#eruhwrites

The truth of Jon’s birth has both given and stolen from him the greatest thing he has ever known. “Your Grace,” he says with a nod to Sansa, intending to allow her to dismiss him. “No,” she says, louder and firmer than she has spoken thus far. Then, softly, “Please. I am not your queen in this moment.”

The end of the war means the end of them, and of the secret moments Jon and Sansa have stolen since reuniting.

The ringing grows louder, louder. Then it is silenced. He hears nothing for a second, a day, an hour, until her voice disrupts the deadly quiet. Fly away, my love

Separated by war, Jon and Sansa fight to survive and find a way back to each other. (A WWII-era, magic AU)

Read Fear what you found on ao3.

A sigh escapes Sansa's mouth as she cedes to him. That spurs Jon on, helps him bury the ghastly visions in the corners of his mind. It would be foolish to languish in the past when he and Sansa have a room and a bed all to themselves for the first time in years.

As the Starks depart the Eyrie for the North, Jon and Sansa work to reignite the intimacy that used to exist so easily between them.

Read Set a fire to our sorrow on AO3.

When they were children, Sansa smiled and held her head high because that is what ladies do. Now, every look or gesture has a purpose. So when Jon sees the intensity of the face she wears, he expects her to march him off to an alcove or their solar to sing her song. Instead, she passes him a slip of parchment and disappears from the room without a word. He unfolds the note and stares down at her familiar writing. Come to the godswood tonight, it reads.

A heavier set of footsteps cut through the sound. They stop abruptly somewhere behind her, sending a cold chill tingling down Sansa’s spine. Slowly, she straightens and turns around. Jon Snow stands in front of her, hair a mess under his direwolves cap, an unkempt beard across his face, and his mouth set in a hard line.

Sansa and Jon have been running from the past, separately, for more than a decade. But there are some things that can’t be outrun forever.

“Did you kill your father?” Jon asks. For the briefest moment, something flashes to life in Alayne’s eyes, but then it is gone. “Did you kill your king?” she bites back.

Jon arrives in the Vale to treat with Petyr Baelish; instead, he finds himself looking into an eerily familiar pair of eyes.

Read What could never be on AO3.

The wind beats against the tent. Sansa shudders, then begins to sing again, the words spilling out of her mouth and into the cold air of her and Brienne’s shelter. As if answering her song, a wolf howl rises above the wind that blasts through the frozen hills and wraps around the tent like an icy blanket. A ghost wolf, heard but unseen, she thinks.

After Brienne frees her from the Vale, Sansa sets them on a course north to the Wall, to Jon Snow.

Read A howl, a song on the wind (two-shot, 13k words) on AO3.

Jon looks down at his hands and shirt. No blood. He made sure of it earlier, but he had to check. Sansa shouldn’t ever see him like that. Stepping around the corner and into the kitchen, he is greeted by the sight of her in front of the stove, singing and swaying in her cotton, blue-flowered dress. The flowers are forget-me-nots, he thinks. Fitting.

The making of a life sometimes involves the ending of one—or of four.