Jonsa Week Day 2 Entry: Dragons

Summary: Sam thought it normal that Ghost follow Sansa, but Viserion? That is odd.


Sam snickered beside Jon, arms resting on the bowl of his stomach. With the war now over and the long night not to be feared as spring brings a hopeful return, it felt as if the world could rest. The mounting fright that came from beyond the Wall is now gone, all but a memory, however for most they relive that memory every night.

Even so, the realm is safe once more, and with it comes a natural life. Of course that cannot go unburdened. There is still a game to be played. At least, that is what lady Sansa tells Jon and he.

With the thought of her in mind, his eyes draw to her form, the lovely lady helping those in need. Handing out warmer cloaks, fresh baked bread, and clean water- the cloaks she made herself, as well as the mittens and boots.

Keep reading

My Path Was Always Leading Me to You

Pairing:  Jon x Sansa

Rating: PG-13

Parts: 1/?

Notes:  I gone and done it, my first fic. Based on the show (have not read the books). I’m sure there’s plenty of mistakes.  It’s more about being a character study so be kind.  Also, I’m not really used to tumblr, so sorry for strange formatting in posting if that happens.

To Jon, Sansa’s musical laugh seemed to cut through the din of the filled Great Hall as the feast commenced.  He could not help the smile that tilted up the corners of his mouth nor stop himself from seeking out the bright hue of her hair as she stood some feet away from him talking to Alys Karstark and several other ladies. Sansa seemed to grow brighter than any flame that lit the room with her burnished hair and the pearly grey of her woolen dress that was embroidered with silver threads that twinkled in the light.

Jon could feel his eyes soften as he continued to gaze at his sister, a steady burning in his belly and chest as she laughed again. A slight turn of her head and she caught him looking at her.  She offered him her own soft smile, the one that she shared with no one else, where she allowed herself to let the mask of strength slip for a moment so he could still see that some of that sweet girl he knew had not been totally beaten out of her by the monsters she had faced.

Your Grace.”

The tone in Davos’ voice indicated he had been trying to catch Jon’s attention for some time.  The young king tore his eyes away from Sansa to look to his right where his most trusted advisor had been seated.  A frown marred the older man’s face who looked from Jon to Sansa and back to Jon again. Concern and worry were etched in the former smuggler’s eyes and he sighed slightly.

“I do not think,” he said in a low voice, “It is wise to occupy yourself so much with your sister’s whereabouts during the feast, your Grace.”

 Jon stiffened and one hand fisted itself.  “I wasn’t aware that my concern over my sister’s welfare was something that needed to be monitored or questioned in any way.” Though he spoke harshly and authoritatively, Jon could feel the small coil of guilt warring with the earlier fire he had felt when looking at Sansa.

 Davos looked at him carefully and not without a small touch of pity in his eyes.  “Concern over her welfare is one thing, Jon, more powerful feelings are quite another.” He inched closer and lowered his voice even more.  “I know how you’ve looked at her and how often you seek out her company.  It has not gone unnoticed by others, Jon. Questions and rumors will begin to circulate and Lady Stark will bear the brunt of it. Already some of your banner men are suspicious of her due to her previous marriages and their own jealousy of how much she has your ear. Half of them fear her influence and the other half are eager to bed her. I speak not only to protect you, but her as well. I beg you, your Grace, control yourself!”

 Davos leaned back and stared pointedly at Jon whose lips had thinned into a tight line. His eyes burned hot and furious, but Davos could also see guilt in those dark orbs.  He watched as the King glanced back in Sansa’s direction.  She was still talking to the ladies, but this time, Jon’s eyes connected with his sister’s sworn shield, Brienne of Tarth who was never too far away from Sansa’s side, even in a place as innocuous as their own Great Hall. The giantess stared steadily back at the King, her hand flexing on the hilt of her sword.  In her pretty blue eyes, Jon could see a warning.

 You may be King, but my loyalty is to Sansa and I will not allow any type of harm to befall her, not even from you.

 Jon sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily. “Understood, Davos.  I appreciate your concern and your words.  I assure you, I will not treat them lightly.”

