The night was dark, the only light coming from the full moon overhead. Jon watched from the deck, his eyes searching as far north as he could, struggling to separate the sea from the dark night sky.
He was now captain of their ship, following in his late father’s footsteps. Around him, he could hear his crew bustling about — men already drunk, slurring their words as they stumbled across the deck.
He was seconds from giving up when a shimmer of red caught his eye. His heart raced, his breath catching in his throat as he stepped forward, gripping the ship’s railing as he focused on the waves below.
His mind buzzed as he pleaded silently for it to be her. It had been months since he’d last seen her, and he was desperate to hear her sweet voice sing again.
She was beautiful — the lady of the sea. No one believed him when he returned home and spoke of her. Not Theon, not Robb, not even little Rickon, who was still young enough to believe in fairytales.
But Jon wasn’t mad. He had seen her. He'd touched her, kissed her, held her long enough to know she was real. Sansa was her name. She was a mermaid. And Jon would marry her one day, no matter what sacrifices he would have to make.
So Jon helps Sansa out with her 14 month Nathan, she lives out in New York, Robb stayed at home in North Dakota with Mom and Arya in Cali. So they hadn’t moved there together, Sansa had moved to peruse her journalism career and ran into Jon who was doing business there and obviously his crush on her returns and she’s such a fucking good mom and he can’t stay away from his best friends sister no matter how much he knows Robb would kick his ass and all of a sudden Sansa is trying to feed Nathan some avocado and he smashes his hands on the high hair flinging avocado and sweet potato and Jon walks in carrying groceries and a coffee for Sansa and Nathan reaches for him and says “Jon” and they both freeze because he’s never spoken before and that can’t be right, but Jon sets the bags on the counter and Nathan reaches for him again, “Jon” and Jon picks him up, kissing all over his messy face, “Well happy first word baby boy.” Sansa rubs her hands over Nathan’s hair. “Now can we get a mama?”
ive been super down in the dumps- between a death in my family & scary medical news for someone i love so very much (not to mention, hello black friday is THIS WEEK) it's just been... a lot. it was nice to step back & write something sweet & soft for my faves. <3
When he dreams, its of a garden overflowing with lush greenery.
It's of the golden summer sunlight glinting off of auburn hair, it's of the soft, almost lyrical laughter that chases along the sweet smelling breeze. Jon... The voice calls out to him and he smiles, for just that voice alone brings him happiness. Brings him peace. In these gardens, which so certainly belong to Winterfell, he cannot recall feeling such a happiness as he does in these dreams, but he wants to hold onto it. He never wants to let it go. And he never will.
This day when he wakes, he's not alone as he once might have been.
Rolling onto his side, Jon can't help but to take in the sight of his sleeping partner, with her hand tucked beneath her cheek. For all these years he's chased after dreams of her, between battles with dragons and lions and even the undead. Between taking back what was always theirs and reclaiming the family they had thought was gone for good... Somewhere amidst all of that, they'd fallen in love. Wrong, some might say, but for them it was the best thing they ever could have asked for.
Leaning over, he presses a kiss against her temple, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair; she stirs, somewhat, body twisting beneath the sheets, reminding him of the long night they'd spent together. Chuckling, he slips from the bed himself to dress, the fire already burning in the hearth offering him both the light and warmth to do so. Though winter was finally coming to a close, the mornings were especially cold, as were the nights, with a break of warm winter sunlight throughout the afternoon. It would not be long now, though, before spring would come and then certainly the summer he dreams of would follow behind.
Just as he's stuffing his feet into his boots, he hears the sound of her coming back to the waking world. "Good morning, sweetheart," he greets as he sinks down onto her side of the bed, unable to help himself from reaching out and brushing a lock of hair from her face. She lets out a sleepy sounding sigh before she pushes herself up into a sitting position, red hair falling about her shoulders. Once again he's reminded of the night before, of when her hair had spread across her pillow as he stared down at her from above; the memory sends chills down his spine. "Sleep well?"
