#jonsa-creatives

Sansa had sighed, but taken it in stride. She'd been looking forward to the trip. The Wintertown pumpkin patch was full of her Halloween favorites - apple cider doughnuts, pumpkin picking, pony rides for the children who'd shout with joy.

Sansa had been one of those little girls once. Each year, until she was too old, she’d ridden a beautiful black pony she'd named Belle. She'd pretended she was an autumn queen and Belle was her loyal mare. Her father and her mother had smiled at her. The picture Robb had snapped of her patting Belle’s mane was tacked to her vanity mirror in her bedroom. Her mother and father had even indulged her in the gift shop, buying her a crown of fabric autumn leaves for her hair.

That was the Halloween Sansa loved - the changing of the seasons, the beauty of the leaves, the crisp fall air, the joy people took in being cozy and warm as the cold crept into town. Wintertown pumpkin patch meant all of those things to Sansa.

Wintertown pumpkin patch had changed with the times, however. The business needed to bring in more revenue, and now it was home to the "most terrifying" haunted house in the state, Fright Fest. Sansa had read the reviews of Fright Fest, hoping to see something like "it's got a few ghosts, but it's safe enough for the kids.”

Instead, patrons described it as "scarring" and "a bad idea for anyone under sixteen." More than one visitor gave the haunted house zero stars. Those reviews claimed that Fright Fest went too far, and "swept you up in the plot of a horror movie that you can't escape."

Joffrey, naturally, had been thrilled.

Now, as they pulled into the Wintertown parking lot, Joffrey was trying Sansa’s last nerve.

He argued with the parking attendant about being forced to park his Lexus in the mud. The apple orchard was in the middle of a field, and all of the spots were in the mud. Sansa fought to keep from rolling her eyes. She gazed up at the orchard’s trees and reveled in the movement of the leaves on the wind.

Joffrey grabbed her wrist, harder than he needed to. She stifled a whimper.

“Quit embarrassing me. Just....stop mooning over trees and let's get this over with.”

Get this over with . Sansa felt a flash of hope. She loved this apple orchard. She’d loved it since she was a child. If she could change Joffrey’s mind about what he wanted to do today...

"You're right about your father’s car, Joffrey," she said, giving him a bright smile. You shouldn’t have to endure getting mud all over the tires.”

She took a deep breath and pulled out another one of the strategies she used to appease him. “The staff here are rude, maybe they don’t deserve our business.” She winced inwardly as she said it. Her parents had brought her up to believe that everyone deserved to be approached with dignity and respect - especially people who weren’t in a position to object to bad treatment.

Joffrey's expression darkened, and Sansa knew she'd been too bold.

“This is my car, not my father's car.  He's practically given it to me, Joffrey snapped. “Besides we can't leave now, Sansa.” A sharp, predatory smile sprung to his lips, "We haven't been to the Fright Fest. And I know how much you've been looking forward to it.”

Sansa trembled. She hated haunted houses. She’d been frightened by them ever since she and her siblings had been children. Robb and Arya and Bran had tricked her into believing a ghost lived in the basement of the Winterfell mansion. They’d apologized, and Sansa had long since forgiven them, but the damage had been done.

Sansa did her best to calm the pounding of her heart as she and Joffrey paid their entry fee. Joffrey hustled her past the hayrides and pumpkin picking patch to the "main attraction" of the Fright Fest house. Sansa shrank back as the gloomy building loomed over her. The speakers blasted awful sounds - keening and wailing of lost souls. Worst of all, the speakers sometimes burst with a shrieking that stopped Sansa in her tracks.

That was it, the exact scream Sansa’s mother had made in Sansa's dream.

“Come on, stop stalling, let's go.” Joffrey practically shoved little kids out of the way to get to the entrance. The building was encrusted with gruesome rubber masks.  Snarling gargoyles covered the facade. Bloody handprints stained the ground, as if the victims had been crawling away after being slashed to pieces--

“Miss, are you all right?”