 Davos nodded, satisfied he had said his piece and was still able to keep his head.  He knew Jon was a good and honorable man and would never do anything to compromise his sister, no matter what he might feel.  Over the last few months, Davos had watched as the younger man seemed to fall more steadily and deeply in love with his half-sister.  At first he had dismissed it as the last vestiges of a family clinging to each other and trying to weather the enormous changes and duties thrust upon them. But slowly, and surely, Davos had seen other signs that alarmed him greatly.  The sullen Jon Davos knew would never laugh or smile as frequently as he did, especially now with the threat of the White Walkers on their doorstep and the burdens of a kingdom on his shoulder.  Yet, in the few months they have been in Winterfell, he had seen the younger man laugh and smile more than all the years he had known him.  And he only smiled and laughed when Lady Stark was with him, often they were simply speaking to each other with no one else involved in the conversation.

 Then it was the small things he would do for her, thoughtful things a lover might do such as bringing back a length of expensive cloth from Wintertown so she could make herself a pretty dress, or somehow procuring lemons to make her lemon cakes.  Each time Sansa thanked him for these small courtesies, Jon had blushed like some lovelorn boy, embarrassed that the pretty girl he was mooning over noticed him.  

But more telling was Jon’s unwillingness to hear of any man petitioning for Sansa’s hand. It made sense to marry her off to secure an alliance or to strengthen existing ones. Despite the declarations the Northern Houses had made to Jon as King of the North, Davos knew how tenuous some of those oaths were. These were the houses that had turned their backs on the Starks when the time came to fight Ramsey.  House Glover, the strongest, most powerful house, had offered their eldest son as a potential husband to Sansa, but Jon had coolly turned them down, saying he would not barter his sister off like others had before to such unhappy results.  It had taken much to smooth things over and a sharp reminder from Lady Mormont of Lord Glover’s own cowardice before the battle with the Boltons to ensure the banner man did not take the refusal as an insult and continued to support the King.

 Then Davos knew, and worse, he suspected at least Lady Mormont might have thought the same as she turned thoughtful, contemplating eyes towards Jon.

 At first he was horrified and wondered if Jon’s bastard blood had tainted him in some way, but he knew Jon Snow as a good man.  That was why Davos had suggested this feast and inviting some of their bannermen and their women folk to stay at Winterfell for several weeks.  Not only would it give them time to plan for the winter and threat of the White Walkers, among the other thousand and one issues facing the North, but Davos had thought if other eligible women were around perhaps Jon would not be so enamored with his sister.  The lack of women at Winterfell had to be the reason a good man like the Jon Snow he knew could be falling in love with his own sister.  That there simply wasn’t another woman around, and Lady Stark was extremely beautiful, and the fact Jon hadn’t had a woman in a while must be the reasons he would be drawn to her.  Perhaps some other comely woman would catch his eye and this thing with Sansa would prove to be only a passing fancy.

 However, that was not the case.  Davos was even excited to see Alys Karstark with her vague resemblance to Lady Stark.  Alys was slightly shorter and heavier than the tall, willowy Stark girl, and her face was not as fair, but she had a firm, curvaceous body and a somewhat pretty face. She also had a fall of long, auburn hair, not quite as bright and silky as Sansa’s, but still, it was close.  She was also fierce and daring in her words and actions, much like the feisty Lady Mormont.  He heard some Northerners liken her to Jon’s other sister, Arya whom he loved greatly, and even Tormund mentioned that she reminded him a little of Jon’s dead lover, Ygritte.  All seemed to indicate a woman who would capture the King’s interest.

 However, that did not happen. He was perfectly polite when he met Lady Alys and courteous when they crossed paths, but Davos could see he had as much interest in the other woman as he did in Lord Karstark, perhaps less since Karstark was at least offering men in the fight with the Others and that led to the two men speaking more than passing greetings like Jon did with Alys.

 While Davos had not intended to speak to Jon about his inappropriate affections, when he saw him gazing at Sansa across the roomful of his banner men, some watching him, a few perhaps a little too closely, he had to speak.  Especially when he saw the calculating eyes of Petyr Baelish assessing the soft smile of the King as he gazed upon his sister.

 No something had to be said and he hoped to the Gods that Jon would heed his advice.

 With Davos’ words burning in his ears and Brienne’s glare boring into his eyes, the flicker of guilt Jon had felt earlier grew and he could feel it burning through his body.  How depraved and sick must he be for even looking at Sansa in any way that was not brotherly, let alone some of the thoughts he had of her in those dark moments when he was alone and his hand was wrapped tight around his cock.

