authorsnote: this was a hard chapter to write! the emotional ones always are.
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songrecs: champagne problems
Jon knew that presiding over the decision to burn the Dornish wasn't where it ended.
His soul would not be given such a reprieve.
It would be stained.
Beyond repair.
He knew he was right, knew this was what had to be done. The alternative was his Aunt, someone he considered family now further than the ties of blood, more than just a name or an ancestor, would be shot down over Dorne, he couldn't let that happen, he wouldn't let that happen.
She was family, she mattered more.
Fire and Blood.
For the Dornish to win, to keep Westeros divided and to risk his family further he couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't risk any of his family, none of them, and if that meant burning the Dornish, then so be it, if that meant becoming a Conquerer, then so be it.
It was not like Jon to be so ruthless, but in times where it mattered, he could be. He thought of Gillys child, of his decision with the wildlings, of every act that had made people hate him, made people kill him, and still, he wouldn't take any back.
Jon was not his true Father, he was not Eddard Stark, honourable beyond reproach, he knew the weight of the decisions he had to make, he knew how they would blacken his mark, but he also knew he had to do them, he knew he had to put his family, their safety, the realm, over his own soul.
It was already bloodied, and he'd weather further marks.
Sometimes he had to put his personal honour, accept the stain upon his soul, for the greater good, for his family.
For Sansa.
But it wasn't just making the decision, there was no break from the planning, as with a clap on the shoulder from his Father, from Aegon the Conqueror, Jon knew what would come next.
Knew and did nothing to stop it.
'The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes, and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die'
There was a Northerner in him still.
It didn't matter if it were one man with his head on the chopping block or hundreds running from a column of fire, the principle remained.
He would not cower and hide from the decision he made, from the orders he had given, he would stand by them, he would bear them, he would see them executed. That was the Northern way, his way. Always.
"Jon and I will go to Dorne" Aegon said proudly with a smile to his son, so alike him in his image at that moment, "It is time my son saw battle"
"The King and his heir?" Visenya said with a scoff, her purple gaze flickering with fear for just a second, but it was smothered as she spoke again, "You must stay here Aegon, you are King, not some common General, you must rule"
"I will not cower behind the throne" He protested, and Jon was reminded of himself then but Rhaenys spoke next.
"You are King now Aegon, your responsibility is to rule your people" Jon sensed they'd had this fight before, many a time, "I shall go"
"No" Visenya jumped in then with a glance towards her sister, before she turned to him, "Jon and I shall go, your heir needs to see battle, and I will protect my son" She smiled then, "We will burn Dorne to the ground if need be and return on Vhagar and Caraxes victorious"
Jon knew his Mother was a Targaryen through and through, she would never suggest he stay home and hide behind her skirts, he was a Targaryen Prince, it was his responsibility to do battle on dragonback, but he smiled at her words, she would protect him, and he would do the same for her.
Fire and Blood.
"I will go with Mother" Jon said with a nod towards his Father, "Vhagar and Caraxes are faster than Balerion and Maraxes" He said, remembering his Targaryen history, "We can do quick attacks, burn Sunspear and then return home, send treats to the Dornish houses to ally with us and if none want to we continue until one does"
Visenya smiled, she looked proud, even as Jon felt something stir in his stomach: guilt.
And yet it did not stop him, not even for a second.
"We will be victorious" Visenya crowed, "And the realm will know Jaeherys is a Conquerer like his Father, they will flee from Caraxes as they do Balerion"
Aegon nodded, in the Targaryen household they did not hide their heirs, they sent them into battle on dragonback and were proud to do so.
"Then we go to Dorne"
The guilt in his stomach curdled like day old milk, but again it did not stop him, nothing would from protecting his family, from protecting her.
'We all enjoy what we're good at'
'I don't'
He didn't remember where those words were from, but they flashed across his mind, clear as day, he might not enjoy it, but he would do it.
To Dorne they would go, and it would burn.
Sansa knew, as soon as Jon met her in the gardens, something was wrong.
And yet she had no chance to ask, eyes on the new married couple near oppressive, that Jon just shook his head, before brushing his lips to her cheek, it warmed Sansa knowing Jon wouldn't bother to play act for a crowd, and she knew her cheeks turned pink at the thought.
Though that was short lived, as she saw the worry across Jons brow, swept a hand over it even, and was warmed again as he leaned into her.
They both might be feeling the weight of guilt at what was between them now, they both might be confused and worried for different reasons, but they would never ever turn from one another, especially not in a moment of need. Any tension, guilt or awkwardness faded away, as Sansa looped an arm through Jons and walked them away from prying eyes.
