Her eyes drift down, and for a moment, she’s almost certain she’s hallucinating. That her lonely subconscious has merely tricked her into believing the handsome young man in a fitted gray suit standing near the podium looks like Jon Snow. But then he smiles, and all the air rushes out of her lungs.
She doesn’t really feel Gilly’s arm slip from hers, or even consciously mean to take two steps forward. Jon’s eyes are locked on her as his dress shoes echo softly across the marble.
“You’re here,” she breathes as he stops just a few feet before her, brain still struggling to reorient itself. “How?”
He grins and reaches out to take her hand in a shock of contact. “Well, I was really tired of fish and chips.”
She shoves at him with a scoff, and he captures her wrist to pull her in for a kiss that tastes like spearmint and snow.
Characters: Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Brienne of Tarth, Tormund Giantsbane, Davos Seaworth, Petyr Baelish
Additional Tags: Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Eventual Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Might as well have a 50ft fuse slow burn, Implied/Referenced Incest, Emotional Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: Creator Choose Not to Use Archive Warnings / Graphic Depictions of Violence
Summary:
Jon and Sansa are all that’s left of the Winterfell from their childhood. After winning their home back from the Boltons, they now have to trust each other and work together to overcome their pasts…and their future.
Sansa can’t sleep alone and Jon no longer dreams. Winter is here, and all they have is each other.
[Picks up right after BotB. Post Season 6 Divergent.]
This was their lot in life; death, tragedy and pain. They were the only ones left. She had been through this. Had been forced to stare upon her father’s head, to hear the cheers at her brother’s and mother’s death, to walk the ghostly halls of her home. She knew this song. She couldn't let Jon succumb to it.
------
She was fragile and he did not know what she needed. He was broken, too - and two broken pieces don't always fit together. She needed better than him.
—
Direct Link to Chapter 6 : Enemies
This Chapter’s Song - [Black - Kari Kimmel]
A/N: I’m baaaaaack. But I’m also avoiding logging into Tumblr right now to avoid spoiler comments on one of my side blogs. Sorry if I don’t respond to comments here - I’m not looking at my notifications!
I will be updating A Baleful Howl weekly for a few weeks, (either Friday afternoons or Saturday afternoons) so please keep an eye out for updates even if I don’t announce them here on Tumblr.
Right hand firm, she slowly stands the gun from the side table and points at the door. The clock-lamp says its only midnight but, in her mind, it could have been anytime at all. Between feeds, naps, changings and crying – God, so much crying – she doesn’t have a sense of time anymore, she just knows that she finally managed a quick shower and that she should probably get some sleep now, even though she knows that she won’t.
Not that it matters anymore.
There is someone inside her house.
Please don’t wake up, she begs internally as she slides the bassinet under the bed without taking her eyes from the damn door. She can hear the steps approaching, whoever it is it’s not even trying to be quiet. They must be in the very last flight of stairs now… and coming directly to the room. She puts her back to the wall right next to the entrance and looks at the handle slowly turning…
After a day of sneaking around, trying not to get caught as he made sure those recorders were inside the office of the Secretary of Defense himself, the last place Jon expects to be attacked is inside his own home by his own wife. But as soon as he opened the bedroom’s door she had him face on the floor, knee on his neck and a gun to the back of his head.
“What the fuck?? Sansa, it’s me!” he tries to say while getting a tight grip on his hair.
She is breathing hard and not letting go of him.
“Sansa, breathe, it’s me” he asks calmly and then more softly “Let go of my head, love”. That seems to snap her out of it, and she relaxes her hand while slowly sliding her knee of to the side.
He winces and starts to turn on his back. She was not joking around. If he was anyone else, he would have a bullet making home in his skull right now.
“Jon?” she asks, and he can hear the tremble in her voice “No harm done” he says, taking the gun from her and reaching to put above the bed. “Come here” he takes her to lie above him, shushing her as she sobs on his neck.
He shouldn’t be surprised. He knows she is good in combat, has seen it firsthand a few times. But Sansa’s abilities have always fallen more on the realm of disguise, manipulation and perfect to a t strategic planning. She has half of this suburban neighborhood in love with her and if anyone asked, yes, the Snows are as normal as a young couple can be, with just the right amount of American pride and cynicism towards their government. Nothing to see.
“You told me you would be home late; how could I forget that?” she says once she is calmer.
“It’s ok, we are both tired.”
“I almost killed you, Jon! Trust me” and he can hear the desperation in her voice.
“oh, I trust you all right, but you didn’t” he says making her look in at him “you didn’t.’’
“How can you be so calm?” He sighs and the movement makes him aware of a throbbing on several different parts of him. He is going to take at least two Tylenols before going to sleep tonight. “We hardly live normal lives and the matter of fact is, we are tired, you even more so with Lyra all the time insi”- he pauses looking around – “Sansa, where is Lyra?” he asks starting to feel a panic bloom in his chest.
“Oh” she jumps from the floor and goes to the side of the bed “I put her under the bed.”
He goes close to her while she gently pulls the bassinet.
“I can’t believe she didn’t wake up after all this.”
She really didn’t seem bothered at all, Jon noticed, while looking at his sleeping daughter. Every day he comes home and he is amazed anew when he looks at her. Not too long ago he didn’t even dare entertain the thoughts of having a family of his own. And now they have Lyra. The moonlight coming from the window makes her look like a little angel delivered to them straight from heaven.
“Sometimes when she is sleeping.” Sansa breaks the silence “I get scared that she isn’t breathing. So, I just stay up looking at her. Seeing if her chest is moving.”
He frowns.
He did not know that.
“After finishing this assignment today” he says pulling her to him “I don’t think we are going to be called for another task for some time. You will sleep more; I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Thank you” she says softly.
