#jonsansaff

The year that had seemed so long when he had ridden out with the Emperor had been short in hindsight. He could already see the towers of Winterfell. Today he did not come as the bastard who had been ransomed by his half-sister. Today he came as the rightful Lord. The summer was in his late bloom, the light was still golden, and Jon thought he saw the sun play on the auburn hair of the figure that stood on the walls.

He spurred his horse, and almost galloped into the courtyard, despite the steep path to the castle. Sansa had run down, and she was in his arms as soon as he had dismounted.

Jon felt as if every anguish he had ever felt had vanished. He felt encircled by Sansa’s smell, by her musical voice, and his heart soared.

“Welcome, wolf lord,” Sansa whispered into his ears. “Welcome, my lord.”

“My love,” Jon whispered back. “My wife.”

Sansa disentangled herself from his arms. “Not yet,” she laughed.

The people of Winterfell came to great him and he reluctantly let her go to do his duty.

There was a small welcome feast and Jon was surprised and pleased that Sam and his wife had been invited to be guests at the wedding. He paid his respects in the crypts, together with Sansa and they stood silently, watching the shadows play over the statues of Brandon and Catelyn. The cold of the crypts did not make Jon shudder though, a feeling of peace settled over him. He had expected the walled garden to be dry because of the continuous warm weather, but the smells of herbs and the humming of bees filled the air.

When he went to bed, sleep fled him. He tossed and turned in anticipation of the wedding tomorrow. At first, he missed the soft knock at his door, but when the knocks became louder, he opened the door and saw Sansa.

She laid a finger to her lips and took his hand.

The moon was full and gave enough light so that the ascent up the mountain was easy. Sansa was like an apparition before him and Jon followed her in a dreamlike state, as if she was a sprite luring him to an enchanted place.

When they reached the lake, the moon doubled. It sat in the sky and was resting in the waters of the lake.

Sansa took his hand again, when they settled down.

“There is something I have to tell you, before we wed tomorrow. But I want it to be a secret between us, that only the water sprites in the lake may know.”

Jon pressed her hand. “What is it, Sansa?”, he asked, his lips caressing her name in wonder, remembering that she would be his.

“My mother told the emperor, you, and all the court a different story than she told me. She confessed, that Littlefinger had taken her against her will, and that he was my father, but to me she told a different story. She told me about a scholar, Eddard, who taught the daughters of Riverrun and secretly loved the eldest daughter. A scholar, who was kind-hearted and whose joy was herblore which he taught my mother.”

Jon thought. “Eddard as your father rings truer to me. Do you think the book we found was his?”.

Sansa nodded. “Yes, I am quite certain, that it was his, and the rose was for my mother.”

“Why would she have done this?”, Jon asked.

Sansa let go of his hand. “I can only guess. I think, she feared that people might ask after who Eddard’s parents there. Eddard is a Winterfell name, and the wandering scholar might have been a Winterfell bastard, a bastard of the old lord Rickard perhaps, or Rickard’s brother.”

“In which case we would be related, fourth or maybe fifth degree. So, you are not my sister, but you might be my cousin or my second cousin,” he breathed.

Sansa nodded.

“Do you think your mother knew or did she just not want any questions asked?”

“I think, if she had known for certain, she would have told me.”

Sansa sighed. “I just thought that you needed to know, before we marry.”

Even in the moonlight, Jon could see her blush. “I didn’t want this to stand between us, but I also didn’t want to tell you in a letter.”

Jon swallowed. He took her hand and kissed it, shortly touching the slim ring, that encircled her finger.

“Sansa, I’m going to make a terrible confession.”

She looked up and he thought he would drown in her eyes.

“I don’t care. A year away from you has not changed my feelings, not at all and I will not pass this chance to make you mine. I think, your mother wanted this for us. She wanted us to be happy. You must know that.”

When you do not right by her, I will come back and haunt you.

Sansa flung herself into his arms.

Jon bent down and captured her lips with his, tender at first, but he could feel the hungry wolf in him raising his head and his kisses became more feverish, passionate, and yet sweet all the time. Sansa kissed him back, and it made him feel dizzy and happy, and yet there was a fire in his heart, that would not be quenched but by her.

He let his fingers run through the copper tresses of her hair, and soon her hair was in disarray around her face.

“Wait a moment,” Sansa said, just before all thoughts had fled.

She rummaged in her bag and pulled out the cup of the wolves of Winterfell. She dipped it into the lake.

“Wolf Lord, Enjoy the wine, enjoy the feast, enjoy the bread, enjoy the mead, enjoy the song, enjoy the bed!”, she said solemnly. She took a small sip and held the cup up to him.

Jon took the cup from her hand and drank. The water slid down his throat that had suddenly become parched.

“Only the water sprites will ever know.”

Jon kissed her again, and they both felt earth and water and moonlight in their flesh and bones in this night.

***

Then he went to the first session of Psychology 101 his sophomore year in college and laid eyes on Margaery Tyrell.  So did every other guy in the room.  Hell, the girl was a knockout.  She might not be as tall as Sansa, but she had the finest backside a man could ask to look at, hourglass curves for days, and a saucy smile that made Theon drool.  She had the professor eating out of her hand by the end of the first class period, and it didn’t take much longer for Theon to realize her flirtation game was a fearsome thing to behold – almost as fearsome as his.  Try as he might, though, he could not get her to give him the time of day.  He tried every grin and wink in his repertoire.  He attended her volleyball games.  Hell, he trotted out pickup lines he reserved for only the hottest, smartest, classiest girls in his life.  All he got for it, though, was a smattering of smiles, and they weren’t those big, bold grins he saw her use on other people.  She knew how to play it coy, Theon would give her that.

So he waited to make his move until that year’s Stark Christmas party.  After Bran and Rickon, the two youngest Starks, had gone to bed, Theon spiked the punch bowl and helped him to several glasses.  Then he nicked a sprig of mistletoe from one of Catelyn’s wreaths, duct-taped it to the doorway between the basement’s family room and game room, filled another cup with punch, and offered it to Margaery along with his most winning smile just as she stepped under the mistletoe.  A snigger spilled out of Theon before he could stop it – in fact, he managed to stifle a string of moment-ruining giggles only just in time – and when she raised an eyebrow at him, he saw his opening.  Clearly, he’d intrigued her.  The long game had paid off – now it was time to close the deal.  He closed the distance between them in a flash, pulled her flush against him, and gave her his most swoon-worthy kiss.  He might have hiccupped a bit in the middle of it, but Margaery did not seem to notice.  In fact, when he finally let her go, she winked at him.  Theon’s eyes lit up, but Margaery shook her head and clicked her tongue at him.

“I’m flattered, Greyjoy,” she cooed, “but I’m very particular about the caliber of kisser I need.”  She turned her back to him, stalked off to the punch bowl, ladled herself a glass, and drained it all in one go.  Across the room, Robb and his friends Pyp Black and Grenn Wall burst out laughing.  So did Shae Smith and Myrcella Baratheon, who had been tittering over on the other side of the room.  

Well, son of a bitch.  Theon Greyjoy had never been played quite so hard.

