24 Sansa

Gently stroking the large scales of the beast's snout, Rhaegal's warm skin was welcome to Jon in the harsh cold of the north. He shivered, almost feeling the same all encompassing cold of death. It was shocking, emerging from that cold into a raging inferno - among other, far more shocking things. "Come on, boy. You can do it." Jon gave the green dragon a smile. "Give me a little flame." Cooing softly at his rider, Rhaegal opened his mouth… only for a puff of smoke and a cough to follow. He lowered his head, as if ashamed. Patting him reassuringly, Jon sighed. "Has it been like this since we returned?"

"He was too weak when he returned from north of the Wall, my Lord," said Maester Aemon, sharing his fellow Targaryen's pain. It had been determined by consensus that Jon's death absolved him of his oath to the Night's Watch. Finn had been voted Lord Commander, while many had settled on the title of 'Lord' for Jon at the urging of Robb and Margaery. "The wounds have healed for the most part, but no fire has left him even when the mutiny occurred." Jon nodded. Ghost had gone into a frenzy when Jon had died - had Rhaegal been able to breath dragonfire, Thorne and the others would have been charred to a crisp far earlier.

"But there's nothing physically wrong with him?" Davos implied, glancing at the Red Witch. The priestess had essentially become the spiritual advisor of Castle Black.

Face impassive, Melisandre walked up to Rhaegal. Only a few could approach the dragon's head without getting a snarl. Somehow sensing that she was why Jon survived, Melisandre was one. "A dragon is intelligent and mystical. They bond to a rider for life, and his rider is clearly you, Jon Snow. But the dragonriders of Old Valyria raised them from hatching. Without the one present from hatching, I doubt he will ever breath fire." She shrugged. "At least that is my best guess."

A deep chuckle was heard. "I never would have expected it." Tormund looked at the dragon that saved his life north of the Wall. "A heartbroken dragon." Though his people were setting up on the land Jon promised them, he came by to Wintertown and the castle for supplies on occasion.

"Somehow that doesn't often show up in the legends," Davos deadpanned. Laughing softly, Jon's hand stroked Rhaegal's jaw. The dragon nuzzled it gently.

The sound of a single blow of the horn caused Jon to instinctively reach for Longclaw. 'No one's ranging beyond the wall, and the wildlings are all here or dead.' Tense moments passed as he waited for a second horn… and inevitably the third. The tension gratefully passed as the southward lookout called out, "Open the gate!"

In rode three mounted figures, two of them in armor. The other… eyes wide and emotion rising, Jon stared at the third person. Tired, worse for wear, and shivering, her bright and vibrant red hair made no secret of who she was. 'It can't be…' but she was.

Eyes zeroing on the figure she hadn't seen since the Stark family was fully together all those years ago, Sansa's heart hitched. He was older and grizzled from fighting, but one close look proved him the same selfless Jon she had remembered. She dismounted, the surrealness of the moment not keeping her from keeping a tight hold on her cloak. Ramsay didn't let her dress well and she didn't have the ability to change yet.

Not a word needed, as soon as he was close enough Sansa jumped into his arms. "Jon." For the first time in years she finally felt safe. "I missed you, brother." Jon just held her tighter. She had never been close to him as Arya was, yet he loved her all the same.

"Sansa?" Looking up from Jon's tight embrace, the redhead's jaw dropped. There was Robb, alive and well.

Jon letting her go for this, she ran into the awaiting hug from her second elder brother. "I thought you were dead." Sansa couldn't stop the errant tears from falling now, so filled with joy at the unexpected bonanza found at Castle Black. Both her older brothers, alive and well. Aged and hardened with the pain and anguish of life, but alive nonetheless. Overwhelmed with emotion, Sansa hugged Jon tightly once more. After so long in hell, watching nearly everyone she loved die or being torn away - of enduring horrors she could never have imagined - all she wanted was to be with her family again.

The loud grunting behind her drew her attention, yet what had been a mere cursory glance turned into a near panic. Eyes wide, she broke the embrace and backed away, terrified. In her emotion she just hadn't noticed the large green dragon resting in the castle grounds, but she noticed now. "Jon… what… a dragon…" The beast cocked his head at her, curiously inspecting the human that his rider was apparently close to.