Sansa blinked, and slowly took in the young man staffing the door. She'd expected him to be dressed in full monster regalia.

Instead he wore farmer's overalls, and a worn blue shirt. He carried a plastic pumpkin full of candy, and his nametag read "Jon."

“Great, you got us stopped by the kiddie chaperone,” Joffrey snarled. He glared at Jon as he pushed Sansa towards the dark, cavernous entrance. “She's fine.”

Jon's eyes flashed. He put his hand on Joffrey's chest. Jon didn’t seem to push him, but Joffrey stopped dead in his tracks as if Jon's arm was made of granite.

“She's hyperventilating.” Jon was speaking to Joffrey, but Jon’s gaze was all for her.

Sansa flushed. “I'm - I'm fine, really l, he's right, I'm too scared for my own good, I'll, I won't cause trouble I promise--”

Jon was right, it was hard for her to breathe, and she trailed off.

Joffrey couldn't muscle his way past Jon. He stepped up the insults instead. “She's twenty two, not six.”

“We had someone faint in here earlier today,” Jon said firmly. “Big strong lad, built like a tank, passed out cold on the floor.”

Some of the cunning slipped back into Joffrey's voice. “Well too bad for that guy, sounds like a loser…”

Jon pulled the two of them aside, allowing other customers to enter. Sansa glanced over to her left and saw Jon's coworker, a slender man with the name Satin on his tag, taking tickets.

“Look mate, this place is designed to trigger the fight/flight/freeze reflex,” Jon said to Joffrey.

The gods had blessed Joffrey with an overabundance of wealth, but intelligence was another matter. "What?"

Jon sighed. “A ghost pops out, you punch someone, you run, or your feet get stuck to the floor.”

Joffrey grinned and tightened his grip on Sansa’s arm. “Oh she'll try to run, I'm sure, but I'll drag her through it. Doesn't she need to learn to face her fears?”

Joffrey might as well have said she's worthless, a child, she disgusts me, and I’ll scare her so badly she'll be ashamed to ever complain about this sort of thing again.

Jon looked Sansa up and down. Usually when guys gave her the once over her skin crawled, but the kindness in his eyes helped her relax.

Jon shook his head. "She doesn't need to face anything, not unless she wants to."

Sansa stood up straighter.

The corner of Jon's mouth quirked. “Besides, she's not going to run. She's a fighter."

“You've got to be kidding me,” Joffrey said.

Jon shrugged. “Had a martial arts instructor come through yesterday. Black belt. Teaches over at Citadel University. Helped me start out in judo."

Sansa gasped. "Brienne?" Brienne was an old friend of the family. Sansa’s father had invited Brienne over for dinner often. Sansa admired how steely Brienne’s demeanor could be, how well she carried herself. I’m nothing like her , Sansa thought.

Jon nodded. “That's her. Clocked Pyp right in the face. She came through during my break. Satin's new at this, he let her in. I never would have. Can’t have our staff getting hurt."

Joffrey scoffed. “You're telling me Sansa Stark, Ned Stark’s sweet eldest daughter, who cries when kittens get hurt on TV, is a fighter?"

“That's exactly what I'm telling you,” Jon said evenly.

He turned back to Sansa. “It's in the eyes,” he said softly. “That look. It's unmistakable.” Jon was speaking directly to her now. Everything else faded away as she got lost in his gaze.

“She's going to fight her way through this,” he murmured. Sansa wasn’t sure they were still talking about the haunted house. “She's going to break loose, the next time she's scared.”

Jon turned back to Joffrey.  “And if you're not careful, the person she punches could be you.” Sansa could have sworn Jon was growling.

When Joffrey spoke again he sounded shaken. "Whatever, just let us in.”

Jon stepped between Joffrey and Sansa. Sansa took a full, deep breath for the first time since she’d entered the park. "Go on, mate, feel free. But she isn't going with you."

“I'm going to find your manager and get you fired,” Joffrey sneered.

Jon smiled and pointed. “Go on ahead. He's over there, by the gift shop. Sandor Clegane. You might even know him.”

