15-You've gotten very bold, Sansa

Acknowledgements: This chapter was edited by Mirxae. I also want to thank my beta-reader nicknm for helping me bounce ideas around.

***

Arya Stark, The Neck

Arya swatted another big mosquito. The swamp was full of snakes and insects, some of the latter were almost the size of a small fist. But there were other, much more dangerous things here. She made sure to keep at least a dozen yards distance from what looked like a wooden log in the murky water nearby. Arya knew better though-it was a lizard lion, who was waiting for prey to fall into the swamp or simply come near enough.

"It's faster to go through the Neck. We can easily sneak around Moat Cailin," Arya grumbled mimicking Umber's voice. "Stupid! At this point, we won't even see the Moat at all. We should have taken a boat and crossed the Bite. Now we're stuck in the middle of this damned swamp without horses."

"How would I know that the kingsroad was flooded?" Greatjon exclaimed indignantly. "And you don't know if we'd even find a living fisherman, let alone any boats. Almost all of the Riverlands were scoured by the war. We could have looked for that boat for moons and not found a single one."

Two days ago, the causeway literally disappeared right into the middle of a swamp. Ever since they've been carefully trudging along, trying to avoid the bogs on the way north. The pace was incredibly slow as they had to check their every step, lest they sink into the soft ground or fall into the dangerous waters. They had to go on foot and lead the horses, as the ground was too soft, and riding was risky. One misstep could get you swimming in the swamp.

One of the horses had fallen in the bog and was quickly dragged into the murky depths by what they thought was a harmless piece of wood floating on the water. The lizard-lion pounced faster than they could react, and all they could see was a prolonged maw full of razor-sharp teeth before the horse was gone. At this sight, the rest of the horses had gotten spooked and blindly fled in fear. Unsurprisingly, all of them fell into the swamps and either drowned or were devoured just like the first one.

All of this happened on the first day off the road. Most of their loot and supplies taken from the Crossing were lost too, as they were strapped to the saddles.

"And where are all the crannogmen that would gladly help us, Lord Umber? I have yet to see a single one. All I see are swamps, lizard-lions, and insects the size of rats," Arya tiredly sighed.

They were lost in those cursed bogs. There was no clear way forward, nor any way back. She felt lucky to have survived so far. There was no good place to rest at night, and they just huddled together near a rock and barely got a wink of sleep. Everything around was cold and damp and they couldn't even start a fire. Arya could barely close her eyes with the near-constant buzzing of insects around them. She could easily imagine how in ages past whole Andal armies were lost and died in the swamps before they even set their sights on Moat Cailin. If they didn't find a way out soon, she and Greatjon would meet a gruesome end here. They should have tried to find a boat and crossed the Bite with it instead.

"You cannot find us crannogmen in the Neck lest we wish to be found, Lady Stark," A voice sounded from nearby. Arya wildly looked around and suddenly realised they were surrounded. A group of short people armed with three-pronged spears and leather shields circled them, seemingly having appeared from thin air. At the front was one with a hood obscuring his face. She gripped Needle's handle. Part of her training with the faceless men was to detect ambushes and her senses were very sharp. Arya was tired, but she still couldn't believe how many had managed to sneak up on her unnoticed. Despite their small size, all those men looked more and more dangerous by the second.

"How would you know that I'm a Stark?" Arya asked suspiciously. Not that she or the Umber Lord could do anything against three dozen crannogmen in the middle of the swamp.

"You have nothing to fear from us. The blood of the Kings of Winter is always welcome here in the Neck," the man in the front spoke and lowered his hood. He had a friendly smile and soft green eyes. "I could recognize you anywhere. You look just like your aunt Lyanna."

"Howland Reed, is that you, you bastard? I'd fucking kiss you if you had teats right now! I'm sick of these swamps." Greatjon almost leapt with joy. Arya finally relaxed. Howland Reed was known to be one of her father's closest friends. And he surely knew how to get out of this hellish bog. They were saved.

"I don't think my wife Jyanna would appreciate that, Jon," the crannogman returned with a smile. "I assume you're headed for Winterfell?"

"Yes, we're indeed heading there. House Bolton has much to pay for," Arya gritted her teeth.

"Ah, I guess you couldn't have heard. King Jon Stark and Sansa Stark rode down from the Wall and smashed the flayed man and his allies in battle. House Bolton is no more, and all the Northern Lords were summoned to Winterfell to swear fealty. I was just headed north until I heard my sentries report about an unusual duo of travellers."

