#jonsaaaaaa

“Whoever has my name could always draw again?” he suggested hopefully. 

“Nonsense,” Catelyn said, “Jon, you’ve practically been family since Robb brought you home for freshman spring break. Don’t feel awkward about this, it’s all in good fun.”

Other than his own mother, Catelyn Stark was probably the best and kindest mother in the world. Jon couldn’t say no to her. 

--

Jon wished he said no to Catelyn. Of all the names he could have picked. Of all the names! He had to pull Sansa’s. And it wasn’t like there was anything wrong with Sansa. Quite the opposite in fact. She was great. Perfect, actually. And that was the problem. Sansa Stark was perfect and had everything. What could Jon “poor undergrad” Snow possibly get her that she’ll like? 

--

Sansa feels stupid. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out what to get Jon for Christmas. Of course with her shit luck, she’d pull the name of the one person who she’s most nervous about pleasing. But it’s fine. It’s fine. She can just ask Theon to switch with her. He’ll do it, no problem. Besides, he owes her.

--

“Bro, just get her some jewelry or something. Sansa likes pretty things.” 

Jon rubbed his temples. Robb is absolutely no help. But Jon should’ve expected that. “I can’t just get her jewelry, Robb. I don’t think she even wears any. This has to be a good gift!”

“Why?” asked Robb, with a mouthful of butter toffee pretzels. 

Before Jon could even think of an answer, a snort came from the hallway. When Jon and Robb looked, they saw a smirking Arya leaning on the doorframe. 

“You’re really asking why?” Arya rolled her eyes and then laughed at her brother. “Wow you’re stupid.” She walked away and left an offended Robb and a stressed Jon.

He groaned. “What do you even get someone who already has everything she could possibly want?”

--

Sansa crossed her arms as she glared at Theon. He hadn’t stopped laughing. “Are you done yet?”

“Sorry, babe. Dunno how to help you here,” he chuckled. 

“You could switch with me!”

“Nah, I like who I have.”

“You owe me!”

Theon stopped laughing. “Wh- for what?”

“For saving your ass when-”

“Nuh-uh. Nope!” Theon wagged his finger at her. “You don’t get to keep using that one. I’m sorry we dated the same asshole, but talking the cop out of arresting me for keying that car was forever ago!”

Sansa huffed. “Fine. But can you at least help me? I have no idea what Jon likes! He’s such a… minimalist. What do you get someone who doesn’t want anything?”

“Wow you’re really desperate aren’t you?” Theon looked at her sadly before giving her the biggest shit eating grin. “I mean. Knowing Jon, there’s only one thing he’d like to unwrap for Christmas. You know, tall, red hair, blue eyes, goes by the name Sansa-”

“Theon!”

He laughed. “What? You like him, Sans! Just make your move!”

She sighed. “Please be serious about this?”

“Alright, alright.” Theon thought for a bit. “I heard Tiles are all the rage now. You can get him that?”

“What’s are Tiles?”

“It’s like… like Find My iPhone, but like ‘Find My Whatever it’s Attached To’ instead.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah.” Sansa nodded. “Jon’s pretty forgetful, that should be good, right?”

“Yeah! Like they’re very handy. He can attach it to like -uh- his backpack? Uh… clothes- no. Uh.. a baby…”

Sansa looked at him like he was stupid. Which, fair.

“Oh! Oh, keys! Keys are what people usually attach them to.”

Maybe asking Theon for help was a bad move. Sansa doesn’t understand how she became such close friends with this idiot. 

--

“Oh!” 

Jon jumped and turned around. “Sansa? What are you doing up?”

She smiled wryly at him. “I could say the same thing about you.” When he did nothing but smile abashedly at her, she continued into the kitchen and got a mug out of the cupboard. “So,” Sansa said, after realizing Jon wasn’t going to say anything, “What’s someone like you doing up way past his bedtime?” As she continued on making her tea, she looked up to Jon, waiting for an answer. 

Jon blinked at her. “Uh…”

Sansa chuckled. “That bad?” She finished making her drink and leaned on the counter, lightly blowing on the cup. “Well, I’m up because I’m a light sleeper. Especially when I’m stressed. Loud noises tend to wake me up.”

Jon suddenly felt incredibly guilty. “Oh gods, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize I was being loud-”

“No no,” Sansa cut him off. “Sorry, that was poorly worded. Lady got up and had a late night snack.”

“Ah.” Jon  nodded in understanding and took a sip from his own mug. Hmm, she’s a light sleeper. Maybe I can get her a-

“Yeah, and my white noise machine doesn’t help much either.”

Nope. Jon sighed. What could he get for her? He cleared his throat. “So, what’s got you so stressed.?”

Sansa looked down at her mug. “A mix of a lot of things actually. This time of year always makes me feel a little melancholy.” 

Jon scrunched his eyebrows.

“The ghosts of boyfriends past,” she explained. 

Right. Jon’s known her for four years and she’s had a total of three boyfriends. Each one worse than the last in his humble opinion. And that had nothing to do with his crush on her, no sir. 

“Yeah, Theon mentioned one earlier and it just got me thinking, you know?” Jon nodded at her to continue. “I’ve always loved the idea of some pretty prince charming sweeping me off my feet and showering me with gifts. Guess I realized, I don’t want any of that. Gifts are meaningless if there’s no thought or love behind them, you know?” She looked down embarrassedly, suddenly mortified that she just shared so much with him.