He kisses her shoulder “We are a team.”
“Perhaps you can start wearing a bell then.”
“Too soon” he says even though he chuckles.
“Jon” she turns in his arms, serious “I am so, so sorry.”
“I know Sans” he kisses her forehead and then her lips for good measure “I know.”
The new family arrived in the first week of October, it was a rainy morning as it often was in England and fog permeated the air around the carriage when it first stopped in front of the imposing old mansion. After his eldest son continued getting into mischief in the city Lord Eddard Stark had decided what his family needed was to relocate to a small quiet town on the outskirts of London, Winterfell appeared to be everything he had been waiting for his family, so when he saw the bargain that was the old Targaryan mansion he didn’t hesitate in purchase it, even when the seller told him the place was haunted by a ghost.
“Don’t say nonsenses Lord Baelish. There is no such thing as ghosts”
“Oh but there is my lord, the ghost of John Targaryan roams the halls of the mansion” The man had tweaked his mustache in a nervous gesture as he glanced at the selling contract in front of him “I wish nothing more than for you to purchase this property but I could never lie about what transpired in that house”
Lord Eddard Stark shrugged before taking the glass of brandy that rested on the table in front of him "I know all about the tragedy" He replied "My eldest daughter is an avid reader and she documented herself before we decided to come here"
“So you don’t mind?” A shadow crossed Lord Baelish’s face “About the murders?”
A good 100 years prior, a massacre had taken place in the very same house Lord Eddard was trying to purchase, it was said that in a fit of rage and jealousy for not getting what he thought belonged to him, the youngest and from indecent origin son of the lord of the house had murdered the entire family before killing himself. He had locked them in a bedroom on the third floor before lighting a fire. The fire was stopped in time so the whole house didn't perish but the family wasn't so lucky. Since then, the ghost of John Targaryen roamed the halls, unable to find rest for his soul.
"It was horrid I must admit it," Lord Eddard said "But ghosts frighten me not, it is the living that must scare us"
And so that was how the Stark family came to live in the newly purchased mansion that most people in town avoided.
They were seven. Lord Eddard was a very practical and hardworking man, his wife lady Catelyn was beautiful and ill-tempered, the eldest son Robb was dashing and liked to fool around with unwed women a bit too much, Sansa the eldest daughter was beautiful and educated, Arya the wild child who was always getting into mischief with her younger brothers Bran and Rickon.
The ghost made his appearance that very same night, it was past bedtime and the family was all snuggled into their beds when they heard the sound of chains being dragged on the floor. The sound was too jarring and wasn’t letting anyone sleep so Lord Stark took a bottle of oil he kept in his closet and went to meet the ghost by the door.
“You might want to try some of this, old chap," He said while handing the bottle to the apparition of a young-looking man in front of him, if he was honest with himself the appearance of the ghost surprised him a bit, he had never seen one up close but he expected it to be something more horrific. The ghost in question looked like any young man, except his feet didn’t quite touch the ground and there was a transparent look to his skin.
Rage transformed the stern features of the ghost "What did you say?"
Lord Stark released a sigh “It’s late and we’re all tired from the trip. Do us all a favor and put some of this so we can sleep”
That being said Lord Stark turned around and went back to his bedroom. The ghost stayed rooted in his spot for a couple of minutes, unable to understand what was happening. During the 100 years, he had been roaming the halls of what was once his house he hadn't failed to scare a single person, Loras Tyrell the young son of the family who lived there before the Starks had even been put on medication because the panic attack he caused them when he made his first appearance.
John refused to be disrespected like this, scaring people was something he was excellent at and he would make Eddard Stark regret every suggestion otherwise.
The next morning, when the family woke up there was a stain of blood on the beautiful carpet in front of the fireplace. Catelyn released a shriek when she saw it and hidden behind the curtains a triumphant smile appeared on John’s lips, that was of course until he heard the woman’s words.
“This is horrific. That carpet was one of the most beautiful pieces of this house. It’s going to be a nightmare to remove it” This being said she proceeded to go in search of her favorite stain remover before returning and getting down on her knees to scrub away the blood.
Irritated by the lack of sense in that family, John retired to his room and waited patiently for night to come. He would frighten the death out of them and they would regret ever coming to his home.
That night he put on the old Targaryen armor, an old imposing thing his late father used to wear whenever he went into battle, he would sneak into the little children's bedroom and unsheathe his sword. If his mere presence wasn't scary enough, longclaw surely would.
The armor clacked with triumph as he walked the corridors to the children's bedroom, he couldn't wait to see the fear on their faces, this antic would surely mean a victory to him. But the satisfaction of his imaginary victory didn’t last long, because right before he reached the children’s bedroom a rope made him tumble right into the open bedroom where a bucket of green paint was waiting for him.
Jon released a frustrated howl as he stared at the ruined armor, a 100-year-old relic ruined by green paint, if his older brother could see him now would surely laugh at him just like the little hellions were doing at the moment. In the far corner of the bedroom stood Arya, Bran, and Rickon clacking with laughter as he stood up from the floor, battered and humiliated like never before.
Perhaps his days as a ghost were over; maybe all there was left now was to lock himself in his bedroom for all eternity because he sure as hell didn’t want to risk himself to another humiliation like the one he had been part of right now. Life had been hard enough for John; he didn’t want death to be hard as well.
Unbeknownst to him, the fair and gentle Sansa Stark watched him walk away defeated, a sad sigh released from her lips to partner her heartbroken expression.
“It was cruel of you, to do that to the poor ghost” She scolded the children once Jon was far enough for him to hear her.
