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ninaahelvar · 5 years

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Chivalry Fell On Its Sword (9/23)

Summary: All Arya wanted so to feel normal and go outside of the damn castle. Now, through a series of unfortunate, she’s stuck with a bodyguard that she accidentally flirted with: Gendry Waters.

AO3

A/N: what? two chapters in one week! well one is a joke chapter, we get productive. i'm only here for the laughs. xx and i did promise slam poetry so,.......

10:31pm - Arya: So, what youre saying is that you were awkward cause you could see through my blanket?

10:32pm - Gendry: dude, your nipples were showing through it, it was a turn on and then because incredibly awkward when your fucking mum walked in.

10:32pm - Arya: and everything else?

10:32pm - Gendry: fucked up universe keeping us apart, sorry

10:33pm - Arya: awwww you’re so cute when you’re desperate

10:33pm - Gendry: i don’t think you’re allowed to complain when you fucking yell at me in a hallway begging me for an answer for something i wasn’t intentionally doing

10:33pm - Arya: i stand by my reaction

10:33pm - Gendry: ok then

10:33pm - Arya: alright

10:35pm - Arya: soooooooooooooo

10:35pm - Arya: you still in the palace?

10:37pm - Gendry: You’re seriously horny right now?

10:37pm - Arya: aren’t you

10:38pm - Gendry: literally always, but i’m still in my meeting

10:38pm - Arya: i’ll send you nudes to keep your spirits up

10:42pm - Gendry: pls for the love of the gods, don’t, cause my spirits won’t be the only thing that’s up

Arya chew on her lip as she read over his name. His apology. His casual confession of love. And she beamed.

10:43pm - Gendry: can i see you later?