Next to her, Greatjon started laughing loudly, "So old Maege survived and managed to get the Young Wolf's decree across!"

Arya was stunned. The Umber Lord had mentioned the last will of her brother but had also said it probably never arrived. Nothing had happened for nearly two years and last she heard, Jon had been Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Yet still, reality proved different.

"Ser Meryn, Ser Illyn, Queen Cersei," Arya murmured under her nose. With Walder Frey and the Boltons dead, only three names were left on her list. She was close. Maybe she should turn back and head to Casterly Rock. All three of them were probably in Tommen Baratheon's court. But was it worth it? What if she died? She would never see Jon and her sister again.

Her hand instinctively gripped Needle's hilt again.

No! She was Arya Stark of Winterfell, and some of her family was alive. She longed to see her favourite brother…and even Sansa. And she could always visit the last three names on her later on.

***

Sansa Stark

The last few hours passed in a blur in her mind. Her thoughts were racing uncontrollably like wild horses. She was unsure what to think or even do, and was simply waiting for the evening to come. After the meeting with the Lords was over, Jon led her away.

After a dozen or so minutes, they arrived in front of the crypts, where Ghost and all three of the dragons stood. Her brother went to Winter and gently scratched his neck, the dark blue dragon almost purring with pleasure.

"Lady Brienne, you will have to stay and help guard the entrance, I'm afraid," Jon spoke after he took his time to spoil Bloodfyre, Stormstrider and Ghost.

Brienne looked ready to object for a moment, but quickly thought better of it and stood guard in front of the old ironwood door.

Sansa and Jon then descended into the depths of the crypt. Jon had lit a torch, and it was the only source of light in the surrounding darkness. Sansa could barely see where she was stepping, stumbling over the narrow and winding stone steps.

Jon led her into the level where the last generations of House Stark were buried and stopped in front of the statue of Lyanna Stark.

"After I woke up on that funeral pyre, I started having these visions," her brother? cousin? began with some hesitation.

"Visions?"

"Aye, it took me some time to realise that I was seeing bits and pieces of a different world, "Jon explained.

"And what does that have to do with anything?" Sansa asked in slight annoyance. She has had all sorts of dreams in the past, but the few that she remembered were usually very vague. However, this was not what she came here for.

"Everything. All the visions were of a capable wizard. And while most of the magic I tried did not work... some did," Jon then made a subtle gesture with his empty hand...and the flames jumped from the torch onto his hand and took the shape of a female figure. The flaming maiden then started dancing on his palm, slowly getting a purplish hue as time passed.

Sansa's eyes widened in surprise. But while this was surely magic, it was a small trick in truth. Jon must have seen the look on his face, as his face scrunched in concentration and suddenly the air around her was filled with dragons, wolves and all sorts of animals made of bright purple flame. She could feel the heat as the air quickly warmed. All of the torches along the granite pillars burst into purple fire, brightly illuminating the whole level of the crypt as if it were day.

With another gesture, all of the flames were extinguished, but the one on his palm. It then jumped back to the torch, which now burned with a bright purple hue.

"With practice, I will get stronger. More skilled. I would be able to wipe out an army, just like the dragons, and so much more." With this explanation, Sansa finally realised the extent of the possibilities. This was not a parlour trick. The Conqueror took the seven kingdoms with the might of Dragonfire. If anyone knew that Jon could unleash similar devastation without dragons, many people would not rest easy while he still drew breath.

"And try to keep this a secret. Few would believe it, but I'd rather have an ability that nobody is prepared for, just in case."

Sansa couldn't find her words for half a minute. She could only nod numbly, before her brother continued, "But there are a few other branches of magic that still do work," Jon unsheathed his sword and handed it over to Sansa. She carefully took it in her hands. It was a bit heavy and looked to be made of bronze. She gently ran her finger along some of the intricate veins of black spread all across the length of the blade.

"Spellforged bronze. As good as Valyrian Steel, if not better. Indestructible and impossibly sharp, and I've forgone the lightness for a different enchantment. The armour I wore during the battle is made of the same thing. The cost of making it is very high though."

He then gently took it back and stabbed the blade point down on the stone floor. It directly sank a few inches, as if the floor was made of butter. Afterwards, Jon returned it to the scabbard and reached into the leather pouch on his belt. His hand disappeared inside all the way to his elbow, while the small leather pouch itself looked unaffected. Sansa was stunned at the sight in front of her. Just when she thought that Jon ran out of surprises, he pulled another one.