Theon slunk toward the pool table, but before he got there he saw Sansa Stark out of the corner of his eye.  She swept over to Margaery and the others, flashing one of her megawatt smiles at something.  Theon goggled at her for a moment before turning out of instinct to check for Robb and Jon.  Robb was nowhere in sight, but Jon was sitting in the corner holding a beer and looking even gogglier than Theon.

He was staring at Sansa Stark, too.

Weird, Theon thought before he passed out in the nearest chair.  Snow must have been drunker than he thought.

By the time next year rolled around, Margaery had begun dating Robb Stark.  Theon’s one consolation was that she brought her friend Ros North, a curvaceous redhead with a wicked grin and a reputation to match.  Two beers and two glasses of punch into the evening, Theon snagged another sprig of mistletoe and taped it over the same doorway.  He approached Ros with a glass of punch, just as he had done with Margaery, and graced her with his much-improved kiss, which he’d practiced thoroughly with a couple of week-long girlfriends the prior year.  Barely five seconds into the kiss, Ros burst into giggles, pulled away, and patted Theon on the head.

“Poor baby,” she snickered.  Theon still couldn’t quite tear his gaze from the way her bright, full red lips caressed the words.  She tilted her head so those lips were nearly brushing Theon’s ear.  Theon’s face went as red as Ros’s hair.

“I like to roll with men, dear,” she whispered.  “I’ve had enough of the boys.”  She whirled around, giving Theon a view of her perfect ass, and sauntered over to talk to Myrcella Baratheon and Shae Smith, who were giggling like crazy.

Bloody hell.  Maybe he was losing his game.  Thank gods Robb hadn’t noticed – he was too busy snogging Margaery Tyrell in the next room.  Nor did Jon Snow, who was in his usual corner but talking to Sansa Stark instead of nursing his usual beer.

Theon raised an imaginary glass to Sansa.  The girl had more tricks than he did if she could get Mr. Antisocial himself to smile at a party.

The following year, with both Robb and Jon occupied at the pool table, Theon used his mistletoe – and, of course, the punch – on Sansa Stark, who got more stunning every year.  Sansa gave a startled yelp and shoved him backward.  Theon stumbled wildly and nearly fell on his backside, only saving himself by crashing into the wall.

“Geez, Greyjoy,” said Sansa, rolling her eyes.  “Sod off.  You’re drunk.”

“Oi!”  Suddenly Jon Snow’s glowering face obscured Theon’s field of vision.  “Leave her be, Greyjoy.”

“He’s just drunk, Jon.”  Sansa’s soft voice sounded from somewhere behind the curly-headed menace currently occupying Theon’s shifting eyesight.  “We should get him to Robb’s room.”

Jon shook his head.  “Robb and I’ll get him,” he said.  “You should stay and – and have fun.”

His hand reached over to rub the back of his head.  Somewhere between slumping to the floor and staring at Ros, who had come to the party with her new, rich boyfriend, Theon risked another glance at Jon.  His face looked awfully red.

The following year, Sansa brought Myrcella’s nasty older brother Joffrey to the Starks’ Christmas party.  Joffrey had loved nothing more than bullying Theon and anyone else he felt owed him some human misery back in high school, and from the moment he swept into the Starks’ house looking as though he owned it, Theon could tell the blond prick hadn’t changed one bit.

Good God, thought Theon as he unscrewed a bottle of rum over the punch bowl and watched Joffrey snap at Sansa for the third time in an hour.  The guy was one hell of a douche.  And even if Theon didn’t stand a chance with Sansa, he knew she deserved better than that twat.

But hot damn if Joffrey Baratheon didn’t have a gorgeous sister.  She entered the room just then, and Theon’s eyes bulged almost out of their sockets.  Myrcella got prettier every year, especially when she wore short, sparkly dresses like that…

Not until Myrcella had headed over to talk to Shae Smith did Theon realize he’d accidentally dumped the entire bottle of rum, instead of only half, into the punch bowl.  Oops.

So it only took Theon until his third glass of punch to get drunk enough to kiss Myrcella under the mistletoe.  She squealed and flung his arm away from her.

“Go away, Theon,” she said in that tone of prim disapproval not even Sansa Stark could match.  “You’re drunk.”

Theon giggled.  “I kn-know!” he agreed.  “It’s called letting loose, Myrcella.  You should try it some time.”  He gave her his most charmingly subtle wink, although somehow he sensed that it was not coming off as subtly as he wanted it to.  Myrcella merely rolled her eyes and strode off in Margaery Tyrell’s direction.  Halfway there, she frowned and changed course, this time to where her brother was snapping at Sansa yet again.  Jon Snow, however, got over there before she could, and before Baratheon knew what had hit him, Snow spun him around by the arm and started growling at him.  He really did look almost like a snapping Rottweiler, Theon thought, and managed a few more giggles before he collapsed on the nearest couch.

The following year, Sansa had dumped Joffrey Baratheon, who was smart enough not to show his face at the Starks’ party.  His sister showed up, though, on the arm of Trystane Martell, who spent much of the evening getting his ass handed to him at pool by Arya Stark.  The spirited younger Stark daughter was in an even feistier mood that night; she had apparently lost some bet or other with Sansa and had to wear a dress to the party, instead of her usual baggy sweatshirt and jeans, as a result.  Now she was taking out her anger on the pool balls and not missing a beat despite the constraints of her form-fitting dress.  Luckily, Trystane was a good sport about it, and so was Jon Snow, who got her frown to transform into a hearty laugh by the end of his second match with her.  

Damn.  Who knew Arya Stark could look that good when she smiled?

Theon hadn’t until now, but after a few glasses of punch, he decided to show his appreciation.  Unfortunately, those glasses had made him forget just how proficient Arya was at martial arts.  His lips were on hers for all of one and a half seconds before she twisted his arm around and kicked him to the floor.  She emptied the glass of punch he’d offered her onto his face for good measure.

“Bugger off, Greyjoy,” she spat, and stomped off.  Gendry Waters and Grenn Wall whooped from their perch in the corner.  Arya glared at them, and they promptly subsided.  Jon Snow and Sansa Stark, whom Arya had startled out of one of those philosophical sci-fi discussions they’d gotten so fond of all the way back in college, both had shit-eating grins on their faces.  Luckily, Arya was too busy stomping over to the refrigerator for a beer to notice them.

Theon snorted, and then winced when he felt the remnants of Arya’s drink getting sucked into his nostrils.  That hurt worse than the kick she’d given him, although he had a feeling that if Arya had really wanted to hurt him, she’d simply have knocked him out cold.  The girl was bloody fierce, he thought, grinning, although he waited to make sure she was safely across the room before pushing himself off the floor.

He was mildly surprised when Gendry showed up as Arya’s boyfriend to the following year’s Christmas party.  Aw, shit.  Another one bites the dust.

Wait.  Another one?  

Theon stopped cold in the game room doorway on his way to retrieve the rum, which he’d stashed in the spare room he was occupying for the night.

Last year, when Theon had kissed her, she hadn’t had a boyfriend, and now she had Gendry.  The year before that, it had been Myrcella Baratheon, and she’d begun dating Trystane Martell the month following the party.  That had been the year Sansa Stark had shown up with Myrcella’s jackass of a brother, but they hadn’t gotten together until after Theon had kissed Sansa the prior year.