10:43pm - Arya: yes

~~~~

Bran wheeled up to the stage, a few stares and whispers as one of the wheels caught on the last step. In the end, the manager of the club and a few bystanders had to help him. It wasn’t embarrassing, just a little awkward to have three grown men fondling his chair and not him.

He had invited Arya, who happened to bring along Gendry - funny how her security followed her absolutely everywhere, but Bran wasn’t. He thought it may have been some ableist crap, but when he saw Arya’s hand on his wrist as Bran edged towards the mic it was clear what the real reason was. Also the hickey on his neck was a dead give away.

Bran cleared his throat and Arya and Gendry stopped speaking. The open mic night was his idea. Bran had worked up this plan for a while, knowing full well he could get away with it - but now he was here, and only confidence and determination ran through him. Chaos wheeling - if you will. He took a breath, then spoke into the mic.

“I’m a theology major, I can take confession, even with this wheelchair condition. My legs stopped working when the car flipped, now it seems like I’m the one that’s dicked. I make light of the frame that holds me, even when it’s the thing that has made me lonely. I smile and wave, even when no one thinks I’m gay. The wheels tend to avert the eyes, even when I wanna talk to guys. I hear sympathy from women across the world, but I can still make your world whirl. I don’t wanna talk about how the chair feels or what kind of drink I want with my meal - I’m a grown ass man, a man that just can’t stand. I’m filled with love and wanting, and I’m a fun guy that deserves some flaunting. I’m a theology major, I can take confession. And yes, to answer your question, my dick does work, and I have a suggestion. Either mind your business, apologise for the transgression. Or date me, I can still fuck, no repression, in succession, with or without discretion.”

When everyone was roaring with laughter, and Bran was helped from the stage, he wheeled over to Arya and Gendry’s table. They were trying hard to catch their breaths, hands on the ribs as they tried to form sentences.

“Your highness,” Gendry started before promptly bursting into laughter, patting Bran on the shoulder as he wheezed out another laugh.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I wanted everyone to know that I still fuck.”

The pair looked at each other before banging their hands on the table, the entire venue a stream of laughter. It made Bran happy.

The next day, Robb texted the group an article.

TO GROUP ‘The Ghost Fan Club (Jon fuck off)’

9:40am - Robb: “Prince Bran does the worst, most inappropriate poem at an open mic night”

9:40am - Robb: What the fuck did you do?

9:41am - Arya:

9:41am - Rickon: YOU FUCKING DIDN’T!!!!

9:41am - Sansa: i thought you were joking!

9:42am - Bran: I’m single, and the people deserve to know that my dick still works

9:42am - Jon: He’s right

9:43am - Davos: PRINCE BRAN - YOU DID NOT SAY THIS IN FRONT OF PEOPLE

9:43am - Arya: he said, and a quote ‘to answer your question, my dick does work’

9:44am - Davos: I might actually have a heart attack

9:44am - Rickon: HE NEEDS SOME MILK

9:45am - Davos: i think this is it for today. I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.

9:46am - Rickon: press f in the chat for a fallen brother

9:46am - Robb: oh...that’s cold davos

9:47am - Sansa: this year we lost our dear brother bran

9:47am - Bran: quit telling everyone i’m dead

9:48am - Sansa: sometimes i can still hear his voice

The Memes of the Royalest Kind @TheRoyalMemeFamily: The family portrait for the Stark siblings is FINALLY out!

@TheRoyalMemeFamily: they are dressed in traditional Winterfell garments - only the royals now wear them. And they stink.

RobbWinterfell: @TheRoyalMemeFamily how can this be a family portrait if i’m not there

TheRoyalMemeFamily: @RobbWinterfell ohhhhh…..you must be that imposter king. We know you’re related to the actor Richard Madden

Sansa Stark of Winterfell @PrincessSansa: also, the only reason Arya likes wearing this outfit is cause hers comes with a sword

@TheRoyalMemeFamily: @PrincessSansa can confirm this outfit was made for a child

@AryaStark: @TheRoyalMemeFamily @PrincessSansa still as sharp as a real sword

@wetbreadvevo: so...the fucking starks have been posting pics from their family photoshoot this entire time and no one has questioned it? What the fuck

3:14pm - Jon: hey, mate, you know Richard Madden in gonna be at this event night, right

3:15pm - Robb: fuck….are you serious?

3:16pm - Jon: yep, saw the guest list last night

3:17pm - Robb: *typing*

3:17pm - Jon: yes it’s too late to cancel

3:17pm - Robb: fuck

3:18pm - Robb: can we just avoid him the entire night?

3:18pm - Jon: I mean sure but it’ll be a bit rude

3:19pm - Robb: okay new plan, I’ll greet him at the event, but if you see anyone taking pictures, tackle them to the ground

3:19pm - Robb: I don’t need the girls finding photographic evidence that I’ve met him

3:20pm - Jon: you know that I know you’ve met him before right

3:20pm - Robb: yes...but the girls are gonna give me so much shit, especially if we look buddy-buddy in the photos

TO GROUP ‘The Ghost Fan Club (Jon fuck off)’

8:20am - Sansa: so

8:20am - Sansa: richard madden was at that even last night huh?

8:20am - Sansa: the fuck robb

8:21am - Robb: i’m very proud of my ability to ignore the man all evening

8:22am - Jon: he hid behind a plant at one stage

8:22am - Jon: yes, everyone noticed

8:23am - Bran: who’s the idiot now

8:24am - Arya: still you

8:25am - Bran:

The Memes of the Royalest Kind @TheRoyalMemeFamily: rare photo of Arya Stark growing up

TO GROUP ‘The Ghost Fan Club (Jon fuck off)’

2:11am - Bran: you guys

2:11am - Bran: anyone awake

2:12am - Arya: yes but i’m trying to sleep

2:13am - Bran: too late now fucknuts

2:14am - Bran: you ever think about davos hears the message alerts for this chat and just kinda….dies inside?

2:15am - Sansa: oh for sure

2:16am - Jon: I’ve seen his eyes close and pray for it

2:18am - Robb: once in a meeting, i swear i saw him almost throw his phone across the room cause you guys wouldn’t shut up and he doesn’t know how to mute his phone

2:20am - Rickon:

2:25am - Davos: i think this is how you kids say it

2:25am - Davos: mood

2:25am - Bran: DBIGIWEBGOUWR

2:25am - Arya: IUQWBIUBUIBUIBIUNOI

2:25am - Sansa: WTFFFFFFFFFFFF

2:25am - Jon: i’m fucking dreaming

2:25am - Rickon: I CAN’T BREATHE

2:25am - Robb: im

2:26am - Arya: WHAT IN THE WORLD IM LIVING

2:26am - Davos: go to bed

The Memes of the Royalest Kind @TheRoyalMemeFamily: a queen can party

@PrincessSansa: @TheRoyalMemeFamily we stan a legend

Mother of Dragons @QueenDany: @TheRoyalMemeFamily @PrincessSansa i seem to remember this was at least two bottles of wine in for you

@PrincessSansa: @QueenDany @TheRoyalMemeFamily pretty sure you were 4, but who was counting

@DailyMail: it’s highly inappropriate for a sitting monarch and other royal members to be out drinking and showcasing that online - read the article here

@QueenDany: @DailyMail

@PrincessSansa: @QueenDany @DailyMail

The Memes of the Royalest Kind@TheRoyalMemeFamily:Royal bodyguard spotted yet AGAIN with a different model

@TheRoyalMemeFamily: who is he

@PodrickPayne: @TheRoyalMemeFamily

Arya ‘Not Today’ Stark @AryaStark:

@JonSnow: @AryaStark 👀

@PrincessSansa: @AryaStark 👀

@RealBranStark: @AryaStark 👀

@RickonStark: @AryaStark 👀

@RobbWinterfell: @AryaStark 👀

@RickonStark:

@RickonStark: That’s it. That’s the tweet

8:29pm - Pod: so what youre saying is that i’m a chad?

8:29pm - Sansa: no a himbo is necessarily a chad

8:30pm - Pod: im more himbo than chad

8:31pm - Sansa: you can be a chad if you’re not a himbo but you can’t be a himbo if you’re not a chad

8:32pm - Gendry: you guys know this is the group chat right?

8:33pm - Sansa: now gendry is a chad

8:35pm - Gendry: low blow sansa

#gendrya #got fic #gendry x arya #arya x gendry #gendrya fic #my fics #chivalry fell on its sword

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kittensjonsa · 5 years

Text

Otherwise, Engaged

The Proposal AU (with a slight deviation from the actual movie)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

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Chapter 5

Jon had just turned sixteen when he received news of his parents' death. It was a car accident that took their lives instantaneously. He could still remember being called to the principal's office one sunny afternoon, sitting in that uncomfortable chair whilst the police officer broke the news to him.

He did not remember crying much but he did remember the people who came for the funeral, a good-sized turn out, paying their respects to Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. Everyone was cordial, kind and concerned. All he did was shake hands with them and telling them he was all right, and that he was getting the help needed. That was the only memory growing up that stayed with him, sad as it was, being around that many people who knew and loved his family. Jon loved his parents and they adored him that much he knew but being left alone and on his own, truly changed his world. He had to do everything himself, apart from the lawyers who helped with the estate, he had to figure out life on his own. It was difficult at first but soon enough, it became comfortable. His solitude became a sanctuary; a soft-padded cell he enjoyed retreating to and quite often.

But that was almost twenty years ago. A sad memory he associated with family. A social event he wished he didn't have to be a part of and since then Jon had grown accustomed to avoiding any large family gatherings or any gatherings at all. He grew comfortable living in a huge house alone, got through university alone somewhat breezily thanks to the lack of social distractions. He had the time to hone his writing, an outlet that healed him and thanks to it, eventually went on to be a reporter, the kind whose articles touched the outside world. And with that, surfaced a chance meeting with Jeor Mormont of the renowned Mormont & Sons Publishing, in whom Jon found his family.

Family, Jon thought. For fifteen years or so, it was word that rarely came to mind.

And now here I am. Jon watched as people stopped them to greet and hug Sansa as she made her way to the house. Jon could tell she was very much loved in Winterfell and it made him wonder why Sansa would want to leave all of this behind.

“So, you ready?” Sansa's voice broke through, waking him from deep thought. Jon afforded a smile and a shrug. “Here we go.”

“Hey, look who's here everybody!” the announcement was barely needed.

“Ahhhh! SANSA!!”

The collective squeals and shrieks of joy were deafening and perhaps startled him a little as Jon stood back and observed the throngs of people heading his direction and huddled around Sansa. Beloved Sansa.

“Oh my god! You're back!”

“It's been so long!”

“ You look amazing!”

“We missed you so much!”

The showers of love kept on coming for Sansa and though he was mostly invisible, which was understandable, Jon quite enjoyed watching as it all went on. Sansa took the time to hug every single one them and it occurred to him that he hadn't seen her entire family yet. Did it say anywhere in that file how many siblings she had? Jon made a mental note to remember these things. After all, it might turn up during the inquiry with the Immigration Department.

The excitement eventually subsided and Jon found himself face to face with a crowd of curious onlookers. Jon figured he probably looked out of place, with his formal suit on and not being recognised as someone from Winterfell.

Sansa was quick to pick up and as always, the well mannered lady she was, stood next to him as everyone gathered around them.

“Everyone, this is Jon. And Jon, this is everyone,” Sansa began with the introductions. Jon gave his best smile and shook hands with everybody. No mention of fiancé yet, he thought. Keep mum and follow her lead.

“Sansa?” a small boy peeked out from behind one of the guests. He had blue eyes and dark auburn locks just like Sansa.

“Hey buddy! Oh my god! I missed you! Look at you! You're so big now, Rickon!” Sansa swooned as she lifted the boy in her arms.

Another boy, this time brown-eyed with the same copper hair jumped in. “You're back, Sansa!”

Sansa gave them each a kiss on the forehead as they held on to her tightly. It was a lovely private moment Jon felt he wasn't privy to and his insides were twisting a little, reacting to emotions he had not experienced for a very long time.