She scoffs, but she's smiling as she slides her legs out from beneath the furs so she might rise up from the bed. "What little sleep I got, yes, I suppose so," she says as she tugs on her fur lined robe, dancing away from his reaching hands. "I had a dream," she goes on to say, turning back around to face him, a smile curving on her lips.
"Oh?" He asks, holding out his hands, to which she comes willingly now. She settles into place on his lap, legs straddling his hips, her arms draping over his shoulders. "Tell me," he says softly, only after he's leaned in and kissed her.
"It was summer... It was so warm..." She speaks slowly, as if she can't quite remember it all. "I thought I'd forgotten what summer felt like, but..." The warmth of the dream permeates to the waking world and even now, she swears she can feel the warmth of the sun on her back. "You were there, in the gardens I think..." It was Jon's voice she can recall calling out to her; Sansa... Sansa... The sweetest of sounds. "What?" She asks then, realizing now that Jon is staring at her as if she's grown a second head. "What have I said?"
Jon can only laugh, leaning in so he can tip his forehead against hers. "It would seem we have the same dreams, my sweet," he says, one hand sliding into place in her mess of auburn waves. Her kiss comes next and something about it tells him they will be missing that morning's meal.
And sure enough, a few hours later when they finally emerge from their rooms, she's donned a gown the color of the summer sky, a reminder of the dreams they share, and the future that's still to come.
“Well, I want to try something new!” He muttered sounding both tired and irritated. “Then do it. Yes. I am sure of it. Have all the documents readied. I’ll sign them all.” He ended the call, sighing tiredly.
It had been a long day and he still had so much to do. He expected it, especially since he was going to take a month-long vacation which will start at the day of his wedding. He wasn’t going to be fielding calls from his secretary and business partners; no papers will be sent to his honeymoon suite for him to sign, thank you very much. He planned on spending all 31 days and 744 hours of that vacation lavishly showering his wife with his full attention; being the best husband there ever was in the miserable history of their family.
“This has never worked before. What makes you think it’ll work now?” His father had asked in a voice that was half amused half regretful. “Look what happened to me and her aunt, Lyanna.”
Jon glared at his father. “I am not you.”
“You certainly aren’t.” Rhaegar quipped.
Jon knew that his father wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of another Stark-Targaryen union even though his father had actually enjoyed the renewed interest of the tabloids in their personal lives.
The whole Kingdom was riveted in the rehashing of old Targaryen-Stark history and scandals – and there were many. Half of them were about his father having an illicit affair with the younger Lyanna Stark.
Jon absolutely hated all of it and immediately put a stop to it by buying the tabloids using his massive inheritance money. He now owns more than half of Westeros’ publishing companies. A good investment because now he can control what part of his life would be seen by the public. His father had been mildly impressed.
“So, what did Tarly say?” Tormund, his long-time friend and bodyguard asked.
“My father will throw a fit. My aunt will disown me. The usual. But it can be done. And I’ll do it.”
Tormund shrugged. “Don’t know what’s wrong with being a Targaryen.” He howled in laughter at Jon’s sour expression. “You and your father don’t get along; I get that but you’re his only heir.”
Jon frowned. “I’m not doing this to piss off my father. I’m doing it because I love Sansa and she loves her family and what kind of gift do you give the woman of your dreams who practically has everything?”
“Well, you, I suppose.”
“She already has me. And now, I’ll have her name and she gets to be a Stark forever and all of our kids too.”
Tormund rolled his eyes. “Should just have stolen her, the Wildling way. No attorneys and all this shit involved.”
Jon smirked. That would have been fun. But he knows in his soul, this was the right thing to do. He’d always wanted to be a Stark anyway.
For @sansaissteel who was kind enough to send me a promt.