Jon sighed, guessing this was inevitable. Sansa deserved to know. 'Aye, a dragon."

"How is this possible?"

"There is something you should know, Sansa." Meeting Jon's eyes, Robb knew what their brother wanted to have happen - it would devastate Sansa most likely, but she both deserved the truth and could be trusted with it. "We should be in private for this."

While Brienne and Podrick watered the horses, the three of them entered Jon's quarters. Rising from her seat, Margaery Tyrell noticed the third person among the two brothers. "Sansa Stark." They had met while her brother had been at the capital, in a time long ago. She moved to hug her as one would a friend. From the expression on Robb's face, the family needed time alone. She nodded. "You look famished. I'll have the cook make you a hot meal while I get some warmer clothes." With that, she was out of the room.

Out of nowhere three bat-like shapes swooped down from the rafters above. Sansa shrieked while Robb only laughed - he had gotten used to the game the little ones played. They banked around and all landed on Jon, chirping excitedly at their father. Jon extended his left arm as a perch to join with his shoulders. Used to Robb, they sensed a strange presence. One screeched at her. "No," Jon scolded. "Not Sansa." The dragon lowered its head, chastised.

It took a comparative while for Sansa to overcome her shock. "You have more dragons?" There was no mistaking it. Resting on Jon were three dragons - small enough to clearly be infants.

Smiling at his children, Jon nodded. "Meet my children, Sansa." His voice dripped with love. He cared for his dragons unconditionally. Exactly as with Dany, his siblings, Ghost, and Rhaegal.

Still looking unsure, and quite a bit scared, Robb couldn't help but smirk. "They're an acquired taste, but sweet in their own way, trust me." They were generally kind to those close to Jon - gods help anyone else though.

"Let me introduce you. Girls, this is Sansa, your aunt." The dragons stared at her intently. Jon pointed to one with light blue scales and grey hues. "This is Lyanarys." 'After Aunt Lyanna,' Sansa thought. He shifted to one with lilac scales and hues of silver. "This is Rhaella, and last but not least." He patted the head of an orange dragon with streaks of red, "Is Sansenya, named after my sister."

Heart catching, Sansa felt her sisterly love and past guilt both rise. 'I was such an ass to Jon, and yet he named a dragon after me all the same.' She shook the thoughts away. While Sansa did intend to beg for forgiveness, there was a pressing matter to attend to. "I am touched, brother," she said sincerely. "But I am still curious as to why you are in possession of dragons?!" It was so incomprehensible that it defied rational thought.

Jon could sense Sansa's disbelief, and turned away. She had been so relieved - beyond relief, even - to see him after all these years. He couldn't stand breaking her heart with the truth. Noticing their father's discomfort, the dragons hooted and flew off him to curl on Ghost's back for warmth as they were apt to do. The direwolf looked at the creatures, and then went back to his rest.

Sparing his brother the pain, Robb decided to tell him. "Sansa, please sit." Taking a seat next to hers, he took Sansa's hands in his. "Jon is not our brother."

Blinking, Sansa thought she misheard him. "What?" the seriousness in Robb's expression proved she had not. "Do not say that!" Robb had always been the closest to Jon… after Arya of course. "Don't tell me you've let mother's lies get to you as well. He is our brother!"

Much as it touched him to hear Sansa defend their bond, Jon knew he had to kill it. "It is true, sister. I am not a Stark." Regardless of her furiously shaking head, he pressed on. "I am your cousin, son of Aunt Lyanna."

"Aunt Lyanna?" If what he was saying was true, then at least they were still related - quite closely. "If not father, then who…" It couldn't be true. It just couldn't.

"Sister," Robb said. "Jon is the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Aunt Lyanna. He is Jaehaerys Targaryen, the true heir to the throne."

Gazing at Jon, tears in her eyes, she wanted to argue but knew at that moment that it had to be true. "Father lied to us…" she murmured. "You're not our brother…" openly crying, she ignored their pleas and fled out the door, needing to be alone.

"This is suicide, your Grace."

"The Lannister shits have all their forces in Dorne. We can afford to be bold initially, but our main focus should be King's Landing."

"Leaving the defenses of Meereen underequipped will hurt."

"I wish I could say the North would rally to you, but I do not think they would revolt against the Boltons."

"Khaleesi, I advise against this…"

"Biding our time and seeking alliances would be wiser."