Sansa wiped away a stray tear. “Hey guys, I want you to meet Jon.” She didn't have to, Jon thought.

Jon knelt down and extended his hand to them. Family. Her family.

“Hi guys. I'm Jon. What are your names?”

“I'm Rickon and he's Bran," the younger boy pointed to himself and Bran. “Are you Sansa's boyfriend?”

Jon had to laugh. He had skipped all of that when he fake-proposed to Sansa eighteen hours ago. “ Well, yeah I guess.”

Rickon made a face. “Eww.. don't kiss okay.”

“Rickon!” Sansa chided him. Jon guffawed. Nope, buddy. No kissing expected. Bran had his face in a palm, obviously embarrassed by Rickon's forthrightness. “Oh my god, Rickon! You can't just ask people stuff like that!”

Sansa giggled at the exchange. “They're my little brothers. Rickon is six and Bran is ten. They're just curious so don't mind them if they keep asking you questions.”

“That's all right. They can ask me anything,” Jon winked at them. For a moment, flashes of his own childhood came flooding back. I was once like them too.

“There she is.” A young man appeared squeezing himself in from the group, this time much older than the boys. He had the same blue eyes and auburn hair.

“Robbie! Lisa!” Sansa held out her arms once again, to him and the lady who accompanied. Sansa was beyond ecstatic having everyone she loved surrounding her.

“Oh my god..” Sansa gasped the moment she saw the noticeable bump on Talisa. “I'm going to be an aunt?”

Talisa nodded excitedly, stroking her belly. “Yep. To twins.”

Sansa sniffed, the tears were coming hard and fast. The welcoming party isn't so bad after all. I miss everyone so much.

“Congratulations,” Jon added . Then, he forgot they haven't been introduced.

“Oh hi.. you must be-”

“Jon. Pleasure,” Jon introduced himself to them.

“Nice to meet you Jon. I'm Rob and this is my wife, Talisa.”

“I'm guessing Sansa's older brother?”

“That obvious huh?” Robb chuckled.

“The eyes and the hair,” Jon smiled.

Sansa cleared her throat. She forgot for a second that Jon was here with her, and why. Rip the band aid. Do it.

“So, guys.. he's my fiance. S-surprise.”

There it is. Jon bit his lip.

The smiles on Robb and Talisa's faces dropped. Jon guessed that would be the general reaction to the news so he'd might as well get used to it and perhaps, practice his best ‘surprise fiancé’ face.

Sansa and Jon both grinned nervously, watching both Robb and Talisa slowly come round from their initial shock.

“I.. I heard from Dad about a guest but… well, this is news! Congratulations to you both,” Robb finally said. Talisa eyed them curiously, wearing a polite grin but leaned in to whisper to Robb.

Jon had to get used to that too for the next two days. Talk of the town.

“But we thought… Jon is.. kind of your boss?”

Bingo. Cue the Q&A. Sansa was about to face the firing squad and she hoped Jon had well-prepared answers like she did.

“Well, yes but you know.. things happen,” Sansa lied, shooting a warning glance at Jon.

“Right. Of course.” Robb and Talisa paused for them to continue.

Think of something.. quick!

“I guess all the late nights at the office, the weekends working together.. I mean, she was practically glued to me,” Jon quickly added, though it made things worse.

“So is that why you said you couldn't come this weekend, Sansa?” a voice called out from behind them. A lady with long dark red hair and fierce blue eyes approached them. She was beautiful and elegant. A lady of the house. It was unmistakable who she was and didn't take long for Jon to guess.

“Mom,” Sansa greeted her. Jon watched as the two of them hugged. It wasn't quite as warm as he had seen with the rest, and Jon noticed how Sansa pulled away almost immediately.

“You must be Jon. The boss she had been talking about lately.”

She made him nervous. Jon smiled and nodded, holding his hand out anyway.

“Well, I'm not surprised. I hope it has all been good.”

She eyed him up and down, the upturned corners of her mouth faded the moment she met his eyes. Jon regretted immediately just breathing in her presence.

“I'm just glad she decided to come. I guess you must be the one to thank then.. Jon, was it?”

“Jon, this is Catelyn, my mother,” the introduction by Sansa was unnecessary.

“But you may call me Mrs Stark,” Catelyn advised. Jon gulped.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs Stark. Y-you.. have a beautiful house.”

Catelyn looked around at the people from around town that she had invited for her father's eightieth and Sansa's long overdue homecoming. And here was Jon. A complete stranger who kept her beloved daughter away for far too long. Keeping her composure, she had promised Ned to be at her best behaviour, especially after he shared with her the shocking news. It wasn't the homecoming she was looking forward to.

“Thank you. Please do make yourself comfortable. Seeing you'll be joining us for the weekend.”

“Thank you… Mrs Stark.”

A chime of the doorbell and a cacophony of voices joining the fray caught Catelyn's attention, before she could continue. Saved by the bell, Jon watched as Catelyn gave Sansa and him a nod before greeting the guests who had just arrived.

If hell froze over, it would have been right at that moment, as Jon exhaled, a long breath he didn't realise he was holding.

“Interesting,” Jon remarked, giving Sansa a questioning look. Robb and Talisa were similarly reeling from the chilly encounter but deflected well, excusing themselves and shuttling the younger boys away from Sansa and Jon.

“Well, it's clear your mother doesn't like me very much. I wonder why,” Jon nudged Sansa into a quieter corner. “Is there something I should be warned about?”

“What do you mean?” Sansa bluffed.

“Okay so I haven't been the best boss, I know that but I am trying my best as I promised you. We're in this together so help me out here. What am I missing?”

Sansa couldn't look him in the eye. “She kinda hates your guts.”

Okay not really a surprise. “Because?”

Sansa groaned. “ Because! Well.. because I left Winterfell right after graduation and got a job in the city! And I then told her you were kind of a dick. That's why.”

Jon sighed. “Great. Just great.”

“Well, you asked.”

Sansa continued. “Since I left and started working for you, I haven't really visited home.”

Jon was confused. “And why didn't you? What has that got to do with me?”

Sansa stared at him in disbelief. Three years I have given to you. That's three long years I haven't seen my family. “I have not had any vacation days since I started working for you, just to jog your memory a bit. So yeah, she kind of blames you for taking me away from her.”

Oh. And him being here, as Sansa's fiancé was a slap in the face, Jon surmised. “Right. So.. there's no way to fix this?”

Sansa shook her head. She really didn't expect her mother to act out the way she had with Jon. But it was unavoidable, the tension brewing from day one, what with all the heaty exchanges on the phone with Catelyn demanding why Sansa hadn't resigned yet if she hated her job and boss so much. And now, imploded with Sansa returning home with him as her fiancé. Sansa was well aware how she herself had caused it but simply had no clue on how to fix it. She hadn't thought that far yet. All she wanted was to get through the weekend without the family drama.

“Sweetie, do you want to put your bags in your room?” Ned's soothing voice was just the escape both Jon and Sansa needed. Yes, they were tired, exhausted already from the charade and some time away from lying to people would be a welcome change of pace.

Jon followed Sansa upstairs where Ned, Robb and Talisa led them to their room for the night. Jon noticed there were many rooms in the large house, he had hoped it would be one with a comfortable bed at least. And as far away from the family as possible.

“Oh, my old room! You still kept it like before?” Sansa cooed as she dropped her bag on the floor. Her bed and the comfy couch were still in the same spot as was her desk and dresser. The posters were long gone and probably for the better but the nostalgia got the better of her.

“Yeah, Mom wanted to keep it in case you returned home. You know how she is. But anyways,” Robb said, draping his arm around Sansa's shoulder. “Welcome back, Sans.”

It was all very nice and warm to observe but Jon couldn't wait to see his room. Sansa's had a fantastic view of the snow capped hills that Winterfell seemed to have so many of and he didn't mind waking up to the same.

“This is nice. Well, I do hope mine is half as nice as this.”

Robb and Ned turned to him, puzzled at his statement. A nervous chuckle escaped Ned, as he scratched at his beard.

“Well, this is weird for me to say in front of my daughter but I am under no illusion that you two have shared a bed together. I mean we are all adults here, we can understand how two people engaged to each other sleep.”

Oh dear god. Jon and Sansa exchanged looks of horror.

“Besides there is only this room. The guest rooms are being renovated at the moment,” Ned added.

“Right.. okay.” Jon gave up.

Can today get any worse?

“The towels and sheets are in that cupboard over there if you need them. And, oh,” Talisa walked over to a wooden closet and took out a thickly folded hand made quilt.

“This should keep you warm in the cold Winterfell weather,” she smiled and handed it to Jon.

“Oh, lovely. Thank you so much.” It looked nice and comfy, just what he needed since he didn't quite pack proper sleep wear.

Talisa giggled, then whispered to Sansa and Jon as she pointed to the quilt. “That blanket is also sort of a Stark tradition. It's called the Baby Maker, you know.” Talisa cheekily pointed to her burgeoning baby bump.

Oh god, no. Jon flinched and tossed the blanket aside. “Well, we gotta be extra careful with that one, right there.”

Sansa was aghast. “Yeah, super extra careful.” Goodness.

“Right, okay we'll leave you two love birds to take a break. And umm.. maybe keep it down eh?” Ned joked awkwardly. It was disheartening to see his darling girl all grown up.

“Oh my god, Dad!”

“Okay, okay we're leaving,” Ned yielded as he made his way out.

“Do come down in a bit for snacks and say hi to the guests if you can. Seems they're all curious to meet you,” Robb suggested, giving Jon a wink and Sansa a kiss on the cheek.

Sansa and Jon watched as Ned and company left their room. Sansa quickly shut the door and locked it before anyone in her family barged in. In that room and only in that room were they Jon Snow, Editor-in-Chief and illegal immigrant and her, Sansa Stark, executive assistant and accomplice. Just two people brought together by a set of very strange circumstances and ill-thought decisions. The brevity of the situation wasn't lost on Sansa as there stood only one bed before them. Yeah.. nope.

“You're taking the couch.”

Jon groaned. He wanted the bed. If he had stayed at the hotel, he would've already been in bed now, all tucked in and snoring away. “This is not how I planned the weekend.”

“Well, too bad. Unless you want to all this to blow up in everyone's faces and we're found out because of your brilliant idea, we have to stay here, like it or not. In my old room. And no, I am not sharing my bed with you.”

Fair enough. Jon couldn't insist on taking the bed nor share it with Sansa. There were clear boundaries he had set for himself, unspoken but unquestionable. This was a fake engagement, they didn't have to actually share anything at all. Besides, Jon had slept in worse places before, recalling the futon from his old college dorm. Sansa's couch looked bigger than the futon and far more comfortable.

“Fine, take the bed.”

The rest of the evening was more of the same - Sansa and Jon introducing themselves to the rest of the people who were either neighbours or childhood friends. Winterfell seemed like a large town where the Starks knew everyone. Well, they are well to do, Jon understood that was expected. Catelyn was still giving him the cold shoulder and Jon found solace in playing UNO with Sansa's kid brothers at the kitchen table. Sansa was still catching up with everyone else and it was only right that she did, so Jon didn't want to intrude.

“Hey guys, think maybe it's time for bed?” Jon asked, seeing the large yawns that took over the boys. It was their fourth hand in the game and though Jon enjoyed their company immensely, he too was tired.

Rickon rubbed his sleepy eyes. “Okay but only if we play again tomorrow.”

