#dailyjonsa

With Jon dead and Bran refusing to accept responsiblity as Lord of Winterfell, Daenerys named Sansa Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North and in exchange for Sansa’s and the north’s support, loyalty and allegiance, swore that as long as she was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the North would have it’s independence with Sansa sat at it’s head. The only thing she asked of Sansa was that she marry a man of Daenerys’ choosing, which although caused Sansa some amount of distress, she agreed to trusting that Daenerys, as a woman herself, would not subjugate her to a cruel and unloving husband.  

Sansa had no doubt that Daenerys’ kindness and civility was due to her love for Jon, but for that, Sansa could not complain. Not so long ago Sansa would’ve imagined all her dreams to have come true had she been given what she’s been given, but Daenerys’ generosity and promises mean little to her with Jon dead. 

Though the war is over, the devastation of it isn’t and now they must all live with the consequences. For Sansa, the biggest of those is Jon’s loss. She always knew there was a risk he’d fall in battle, yet when she received the raven that it had happened she was in utter disbelief and denial. 

When she said goodbye to him that raining, grizzly day three months ago, it wasn’t forever it was only for a while. She expected to see him again and now she is tormented by all the things she should of said but never did. 

The grief is too much for her to bear. She only manages to get through the days by delving into her duties as Lady of Winterfell and in the moments she’s alone she keeps herself busy with her needlework. 

Arya spends her days and nights in the woods hunting and sparring, her grief coming out in the form of anger. And Bran is indifferent, more concerned with his destiny as the Three Eyed Raven than the death of his own brother. 

In a way Sansa envies him for feeling no pain, because for her, pain is all she has. It’s a constant weight bearing down on her chest that grows heavier each day. Her nights are filled with nightmares and she’s often woken by the sounds of her own howls of pain or Ghost’s. 

Brienne is always close by and does all she can to soothe Sansa’s ills, but knows there is only a limit to what she can heal when it comes to matters of the heart. In many ways, Ghost has become Sansa’s most cherished and loving companion. He is the one reminder she has of Jon and silly though it may seem, she feels he understands her grief perhaps better than anyone. 

Stray tears fall from Sansa’s eyes onto her stitching and she hastily wipes them from her cheeks. Though she cries like this every evening, she refuses to wallow in her self pity and grief, and so has scarcely shed more than a few silent tears each night. 

For the longest while Sansa never dared think of the future. When she was kept prisoner at King’s Landing and tortured by Ramsay, it took all her strength just to survive each day. But when she found Jon she dared to dream again and to plan her future. When Arya and Bran found their way home she dreamed of the three of them and Jon living out the rest of their days in Winterfell. She always knew it was a fantasy, one that would never have been allowed to happen in this world, but she hoped and prayed for it. 

But that’s lost forever, as is Jon. And she’s so full of regret, so woeful and bitter. She lost all those that she loved too soon - Lady, her father, her mother, Robb - and now Jon. Yet Jon’s death feels so much more different than when she lost the other members of her family. 

It took her a while to understand why but once she let go of her stubborn denial she realised her emotions over losing him to death are so different because her emotions towards him in life were so different. She didn’t love him the way she loved her other brothers - Robb, Bran and Rickon - she yearned from him in a way that was un-sisterly. She still does. 

But it was more than just a yearning. In the months he was away at Dragonstone and in battle her body physically ached to be parted from him, when he was near she   felt a fiery pit of passion in her belly, her mind was consumed with thoughts of him both when she was with him and away from him. She ignored it, suppressed it, denied it and did everything she could to pretend it didn’t exist, but all her resolve left her when Jon died and now all she can do is feel it. 

“Oh, Jon,” a quiet sob comes from deep in her throat and her body shudders. 

Suddenly a gust sweeps through her solar causing the candles to blow out and the flames of the fire to frantically swirl creating a mini tornado. Ghost jerks awake and begins to growl quietly, his red eyes glistening in the darkness. Sansa jumps up from her seat to look to the windows expecting one of them to burst open, but they’re closed. 