Hope you enjoy❤
1. Arranged Marriage
Sansa could not believe that she had to do this, she could not believe the Gods could be so cruel as to marry her to a complete stranger.
Her mother was strong but even Sansa could see how this alliance made her feel uneasy and how heartbroken she seemed at the prospect of losing her daughter.
But Sansa always knew that this was her fate. She understood her position and she accepted the match that was made for her in order to please and help her family.
She was marrying a Targaryen prince, she could not really have any oppositions.
The day of the wedding her hands would not stop shaking. She was trembling as she took her father's arm and walked towards her soon to be husband.
But she was brave, she was a true Northern wolf and she would do her duty.
Jon Targaryen was a man that looked like he belonged to the North. She could see how he was her aunt's son. He was more handsome than she ever dreamed of and she only hoped his heart was just as beautiful.
Please let him be gentle and brave and willing to protect me.
She could only pray for a kind husband, a husband that would respect her and maybe even love her in time.
Jon looked as nervous as she felt and when they exchanged their vows her stomach was tied in knots, it was a wonder she did not throw up on the spot.
When he finally kissed her, a peck so soft that it felt as light as snow falling on her lips, she blushed and suddenly wished that he hadn't pulled away.
The feast after the wedding was grand and even though Sansa had a smile on her face, her belly kept fluttering whenever their hands brushed or he stared at her for a bit longer or when she thought about what was inevitably going to follow after this was all over.
That night Sansa went to bed a girl and she woke up a woman next to her husband. The light fell on her face and she smiled. She looked beside her to find her husband still asleep and she admired how calm and beautiful he looked. She traced a finger over his features, over the scars around his eyes and his plump lips and she blushed at the thoughts running through her mind.
She only hoped that her new life could be as quiet and peaceful as this bright morning.
Jon could never forget the words Benjen Stark had spoken to him, when he had first expressed his desire to take the black.
“Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up.” His younger self insisted he didn’t care about that, but his uncle knew better. “You might, if you knew what it meant. If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son.”
It wasn’t until Jon married Sansa did he begin to learn. It wasn’t until his eyes first landed on their newborn daughter did he know.
(Gif not mine!)
Word count: 1338
Dedicated to @maddiethefashionista for all of the brainstorming ideas and for the name Calla Lily. I love it and you!
Fighting. That’s what his life had always been. Fighting and surviving. He hadn’t lied to Sansa when he’d told her he was sick of fighting. He’d been tired than, weary to the bone. He had just come back from the dead, after dying for a cause he’d sworn an oath to serve his brothers. In his mind, he had carried out his term, had served his duty, and had felt no guilt when passing on the cloak to Eddison. His watch had ended.
Jon could never quite forget the words Benjen Stark had said to him, when he had first expressed his desire to take the black. “Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up.” His younger self insisted he didn’t care about that, but his uncle knew better. “You might, if you knew what it meant. If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son.”
It wasn’t until Jon married Sansa did he begin to learn. It wasn’t until his eyes first landed on their newborn daughter did he know.
“She has your hair,” Sansa murmured, unable to look away from their young daughter, much like himself. Those dark wisps of chocolate grew darker by the hour, contrasting starkly against her porcelain skin. He yearned to reach out and touch her but did not want to disturb her as their daughter was curled up comfortably in her mother’s arms.
Her name was Calla Lily Stark, a child of the spring, though the North deeply ran through her veins. She was so incredibly tiny, a tiny bundle of pink perfection. He hardly knew what to do with himself, so overcome with emotion the moment he saw her. He felt Sansa’s warm, happy gaze on him, and her returned it before his gaze was drawn back to the little human in her arms, his expression wondrous.
Suddenly, Lily wrinkled her nose in her sleep and stirred. The new parents held their breath, waiting until the movement subsided. She turned her face against Sansa’s breast and released a small huffing exhale that filled Jon with overwhelming affectionate.
“She’s perfect,” he murmured hoarsely. “And she’s all ours.”
