and by all accounts, intends on taking the Iron Throne with a mixture of Unsullied and Dothraki."
"The dragons are just hearsay," Lord Wull countered.
"I wish you were right, Lord Wull," Jon said. "But I have it on good authority that as of now, my aunt is making her way around Slavers Bay, conquering as she goes, with the help of her dragons. She believes herself to be a saviour of the downtrodden. Her cause is noble. But if anyone disagrees with her methods, they die. She is not a saviour, she is a conqueror. I am the only one who has the legitimacy to counter her claim. She will come here with Fire and Blood, whereas I look to make Westeros great once more."
Jon re-took his seat and held Sansa's hand, which she could feel shaking. "How did I do?" he asked.
"Like a King, your grace," Sansa smiled.
"Lord Stark," Lord Manderly called out. "I see you ensured it was your daughter who was wed to Prince Aegon, long before his true identity was announced. Was that fair to the lad? He didn't meet other ladies," Lord Manderly turned to Sansa. "I don't any offence to you, my Lady, might it not have been prudent for the Prince to evaluate all his options?"
"Lord Manderly," Jon smiled. "Princess Sansa was my own choice. I needed not to see any other for me to know that."
"She was raised as your sister," Lord Cerwyn called out.
"That explains it. Typical Targaryen," Lord Karstark japed, the hall erupted in laughter.
"My Lords and Ladies," her father called out. "I believe that is enough for today. We will sup later, in our chambers or the hall, it is your choice. Tomorrow is another day, and there is much more to discuss. I bid you all good evening," he waited for Jon to stand.
Jon stood, as did Sansa. "We will reconvene tomorrow," Jon said, leading Sansa from the Great Hall, and towards the private dining room through a door to the side. This was where the family and Theon convened for Jon and Sansa needed their help to hatch the egg.
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Once inside, the door was closed, for all conversations needed to be conducted in whispered voices. They sat at the table, Sansa handed Jon the list he'd made that morning.
"That went better than expected," Cat said.
"Let us hope they bend the knee by tomorrow afternoon," Ned said.
"They need time to come to terms with the news," Jon agreed. "Give them time to let it sink in."
"What else do you need for the hatching?" Ned asked, changing the subject.
"We need privacy in the Godswood," Jon replied. "Guards stationed at every point. Nobody can enter, only Sansa and I. However, I would appreciate some raw meat from the kitchens. I expect he will be hungry once he is hatched."
"I will sort out the meat from the kitchens," Cat said.
"I'll ensure the guards are posted at both ends of the Godswood. Nobody will get inside, I promise."
"Thank you," Jon smiled.
"Thank you, Father and Mother," Sansa said.
"Do you want me to send you some food for yourselves?" Cat asked.
"That would be an idea," Jon nodded. "I don't know how long this will take."
"Will you let us know when it has hatched?" Robb asked. "Unless it's the early hours of the morning,"
"We will," Jon replied.
Sansa's father stood. "I'll organise the guards. Once they're in place, I'll let you know."
Lord Stark left to organise the guarding of the Godswood.
"I'll sort out the food," her mother said, getting up, and leaving Jon and Sansa with Robb and Theon.
"Why did you refer to yourself as a Prince?" Theon asked.
"I am a Prince of the realm, that cannot be changed or disputed. But for me to be King, the Lords need to bend the knee. Those who have already done so, for instance, the Blackfish, he would refer to me as his King," Jon replied.
There was a knock on the door, and Sansa's father entered. "You're fine to enter the Godswood," he said.
Jon stood and pulled and helped Sansa to her feet. She smoothed her skirts, before fastening Jon's cloak once more. It was too warm to wear it inside, but it was colder outside. Autumn had arrived, and snowfalls came with it.
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The skies had darkened and a flurry of snow fell to the ground as Jon and Sansa made their way into the Godswood. Jon held the lantern aloft as they made their way to the heart tree. Frost and ice crunched underfoot. If it weren't for Sansa's experience of the long night, she would have thought it beautiful.
They arrived at the weirwood tree. Jon put the lantern down and Sansa took the small vials from the hidden pouch inside her dress. Jon unsheathed the dagger which had once belonged to Littlefinger. The one which Arya had used to kill him in their previous life. Jon needed it as he was instructed to use Valyrian steel.