Jon gave her an out. “I still can’t believe you and Theon dated the same person.”

Sansa snorted. “Theon will date anything with pretty hair and a heartbeat.”

Jon cracked a smile. “Not ugly hair and a heartbeat?”

“Oh, gods no. He’s shallow like that.”

They both giggled. 

“So…?” Sansa raised an eyebrow at him.

Oh, right. My turn. Jon cleared his throat. “Oh, um, yeah. Stress keeping me up too.” And then Jon suddenly had a thought. Is it considered cheating though? Oh well. “I have absolutely no idea what to get my Secret Santa if I’m honest. You -uh- got any ideas on what you’re getting yours?” He took a discreet sip from his mug. 

Nope. “Yeah, I have an idea, I think,” she replied vaguely. “Something meaningful, you know? Can’t tell you though, sorry! It’s Secret Santa. But anyways, Jon, don’t sweat about the gift! This is supposed to be fun! Besides, you know us, we don’t need any fancy schmancy gifts.” How about you take your own advice, Sansa. “Now, that can’t be all you’re stressed about.”

Jon laughed in his drink. “Always so perceptive. No, you’re right. I mean- I am stressed about the gift, but I’m also just… I can’t help but think about my Mom, you know? Sure she has friends back home that she could spend Christmas with, but I can’t help but feel guilty for being here, while she’s at home alone right now. And I just really miss her.” He shrugged and took another sip of his drink. “So, whatcha got there? What kind of tea is it?”

“Oh, er, it’s chamomile. It helps me sleep.”

“That sounds nice. Maybe I should try that and see if it’ll help me sleep too.”

Yes! Maybe I can get him a pack of-

“Too bad I’m more of a hot water type of guy.” He smiled at her and took a sip from his mug. “Never really found the need to drink much of anything else at home.”

A fucking minimalist. 

--

“So,” Arya said, “You got anything yet?”

“Nope,” came a muffled reply from Jon. 

“Sucks.” He groaned in his hands and Arya felt pity. “Tell you what, I’ll let you in on a big Sansa secret.”

Jon perked up at that. “What?”

“She doesn’t give two fucks about gifts.”

“That… that doesn’t help, Arya.”

“No, I’m serious. Look,” she said forcefully, “Sansa’s had friends and boyfriends who’d always give her the most lovely and expensive gifts, right?”

“... Still not helping.”

Arya sighed. “What I’m trying to say is those boyfriends? Look around Jon, are they in her life anymore?”

--

It hit her like a shit ton of bricks. Well, actually. It was more of a passing thought as she was watching her third Christmas movie of the day. 

So, with her parents’ permission and Theon’s help, she got to work.

--

Arya groaned. “You know, it’s called ‘1 hour photo.’ Meaning that the photos won’t be ready for one hour.”

“I’m sorry! I’m just anxious and I wanna get started as soon as possible.”

She rolled her eyes at Jon. He enlisted her help to buy all the things he needed for Sansa’s gift. And to provide some photos. 

--

It was Christmas Day. It was Christmas Day and Jon found he was really missing his mother. He tried calling earlier, but she didn’t answer. She was either still sleeping in, as that was their usual routine, or she was at a friend’s. He sighed. He’ll try calling her again later on in the day.

Jon got up and joined the rest of the house downstairs. 

--

It was Christmas Day. It was Christmas Day and Sansa was nowhere to be found. She told everyone they could get started on gifts without her if they wanted to, but of course no one was going to do that. So they planned on opening gifts after breakfast instead. 

They were all in the kitchen eating when they heard the front door open and close.

“Sorry I’m late! I’ll join you guys in just a bit!” She shouted from the other room.

Jon eagerly stood up, intent on helping her with whatever last minute thing that she must’ve gone out to buy. But before he could even move, Theon promptly pushed him back down in his seat. 

“Where ya going, buddy?”

“Just gonna see if Sansa needs any help.”

“No worries, I got it.” He proceeded to pour Jon a cup of orange juice. Jon confusedly thanked him and raised the glass to drink it. When he gave Theon a questioning look, Theon explained. “To help quench that thirst of yours.” Arya and Bran snorted into their food while Jon choked on his drink. Robb did neither of those things.

“Wow, you’re such a good friend, Theon!” 

“Just getting into that Christmas spirit, Robb.”

He walked smugly out of the room to see whatever it was that Sansa had just gone out for. When Jon finally calmed down, he looked up to see Ned and Catelyn Stark staring right back at him. Both had their eyebrows up in amusement. Oh gods. I can never come back here again. 

A few minutes later, Sansa and Theon returned. Jon noted there was nothing in either of their hands. He wasn’t the only one who  noticed.

“Didn’t get what you were looking for?” Bran asked.

“Nope,” Sansa replied nonchalantly, “Must be what I get for trying to go to the store on Christmas Day.”

“So you’re telling me we could’ve opened presents by now?” Rickon was shaking his head at his big sister. Hey may be well into his teens, but Rickon was still excited for Christmas gifts.

“Sorry! Tell you what, is everyone done eating? Let’s get to presents right now!”

Catelyn made a move to start clearing the table, but Sansa waved her off. “I’ll do it after we open presents Mom. Don’t worry about it!”

