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GoT Fanfic: (Find the strenght you need) To carry on

Summary: After Jon is hailed King in the North, there is heavy drinking and strange conversations.

Notes: An added scene to season 6 episode 10 'The Winds of Winter'. Jon Snow/Sansa Stark

None of this is mine, I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox, so please don't sue me. Compliments will be repeated in front of the mirror, flames will be used to light my cigarrettes. Please send them all in. Lyrics in the title belong to Lori Carson and Graeme Revell's song 'Fall in the light', even if I did tweak them a bit. Title of the series belongs to the song by the same name by Deep Forest and Peter Gabriel.

(Find the strenght you need) To carry on

He’s drunk. He’s somewhat surprised as he realizes this, as he’s never been one to indulge in… well, pretty much anything really, but the warmth coursing through his body is pleasant enough that Jon merely smiles at the thought.

He has been hailed King in the North merely a few hours ago and since then, nearly every lord in the Realm has come up to him to toast his newly acquired status. It’s amusing really, how these people who have spent his entire life ignoring him suddenly seem so eager to be close to him.

A hand clasps his shoulder gently and he startles, but Sansa’s voice is quick to reassure him.

“Easy there. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He huffs as he turns his head to look at her. “You didn’t scare me.”

Her laugh tinkles across the Great Hall and he suddenly realizes it’s almost empty, most of the lords having left to return to their provided chambers, leaving them practically alone.

“Really? You could have fooled me.”

He mutters something under his breath about how no one seems to be able to do that as he tries to give her a scolding look, but by the look of amusement in her eyes, he’s pretty sure it’s coming across as pouting.

“How much did you have to drink?” She’s leaning down closer and looking straight at him and the familiar burning in the pit of his stomach flares to life at the sight of her so close.

“Apparently not enough.” He replies, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the chair. This is madness, he knows. It’s wrong. It fills him with shame, further proving what he’s been told all his life, how bastards are wanton creatures who have no honor. He has tried to live his life in a manner that would prove all of them wrong. How ironic that now, when they have finally moved on from birth and name, when they chose him as their king, they could so easily be proven right.

He blindly reaches for his cup, hoping there’s still something left in it, but feels a warm hand close around his wrist instead. Jon opens his eyes to look at her just as she begins to pull him to his feet.

“Come on now, you need sleep.”

He complies and follows her through the dimly lit hallways towards his chambers. He doesn’t let go of her hand and she makes no move to pull it from his, and there’s a tiny burst of something in his chest as he realizes this. Happiness perhaps, he thinks. He knows it’s probably the alcohol and tomorrow everything will feel different – even this small little thing will likely be something else he berates himself for – but right now it doesn’t matter. She’s here, next to him, and he thinks he could live the rest of his days like this and never want for anything else.

Once they reach his chambers – and there’s a part of his mind that scolds him, this isn’t how it’s done, he should be escorting her, but then again Sansa hasn’t been one to conform to the norm for a very long time now and she’d probably just narrow her eyes at him if she knew what he was thinking – he opens his door before turning to her to bid her goodnight. Instead, she merely side steps him and walks resolutely inside and he’s left standing in the hallway, looking confused.

She smiles at him from inside and he narrows his eyes before following her in.

“Should you be in here?” He knows if the circumstances were different, it’s likely he would have fumbled his way through that sentence. No wonder so many men refer to wine as courage in a bottle.

“I’m only making sure you get to sleep in one piece, Your Grace.” She’s smiling, a teasing glint in her eyes, and he scoffs even as he can’t help but smile back. He likes this playful mood.

“How much did you have to drink?” She narrows her eyes at him and he huffs a laughter as he walks into his bed chamber before dropping in a heap in his bed and closing his eyes. The room seems to be moving but he can’t tell if it’s the drinking or her that’s making his head spin.

He can hear her moving in the adjoining room, stoking the fire and humming something under her breath. He misses her singing, the way she used to when they were both children who didn’t know how cruel the world could truly be.

He’s startled again when the humming stops and he hears the rustling of her skirts next to the bed. Raising his head painstakingly slow, he opens his eyes to see her kneeling down in front of him, seemingly ready to take off his boots.

“You don’t have to do that.” He makes no move to stop her, even though he knows he should. This is a dangerous game they’re playing here.

She looks up at him with a frown. “I know that. But you don’t seem to be capable and I don’t mind do it.”

He leans up on his elbows and scowls at her. “I’m very capable.”

“Of course you are.” Her response is instant, her tone reassuring and slightly condescending, as though she’s speaking to a small child, as though she’s not kneeling in front of his splayed legs, a cascade of red hair keeping her face hidden from his gaze. He swallows as his treacherous, treacherous mind wonders at what it would feel like to run his fingers through those red locks, feel its softness against his thighs, to have those hands touch his bare skin, and he drops back down with a thud as heat creeps up his body.

She finishes taking off his boots but doesn’t move from her spot and he carefully opens his eyes again to stare at the ceiling.

“Maybe I should get a wife.” He hears her gasp in surprise but she doesn’t say anything so he feels he must. “Someone to help me rule and…” He lifts his head back up to stare at her with what he hopes is a playful smirk. “…help me with my boots when I’m not capable.”

She lifts herself up from the floor and moves with practiced elegance towards him. There’s something sparkling in the depths of her eyes and he sits himself up just as she lowers to sit next to him.

“I’ve just become Lady in my own house again. You’ve been king for mere hours and already you wish to rob me of my position?” She looks absolutely serious and for a moment his mind struggles to say something, anything, to assure her that that’s not the case. That he was merely jesting, that he wishes for no one else by his side, but then her head tilts to the side and she lets out a snort of laughter at his panicked look.

“You are so easy to fool.” She says it between laughs and he relaxes, a long hissing breath drawing from his mouth as the tension ebbs away. Still, he can’t let her get away with it quite so easily.

He shrugs casually. “Maybe I should just marry you. That way we could both get what we want.”

The words are out of his mouth before he truly thinks about what he’s saying but once their meaning registers in his muddled brain, he freezes and so does she, a wild look in her eyes as she searches his face. He looks intently into her sky blue eyes and it’s clear she’s waiting for him to say something else, something more, to take the edge out of his words and turn them into a joke between siblings, something casual and uncompromising. He knows that he should but he can’t bring himself to do it. He doesn’t want to take it back.

The tension between them mounts, as thick as the everlasting snows north of the Wall, crackling with pent up energy like the fleeting moments right before a storm hits. He feels drawn to her, like he always does, but this time he knows they are dangerously close to crossing that line from where there’ll be no coming back from. Part of him wanders if he would want to.

He lifts his hand to her face, his fingertips ghosting across her cheek, and he watches in fascination as she closes her eyes, leaning into the caress. It’s not the first time he’s touched her like this, but this time he doesn’t know how they will ever pretend it doesn’t mean what it does. For her sake, he has to try.

“You should go, get some sleep.” He lets his hand fall away and she opens her eyes, liquid and vulnerable. His voice is rough with want and desire and he curls his hands into fists, looking away from her. He can’t do this, not to himself and certainly not to her. They’re not Targaryens – or even Lannisters, for that matter – and the irony of wishing for it even for a fleeting moment isn’t lost on him.

He watches with hooded eyes as she stands and quietly leaves his chambers and lets himself fall back down into the furs. He knows that, come morning, they will have to go on as if nothing has happened. They won’t speak of it. They will go on acting as if nothing else binds them together but brotherly love.

Jon curses, and the last thing on his mind before sleep claims him is a firm resolution never to drink again.

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