 He heard her laugh again and even as nausea over his earlier thoughts rose within him, he could feel his himself harden and his cock twitch, almost as if it responded to her voice, like a dog answering the call of his master.

 Jon stood abruptly, happy his tunic and the cloak he wore falling over the front of his body to hide his shame.  “I need air,” he mumbled to Davos before he turned abruptly away and strode out of the Great Hall.

 His feet carried him blindly through the halls of Winterfell until he found himself outside on the battlements.  It was cold, but his cloak and the fire that came with his shame and lust kept him warm.  Snow fell lazily down on him, sprinkling white flakes in his dark curls and touching his heated skin to only melt quickly.

 Jon did not know when these thoughts and feelings for Sansa began.  They were never close as children, different interests and Lady Catelyn ensuring their separation.  And if he was pressed, he would admit that he barely thought of Sansa during the years they were separated, definitely less than he did of Robb or Arya.  But that moment, when he saw her standing in the yard of Castle Black, when he thought he would never feel anything ever again after his resurrection, something inside of him sparked.  A warmth, a flame was ignited by the sight of her and it had grown steadily since.

 He would feel this need to seek her out, to assure himself of her safety.  He had this urge to lean into her to smell the sweet scent of her hair and skin. And his lips burned each time he drew back from a sweet chaste kiss placed on her forehead or her cheek.  

 No one could get under his skin like Sansa.  Their arguments were fiercer, louder than any he has had with anyone else.  But no one could also make him laugh and smile as she did, or soothe and comfort him in those moments when he thought of the enormity of what he had to do as the King of the North and the threat of the Others.  And no one has or ever could make his blood burn and his heart sing with a look or a touch.

 He knew what he was feeling.  He knew it was depraved and he thought he could hide it, relieving his urges in his chambers with hard strokes of his hand, but Davos words rang in his ears.  He had not been as successful as he thought he was in hiding his feelings and something would need to be done.

 But what?  He couldn’t simply kill his feelings or his thoughts.  The spent seed on his hands every day, sometimes several times of day, showed him how impossible that was.  Send Sansa away?  Never.  All she wanted was to be home and safe and he would slit his own throat before he would jeopardize her happiness and security.

 That only meant him leaving and soon that would happen as they amass their forces to meet the threat from the North.  He would only have to hold on until then, perhaps avoid Sansa. Maybe if they had less contact with each other-

 “There you are!”

 Jon closed his eyes briefly and silently cursed the Gods who obviously decided to torment Jon Snow for all his days by making him fall in love with his sister and then letting him have the ability to conjure her up just by thinking of her name.

 “Why did you leave the feast so abruptly?  Are you feeling well?”

 The wind had picked up and the snow began to fall more heavily.  Jon schooled his features into their usual sullen lines so she couldn’t see how a part of him was so happy to see her, and the other so terrified.  He turned to her to assure her he was well, but the words changed to something else when he saw her.

 “Are you daft, Sansa?” He barked out suddenly. “You’ll catch your death of cold!”

 Sansa had no cloak, only the thin grey woolen dress she had worn to the feast. The strong winds blew her skirts wildly and whipped the loose strands of her long, red hair around her face.  She was shivering and Jon could already see her lips paling with cold.  He tried to ignore the fact that the cold had also hardened the nipples of her breasts into sharp little points that pressed through the thin material of her dress.

 “I didn’t realize it would be so-, so cold out here.” Her teeth chattered and she crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to warm herself and blessedly covering those perky teats.

 Jon muttered a curse and shrugged off his cloak to wrap it snuggly around her.  His actions drew her closer and though they were of the same height and possibly Sansa slightly taller than he, she seemed to look up at him from lowered lashes.  

 “Jon, now you will freeze,” she murmured, her words coming out in puffs of white in the cold, but all he could feel was the moist heat of the words as they brushed his face.

 “I feel warm enough,” he replied softly as his hands rubbed her upper arms through his cloak, warming her up.

 “Jon, what’s wrong?  Why did you leave the feast?” she asked, looking him in the eye, a small flicker of worry in her blue ones.  “You left so quickly.  Did you feel ill?”