"We were just joking," Arya said defensively “Besides, it’s not like he’s innocent”
Sansa released a sigh as she crossed her arms over her chest "No, I suppose he's not" She murmured as she thought back to all she had learned while reading about the new property. Still, there was something that didn't add up, she was sure there was another side to the story of the Targaryen tragedy and Sansa Stark always loved uncovering new mysteries.
Deciding that going back to sleep would be impossible at this point, Sansa grabbed a candle from her bedroom and after throwing on her robe went in search of the ghost. He lived in the bedroom at the end of the hall on the third floor, where the murders had taken place, the corridors were full of spider webs since no servants ventured there and the temperature lowered with every step the girl took, yet she did not yield.
She stood in front of the old wooden door and after taking a deep breath rapped her knuckles against it in a swift movement “Well hello there Mr. Ghost” She spoke to the closed door.
For a moment she thought no one would answer but after a few seconds came to the reply “Who are you?”
“I am Sansa Stark sir”
She heard the ghost huffing from behind the closed door “I have no business with Stark children”
Sansa shook her head in regret at the memory of her siblings laughing at the defeated expression on the ghost's face “I am no child sir, and I condemn terribly what my siblings did”
“What do you want then?”
“Talk”
“Talk? What a strange concept”
He opened the door then and was struck by the mesmerizing eyes in front of him. How had she gone unnoticed by him? he had been so busy trying to scare the family and get revenge on the children that he hadn't noticed the blue of her eyes and the fiery red of her hair. Looking at her, for a moment he felt at peace.
"Hello," She said, her soft pink slips stretching into a gentle smile
"Hello," He said in a most educated manner, expecting he wasn’t frightening her with his lack of corporeal form.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in a shy gesture “May I come in?”
“Sure. You may find it a bit cold though” He winced
She gave him a reassuring smile “Don’t mind me, I like the cold” She stepped inside the dank bedroom and placed the candle holder on the small bedside table before taking a seat on the dusty mattress.
“What is it that you wish to speak miss?” Jon asked not knowing what to do with himself. It had been so long since he had the chance to entertain someone, for the last hundred years he had dedicated himself to scaring people away and even before he died he was never fond of having people over.
“I was wondering, why do you wish to frighten us so much?”
"Well that is my job," He said gesturing to his ethereal form.
Her brows furrowed as she looked at him “Your job? But you are dead; surely one mustn’t keep working after dying” He was about to interrupt her but paused at her words, musing them for a bit while he glided from one side to the other in front of her.
“Well I suppose not but I am different” He stated after a while
“Why is that?”
“Because I have so much to atone to” He released a sigh and the tiredness in his face made Sansa’s heart fill with pity “They say I did horrible things”
She frowned at his choice of words “They say? You mean you don’t remember?”
“Not at all," He said suddenly while throwing his hands in the air “When I woke up like this I had no recognition of anything that happen the day I died. Over the years I’ve come to remember bits here and there but not enough to put the whole picture together”
Sansa’s back straightened and her lips widened in a wicked smile “Well Mr. Ghost today is your lucky day because I am going to help you”
He gave her a curious look before going to sit next to her, his bottom never quite touching the mattress “And why would you do that sweet Sansa?”
"Because I love a good mystery," She said proudly "Plus it's boring here in the country, I need a hobby. So, would you let me help you, Mr. Ghost?"
He smiled at her in return; it had been so long since his lips stretched in a genuinely happy smile that the movement felt odd “Something tells me, you would do it even if I say no. And please, call me Jon”
That night Sansa left the ghost's room with flushed cheeks and a renovated sense of duty. The next morning over breakfast she informed her family that she intended to help the ghost to discover the mystery of his death and that anyone who played any more pranks on the poor soul would pay a fair price.
Since the children respected and feared their sister in equal measure they assure her no harm would come to the ghost, her father and brother showed themselves supporting her decision, going as far as to congratulate her for finding something to occupy her time with.
Only her mother didn’t seem to agree with her choice, stating that she should be using her time to find more important things to do.
"Catching a bachelor's eyes it's what you should be doing sweetheart," She said "You'll need to get a husband soon"
“She’s still young” Her father intervened “Don’t be too eager to send her away”
Two days later as a pouring rain fell on the English countryside Sansa shared with the ghost how pressured she felt whenever her mother mentioned getting a husband. They were once again in his bedroom and she paced back and forth as she spoke while he sat on the bed and observed her every move.
“You do not wish to get married?” He asked
Sansa sighed and stopped in front of him “It’s not that, it’s just… I don’t want to do it just because I have to”
Jon released a chuckle, a sound so strange in him that made something flutter in the girl’s chest “You’re a romantic then”
Sansa’s nostrils flared at the derogatory tone of his voice “Pardon me?”
Jon chuckled unaware of the girl’s annoyance “You believe that whole happily ever after thing, am I wrong?” When she didn’t answer his features transformed into something more melancholic “Reality is a lot different than that sweet Sansa”
The girl stared at him for a couple of seconds before going to sit next to him "Were you ever in love Jon?"
“I was, once” He answered right away “Her hair was bright red like yours”
Sansa felt something sour in her stomach at his answer but didn’t allow him to see it “What happened?”
"She was a maid," He said as his eyes seemed lost in remembrance “My grandfather didn’t allow anything to happen”
“What happened with her?”
He shrugged, the set of his jaw tight and hard "I never knew, they send her away, and when I found out it was too late"
"I'm sorry," She said unable to do anything else. Now more than ever she wished she could touch him, to give him the comfort he so much needed in some form.
The air grew thick around them, Jon seemed lost in thought and Sansa didn't like it. In the few days, she had shared her time with the ghost she had found that she quite liked being the only one he came to, to have his undivided attention and she wanted to keep it that way, she didn't want to share it with his past.
“So, what is that you’ve found?” He said suddenly, breaking her out of her thoughts.