“Promise,” Jon held out his fist for a bump. The boys waved good night and Jon drank the last of his juice as he compiled the cards into a neat deck. The house had gone quiet with the party guests gone, save for the quiet hum and rattling of dishes in the dishwasher. It was ten and high time for a hot shower and then crawl into bed. In Sansa's room. Great.

“Knock, knock. Everyone decent?” Jon had to make sure.

“Yeah,” Sansa answered. She was already dressed for bed and tucked in under her covers, scribbling thoughtfully on her notepad she had propped up on her knees.

“Whatcha doin?” Jon cringed. He had never made any small talk with Sansa before and it showed.

Sansa's eyes never left the notepad. “Just a script. Sort of I guess.”

“A script?” Jon took off his coat and hanged it neatly in the empty closet. Sansa obviously hadn't unpacked yet, seeing her bag was only half open.

“Yeah. I mean I have to say the right things when my family and people start asking questions. At breakfast, at dinner. We're going to be surrounded by family if you haven't noticed. Maybe you should do one too?”

“What's wrong with going with the flow?” Jon wondered. He thought today had gone pretty well, considering.

“Well, my mother for one and two, I'm really bad at lying if you can't tell already.”

Oh dear. Jon sighed as he removed his vest and unbuttoned his shirt. Though, a script didn't sound half bad. Charm might not work so much in the North.

“But I'm drawing blanks. I really don't know what they're going to ask,” Sansa tossed her pencil in frustration.

“Maybe it's best not to overthink it. Say what comes naturally. We'll figure it out when we get to it, okay?” Jon suggested. He didn't want to overact his part, he'd look and feel awkward and that would only make it worse. He needed to sell it and sell it right. Jon sighed as he pressed on his temples. His head was pounding from the amount of quick thinking and shrewd planning he did today. All he craved for now was a hot shower, to wash the day away stinking of lies.

The steam and the hot water did wonders in soothing the tense muscles he didn't realise he had. He was wound up so tight from all the interactions earlier than day that his shoulders and neck were as stiff as concrete. Can't wait to get into bed. No, Jon thought. Couch. Dammit. Jon didn't want to leave the shower but any longer he would've used up all the hot water in the house. I miss my bed.

“Umm Jon? What are you wearing?” Sansa narrowed her eyes at him as he came out of the bathroom. He felt the chill seep right through his bones. Note to self, buy pyjamas.

“ What? This is what I wear to bed.”

“Boxers? You're going to freeze in your sleep.”

Jon was fully aware and accepted his fate, that it could happen but he didn't have much of a choice now.

“Well, the idea was to have a nice warm bed all to myself in a hotel. But... here we are.” The cancellation was uncalled for but it wasn't her fault.

Jon glanced at the couch. Sansa had already placed pillows and a blanket for him but Jon had an inkling they wouldn't be enough to keep him warm. But he'd make do. One night down. “Good night Sansa.”

Sansa shrugged. “Good night Jon. Don't die on me, okay?”

Whatever. Jon ignored Sansa and rested his head on the pillow, pulling the sheets and blanket right up to his neck. He still felt cold but he would try to endure. Shutting his eyes, Jon counted to a hundred. It was a coping technique his grief therapist recommended, especially useful during uncomfortable situations and for whenever Jon needed to get his bearings. Also, he didn't want to think about dying frozen in his sleep, no thanks to Sansa.

Jon sighed as he reached sixty, his eyelids were getting heavier and the cold wasn't nipping at him so much now. As he gently drifted off to sleep, Jon made a wish, for warmer weather the next two days, the only remedy he'd ask for to get through the weekend.

Stay warm, stay warm.. stay warm.. must keep warm..

And indeed it was. Jon wriggled, his body welcoming a lovely warm sensation that enveloped his chest and legs. Slowly, it covered him more and more, causing Jon to stretch his arms as he adjusted himself, wallowing in the sudden warm, comfy bliss. It was so soft and cozy where he laid, pleased that the weather gods had heard his wish. Jon wanted to remain just like this for as long as he could.

“Mmmm..” A groan.

A rustle.

But Jon didn't move an inch. He didn't want to. Another groan heard and then the warmth he felt, shifted. Why is this couch moving?

Reluctantly, Jon opened his eyes, squinting as the bright rays broke through the crack in between the drapes and slowly came into his line of vision. Jon shut his eyes again. All he wanted to do was sleep in. It was the weekend, after all.

Weekend... Sansa.

“Oh my god!”

“Jon!”

“Why are you in my bed?!” Sansa shrieked.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #the proposal au #modern jonsa au #fave movies au #fic trope: only one bed #jonsa fic

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justanartsysideblog · 6 years

Note

I noticed that you love asoiaf like me and I love you writing , so I though I’d ask for you for one of the suggested prompts in your blog “Look at me - just breathe, okay?” For an asoiaf pairing, I love Jonrya but I totally understand it if it’s not your cup of tea and you would prefer doing another pairing :)

Hi fellow asoiaf buddy! I’m not the biggest fan of Jonrya as a romantic pairing, so I thought I’d write some familial bonding for them instead, I hope that’s alright! I set this in my arbitrary “Rhaenys, Jon, and Aegon are raised together” AU. Let the angst commence! Warnings for character death.

---

Jon is the quietest of his siblings; the youngest, the mostsomber, the palest. Sunburn is a constant companion to hischildhood, and no matter how much ointment his mother smears on him, it alwayswashes off in the Water Gardens. Or, sometimes, deliberately.

Jon wants to look like his siblings. He wants to belong.He wants to look properly Dornish, like his big sister Rhaenys, whom he followsaround like a lost puppy from the moment he can walk. Even Aegon, despite hisTargaryen hair and lighter complexion, still looks like a Martell.He hates that he is so obviously the odd one out, even if his siblings do nottreat him as such.

Withdrawn fits of melancholy are a gift of his late father,he learns. Another polarizing bit of personhood that has him standing on theoutside of his own family.

It isn’t until he’s a bit older that he realizes that hissiblings feel as separate as he does; because they’re not Martells either, justlike he’s not a Stark. They carry their mothers’ looks but their father’s name,all three.

Targaryen.

And while he doesn’t look Dornish, at least he doesn’t lookTargaryen. He remembers when he and Aegon were ten, and Rhaenys had helpedAegon dye his hair black as pitch, to hide the white legacy of their father; atemporary solution that had done little to hide the truth of his parentage. Heremembers the first time he saw Rhaenys practicing her spearwork with UncleOberyn, and saw the light shine off of deep violet eyes, and thought “thatis what a dragon looks like”.

When he’s twelve, it is deemed safe enough for his motherLyanna and himself to visit the North. He’s nervous, and more than a littleunsure of leaving his siblings behind; Aegon will write, at least, to keep himinformed, but Rhaenys might go on an adventure while he’sgone. What if she finally gets that boat Uncle Oberyn promised her and sails offto Old Valyria without him?

When they arrive at Winterfell, he meets his Uncle Ned forthe first time—second time, his mother reminds him. Eddard had come to Dorne secretlywhen he’d learned of Jon’s birth, to see his sister and her son and deemed itsafer for them to remain unknown in Dorne than face the wrath of his late friend, RobertBaratheon.

He is shorter than Jon thought he’d be, but he shares such asolemnity and sternness that Jon feels an instant kindred spirit. It eases theodd tightness in his chest, the part of him that thought he’d come here andthey would take one look at him and tell Lyanna to take her Targaryen childaway.

And then he meets his cousins.

Robb is wary of this newcomer to the fold; protective of hissiblings, every inch the eldest and the heir. A warrior, and a leader, andconfident in his place in a way that reminds Jon terribly of Rhaenys. Itdoesn’t take long for Robb and Theon Greyjoy to pull him into their antics.

Sansa is pretty, and polite, and curious about life inDorne, but she is too much a lady already to ask him about it.

Arya is not.

Arya, who everyone says looks like his mother did at herage, who has all her wildness (a wildness Jon had always thought the hallmarkof a Stark, with only his mother as an example before this). She latches on toJon the moment they arrive, and peppers him with questions while Bran andRickon clamber over Old Nan, and Sansa sits near the window with her embroideryand tries to look like she’s not listening intently.

“Does everyone in Dorne carry spears? Is it true that girlsget to wear pants? And that they get to fight? Why didn’t you bring Princess Rhaenyswith you?”

He learns early on that he’s playing second fiddle to hissister. But he’s twelve, and the opinion of a young rambunctious girl mattersless than that of the boys his age, so he doesn’t take it as personally as hewould otherwise. It still stings, in that way it always has, the idea that he’ssecond best and other.

But Arya’s curiosity never seems abated, and after a whileit turns toward him, and not his more infamous elder sister.

“Did you like living in Sunspear? Are they nice to youthere? Could you teach me to fight with a sword like yours? Are you going toleave us?”

The last line is a surprise, and a rush of fondness he’dnever felt for anyone but his mothers and siblings fills him like a warmsummer’s sun.

Arya’s rambunctiousness comes, he learns, from not beingtaken seriously by her siblings; brothers that placate and find her desire tobe a fighter a flight of fancy, and a sister she cannot relate to for lack ofsimilarities.

Jon likes it, that she comes to him, and even if Robb andTheon tease him mercilessly on the days he declines a hunt to show Arya how tostrengthen her sword-fighting stance, the look of adoration on Arya’s face morethan makes up for it.

“Have you ever seen someone die?” Arya asks one afternoon,as she sets her footing, grip tightening around the slender hilt of her newlysmithed sword. Needle, she’d named it, when he’d given it to her as a namedaypresent, “All good swords have names, you know.”

“No,” Jon answers, coming up behind her to fix her grip. Theclosest he can think of is when Aegon’s favorite pony had been bitten by avenomous snake, and Sir Arthur had put her down to save her from a slow andpainful death. He’d been young, but the sight of the life draining from hereyes had haunted him for several months.

“How do you kill a man, do you think?”

“Stick him with the pointy end, I imagine,” Jon jokes, towash the bitter memory away. He holds up his own training sword, and helps herthrough an exercise.

It doesn’t take long to find a place for him in Winterfell,to find his place as a Stark, a name that sticks itself in that safe haven againsthis ribs and runs through his blood like it was meant to be. And when thedirewolves are found and Robb hands the small, white, wiggling runt to him, hefinds it hurts a bit to breathe.

“The runt of a litter for the Targaryen,” Theon scoffs, butJon barely registers the jibe.

A direwolf, the sigil of the North. His in a way that no onecan deny. Ghost, he names him, and everyone thinks it’s for his fur. But he’sthe spirit of all the uncertainties Jon’s ever had about himself: buriedfinally, but still present; not fully laid to rest, but bearable.

---

Rhaenys and Aegon are insanely jealous when Jon returns toSunspear with him. Ghost spends most of his time in the Water Gardens, pantingin the shade or swimming in the water to cool down. Dornish weather does not agreewith him, and neither, Jon realizes, does it agree with him. Not anymore,at least. He’d always been weak to the heat, but it had been bearable. Now hefinds himself keeping Ghost company in the shade more often than not.

“You spent too much time in the North, you’ve been ruinedfor the sun,” Rhaenys jokes as she slides down next to him on the cool stonebench and idly scratches Ghost between his ears. Her voice is thoughtful andmore than a little worried, like she’s afraid something’s changed.