Sansa feels chills course throughout her entire body and she pulls her robe tighter around her body, just as a thick cloud of fog starts to fill the room. Confused and afraid, Sansa dashes for the door calling for Ghost to follow her, but he remains rooted on the spot. 

“Ghost, come!” Sansa demands unwilling to leave him. 

He remains frozen and though she can’t see him clearly through the fog, his red eyes seem to be fixated on something. Though she can’t explain why, Sansa feels compelled to stay, trusting Ghost’s instincts and unwillingness to leave. 

As the fog begins to lift Sansa hears a familiar voice calling her name. It’s faint at first, barely a whisper, but the hairs on her body stand on end. She’s recongise that voice anywhere. 

“J--J--Jon?” she chokes out.

Then she sees him. It knocks all of the wind out of her and takes all the strength she has not to collapse to the floor on her knees. She blinks her eyes rapidly, convinced this is an hallucination or vivid dream brought on by the lack of sleep she’s been having these passing weeks. 

“Sansa.” 

It’s his voice. It sounds just like him. Looks like him too, but he’s fainter and slightly transparent. Ghost reacts to him and attempts to nuzzle into him, but his head goes straight through him. 

“This--this cannot be real,” Sansa says shaking her head. “I’m only seeing you because I want to. This is not real.” 

Sansa closes her eyes firmly shut and Jon says, “You and I stopped believing in magic long ago. At least in the kind of magic that granted wishes and made dreams come true, but in this instance perhaps it is true. Because I’m here, Sansa. You wished me here and now I am.” 

“But you--you fell. The Night King killed you.” 

“Aye, he did. Do you remember those stories Old Nan told us as children? The ones about the spirits of Winterfell? That each year on the eve of October 31st spirits returned to earth for just one day. Remember how afraid you and Bran were? You slept in mine and Robb’s chambers for a week.” 

Sansa recalls the memory with a fond smile, then comes back to the present. “So you’re a...spirit?” 

He nods. 

“But Jon, those stories that Old Nan told us...they were untrue. They were make believe.” 

“I’m afraid not. The dead exist just as the living do, we merely exist on different planes. Today, the veil between those planes is thin allowing us to pass over back to the living.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. All that matters is I’m here and you can see me.” 

As Sansa comes to realise that Jon is right and it doesn’t matter how or why he is here, just that he is here, she walks towards him and gasps Jon’s name, tears welling up in her eyes. 

“Oh, Jon. I’ve missed you so.” 

“And I you.” 

“There’s so much I have to tell you, so much I want to stay...I...I don’t know where to begin.” 

“Arya and Bran...how are they?” he asks. 

Sansa hangs her head. “Arya is...I don’t really know where she is. She won’t speak to me and is gone from the castle most of the day. When she is here she can scarcely look me in the eye. And Bran is Bran. I...I don’t know who he is any more.”

Jon sighs. “All will be well with time, I swear it.” 

Sansa wishes she could believe that. “Did you--? Did you feel pain?” 

It’s a question that has plagued Sansa’s heart since she learned of his demise and she doesn’t think she could bear it if he did. 

“To begin with, but not at the end. I was at peace because I knew the Night King was defeated. I watched as his blue eyes turned black and he crumbled to dust. I watched as all the other dead turned to nothing.” 

“You died a hero. It’s because of you that the war was won. It’s because of you that Winterfell is still standing and the world has survived long enough to be rebuilt. I only wish you were here to see it.” 

“So do I. And Daenerys, is she queen?” 

Sansa nods. “She executed Cersei and reclaimed the throne.” 

“What of Winterfell?” 

“She named me Lady of Winterfell and Warden in the North.” 

Jon beams. “I knew she would do no wrong by you should I fall.” 

“She’s been very gracious and kind, though she is still in mourning.” 

The topic of Daenerys is one they have swiftly avoided on numerous occasions, but Sansa senses that this is the one time they shan’t. 

“Did you truly love her?” Sansa doesn’t care that her question reveals the truth of her feelings without her having explicitly confessing them. 

“I did.” 

Sansa feels her heart sink in her chest. 