She took a deep breath, ready to explain to him what she had come here to tell him in the first place “Well apparently the night you killed yourself a big ball had been hosted here. Your grandfather had wanted a big night of spectacle for his birthday”
Jon shook his head as a look of pure guilty crossed his face “I murdered him on his birthday”
"I'm afraid so," Sansa said. She had been horrified herself when she found out that gruesome detail after hours of researching every bit of information she could get her hands on “The whole family was gathered and it seemed like there was some kind of riff between him and your father after the toast”
“He insulted my mother” Jon murmured “My father loved her too much…he didn’t allow it”
“You remember?”
He frowned as he looked at her “Some of it”
Sansa nodded and continued thinking that perhaps the more he knew the more the memories would come back to him “It appears he threw the people out after that and sometime in the next three hours you started a fire on the third floor. Your father and his wife were there and so was he and your siblings"
Jon shook his head before standing up, a chilly air making goosebumps appear on Sansa’s arms at the absence of his closeness “I wasn’t allowed to go into the third floor” He stated, his expression confused as he paced back and forth in front of her “Only now after…what was I doing there? Why they were all there?” He took the hands to his hair and mussed the curls there and once again that night the girl found herself wishing she could somehow touch him "Sansa dear, don't take this the wrong way but I'm feeling a bit tired and I would love to rest"
Her eyes snapped back to his and she felt a blush covering her cheeks “Of course, sorry for being such a naught” She stoop and went hastily to the door, not giving him time to react.
She disappeared behind the door and let the room sink into the darkness once again “No, you’re not. Never” Jon murmured to the empty bedroom, feeling the chill once again seethe in his bones.
***
“They never found your body”
She had snuck into her bedroom the next night as he tried to conjure the sleep he knew would never come. Long gone were his ambitions of scaring the family away so now he spent his time trying to see if the peace of the eldest Stark daughter would help him to finally close his eyes and disappear.
“Excuse me?” He said as he moved his ethereal body so he could sit and be more presentable, she had startled him and he could only assume the poor state he was in.
Sansa’s cheeks were rosy and her chest heaved as she supported her body against the wall “They say you killed yourself after they burned but your body was never found”
He frowned, a cruel and cold feeling uncurling in his chest at her words “And what does that mean?” His tone was clipped and harsher than he intended.
Sansa took a deep breath and steadied her racing heart “That’s not all, it was found in some journals that—“She trailed off “that your grandfather he—“
Jon stood up then, worry etched on his face as he walked towards her “He what, dear Sansa?”
“He had a liking to fire” Her whisper echoed in the silent room “He was often bringing people from foreign lands who claimed could control it” She walked the few steps that separated them “Jon I think you might be innocent”
He looked taken aback, his form moving away from her “No, impossible”
"I discovered that your father was trying to find a way to remove your grandfather from its title" She explained, "He thought he was going mad and that his obsession with fire couldn't be good"
Jon felt his head aching with every word she spoke, images flaring in his mind, whispers of a past he couldn’t remember, threatening to tear down everything that existed in his head.
“Perhaps we could look further into this obsession of his, and if you could try to—“
“I’m tired of trying Sansa!” He exploded, his temper getting the best of him and showing her a side of him she hadn’t seen, not even when he had been determined to scare her and her family away “It’s all I’ve done for the last couple of days, there’s no need to look more into this. I killed them and now I’m atoning for it, end of story”
“But Jon—“
“I think you should leave Sansa” His words were harsh and left no room for argument. Gray eyes which once were soft and warm looked at her coldly now. She felt her chest expand with pressure and her eyes sting with unshed tears so not giving him any more time to be cruel to her, she turned around and fled the room, returning to the comforts of the living world.
Sansa didn’t see the ghost for the next couple of days and the blood stain that had stopped appearing days ago was there every morning when she came down for breakfast.
“He should learn some manners” Her mother murmured as she scrubbed away her favorite carpet.
"That he should," Sansa thought to herself but not for staining the carpet but for being mean to her and sending her away and what was worse for not coming after her.
She had continued investigating Rhaegar’s journals and had found information that she thought could be helpful but she wasn’t about to go and tell the ghost all about it, not after he was so horrid to her. He was the one who should apologize so she could share her investigations and they could once away spend together.
She missed him. She missed his crooked smile and those curls on his head, how well he recited her poetry, and the jokes he made that was not funny at all. Since the day they argued Sansa Stark had felt lonelier than ever and she didn’t like it.
That night she went to sleep with an ache in her chest and woke up with the stench of smoke in her nose. “Jon” She woke up with a gasp, heat curled around her body as she opened her eyes and realized the flames were licking up the curtains on her windows.
Sweat covered her body and the overwhelming scent of smoke made it hard for her to breathe, she had to get out of there immediately. She threw away her covers and still trying to understand what was happening stood up from the bed only to realize the fire had spread and was now licking up the ornamented wooden door of her bedroom.
“I will die here” She murmured to herself as she scanned her eyes around the room trying to find something that would help her reach the hallway in time.
"No, you won't" The voice came from behind the closed door seconds before it burst open, Jon's figure standing in its place "You don't die tonight, you fool"
The events of the next couple of minutes continued blurry in Sansa’s mind for years after they occurred. All she could tell at that time was that Jon burst into the room to save her, that somehow she could feel him as he carried her and braced the fire to get her out, that his curls were as smooth as she expected them to be and that his skin was not cold like she always thought it would be, but warm. Like embers.
He placed her by the stairs just as her family rushed finally catching on the commotion, Ned Stark barked at his children to go in search of buckets of water to the fire wouldn’t spread past Sansa’s bedroom.