The color drained from Joffrey's face. Sandor Clegane had worked security for the  Baratheon family, until he stopped Joffrey from tormenting Tommen's cat. No one talked about it openly, but the small town had been buzzing with the news for weeks. Sandor stood by the door with his arms crossed. He wore a suit of armour that was far too well fitting to be a cheap costume.

“This is ridiculous,” Joffrey muttered. “I'm leaving.” He glared at Sansa. “Find your own way home with your new knight here.” He stormed off.

Sansa recovered shortly after. “I’m...not sure how to thank you,” she said softly to Jon unsteadily. “Thanks for fibbing for me, I really am too scared for my own good. I would have bolted or frozen or…."

The corner of Jon’s mouth twitched. “My gut tends to be right about these things. But now it’s up to you whether you go in or not.”

A portly man with glasses and the nametag "Sam" tapped Jon on the shoulder. "Shift's up Jon." Jon nodded absently at him.

With Joffrey gone, Sansa was at a loss. “Well, thank you again, for your help, I'll just…" She trailed off. She had enough money to get an Uber home - after a year of dating Joffrey she always brought enough money to get home on in case he caused a scene. Best to start calling for a car.

As she fumbled for her phone, her stomach growled.

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, I don't mean to impose any more than I have already--”

“Oh no,” Sansa broke in. "You saved me there. I'm very grateful, Jon.” She smiled at him, and this time the smile came naturally.

Jon blushed. “Well, at any rate, would you like to get an apple cider doughnut? My parents used to bring me here as a kid--”

“So did mine.” Sansa could practically taste one now.

“And their doughnuts are the best,” Jon finished.

Jon walked her to the restaurant. They split three doughnuts between the two of them. Sansa licked the sugar off her fingers before she could remember to be ladylike. Jon laughed with her, not at her, and Wintertown pumpkin patch settled back in her mind as a place of comfort and refuge. Joffrey drifted further from her thoughts. Jon helped her pick out a pumpkin in the gift shop.

Jon walked her to her Uber. Before she could overthink things, she asked for his number. Jon flushed and mumbled through it.

**

Once Sansa arrived home, her Siberian husky Lady bounded up to her. Sansa laughed and showed her the brown paper sack with the pumpkin she and Jon had picked out.

After she’d lifted her small, round, perfectly orange pumpkin onto the kitchen table, she noticed another package at the bottom of the bag.

She pulled it out, turning it over in her hands. "Deluxe Pumpkin Carving Kit" was written in gaudy letters, and the plastic packaging was decorated with smiling cats and happy witches. An assortment of carving tools were inside. The kind that could slice through pumpkins, and leave children unscathed.

There was a handwritten note as well.

Dear Sansa,

For the next Halloween scuffle you're in. Or for carving pumpkins. I hope you feel comfortable coming back to Wintertown next season. I'll be manning the restaurant door in case you want to sample some more apple doughnuts. Thanks for making my day.

Have a great Halloween,

Jon

Sansa smiled. She got to work on her pumpkin, carving out a happy witch with a curly hat. She snapped a picture of her handiwork and texted it to Jon.

Jon texted back a pumpkin carved like a smiling cat. There's a big white Siberian husky in the photo with him, curled up on his couch.

Well now I have to send him a picture of Lady, she thought, if only to be polite.

***

When he opens his eyes, it's to take a torch from the man beside him, watching as Sansa and Daenerys and even Arya takes one of their own. Then, one by one, they lay flame to those they loved, those who fell in the battle for the living, those who died so they, the survivors, could keep going.

And keep going they would do, somehow, someway.

[ x x x ]

She stares at him with that intense, blue-eyed gaze, stealing the breath from his lungs with just a look. The firelight frames her in such a way that he cannot stand it and so, he crosses the room to slip his hands into place on her face, fingertips just barely brushing the ends of hair that have fallen free from her pins. "I made your queen angry," she whispers, thinking back to their war room conversation from that morning. Thinking back to the angry glares she'd been given all night long during the feast.