Closing her eyes, Daenerys felt a pounding migraine coming on. She had called the staff meeting of her advisors and generals to finalize plans for her long awaited invasion of Westeros, but it had collapsed quickly into anarchy. Grey Worm, Catelyn Stark, Jorah, Theodosius, Tyrion, Varys, and a recently recovered Daario all went at each other like arguing children, yelling and insults being arrows sailing back and forth. Sharing an annoyed look at Missandei, the interpreter grabbed her bronze-tipped staff and banged it on the stone floor. That got everyone's attention. "Enough. The main goals are set, this is just to discuss details."

"Your Grace, please reconsider," stated Varys.

"Production on the cannon has… been slow, your Grace," Theodosius confessed. "We only have fifteen, but if we land the entire force in Dorne, we can destroy Tywin Lannister's army in a decisive battle."

"Do not count the Lannister forces out too easily, Ser Theodosius," Tyrion warned.

An accusatory finger pointing straight at Tyrion, Theodosius seethed. "If you wish to protect your father, I would sleep lightly lest you go into the eternal sleep."

"General, you will not speak such a way in my presence," hissed Dany. Grunting, the general stormed out. "There is no going back. We will land on Dragonstone while a smaller force will take White Harbor and march on Winterfell. Dismissed." One by one the small council shuffled out. "Lord Tyrion." The Imp stopped, turning as his Queen calling his name. "I would like a word in private with you." Soon, it was just them in the map room. The Unsullied guards waited outside, and Saracen was tied to Dany's hip. They were safe. "You don't approve of my plan, do you?"

In his time at King's Landing, Tyrion had seen every sycophant and bullshit artist tactic known to man or god. King Robert wanted nothing but the best of news so as not to distract him from his pleasures, and Joffrey was often fond of literally killing the messenger. Daenerys was not such a ruler, and he vowed not to put on airs. "No." He sat in the chair closest to her. "While I would wait till we had more ships, that is not what concerns me. Why divide your forces? You should put everything into Dragonstone rather than risk attacking Ramsay Bolton in the North."

Closing her eyes, Dany remembered the feeling that night with Balerion and Edderon. How she just knew - Jon was alive and needed her. "I appreciate your honesty, Lord Lannister. But I know why we must go about such tactics. Call it a Queenly hunch."

Tyrion wasn't arrogant enough to fancy himself a genius military tactician. 'Jamie inherited father's martial talents after all.' "As you wish, your Grace."

A smirk crawled onto Dany's face. "My curiosity is peaked though. Why does Lord Theodosius have such an animosity towards your family?" Normally so well kept, since the Imp had arrived her master of industry had grown rather sullen and misanthropic. "Was it due to his uncle's dismissal?"

Shaking his head, Tyrion laid his head back. "Oh no, this predates anything I have done or could do. Long before that, I'm afraid. His parents were Targaryen loyalists, and my father had them murdered in their sleep."

Dany pursed her lips. "I see… It seems as if most of the world's misfortunes can be traced to only a few of its people."

Offering a sad look, Tyrion nodded. "Yes, it would appear so. Gods only knows how it would end."

Entering the room of her children a fair amount of time later, Dany leaned on the door jam with a smile of happiness. The twins played happily on the floor, imagining they were Targaryen conquerors defending their realm. With the stress of it all, the planning of the invasion and worry over Jon, her beloved dragonwolves gave her the peace and joy she so longed after.

Soon, they noticed her. "Issa." Rhaegar ran to her, hugging her skirts. "I saw father."

Dany raised an eyebrow. "You did?" He nodded happily. "Where?" She was curious.

"We saw him," Arya explained, tossing her silver hair back with an annoyed look at her brother. "In a dream, Issa."

'The same as mine, almost…' It warmed her heart that they had the same connection with their father as she did. Hugging them both, Daenerys got on her knees to hold them close. "Soon my darlings. Soon, we will see your father."

A harsh crackle of the whip resonated through the air. "Move you dogs!" The snarling command was then given in low Valyrian by yet another beefy overseer, this one Essosi. Packed together close in cattle pens, the shuffling mass of swarthy-skinned human beings proceeded forward.