The girl coughed and shook as her mother rushed her downstairs as the men took care of the fire slowly spreading upstairs. After they worked nonstop once neighbors hurried to help they managed to quench the scorching embers that had started from a lit candle placed by the window.
“I can’t believe I was so foolish” Sansa muttered to herself while her elder brother petted her hair as they sat on the sofa by the fireplace.
“You’ve saved my daughter” Catelyn Stark stood by the fireplace, just in the same spot where the spot of blood used to appear every day, and looked at the ghost straight in the eye “We’ll forever be in debt to you”
"I was right all along," Nedd Stark said with a burst of laughter “I knew the ghost that lived here couldn’t be that evil”
“We love you Mr. Ghost” The children shouted before rushing in and throwing their small bodies around the ghost, who for the time appeared to be as present as any of them.
Jon felt something warm spread in his chest at the feel of the children hugging him, his cheeks colored and he lowered his gaze to save some face.
“Thank you Jon” Sansa whispered as she left her place on the sofa and walked with trembling legs toward him “How is this possible?” Her murmur was accompanied by a gentle hand on his cheek, feeling that warmth that radiated from his skin.
“It’s October 31” Her father answered “The veil falls tonight”
Jon gulped as he leaned towards her touch “I remember now” He whispered “That fire cleared the fog” He relished her touch for another second before taking a deep breath and walking away from her "Come" He gestured to the rest of the family who was more than ready to follow him.
He took them past the kitchen onto the cellar below where after a lot of nagging and prodding was able to open a secret door hidden in the far corner, not being ones to scare easily the Stark family followed the specter through a pair of twisted stairs until they reached what appeared to be an underground cave.
"I am no murdered," He said as he walked further and showed them what was resting in the far corner of the place “I’m just trapped”
For the first time since they moved Sansa felt chills running down her spine, a cold settling on her bones “Oh my God” She whispered in shock as her eyes rested on the skeleton chained to the wall.
The children released pitiful cries as Nedd walked closer to the skeleton, pain etched on his eyes as he looked from the bones to the specter walking among them “Poor fella, how long you’ve been here all alone”
Jon gave them a sad smile before relating everything that had come to him that night. About how his grandfather had finally lost his mind and chained him in the caves below after insulting him for not being a true-born son, a spawn that had come out of the whore Rhaegar liked to spend time with. His father had tried to set him free, challenging the old man and all his cronies but the old man was too far gone, and instead of yielding he had burned them all alive, himself included.
“I could hear them scream” Jon murmured “I know it’s probably impossible given the distance but I swear I could hear them scream”
“Oh Jon” Sansa released a cry before throwing herself at him “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe all this time people have believed you committed such an atrocious crime but you’ve—you’ve been innocent all along”
He nuzzled his face into her, relishing in the feel of another human being next to him “Do not regret the past sweet girl, it is gone now” He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling “I now can finally go too”
She frowned “Go? Where?”
He smiled gently before cupping her face between his hands “To peace”
Sansa shook her head, slowly pulling away from him “But—what about me?”
Jon gave her a sympathetic smile “You are a living thing, you belong here where things are bright and beautiful” His eyes shone with a love Sansa had believed existed only in the stories her mother used to read to her when she was little “But not me, I am no longer of this world”
“But you are of mine” She nearly shouted, not caring that all her family was witnessing such a childish display “You belong with me”
“I never did” Jon reasoned with her “But being a ghost has given me the chance of meeting you and the gift you gave me it’s the greatest I’ve ever received”
“I don’t want you to go” She clung to him, holding him into her body as if that way she was able to keep him with her forever “I’ll be all alone once again” She whispered into his neck
“Sweet girl, you’ve never been alone” He whispered back.
“Can I—can I kiss you?” She said after releasing him from her embrace. She knew it was a bold request and that in other circumstances her parents would berate her, but not now, now they pretended they weren’t even looking “I’ve never been kissed you know” She confessed.
Jon smiled tenderly before cupping her face once again and bringing her lips to his “Thank you” He whispered against her mouth “You’ve given me peace after a lifetime of torment”
Sansa kissed him once again as the tears soaked both their lips, she would never forget this moment, she would treasure this exact moment until she last walked this earth.
The next day Lord Eddard Stark ordained a tombstone in honor of the youngest Targaryen heir, his body was laid to rest inside the grounds of the property and the family held a small ceremony for the ghost that had come with the house they purchased. The eldest Stark daughter cried through the entire celebration and remained there even after it was over and the rain had started falling.
She kept taking him flowers every day and will continue doing it for the rest of her life, even after she marries and moves away to a home of her own. She always finds excuses to visit her brother, now lord of the house, but of course, he knows she's only there to place flowers on the grave of the first man she ever loved.
The ghost that once haunted the halls of their house.
But who now rested at peace in a place where torment is not possible.
Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Alternate Universe - Historical, Scandal, Sexual Content, Family, Slow Burn, Sharing a Bed, Marriage of Convenience, Angst with a Happy Ending, mentions of abuse, Alternate Universe - Napoleonic Wars, kissing cousins, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Sexism, E for Eventually, Regency Period, regency au, In Denial, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Attempted Rape/Non-Con
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“I will not be spoken to as though I am a servant.” she snapped, taking a step towards him to emphasise her own defiance, perhaps even with the not so imperceptible intention of provoking the man.
He chuckled, though the anger had not disappeared from his eyes. Slowly, he approached her, his footsteps so soft that she would not have known he was nearing her if her back had been turned to him. Agile and silent like a wolf prepared to strike its prey. He walked until their faces were only inches apart, his hand reached out to briefly knead her scalp before winding her hair through his fingers in a firm grasp. Gently, he tugged her head back until she looked up to meet his gaze.