“I loved her before I even knew her,” Sansa admitted, gently stroking her hair. “Does that make any sense? How is that possible?”
“It does,” he said. Slowly, carefully, he lowered himself into the bed beside her. His arm wrapped around her shoulders gently. “Are you well?”
She nodded and gave him a tired smile. “Tired, and more than a bit sore, but I’ll be fine.” She turned her attention back to Lily as she continued to stroke her cheek. “She was worth it all.”
Sansa had given him quite a scare when she had first gone into labor. He hadn’t been with her when it happened, which still upset him several hours later. He had been overseeing the progress of the new schools being established in Winterfell when a young maiden, pale faced and breathless, had run to him to tell him the news. After everything he had faced in his life, including going up against the Night King, he couldn’t think of anything that came close to the fear he had felt, fear for his wife’s safety, for welfare of their child.
In the end, the midwife had taken care of both mother and child safely. He hadn’t left since.
“Do you want to hold her?” she asked him, knowing him all too well.
Jon hesitated. “I don’t want to wake her.” Then he smiled at the obvious reluctance on his wife’s face. “And it’s apparent you don’t want to give her up.”
Sansa smiled sheepishly. “You’re right. But she is your daughter, too. You should hold her, when she wakes.”
Lily’s little fists were curled against her lap, twitching ever so lightly. Jon wondered what she was dreaming of, what she was thinking of. Unable to help himself, he reached down and gently touched her hand with a finger, marveling at the contrast in size. The twitching stopped immediately, and briefly, Jon panicked, his gaze locking onto her face.
Lily’s eyelids fluttered open after a few slow, sleepy blinks. She looked at her mother then slowly towards him. Their gazes held. Suddenly her tiny fist opened and his finger was enveloping in her tiny hand. His heart squeezed the moment her fist squeezed his finger. And just like that she had him, right where she wanted him. She had his heart in her hand. There was no fighting it, a fight he had no intention of engaging.
Jon inhaled sharply, his throat tightening with emotion. Sansa pressed a hand to his cheek, her thumb caressing his face. It wasn’t until she touched him did he realize he’d begun to cry.
There was nothing in this world that could make Jon walk away from this, nothing short of the gods’ intervention themselves. He would die a thousand deaths to protect the woman that he loved and their daughter. As much as he loved Ned Stark as a father, he remembered all too distinctly what it was like to grow up on the outside and never quite fitting in. He’d felt the shame of being a bastard, remembered Catelyn’s scorn, the treatment he’d received, yet he still knew he’d had it better than most. Still, the hurt and pain that came from the label bastard still haunted him, even though he had never truly been one.
“You are our heart, littlest wolf,” he murmured, watching as Lily tugged his finger closer to her chest. “You are here, and you are loved. You’ll want for nothing. No harm will ever come to you. You have my word, as your father.”
And then Lily smiled, her expressive eyes crinkling in the corners. Gods, she was already a heart breaker and only hours old yet.
Sansa kissed his cheek, and when she withdrew, he saw she was crying as well, tears of joy and love. “You’ll be a wonderful father,” she assured him. “As you are already a wonderful husband. I couldn’t ask for a better life.”
Jon closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to the gods. He hoped he would be. And with Sansa at his side, he hoped they would raise a large family together.
Turning to Sansa, he murmured reverently, “You are a blessing, Sansa, and you have given me the most wonderful…” Swallowing, he pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”
Tilting her face, Sansa pressed her mouth to his, her lips softly gliding over his. It didn’t last long as a soft mewl from the bundle in her arms drew their attention.
Lily squeezed his finger again, looking up at him almost expectantly. Sansa laughed quietly, understanding her daughter’s intention. “All right, little one. You want to meet your father.” Shifting Lily’s weight carefully, she waited until Jon was ready and slowly passed her to him.