And it has, he knows, but not in the way she thinks. He’sfound another piece of himself in the North, a piece he’d needed; but it won’treplace the part of him that belongs with his brother and sister.

“Jon’s just grateful he found a place he can walk outsidewithout getting sunburnt,” Aegon quips, taking the spot on Jon’s otherside. “Our baby brother needs to embrace his strengths where he can.”

Rhaenys scoffs, and reaches over Jon’s head to hit Aegonwith a fond smile, and Jon finds a smile of his own stretching across his lips.He’d worried a bit himself, that he’d changed too much and that his siblingswouldn’t feel the same about him now that he’d become a Northerner in full.

But he knows he isn’t the only one that’s changed in theyear he’s been away. Both his siblings are taller, and confident in a way he envies;Rhaenys is seventeen now and looks more and more like their mother Elia witheach passing day, and Aegon, despite being only half a year older than Jon, isa head taller, willowy and more a Targaryen than either of his siblings inappearance.

He doesn’t dye his hair anymore, Jon thinks insurprise. Aegon catches his eye and fingers a lock of white hair with an oddlook that Jon can’t quite place. “My skin looks darker, when it’s thiscolor.” My skin looks more Dornish, is what he means, of course,and Jon can’t deny it, or fault him for wanting it that way.

His sister’s eyes are different too, but not in color.There’s something hollow behind them, a look that worries him.

Aegon tells him later, about a hidden blade in the night anda thwarted attempt on their sister’s life that had ended in the death of herfriend and lover, Teora Toland.

Jon remembers Teora vaguely: plump and shy and so unlike herelder sister who he’d found unnervingly beautiful at twelve, and even more sonow at thirteen. She’d had visions, his cousins the Sand Snakes claimed;prophecies, some whispered.

“Rhaenys killed the man that did it,” Aegon whispers. “No one knows how he got so close, to get into herbedroom. He didn’t know Teora would be there. If she hadn’t been...” He trailsoff, voice tight.

Jon swallows. He wasn’t there when his sister needed him,had been running around the North while Rhaenys had nearly died. Heknows he shouldn’t be grateful that Teora had died instead of her, but he is.He hopes it doesn’t make him a bad person.

He finds his sister the next morning, and asks her if she’dlike to talk about it. She tells him, in a voice so soft and full of grief hebarely recognizes it as her own, about Teora’s death; of her last, whisperedwords as the life had drained out of her in his sister’s arms.

“She had dreams, you know,” Rhaenys murmurs, staring down ather feet in the water. A few fish swim lazily around their ankles, as Jon waitsfor her to continue. “Some people called them prophecies. You know how Ihate that. Prophecies,” She gives a derisive scoff, and kicks herfoot, the fish darting back at the movement. “Father believed inprophecies and got himself killed because of it. People will do anything totwist the words of prophecy to truth, even if it means destroying what shouldhave been. But Jon...Jon she had one before she died. Told it to me, insteadof listening when I told her I loved her, and to hold on untilthe Maester arrived.”

His sister reaches a hand up, to scrub tears from hercheeks. “She never said it back. Just kept repeating her stupid, stupid dream.”

Jon holds her as she cries, and can’t help but wonder if thehollowness in his sister’s gaze would have lessened with three words, insteadof more of the promises of Targaryen greatness that they’ve been running fromsince birth.

---

Jon is fifteen, the next time he sees Arya. He’s walkingthrough the courtyard of his mother’s Sunspear palace when a shriek echoes soloud that even the howler monkeys in the orange trees nearby go silent, and ittakes a moment for him to realize it’s someone calling his name before he findshimself tackled to the ground.

Arya grins down at him, hair a wild, tangled mess of browncurls escaping a sloppily braided plait. “Father said I could come visityou!”

Jon tries to smile back, but Needle’s hilt is digging intohis ribs and he can’t find enough air in his lungs to greet her. It takes aminute or so for him to get to his feet and manage it, while Arya stands a fewfeet away with her hands behind her back, looking impish and only a littleguilty.

She’s grown; still shorter than him, with baby fat clingingto her cheeks and arms, but looking more like his mother than before. Morelike him. Before he can say anything else he hears a startledscream, and both he and Arya turn to the door as Arya’s face falls and she runsfor the arched hallway with a yell of, “Nymeria, I told you to staywith Robb!”

---

Arya becomes a quick favorite with his cousins the SandSnakes, particularly Nymeria, who finds her direwolf counterpart to be a properand worthy holder of the name. Arya seems both pleased and a little overwhelmedat all the attention she receives, and the sight of so many women wieldingweapons.

“Jon, how could you ever leave here? If I lived in DorneI’d never leave,” She gushes over dinner one evening, unableto keep her eyes off the dagger Nymeria had gifted her that afternoon.

His sisterhad been gone on a trip with Princess Arianna, surveying some of Dorne’s noblefamilies, but comes to see Lyanna and Jon’s honored guests the moment she’swashed the dust off her skin, dragging Aegon with her.

Arya had met Aegon days earlier, with little of thehero-worship she held for Rhaenys. “My sister would like you,” Arya hadtold him, as if it were the only compliment she could muster, and that onlybarely. Jon supposes that a well-spoken musician with a penchant for courtpolitics was of very little interest to a young girl that wanted nothing morethan to become a knight.

“I’ll take that as a sign that your sister has good taste,”Aegon had drawled, and had managed to earn Arya’s approval, if not affection,by the end of the evening through the telling of several embarrassing storiesat Jon’s expense.

The look of barely contained excitement on Arya’s face atthe sight of his sister is amusing to behold, even if it does make him a littlewistful for the days in Winterfell when she’d followed him like a shadow. By the end of the night he fears he’s no longer thefavorite, a title he hadn’t realized he’d coveted before.

“She’s different than what I expected,” Arya confides a fewdays later, after a training session with Rhaenys and the gift of awell-crafted spear that Arya is more than eager to begin practicing withimmediately. “She likes dresses.”

Jon can’t help laughing at that. “You can likefighting and dresses.”

“I guess,” Arya seems doubtful of that, and something in hertone eases the worry in Jon’s chest.

He’s still the favorite.

---

When the Dead rise, Jon and his siblings go to meet them onthe battlefield. Initially Aegon argues against it. (“Let the North dealwith the Dead, we have other battles to fight.”) And it’s true, with theirUncle Viserys posing a great threat in King’s Landing, and the debate overlegitimacy, and Rhaenys’ potential claim to the throne.

They know now, who sent the hired assassin in the night tokill her, who killed her heart instead.

But Jon is of the North just as much as he is of the South.His cousins are in danger, and wolves fight in packs. They need him, just ashis siblings need him. Arya needs him, and what kind of favorite cousin wouldhe be if he left her to fight the dead alone?

It is Rhaenys who makes the final decision. “We goNorth.”

Aegon’s eyes narrow, “I thought you hated prophecies.”

Rhaenys says nothing, but the look on her face is enough.Jon doesn’t know what Teora Toland told Rhaenys the night she died and hedoesn’t think anyone ever will.

His sister hates prophecies, he knows. But he thinks shemight still believe in them.

---

Arya is fifteenthe next time they meet, at Winterfell. Needle remains attached to her hip, butit is a larger blade she wields now, one fit for battling more than a singleopponent; white walkers do not duel, after all.

Wrapped in a cloak and surrounded by snow, Jon feels more athome than he ever has before. He feels badly for his siblings, who lookmiserable in the cold and out of their element.

The Northern Lords regardRhaenys and Aegon with caution; Jon may have Northern blood but they do not,and they look more Targaryen than he ever has.

Viserys has not made himself popular, and everyone rememberswhen Eddard Stark’s father and brother went to King’s Landing while the MadKing reigned.

Jon’s sister meets their gazes, unflinching, and if anyonedeigns to call her a Dornish whore, they do so in private. Jon hears about itthough; how Greatjon Umber called her sand rat, and of Robb setting Greywind looseupon him before Eddard called both son and wolf to heel.

If it weren’t for Lord Umber’s subsequent missing fingers,Jon knows he would have personally made the man pay for the insolence. And heknows despite it, he will need to keep an eye on Aegon, who does not forgivequite as easily and who is likely planning the man’s downfall should they allsurvive the winter.

---

“Rhaenys should be queen.” Arya stares out across the wall,eyes trained on the treeline. “Viserys isn’t here defending the North, but sheis.”

It is late, and Arya should be asleep, not prowlingWinterfell’s walls like one of the sentries. But she’d found him hiding fromslumber as well, and he cannot deny he could use the company. Her cheeks arered and chafed from the wind, and her eyes are red rimmed—frustrated tears,from a fruitless argument with her father on joining the armies heading to theWall.

“She should be queen,” Arya repeats, looking straight ahead.

Jon thinks about his sister, sitting with Lord Eddard and Robband the Northern Lords, pouring over battle plans—wrapped in a mountain of fursbecause the North is cold and it is not in her blood, but she believes sheowes these people her aid nonetheless.

“She should,” Jon agrees. “But no one will be rulinganything if we’re all dead.”

Arya shoots him an impish grin, warmth returning to her face,“Do you think she’ll let me be a member of her queensguard?”

---

“You are not supposed to be here.”

Jon has never heard Robb yell, but he thinks now mightpossibly be the first. Barely checked fury is etched into the line of his jaw,and the thinness of his lips as he presses them together to keep from shouting.

Arya stares at him defiantly, Nymeria at her side and swordin hand; armed and armored and every inch a warrior. “I can fight.”

“You are needed at Winterfell,” Robb seethes, “I am sendingyou back, before father discovers you’ve arrived—”

The door opens, and Lord Eddard himself walks into the hallwith Rhaenys and Night Commander Mormont. Arya involuntarily blanches as herfather’s gaze lands on her, and his frown deepens.

“Arya.”

“Father, I…” She swallows. “I deserve to fight for myself.”

The room is silent, but Jon can see the look in his uncle’seyes. Eddard is not going to allow Arya to fight; he’s going to send her home,to Winterfell. Obara and Nymeria exchange looks with Rhaenys, and Jon knowswhat they’re all thinking. Let her fight.

Jon doesn’t want her to fight. He wants to her to remainsafe in Winterfell with his mothers and Aunt Catlyn and Sansa. He wantseveryone he loves to remain safe. But if no one fights, they’ll all die. Andeven if he doesn’t want his little cousin to do so, he has no right to denyher.

Jon takes a step forward. “Uncle, Arya deserves to choose for herself.”

Robb lets out a strangled curse, and Eddard turns toward Jonwith that same solemn expression. It is Rhaenys who steps in to break thetension, laying a hand on Jon’s shoulder; an anchor. “My brother is right, LordStark. If we do not all fight, then we will all perish.”

Lord Eddard says nothing more, but the look he gives Jontells him all he wishes to know. The world is too cruel and violent for LordStark to protect his daughters…and he has run out of the strength to makehimself believe he can.

---

Jon soon forgets what it was like to have a good night’ssleep. He wakes in the darkness to the sound of wolf howls and is unsure if itis night or day. The sun rarely seems to shine on the wall, and the heavyblanket of snow and frost blocks out what meager sunlight may have existed.