--

Everyone grabbed whichever gift had their name on it. To keep things anonymous, every gift was wrapped in the same paper and the names were stuck on with pre-printed stickers. Ned passed out the gifts to be opened one by one. When Sansa opened her gift she let out a soft gasp.

“Oh,” she whispered softly, “This is perfect.” She began flipping over each page of the homemade scrapbook. They were filled with photos from the last few years. A lot of the pictures were ones she didn’t even know were taken of her and her family. Family dinners, camping trips, random moments on campus with her friends and family. It was filled with small moments that she forgot had happened. There was even a wristband from a concert Robb and Jon and Theon had taken her to.

“What is it darling?” Her mother asked.

Sansa closed the book and held it close to her chest. “It’s a scrapbook. Filled with a lot of really good memories.” She smiled. She wondered who got her such a thoughtful gift. Before she could try to figure out who it was, Rickon interrupted her.

“Wait, where’s Jon’s gift?” He and Ned looked around the tree to see if they had missed one.

“Oh, no it’s okay!” Jon started waving his hands. “I don’t need a gift!” He was actually a bit relieved. He was awkward when it came to accepting gifts.

“Oh no!” Theon declared very loudly in a strange, overly dramatic voice. “Jon doesn’t have a gift? That’s awful!” At some point during that announcement, he had slowly tilted his head towards the stairs.

Sansa slapped her forehead in disdain. Theon doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body.

“Wait yeah, that’s not right,” Robb agreed. “Jon’s Secret Santa: what the heck?”

“No, I’m good!” Jon argued. “I don’t need a gift.”

“That’s a shame. Should I just hop on a flight and head home then?” 

Jon froze when he heard the voice behind him. His jaw slowly dropped and he turned around.

The woman before him tilted her head and smiled. “Hi baby.”

“Mom?”

“Merry Christmas!” Lyanna laughed as her son rushed to hug her. 

“What are you doing here?! How’d you get here? Is this why you didn’t answer your phone earlier? Oh my gods!” 

Sansa smiled softly at Jon. She figured it out. The one thing he probably wanted most this year was to be with his mother. 

“You’ve got some wonderful friends here, Jon.” Lyanna turned around and gestured to Sansa. “This lovely young woman here booked me a flight and picked me up from the airport this morning. If she’s not your girlfriend, then you better get to it!” 

“Mom!”

Lyanna ignored her son then looked at the rest of the Starks and laughed. “You people really go all out for Secret Santa gifts don’t you?”

After the initial embarrassment, Jon looked at Sansa with a mixture of disbelief and awe. And she smiled sheepishly back at him.

“Surprise?”

Jon shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t know what’s more unbelievable. You booking a last minute flight for my mother, or the fact that we both pulled each other’s name for Secret Santa.”

Sansa’s eyebrows rose. “You made this for me?” She asked softly.

It was Jon’s turn to look sheepish. He scratched the back of his head, suddenly feeling bashful. “Uh… yeah. I couldn’t think of what to get you. And then you said how you think gifts are meaningless if there’s no thought for the person receiving it and uh, I know how you love your friends and family and-”

Sansa interrupted him by engulfing him in a hug. “Thank you. I love it.”

“Oh noooo, wouldja look at that?”

Theon had somehow attached a suspicious looking holiday plant to the fishing rod he got from his Secret Santa. And he was now dangling it above Jon and Sansa as he lounged on the couch.

Sansa, too busy glaring at Theon, didn’t notice Jon’s blush. When she turned back to Jon, she opened her mouth to give him an out, but he beat her to it.

“I’m game if you are.”

I am SO game.

Sansa leaned in and Jon met her halfway.

“Wait that’s holly, not mistletoe!”

So here they are, gathered around the corner booth at The Smoking Log. Watching Sansa and Robb match shot for shot. One would think that Robb has the advantage here. And he thinks so too. As a former frat boy, he’s gone to his fair share of college parties. He’s used to drinking strong liquor. He also scoffs at Sansa’s constant choice of fruity drinks. But that’s his second mistake. Robb doesn’t actually know how many different types of alcohol are in those fruity drinks of hers.

After downing another shot, Sansa slammed the glass down and dabbed the corner of her lips daintily. She then smiled sweetly at her brother. “Looks like we’re done with this round, Robb. Theon, can you order another?”

He looked between his two friends. “I really shouldn’t.”

Robb, passed tipsy at this point, pouted. “Why not? I need- I need to prove myself here, Greyjoy!”

“Maybe Theon’s right,” Sansa snorted.

“Drunk already, little sister?” Everyone winced at how loud he was. Not one take back down, Sansa pulled out her card and gave it to Arya, who backed away and made Theon take it.

“I’m doomed,” he said. At Jeyne’s questioning look, he explained. “When Jon gets here, he’s gonna kill me for letting Sansa drink this much. And after, Tal will bring me back to life only to kill me again for letting Robb drink this much.”

“But it was their choice,” argued Gendry.

“You try telling them that,” Theon muttered under his breath as he walked to the bar.

And as fate would have it, just as Theon was coming back with another tray of shots, Jon and Talisa arrived.

“Theon,” Talisa started.

“Not my fault this time!” he immediately said, raising his hands up in surrender after setting the tray down. After catching Jon and Talisa up to speed, he set two more shots in front of Sansa and Robb.

“Darling?” Talisa prodded Robb.

“Yes, m’love?” he slurred to his wife.