"This is a bottomless pouch. It is way bigger on the inside, and it's enchanted to be nearly weightless," he explained as he took out a bronze direwolf brooch with the same black veins as the sword and handed it to her, "I had some leftover metal after I finished my armour and decided to make you a gift."

"Thank you, Jon," Sansa gently took it. The brooch felt warm in her hand, and she carefully attached it to her gown right over her breast and gave him her brightest and most genuine smile. She was convinced that Jon could indeed do magic, not that he was one for lying. But she remembered the warnings Old Nan and Maester Luwin gave her as a child, and hesitantly tilted her head and spoke up. "Isn't magic like a sword without a hilt? There was supposed to be no safe way to grasp it..."

"Aye, magic is indeed very dangerous to those who are going blindly and do not know what they're doing. But if you have the knowledge and the skill, magic would be your greatest asset," he explained humbly. Jon had never been one for bragging, and Sansa had an inkling that he was even better than he presented himself to be.

While this answered some of her questions and raised many more, it did explain her main query, "And how does that tie in with your parentage? Are you truly Aunt Lyanna's son?"

"Magic is how I found out," Jon nodded and tiredly ran a hand through his curly hair, "Imagine my surprise, when I looked to see who my parents were through runic magic and I saw that my father was not Eddard Stark, but Rhaegar Targaryen. That was not all, as Lyanna Stark was somehow wedded to the crown prince, making my birth name Aemon Targaryen."

Sansa blinked. She could not imagine her brother, no, her cousin being named Aemon. While the name had a positive history, Jon was Jon.

"How could Rhaegar marry Lyanna, when he was already married to Elia Martell?" she asked curiously while playing with strands of her hair.

"My guess is as good as yours," he snorted and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"This could change everything, Jon- "

"This changes nothing at all actually,"

"But you're the rightful heir- "

"Of Winterfell only," he interrupted her once again. "Whatever sham marriage my mother was forced or sweet-talked into could easily be considered invalid, especially when she was underage, and taken without the consent of her Lord Father. Not to mention that Rhaegar had a living wife already. House Targaryen already lost the throne the way they gained it in the first place – on the battlefield. Shireen has a way better claim than me on the Seven Kingdoms."

She didn't care much about magic and all that shite. Nor did she care about the Iron Throne right now. Did he not see? He was not her brother anymore. Her feelings for him weren't...wrong or bad. Sansa had seen his eyes glance around her figure and knew he was attracted to her too, but would never take the first step. She was too frustrated to put things into words so she simply hugged Jon and pulled him into a searing kiss.

He froze for a moment. Just when she thought that he had read things wrong, Jon reciprocated just as fiercely. His hands began to roam all over her body making her flush.

The moment seemed both endless and impossibly short until he withdrew his hands and weakly pushed her away. Then he began chuckling.

"What is so funny, Jon?" she asked with a huff.

"You've gotten very bold, Sansa. But this would be a mistake." She recoiled and felt her insides twist at his statement. Would Jon shun her? Was it because she ugly or spoiled goods now? "No, not for the reasons you think. You have gotten your message across, loud and clear. And by the gods, I am very close to just tearing your clothes off right now, and you wouldn't mind at all," he sighed.

She couldn't find words to reply, so she just nodded, as Jon was right.

"If I do this, I want it to be genuine. I am not sure if you actually like me like that, or you're simply attracted because I am the only one to treat you decently and protect you with no ulterior motives. Every single man in your life in the last four years has been either outright cruel or had ulterior motives," Jon softly explained, "This is not a political deal or a trade. Because you do not have to do anything, and I'd still protect you with all my might. Be it sister, cousin, or wife, I will keep you safe just the same."

Sansa finally relaxed and started thinking. Her...cousin was stopping this out of concern for her. If it was someone else in Jon's place, she would have long been taken advantage of already, and she'd be forced to do things against her will. Did her feelings come from the fact that he was the first man genuinely kind and caring to her in a long time?

"You know, if you truly want this, I will do it. I can find some believable proof and announce to the world my parentage, despite the problems it can cause in the long run. But as a king, I cannot help but look upon this from a place of logic. Our potential union has consequences, and should you desire it to happen, you should think about them. The Northern Lords won't like it very much, as some of them are probably aiming for marriage with either me or you right now. It is way simpler and safer for me to be the bastard son of Eddard Stark and an unknown and beautiful dragonseed. That way my descendants would not have any imagined blood claim to the Seven Kingdoms and would not enter or be pulled into foolish wars south of the Neck based on it. Nor would I have the blood of madmen. And would you and I be referred to as brother and sister fuckers and our children would be called spawns or abominations? Despite what the truth is, we were raised as siblings, and people would still consider it perverse. Some would probably even go so far as to say that I am fabricating a story just to fuck and marry my sister. While nobody in Winterfell will speak out against it, the rest of the lords and ladies will, even if it is not to our faces. I can ignore the rumours, I care little about the opinions of others. But can you take it if most of the nobility mutters and insults you and your children behind your back?"

