Sansa watched Jon with a tinge of concern etching lines on her face. Weariness shadowed his features, a stark departure from the resilient leader he had been since their return to the past. The weight of his true lineage had finally caught up with him, the responsibility he had so long resisted, was now catching up on him.
In the recesses of Sansa's thoughts, a cautious whisper suggested delaying the despatch of ravens, granting Jon a fleeting respite to acclimate to the new reality. The paramount need to shield him from the imminent challenges loomed large in her mind. She wondered if he felt the same.
Amidst the backdrop of sheathed swords and pledged allegiances, an undercurrent of confusion prevailed, notably embodied by Maester Fell.
"Forgive me, your grace," he spoke, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty. "but Aegon Targaryen met his end in the sack of King's Landing at the hands of Ser Gregor Clegane."
"My father was Rhaegar Targaryen, and my mother was Lyanna Stark." Jon announced, his words cutting through the air with a weighty revelation.
Maester Fell furrowed his brows, a hesitant expression playing across his features as if grappling with unspoken thoughts. "But doesn't that make you a..." he began, a subtle reluctance clear in his voice.
"I'm no bastard, if that's what you're thinking." Jon interjected, an air of assurance surrounding him. "High Septon Maynard annulled the marriage between Rhaegar and Elia, marrying my parents in a secret ceremony. There is proof, backed by witnesses to my birth—impartial witnesses with nothing to gain. We hold evidence from the Citadel."
The gravity of Jon's revelation settled in the room, the implications reverberating. Maester Fell, after a moment's contemplation, spoke with a sombre understanding, "Proof of that nature would affirm your claim to the Iron Throne. King Robert didn't ascend through conquest, but because there were no more Targaryens in Westeros. His position was afforded to him through his own Targaryen lineage. Mayhap he would have claimed by right of conquest had Viserys been older or known about you."
"You'll need more than the North to rally behind you." Sam reminded them.
"Aye." Jon acknowledged.
"I can speak with my father. He will pledge the Riverlands." Sansa's mother unexpectedly asserted, catching Sansa off guard. "My sister is the regent of the Vale; we could attempt to gain her support."
"I suspect the Vale may aim to remain neutral." Robb interjected, a thoughtful expression on his face, perhaps recalling the Vale's neutrality in the War of the Five Kings under Lysa's rule.
"The Tyrells have aligned with the Lannisters. Those once loyal to Lord Renly have switched allegiance to Joffrey." Jon added.
"Joffrey is Jaime Lannister's bastard. The Tyrells seek him to crown Margaery as Queen. This means reaching out to the Lord Paramounts may be futile. Instead, we must target the houses loyal to House Targaryen." Sansa told the rest of those in the room.
"I don't want the ravens sent just yet. We need time to consider our next moves. Let's reconvene in two hours. Sansa and I have just spent the last three nights in a cave. I would much appreciate some food, a bath, and clean clothes. I'm sure Sansa feels the same way." Jon said.
Sansa nodded in agreement, recognizing the glimmer of determination in Jon's eyes as he began forming a plan. However, she also noticed a subtle innocence in Arya's expression, suspecting that her younger sister was up to something. "I'd like to have a word with Arya in private." Sansa requested, signalling the beginning of their private, strategic discussions.
As the room emptied, a collective "Your Grace" echoed, and Sansa, Jon, and Arya found themselves in a more private setting. Robb and Cat, familiar with these their knowledge of the future and wish for privacy over it, left the space, leaving the trio to discuss matters only they could comprehend.
Once the door was securely bolted, a shared exhale of relief filled the room. Sansa had known Jon as a king, Arya had witnessed the aftermath, but this situation presented a unique challenge.
"Stannis initially went to war with Joffrey because Lord Stark wrote to him, revealing Joffrey's true lineage. Do you think he did it again?" Jon inquired, delving into the historical parallels.
Arya, with a shake of her head, revealed a surprising twist, "Littlefinger did."
Sansa's frown deepened. "How do you know? I thought Littlefinger was dead."