“You’re drunk already,” she chuckled.

“Am not!” he said petulantly.

“Sounds a lot like you are, Robb.” Sansa had the most annoyingly smug smile on her face right now. “It’s okay to admit defeat. Isn’t that right, baby?”

Jon’s eyebrows rose and he smirked at his fiancée. “Yeah, that’s right. But I suppose if Robb’s being a sexist pig, you’ve got to put him in his place.”

“Jon!”

“Sorry Talisa, gotta stand by my girl.” Jon looked anything but sorry. Everyone else was too busy watching the exchange to notice the look of disdain flicker across Sansa’s face.

--

Sansa was unlocking the door to their apartment as Jon was getting the keys for her car back from Arya, who had driven it over. After Jon and Talisa arrived, Sansa and Robb took about three more shots until Robb had promptly stood up and said he had to puke. They called it a night after Sansa’s short lived victory dance.

When Jon closed and locked the door behind him, he turned around and crossed his arms. He returned her sheepish smile with a pointed look.

“So, from a scale of one to ten-”

“Fucking eleven!” she declared dramatically. Jon laughed at her as she leaned pitifully in his arms. “My head has been spinning nonstop.”

He wrapped his arms around her and scooped her up. He shook his head as he walked towards their room. “You should have stopped when you knew you were drunk, love.”

“No! That was barely four shots in,” she protested. “And I had to win. My pride was on the line!”

“Four sho- Sansa!” Jon looked down at her disbelievingly. “That last tray Theon brought back had ten, how many had you guys done before I even got there?” Sansa ignored him.

“And I was so close to getting Tal to take Robb home, you just had encourage me to keep going!”

Setting her down in bed and slowly undressing her, Jon snorted. “Honestly, I wanted to see if anyone else caught on that you were way passed drunk.” After a few more moments of getting her ready for bed, he flipped her hair out of her nightshirt and smiled at her. “You good to brush your teeth on your own?”

Sansa blew a stray hair out of her face and grumbled. “Yeah. High-functioning drunk, remember?” She got up and walked towards the restroom, lightly crashing into the door. She turned around and pointed warningly to Jon as he tried to muffle his laughter.

Once they were both settled in bed, she turned to him.

“So what gave me away?”

Jon laughed before answering her. “You called me ‘baby,’ remember? You hate that pet name. Says it reminds you of Joffrey and his mommy issues.”

“Seven hells, please don’t bring up my ex and his kinks into our bedroom. I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.”

Jon pulled her close and snuggled his face into her neck. “How ‘bout we talk about your kinks then, hm?”

“Hmm, better,” she sighed as Jon kissed her neck. But then he promptly pulled back.

“Alright, love. Time to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Jon,” she whined.

“You know very well you can’t have drunk sex. Last time we were drunk, you fell asleep with my head between your legs! That does something to a man’s ego.”

“I don't pray anymore.” She had told Tyrion. But it was a lie. Oh, Sansa prayed alright. But not to the Old Gods who had cut her off, just as her Father cut off Lady’s head. They showed her no kindness. And not to the usual Seven either. Father, Warrior, Smith, Mother, Maiden, Crone? Useless. There was no mercy and justice for she has been forsaken. So she turned to the last face. The one whom she feared most as a little girl. The Stranger.

Perhaps her neglect of him is the cause of the tragedy that befell her family. People said that praying to the Stranger could be dangerous though. That it was taboo and that he took more than he gave. But she didn’t care if those stories were true or not. If they were, Sansa would gladly go into his welcoming arms if it meant her torment in King’s Landing was over. So she prayed. She prayed that he would take care of the family that she had lost. And she prayed that he would leave Arya alone. She prayed he’d leave Jon alone.

--

Jon never gave much thought to the Gods. Sure he’d send a prayer here and there, but if the Old Gods deemed it right to take his Father and brother, even Lady Catelyn, did he really want to send prayers to them? So he took a page out of Sansa’s book: he turned to the Seven. Specifically the Stranger. If the Old Gods could no longer keep his family safe in this world, perhaps the Stranger could keep them safe in the next. Thinking of Sansa made his heart ache. Ache for the family he lost. For the family he never knew. Family. His mother. Did she pray to the Seven as well?

--

When Joffrey died, she didn’t have time to light a candle in thanks for her prayers. But once she settled in the Vale, she made sure to offer a prayer each night to the one face of the deity who heard and answered her pleas. 

But nothing good can last, for she had forgotten the songs and tales about the Stranger. He takes just as much as he gives. So while he took Sansa away from King’s Landing, he gave Arya back to Winterfell, right into the arms of the Bolton’s. When she heard the news, she knew her time as Alayne Stone was over. She gathered the Lords Declarant and revealed herself: Sansa Stark, trueborn daughter to Ned and Catelyn Stark, an heir to Winterfell. With their support, and more from the Northern Houses she gathered along the way, Sansa took back Winterfell in the name of Stark. 

The Stranger proved once again to have answered her prayers. Arya was not harmed by the hands of the Bolton’s. And the Stranger proved once again that the tales of his give and take were true. Arya was not harmed because she was not there, her truest and oldest friend was: Jeyne Poole. With Jeyne healed and by her side, she learnt a great deal. Theon had not murdered her brothers. More prayers of thanks were sent to the Stranger. But, as usual, the Stranger’s gifts always come in two. With news of her surviving brothers came news of her losing a brother. House Reed came and declared their fealty, along with a declaration of a long kept secret: Jon Snow was not her brother. He was her cousin. A forgotten Targaryen. And Targaryens had this unfortunate ability to die before their time. 