She leaned into him almost unconsciously, offering her support, always.
"Whats wrong?" She asked gently, her tone a whisper as she hurried them through the gardens, Caraxes was nowhere to be seen (to Sansas relief), but it made communicating more difficult. She had to hope they wouldn't be overheard as she led Jon to the back of the gardens along the walk of Blackwater Rush, the rushing water would obscure their voices from all but the best spies, Sansa would have to stop Jon if his concerns were to do with who they really were, but she sensed it was not that.
And alas, she was right.
As Jon spoke she felt guilt over their partnership, her cheeks a lingering pink from thinking on it all morning, as she sewed, as she sat tucked away in the garden to avoid having to gossip about it, her cheeks had burned red, and still they stung. But she felt that would have been easier to hear from Jon, her own worries reflected back to her than what came next.
"Jon, no" Two words, and yet Jon didn't deflate under them, he only nodded, grim, as he explained to her what had occurred in the Council meeting, what he set out to do, "You can't"
Words like:
'War with the Dornish'
'I have to go; I have to make sure no one gets hurt'
'Responsibility'
'My family'
And she felt sick, almost swaying with fear, that Jon was leaving, Jon was leaving her.
"I must" He replied with a shake of his head, and Sansa turned to face him then, paused them, gripped his arms, not caring who heard, this, stopping this, was more important, and she held on to make sure she didn't fall in a dead faint.
This was madness, and Sansa was glad to grip Jons forearms, dig her nails in, to stop her hands trembling, to hold herself up, her eyes searching his.
His purple eyes, not Stark grey anymore, and yet it was the same Jon she looked at.
She almost knew her argument was a lost cause as she spoke it.
"You can't leave, what if you get hurt?" She urged, but she knew Jon, she knew he would never send men to battle without standing beside them, knew it, admired it, hated it.
Her Father had been the same, Robb had been the same, and look where that had gotten them.
Dead.
Dead before their time.
Like she and Jon had been, but they'd been through it together, they remained together.
Jon dead in Dorne was different, it was terrifying.
"I have to" Jon said again, resolute, clear, just as she expected, just as she feared.
"You can't leave" She repeated, as resolute as he, even if it was her with shaking hands, "You can't leave me" Her voice cracked at the end, weak, but unintentional, the pain leaking through her.
"Sansa" His voice was gruff then, appeasing, but she shook her head furiously, her eyes filling with tears, she bit down on her tongue hard, tasted blood, to stop them spilling over.
"You can't" She repeated, and even shook him, she didn't have enough strength to do anything but she did all the same, anger injected into her tone to cover the pure terror threatening to lace her voice, "You can't leave me! How could you?" Accusatory now, what else did she have?
What else?
Nothing.
"What would you have me do?" Jon replied, anger coloring his tone then, though his face remained pale, and he didn't shake her back, he never would, he stood still as stone, enduring her pain, enduring her agony, but feeling his own threatening to rip him in two.
It was the way of a general and his bride.
"Not go!" She threw at him, her cheeks wet now, Jon leaned forward to wipe them away, smooth his thumbs over her cheeks and wipe away the tears, but she pulled back from him, her anger wouldn't allow such intimacy. "You can't leave me"
"I can't hide behind your skirts and let men die because I'm a coward" He threw back, Jon was no coward, he'd been raised better by the man they'd both called Father, she knew that, she did, but there was no rational now, only her heart threatening to break at the idea of Jon leaving.
Jon leaving and potentially not coming back.
But he would never stay, not a coward, Eddard Stark had seen to that.
What would her Father think now looking down upon them? She'd been trying not to think about it, but it flashed over her mind now, what would he think?
Would he be proud of Jon standing up? Or would he look upon what they'd done? The way Sansa had welcomed Jon into her arms and he'd pulled her closer, with disgust?
Would her Father feel shame that the boy he'd raised in the North, as a Snow, a Stark in all but name, going to burn Dornish cities on dragonback?
Would her Father weep at his Nephew becoming a Targaryen?
"You can't go!" Sansa repeated, and yet she knew it was a lost cause, even as a sob ripped from her throat and Jon didn't waver, "Jon" She said, his name, a plea, but one look at those eyes, those purple eyes, and she knew, Jon would give her almost anything, but not this.
Not cowardice.
She'd admire him for it, were she not so terrified.
"Sansa please, I'm sorry" He said, no regret there, or only regret for her pain, not the action causing it, that was what the apology was for. He reached for her, and yet she shook her head, stepped back, he followed, and as he went to pull her into his arms, she shoved him, he was stone against her, but she shoved again, tears clouding her vision now, tears and fear.