Back when Ros had shown up with that rich asshole, whom she’d only snatched up from gods knew where after Theon had tried his mistletoe game on her a year prior.  And that had been the year Margaery had started dating Robb Stark, but not until after Theon had kissed her a year before that.

Theon scratched his head.  Well, shit.  Apparently the mistletoe worked after all, if not exactly the way he wanted it to.  He frowned.  It hadn’t worked so well for Sansa, though.  Every other girl he’d kissed had done all right – hell, Robb and Margaery were engaged now, and so were Myrcella and Trystane – but all Sansa had gotten was six months of preening viciousness from Myrcella’s jackass brother.  

Theon scratched his head again.  Maybe that problem could be remedied.

“And you told Mum about the wreaths down here, right?”  Sansa swept up to the punch bowl alongside Robb.  “Gods know Theon won’t leave the bloody stuff alone if he gets an eyeful of it.”

Robb nodded as he poured her a glass of punch.  When he reached out to hand it to her, she regarded him with a sharply raised eyebrow.  Her brother held out both hands in a gesture of utter placation.  

“Yes, I spoke to Mum, as requested,” he answered.  “You should know by now that when a woman in my life asks me to do a favor, I am only too happy to oblige.”

A flurry of giggles bubbled out of Sansa’s mouth.  “Oh, I know,” she remarked, wiggling both eyebrows at him.  “How could I ever forget all three hours’ worth of assistance you gave Margaery and me when we were looking bridesmaids’ dresses?”

Robb rolled his eyes and mumbled something Theon couldn’t hear.  Sansa grinned and kissed him on the cheek.

“I love you, too, big bro,” she said in her sweetest voice.  

Theon shook his head.  Margaery Tyrell really did have Stark trained in the art of pleasing women.  But he was still sorely lacking in the art of keeping up with Theon Greyjoy.  

Theon headed back toward the spare room.  He’d found out a couple of years ago that Catelyn Stark stashed her mistletoe in one of the laundry room cupboards.  She’d asked him to stay at the house for a few hours with Bran and Rickon, whom she had deemed not yet old enough to watch themselves, while she and Ned headed off to Torrhen’s Square to rescue Arya and her broken-down car, and they’d amused themselves with a few rounds of hide-and-seek when the boys’ PlayStation had short-circuited.  Theon had opened the cupboard looking for Rickon, who’d been just small enough to fit in it, but had found the mistletoe instead.  Every year since then, he’d helped himself to a sprig when the mood had taken him to kiss a beautiful girl.  Robb and Sansa probably didn’t even know it was there.

Theon opened the cupboard door, smirking.  Amateurs.

He snuck back into the game room just in time to watch Sansa and Arya kick Margaery and Shae to all get-out on the foosball table.  Sansa giggled and did that funny little skip on one foot that she’d always done when beating one of her siblings at a game, and her red hair danced in the shimmer of the overhead lights.

Across the room, Jon Snow froze with his beer bottle halfway to his mouth.  His eyes were glazed over, and a very stupid grin was painted on his normally dour face.  Theon could sympathize with him, although this was hardly the time for it.  He had mistletoe to wrangle and some bloke other than Joffrey Baratheon to find as a boyfriend for Sansa.

Now that his mission was clearer, Theon discovered, he needed fewer glasses of punch than usual.  After all, he was no longer trying to snag Sansa for himself.  He, Theon Greyjoy, was sacrificing some of his happiness to help her find her own.

He grinned as he made his way over to Sansa, but the grin faded when she pulled away a mere second after their lips had touched.

“You’re drunk again, Theon,” she sighed, and then Theon’s grin vanished altogether, because Jon Snow had grabbed him by the arm, dragged him halfway across the room, and deposited him briskly into a chair.  It was an old recliner, and Jon bumped the faulty side lever as he pushed Theon down into the cushions.  Both the footrest and Theon’s feet flew into the air, and Theon yelped.  Ouch.  Jon, however, did not miss a beat.

“Leave off her, Greyjoy,” he growled.  “Stop bloody pawing like that.  It’s not funny.”  He slapped the sprig of mistletoe, which judging by the torn duct tape hanging off it he had just ripped from its position in the doorway.

“’M not drunk,” Theon protested.  Buzzed, after all, was not the same thing as drunk.  He hadn’t even been drunk since last Christmas.  “And I wasn’t pawing.”

Jon Snow, however, did not hear that, for Sansa had walked up to him to lay her hand on his shoulder.  The anger melted off his face as he did so, and his eyes and voice gentled at the speed of light.

“You all right?” he murmured, and Sansa nodded.  She threw a blanket over Theon, who was still gaping at Jon.

“Get some rest, Theon,” she said.  Theon shook his head.

“It’s the mistletoe,” he insisted.  He picked up the spring and held it out to Sansa, who only shook her head.

“Rest, Theon,” she repeated, and turned to speak to Jon.

Theon bumped his head back against the chair’s headrest.  “Mistletoe,” he groaned again, but nobody paid any attention to him.

At least his pain had not been for nothing, he reflected the following year when Sansa showed up at the party with a Ken-doll lookalike called Harry Hardyng.  He didn’t snap at her, or anyone else for that matter, and Theon sighed with relief as he poured a third of the contents of his rum bottle – he couldn’t quite hold his liquor as well now as he’d done in the past – into the punch bowl.  Sansa was brimming with smiles, and, as was her wont, her mirth infected everyone she spoke to.  The only exception was Jon Snow, who looked even more dour than usual.  He spent most of the night playing pool and foosball with Pyp, Grenn, Sam Tarly, and their girlfriends, and spoke to Sansa hardly at all.  That was the only time, however, that the dour look left his face.

Huh.  Theon was so absorbed in Snow’s altered demeanor that he completely forgot to refill the punch bowl with rum.

He also forgot to kiss a girl.

When he returned to the Starks’ house the following Christmas, Sansa was once again single.  Hardyng, it turned out, was as lousy a wanker as Joffrey Baratheon, for he’d spent nearly the entire relationship cheating on Sansa.  She’d cried her eyes out, quit her job in King’s Landing, and moved back to Wintertown.  Theon had taken to hanging out with her now and again, which also usually meant hanging out with Arya, Gendry, and Jon.  Sometimes Theon would bring a girl and make it a double (or triple) date.  Not that Sansa was dating Jon or anything, but they acted an awful lot like it sometimes.  Theon Greyjoy, after all, had eyes and ears.  He saw the way Sansa squealed and huddled against Jon’s shoulder when whatever movie they’d gone out to got freaky or intense, as well as how quickly Jon wrapped his arm around her in response.  He heard them finish each other’s sentences while thrashing Theon’s ass at Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit.  He heard the low growl rumbling in Jon’s throat when they were out at a restaurant and Sansa went to the bar to get a round of drinks, only to get hit on by a couple of random guys.  He saw Jon’s eyes light up when they picked Sansa up for Margaery Tyrell’s grandmother’s midsummer ball and she dashed down the stairs apologizing for being late in a shiny golden gown that made her look like a goddess.  He saw Jon’s jaw drop, and he saw the weird, hazy look on the other man’s face.  It was a look Jon displayed more and more often as the months wore on, and he started to wonder whether it wasn’t even more annoying than the broody scowl Jon used to favor.  