His siblings huddle together for warmth and it reminds himof simpler times, when he and Aegon would slip into Rhaenys’ room after anightmare, or all three would go to find their mothers after a telltale bump inthe night had them scurrying for safety (often after an evening of frightening stories from Princess Arianna and Nymeria Sand). He remembers beingcurled up together in Rhaenys’ bedroom in Sunspear, with the sound of the windwhistling past the open window.

Now the three huddle beneath fur, the air cold and sharp andsapping away any warmth that escapes. There is comfort, in the steady presenceof others in the night, even if one of them is often called away for a meeting,or to the wall.

The battles are…nightmarish. It is difficult to find rest atall, after setting eyes on the undead. There are thousands upon thousands ofthem, and no matter how many the army of the living destroys, their numbersnever wane.

When their own fall they are burned, so that the bodies donot rise against them the next morning. The air is thick with smoke. It is ablessing that the cold hides the smell of rot, but it cannot hide the smell ofburnt flesh.

Arya knocks on the door to the siblings’ room one night, withthe telltale signs of a nightmare only moments passed. She stands in thedoorway, unsure, gaze trained on the floor; her expression is determined,because Arya dislikes showing weakness more than anything.

If she went to her father or brother for comfort, they wouldtake it as a sign of her resolve crumbling; they would order her to return toWinterfell. And so it is Jon she comes to, in her moment of weakness, becauseJon understands.

Jon glances back at his siblings; Aegon’s only response isto sigh and shift a bit on the bed to make room, while Rhaenys gives a nod, andasks Arya if she’d like to sleep with them for the night.

It becomes routine, after that, to wake in the darkness to findArya slipping into bed with them, and even if Aegon grumbles about less room tostretch his legs, no one asks her to leave.

Some nights she and Jon lay awake, whispered conversations eatingup the silence and lessening the fear of the day to come, or to speak of thefallen. Jon does not like to tally how many have died, both those he knew andthose he did not, but it helps Arya to speak of them.

“Thank you Jon,” She whispers one night, half asleep. In thefading light of the dying fire in the hearth, Jon can see the outline of herface, eyes shining like coals.

He reaches out a hand and ruffles her hair, like he’d done somany years ago. “Goodnight, Arya.”

---

It happens so quickly.

She doesn’t make a sound, when the spear goes through herstomach, but the whoosh of air through her parted lips seems to echo across thebattlefield.

Nymeria lets out an ear-splitting howl; the sound chills himto the bone, as the other wolves join in, Ghost among them.

Jon drops to his knees beside her, the roar of the battlemuffled around him, like he’s trapped underwater and everything else is abovethe surface; everything but him and Arya, who looks up at him with wide eyesand blood bubbling up from her lips.

She doesn’t say anything—can’tsay anything, it comes out as a cough, and more blood flecks against hisbreastplate. Her mouth is forming words, his name, he thinks. Jon. Jon.

She’s afraid, as she fumbles for his hand, fingers slippingon ice-covered steel, but he grabs it before it falls to the ground. “Look atme,” Jon pleads, holding her hand so tight he’s certain he can hear the bonessnapping, “Just breathe, ok?”

She nods, but he can see it, see the light dimming in hereyes, like the life fading from Aegon’s favorite mare. No no no, this is Arya. This is his cousin. His littlecousin who is supposed to grow up and become a knight and be in his sister’squeensguard.

He wonders how Teora Toland could have told Rhaenys a prophecyas she lay dying, when Arya can’t even say his name. She tries again, breathcoming out as soft whistle, blood frothing at the corners of her mouth. Jon, her mouth forms the word, but itnever makes it past her lips.

“Just breathe,” Jon repeats, looking around for help, foranyone that can fix this. Nymeriawhines, circling them both.

She’s dying. Aryais going to die. His little cousin, who wanted nothing more than to proveherself just as good as her brothers. Arya, who followed him like a ducklingaround Winterfell. Arya, the first person to ask him to make him feel like hewas allowed to be a Stark.

The tears on his cheeks have frozen by the time his brotherand sister drag him off the battlefield, still clutching Arya’s body.

---

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it anon.

#filled prompt #angst prompt #asoiaf #jon snow #arya stark #game of thrones #got #a song of ice and fire #rhaenys targaryen #aegon targaryen #warning: character death #Anonymous #cinn replies

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everythingjonsa · 7 years

Note

Can you write a long, dramatic fiction in s8 about Jon as Jon who is in love(!)with Daenerys in the beginning,having sex with Sansa while he was drunk and doesn't fell anything for her (yet) and then Sansa becomes pregnant and he wants the baby as his and Daenerys' baby but Sansa doesn't give her son to him .

LOL!! I’m not good at writing fiction but for your sake I’m going to give this a try with a modern au twist.

READ THE WHOLE CHAPTER HERE

“EDD, you’ve not yet sent me this bookstore lady’s name and details..” Jon Snow, barked into his mobile phone irritably “How am I supposed to convince the lady to sell her store to me, if I don’t even know her name?”

EDD mumbled something about messaging him the details and Jon cut the phone as he entered the store with a huff. The store was bigger than he’d expected it to be. As Jon looked around, he realized that the book shop was so tastefully decorated that he almost felt bad that he was going to have to arm twist the owner into selling the shop to him. But he knew it had to be done. He had bought all the three blocks adjacent to this shop for his new Hotel project and he needed to buy this store because it was facing the road and occupied a prime position. He was going to have to offer this woman a deal she couldn’t refuse.

Jon straightened the jacket of his steel gray suit and ran his hand over his curls which were tightly secured in a man bun of sorts. Jon pretended to look through the collection of books until Sam sent him all the details. He paused when he saw the Harry Potter series and a sense of nostalgia washed over him. He picked up the first book in the series, Harry Potter and the philosopher’s stone and many memories that were kept hidden on purpose, threatened to come back to him.

“Why do you like Harry Potter?”

Jon was so taken aback by the sudden small voice that seemed to come out of nowhere that he almost dropped the book he was holding. A girl of probably four or five was staring up at him with icy blue eyes from a little pink chair that she was sitting on. Jon cleared his throat and looked around to see if the parent of the child was around but it looked like the child was sitting there all by herself. So Jon grabbed a bean bag that was lying nearby and sat down next to the little girl.

“I like Harry Potter, because it’s the story of an ordinary boy doing extraordinary things!” Jon replied almost tempted to extremely tempted to ruffle the girl’s curly mop of black hair which looked so much like his when he was a child.

“What is extraordinary?” The girl asked with a slight pout that reminded him so much of a girl he once knew.

“Well the dictionary meaning of ….” Jon started to say but caught himself when he realised to whom he was trying to explain this to. He smiled slightly as he saw the little angel’s pout change into a brood, which looked pretty much like his own childhood broody pictures. He remembered Catelyn Stark’s words. “You brood too much, Jon Snow” He crossed his arms and leaned forward slightly. “Well, extraordinary means when you do something that no one thinks you could’ve ever done.”

The little girl’s brain seemed to process this information. She imitated Jon’s stance folding her hands and leaning towards him. “Have you done anything extraordinary?”

Jon wondered how he was going to answer her question. He had started from scratch with the Angel investment Ned Stark had made in his company six years ago. He had taken his hotel business venture to new heights. Forbes magazine had listed him under one of the top hundred successful young entrepreneurs in the world. He cleared his throat. “I’ve built a few hotels.. ummm… so I guess, I’ve done a few extraordinary things” He replied to the girl who was watching him with great concentration, not knowing how to answer her.

“My uncle can turn me into an airplane and make me fly!” The girl stated with obvious pride in her uncle’s skills and Jon instantly broke into a grin. “I think that’s very extraordinary.” continued the little girl.

“And what about your Dad?” Jon asked without giving a second thought but knew he had made a mistake when her face fell.

“I don’t have a Daddy.” the girl looked like she was close to tears. “Mummy says she’ll tell me about him when I’m older” Then her face lifted a bit “But I have three uncles, four Aunts and Grandma and Grandpa and six cousins. We’re a big family.” Her face fell a little again “But sometimes I wish I could call Uncle Robb “Daddy” just like Sarah and Ben do.”

The mention of an ‘Uncle Robb’ did various things to Jon’s heart which he was not willing to explore at the moment. He’d lost touch with the only family that was truly ever his because of one single mistake that he had unknowingly committed. But he’d always sent Christmas cards to their family home but never got a single one from them. Five years had gone by and he missed them every single day. He never had a father, just like this little girl and his heart went out to her. His palm automatically went to cup her cheek.

“What’s your name, darling?”

He asked her wondering if it was strange that he thought he could see so much resemblance between her and his childhood photos. It had to be the hair, he told himself. All kids with a dark mop of curly hair look similar.

“Lyanna ” said the girl and Jon had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The girl cheerfully continued “But you can call me Lya. That’s what Mummy and everyone in my family call me. I’m named after my grandmother.”

Jon heaved a sigh of relief. The girl’s grandmother was called Lyanna. It had nothing to do with his mother’s name. The girl said she had a grandpa and a grandma. His mother was long dead. Jon smiled at the girl. “So what does your Grandpa call your Grandma, if both of you have the same names.”

“He calls her Cat!” Lyanna looked at Jon incredulously as though he was thick-headed or something and Jon felt like all his breath was sucked out of his lungs but Lyanna continued talking. “My Grandma is called Catelyn, my ‘grandmother’ is called Lyanna and no one gets confused because Grandma Lyanna is in heaven. She doesn’t come to visit us.”

Jon was now gritting his teeth to keep the anger that was exploding inside him under check. There was still a good possibility that he was over thinking this. “So, you have an Uncle Robb, an Aunt Arya, an Uncle Bran, an Uncle Rickon, a Grandpa Ned and a grandma Cat?”

Lyanna looked at him suspiciously, “How do you know all their names?” She asked him frowning down at him looking very similar to her mother, he suspected. Just then his phone beeped. EDD had sent him a message.

“Her name is Sansa Stark. She’s 27, unmarried and a single parent.”

Jon kept staring at his phone unable to move a muscle aware that the little girl next to him probably thought he was mad and it was not going to earn him a first good impression if he was what he thought he was to her. So he smiled and sweetly asked her the last question that he thought was necessary. “How old are you, Love?”

“I’m four.” She asked inching her chair away from him and he instantly regretted the coolness of his voice. The math unfortunately fit perfectly in his calculations and once again Jon felt like he was being hurled down a cliff.

His phone beeped again and brought him out of his trance. EDD had sent him another message.

“Ummm… Is this ‘your’ Sansa Stark?”

Jon shut his eyes in an attempt to get a reign over the various emotions that were raging within him. EDD sent him another message and this time he practically growled but he read it anyway.

“You’re so fucked buddy”

Hope you enjoyed reading this!! I’m sorry if it was Blah!!!

#jonsa #jon snow #my post #my ficlets #Sansa Stark #modern au

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queenofairandsnarkness · 7 years