Her heart lurched. This had not been the first time to feel as she did in his presence, but it was the first time that she dared to hope that the distance between them would close completely. She studied his features, from the scar over his brow to his high cheekbones and full lips. She was reminded again of the softness of those lips against her forehead, the memory of it only succeeded in intensifying the unknown feeling that simmered in her. He seemed to be breathing as deeply as she was, his grip on her hair tightening ever so slightly.
“You will do what you are told as my wife.” he whispered, his nose lightly brushed against hers. They were far closer than they had ever been, their breaths ghosting against one another’s lips.
In the days before house Atreides departs for Arrakis, as the Spacing Guild’s heighliner hangs high in the sky above Caladan, the Reverend Mother Olenna Tyrell Mohiam comes to visit Sansa.
At the top of the slick stone steps of the back entrance to Castle Caladan, Sansa greets the Reverend Mother with a curtsy; a gentle flick of left hand along the line of skirt, just as her lady mother had taught her before she breathed her last. “You are welcome to Castle Caladan, Reverend Mother.”
“A better welcome would’ve been to make me climb less damned steps,” Olenna rasps as she gains the last of them. She’s a crone of a woman in a black robes, hunched over a cane of gnarled and twisted wood, but the eyes she fixes Sansa with are piercing. “Ashamed of me are you, girl?”
“I only thought you might care to be spared greeting my lord father. He’s less than fond of you, you know.”
“Bold, aren’t you? Did your mother teach you nothing of our Bene Gesserit ways?”
It’s a barb; a goad precise in tone and language in the way only a Bene Gesserit could deliver to make Sansa reflexively favor her Bene Gesserit allegiance.
And yet knowing it makes it no less galling. What game game have you come to play, old woman?
“My mother taught me everything I know,” Sansa says carefully.
“Little enough it seems.” The Reverend Mother studies Sansa, wheezing faintly from the climb. “You have no difficulty in hiding things from your father?”
Not in this. It is not a direct question though, so Sansa does not give it a direct answer. “I am Bene Gesserit, Reverend Mother.”
“Yes, but which are you first?” Olenna leans forward to peer at her, eyes piercing. “Bene Gesserit sister, or daughter Atreides?”
Sansa catches the tip of her tongue between her teeth. She cannot answer truthfully. Her mastery of the Bene Gesserit voice is nothing compared to Olenna’s; the slightest waver in vocal intonation and the old woman will cut truth from lie cleanly as scalpel parts flesh from bone.
There is a reason high house and low call us witches, ignorant as it may be.
“I am both,” Sansa says carefully. “But I serve the Bene Gesserit.”
“You think yourself clever, don’t you? You’ve been too long among these simpletons.” Olenna cackles in a way that makes it clear to Sansa she has done nothing to deceive her. The old woman waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry girl, I won’t make you choose today. No, I’ve come on other business. Now take me inside. I have no wish to discuss it on your doorstep.”
Sansa dips in another curtsy, and leads Olenna inside. The tap of Olenna’s cane echos through the dark and humid stone halls of Castle Caladan, and soon enough they reach a chamber empty but for the shuttered crates the castle servants have yet to load into the guild transports. A glow globe hangs low in the corner, it’s golden light casting Olenna as a witch-shadow on the wall as the Reverend Mother hobbles to inspect one of the crates. She pokes it with the tip of her cane. “Your lord father truly means to waste guild fees transporting this cruft to Arrakis?”
“Cruft is expected for a great house of the Landsraad.” Sansa smiles and modulates her voice to innocent observation. “A noble house must project authority, you know, and such cruft holds power in swaying the people to-”
“Don’t lecture me, girl.” Olenna snaps. “I was the one that taught your mother the subtleties of statecraft when she was but a girl at my knee. It seems I should’ve insisted that she send you to our school as a child instead of letting her teach you our ways here where they could be infected with arrogance.”
Whatever Olenna thinks of her, Sansa is Bene Gesserit enough to recognize the flickering instinct inside her to defend Atreides pride against this quarrelsome old woman. But we will need whatever allies we can gain in the imperial court, pride be damned.
Sansa dips her head to Olenna. “My apologies, Reverend Mother.”
Olenna humphs at that. She jabs the crate with the tip of her cane again. “It is cruft. Does your father think it can protect him from the trap that has been set for you on Arrakis? Or perhaps he does not know it is a trap, is that it eh?”
“He does,” Sansa answers, and is unable to keep the coolness from her voice this time. So she does know. It was foolish to think the emperor’s own Truthsayer would not, but still the idea had still flitted across Sansa’s mind. “My father recognizes the Emperor’s gift as a poisoned one.”
He’d said as much when he summoned Sansa and her siblings to his chamber months before to tell of the imperial decree that ordered house Atreides from Caladan to Arrakis. All of her siblings it had been: herself, Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon. Even Jon. While she yet lived her lady mother would never have allowed Jon to be part of a family counsel; but she’d breathed her last a year before Jon returned from the Ginaz Wall, and as a student of their school of swordsmanship he was too useful to be left out of council.
“But if we know it’s a Harkonnen trap, why give up Caladan?” Robb had objected when their father finished speaking. He flipped the kinjal in his hand pommel-tip-pommel, voice laced with anger. “Why not refuse Arrakis?”
“Because this is a trap laid not just by the Harkonnens, but the boy Emperor on his lion throne too.” Their father did not turn from where he gazed out the tall window of his chamber out at the rolling hills and sheer cliffs and vast stormy sea of Caladan. He’d taken the position when he first spoke, and had not relinquished it since, a tall and severe figure with his hands clasped behind him, the gold lettering on white paper of the imperial decree crushed in them.
“No house may refuse an imperial decree without the full backing of the Landsraad.” Her father continued. “And they see no trap in Arrakis, only the gift of the one planet that can produce spice in all the imperium.”