She needed time to think. Jon...was being way too logical and reasonable, and Sansa could not dispute any of the points he was putting forward. All of the things Jon listed could easily happen. Her brother...no, her cousin had put a lot of thought into this.

Jon placed a hand on her shoulder and continued, "But even if you decide that you do not want anything to happen between us, I will not force you to marry anyone and leave Winterfell, unless, of course, it is your wish. Sansa, you have a unique position right now. I have almost absolute power and nobody to oppose me as monarch, and you can do anything within reason. You can even decide to stay in Winterfell and become an old maid. Or travel the world. Learn how to fight, bury yourself in books, or even laze your days away. No matter the choice, I will support you. While I am king in Winterfell, and you stay here, you will be protected. This I swear, by earth and water. I swear it by bronze and iron, by ice and fire."

As his words rang in the crypt, Sansa felt all of her skin tingle and she got goosebumps all over. The air itself felt heavier. The power of the oath could be felt, and she knew it to be true.

She felt both emotionally and physically drained at this point. The battle that happened just this morning felt as if it was moons, if not years ago. Too many twists had happened today. She needed time to process all of this.

"This is not something to consider lightly, take some time to think it over. You do not have to answer me now. But be warned-as a King, I will have to be married very soon, as we're rather short on Starks. "

***

Jon Stark

Jon had almost lost control yesterday night. The libido of a body in the peak of youth was high. It seems that the consequences of the rituals had amplified it even further. Thankfully, he managed to reign himself in before he did something foolish. Once he bedded Sansa, he knew that he would not stop, consequences be damned. But his cousin was too young to realise the full extent of such a relationship and what it would entail. He was not opposed to marrying her, as he already knew Sansa and was physically attracted to her. But she could just be carving any positive attention from the only familiar person in her surroundings, and coupled with raging teenage hormones one would easily get a recipe for a disaster. Jon would rather have a healthy and solid relationship, instead of one built on shaky premises, as he knew those soured and fell apart rather quickly.

The morning was windy and cold. The only reason the ground in the yard was not frozen was the warmth from the underground hot springs, which seeped into the earth. The first thing he did was to commission a statue of Robb Stark for the Crypts. Just like Rickon, there were no bones left to be buried, so his tomb would be empty. A small funeral ceremony for both of them would be held in the afternoon.

He had decided to hold the executions in the courtyard. It had the most open space. Everyone of importance had gathered to watch. The first batch of men was brought near the oaken stump which would serve as a block. He'd hear their last words in batches, then quickly execute them and move on to the next group.

"Any last words?" Just thinking of how Rickon's remains were desecrated made his blood boil. He had to occlude his mind, just to keep calm. If nothing else, as king, he had to keep up the traditions. One could not deny a man his right to speak out before his death.

"Mercy, mercy, Yer Grace, please- "

"Where was your mercy when you turned your swords upon your fellow Northmen at the Crossing? Where was your mercy when you attacked Rodrick Cassel and his host unprovoked and sacked Winterfell? Your lord might have given the order, but it was your hands that did the deeds, so now you too, will pay," Jon interrupted with steel in his voice, and moved on.

Truthfully, those were men that just followed orders, as they couldn't disobey their liege lord without losing their lives. But, they had also butchered the men and women in Winterfell, and northern soldiers unprovoked and with deception. He could not release them, he did not trust them enough to use them, nor did he want all of them on the Wall where they could create trouble.

Most begged or cried, some decided to stay silent. The last of them realised that there was no escape however chose a different tactic.

"Fuck you bastard, and your whore sist- "a Glover man that served as guard backhanded the foulmouthed man hard on the head with an armoured hand. The captive fell face down in the mud.

"You'll address King Stark and the Princess with respect," the man rumbled. None dared to speak out of line afterwards.