 Had anyone looked at him with so much concern for his well-being?  A woman who cared if he was ill, who made every piece of clothing he wore, even his small clothes, who took care to fuss over his wounds and to make certain he ate well and his hair and beard were trimmed neatly.  Jon could not think of ever being so cared and looked after before.

 It was not a sentiment men expressed and the women in his life had been so limited.  It was another reason he was so drawn to Sansa, the love and caring she offered to him, something he had not experienced before from a woman.  Lady Catelyn never showed it, Arya was too young and the type of woman Ygritte was and the situation they found themselves in did not present such opportunities even if the wildling was inclined to show them, which Jon, if he was honest, likely would not have. No, it’s only been Sansa who has ever done so and Jon never realized how starved for that type of affection he has been.

 “I’m fine,” he said in a slightly strangled voice. “It was just feeling close in the Hall. I wanted some air.”  He hesitated before adding, “And I needed to be away from some people.”

 He was referring to Davos’ words and Sansa herself, the temptation he was finding harder and harder to resist, but she took his words to mean something else.

 She nodded in understanding.  “Some of the banner men can be bores, especially after they’ve been in their cups.”  She shivered slightly and drew his cloak closer around her.  Automatically Jon’s arm came up to draw her closer to him to help warm her.  He nearly groaned aloud as she snuggled into his side and laid her head on his shoulder with a small, sad sigh.

 Something in how she said her words and the sigh set off alarm bells in Jon’s head.  Over the moons, just as he had reveled in her smiles and scent, he also had become quite attuned to the small inflections in her voice and the colors in her tone.

 “Was there something else?” He asked quietly, sensing a disquiet about her.

 Sansa sighed again. She began in a low voice, “Sometimes, in close quarters, around all those men…” Her voice trailed off and he could feel her struggle with her words.  “I just feel…scared.  Unsafe. When they try to touch me, even just to dance.  I…I feel as if I can’t breath and fear…”  She choked slightly on her words as if she was experiencing something frightening in that moment and she buried her face into the crook of his neck.

 Jon’s arms came around her and he hugged her fiercely to him.  “I will never, NEVER let anyone touch you again without you wishing it.  Tell me, did someone try anything? Behave improperly towards you? Say something? Because if they did, I’ll have their heads.”

 The words were all the more fierce and frightening for the low, calm and measured way he said them.  Jon could feel the anger clawing in his chest at the thought of someone threatening or frightening Sansa, and with him likely only steps away.

 Sansa shook her head, her face still buried in his neck. “No,” she said, her voice muffled. “No one.” She let out a watery laugh and pulled back to look in his face.  Her eyes looked suspiciously bright with unshed tears, but Jon said nothing. “I don’t think they would dare with Brienne next to me and you and Ghost glaring at them.”  Her face fell into sad lines.  “He still haunts me. It’s at odd moments that I’ll remember something and I’ll feel I’m back there again at his mercy.  I hate that he has that power over me where sometimes I can’t even feel safe in my own home and with my own people.”

 “What can I do, Sansa?  How can I make this right?” Jon asked in a desperate voice.

 She gave him one of her sad smiles, the ones he hated to see and pressed her forehead to his.  “You’re doing everything right now that I need.  I know I once told you no one could protect anybody, Jon, but know this, you make me feel safe.  And you’re the only man who’s touch doesn’t make me want to crawl away in fear and disgust. You do so much for me in so many ways and I don’t always stop to thank you for it.”  She pulled back to look at him and he missed the warmth of her skin immediately.  “I’m sorry about that.  I do appreciate it. I do see it and I do love you for it.”

 Jon gazed softly at her and his hands came up to frame her face.  “You don’t have to thank me for something you deserve to have. You deserve to be loved and cared for.  To have happiness and not be afraid.  And it is my duty and pleasure to give it to you, Sansa.”

 Sansa sighed and placed her head on his shoulder again. “When we were up here some moons ago you said we needed to trust each other.  I wasn’t certain if I was capable of that ever again.  But Jon, know there’s no one else in the world I trust more than you.”

 He simply drew her closer and they stared out into the night as the snow continued to fall around them.




Game of Thrones may not be a perfect adaptation, but I will always stand behind it as an incredible series, and one of the greatest pieces of Fantasy ever crafted.