Text

friends and family discount

(or, five times Jon’s friends and family just couldn’t let him hog the spotlight)

one.

“Hey, Rhae, you fucked up the grocery shopping,” Aegon said, peeking into her room. Since Asha wasn’t in there, and nothing seemed to be soldering, he looked relieved.

Then the pillow went flying at his head.

“I’ve done dad’s grocery shopping lists since I was ten,” she grumbled, not looking up from her math homework. “If you and Duck want more pizza bagels, put them on the list and I’ll budget it. Or,” she said, sweetly enough he debated slamming the door and running for Jersey, “you can take over the groceries.”

“I got stuck with laundry,” Aegon said, crossing his arms. “ I wash your bras, I shouldn’t have to know my sister’s cup size.”

“Being fair, Edmure was the one who spilled the beans on that one,” Rhaenys pointed out. “Which is why I dumped him, which is why he is failing precalc. And Dad still knows none of this, so no worries.”

“But seriously, we ran out of bread, those soup things dad likes, crackers, milk, and I think we’re almost out of Chex,” he said.

Rhaenys wrinkled her nose. “I just bought a box three days ago, though. Did you or Jon have a sleepover?”

“Guys don’t...” he gave up. “No, King Mopey is giving everyone the silent treatment since Lyanna decided to go with that volunteer group for hurricane relief.”

“We knew it was coming,” Rhaenys said, closing her book. Which, true. Generally, while Dad and Lyanna were weirdly infatuated, once the throwing things stage of their relationship started... Lyanna found an excuse to bolt for a few weeks, clear her head, and restart the cycle. It was enough to make Aegon wish Mom had full custody. “I’ll talk to him.”

Aegon followed her as they went down to Jon’s room.

Do we knock? he asked. She shook her head and flung the door open.

Aegon blinked. There was Sam Tarly, one of Jon’s friends who Aegon vaguely knew from sharing an AP class. The kid was a bit of a genius- not Sarella-smart, but smart. He was talking to a pretty pale girl with wavy brown hair and a very obvious pregnant belly.

Jon was looking at Rhaenys and Aegon in horror. “I told you we’d get caught.”

“What happened?” Rhaenys asked, striding in as if her pajama bottoms didn’t have snakes wearing sunglasses on them. “Don’t lie, it’ll make my cover story suck.”

The three looked at each other. Aegon, happy that he wasn’t the one in trouble for doing something stupid this time, grabbed the goldfish crackers and offered them to the girl.

“I...” Jon opened and closed his mouth a few times, and Aegon tried to land a goldfish in his mouth.

The girl tried to hide a laugh as Jon glared at him. Which was good, because he was pretty sure that she wasn’t supposed to be that pale and underfed-looking, and was that a bruise on her wrist?

Eventually the tale came out, about Craster and his farm out in the boonies, how Jon and his buddies had gone out there to drive ATVs, and dragged Sam along. How Sam had met Gilly, who was the girl. And the creepy, creepy, even for Targaryens level of shit going on in the farm. Very Deliverance, he could practically hear the dueling banjos and Uncle Oberyn discussing criminal charges. And that Sam was afraid to shelter Gilly at his house, so Jon wanted to get his Uncle Ned’s help.

Aegon wanted to ask about Sam’s dad, who was some bigwig with the state cops, but he could hear the panic in Sam’s brain whenever his dad was mentioned. And asking their Dad was out of the question- Lyanna would have helped. She would have been a blunt instrument and with about as much delicacy as Jon showed, but she would have helped.

Dad... might have given Gilly a guest bedroom, and refused to make any sort of fuss until she left without a ripple. Some of it, Mom said, was growing up with Granddad Barbecue. It left scars and fears Dad didn’t like to admit existed.

Still, dick moves were made.

“Night classes tonight, so I’ll make dinner,” Rhaenys said. “For all of us- Sam, can you stay for a night or two?”

“I-I-I, um, yes?” Sam blinked, and really, Tarly wasn’t doing too badly when confronted by Rhaenys in all her plotting glory. (Or, as far as Aegon could tell, being a teenage boy and in the same room as Rhae.) “I think he’ll let me stay.”

“Does anyone have any allergies or anything?” she asked. They shook their heads. “Good, good, give me an hour. Gilly, we can talk about what you want to do, and making sure you have stuff.” She went out, ignoring the baffled silence.

She popped her head back in a moment later. “Next time, Jon, use your words.”

two.

“Jon,” his sister said, tilting her head slowly. “Do you have a crush on Satin?”

“I don’t!” he said, and it was a bit embarrassing how his voice squeaked.

She shook her head. “Sweetie, it’s okay. I am speaking from experience, here, your mother doesn’t care, and Dad wouldn’t notice if you were getting him off on the dinner table.” She paused. “Er, Aegon, would, though, so don’t... don’t do that. Not that Aegon would be an asshole, but...”

“It would be rude?” he managed. Rhaenys was almost as bad as Grams or Sansa about being rude. He suspected it had to do with being oldest. Or maybe trying to make up for the family crazy.

“Exactly,” she said, finally. “If it would be rude at my mother’s table, don’t do it. And you totally do- you kept talking about his hair, and his hands, and how he arranged his homework, and got more gushy then Dany did about that rock star she went to go see in concert last year.”

“I didn’t,” he said, but maybe... okay, a little. But it was true! And people were actually rude to Satin about it, and his name, and Jon had maybe gotten into one or two fights about it.

But he’d done the same for Sam, and even Gilly.

(And Sansa, last year, but Rhaenys had heard about that incident, went dead grey, and called her uncles. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened with the Lannisters, but Sansa was friends with Elia Sand now, and Joffrey didn’t go to school in town any more. Or live in town.)

“It’s okay,” she said again. “I’m not going to tease you. Been there, remember? Me and Asha? Boys, girls, people who don’t care to label?” She frowned, sitting on the bed next to him. “Your mom should be home tomorrow, right?”

“That’s why your heading back to your mom,” Jon pointed out. Rhaenys had come back from college for a bit before heading to summer classes so she could finish a semester early for some internship.

“We don’t like each other, it isn’t your fault,” Rhaenys said, absently. “But still, talk to her. She’ll...” She paused. “I’m trying not to insult anyone...”

“Mom will go over the top trying to support me?” Jon said, grinning.

“Little bit,” Rhaenys said. “She got me cake. For the family. The whole Targaryen family. Remember that?”

Jon snorted. Grams had tried to be nice- or forcibly oblivious. Dany had been thoughtful in a way that didn’t bode well for Gram’s white hairs. Vis had been a nightmare, but he and Rhae hated each other.

Dad had actually yelled, and Rhae looked like someone told her Santa did exist.

Though, really...

Maybe Rhae should give this talk to Sansa. In a year or two.

three.

“Seriously, I don’t think...” Sansa bit her lip, and looked from Robb to Jon. “Do you really think Uncle Ben is missing?”

“Has anyone heard from him in the past...” Robb frowned.

“Not since Christmas,” Jon admitted. “He visited Mom and me before taking us to Winterfell.”

Sansa looked at the remnants of Robb’s graduation party.

Uncle Ned had been worried by Uncle Ben not showing up- Mom too, when she blew into town and realized that no one had heard from him.

It wasn’t like Uncle Ben- he went out of town, or on Search and Rescue missions, or whatever, but he always had a rough estimate of when he was coming back, and he never failed to check in.

“What can we do?” Robb asked.

“I can have Sam...” Jon made a typing gesture. “Maybe see if we can find out where Uncle Ben was heading last?”

“And I could find out from Mom what they think is going on,” Sansa said, nodding.

“And I’ll...” Robb frowned. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Keep Rickon and Arya from doing anything too stupid,” Sansa said, nodding to herself.

Which worked, a bit- Sam found out that Uncle Benjen was near the Thousand Islands, and that no one had heard from him, no credit card activity had been made, and that Uncle Ned had filed a missing persons report.

Bran, of all people, found him, after he went missing two Halloweens after and Rhaenys’ new friend Stephen the “actual wizard, yes, no jokes Aegon”, brought him home.

four.

“I don’t understand what I’m doing here,” Jon said, frowning at his drink. Not that he was drinking it, despite Tyrion downing three of them already.

Tyrion also had a much better head for booze.

“Well, I needed someone pretty and sure to piss off my father and sister,” Tyrion said. “Also, not boring, but so far you aren’t exactly hitting that mark.”

“Why didn’t you invite my sister?” Jon frowned, a horrible suspicion dawning. “Tyrion, did you get drunk and insult Rhae again?”

“I didn’t insult her! Merely... complemented her,” Tyrion said, into his drink. “Not many people have tits you want to burrow into like that. Or the hair. Very pull-worthy, especially since the length means I can reach it so easily. Or the lips. There are very naughty things a man could imagine...”

“Please stop, Rhaenys will murder you,” Jon said. “Or I’ll be sick.”

“Smothering will be good,” Tyrion grinned. “Please.”

“Autopsy while you are still breathing is more likely,” Jon pointed out. “I’m still not sure if she was joking when she said they used garden shears to cut the ribs. But you could have invited Dany. She would have insulted everyone for you.”

“Your aunt terrifies me. And I am perfectly capable of doing my own insults, thank you,” Tyrion said. “For instance, my sister, despite her professed hatred of hypocrisy, seems determined to match both myself and her esteemed husband for drinks.”

Jon looked at Cersei, then frowned. “Is she covering up a black eye?”

Tyrion frowned. “Robert wouldn’t dare.”

Jon gave him a look. The look said that Robert Baratheon had come to Lyanna Stark to throw stones at her window and beg her to leave Rhaegar when he was going to marry Cersei in the morning.

He was totally that stupid and cruel.

“Jaime will kill him,” Tyrion groaned. “Lovely, now I have to go save my family, for the reward of insults and... more insults. Care to swap?”

“Still not getting in my sister’s pants,” Jon said, firmly.

five.

“I feel like we should be having some fun with this,” Jon said, watching as his sister perched against the desk and spoke with the clearly exhausted man.

“When is the last time you slept- relative time for you, not calendar time for me, sweetling,” Rhaenys said, with the sword-grin she got from Elia.

“...Ah, that would be a bit complicated,” Strange admitted with a smile. “Can I just say Tuesday?”

“Get some rest, then. Perhaps eat a banana, I just picked some up,” she said. “I could travel to visit Auntie Mel with the bags under your eyes right now.”

She ruffled his hair, and Arya, Sansa, and Aegon watched as Rhaenys completely forgot the meaning of the term personal space. Which, as Sansa had pointed out before, he did too. It was a bit annoying, finding them talking into each other like that.

“Betting pool?” Aegon offered. “Starting with Dad’s reaction?”

Sansa gave him a withering look. “Have they realized it, yet?”

Jon’s answering smile had last been seen when he’d pranked Viserys over the Great Naming Incident two years ago, when Viserys resembled a bald, mulberry colored Smurf. “No.”

“I feel this is a girl thing, to be left to girls, people with girl hair, and scary knife people,” Aegon said. “Also people not afraid of getting turned into newts.”

“I don’t think he can turn people into newts,” Sansa said, biting her lip.

“How much do you think we can trick Robb and Theon into betting?” Arya asked, slowly. “Or Lannister?”

They all looked at her.

Aegon grinned evilly.

Somehow, Arya won the betting pool, taking home four hundred dollars, a Modcloth gift card, a bottle of glittery wine, and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs.

Jon would have pouted, but he really wasn’t sure where the handcuffs came from.

#i write stuff

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nyangibun · 7 years

Text

Little Wolf: Part VII

@jonsa-countdown – I am so sorry this is so late!!

PART VII: BROKEN HEARTS