"I might have written the letter," Arya admitted, her gaze drifting upwards, innocently. "I have his stamp, can forge his writing and signature, and, well, I have his face. It's how we will get the Vale to pledge to Jon."
Sansa was momentarily stunned by the cunning of her little sister. "How are you going to explain his death?"
"I'll find a way to blame it on the Lannisters. Aunt Lysa will be so pissed off, she'll want revenge." Arya said. "Sansa, what would Littlefinger have done, if he'd heard about Jon?"
After a thoughtful pause, Sansa replied, "He would have supported the one he perceives as weaker, gained more power, and eventually destroyed the person in power. Tywin is too formidable. Littlefinger would want to dismantle him by using Jon."
"Then Littlefinger needs to act in his usual manner. He doesn't know me." Jon said.
Sansa, pondered the logistics. "How can he be in King's Landing if you are here?"
"He isn't. He's in Essos, as far as everyone knows. Spying on Daenerys and creating business opportunities. I keep writing letters to Lord Tywin to keep him up to date, as well as Aunt Lysa. I have someone intercepting her ravens." Arya explained, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.
"You're as good at the game as I am." Sansa praised her sister with a note of pride in her voice.
Arya, however, downplayed her abilities. "I can mimic the behaviour of others while in their faces. But not as Arya Stark. Anyway, I should leave you two to clean up and get something to eat, and do whatever you feel like doing." With a smirk, Arya turned on her heel and headed to the door. "Your Graces," she added with a nod before departing, leaving Jon and Sansa alone once more.
As soon as Arya left, Sansa enveloped Jon in her arms, knowing he would need her support from this point forward. Jon, while allowing her to take on any role she desired, would still require her presence, if only to find solace in her embrace.
Sansa rested her forehead against his. "You can do this. You will be a wonderful King. Remember, you are here to save the Seven Kingdoms. Not just from Joffrey, but from the army of the dead. We have five years to defeat him and prepare. There's no reason to rush out and tell the world just yet."
Jon nodded in agreement. "I want it kept between just us for a while."
Sansa furrowed her brow. "Why?"
"We need as many Kingdoms to support us as possible," Jon explained. "I know we can gain some smaller houses, but the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale are not enough. We need at least one of the southern Kingdoms."
"What are you planning?" Sansa inquired, her suspicions piqued by Jon's demeanour.
"A mission to rescue Princess Shireen," Jon revealed, prompting Sansa's confusion. "Won't that cause a constitutional crisis? The Stormlands may back her claim against yours."
Jon shrugged. "It's unlikely. After all, she is a girl. I know that means nothing to you or me, but the Seven Kingdoms will not likely support a young girl over an experienced war commander. If I rescue her, I will make her my heir until I have a child of my own. That should win the support of the Stormlands."
Sansa nodded in agreement. "That would give us four of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Dorne will probably stay neutral, and as long as the North is held by Lord Stark, I doubt the Iron Islands will get involved. I don't want all the North to fight. There must be enough to protect those who are vulnerable to the Ironborn, just in case they prove me wrong." Jon explained.
Sansa considered the potential adversaries. "That would mean we would be up against the Crownlands, the Westerlands, and the Reach."
"We might be able to split some of the Reach's forces. I just want food, a bath, and a bed. Is that too much to ask?"
Sansa couldn't help but smile at Jon's straightforward desire for simple comforts amidst the complexities of their unfolding plans. "Not at all, Your Grace. Let's get you the rest you deserve."
"For a King, yes," Sansa laughed, her eyes turning to the door as the clinking sounds suggesting the maids were preparing a bath. "Shall we bathe together?"
"I never intend to bathe alone again," Jon grinned. "Although I think it's best we stick to bathing only. We don't want to get the floor too wet."
After washing, they enjoyed a few minutes to relax in their shared bath. Sansa was laid with her back up against Jon's chest, and her head lolled back on his shoulder.
Despite their relaxed demeanour, she knew she had to bring up a rather pressing matter, which required speaking in a hushed tone. "What are we going to do with the dragon egg?"