“But not how she loved me. Truth be told I...I loved another.” 

Sansa’s breath catches in her throat. “Another?” 

“Though I didn’t realise it, I think she was the one that truly had my heart.” 

“Who--who was she?” 

“Don’t you know?” he asks. Even in the dim light, Sansa can see his eyes as clear as though he were truly alive and standing before her. They’re as dark as night and intensely fixated on her. “It’s you.” 

Sansa stands motionless and when she finally absorbs his words a strange noise erupts from her that is somewhere between a giggle and sob. 

“I...I didn’t know,” she says breathlessly. “I didn’t know what was in my heart until it was too late. I only knew the moment I read the words on that scroll and knew you were dead.” 

A river of tears is streaming down Sansa’s face and were Jon solid, he would step forward and brush them from her face with his fingers. 

“Please, do not weep,” he pleads, disliking to see her in such anguish. “How could we know? We believed we were brother and sister for the longest time. How could we understand that what we were feeling wasn’t wrong?” 

Sansa shakes her head. “I’m so sorry,” she weeps. And she is. She’s sorry that he’s dead, she’s sorry for letting him die without ever telling him how much she loves him, she’s sorry for not being able to trade her life for his. 

“I was happy to lay down my life if it meant defeating the dead, you know that better than anyone. I died knowing you would be safe. That Arya and Bran would be safe. Winterfell too. I would die a thousand times over to ensure that.” 

Though he knows it’s useless he reaches his hand out and it hovers mere centimeters from her face. It catches Sansa off-guard and seeing him up so close causes goose pimples to erupt over her body. 

He’s Jon, but he’s not. There’s no warmth radiating from where his hand is hovering over her skin, no scent of smoke and earth and metal in his curls. Seeing him but not being able to feel him is a different form of torture than not seeing him at all. 

He sighs. “Were I alive I would kiss you.” 

Sansa closes her eyes and imagines the sweetness of his lips against hers and practically collapses forward. There are so many missed touches, kisses and gazes that she will never again get to share with him and the thought is unbearable. 

“I wish I could stay.” 

“What?” Sansa’s eyes fly open. “No, no, no. You can’t go. It’s been such a short while that you’ve been here.”

“It is almost midnight, when the veil returns. There is nothing I can do.”

“So you’ll just disappear as though you never existed?” 

He nods. 

“No,” Sansa bites her lip to stop herself crying out. “You were resurrected once before, you can be again. I can--”

“No,” Jon says firmly. “I once told Melisande that if I fell I didn’t want her to bring me back. I stand by what I said.” 

“But it’s so unfair.” 

“So is the world. Sansa...this was everything I could’ve dreamed and more. There are so few that have this chance. To look upon your face once more, to tell you of my love...I know now that I can be at peace.” 

“What of me? What of my peace?” Sansa knows it’s selfish, but all she can think of is that in a few moments he will be gone again and she will be without him. 

“You will find it. You’re so strong, Sansa. You’re a worthy queen and you will be a loving wife and mother.” 

The thought of marrying another man is unthinkable and she shakes her head. “I just want you, Arya, Bran and I to be together. Always. I don’t want to marry another.”

“You will,” he says with a firmness. “Anyone that meets you can do nothing but love you.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“I love you, Sansa.” 

With those words Sansa truly knows that this is goodbye. Ghost stands up and goes to Jon, sensing it too. 

“Take care of her, boy,” Jon says to him. 

Sansa can barely see him through her tear filled eyes. 

“I love you,” she cries out. It’s the first time she’s said those words to anyone and she never expected she’d say them to Jon of all people. But then again, she never expected to love anyone with such intensity and emotion. “I love you,” she says again. “I love you, Jon.” 

The wind returns and faster than he appeared, he is gone. Ghost quietly yelps mournfully and Sansa reaches her hand out to where Jon stood only moments ago, the only thing there now being air. 

Shuddering sobs wrack her body and this time she’s in so much agony that she simply drops to the ground on her knees. Ghost immediately comes to her and she grabs onto his fur, burying her face in him and soaking him with her tears.