Then he heard Jon crack a joke one day.  Well, it was more an actual pun than a joke, but in any case, Jon Snow had displayed humor – humor – and there was Sansa, laughing like she hadn’t a care in the world.  She put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, and Theon saw the flush coloring the back of the other man’s neck, and he heard Jon mumbling something about not being a comedian or a bleeding poet.  Sansa just smiled and said, “You underestimate a lot of things about yourself, Jon Snow,” and then Margaery Tyrell came over to talk to her, and when Sansa looked back over her shoulder at Jon, she bit her lip and got one of those weird, hazy looks on her face that Jon only got around her.

Aw, man.

Theon wanted to kiss Sansa for a third time at the Starks’ Christmas party that year.  He really did.  Maybe then Snow would actually grow the balls to ask her out.

Or maybe she’d end up with somebody as bad as Baratheon or Hardyng.

He couldn’t risk it.

But then Jon plodded down the stairs into the Starks’ family room, and Sansa’s face lit up with another of her gorgeous, hazy smiles, and Jon gave her one of his dopey grins, and Theon suddenly knew what he had to do.

Oh, shit.

He really was getting to be a lightweight, because he started to go fuzzy on just his fourth beer – he’d skipped spiking the punch, because it was way too important that both Jon and Sansa be sober for this.  If either of them got even the slightest buzz, they might read way too much into things, and tomorrow they’d be back to pussyfooting around everything, and Theon would be damned if he let all his hard work and sacrifice go to waste.

So he screwed up his courage, hung up another sprig of mistletoe, dropped his plate and let the chips and popcorn on it spill to the floor, and loudly hailed Jon to come over and help him.  As soon as Jon bent down, Theon wrinkled his face, planted his lips smack on the latter’s mouth for as short a moment as his reflexes would allow, and spat onto his empty plate.  Jon whirled around as though Theon had just set him on fire.  Theon, startled, lost his balance and sat smack on the floor.

“There you are,” he hiccupped, still gagging.  “Gods, you taste bloody awful.  Now go – ” he gestured wildly in Sansa’s direction – “go ask her to be your girlfriend.  I’ve given you the lucky charm, mate.”  

He waved his hand in the direction of the mistletoe, which was hanging forlornly in the doorway.  Jon stared at him as though unable to decide whether to punch Theon or ask him what the bloody hell he meant.  Then his gaze turned to Sansa, who was blushing furiously and biting her lip and looking at Jon with the same googly, silly looks as he was giving her.  Theon opened his mouth to yell at them to just kiss already, but all that came out was a loud belch.  

“’Bout bloody time,” said several voices behind him.  Theon turned to see Gendry, Arya, and Margaery directing identical Cheshire-cat grins at a red-faced Jon, who was scratching his ear and listening with rapt attention to something an equally red-faced Sansa was saying.  She took his arm and led him into the hallway, out of Theon’s sight.

“Huh.”  Theon turned again to see Arya Stark regarding him curiously.  “Not sure which one’ll give Mum the bigger heart attack – those idiots seeing the bloody light or you being useful for once, Greyjoy.”  Theon opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand.

“Take that shit down,” she said, nodding up at the sprig of mistletoe.  “I don’t need my eyes burned any more tonight.”

It took a few heaves and wobbles, but Theon finally managed to stand up and remove the mistletoe, tape and all, from the game room doorway.  He regarded it for a long moment and then shrugged.  Maybe he really shouldn’t push his luck any further, especially after the lengths to which he’d had to go tonight.  He turned around and headed for the laundry room.  When he reached the doorway, he lurched and nearly fell over again.

Jon and Sansa were standing just underneath the cabinet where Catelyn Stark kept her mistletoe, wrapped around each other like paper around Christmas presents and kissing like there was no tomorrow.  Jon had one hand cupped at the nape of Sansa’s neck, his fingers threaded through her hair, and she was caressing his curls with one of hers.  At one point Jon drew back long enough to nuzzle her cheek gently and whisper something in her ear.  Sansa blushed and grinned at him, and Theon expected cartoon hearts to come flying out of her eyes at any moment.

Huh.  Jon Snow was a hell of a lot better with girls than he’d ever thought.

Theon grinned and pocketed the mistletoe.  He could always save it for later – like at their wedding, where he could threaten to hold it over their heads through the whole bloody dinner if they didn’t name their firstborn son Theon in his honor.  Or, come to think of it, name him best man.  He grinned again as he turned away from the couple, whose lips were getting more fused together by the second.

41/51 Lap.

The roar of his engine and the smooth skid of his tires spurred him to move  faster as he stepped on the gas again, his fists gripping on to the wheel just so. Only ten more laps to go and Jon was feeling pretty confident since the Snakes were keeping Joffrey busy while Waymar sailed back to P2 behind him.

He had just made the fourth turn again when he saw a marshall waving a detour flag at him.

What the hell?

"Edd? Edd? What's going on? Why is there a detour? Edd?"

But the airwaves remained static which was very odd.

Jon had no choice then but to follow the detour and into a track that lead to one of the abandoned practice tunnels. Something must've happened ahead of the track but he didn't see or hear anything unusual.

But what was unnerving was the team radio line dying on him.

This never happened before and he started slowing down because he wasn't familiar with this track and he was starting to suspect there was no car trailing behind him anymore.

As he went further, so did the darkness but he couldn't turn back because the track was too narrow and was obviously a one-way.

His heart raced and it wasn't from excitement anymore.

Finally, he saw the light and there were people wearing the race officials uniforms waving him over to stop and Jon thought that maybe this wasn't a race thing but more of a Prime Minister's son safety issue.

He stopped the car and hopped off cautious of his surroundings. He didn't completely remove his helmet, just lifted the visor as he greeted an approaching official but when he saw Arthur Dayne and Larence Snow, both of which were part of his security detail, he relaxed a little.

He removed his helmet, pulled down his balaclava and ear plugs, then and met them halfway. "What's going on?"

"You were almost kidnapped sir."

Jon turned sharply to the voice he'd recognize anywhere on the planet and beyond and he was greeted immediately by red flowing hair and bright blue eyes of his personal assistant and love of his life though she doesn't know it yet, Sansa Stark, who was holding up a phone and her tablet while her smart watch kept flashing on her right wrist, looking at him with concern.

"C-come again?"

"Hang on," Sansa held finger up while she took a call from her headset. "Yes, he's safe Robb. Arthur and Larence as well as some of the staff are here with us. I'll brief him and we can rendezvous back to the Keep from the Dragonpit. Arthur already talked to Barristan. Mmhmm. Yes. Okay."

She tapped the mic off and walked over to him calmly, nodding at Larence to go ahead. "There was a plan to lead you here off track and take you. We're heading over back to the Keep," she explained.

Jon's blood froze. He knew about several kidnapping attempts done on his family but this was the first time that he was the sole target and he was barely listening as Arthur started explaining what happened while they escorted him into one of the Targaryen safe cars.