Sansa's Discovery

By: @lathwell55

“What do you mean? You can see through your wolf’s eyes”? Sansa asked Arya in a frantically confused voice.

Her sister had returned to Winterfell after Jon and Sansa had taken it back from the Boltons. She’d brought with her some information that had changed Jon’s life forever. Arya had gotten lost in her travels north. She had been found, close to death by Lord Howland Reed’s men when she wandered deep into the maze of bogs and marshlands that made up The Neck. After being nursed back to health, Lord Reed felt it important to unburden the secret of Jon’s true parentage to her and send her home with a small company of his men for added protection.

That was two moons ago now and all three of them were still getting used to their new relationships with each other and how each of them had grown and changed in their many years apart.

Sansa had just happened upon Ayra in her room, eyes completely white and unseeing, her mouth hung open a little and her breath slow. Sansa had shrieked at the sight, thinking her sister had lapsed into some kind of terrifying fit.

“I can see through Nymeria’s eyes” Arya had informed her when she came to. Sansa knotted her brows together in confusion.

Arya sighed “I can enter her mind and see what she’s up to with her pack in the Riverlands…she’s very happy there…it’s the only reason I haven’t tried to find her and bring her back North with me…’s a weird connection we have”.

Sansa glanced at Ghost who had taken to being her most loyal companion and could always be found at her side, seemingly snubbing Jon’s company for that of someone with a more gentle, feminine touch.

“How long have you been able to do that”? Sansa whispered her question as she scratched behind Ghost’s ear.

“A couple of years” Arya shrugged. “Jon told me not to tell you…said it might upset you…because of-”

“Lady” Sansa finished Arya’s thought with a small pained voice. “So Jon knows you can do it”? She asked.

Arya nodded “Jon can do it too”.

“Jon can do what too” came a cheerful masculine voice as Jon emerged from behind the door and looked between his two cousins. He caught Sansa’s pained and confused expression. “Sansa? What’s wrong? What’s happened”?!

“You….you can see through Ghost’s eyes”? Sansa stared at him a little dumbfounded.

Jon’s shoulders stiffened and he shot Arya an angry look.

“Hey - she walked in and found me” Arya shrugged. “Perhaps I should do what you do and lock myself away in my washroom”.

Jon’s face reddened instantly.

Sansa began thinking of all the time she spends with Ghost. She cuddles up to his soft fur at night, she talks to him - telling the great white beast many things that she dare not word to anyone else through fear of being viewed as still a ‘silly little girl’ at heart. She undresses completely in front of the wolf… she bathed with him just the other day at the bath house! Sansa felt heat reach her face. She glanced at Jon who was looking at anything but her and fidgeting in his boots.

“How….how often do you do it”? Sansa asked. She was looking at Jon but it was Arya who answered her.

“Not as often as Jon” she shrugged. Jon glared at her. “What”?! Arya exclaimed back at him.

Her little sister carried on talking but Sansa couldn’t hear her words. She was too wrapped up in her own thoughts of her new discovery and memories of all the embarrassing times Sansa thought she was alone with Jon’s wolf. Just three days ago she told Ghost that she thought his master looked handsome with his hair tied back.

Glancing back at a very red faced Jon she noted that he did indeed have his hair tied. He’d worn it like that yesterday too, and the day before.

What else had he seen and heard? She should be angry with him. But as she watched Jon look more nervous than she had ever seen him - even more nervous than a greenboy kissing his first maid. Sansa couldn’t help the smirk that creeped across her face.

“Come on Ghost” Sansa said suddenly in a clear voice, cutting through the words that tumbled out of Arya’s mouth that Sansa was not paying attention to. Jon’s head snapped up at her. “Lets go take a bath”. She petted the wolfs head as she turned to leave, throwing Jon a wicked grin and a raised brow.

“How rude”! Arya exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air, obviously a little disgruntled that she was in the middle of telling a story to her sister.

Jon just stared after Sansa’s retreating from, mouth agape.

“Are you listening to me Jon”? Arya forcibly nudged his leg with her boot, breaking him out of some kind of stupor.

“Err….I….I have to go Arya - talk later alright”? Jon said hurriedly as he all but ran out of the room.