"I'll place it in the fire," Jon replied. "I won't let anyone else near the hearth."
"What about the maids when they come in a morning?" Sansa asked.
"The rooms will remain locked whilst ever we are not in them. Nobody is allowed to enter." Jon stated.
"Do you think it will hatch?" Sansa asked.
"I hope so. It will help with the army of the dead." Jon nuzzled her neck, and despite his suggestion of their bath being restricted to washing, his hand drifted down her abdomen, before circling her rosebud, shooting jolts of pleasure between her legs. "I want you." He whispered, his voice gruff and sensual.
"I want you too." Sansa whispered, as she took his hard length in her hand, and stroked it.
After bathing, with a satisfying meal, of chicken stew, they were sated, both of hunger and for each other. Sansa assisted Jon in dressing in a manner befitting a King. He wore a black velvet doublet with matching breeches, adorned with red binding along the edges and cuffs. A small white direwolf, reminiscent of Ghost, was delicately sewn into his pocket.
Tying his hair back as he did during his reign in the North, Jon exuded regal charm. Sansa admired how handsome and majestic he looked, surpassing even his appearance as the King in the North. His clothes spoke of strength, style, and wealth without veering into opulence. His Targaryen and Stark heritage, while present, were subtly hinted at, creating a balanced and powerful image.
Sansa, wore a grey ensemble, though less severe than her Lady of Winterfell attire. The colour was lighter, and the outfit lacked the leather armour she used to wear. A softened look befitted a Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
The Freefolk were not part of the meeting, as this matter wasn't their immediate concern. Queenscrown and the Gift would become their responsibility after Jon had moved south. Thus, only those essential for strategy planning were involved.
As the invited individuals entered the room, a chorus of "Your Grace" echoed, accompanied by bowed heads and the scraping of chairs. Jon stood, and Sansa sat at his right hand. Once everyone settled, Jon started the meeting.
"I am not going to send the ravens just yet. I wish to enlist as many houses and regions as possible. Lady Stark has kindly offered to ask her father to pledge the loyalty of the Riverlands, for which, I owe my deepest gratitude, my lady." Jon smiled at Cat.
"You are welcome, Your Grace," she replied. Sansa couldn't help but wonder how much it cost her mother to bow to Jon. The intricacies of alliances and loyalties were delicate matters, and Sansa sensed the weight of her mother's actions.
Lady Stark had always harboured concerns that Jon might usurp Robb in the inheritance of Winterfell. Now, that concern had transformed into the prospect of Jon surpassing her brother by ascending to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms. Sansa suspected her mother considered the idea of her grandchild being King enough to tolerate and support Jon on his quest for the Iron Throne. Lady Stark certainly wouldn't betray Sansa.
"I have received word that The Vale may be open to persuasion. I already have someone dealing with the matter. That is three of the Seven Kingdoms," Jon announced, turning his attention to Theon. "I believe the Iron Islands will probably stay out of the fray, which does not perturb me. If you wish to communicate with your father, I would support that."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Theon expressed. "I will write to my father, although I doubt he will listen."
"Mayhaps your sister would be open to persuading him," Sansa suggested, aware that Yara was the favoured child of Balon Greyjoy. "After all, she is the one he is likely to be closer to. Write to her and gauge her opinion."
Theon must have realised they were subtly guiding him on who he needed to contact, understanding the potential risks if Balon Greyjoy took advantage of any warning or opportunity to raid. This was a situation that needed careful handling.
"Of course, if your father wishes to support me, I would be most grateful," Jon added.
"I will write to my sister first," Theon agreed, acknowledging the importance of approaching Yara rather than Balon.
"The next region to discuss is Dorne. My parents were married there, and I was born in Dorne. However, I doubt I would have support from the Martells. My father insulted Elia Martell, and I doubt Princes Oberyn and Doran would want to help the son of the woman who ousted their sister. Alternatively, I doubt they'd wish to align themselves with those who killed their sister and her children. Therefore, I believe they will remain neutral," Jon explained, and Sansa carefully observed those present in the room. "The Daynes might pledge to me, as they were loyal to my parents. I will need the advice of Lord Stark on such matters."