"It was the Blackfyres and their Golden Company. We got an anonymous tip to watch you closely when you reached your fortieth lap. When Sansa saw your car disappear off track, I had my men go ahead from the other end of the tunnel you entered. Before that we've already blocked off all the exits when you reached your twentieth lap. Long story short, my men apprehended ten company members and their getaway car."

He tried to concentrate and process but he was definitely shaken up. He knew there was something he wasn't telling him but then he felt a warm hand on his arm and saw Sansa's small dainty hand on him before meeting with her eyes.

"Hey, you're safe now, sir," she said softly, her eyes as warm as her touch that Jon visibly relaxed, even offering a weak smile.

"I thought I told you to call me Jon."

Sansa just smiled up at him and waited for him to slide in the car while Arthur held the door open for him. He went in automatically, sliding inside to make room for Sansa to sit next to him as part of the safety drill they've practiced numerous times of having no two doors open at the same time.

Jon was still uneasy. "It's too...easy," he said once Arthur rode shotgun and Larence started the car.

"It is, that's why we're bringing you home for now while the rest secure the Dragonpit," Arthur explained, nodding to Larence to drive once the front escort car rolled away. Jon looked behind them and saw the rear escort car tailing them.

"Why me?"

"We don't know yet," Sansa answered and Jon looked at her then and noticed her tapping away in her phone and tablet that was balanced on her lap. She paused what she was doing to look at him fully then, her eyes filled with determination. "But we'll find out."

He nodded and leant back, setting his helmet on the floor and not bothering to remove anything else yet since his overall wasn't only fireproof but bulletproof and his hands still shook enough for him to remove his gloves.

"So...who won?" he tried not to sound too bitter knowing that his streak ended.

Sansa looked at him sadly before giving a tiny smile and Jon appreciated that she once again, stopped whatever it was she was doing to concentrate on him. His heart started racing when she slid closer and settled her hand on his arm again. "Waymar then Trystane, Daemon, Joffrey, Arys" in that order. Sorry sir, but it's still a win for the team. And if anything, you would've won it hands down if it weren't for this," she started frowning then.

Jon was touched that Sansa cared - what was he saying? She always cared. But he didn't want to see her frown. He wanted nothing but to see her smile so he cracked a grin and ran a hand through his hair. "Hey at least the Night's Watch is still on top and you guys did a fantastic job stopping my abduction."

Sansa smiled a little then but got distracted when she started taking calls again and checking emails, giving him an apologetic look that he waved off with an understanding smile.

He realized then that this kind of thing would drain her from the shit storm of the media, his team, the whole F1 organization, and of course, the whole of Westeros wanting to know about this. Seven hells, Sansa will be completely swamped, communicating with the Palace lawyers and PR staff.

Seven hells, it probably started minutes ago - right at the moment he disappeared off track, but with Sansa as his PA, he'd never know the difference. She was incredibly efficient and not once did he see her as nothing but a picture of grace under pressure over the six months that she started working for him. Father did a good job of handpicking her and her twin brother Robb to work for him. The Stark twins worked with Sansa being in charge of internal affairs while Robb handled the external ones, often representing him politically as well as legally as his personal lawyer.

They were actually bargains if he wanted to continue his career as a professional racer, his father, or rather, Prime Minister Rhaegar made that clear. You can't just run off and leave your responsibilities on the track. Especially now with talks of the Blakfyres trying to overthrow his father's rule.

He sighed but then, at least he gained a friend in Robb and most importantly, he met Sansa.

Sansa.

She was the most beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on with her creamy alabaster skin, her bright blue eyes, that fiery mane and those incredibly long, long, legs she often displayed under those tight pencil skirts she wore and the fuck me heels that often left him helpless and wanting when it made her tower over him an inch.

But she wasn't just another beautiful face. Sansa was a sweetheart. Kind. Courteous. Sweet. But what drove him mad was how intelligent she was. She was incredibly smart and witty and so in charge that - that turned him on more.

It wasn't really a secret that he was attracted to her. She was working to serve under him but everyone saw that he was putty in her soft delicate hands. But as professionalism goes, they couldn't date.

His father made sure to remind him of that. She was too valuable an asset for the Targaryens with how efficient she worked that sometimes Jon thinks Rhaegar wanted to adopt her, especially with Rhaenys eloping with Willas Tyrell, and Aegon faffing around the world on Jon Connington's boat, his uncle Viserys being an insufferable prick in Dragonstone and his aunt Daenerys galivanting the Free Cities.

It was clear to Rhaegar that once his rule has ended, none of his issue would follow after him.

Really, the Starks cleared their messes with their father Ned Stark often acting as his right-hand man. Ned, like Robb, was a lawyer and had been appointed as the Attorney General of the regime. He then offered the twins' services. Sansa, he learned, had a degree in Diplomacy and International Relations. Truly, if anything, Rhaegar wanted to adopt either her or Robb to continue his platforms.

Jon asked them if they wanted to run for office one day but they both humbly declined saying that they were fine with what they were now, and that there were more important matters. Jon never understood what could be more important than holding office? Surely there were more things they could accomplish than fixing his messes or refraining him from making them.

They slowed down suddenly and the scratch of the radio broke the silence.

"This is Arthur. Hmmm. Copy that."

Jon held his breath as he saw Arthur's eyes go to his from the mirror. "We've been compromised. We're moving you to the safe house. We're being followed," he explained quickly while he punched on the GPS and continued talking to someone on his two-way.

Jon froze then and gripped his knees hard.

"Yeah, Robb. Turning off all comms except the untraceable. I'll update you."

His head snapped to Sansa and saw her turning all her gadgets off and extracting a slim black phone he's never seen before and syncing it with her head piece. And by the Seven, why was she so calm?

"How are you doing it?"

She looked up at him confused. "Hm?"

"How are you not freaking out?"

She blinked. "Oh. Nerves of steel, I guess," she shrugged before she studied him. "Hey you're shaking."

He was?

He looked down at his hands and saw that he was. He knew part of it was still the adrenaline from the race, the attempt, and now this. "Sorry."

Jon sucked in a breath when Sansa slid right next to him that her hip was touching his and leant a bit to take his hand in hers as she carefully pulled on the velcro straps and tugged his gloves off one by one.

"Why are you sorry? For being scared?" she said in a low voice without looking at him, concentrating on her task.

"Yeah, not exactly manly of me," he chuckled nervously.

"Hmm, well my father always said that the only time you can be brave is when you're afraid," she said soothingly before holding both his hands in hers and looking up at him with those vivid blue eyes of hers.

Jon could only look at her and their hands before he closed his eyes and took deep breaths and once he was calm enough he opened them and saw her still looking at him, giving him a half-smile when their eyes met again.

"You'll be fine, I promise. I'll protect you," she winked at him.

He couldn't help but smile at her joke. "Sure. You just bat your long lashes at them and they'd be wrapped around your cute little finger. Easy."

She blushed then and Jon realized what he just said. "Er, I mean-"

The car lurched as Larence made a sharp turn, causing Jon to press against Sansa when they got thrown to her side.

"Sorry about that, we're here," Larence muttered.

Arthur went down first to check while the rest of them waited inside the car.