--

Before Hardhome, Jon hadn't thought to bother with prayers. After Hardhome, he prayed to any deity that would listen. Don’t let this be how we all end. If anything, he needed to fight for the family that was left. For Arya. For Sansa. He thought his prayers were answered. Uncle Benjen was back! But the gods do love their cruel jokes. He felt like every prayer he sent out was returned with a stab through his body. 

As he slowly slipped away, he saw flashes of everything he loved. Arya with her needle. Sansa brushing Lady’s fur. Lady. Ghost. “Ghost,” he whispered. He saw the Stranger then. No, don't take me, he thought. His life wasn’t finished yet. He doesn’t even know who his mother is. His mother.

It was like he was looking through someone else’s eyes. It was Ghost. It wasn’t Ghost. He saw his father, Ned Stark. But not your father, a sinister voice whispered. Suddenly, there were wolves. Then dragons. Wolves again. The Wolves will come again. Who is Jojen Reed? He saw green flames licking at castles. Then nothing. Then he saw hair. Such vibrant, fire-kissed hair. Then more nothing. A dragon hiding in wolfskin the sinister voice returned. Jon was a dragon? But his father was a wolf. Not his father. Then he saw Arya. But not Arya. A woman who looked just like him, standing next to a man who looked nothing like him. Forbidden. The tragedy that followed that union was too much. Too much too much too much. Jon Snow saw nothing.

Then he opened his eyes. So pretty. Sansa?

--

With Winterfell back under Stark rule, the Houses gathered there. It was time to make their stand. The North Remembers. They’ll be an independent kingdom once more. It was through Lord Manderley that she learned of Rickon’s fate. Her brother was alive. When her sister heard she took back Winterfell, she came home. The Stranger truly answered Sansa’s prayers. Her family was slowly growing back. With as much laughter as there were tears, the sisters reconciled. But the scales must be balanced. When Rickon was brought back to them, word of Jon’s death was brought as well. Trusting Lord Royce and Lady Mormont with the protection of her brother, Sansa and Arya departed to Wall, set on bringing Jon Snow’s body home, because brother or cousin, he was still family. 

They reached Castle Black and it was in a disarray. But with two Stark daughters and a retinue of loyal Northerners, the Watch was quickly set straight again, with the mutineers put in the cells. The Lady Melisandre said she could bring him back, and Sansa, tempted with the idea of her family whole once more, insisted she do so. During the ritual, she sent a silent prayer to the Stranger, begging for forgiveness as she took something he already claimed as his.

She smiled at him when he woke. Her heart fluttered when he uttered her name. And then dread filled her. The Stranger gave back Jon, but at what price?

--

Wrong wrong wrong. He knew it but he couldn’t stop it. He woke and hugged his sisters. Not his sisters. One embrace filled him with memories of a past he longed for. The other filled him with a promise for a future he didn’t dare dream for. Wrong. Jon Snow had prayed and prayed for a family. For a name. For a love. For a purpose. Jon Snow should be careful what he prays for. 

At every corner of Winterfell, he saw her. Her and her pretty fire-kissed hair. And when he saw her, he couldn’t stop staring. Her kindness in the weeks he took recovering back inside the walls of Winterfell are forever ingrained in his soul. The way she looked at him. The way she smiled at him. The way she touched him. Forbidden.

 He growled at every man who questioned her leadership. Threatened any and all who looked at her wrong. Wrong. She was his, but not his. Some noticed. Some didn’t. Arya did. 

“You love her?” It wasn’t a question of if he did or didn’t. It was a question of how. He mistook the look of concern in her eyes for distrust and that made him wish the Stranger hadn’t heard his prayers and took him instead. Before she could say anything, the horn of the front gates sounded off. A traveler. 

--

Bran was back. That night, Sansa lit as many candles and gave as many offerings as she could. It was like the Stranger was slowly restoring House Stark. She had her family back. Her Rickon back. Her Bran. Her Arya. Her Jon. No. Not her Jon. She supposes she can’t begrudge the Stranger’s idea of a joke. He gave her Jon, but gave Jon her heart. No matter, what’s done is done. Let her love go unrequited if it meant Jon was alive and well. 

But again. The Stranger and his jokes. She had her home and her family. But did she get them back only for them to be taken away again? A Night’s King. Ice-covered undead. A Targaryen Queen. Fire-breathing dragons. The world’s cruelties seemed to never end. 

As the Lady of Winterfell and Queen Regent of the North, for Bran abdicated and Rickon was too young, she was looked at for taking lead in the planning for the many future battles. Of course, she had Arya and Jon in charge of the actual battle plans. She was no expert and they were. Food and people, clothing and numbers. That's where her expertise was. They couldn’t spare riders, for every man counted. So Bran was assigned to warg into nearby animals to keep watch on both fronts. Enemies to the North and enemies to the South. Despite consequences, Sansa prayed.

--

He fought and he fought and he wouldn’t stop. Not if stopping meant the death and destruction of his people. His family. His Sansa. Not his Sansa. Not yet. With the knowledge of Rickon ruling one day, they threw caution to the wind. Shared ale during dinner, long nights by the fire, stolen kisses under the bannisters. They thought they were stealthy. Arya was stealthier. Bran even more so. It didn’t matter to his siblings -cousins- really, one should find happiness where they could. And so with a promise waiting for him at the end of the wars, he fought.