Jon thinks of Daenerys, having just left his rooms minutes before Sansa had arrived, her violet eyes dark with suspicion, narrowed with anger. "You're not the first," he murmurs back, his lips dangerously close; so close, he can feel it when they curve with her amusement. "You won't be the last." He thinks of what he must do, of what he must prevent when Daenerys lays claim to the Iron Throne. He knows not what she will do when they get there, he knows he cannot stop her from what she's already made up her mind to do. But he can stop her, somehow, someway, he will ensure she will never hurt his family.

"I'll come to you, when it's time," she's leaning into him, breathing him in; he smells of fire smoke and ale, comforting scents that make her close her eyes. She can't imagine him not coming home from this war and so she won't think like that, she won't think of the what if's. Not this time. Unlike the first time he rode into battle, she trusted him entirely. Jon chuckles at her words and she snaps back, blue eyes meeting Stark gray. "I mean it."

He thinks of her then, riding into King's Landing with an army at her back, a wild warrior queen come to save him as no one ever came to save her. "When you come, it will be so I might marry you," he brings his lips to hers, a steady kiss, a warm kiss. One he hopes says everything he's not been able to put to words. When they break apart, she's breathless, smiling, radiant. "I love you," he whispers and she sinks into him.

[ x x x ]

"They don't get to choose."

Daenerys' soft words echo in his mind, their meaning taking root, spreading a cold sense of dread through his limbs. It was as he thought- there was no changing the outcome of this war. There had been a part of him that had hoped, that had wondered if just maybe... Just maybe in the end things could be different. That he wouldn't have to do what he intends to do. But their eyes meet and he knows... He knows. When her lips capture his, his fingers already curl around the hilt of his blade. He knows what he must do. He always has.

She slips from his grasp, the blade still embedded into her chest, her violet eyes wide as they stare up at him from the floor. Her lips move, but no words come. It takes several seconds more for her eyes to close and her head fall to the side, her final breath escaping her in what sounds more like a sigh than anything else.

When her soldiers come, she's already gone, taken by Drogon. He allows them to take him in chains, knowing it was only a matter of time before he would take his place as the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, though in his case it will be six, for the North would belong to no one but her.

The North would be Sansa's, as it always should have been.

[ x x x ]

The day he is proclaimed the rightful king, he still sits in a jail cell.

It is Sansa that comes to him first, war braids twisted in her red hair, bringing a smile to his face at the sight. "I told you I would come," she says as she sinks to her knees, not in reverence, but to throw her arms around him. Jon chuckles, unable to hug her with the shackles around his wrists, but the warmth of her body pressed against his is enough. "Unchain him!" She commands a moment later, pulling back so she might turn back to the guards that hover in the door way.

The man is not one of theirs, but he springs to do her bidding anyways- from the fear in his eyes, Jon can only imagine what threats his precious she-wolf has issued. Once his limbs are free from their chains, Sansa helps him onto his feet and it's then that he embraces her, the momentum of it sweeping her off her feet. "I love you," he says, before all the eyes that watch them from the doorway, uncaring who hears him proclaim the truth of his heart. She smiles, tears shining in her eyes as she nods, leaning in so she might kiss him as she's wished to do all these weeks they've been apart. "You're safe," he thinks of all of their enemies- Cersei, Daenerys, the Night King, Littlefinger, Ramsay Bolton, Joffrey Baratheon... All dead, all nothing but a memory.

"We're safe," she clarifies, softly, her rosy lips curving with the smallest of smiles. "Our family is safe." It was all because of him that she stands where she stands now, it's because of him that she's alive at all. "All because of you." Jon shakes his head as if he means to argue, but she puts a hand to his lips, shaking her own head. "You're my hero." Like the knights from her fairy tales, Jon was the hero that came to save her, the hero she had been waiting for, the brave and gentle knight her father had once told her of.

This time when Jon pulls her into his embrace, he thinks he might never let her go.