Sansa didn't question where the knowledge came from. Jon told her it was from the baby dragon, but Sansa was sceptical. How would a baby dragon know what Jon needed to hatch it? She wondered.
Jon scraped some of the sap away from the tree with the knife. He dropped the small amount into the vial. This was where he needed Sansa. She removed her glove. Jon placed the cold Valyrian steel against her palm and stared at her for permission. Sansa nodded her head, and Jon slid the blade across the skin. She gritted her teeth, for it hurt more than she had expected, but she needed to be brave.
Sansa clenched her hand into a fist. Drops of blood fell from her hand into the vial, which contained the weirwood sap. When there was enough, Jon placed a stopper into the tiny bottle. He took a piece of cloth they had brought, wrapped it around Sansa's hand, and tied it. Sansa put her glove back on as her hand was icy cold.
The final requirement was a box full of leaves, wood and sap. Jon pulled the wooden box from the pouch he was carrying, which was larger than Sansa expected.
Jon scraped some more weirwood sap from the tree. This time he added some bark, leaves and a broken twig. He crouched to gather some of the snow, and placed it in the box, before covering it.
"Is that everything?" Sansa asked.
"Just one more thing," Jon replied, closing in on her. Jon wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him, and rested his forehead against hers. "I love you," he whispered, ticking a tendril of hair behind her ear.
"I love you too," Sansa smiled, cupping his face and glancing at his lips.
Their lips met, initially chaste, then a desperate need for one another took over. The kiss deepened. Lips, teeth and tongues clashed in a fervour she had never experienced before. Sansa was wet between her legs, and she knew Jon only had to touch her in the right place, and she would peak.
"Gods I want you," she said between kisses.
"Right here?" Jon asked.
Sansa nodded, unable to get the words out. Jon walked her backwards until her back was against the weirwood tree. He lifted her skirt and crouched on the ground. Sansa held onto her skirts while Jon slid her small clothes to one side and ran his tongue up her slit. Sansa almost came undone, it took every ounce of her being to not cry out.
"Seven hells, you're wet," Jon mumbled before his tongue worked her nub. Then his fingers were inside her, pushing her even closer to her peak.
Sansa's body felt like a coil, ready to snap. She was burning hot between her thighs, as Jon pumped his expert fingers inside her. The build-up was swift before she felt the intense pulsating sensation inside her. She grabbed hold of his hair and pulled him into her as the blissful peak took over.
"Jon..." she whispered, unable to say anything else, until the sensation was too much. "Stop, Jon, stop."
Jon pulled away and stood with a satisfied expression on his face. "I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did," he smirked.
"I'd like it even more if you were inside me," she whispered into his ear and pulled on the laces of his breeches.
"Whatever my Queen asks for, I shall give her," Jon laughed.
Jon was already hard when she freed him from the confines of his breeches. He wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed his cock inside her. Sansa's head fell against the trunk of the tree and banged her head.
"Are you alright?" Jon asked," his voice full of concern.
Sansa laughed. "I'm much better now you're inside me."
It was the truth, for another peak was building as he moved, pressing against her nub with every stroke. Soon Sansa was peaking again, pulsating around Jon's cock. She rested her head against his shoulder to muffle her cries.
Jon stilled and groaned into her ear. His warm seed filled her, satisfying that one last desire she needed from him.
They couldn't stay like that for long. Cramp was already taking hold of her left leg, and she knew Jon was exhausted. She unfastened her legs and Jon set her down. Sansa pulled a handkerchief from her pouch and wiped Jon's seed, mixed with her juices from between her legs. She was about to put it back in the pouch, when Jon stopped her.
"What is it?" Sansa asked.
Jon pulled the wooden box from his pouch. "The dragon wants us to burn it in his hatching fire."
"Are you saying the dragon made us do that?" Sansa asked. She hoped the dragon didn't have that sort of power over them.
"I don't know," Jon replied, his face mirroring her concerns. "Let us hope it is a one-off. We should get inside," he said and Sansa nodded in agreement.
Sansa smoothed her skirts while Jon ensured his laces were tied and his hair was back in place. Once they looked presentable, they made their way out of the Godswood and back to the castle, where they were to hatch a dragon.