“But if we did refuse?” Jon leaned against the wall beside Robb, but where Robb flipped his knife Jon was motionless: arms folded, eyes hawk-sharp in the way Sansa remembers them even as a child, before even they had been honed by his time in Ginaz. “What if we forced the matter with the Landsraad? They have more love for you than the Emperor.”
“They fear the Emperor’s Sardukar legions and look to me to protect them, but that is not the same as love. Bringing the matter before them would mean only exile for our house.” Their father’s voice had grown hard and dispassionate as he looked at Jon; it was not the Bene Gesserit voice, but had a power all it’s own. “You are my children. But this is my decision, and I will not see house Atreides become a rogue house with only our atomics to protect us.”
He turned from the window and crossed to the old, dark wood desk dominating the room. “You’ll go with the advance team to prepare our way, Jon. Our reports say the native population bristle under the Harkonnen yoke. Learn what you can of them. If we are to survive we will need their strength.”
“I should be the one to go.” Robb caught his kinjal a last time and sheathed it in a single movement. “I am-”
“The ducal heir.” Their father fixed Robb with a gaze that brooked no disagreement. “Jon will be our eyes and ears. Your place is here on Caladan.”
In the here and now, Olenna hobbles to the one remaining chair in the chamber and seats herself on the tapestried cushion of it. “Yes, I suppose your dukely father is too cunning not to see it as a trap. Not that it will do him any good.”
Sansa raises her chin. “He has seen our house through worse.”
Olenna bats away her words with a hand. “Oh, don’t take it as an insult, girl. There is a reason we gave your mother to him to weave his genes into our breeding program. The Atreides have a valuable predisposition to noblesse oblige, and at times remarkable practicality. The known worlds would be a better place if all great houses had those qualities. But our goals are longer than any one lord’s life.”
My father’s life, old woman. But Sansa does not say it. The Bene Gesserit do not intervene in the squabbling of the great houses of the Landsraad, and any argument she gives Olenna to aid them must be built on cold, hard reason and aligned with the goals of the Bene Gesserit.
“Whether we survive the Harkonnen trap on Arrakis or not,” she says carefully, “it will mean the loss of key bloodlines to the breeding program.”
“Loss? It is a waste of the worst kind.” Olenna shakes her head. “But it cannot be helped. No, don’t ask me to intervene on the part of the Atreides, girl. The trap is well and truly set and now we all must play our parts in it. I will do what I can to protect you, but for house Atreides family there is nothing to be done.” Olenna leans back in her chair, regarding Sansa with half lidded eyes. “Now tell me, have you divined why I’ve come, girl?”
Does it matter if you can do nothing for us? “I wouldn’t presume, Reverend Mother.”
From the folds of her robes Olenna slips a metal cube. She places it on one armrest of the chair, hand resting atop it. “Place your hand inside.”
Sansa approaches the chair. One face of the cube is open, but Sansa can glean as little from it as she can its other sides, nothing inside but a yawning black that seems to eat the light. “What’s in it?”
“A test. Your mother taught you in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, but now it is time to see if you are worthy of them. If you are animal or human.” She taps a sharp nail on the box. “Put your hand in the box.”
Fear is the mindkiller. The familiar words ease the tension tightening the back of Sansa’s neck. She kneels before the Reverend Mother’s chair and places her hand in the box; cool steel beneath her fingertips, a prickling along her skin as though she’d fallen asleep atop her hand. She raises her chin. “Is this all?”
Olenna rasps a laugh, and raises her hand to Sansa’s neck. Something cool and metal touches her, and Sansa resists the animal instinct to jerk away from it. “What is that?”
“The gom jabbar. A needle with poison on it’s tip swift acting enough to kill you before you could rise. If you take your hand from the box I will touch you with it and you will die.”
Fury wells in Sansa, a tide too strong to resist, and one she does not care to. “This is how you treat a duke’s daughter?”
Olenna’s eyes glitter in the seams of her face. “We have yet to see if you are even human, much less more than that. Don’t withdraw your hand from the box. You will feel pain, but if you withdraw your hand you will die.”
A faint heat begins to tingle along Sansa’s fingers in the box. She glances at it, but can see nothing beyond her wrist. The tingle grows into a buzzing itch as she gazes at the box.
“Here on Caladan you have some of the old Terranic animals, do you not?” Olenna asks Sansa as the itch burrows deeper beneath her skin like tiny, razor worms. “When an animal is trapped it will sometimes chew its leg off to escape. A human though? A human would remain in the trap. Endure the pain. Feign death that he might kill the trapper and protect others of its kind from the same fate.”
“And this test is to see if I will chew off my hand?” Sansa’s voice is cool despite the heat radiating up her arm, little worms of fire burrowing further and further into her hand. She presses her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Is that it, old woman?”
Olenna smiles, lips pulling back to reveal pink gums and yellowed teeth. “It is. Now be silent and still or die an animal.”
For a moment the possibility flits across Sansa’s mind that the Reverend Mother has come to kill her; that she has taken the side of the Emperor and the Harkonnens in their feud with the Atreides. Bene Gesserit or no, if it served the ends of their sisterhood Sansa has no doubt Olenna would dispose of her without a trace of hesitation.
But what purpose would my death serve?
The pain in her hand grows impossible to ignore, waves of searing heat. Sweat pricks Sansa’s skin as pain throbs up her forearm. She tries to flex her fingers, but finds she can’t, muscles clenched in a rictus. Bene Gesserit training had the singular goal of placing mind above body in the order of things, but Sansa feels her mind unable to push down the swelling wave of animal instinct that screams to remove her hand from the burning pit of a box and stop the pain
She’s breathing in gasps she realizes; tries to slow her breathing and finds herself unable to. Terror fills her at the realization. Fear is the mindkiller, she tells herself desperately, fear is the little death. But this isn’t only fear: it’s pain, searing and impossible to suppress. She can feel her skin curling in black flakes from her hand, crisping away to expose the red and raw meat beneath.