[ x x x ]

Before Jon crowns himself king of anything, he stands watch as Sansa is crowned Queen in the North.

He is the first to unsheath his sword, held to the ceiling in reverence to the new Northern queen. His voice is the first to begin the chant in the hall as she sinks upon her throne, her crown of wolves perched perfectly atop her fiery hair. Her eyes find his from across the room and she smiles, a proud smile, a smile that speaks volumes to him. The journey to this moment had been a long one, a tiresome one, but now that they were there, Jon couldn't imagine himself anywhere else.

And so he steps forward, sinking to his knees before her on the throne; before anything else, he is a Northern man and this is his queen... This is the only woman he will ever again call queen, the only woman he will love for all of his life. "My queen," he says as he tilts his head back to look up at her from the floor, ignoring her gesture to rise up, a grin on his lips as he reaches for her hand to take. He presses it to his lips like a proper courtier might, rising up to his feet only then, hesitant to let go of the hand that he holds. "I give myself to you, heart and soul." She laughs, sweet and low, her blue eyes twinkling in the firelight that glows all around them. "I am yours to command." The room is full, but they are alone, lost in the moment, lost in one another's steady gaze.

"And I am yours," she smiles back, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, thinking of little else but the happiness she's found with him, wondering how she's deserving of the love he gives to her, but thankful for it all the same. When Jon smiles, it sends warmth throughout her body, the clutch of his fingers upon hers the only thing she ever wants to feel again.

He kisses her then and the Northern lords that watch know their young queen is happy and so they are, too.

[ x x x ]

It isn't until King's Landing is fully restored that Jon accepts his crown.

With Sansa and the rest of the world watching, he sits upon the new throne of the Six Kingdoms, made for him by Gendry as Sansa's had been. Like hers, it is carved with direwolves and weirwood trees, a perfect match for the throne she's left behind in the North. His crown feels heavy with burden, but when Sansa smiles upon him from where she stands in a beautiful gown of sage green, he's reminded of just why he's come this far. He's reminded of what's kept him going all this time, of the reason that he lives on.

And so the people of Westeros acknowledge their new king, half Targaryen, half Stark, but a man of honor, a man of truth. A good king, they will call him, Good King Jon, the White Wolf of Winterfell, the King that Saved Them All.

[ x x x ]

Several weeks after Jon's crowning, they finally marry.

Standing beneath the heart tree in the godswood of Winterfell, they exchange the quiet marriage vows of the old gods. Jon has never seen her more beautiful than she is right then, in a gown of dusky blue and white, the furs draped over her shoulders the perfect accent of gray and white. She is like a dream come to life, something too perfect to exist in a world such as this.

Later, when they retreat to the privacy of their shared chambers- ones that once belonged to only her- he laughs as she pulls the pins from her hair. "What is it?" She asks, swiveling on the stool, still dressed in her lovely gown, her eyes widening at the sound of his laughter. "What's funny?"

"I was only thinking how I once used to sneak into these rooms." He gestures towards the bed, one which they had shared in secret far too many times to count. Now it's her turn to laugh, rising up from the stool to cross the room to stand before him, her hair falling freely across her shoulders. When she's come close enough, he draws her into his arms, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, yet again reminded just how lucky of a man he was. "Davos says we should marry again, in King's Landing." He thinks back to what his Hand had said only the day before, a conversation of how they might continue to encourage the strength of Jon's relationship with his people. The world had been through war and had come out scarred, there were wounds not yet healed for some. It would take work to find the true peace Westeros had not seen in centuries. "He says they remember you, they like you." It was true, Jon himself had seen the reaction of the people in the streets when Sansa was seen during her many trips to King's Landing since the end of the war. "I told him to plan it." He knows it to be for the good of the realm, but mostly he looks forward to having another wedding night with her. "And after that... I intend to crown you beside me." Together, they would rule the Seven Kingdoms and hope that they could bring about peace among them all.

[ x x x ]

When the stories are written, they laugh.