Cloak over her head, Arya Stark cursed under her breath. "Welcome back to Westeros," she remarked sardonically, in words so low only her companion could hear. To think the King's Landing she had left was a paradise compared to this.

Gendry Waters looked at the sullen faces of the onlookers at the port - and then to the even more sullen faces of the milling slaves. Snagging premier hammock berths in the merchant ship from Braavos to King's Landing, they had both heard the mass of humanity and the occasional hairless mammoth crammed in the holds below. "And I thought slavery was banned in Westeros."

"Apparently not in Joffrey Baratheon's Westeros," Arya replied, spitting out the hated name. Be it Essosi denied the usual markets in Slaver's Bay after Daenerys Targaryen emancipated their slaves, Dornish prisoners taken in Tywin's goal to 'Make Dorne Howl,' or ordinary Westerosi peasants impressed as 'bondservants' by Lords eager to escape the crown's high taxes, all enslaved at Joffrey's decree. "He's on the top of my list."

"Be careful," Gendry hissed. "Someone could be watching." Arya failed to argue back. 'He has a point.'

In the distance, one Dornish slave collapsed into the dust. The guards set upon him like vultures, whips and clubs brought to bear. When they finally dispersed, the man was completely still. His fate was likely better than when a young woman collapsed similarly - one overseer grabbed her by the hair and dragged her away. It didn't take much thought for Arya to picture what was going on.

"Not as many smallfolk as before," Gendry observed as they walked through the city center. Both looked up into the steadily rising shape in the distance. "No surprise why."

"The sooner we get to the Mud Gate, the safer we'll be." Arya pulled the hood tighter over her head. The guard presence was just as intimidating, though they were nearly all strange fuckers with shaved heads and chains draped over their loose shifts.

A cluster of people was gathered at the old Sept of Baelor - newly decorated with a gold statue of King Joffrey. "People of the Realm!" called out an older man in a dirty shift. "We must give thanks to the great Golden King, God among men. The Seven sent him to this earth to bring us out of our wicked ways and toward enlightenment. It is through labor that we have salvation, it is through his generosity that we have hope…"

"Old fool."

"More than that, Gendry. It's… calculated. Joffrey's madness is getting more intricate." Arya spat on the ground. "Very dangerous." They ducked down a side alley.

Only to notice a commotion up ahead. People were scrambling out of the way as if from a leper. "Uh oh." Being over six feet, Gendry saw it first. The glistening heads of soldiers - Sovereignguards. "Hide!" grabbing Arya, he forced them into a deserted shop, nestling behind a heavy tarp. "We can't make a sound"

Arya clenched her teeth. One sound and the guards could ferret them out. Through a small rip in the tarp she could see who was in the litter. 'Cersei.' Her fist clenched around Needle's hilt. 'You'll get yours one day.' Soon, however, they were gone - and Arya allowed herself to relax… and notice how close together she and Gendry were. Her breath hitched.

Before him was the girl that haunted his dreams for years. A spitfire since they met, she still had that fire within her - a fire that he found irresistible. Unable to fight it, Gendry quickly closed the distance with the she-wolf, locking their lips. It was chaste, but passionate. After a shocked moment he could feel her meld into the kiss before she pulled away.

Glancing down at the girl with a satisfied, happy grin, he noticed her shocked expression. "Something wrong, Lady Stark?" Something about the way he said the last, in a manner not at all for propriety's sake, made Arya blush bright red. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No…" she said. Arya didn't want Gendry to think he acted improperly - he had been her only rock in the storm of the years since her father's death. "It's just…" she bit her lip. "I've never had one of those before."

"Oh." It was his turn to look a bit sheepish. The strong blacksmith with an uncertain look. It made Arya want to giggle. 'Jon and Sansa would be laughing their asses right now if they saw.'

"Now that I think about it… I'd like to do it again sometime." Leaning on her tiptoes, she pecked him on the lips, making him grin again. "But not until we get the hells out of this fucking city." He nodded. The sounds of marching echoing in the distance, the two of them melted back into the crowds of smallfolk.

Resting atop the battlements, Jon enjoyed the moments of peace and quiet that he was rarely allowed to have. The twinkling stars of Azor Ahai's belt gazed down upon him in the moonless sky. "Melisandre thinks that I am Azor Ahai reborn," he mused. "What do you think, girl?" Curled up on his chest, Sansenya blinked at her father. "I know, doubtful. But then again, me being the true heir to the Realm would have been doubtful as well."