"I will write to my father, Your Grace," Robb said. "Hopefully, we should have an answer within a few days."
"Thank you, Lord Robb," Jon smiled. "There is one other region which we could gain, and that is the Stormlands."
"But they fought against the Targaryens," Lady Stark pointed out.
"Princess Shireen is locked in the Black Cells. I cannot in good conscience allow my young cousin to die at the hands of the Lannisters," Jon declared. "She may not be the heir to the Iron Throne, but she is an innocent girl caught up in all of this. It is my duty to rescue her."
A collective gasp of shock echoed through the room.
"Surely, Your Grace, you cannot endanger yourself like this," Ser Barristan stated.
"With all due respect, Ser Barristan, if I am the one who is prepared to risk my life to help release the princess, it will help tremendously in our endeavour. It proves I am prepared to fight for what is right, nor do I fear the Baratheon claim. Should I become king, I need to prove I will lead from the front. As a consequence, it could gain the support of the Stormlands," Jon explained. "I need to go south because I wish to visit Dragonstone and monitor the mining of the dragonglass. My concern is with Lord Stannis being held in the Black Cells, and no doubt facing execution, that there might be some danger facing those who are mining it. I wish to see for myself, and should the need arise, then I will lay claim to the island myself."
"What about the Reach?" Sam asked. "I know the Tyrells have aligned with the Lannisters, but not all houses were loyal to them."
"Your father was a Targaryen loyalist, was he not, Lord Samwell?" Lady Stark asked.
Sam, unused to being addressed with a title, blushed. "My father was loyal to the Targaryen cause," he confirmed. "But so were the Tyrells."
"The Tyrells are loyal to whichever family can give them the greatest power," Sansa astutely pointed out. Despite her fondness for Margaery and Lady Olenna, she harboured no illusions about the Tyrells' political manoeuvres. "We cannot offer a marriage alliance with Jon and Lady Margaery, for obvious reasons. Anyway, she is already betrothed to Joffrey."
Sansa suspected that the wedding and bedding would proceed as planned. Lady Olenna's decision not to marry Margaery to Joffrey stemmed from the mistreatment Sansa endured at his hands. This time, Sansa knew, Joffrey would not be poisoned at his own wedding. However, once Joffrey started mistreating Margaery, the dynamics might shift. This was a sentiment she couldn't voice aloud, but she sensed that those in the room who were privy to certain information shared her opinion.
"Would your father even listen to you?" Jon inquired, though Sansa was already familiar with the likely answer.
"I doubt it. He doesn't like me very much," Sam admitted with a shrug.
"What if you are a close confidante of a Targaryen king?" Sansa asked.
"I really couldn't say, my... your grace." Sam said.
"Which houses do you believe might be inclined to align themselves against the Tyrells?" Sansa inquired.
Sam frowned. "I'd probably have to consult with Maester Fell. Officially, the Reach families transferred their loyalties to King Robert. I haven't paid too much interest in which families have been fighting on behalf of Joffrey."
Jon turned to Maester Fell. "I'd like you and Sam to go through all the families of the Reach who possess an army of over two thousand men. See which ones could be persuaded to our cause. If we have to split the loyalties of the Reach, then so be it."
Sansa noticed Jon suppressing a yawn. "I think that is all for tonight. His Grace and I have had an exhausting few days. We really would like to get some sleep," she declared, prompting amused faces from Arya, Robb, Theon, and Sam.
The scraping of chairs signalled the end of the meeting.
"Maester Fell," Jon said, addressing Sansa's maester. "Sansa's horse didn't make it through the storm. Ghost is guarding the body as it would be suitable meat for the dogs. Lady will show you where he is."
Sansa closed her eyes in despair. That would be two direwolves who needed a bath. The morrow promised to be a very messy day.