Promise me we’ll avenge Lady, Jon

Ghost was a constant shadow at Sansa’s side, ever since she came to the Wall. Frankly, Jon was relieved. Some of his brothers were honorable men, but some were not. Sansa had always been pretty as a girl, but now she was breathtakingly beautiful, tall and willowy with serious blue eyes and auburn hair that poured over her shoulders in a shining fall. The men who grumbled the Wall was no place for a woman were the same men who sneaked greedy, leering looks at her.

He hadn’t wanted to ask her how she lost Lady, and he knew Sansa would tell him in her own time. Sansa mentioned it a few days after Lyanna Mormont had sworn sixty-two men to their cause.

“She’s right, you know, Jon. I’m technically a Lannister, or a Bolton.” Sansa had dark circles under her eyes. They were both worn and tired from crossing the North, drumming up supporters to take down Ramsey. Sansa curled her hands around a bowl of stew as they sat together on the benches at Castle Black.

“You’re a Stark, Sansa. Winterfell’s yours.”

“Ours, Jon. Winterfell’s ours.” Jon took heart from the fierceness in her voice. “But Lady Lyanna Mormont only said what others will think. I’ve been married twice since I left Winterfell.”

“Sansa –“

“I lost my direwolf, Jon. I know you’ll say you’re not a Stark, but there’s your direwolf, plain as day.” Ghost, sprawled out by the fire, thumped his tail. “I should have saved her. I should have saved Lady.” Sansa’s shoulders were hunched against the cold, and she wouldn’t meet Jon’s eyes.

Keep reading

Jonsa Week Day 2: Dragon

Pairing: Jon x Sansa
Rating: G
For: @jonsa-week
Also available on AO3.


A great, dark shadow passes overhead. Terrors radiates from Sansa, from the fighting men round her, even from the wildlings who have seen so much. She feels it in her rattling bones, in the whispered beats of her heart, and in the shaking of her hands.

She glances up, unsure what strange creature of the night she will see above Winterfell’s walls. But there is only this: a burst of fire, then- salvation.

Keep reading

Jonsa Week - Day 2: Dragon

wordcount: 836
written for: @jonsa-week
triggerwarnings: none

Sansa had her fingers curled around Jon’s wrists, a smile spreading across her face. She had been looking forward to this day for weeks now, ever since their last date to celebrate their five month anniversary.

Today they were celebrating that they were together for half a year now.

Sansa didn’t regret a minute of it. She didn’t even regret a second of it. If she regretted something, it were the minutes and seconds of her life she had not shared with him.

“A few more steps.” Jon’s hands were covering her eyes and his chest was pressed to her back. Without a doubt his curls were blown by the wind and without a doubt every girl would stare at him for a few seconds too long.

The first few weeks of their relationship Sansa had been jealous whenever another woman looked at her handsome boyfriend. Nowadays she only noticed how Jon never stared back. Sansa wasn’t sure if Jon even noticed all those glances.

“And we’re there.” Jon stood still and slowly he took his hands away. “I hope you’ll like it.” He stepped back and Sansa blinked a few times before she was used to the light.

They were standing in front a huge building with a ornate facade.

“The natural history museum?” Sansa turned around and Jon shrugged his shoulders, his hands hidden in the pockets of his jeans.

“You’ve never been here, right?” He smiled. He had a wonderful smile and even if Sansa would have hated everything in the natural history museum, she still wouldn’t tell him to make sure that smile wouldn’t fade.

“No, have you?” She cocked her head and Jon shook his.

“But I already have the tickets.” He held them up and Sansa couldn’t help smiling back at him.

She had never felt this comfortable around someone, this herself, this easy. She didn’t have to worry about what she said or what she did.

Jon loved her. No matter what. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders when she was crying and he laughed along when she was telling a joke. He was never disappointed when she didn’t felt like answering a question. He was always there when she had something to say.

“Is there anything specific you want to see here?” Sansa grabbed his hand and she pulled him along while she made her way inside. As soon as their tickets were checked she froze in the huge hall.

This museum was more of a palace than a museum. If all the tourists had been servants and maids, Sansa could have felt like a princess with Jon as her prince.

“I want to see the dinosaurs.” Jon swallowed. “I had a special thing with dragons when I was a boy.”