The Stranger took many that year. Fallen soldiers, innocent children, tyrannical queens. But he left the Starks. He left Jon. And with the war over, Jon didn’t want to wait any longer. He didn’t completely trust the Stranger to not strike again. He married her under the Heart Tree in Winterfell as soon as he could. Being with Sansa was all he wanted and he didn’t know how long he would have with her.

--

After the war came their marriage. After their marriage came Spring. And with spring came children. There was peace and prosperity and Sansa prayed it would stay. She sent word out as well. Secret singers and musicians, all playing a new song of the Stranger. For the once neglected face of the Seven, he was no longer the outcast. At least above the Neck, where Sansa ensured religious freedom. Those who believed in the Old Gods and New coexisted in harmony. The Stranger suddenly had more prayers sent his way. More lit candles. More offerings. 

And so the years went on. Rickon grew into his role and eventually took over as King in the North. Sansa, glad to be done with ruling, left with Jon and settled their family in a nearby keep. Arya and Bran travelled to the Lands of Always Winter. She eventually left him there to live and thrive amongst the Children of the Forest and continued on her journeys. Oh she sends letters home, even visits often. But she doesn’t like staying still for too long. 

__

The knock on the door shook Jon out of his stupor. Going through ledgers was his least favourite part of ruling, he found it boring. And going through them late at night was just abysmal. He shook his head and called out to the door. “Enter.”

“Your Grace?” a timid looking woman peeked through, “Pardon the interruption. It’s just- well you told me- uhm- always come fetch you-”

“Gwin? Remember what we talked about? Speak freely, please.” The poor woman had been around during Ramsay’s reign of terror. And sometimes, she still felt like she had to tiptoe around Jon. He’s been working with her to try to get her to feel safer in the walls of Winterfell. It’s a work in progress. 

Gwin, very much still distressed, started over, “Your Grace, she’s doing it again. And I can’t get her to stop.”

Jon shot up to his feet, “How long has she been at it?” Already marking his place and closing the books, Jon was ready to leave immediately. They both walked out and headed towards the sleeping chambers as Gwin answered.

“I’m not sure. She was like that when I found her, and I tried making her stop, but she wouldn’t! I’m sorry.” Gwin was wringing her hands as she tried to keep up with Jon. He noticed.

“You did all you could Gwin,” he reassured her, “If you don’t mind fetching some warm washcloths and hot water?” Gwin nodded and turned to leave. Before she could get any further though, Jon called out. “And Gwin? Thank you.”

__

Jon carefully opened the door to their chambers and saw her sitting there, in the dark. She was by the window, a cup of ale sat next to her untouched. With her back to him, she looked as if she was just gazing out at the night sky, admiring the stars. Jon knew better. It’s been a while since she’s done this, but every time it happened, it lasted longer and longer.

He walked over to the window and knelt in front of his wife. Even though he knew what to expect, every time he saw her eyes a pure white instead of her usual Tully blue, his heart broke, just a little. “Sansa? Darling, please wake up.” No answer. He knew waking a warg up from skinchanging was near impossible, but damn it he’ll try. Cradling her face, he leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers. All he could do now was wait. 

It was probably less than five minutes later when her eyes flashed blue again. “Jon?” she whispered, still in a daze. “What are you doing?”

“Sansa? I lost you again, love. You went away.” He kissed her sweetly, gently. “You promised you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

Tears filled Sansa’s eyes. Afraid that even speaking too loud would somehow cause her memories to resurface, she whispered, “I didn't want to, I swear. But when it got dark, it was like the monsters came back. The echoes of knives scraping, of fabric ripping, their voices. I couldn't take it. All I felt was alone and I felt trapped. I didn’t like it. I just wanted to go away for a little; escape reality for just a bit. I forgot myself.” She was softly crying now.

“Shh shh, it’s alright love. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have left you alone like this.” Before he could say anything else, Gwin returned.

“I’ve got the washcloths and hot water Your Grace,” setting down the items, Gwin curtsied and retreated, but she hesitated by the door before turning around and spoke to Sansa. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, Your Grace. I’m glad to see you’re back.”

Sansa smiled at the kind woman. “It’s not your fault, Gwin. You’re my lady’s maid, not my slave. You aren’t expected to be at my beck and call at all hours of the day and night. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, turn in for the night and rest. Have tomorrow off even, I don’t mind.” 

Touched by her queen’s kind words, Gwin returned the smile and left.

Jon picked up the washcloth and dabbed Sansa’s face, clearing off any sweat he’s sure has dried off since. Sometimes he wishes Bran had never taught Sansa to hone her warg skills. Skinchanging into one of Winterfell’s hunting dogs -into Ghost even- was one thing. But skinchanging into birds? And so frequently? He worried for her. Varamyr once said that birds cause skinchangers to be disassociated with reality. He knew that’s why Sansa did it though. The horrors she’s seen and the trauma she’s been through would cause any man to wish it all away and escape. 

“My love you can’t do this anymore, please,” Jon quietly begged. “One day you might not come back to me.”

“I’ll always come back to you Jon.”