Arya didn’t look well. If anything, she looked worse than she did at the funeral, which didn’t seem possible to Sansa. But her sister was in a bad state. Even if Arya didn’t say anything, Sansa could tell. They hadn’t always been close in their younger years, but as they got older, it was easier to relate to Arya in a way she couldn’t at thirteen or fourteen. And she knew her sister felt the same way too.

Sansa placed the mug of tea in front of her and went to sit on the opposite sofa. She readjusted Chloe so the girl was sitting on her lap. “I’m not going to ask,” she started gently. “But you’re allowed to be broken. And there’s no time limit on how long you should feel that way. Just remember I’m here for you. Okay?”

There was a heavy sigh then a soft thud when Arya’s head met the back of the chair. “I know, Sans.” For a few seconds, that seemed to be all her sister was willing to talk about, but then she sighed again. “I’m worried about Rickon.”

This was news to Sansa. She still saw her family as often as she could, but with caring full-time for Chloe and writing part-time for a local women’s magazine, she was sad to say she didn’t see them nearly as much these days. If there was something happening with Rickon, it made sense she wouldn’t know about it, even if that knowledge hurt.

“What’s going on?”

Arya met her eyes. “Mum says he’s barely home. He’s always out and stays past curfew and he won’t talk to me or Bran about it.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me about this?” Sansa asked, frowning. Since they were kids, she had always doted on Rickon. They were close, or had been up until Robb’s death – and maybe this was her fault. She’d been so caught up with her own grief, she hadn’t stopped to consider anyone else’s.

“Because we didn’t want you to worry,” her sister said firmly. “You’re already doing so much here with Chloe. You didn’t need the extra burden.”

Sansa’s frown turned dark. “Burden? He’s my brother too, Arya. I deserve to know these things!”

Her sudden mood change caused Chloe to abandon her musing over Sansa’s hair. She began tapping on Sansa’s cheeks, which had become her new favourite way of communicating as of late. Sansa inhaled deeply and looked down. “I’m okay, sweet girl. Don’t worry.” Chloe let out a string of incoherent sounds and tapped Sansa’s cheeks again.

“It’s funny,” Arya said, a hint of a smile in her voice. “When I heard the will, I thought this was going to be a bad idea for everyone. You’re only twenty-five and Jon didn’t even live in Scotland at the time. Probably didn’t help you both weren’t speaking for some stupid reason.” She chuckled then, and shook her head. “But if I were to see you three on the streets now, I would really think you guys were a family. Chloe even looks like you two.”

“We are a family,” she responded, smiling back. “Chloe is – I’ve always loved her. She’s my first niece. But now, it’s like – I can’t explain it, Arya. It’s like waking up one day and realising what your life is really about, and for me now, it’s her. If she’s happy and safe, I’ll be okay.”

“I’m glad you have that.” Her sister leaned back with her mug and took a long sip. “I know it couldn’t have been easy in the beginning… I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help out. I just couldn’t…”

Sansa’s arms tightened around Chloe and she nodded. “I know.”

“How’s Jon?”

“He’s doing well,” she answered, realising that that really was true. Since their conversation a little over a month ago now, things between them had settled into a familiar rhythm. It almost felt like how they used to be. Only with a child together. “Summer’s a busy time for him. More hikers in the area now, so he’s been pulling a lot of late night shifts at the station.”

“Right… And you two are still okay?” Her sister looked sceptical, but then she probably had every right to be. Arya had been there when Sansa found out Jon wasn’t coming back, that his casual trip to see his estranged father had turned permanent, and although her sister still didn’t know exactly what had transpired between them, she knew Sansa losing Jon like that had felt like the worst kind of betrayal.

“We’re as good as we can be,” Sansa answered diplomatically. There wasn’t much else for her to say on the matter. Or wanted to say.

Arya evidently felt differently because she snorted and rolled her eyes. “Tell the truth, Sans. Lying in front of a baby is probably bad karma or something.”

“What exactly am I lying about?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that you two are in love but are too dumb to realise it and now you’re raising a kid together.” Arya smirked and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s some next level romcom sh - rubbish.”

With Chloe nearly one-year-old now, they were becoming more and more careful about the words they said around her. They didn’t want her first word to be a swear word, even if it would’ve made Robb extremely amused, but Margaery would come back from the grave to smack Sansa if it did happen.

“Jon and I are friends and only that.” What she may have wanted was buried beneath a pile of rubble from a past life. Sansa had new priorities, and she was happy to simply be friends with him again.

“Okay, sure, and Bran isn’t secretly in love with Meera,” Arya said, smirking. “Honestly, what is up with my family and being totally inept at dating? When I realised I liked Gendry, I just kissed him.”

“That’s not fair,” Sansa said. “Gendry told you he liked you.”

Arya shrugged. “And you could tell Jon you like him.”

“It’s not that simple. Besides, it was a long time ago.” Sansa averted her gaze and focused on Chloe, as she lied through her teeth. “I don’t think I even feel that way anymore. It was just a stupid crush.”

“What stupid crush?”

“Um…” Sansa stared wide-eyed at her sister, wondering how she had missed Jon coming home from work.

“Sansa’s stupid crush on Nick Carter when we were younger,” Arya supplied with a twinkling smile.

Jon’s laughter sounded closer than she had expected, and she turned just in time to see him bend his head and place a kiss on Chloe’s forehead. He caught her eyes as he moved away. “Hi,” he murmured softly. Sansa’s heart sped up like it was trying to break free from inside of her to reach him. “Hi,” she said, and hoped she didn’t sound as affected as she was. “Are you hungry?”

He shook his head. “No, Sans. You cooked last night. It’s my turn; just relax.” Jon straightened. “Arya, you staying for tea?”

“Nah. Gendry and I are going out,” her sister said as she pushed herself up from the sofa. “I only came over to help plan the little one’s birthday party.” Arya rounded the coffee table to come pluck Chloe from Sansa’s arms. “I can’t believe she’s going to be a year old in a couple of weeks.”

“I know,” Jon exhaled. His smile was brilliant and so breathtakingly affectionate. “Our lil’ wolf is getting old.”

Watching Jon and Arya make faces at little Chloe, a feeling of serene joy washed over her. Life may have taken an abrupt turn, taking chunks of her heart and stomping on it, but things were finally beginning to feel okay again. They were Starks after all, and as long as they were together, they would survive.

The next morning, Sansa texted Rickon to come over for lunch. It took a lot of convincing, but after bribing him with whatever pizza he wanted to order, she finally managed to squeeze a little sibling bonding time with her youngest brother. She didn’t want to corner him; she figured he’d had enough of that for their mum, but Sansa was worried.

“You can stay, you know?” Sansa told Jon as he was milling around the kitchen with Chloe in one arm and a carton of milk in the other. He looked over and shook his head. She sighed. “Jon, it’s not like you don’t know Rickon. I know you and Robb got him drunk last year.”

He coloured. “Figured his first time drinking would be better with us.”

“You really think that that was Rickon’s first time drinking?” She chuckled, patting his arm in a placating manner. “Was your first time drinking at seventeen?”

“No.”

“Then there you go,” she said. “Rickon takes after you both. Now if you had said Bran, that’d be a little more believable.”

Jon sighed. He placed the carton of milk on the counter so he could lift Chloe to eye level. “Listen here, lil’ wolf. You are not drinking ever. Do you understand?” She blew raspberries at him then poked his nose. “Okay, I think she gets it.”

She shook her head, laughing at them both.

Rickon arrived about a quarter past twelve just a few minutes before the pizza did. As a growing eighteen-year-old, he knocked back three slices in the span of five minutes. It was truly impressive, but hardly surprising. Robb and Bran had been the same way. Arya as well. She supposed the surprising thing was how Sansa managed to survive in a household of ravenous wolves.

She hoped Chloe had their appetite though.

“Easy, buddy,” Jon chuckled. He was settled on the sofa beside Sansa, bouncing a happy Chloe on his lap as she clutched onto her bottle. She was glad she was able to convince him to stay with them. Maybe if Jon was around, Rickon would be more willing to talk. “The pizza isn’t going anywhere.”

Rickon rolled his eyes and spoke around a mouthful of food, “I’m hungry. Shoot me.”

The quiet laughter filled the room with ease and familiarity. If Sansa tried really hard, she could almost pretend Robb and Margaery were in the kitchen arguing about one thing or another. Gendry, Arya and Bran would be on their way after having picked their mother up. All would be well again. But that was a dream she could no longer afford to entertain for too long. Her family was broken and Sansa was determined to fix it.

“Rickon,” Sansa started, lasting all of twenty minutes before finally caving. “What’s going on with you?”

He froze, his fingers tightening around his glass. A deep scowl so unfitting for his still childish features settled on his face. “What is this, an intervention? Why can’t you guys just leave me alone?”

“We’re worried about you,” she emphasised. “We just want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine, happy?” Rickon spat out. “Everything’s bloody fine.”

“Rickon…”

“No, you know what?” Her brother stood up. “I’m not fine and I’m sick of you guys expecting me to be, okay? I’m sorry I can’t just move on and play house like you two and pretend Robb didn’t just die five months ago!”

He kicked the coffee table in frustration. The sound jolted Chloe and her lip began to wobble. Sansa quickly tried to diffuse the situation. “Rickon, we’re not saying that. No one’s pretending that didn’t happen.”

“Really? Because that’s not what it looks like,” he said, pointedly looking at Jon and Chloe. “What are you doing anyways, Sansa? Do you think living with Jon is going to make Chloe forget she lost her parents? That’s not far on Robb and Margaery!”

Anger unfurled swiftly, and Sansa stood up too. “Do you think it doesn’t hurt me! Do you really think that lowly of me? That I don’t give a crap about my own brother?”

“I –”

“No, you don’t get to come into my house and insult me and Jon like that! You don’t get to –”

The raised voices had clearly upset Chloe, as she began to cry. But it wasn’t the sound of her wailing that truly broke her heart. It was when she reached out her hands for Sansa and screamed, “mama!”

Jon’s eyes widened and Sansa felt her strength crumble around her.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Real nice, Sans,” Rickon snorted before the door slammed behind him as he walked out.

Sansa fell back onto the sofa and took the still-crying baby into her arms. She kissed her forehead. “I’m here, darling girl. I’m right here.” But even she could hear how weak her own voice was; how wrecked hearing Robb’s daughter call her ‘mama’ made her. Jon wrapped his arms around them and Sansa leaned into his touch, placing her head on his chest, as she continued to soothe away Chloe’s tears.

“We’re both here for you, ‘lil wolf.”

“Mama,” she murmured again.

Sansa inclined her head up to look at Jon, as if for confirmation, but she wasn’t sure what she was asking of him. To his credit, he nodded anyways, and then pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She exhaled slowly. “Yeah, Chloe. Mama’s here.”

#jonsacountdown #jonsa #jon x sansa #jon snow #sansa stark #game of thrones #jonsa fic #jonsa countdown #little wolf fic #so late #im so sorry #my fics #long post #also not my best idt #sigh #day 7 prompt

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