Jon then realized he was on top of something soft and he bolted to the other side in a flash when he realized his head was pressed against Sansa's torso. "Sorry."

Sansa was flushed too but offered him a weak smile as she smoothed down her black twin-set with red details and that was when he noticed that Sansa was wearing his team's colors.

Arthur opened Sansa's door then while Larence helped her out and quickly ushered her inside the safe house in Fleabottom with him and Arthur following behind and flanked by two more men.

Once they were inside, Jon was whisked into the eleventh floor and into a suite. The safe house was actually an intel building.

"This is actually not the safest but it was the closest and we need to keep you safe," Arthur met his eyes.

"Tell me the real danger, I can handle it," Jon said determinedly, knowing there was something they were keeping from him.

Larence and Arthur as well as Sansa exchanged looks. "The order was to capture you. Dead or alive," Arthur laid it out then and Jon stared at him baffled.

They heard a crash then and running followed by shots outside.

"Fuck," Arthur pulled his gun out then and so did the men as they went for the door and formed a perimeter around Jon. "They're here."

Arthur then looked at Sansa. "We'll hold them off. Get him out. Larence will come as far as he can with you. Get the brief and head to the garage with the service elevator." He threw a set of keys to Sansa who caught it in one hand, her eyes hard, and her jaw firm. "Your card will work fine on everything. Get him out and rendezvous at Wolf Den."

"What? Why Sansa? What's going on!" Jon shifted from Arthur and Sansa and his eyes bulged when he saw Sansa toss the painting over the headboard and opened a hidden safe, pulling out a steel briefcase.

"Jon."

He turned to Arthur who wasn't looking at him but at the door where he was aiming his gun at. "Go with Sansa. Now."

Before he could react, Jon was being dragged by Larence towards the closet with Sansa walking briskly ahead.

He saw Larence shut the closet door and bar it then back to Sansa who placed her key card over a panel she revealed and a secret door opened just as they heard shots being fired from the other room.

"Shit, go, go, go, I'll lock behind you," Larence pushed Jon just as Sansa tugged at him.

"Larence but-" Jon felt the reality finally sinking in.

Larence Snow, who he played poker with, had pulled him out of his drunk ass more times than he could remember, being an actual friend more than a guard was going to die for him.

"Come with us," he pleaded.

Larence smiled at him grimly. "It's been fun, Jon. Now go with your girl. She's the Ace." He said before the door slid down between them.

"Jon, come on," Sansa urged as she continued to tug at him. "He knew what he was doing," she whispered hurriedly while dragging him towards another room that she locked after them.

Jon was still in shock until he felt hands on his face and blue eyes steadying his frantic ones. "Jon. Listen to me. You're going to be fine. I'm going to get you out of this. But I need you to do as I say. Do you understand?"

He blinked at her.

"Jon," she said more firmly.

He nodded and swallowed while Sansa let out a relieved breath before she started kneeling as she opened the silver briefcase.

She pulled out another bulletproof vest and handed one to him while she shrugged off her black coat and wore one of her own and that was when Jon saw the twin gun holsters strapped to her lower back.

"You-you're-"

She looked at him over her shoulder and smiled tightly. "Yeah," before securing her headset and taking out two more handguns. He watched as she slid the magazine in, pulled the slide release, and clicked the glock into place like she was doing it all her life.

"Do you know how to use this?" She looked at him then and he saw the first sign of worry on her face with the tiny furrow between her brows.

"Not well," Jon admitted and cursed himself for not taking those shooting lessons to heart.

Sansa stood in front of him then and took his hands, placing a glock in his right hand and positioning his hand properly. "It's easy. This is a semi-automatic and I've released the lock already. All you have to do," she raised his hand and made him point it straight forward while she used both hands to keep him in position. "Is point and shoot."

She placed his finger on the trigger with hers on top of his. "You don't need to shoot fancy. Just go for the easy targets - the biggest space so you won't miss. Hit the chest or the back. Don't hesitate. It's your life or theirs. These men will not hesitate to shoot. You got it?"

Jon swallowed. This was really happening. "Y-yes."

She released him then and helped him tighten the vest. She placed a radio on the holster of his vest explaining quickly. "If we get separated, use this and go to channel one and shout "Winter is coming," then follow the voice."

He nodded again.

"Okay," she walked in front of him then. "Jon. We're going to use the service elevator. Beyond this room, there is a short hallway we have to pass and we'll encounter men. I need you to stay behind me at all times. Don't be a hero. I'm trained for this. You aren't. You'll get in the elevator first and I'll try to follow. You'll be immediately brought to basement 2 but you'll have to climb out the escape hatch and climb to basement 1 where they won't expect us. Get a car. Any car and drive the hell away and use the radio for directions."

He grabbed her by the arms then and bore at her. "What about you? I can't let you--"

She cut him off with a hurried kiss. "Jon. I'm just telling you the plan in case I can't follow you. But I'm telling you, I'm trained at this. I'll see you through until you're safe. I promise. Now, we need to go."

She fixed him a look that had a hundred different promises swirling in those baby blues and all he could do was keep nodding at her repeatedly, hoping she'd see his own too.

Sansa gave him a firm nod and released him. Strapping on ammo belts over her and setting her own gun.

She tapped on her headpiece then just as she switched her smartwatch on. "Red Wolf to Grey. Do you read? Over."

Jon could hear from his own radio strapped to his chest where Sansa must've kept the line on just in case.

"This is Grey, I copy. Over. I've locked in your position. Is Rhaegal undamaged?"  Robb. He recognized the voice. So he was part of this too? Was Ned Stark one too?

"No. I sent you our coordinates. I need surveillance and possible backup," Sansa checked the windows before hovering over the door.

"Locked in on your coordinates. Activating Warg mode. I'm your eyes Red."

"Good. We're heading out to the hallway. How many men are there? Positions?"

"Seven and four waiting at the left intersection, three guarding the chute. They can't call for backup as I've denied all access to the chute but I can see they're working on override."  

Sansa pursed her lip but was still relatively calm. "How much time do I have?"

"Sixty-five seconds. Go."

"Jon, do you trust me?" She looked at him then.

"With my life," he answered right away and Sansa's eyes glinted with something before she placed her keycard over the lock and opened into the hallway.

"Then let's run," She ran ahead and he followed as they sped off into the narrow hallway, spotting the left intersection where four men appeared from, blocking their way while pointing guns at them.

"Stop. Drop your weapons and come with us quietly now and no one gets hurt," came the burly man with an eyepatch.

Sansa stayed Jon with a hand behind her back indicating to stand down. "Funny, I was going to offer you the same courtesy Greyjoy."

Greyjoy?

"Ah. What a delight you are. But no girl, hand over the boy and I promise to make it good for you when I take you back with me. Be a good girl now and I'll return the favor when I let you suck me off," Greyjoy taunted and Jon saw red but Sansa stayed him again with her hand.

"Ooh, so you're the dragon spawn's bitch, I see. All the more sweeter to mount a dragon's moun-Fuck you bitch!"

Sansa shot him straight to the crotch and fired another to his leg, bringing him down while she pushed Jon to the ground, shielding him with her body when Greyjoy open-fired.