He sighed. After the light cloth bath he gave her, they quietly dressed for the night. Though their marriage started off with many awkward silences, they now lived with moments of comforting quietness. When he had finished brushing her hair, they went to bed. He wanted to know what today’s trigger was, but he would never ask her. Sansa would tell him when she was ready. He was on the precipice of sleep when she was.

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think I’ll be a terrible mother?” Her voice was soft, filled with an anxiousness he couldn’t quite name. But it was what she said that had him wide awake, turning to face her.

“Absolutely not. Where is this coming from love?”

He could feel the hesitation radiating from her body. “I saw Maester Wolkan today.” She whispered to him, as though afraid of his reaction. But Jon didn’t notice, his heart was beating wildly. He was told not to hold much hope, Sansa had been through too much.

“Sansa?”

“Jon, I’m with child.”

The euphoric feeling in Jon was indescribable. He pulled his wife over to his arms and peppered her in kisses. “That’s wonderful news Sansa.”

“Is it?” 

Jon immediately stopped his affections. Had he read the room wrong? Did she no longer want children? Did she not want his children? His mind was spiraling and Sansa would have none of that.

“Jon, I’m happy. Incredibly so. But after everything that’s happened to me, what if I can’t be the mother that our child deserves?”

“Impossible. Darling, I think we both have fears when it comes to raising a child. But we can’t hide from our fears. Or warg ourselves away.”

“I know.”

“We can’t rely on magic to escape. Gods know how I wish I could just warg into Ghost whenever Glover talks.” Sansa laughed at that. Jon has done that once before, and the Lord of Deepwood Motte didn’t take his King’s absence too kindly. 

“Jon, what if our child becomes a warg?” There was worry in her voice. If she could so easily get addicted to skinchanging, who’s to say their children wouldn’t?

“Then we’ll teach them.” He said simply. “We’ll teach them right and proper. Stark blood runs through their veins. Blood of the First Men runs through their veins. If they'll have magical abilities like I think they will, then we show them how to handle it."

Sansa still wasn’t reassured. “And we’ll make sure it’s not a clutch?”

Jon smiled at his wife in his arms and nodded. “We’ll make sure it’s not a clutch.”

10 years later

A dog was trailing behind Sansa, trying to get her attention. When it did, she turned around and looked at it. It tilted its head back. Sansa sighed and put her hands on her hips, ready to lecture.

“You get your skinny little arse out of there and back to your lessons Sarra!” 

The dog whined and then suddenly looked at Sansa curiously, as if wondering How did I get here? Sansa huffed and continued on her way.

When she arrived at her destination, she went in and closed the door behind her. She didn’t say a word until she had his undivided attention. 

Jon took his time to carefully sign the last bit he needed, put down his quill, and looked up at his wife. “Yes, dear?”

“Your daughter-”

“Now hold on.” Jon was affronted with her implications. “Why is she only my daughter when she’s in trouble? When she does something wonderful, suddenly she’s yours too?” Sansa pouted. “C’mere love. What did she do now?”

Sansa planted herself on her husband’s lap and placed her hands on his shoulders. “She skipped her lessons again by warging into one of the hunting hounds.”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Don’t be impressed!”

He laughed. “I’m sorry darling, but for a nine year old, even you have to admit that’s pretty impressive.”

Sansa sighed. “I just don’t want her warging so much and so soon.”

Jon suddenly understood. It’s been a few years since Sansa last skinchanged into anything, but her fears were not unfounded. “We’ll talk to her tonight. We’ll explain why it’s dangerous to warg so much, alright? I promise.”

“You promise?”

“Have I ever broken one?”

Sansa blinked.

“Right.” Jon cleared his throat and picked Sansa up, bridal style. “Up we go, Your Grace.”

Sansa yelped and clung onto Jon for fear of falling. “Jon! Where are you going?”

“Where are we going, my love.” Jon kissed his wife and she laughed.

“Alright, where are we going then?”

“Of course, I do! Been voting since I was 13!”

“Oh my gods, you’re so stupid.”

“Wait if being a Stark is a requirement, then I want out.”

“Shut up, Jon. You’re participating.”

“I dunno, I think they’re fun!”

“Of course you think they’re fun, Sansa, you always get the best ones!”

“We’re literally the ones who vote, if you don’t want me to get the best ones, then maybe don’t vote for me?”

“Shut it!”

The entire living room quieted and looked at Robb. As eldest Stark child, he was now in charge of their little game.

“We do this every year, just because Mum and Dad are on vacation this year, doesn’t mean we have to skip it! Besides, I thought it’d spice it up this year. I printed out actual certificates to take photos with and send to Mum and Dad!.”

“Boo!”

“Okay no, Mum does not need more photos for blackmail.”

“Too late! Just got a text asking if we did it yet. She wants them.”

Robb groaned before waving them all to quiet down again. Why was a room full of 20-somethings acting like teenagers? Simple. The Stark Superlatives. It was a silly tradition that started from one of Catelyn’s many lectures when they were all younger.

One year, on the last day of school before the hols, Sansa came home with a certificate that said ‘Most Likely to be a Helping Hand’ and was very proud of it. Of course, her siblings and Robb's friends did what they always do: they teased her for weeks about her silly school semester awards. And normally Catelyn would have just reprimanded them a little, but she didn’t want Sansa feeling embarrassed for being helpful. So she reminded the older boys what they all got the year before. Robb with his ‘Most Dramatic’ and Theon with his ‘Class Clown’ and Jon, who was still confused about it to this day, with his ‘Best Smile’ (Sansa thought it was deserving though). And of course, with the older kids having superlatives, Arya and Bran wanted in. So Robb awarded Bran ‘Best Climber’ and Theon named Arya ‘Most Annoying’ and Jon gave ‘Cutest All Around’ to Rickon.