Jon’s arms were filled with a small weight of warmth. Lily refused to relinquish his finger and continued to reassert her claim to it, squeezing and releasing at random.
He lowered his face towards her and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, holding her close. After a few moments of uninhibited wonder, he looked at Sansa. “You should get some rest. I’ve got her.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, even as she yawned. She was resting her head against Jon’s shoulder, watching him watch their daughter and back again.
“I’m sure,” he said and smiled. “I’ll take the first watch.”
Sansa kissed his shoulder and shifted on the bed, wincing a little at the moving of sore muscles. Sleep didn’t take long to claim her. With his wife sleeping soundly beside him, Jon held their baby girl in his arms. “I trust you’ll return my finger at some point,” he asked amusedly.
Lily gave no indication of a response, apart from giving his finger another squeeze.
It was only a joke. They’d whispered in one another’s ears last night amongst the packed club as she’d been trying so hard to get his undivided attention. How was his best friend’s little sister going to win out over said best friend, Vegas dancers, and alcohol?
“Let’s get married.” Her voice had been laced with the lemon drops giving her the courage to lean in close to Jon Snow’s ear.
Jon threw his head back and didn’t laugh, but rather grinned in disbelief. Sansa could call herself an expert in Jon Snow facial expressions and what each meant. After all, she’d been studying since she was 8.
“You’re in white.” Jon had tugged at the skirt of her mini dress and her breath had caught.
The joke only grew as the night went on. Between the bright casinos and seedy clubs, they began calling each other pet names and Jon even referred to her as Mrs. Snow before planting a sloppy kiss to her forehead. Their mutual friends were completely oblivious it seemed. They were also far drunker.
So when Robb, Theon, and Jeyne headed back to the hotel, Jon grabbed Sansa’s hand and they went to the Little White Chapel. Elvis and all.
Their words were slurred, vows full of laughter, and Jon’s terrible attempts at winking.
Now it’s hot in the hotel room. The sun shines much too brightly on her face and Sansa rolls over to Jon Snow’s shirtless body and feels her mind spin. They didn’t, did they?
She peers down at the half eaten ring pop on her left finger and knows immediately - Sansa Stark, er, Snow, got lucky in Vegas.
I was tagged for the Jonsa100 drabble challenge by @flibbertigiblet with the prompt ‘frail’ and I decided to continue with my idea that Bran is not Bran but creepy Bloodraven and Jon and Sansa plan to get their Bran back....
I tag @jen-snow with the prompt ‘childhood’.
Also on AO3.
Jon returned in spring. Sansa made a show of greeting him with a visible frown and chided him that the Watch had not been sparing enough with the supplies.
Jon looked contrite and explained, that an unusual amount of rat and mice had plagued the Free Folk and plundered their supplies.
“We didn’t want them to starve,” he said.
That raised some murmurs from Northern Lords who had no love for the Free folk.
Sansa raised her hand, and they grew silent.
She looked around. “Hungry people are dangerous. Remember, my lords, that we do not want a war.”
She did not dare to even look Jon’s way her mind reeling with questions that haunted her. Sansa suppressed a shudder.
Is he behind that? Is he after First men’s blood in the Free folk? Does he want to annihilate them? Or is this happenstance?
She often wondered, why she and Jon were still alive. Her mind told her, that Bloodraven wanted to play with them or that he was not yet ready to take them out and let the North slide into chaos. Her stupid heart told her otherwise. Her hope told her that Bran was still there, somewhere, deep down. She could not help herself. As often as she stamped on her hope, it raised its head again.
Sansa did only ask after Tormund after Lord Royce had commented on his absence. It would not be good to draw too much attention to his absence.
“Tormund started a journey in the middle of winter to get food for his people,” Jon answered and shrugged as if he did not really care. “Crazy mission.”
Sansa hoped that Tormund’s luck would not run out. That the loud man and his fire kissed hair was not important enough to be worth Bloodraven’s time. That he would find Arya. We cannot hope to do this alone.