Sansa cocked her head, a teasing smile playing around her lips. “You don’t have that special thing anymore?” She waited until Jon’s glance met hers and she squeezed the hand she was still holding. “Girls never outgrow their longing to be a princess, so why should boys outgrow their longing to fight a dragon?”

“I don’t want to fight it.” Jon shook his head, the smile now brightening while he studied the map to find the nearest dinosaur skeleton. “I want to ride it.”

Sansa stared at him for a short moment. She could imagine him between the majestic wings of a dragon. She could imagine his hair dancing in the wind. She could imagine the huge smile on his face.

He would look like a king. Or maybe he would even look like a God. “I would gladly take you with me?” Jon took a deep breath before he started walking. He climbed a few stairs, walked down a few other ones and eventually he stood still, his eyes glued to the lifeless bones of the dinosaur in the big salon.

“Actually, it would be a quite smart way to rescue a princess from a tower.” Even though they were standing on top of the stairs, they were not even reaching the height of the dinosaur’s kneecaps. “Instead of fighting the dragon, you make him your friend. Instead of climbing all those stairs to the top, the dragon would help you to climb trough the window.”

“You wouldn’t let your hair grow for me?” Jon managed to look away from the dinosaur, but Sansa shook her head.

“I like that dragon idea a lot better, actually.” She walked down the stairs, pulling Jon with her.

The dinosaur was even more impressive up close and she saw how Jon almost broke his own neck to be able to look up. “You might need a ladder to get on his back, though.” Sansa smiled and Jon’s lips curled up too.

“I’d find a way.” Jon wrapped his arm around Sansa’s waist and pulled her a little closer towards him. “For you, I’d always find a way.” He wasn’t the first boy she was dating who told her that. He was however the first man she actually believed.


• Saved? Click LIKE!

• Share with reblog!

/Credits: Jay.

Promise me we'll avenge Lady, Jon

Ghost was a constant shadow at Sansa’s side, ever since she came to the Wall. Frankly, Jon was relieved. Some of his brothers were honorable men, but some were not. Sansa had always been pretty as a girl, but now she was breathtakingly beautiful, tall and willowy with serious blue eyes and auburn hair that poured over her shoulders in a shining fall. The men who grumbled the Wall was no place for a woman were the same men who sneaked greedy, leering looks at her.

He hadn’t wanted to ask her how she lost Lady, and he knew Sansa would tell him in her own time. Sansa mentioned it a few days after Lyanna Mormont had sworn sixty-two men to their cause.

“She’s right, you know, Jon. I’m technically a Lannister, or a Bolton.” Sansa had dark circles under her eyes. They were both worn and tired from crossing the North, drumming up supporters to take down Ramsey. Sansa curled her hands around a bowl of stew as they sat together on the benches at Castle Black.

“You’re a Stark, Sansa. Winterfell’s yours.”

“Ours, Jon. Winterfell’s ours.” Jon took heart from the fierceness in her voice. “But Lady Lyanna Mormont only said what others will think. I’ve been married twice since I left Winterfell.”

“Sansa –“

“I lost my direwolf, Jon. I know you’ll say you’re not a Stark, but there’s your direwolf, plain as day.” Ghost, sprawled out by the fire, thumped his tail. “I should have saved her. I should have saved Lady.”

Sansa’s shoulders were hunched against the cold, and she wouldn’t meet Jon’s eyes.

Jon tried again. “Sansa, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”

“Arya managed it.” Sansa bit the words out. “Arya got Nymeria to run. I just stood there like a spoiled brat and let Joffrey do what he wanted.”

Jon sighed. “Tell me from the beginning, Sansa.”

“I lost her on the way to King’s Landing. Joffrey and I caught Arya sword-fighting with the butcher’s boy, Micah.” Jon wondered if Arya still had Needle with her. “Joffrey taunted Micah, and Arya launched herself at Joffrey. Nymeria tore into Joffrey’s arm.”

Sansa but her lip. “I hated Arya so much in that moment Jon, for ruining my beautiful storybook day with Joffrey. I should have thanked her. I should have left Joffrey to bleed in the grass. Instead I ran to him and called him my poor prince. They brought both of us before the king. Arya was wild, shouting, you can imagine, Jon.” Jon could almost hear the echoes of Arya’s indignant voice. “She kept calling Joffrey a liar. She was right. They brought me before Robert, fat and stinking in his chair. But he was the king, and he told me it would be a great crime to lie to him. I did anyway. I said I couldn’t remember anything.”