The next year when Arya came grumbling home with her ‘Best Hair’ instead of ‘Most Athletic,’ she decided to continue the game of the Stark siblings handing out their own superlatives. And so a tradition was born. At the end of every year, the family would hold an event they dubbed the Stark Superlatives. The categories always changed a bit every year, but Ned and Cat always got 'Best Dad' and 'Best Mum' respectively.

They’ve collected a few members over the years. Talisa, Robb’s wife, was the perpetual holder of ‘Most likely to have a Bandaid’ and ‘Most Responsible.’ Gendry, Arya’s boyfriend, once got ‘Most Gullible.’ He accepted it with grace. Grace that none of the Starks had when Cat overruled everyone a few years ago and said Shireen, Rickon’s special friend, won ‘Favourite Child.’

“There we have it!” Robb said triumphantly, “Mum is expecting it now, so we can’t disappoint. Theon, please do the honors and pass out the ballots!”

Uncharacteristically, Theon started carefully passing out each sheet. When he paused and looked at two of them, Bran spoke up.

“Mate, they’re all the same, don't think too hard.”

Theon just looked at Bran and smirked. Which caused everyone to groan. Theon Greyjoy looking smug was never a good sign.

“Theon, please tell me all you did was print out the pages like I asked?”

“No can do, Robberoo! I thought I’d spice it up this year too.” And before anyone could ask him what that meant, Arya started cackling when she looked over her ballot.

“Oh, you’re good, Greyjoy,” she admitted with an impressed look.

Theon grinned. “I try.”

Everyone started snickering as they filled out their ballots. Except for three people.

--

“And the award for ‘Most Likely to Bail You Out of Jail’ goes to… Drum roll please!” Theon said in his announcer voice, “Talisa!”

“Yay!” the group chorused. Despite the earlier protests, everyone was having fun. Who doesn’t love getting awards?

“I dunno about these new categories,” Talisa laughed, “I miss being voted Most Responsible.”

“Alright, alright, smile for the camera so we can move on Madam Responsible!” Robb said to his wife. He might be feeling just a tad bitter over his “Biggest Himbo” and “Most Likely to Cry During Lion King” awards.

“Okay, moving on! First, we got bailing out of jail, now we have Most Likely to Be Sent to Jail. And that goes to Arya!” Theon pointed dramatically to her.

“Nice.” Arya smiled proudly and bowed before accepting her award.

“Now, don’t sit down just yet! This next one was a close one! By just one vote, Arya Stark, you are the title holder of ‘Most! Feral! Stark!’”

Rickon slammed his soda pop on the coffee table. “I’ve been robbed!”

“Babe, mmm, no. Sit down,” Shireen was tugging on his arm, but he wouldn’t have it.

“I won’t take this slander!”

Arya scoffed at her little brother. “Yeah, you can just take your little ‘Most Likely to Confuse a Horse and Unicorn’ ass outta here.”

“Why do I feel like this year’s awards are oddly specific and incredibly targeted?” Jon asked, looking at his certificate for ‘Most Likely to Wear Black and Brood on the Swings in the Backyard.’

“I dunno what you’re talking about, Jon,” Sansa dryly said as she bumped his shoulder. She held up her ‘Most Likely to Commit Murder for Lemon Cakes’ certificate and chuckled. Jon chuckled with her and held her gaze.

“Disgusting,” Theon whispered under his breath. And then in his normal voice, “Alright, settle down, children, there’s one last award to give out!”

Sansa, Jon, and Robb looked confused.

“What are you talking about, Theon?” Robb asked. “That was it.”

“Oh, whoops, must’ve been a misprint on your ballots, sorry!” Theon looked anything but. “Now this one comes in two parts, drum roll please!” Everyone but the confused three enthusiastically made drum roll noises. In one long breath, Theon announced, “By unanimous votes, ‘Most Likely to Date Jon Snow’ goes to Sansa and ‘Most Likely to Date Sansa Stark’ goes to Jon!”

“Theon!” Sansa hissed.

“Seriously?” Jon glowered.

“Wait what?” Robb blinked back in shock.

“Yay!” shouted everyone else.

Theon, with the biggest shit eating grin, turned to Jon and Sansa. “You both confessed to me separately that you’ve liked each other for years, but were waiting for the other to make a move. You didn’t seriously think I wouldn’t do anything about it, did you?”

Sansa turned to Jon. “You told Theon you like me?”

Jon raised a brow. “You told Theon?”

“Neither of you told me?!” Robb exclaimed.

“Let it go, honey.” Talisa patted her husband before giving the certificates that Theon actually printed to Jon and Sansa. “Smile for the camera.”

--

Catelyn was laughing softly as she scrolled through the photos that Talisa had sent her. Personally, she thought the new categories were hilarious. Ned, not so much.

“I feel like we should be concerned Bran was voted ‘Most Likely to Hack the FBI.’”

Instead of replying to him, Cat gasped and showed her husband the last picture. He snorted when he saw it.

“About time.”