Jon heard Sansa fire another shot and watched the lifeless eye of Greyjoy, a bullet lodged in between his eyes.

"Stay down!" Sansa yelled at him as she strode forward and pulled another gun from behind her and began shooting from both sides, taking down three men straight to the head while she aimed at two others but Jon saw the last of the men aiming behind her.

Jon didn't think then, brought himself up, aimed at the man's chest and shot.

Jon watched as the man clutched at his stomach that was starting to shoot out blood before dropping his weapon and collapsing.

He was still heaving and holding the gun with wide eyes when he heard more shooting from behind him and his name being called.

"Jon - Jon."

His head snapped to Sansa and he saw another guy aiming at her. "Sansa!"

Sansa was too quick as she dodged and lunged at the guy, elbowing his chest while she leant across that guy's shoulder and shot at the other guy straight to the heart when he saw him aiming for Jon but in a second she was caught in a headlock with the first one, a gun pointed at her head.

Jon's eyes locked with Sansa's then and she urged him to run. Pleaded with her eyes as she mouthed "Go!"

But Jon couldn't leave her. He won't. And Sansa saw that he wouldn't but tried to shake her head at him anyway as she clawed at the arm that was holding her back.

"Don't make another move. Drop your weapon or I blow her brains out!" The lone henchman spat at Jon.

Jon raised his hands and dropped the gun slowly, his eyes never taking them off of the attacker. He kicked the gun towards him and took a step back. "Take me. You can let her go. It's me you want."

Sansa was about to shout her protest when a hand clamped over her mouth.

"You have thirty seconds left Jon or you won't make it to the chute in time," came Robb's voice over the radio. "Sansa knows. We have to get you out. Let her go Jon." He could hear the pain over the controlled voice of his lawyer who quickly became his confidante at letting his sister go. But Jon wasn't raised this way.

He had to fight for the people willing to risk their lives for him too.

"Jon."

Sansa's eyes softened at Jon then and she gave him a nod that the attacker noticed when Jon saw him grin. And that was all the signal he and Sansa needed - his sudden arrogance as he saw Sansa escape from the man's loosened grip, kicking the gun out of his hand before she pulled his arm and threw him over her shoulder where he landed roughly on his back with Sansa's knee digging on his spine while he pulled at his arm making him scream.

Jon ran to them, picked up the gun and threw it to Sansa who caught it and shot the man in the back before quickly grabbing her two other glocks and nodding at Jon to run as fast as he could to the service elevator with only ten seconds left.

Sansa quickly placed her keycard over the monitor and the doors slid open. She pushed Jon inside quickly while they heard Robb bark at them that there were a dozen men going their way.

Just as the doors were sliding close, Jon pulled Sansa all the way inside before repeatedly pressing the door button close as the men started appearing. Sansa shot a few rounds until the door finally shut close and they were both panting and splattered with blood and sweat as the elevator went down.

Sansa looked up at Jon as she wiped her brow. "You oka-mmph

Jon cupped her head and kissed her fiercely then before pulling away. "Seven hells, woman! You almost died!"

Sansa chuckled. "So did you, sir. Thank you sir." She smirked.

Jon was about to retort when Robb's voice came through.

"Well done. Both of you. But remember to get off B1. I'll open the doors for you. All of them are expecting you from B2 so you'll only have a window of thirty-five seconds before they catch up to you on the street. You have to shake them off as best as you can. Do you copy?"

"Roger," Sansa answered just as she observed the ceiling. They were now at the 8th floor.

7th.

6th.

"Jon, I need you to boost me up," Sansa tilted her head at him.

"What?"

She pointed to the escape hatch. "That's our exit. The faster we're up there, the easier we can go. Help me up?"

Jon looked from the ceiling to her and understood, crouching down so she could climb up his back. He felt Sansa's hands on his shoulders then before a leg hitched over his shoulder, and then another on his other side that made him suck in a breath as he felt her skirt against his nape and heard a rip.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I had to rip it because it's too tight to move freely," she muttered. "Um, Jon, I need you to steady me because I'll be reaching up."

"Oh, sorry," he mumbled back as his arms held on to her thighs where he felt garters that made him pause again.

"They carry my gun and a knife. Boost me up?" she said hurriedly.

Jon nodded and stood straight, trying not to think of Sansa's gartered and stockinged legs were around his neck and focused instead on the sounds of Sansa tinkering with the hatch as they descended to 4th when suddenly the elevator lurched to a stop, the lights flickering on and off until darkness then the emergency light.

Jon kept Sansa steady while he braced against the wall with one hand.

"Grey, what the hell?"

"Hang on Red. I'll hook it back. I had to terminate an attempt. Sorry, hold on."

Sansa cussed for the first time and that was when Jon felt that shit was real. He didn't know how much his sanity depended on her cool.

Sansa noticed him stiffening and worked faster before urging him gently to let her down.

"We're still good. I'll protect you, I promise, didn't I?" she smiled up at him as she cradled his cheek.

Jon grabbed her wrist and looked straight at her. "What exactly did you promise when you took the job? You promised your life?"

She didn't back down and leant forward that their noses were touching. "Yes."

"Fuck, Sansa-"

"Don't. Not now. Tell me later," Sansa said before she backed away, then sprang on the elevator rail before pushing her body upwards to catch on the opened hatch where she dangled for a moment before hoisting herself up and disappearing into the ceiling just as the elevator started moving again.

4th.

3rd.

She appeared again and offered him her hand. "Jump up Jon. You can do it. Grab my hand."

Jon did and it took three tries before his hand clutched at Sansa's where she pulled him up with both arms, grunting while he saw her teeth clenching until finally they were both holding on to the top of the elevator as it sailed down.

2nd.

Sansa closed the hatch.

"This is our stop. When I say jump, jump okay?" She took Jon's hand in hers and Jon squeezed it tightly. "Yes."

Sansa looked to her left then where the doors where and slowly she stood up with one hand bracing Jon's other arm and nodding at the direction.

1st.

"Jump!"

Hand in hand they jumped towards the ledge of B1 level. But Jon slipped if not for Sansa's iron grip on his arm.

Jon could see the strain heavy on Sansa as she struggled to pull him up. "I'm too heavy. Let go."

Sansa shook her head. "Don't you dare. Now try and swing your hand to grab on to my arm. Try."

Jon tried and missed and Sansa winced. "Try harder."

He did and this time he was able to grab ahold of Sansa's arms with his other hand and they both hoisted themselves up over the tiny ledge, with Jon collapsing on top of Sansa, both of them panting.

"Gods be good, Jon! Just do as you're told!" Sansa scolded as she slapped his back. Jon didn't know why but he started chuckling while shaking his head.

"Yes, yes it's all very amusing. Now get off me and let's get our car."

Jon quickly got off her and offered her a hand and helped her up.

"Grey, Alohomora this bitch," Sansa tapped her headset.

"Opening the portrait. Good job you two."

The elevator door opened and Sansa stepped inside first, gun out and gestured for Jon to stay low behind him.

"All clear. Proceed." Robb's voice broke through.

Sansa chose the nearest car then, a Porsche Panamera, and Jon should've known that of course there would be armored sports cars in every safe house.