They can't help it, hearing the things that the bards and storytellers and historians come up with, trying to find ways to define the life they had lived to get where they were now. The Red Wolf of Winterfell, the Queen That Never Bent, Sansa says to him once, raising her still brilliantly colored eyes from the parchment she reads. The White Wolf of the North, Good King Jon. He had laughed at that, because despite it all, he still doesn't always feel so good.

But when his eyes meet hers, he knows what he has is good, no, what he has is the best. He thinks not just of her, but of the family they've built along the way... Robb, their first born, their heir, though his place will be in Winterfell. The next King Robb, named for the one that should have been. He is built like a Stark, somehow more like the uncle he's named for than anyone could have been prepared for. Sometimes the six-year-old's glare renders him speechless, sends him back to a time where he and Robb had once wrestled in the mud, back to a time when life had been different. Then of course there's Ned, who though quiet like his namesake, is easily persuaded to do wrong by his older brother. He too is more Stark, but he has a touch of Tully in his hair when the sunlight catches it. Some say he is quite like his uncle Bran and there isn't a day where the boy isn't happy in the broken man's lap. He will succeed Jon, if he wishes it, but something tells Jon that Ned will offer his crown to Lyanna, more suited to Hand of a King or Queen. That was who came third, their first daughter Lyanna, named for her grandmother and a spitfire like she was said to have been. She is Sansa's twin, a beauty of a girl even just at two, but she too is a child that Jon cannot deny. Her dark hair is never tidy, though it falls with the same gentle wave as Sansa's does. Lyanna is rambunctious and rowdy, often found tagging along behind her oldest brother. There's another one yet to come, though Sansa's day is to certainly come sooner than later, this one another girl Jon hopes. He hopes a redhead might still yet join their family.

Stepping into the rooms he's shared with Sansa for the last five years in King's Landing, he's stopped by the sight that even still, catches him off guard. She sits up, resting against the pillows, her swollen abdomen nearly hidden by the tangle of children that sleep against her. Robb has his head against her side, tucked into the warmth and safety of his mother's elbow. Lyanna sleeps curled up with her head on her mother's lap, one of Sansa's hands stroke the child's long hair, a faint smile on her lips. Ned sleeps at the foot of the bed, tucked against Ghost, who still yet sleeps beside Sansa as he had done all the years since their reunion. Though Ned sleeps away from the rest, his one hand is outstretched just enough that his little fingers curl into a fold of Sansa's gown. "Now this is a sight." Jon chuckles, carefully sinking down onto the tiny space beside her on the bed, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from Robb's forehead. "I thought Robb was too big for such things?" Their oldest son had only just recently declared himself to be old enough for a steel sword and far too old for his mother's kisses- but finding him this way brought a warm feeling to Jon's chest. Their first born was indeed growing up, but it seemed not as quickly as the boy might have thought.

Sansa smiles, turning to look at him as he takes his spot beside her. It feels like it's been eons since this bed was theirs and yet... The warm weight of her children, the feeling of the one growing within her... It was all the things she had always wanted. She would never trade what they had now for anything. "He was the first to fall asleep," Sansa chuckles as she returns her hand to Lyanna, who quietly shifts in her sleep, a hand tucked beneath her cheek just as Sansa sleeps. "We'll have to wake them soon," she goes on to say, the second labor pain hitting her, this one forcing her to wince. "But not... Yet." She longs to savor this moment, this single one, where they are as they are, before things must change again. Where Lyanna is still her youngest, where Ned is only a big brother to one, where Robb is not nearly almost seven-years-old and no longer a baby in need of his mother.

Suddenly, Jon is squeezing her hand.

Looking up, a smile curves upon her lips and she knows, she understands. Their family is not changing, it's becoming complete.

[ x x x ]

Westeros sings it's joy the day the youngest princess is born.

She is born with the Tully red hair of her grandmother and mother, named Cat in honor of that grandmother she will never meet. Sansa cries as she holds her close, burying her face in her sweet smelling skin, knowing well that this was the last missing piece of her heart.