Jon was at a loss. “Arya wasn’t promised to someone, Sansa.” He felt ridiculous speaking about betrothals, he was a bastard who’d left for the Night’s Watch when he was a boy. “I don’t know much about how that works. But you’ve told me how dangerous Joffrey and Cersei were. If you’d told the truth, they might have hurt Arya.”

Sansa nodded. “They might have. I thought we were in the clear, Jon, Nymeria had vanished and Robert seemed ready to let it go. ‘Children fight, it’s over,’ he said. Then Cersei brought up Lady.”

Jon sat back. “Why?”

“Because she wanted a dead direwolf, and any direwolf would do. Lady was still there with us in the stables at the Inn. Father killed her.”

“Father killed Lady?” Why would Lord Stark have slain a direwolf?

Sansa saw the surprise in Jon’s face. “He told me later if he couldn’t carry the rest of the burden for me, he wanted to carry her death. I screamed at him in my chamber. But I understand why Father did it. Cersei would have made Lady’s pelt into a cape, or a stole, and she would have worn it in front of me at every opportunity in those golden rooms at King’s Landing. A lion, parading around with her kill.” Ghost growled softly in his throat. “Joffrey made me stare at father’s dead face, and Cersei would have preened at me with Lady’s fur wrapped around her shoulder. I see that now. Father sent Lady’s body back to Winterfell, far from the Lannisters.”

Sansa wiped away tears. “I swear I knew when she died, Jon. I felt it, like a piece cut out of my heart.” Ghost got up and rested his great head on Sansa’s lap. “You probably think me foolish.”

“No, Sansa. I’d know if something happened to Ghost.” Jon spoke as gently as he could. “Do you remember how I wasn’t sure about Rickon, whether we could know if he was alive or not, if Ramsey had him?”

“Yes. I thought you doubted me.”

Jon had, but he didn’t want to dwell on it. “Part of it was because Ghost hadn’t sensed Shaggydog in weeks.”

Sansa stroked behind Ghost’s ears. “Ghost can sense the other wolves?”

Jon shifted in his chair. “I dream with Ghost, sometimes. Ghost knows Nymeria and Summer are alive.”

Sansa listened, rapt. “What are they doing?”

Jon shrugged. “Running. Hunting. The wolves miss being part of a pack.” His father’s words: The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

Sansa took Jon’s hand. “We’re together again, you and I. The start of a pack.” Jon was touched. “Can I…can Ghost stay with me tonight, Jon?”

“Of course, Sansa.” Jon wondered if Sansa might dream of Nymeria and Summer, as he sometimes did.


Jon rarely had wolf dreams without Ghost beside him, but as soon as he fell asleep he was loping across the tundra. He could feel Sansa with them. Sansa was afraid, but also thrilled. He’d thought she’d recoil when Ghost tore into the belly of a boar, entrails glistening and steaming on the cold ground, but she didn’t. She reveled in the chase, and in the hunt, and in the kill.

They exchanged awkward looks when he came to her chambers with firewood the next evening. “I hope you didn’t mind, Jon. If you’d like Ghost back I understand - oh.” Ghost had trotted over and curled up on the heap of brown furs at the foot of Sansa’s bed. Jon had piled up as many as he could find from the spare rooms. He recalled how cold he’d been when he first came to the Wall years ago.

Jon smirked. “It’s not up to me who he stays with. I think he’s made his choice.”

“Thank you Jon. I haven’t slept so well in months, Jon. Were you there last night, with us?” Sansa’s cheeks were pink.

“I was.”

“Did you expect me to be horrified?” The hint of a smile played around Sansa’s lips.

He chose honesty. “Yes, I did. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I would have been horrified as a girl. I’m sure I would have hated this castle.”

“It’s not much, Castle Black.” It was close to a ruin, in fact. The buildings were crumbling, and many were abandoned.

“You’re my family, Jon, and you’re here. It’s better than any of the gilded cages I was in at King’s Landing, or the Eyrie.” Sansa’s grip on Jon’s shoulder was strong. “Promise me, Jon. After we take Winterfell back – we’ll look for Nymeria and Summer, Arya and Bran. Promise me.”

“I promise, Sansa.”