Murk swims at the edge of Sansa’s vision. She flees present-awareness as her mother taught her, retreating inside herself to the memories of the long hours sitting with her mother and listening to the murmur of her voice. But the pain is there too, clawing and gnawing.
Deeper insider her she flees from it, tries to summon the present-awareness of memories, hyper-fixated details a wall against the pain: sitting with Bran as he recites his lessons, arguing with Arya, sticking her tongue out at Robb, watching Jon from afar and flicking her gaze away when his eyes met hers, sitting on her mother’s lap as she brushed her hair to a copper sheen.
But no matter where Sansa flees the pain follows her, each door she locks behind her consumed in the wildfire of it, wood shriveling like kindling, her mind a house crumbling in the blaze.
Fear is the mindkiller, her mother had whispered to her as she lay dying. It is a memory Sansa has never been able to forget and yet one she shrinks away from even as the blaze of pain licks at her back. Her mother; thin and frail in the bed she birthed Rickon, smile weak from fever but the fingers laced through Sansa’s tight as steel bands. But fear is not the only mindkiller, Sansa. Grief, pain, anger; all are a little death. Let them wash over you, and when they are passed look back at their path.
And where they have been only you will remain.
Only you will remain.
Only you will remain.
Only you will remain.
And suddenly, the pain stops.
Sansa’s eyes fly open and she stares at the box. Outwardly nothing about it has changed, but it’s like a switch has been thrown, the burning charnel pit it had been a moment before gone, only the prickling echoes of pain left.
Olenna’s hand falls from Sansa’s neck, and she replaces the silver glint of her gom jabbar in her robe. “Take your hand from the box, newborn human.”
Sansa hesitates. Instinct screams what she will withdraw is a blackened stump, raw meat peaking through cracks of black seared flesh. The terror that rises in her is a muted and far thing though, a distant bloom against the wall of her reinstated Bene Gesserit training.
She pulls her hand from the box, and stares at the result wordlessly. Pale. Five fingered. Intact. Echoes of pain dance up and down her fingers as she flexes them, but nothing like the searing fire from minutes before.
“How?” Sansa asks, still staring at her hand. “I felt it burn.”
“Pain by nerve induction.” Olenna slips the box back into her robe and clucks her tongue. “Do you truly think we would maim all new humans? The Bene Gesserit do not waste what may be used.”
“You did this to my mother?”
“We do it to all Bene Gesserit. Our training is too dangerous to be wielded by animals.”
Sansa lets her hand fall and takes a long shuddering breath, tries to regain something of her composure. It is gone though, she knows; any facade at dignity, that she and the Reverend Mother are on anything like even footing. She saw to that quick enough. Whatever game played I have lost.
Olenna seems to know her mind; she nods approvingly to herself. “You are humbled now. That is for the good. I did not make the long journey to Caladan simply to test you though. I have a task for you, girl. Stand up.”
Sansa obeys. She smooths her skirt as she regains her feet, hand still tingling with remembered pain. She eyes the Reverend Mother. I will not betray my family no matter what pain you put me through, old woman. She lets her chin drop though, seemingly submissive. “What would you have of me, Reverend Mother?”
“Your duty as a Bene Gesserit. The one in which our purpose is built.” Olenna cocks her head to the side. “When you arrive on Arrakis you will take to bed with Jon Atreides and collect his genes for our order.”
He remembers it: standing next to her as the first snow of the year gently settled down on them.
He fondly recalls the way the snow had shyly drifted around her, tiny white flurries dancing, graceful and mesmerizing, before boldly settling on the curve of her cheeks, the tip of her nose, the curl of her eyelashes, the corner of her lips.
He remembers it: the smile she gifts him, shy and precious. He knows he returned it with a chuckle of his own and how happy he had been in that moment, when it finally felt as though everything that had been taken away from him had been rightfully returned. A thousand times fold, with the discovery that there was still something that he could believe in and dream of; that he was still capable of wanting and hoping and in the months to come, that he could still feel the warmth of affection and the burning heat of desire. And even though he was certain that his feelings would never be returned – vile and unacceptable as it was – it was still enough to make him want to live, if only long enough to ensure that she will never suffer again, never be hurt and abused by anyone else.
Jon settles into the familiar comfort of his bed, the scent of he – the scent of them – imbedded into the sheets.
He remembers it: his days spent in misery at Dragonstone, relieving that one moment over and over; praying that this image will be the last he sees when he finally draws in his final, dying breath. From old age, from a sword slicing him open, from the unbearable heat of dragon flames, however his death would end up, he fervently hoped that Sansa surrounded by falling snow will be the memory that will accompany him as his sprit departs the world.
It is only fitting, he thinks part amused part melancholic, because he had never seen something as lovely as snow in her hair.
He has grown old and weary. It is old age then, he realizes as Sam told him that he might not survive to see the first snow of the year but Jon is still King and he still have the same stubborn Stark blood in his veins. Their words are, Winter is Coming and he will wait for it.
He doesn’t have to call out Sansa’s name. He knows, even though he could no longer see, that she is beside him, quietly holding his hand; she is no longer crying and Jon is glad.
“Are you smiling?” He asks, tenderly reaching out to let his knuckles touch the outline of her jaws. He feels her nodding in answer. “And are the windows open, can you see it? Is it snowing today?”
“Yes, Jon. It’s the first snow of the year.”
He feels his heart painfully clenching inside his chest as the image burns across his mind. He closes his eyes, sighing softly.