Hooting, the infant dragon basked in the warmth of the fire. Unable to produce flame themselves, the cold affected them more than their larger brother. Stroking her head, Jon wondered what Daenerys would think of him. 'Would she still love me, now that I am her nephew?' He still loved her, gods he loved her. Dany's silver hair and radiant smile haunted and blessed every dream of his, gave him the strength to continue. 'I can only hope she still would.'

"Brooding as always?" Jon looked to his right to see his sister, smirking. He grinned as she sat down next to him. "Old habits are hard to break, aren't they?" Clad in thick furs, she was no longer shivering. Bathed and well fed at Margaery's orders, Sansa looked like a new woman.

"Aye." Jon hand fed Sansenya a cube of meat. "I'm sure we picked up more than one new habit on the way."

Eying the orange dragon warily, Sansa sighed. "I wish we had never left Winterfell, that father never left." She shuddered at her younger self's hopeless infatuation with Joffrey. "I keep wanting to go back and scream 'Don't go, you idiot!'"

Jon chuckled. "Things have definitely changed since then."

Staring at the sky, then at the dragon and back at the sky, Sansa reflected on everything she now knew. "Of all that I expected when deciding to come to Castle Black, finding Robb alive and you a Targaryen with four dragons were not among them." The sadness welled in her, that Jon wasn't her biological brother. "I'm sorry for the hurt you must have feltt."

"It did hurt at first." The loving faces of his mother and father - both Ned and Rhaegar - comforted him, knowing that they loved him more than anything. He laughed grimly. "You always used to say that I wasn't your real brother. Now it's true."

Grabbing his shoulder, Sansa looked Jon in the eye. "You are my real brother, Jon." She pulled him into a hug, silently begging for him to believe her. "I love you, brother. We'll always be siblings, even if you happen to be the true King." Both laughed softly, that fact so profound it was amusing.

A slight screech drew both of their attention. "Looks like someone is feeling left out," Jon said.

Chirping at her namesake, Sansenya leapt from Jon's shoulder to Sansa's. "She is cute, once you get used to her," laughed Sansa, slowly reaching out with a finger to stroke the orange dragon's tiny head. Sansenya chirped once more, nuzzling the digit. "You'd think dragons would be of ill temper."

"They are… with most." Jon had learned that the hard way for the most part, Rhaegal once nearly biting off Pyp's hand before he intervened. "Sansenya is the most docile of the lot, although that is relative. If Davos hadn't had some of his fingers amputated…" he trailed off. Sansa only laughed again, petting the dragon on the head. "She was always the proudest and haughtiest, which is why I thought of you when naming her."

"Shut up." The two shared a grin, the long dormant sibling bond finally emerging in full. In the break in their conversation, Sansa couldn't help but feel the regret and shame rise up. "Jon… after father… and especially after we thought Robb…" Just the memories were too painful for her, her raw soul open and vulnerable now that she was in private with family. Jon understood - their family had suffered so much since Joffrey. "I always imagined a time would come where you would rescue me from that hell."

"You're smart, Sansa. You found your own way out."

"Not when I was that young."

Tossing another cooked piece of meat for Sansenya, Jon patted Sansa's knee comfortingly. "I would have come if I could."

"I know." She bit back tears. "You were always a good brother, loving us. Even when I was such an ass to you."

"Sansa, we were children…"

"Don't make excuses." The orange dragon cocked her head at her father and namesake, curious as to why they were arguing. "I was terrible to you much of the time, admit it."

He chuckled at her determination. "You were occasionally awful." Chewing on a skewered chunk of chicken, the memories of his brooding childhood returning. "I mustn't have been easy for you to relate with, thinking I was a bastard and all."

"Even if you were, that didn't make it right. Arya, Robb… none cared. Mother should have been better. I should have…" Remembering the servants talking, the gossip between her and Jayne Poole about him - and he was the true King the whole time. The best blood in the entire seven Kingdoms, Valyrian nobility and Northern royalty. 'And yet he's still Jon.' "I'm sorry, Jon. For all of it." Sansa placed her hand on his. "Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive…"

"Forgive me."