Soon, Jon unsheathed his blade, and heads started rolling. He occluded his feelings fully, as he could not waver at all. This was his first execution as king, and it would not do if he began to falter, especially in front of the most loyal supporters of House Stark. An hour passed and he barely beheaded a hundred men. His body was strong enough to keep swinging a sword the whole day even with the runic restrictions, but his mind was another story. Especially with the strain the sacrificial rituals put on it. Jon had started feeling weary, despite the usage of occlumency. Beheading a hundred defenceless men in cold blood was very taxing on the psyche. He almost regretted the decision to mete out justice personally.

But the First Man tradition must be upheld. And people had to know the consequence of treason and slaughtering fellow Northmen through deception. So he preserved.

It took little more than two hours until the last head rolled. The surrounding ground was red with blood and the air stank of shit and piss.

"Burn all the bodies. And put all the heads on spikes of Winterfell's entrances. Let everyone see what happens to turncloaks who stab House Stark in the back," he ordered evenly.

Occlumency helped control and suppress your emotions, but it was extremely unhealthy to do so continuously, as they would simply fester and eventually erupt and overwhelm you. He stopped occluding and felt rage, guilt, hate and weariness wash over him. While he had lived for centuries in his past life and was jaded, Jon Stark's body and mind were only twenty years old. All he needed was some rest and quiet, and a place to come to terms and deal with all those feelings. Jon knew of a perfect place. He wanted to visit the godswood anyway, now was as good a time as any.

His childhood memories of the place did not do it justice. The sight around him would have been impossible to see in his previous life. The grove was ancient. Some of the trees here were older than Winterfell itself. Hot water surged from the depths of the earth and there were a few springs in the godswood. Steamy mist indicated their locations, where the mossy green overtook the sharp icy whiteness that covered the rest of the grove.

The air away from the springs held the usual northern chill. Above was a dense canopy, covered in frost. After wandering around for some time, he finally stopped at another breathtaking sight: the heart tree. It sat in a small clearing, unaffected by the frost despite the lack of a hot water spring nearby. The crimson leaves of the weirwood looked ethereal amongst the surrounding trees crowned with ice. As he neared, Jon felt it. The heart tree thrumming with primal magic.

But it was not the time to dabble with unknown magics in his current state of mind. He sat cross-legged on a stone, and centred himself, letting his thoughts and emotions flow freely and began meditating. As time passed, his mind slowly relaxed, and he felt less burdened.

After about an hour, he opened his eyes and arrived at the carved face. It had a melancholic expression. Jon carefully ran his hand over the white bark, feeling the rough texture. Then he curiously inspected the tree with his magic. As soon as the sliver of magic entered the weirwood the world spun in front of his eyes.

A tall man in bronze leading a charge against smaller, human-like figures. They had brownish skin, with pale spots, and slitted eyes. Jon quickly recognized them as children of the forest. They tried to fight back, but the big man was unmatched and slaughtered them mercilessly. In the end, the lake nearby went red with blood.

Jon tried to cut off all the magic going outside his body but it did not work. He was stuck in this vision.

Eventually, the world spun again.

The shores were lined with spiked heads as far as the eye could see. A group of longboats full of armed men approached, but thought better of it and turned around.

He kept seeing more and more different scenes, most short. Some were full of fighting, while others were quite mundane. No matter what Jon tried, he could not stop his magic from pouring over to the weirwood.

A man with red eyes, white hair and unnaturally pale skin, marred by a wine stain birthmark quickly put three dragon eggs in a bag. The albino man wore a personalised surcoat of House Targaryen. The heraldry was white instead of red and had a single head. And the eggs were dark blue, purple and crimson. He had just grabbed the bag before men-at-arms barged into the room and dragged him away.

Left with no other choice, he started converting his magic into the fire element and started pumping more and more into the tree. The vision of the pale man being dragged away abruptly stopped and his mind was assaulted viciously. Thankfully, even his passive defences were more than sturdy. Otherwise, his mind would have been reduced to mush with the strength of the mental attack.

But he had achieved his purpose and the connection was cut. He opened his eyes and quickly moved away from the tree. The previously bone-white bark had a single, small charred line running through where Jon had touched it.

He felt very foolish now. He had acted as if he had the power from his previous life. And even then, a ten-thousand-year-old magical tree that served as a religious totem was no joke. It was not truly sentient, but it had a very strong and weird form of legilimency and past sight or even illusions.

Jon stared at the heart tree. Before, it looked deceptively harmless, but now, crimson sap started to slowly leak from the carved face, giving it a ghastly look.

He thought that only a dozen minutes had passed, but judging by the position of the sun, it looked like at least three hours had gone by. Swearing quietly, Jon rushed towards the Crypts. He had a funeral to attend, and he could not afford to be late.