Flickering thoughts lined with terror; what if he doesn't come back? What if he dies? What if I'm left alone? What if this time he doesn't come back? What if she never sees him again? What if he dies alone in Dorne?
"You can't!" Her voice was almost a squeal now as she shoved again, shoved and shoved, but he crowded her, pulled her into his arms as she smacked an arm against him, a horrible whine leaving her lips then, like the sound of a bird falling from the sky, struck by an arrow and dying.
That was how she felt as Jon kissed her head, for comfort, out of love, something so touching she couldn't bear to be without it.
"Jon"
"I'm sorry" He repeated, but he didn't change his mind.
And Sansa wept.
He wanted to say he'd never doubted her, as Jon stood on the outskirts of the city, Ceraxes close behind, there was no official send off from Kings Landing, his Mother stood with his Father and Aunt, Vhagar in the skies, awaiting her signal to join them. There would be no ceremony or blessing, they would take to the skies and be off.
Dragons didn't announce they were arriving in columns like armies did, they descended from the skies in fire and terror.
The Dornish wouldn't know they were coming, not before they burnt.
And Jon had hoped, even dared to, that Sansa would see him off.
Even with all her anger, justified in some, not in others he believed, he'd hoped.
The night before she'd slept, exhausted in his arms, but come morn she was gone, gone and Jon had dressed, in red and black alone, alone, hoping not to be before he left.
Hoped.
And there, coming over the horizon, hands tucked into her sleeves, eyes rimmed with pink, but she was there, dressed in black, her mourning for him in leaving, he hoped it wouldn't become permanent, he hoped more than anything she'd wear her colours again.
She was here, angry as she was, she was here, he hurried toward her, and she to him.
Neither hesitated as she fell into his arms.
There were no apologies, no more begging, both knew where they stood, both knew the other was unmovable.
It wasn't like them to be so at odds, even when they disagreed, they usually found a way, but this was different, this was Sansa's deep fear at losing him, but Jons knowing he need to do this so not to lose her, and more, in needing to do this for him, to be true to himself, he was no coward, he would not start now.
Not even for her.
The arguments had been had, the disagreements voiced, there was no more of that now, there would be no more.
Now it was time to say goodbye.
But Sansa didn't even say that, as she clutched at him, dipping her head to tuck under his, Jon's chin atop her head before he leaned down to place a kiss to her crown, he lingered, her hair smelling sweet, he wanted to stay there, linger in it forever, take her in, drown in her and never leave.
But that was not their story.
"Come back to me" She whispered, no apology, no accusation, no final plea for him to stay, just this, a plea for something else, a plea for something he couldn't promise, but wished he could.
He nodded into her hair, leaned down to pull her back, her eyes were filled with tears and cheeks wet, he hated he was the man to put them there.
This was something different now, this was not siblings in an awkward coupling, this was husband and wife, clutching one another as Jon dipped his head, and damn the Gods watching, brushed his lips over hers.
She leaned into him, and he knew he was right to do so.
"Come back to me" She whispered against his lips, a nod was all he could give her.
"Jon" His Mother called, and Sansa nodded, pulled back, her smile was tight, false, and Jon wished to wipe that away somehow even more than the tears, but all he could do was place one last kiss to her forehead and say;
"I'll do everything I can to come back to you" He said, it was all he could offer, no vow, no promise he couldn't keep, but this alone.
It wasn't enough, but it would have to be.
"Don't worry Sansa" Rhaenys spoke, his Aunt as he stepped back, and his family joined them, "They'll be back in no time with any Dornish rebellion stamped out"
Sansa could only nod, and Aegon laughed, he showed no hint of nerves, Jon was emboldened by that.
"Young lovers, trust me, Jon will go to war many a time, but he'll come back, he's a Targaryen Prince, and a dragonrider, he'll return"
Another nod, Jon could see right through it, to her fears, her worry, at the heart of it all.
And yet as his Mother whistled for Vhagar, and Jon to Caraxes, he knew he had to leave.
"I'll see you soon" The best promise he could give, and as he stepped back, Sansa, ignoring the Targaryens chuckles kissed him, her lips to his, her forehead touching his before she pulled back with a nod.
Jon forced himself to turn away, lest he never manage to go.
But he did, onto Caraxes, riding him was like riding a horse, especially with the saddle in place. One last look, her Tully blue to his Targaryen purple, and he took to the skies.
Vhagar and Caraxes released a roar each as they cleared Kings Landing.
And Jon went onto Dorne.
And Sansa knew he was gone.
a simple chapter, but a needed one
but don't worry, you want plot? next chapter we go to war, and we plottttt
we go to dorne
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speak soon