----
As usual they met on moonless nights and planned, hatching their plans only by trading hushed words from mouth to ear.
“Ghost is mine”, Jon whispered, his lips touching Sansa’s earlobe, “at least as long as I warg him. It should be safe, if you try with Ghost.”
They had the shadow of a plan, a risky plan, but better that than just accepting their fate. But the fear was a constant companion to Sansa.
“But what if I succeed in warging Ghost and he enters later and realises it? If he can feel a remainder, an echo of my presence. Won’t he become suspicious?”
“Suspicion is his nature. He is already suspicious. Remember we want him suspicious.”
“But not yet. What if Tormund never finds Arya.”
“Sansa,” Jon bent towards her and kissed her cheek, light like a feather. “I won’t tell you to not be afraid, because I am afraid. All the time.”
Sansa could feel her eyes beginning to swim. She pressed Jon’s hand.
“It is worse than the Walkers,” she whispered. “The Walkers would just have taken my body. He…. “
She stopped, willing her lover to understand her.
If he wargs a person, what happens? Would I be condemned to silence to be a watcher of what Bloodraven does with me? Would I still own my mind, my soul?
Somehow, she doubted that.
“I held on to myself, although they wanted to make me a Lannister, a Bolton, Littlefinger wanted to make me his. It drives me mad, the fear, that I might lose myself, that I might become just a vessel.”
“We don’t know that.”
“I know, we share this fear.”
Jon stayed silent for a time. Then he pressed her hand.
Sansa raised her other hand to her face and angrily rubbed her tears away. When she was with Jon, she wanted to share her fears, but she also wanted to forget about them to bask in the light of his love, to get the strength she needed and give Jon some strength in return.
Jon sensed her mood, he kissed the tears that hung to her lashes away and they held each other and made love until Sansa could feel a glow in her chest that warmed her. She didn’t know how it happened, but when she was with Jon at one point, she would shed her fear, her stress, her grief and would be alive in the moment, an all too short bliss that kept her going.
---
The next morning, she heard claws scraping against her door. Ghost stood in front of the door, his right paw tapped on her right foot. Three times, then twice on her left. But Sansa knew already that Jon had warged into the wolf.
“Did your master let you roam the castle again,” she chided the wolf, just in case some servant would listen. There was no heat in her voice though, and Ghost opened his mouth, letting his tongue loll as if he was eager. Sansa led Ghost inside and sat down by the fire the maid had started against the morning cold.
Sansa inhaled deeply trying to rule her fear and her worries. She had to train, and Ghost was the best option. She remembered the times she had felt a vague kinship and an understanding for her cat. She plunged into Ghost as if jumping into a pool of icy water.
She thought she felt Jon, tugging at her, drawing her in and, suddenly, she could see herself, sitting in her chair, some of the fire’s light reflecting in her hair. She almost was overwhelmed by the sudden impact of smells that reached her. She also felt something like wonder at the woman that sat at the fire, at her beauty and her courage. She was puzzled about that, until she realised that Jon was still in Ghost as well and that it was his feelings that brushed her mind.
It worked. It worked. We can share warging.
The rush of excitement hit her so hard, that she was driven out of Ghost. She was in her body again, looking at her hands.
She bent down to Ghost and petted the wolf, rubbing his ears.
“Septon Barth wrote that this needs training,” she risked whispering. Then she stood and opened the door.
“Jon really should not let you wander about,” she said loudly even before she saw the dark-haired maid that approached her door with a basin with water that steamed.
She knew Maggy, and was not particularly suspicious about her, but she was glad that she had not let her guard down.
While she let the maid help her with getting up and dressing, she felt strange, as is she was not fully in her body. It took her a while to name her feeling, because it had been so long ago, that she had felt it, really felt it.
As thin and frail as the steam that rose from the hot water. But it was there. Stronger than just hope. A tiny shred of confidence.