Jon smiled. "Alright, I forgive you." Leaning in, they pulled each other into a warm, filial hug. "You remind me of father, just as stubborn and determined."

She beamed at the praise. "He may be your uncle, but you take after him greatly as well. You share his sense of honor, and his bravery."

"Father was like that. So was Rhaegar Targaryen." The image of the proud, warm-hearted warrior came to his mind.

"It is still shocking," Sansa mused. "The stories we were all told about Rhaegar and Aunt Lyanna were all lies." Her mouth curled into a scowl. "Fucking Robert. Fucking Lannisters. From what you've told Robb and me, Rhaegar was a good man. Nothing like Joffrey… or Ramsay." Her mentioning the current occupant of Winterfell made Jon wince. The courier's letter still crinkled in his pocket. "Jon… what are you hiding from me?"

"It's nothing…"

"Don't lie to me, Jon."

Resigned, Jon removed the rolled paper and broke the wax, flayed man seal. Sansa's breath hitched, that seal completely recognizable. "I received this early in the morning. I hadn't the stomach to read it." Unfurling the letter, he began to read. "'To the traitor Jon Snow, bastard son of the Usurper's dog,'" he looked puzzled at that line. "'Winterfell is mine, bastard, come and see. Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon…" His breath hitched. "Hand yourself and your dragon to my King and my bride back to me and I will spare both your brothers, your men, the Tyrell whores, and your wildling lovers. Do not, and you will watch as I skin them all alive. As…" Jon trailed off.

"Jon."

"It's just more of the same."

"Read it." Her firmness left no wiggle room.

Gulping, Jon continued, wishing he could have Sansenya, Rhaella, and Lyanarys disembowel him. "As my men rape your sister over and over. As my dogs devour your brothers, and then my King will turn your dragon against you, bastard.'" Jon scoffed, as if Ramsay thought he knew the truth.

Sansa felt her blood boiling. From its perch on her back, Sansenya screeched, feeling the rage from her namesake.

"'Signed, Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Hand to King Viserys Targaryen, Third of his name…' oh that's just fucking perfect." Jon's rolled his eyes. "Of course he has to show up."

Raising an eyebrow, Sansa looked puzzled. "You know him?" The gears in her mind turned. "When you were with father in Essos… you met Daenerys Targaryen and… oh."

Jon nodded. "Yep. Back when he was merely pretending to be a King. We didn't hit it off." His sister's look clearly demanded an explanation. "I sort of knocked him on his royal ass while sparring." Jon couldn't help but smirk at the memory.

Blinking, Sansa's lips curled upward as merry laughter left her mouth. The dragon chirped and lept to the ground as she rocked in mirth. It had been so long that she had felt even a bit carefree and she loved her brother for giving that back to her. "The tantrum following must have been quite amusing."

"It was." Jon laughed with her. Craning his neck to see the grounds, a look of melancholy crossed his face. "What will we do? As long as Viserys and Ramsay have Winterfell then they can kill us all."

"It's obvious, we take it back."

"With what?" Jon extended his hands. "Much as I would like to go and tell the Boltons to pack up and leave, I don't have an army."

Her eyes narrowed in determination. "You have Wildings, dragons…"

"Rhaegal can't spit fire and the others are mere hatchlings." He gestured to Sansenya, barely the size of a small dog. "The Wildlings don't follow me. We can't attack Winterfell with the mere hundreds we have now, Sansa."

Sansa stood. "As long as Viserys can hold grandiose notions of being a King and Ramsay holds Winterfell we are not safe. They are not safe. Winterfell is our home Jon. Ours. And Robb's. And Arya's, and Bran's, and Rickon's, and Father's, and both our Mothers'. We have to fight for it."

Heart heavy, soul weary, Jon stood as well. "I'm tired of fighting." Despite being a mere twenty-one, his eyes looked decades older. "I've killed men, monsters, women… even myself. I left the woman that I love with all my heart in the other side of the world, and I most likely will never see her again. All I want is peace, Sansa. Peace."

Wordlessly, Sansa hugged him. "So do I, Jon. So do I." The pair stood there, motionlessly, for several moments. "But if we do not fight, then we will never have it."

"Yours is the song of ice and fire."

"If I am the true King," he finally said, pulling back. "Then perhaps I should claim my birthright." Sansa's resulting grin matched the fire of her hair.