On instinct he went inside the driver's side but was quickly shoved over to the passenger side by Sansa who gave him a look that said seriously going to fight me at this point?

He raised his palms as Sansa started the car, syncing her smartwatch to the comm at the dash where Robb's face came to view. "Hey guys. Let's get you out, shall we?"

"You okay?" Sansa demanded as she received the coordinates Robb entered on the GPS split screen.

"What?"

"Sit tight," she said instead while she backed out the parking space. "You're not the only one who can drive fast."

Jon obeyed at once while Robb chuckled from the screen. "Better do as she says, sir."

"You two have been saving my ass, I think it's time you called me Jon," Jon grumbled.

"Oh heads up sis, you're going to be met with a lot of resistance once you reach the gate. There's a shotgun at the back and two more pistols on the glove compartment. Godspeed. I'll keep surveillance and get back to you."

Robb's face disappeared then while the GPS zoomed out.

Sansa peeled out of the basement and up the exit where probably thirty armed men were waiting, shooting at them right away.

"Keep down," Sansa drifted to let her side face the onslaught while they heard the bullets pelt against the car that aside from a few cracks, held.

Sansa was able to escape the firing squad and onto the street.

"Fuck!" Sansa cursed again when they were flanked both sides by larger cars where men were shooting at them.

"Robb! Where do I go? We're surrounded!" she glanced at the rearview window where another car was gaining on them.

"You gotta take them out and speed up towards the backstreet then through the Muddy Way and we can come get you on the Street of Steel."

"Shit," as the car shook after a few more rounds at them. She looked at Jon then. "Jon, I have to take them out."

Jon held on to her look, not liking where this was going but she pleaded trust from him and he was going to give it. "What do you need?"

"I need you to take the wheel and let Robb guide you while I try and take them out. Do you understand me? Can you do that?" she used the full force of her gaze at Jon as she took a large swerve to the right, still pressing the gas to the floor.

Finally, something he could do. Something he was good at. He started to slide in to her space as he nodded. "Yes. Leave it to me."

Sansa smiled at him softly then before she lifted her body up so he can slide under her. Quickly Jon's hands replaced hers on the wheel and on the pedals while she started clambering off his lap but before she could do so, the other car slammed at them from behind that Jon almost hit a pole if he hadn't turned swiftly to the right to avoid it, but he was able to right them immediately.

"Jon. I'm going to take out the left car first, okay? So I'm going to open the door and shoot and I need you to keep driving straight, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Don't be scared," and then she opened our door catching the assailants by surprise as she shot at them straight, hitting both the driver and the passenger with one shot each and Jon pushed the car so fast ahead to avoid colliding against the now spinning car to the left.

Sansa shut the door right away and started climbing to the back where he could see her taking out the shotgun and loading it from the mirror.

"Jon?"

"Robb?"

"I can help you two escape. I found a route. Follow my directions. Go straight for three kilometers then turn right."

"Gotcha."

"I'm going to take out the back now," Sansa declared. "Just keep driving, you're doing fine." She said while she opened up the sunroof and climbed up. "Sansa! What the fuck?!"

Sansa was now on the roof, shooting at the back and depending on him to keep the car steady or else she'd fall.

Okay, calm down Jon. Calm down. You've driven worse tracks at faster speed. You can do this. He mentally cheered himself and gripped on the wheel like his life depended on it, sighing in relief when Sansa dropped back inside from the sunroof. The car behind them hitting another car, turning over before crashing on a sidewalk, catching fire at once.

"Seven hells, Sansa at least warn a man!" he glanced at her.

"Just keep driving Targaryen," she tore at her sleeves and that was when Jon saw that she was shot.

"Sansa-"

"I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth. "Just a bullet graze." She started wrapping the giant gash it left on her right arm with her torn sleeve. "Keep driving. Our turn is near."

And she was right, Jon could see the turn and he made it just as Robb started ordering again.

"Good. Now you just need to keep going straight until you see The Hook. Take the sharp left then immediately the next right exit then go the roundabout to Street of Steel. It's not that far now."

"Okay." He shot a worried look at Sansa who was reloading the shotgun when they were hit with a big blast from her side that shattered the glass.

Jon kept the car from spinning around and ducked when he saw a car going straight for them from his left.

He let go of the wheel then and allowed the car to spin before he drifted off the path and watched the car collide against the new one tailing them at the back. Just how many were there?

Once he was able to get them back on course, he noticed that Sansa was quiet and saw that she was unconscious with a big cut against the side of her head.

"Sansa - Sansa" he hissed and he breathed out when her eyes fluttered open as she winced but started going for her shot gun again.

A motorcycle with two people sped up to her side again and they were so near her side. Jon tried to bump them off but they were too quick and Sansa aimed the shotgun at them from the broken window and fired but missed.

"Shit," she cursed and before Jon knew it, Sansa opened her door, shot the rider at the back and jumped on the motorcycle, kicking the one at the back off while pointing a gun at the driver's head and firing. She pushed him away then and Jon saw Sansa now driving towards the back.

"Sansa no! Get back here!"

But Sansa didn't and open fired behind her, targeting the wheels of the two cars that were following before she drove back to the still hanging passenger door.

Jon glared at her horrified. "Get in, now!" He reached his hand as far as he could stretch it, leaving the wheel on straight lock as he frantically reached for Sansa's own overstretched hand.

"Come on!" He shouted and finally he was able to grab Sansa's hand and pull her in, smiling in relief when they heard a shot fired with Sansa collapsing on his shoulder, her arms falling from his body as she slid down his.  

"No, no, no, no!" Jon quickly assessed her and there he saw it, Sansa got shot at her left shoulder from the back. She took a shot meant for him.

Jon saw red then as he quickly shut the door, buckled in an unconscious Sansa who was still breathing heavily from the pain, and got back to driving.

"Robb, Sansa's been shot at the back. Shoulder but she's still breathing. Only one more car is tailing us. Where will we go?" He said completely clear headed now and focused on the drive.

"Fuck. Okay, change route. On the next right exit, take it and head straight to River Row. There's a medic bay there. Drive the fuck over there and save my sister."

"Roger."

He saw it then. Two cars toeing in on either side and he slipped into his racing mode.

This is just another race.

You've never lost a race in years.

The last one didn't count but this would.

Sansa's life depended on it.

They all know me as a dragon, Rhaegal they named my mount in court.

But in the track I'm only known by one name.

And that's Ghost.

It's time to vanish on the streets.

He gripped the wheel and started letting on the gas, breaking a little, making them think he was slowing down for them as he eyed the curve.

They roared beside them then and Jon smirked as he lead them to the narrow curve, stopping abruptly and watched as they vainly tried to turn but ended up crashing against each other.

Jon started the car again, roaring it to life and steadily started backing up, gaining speed, before pushing forward full throttle as he used the piled car as a ramp and let the car fly over them and back into the street with a loud screech and a jolt, moving as fast as he could away as the cars exploded behind him, pushing his car forward from the impact.

But he didn't relent.

He drove and drove until finally he reached River Row where he immediately saw Robb Stark get out off a car and ordering a team to get them.

Jon slowed to a stop. Hands still tight on the wheel as he heaved in and out, his pulse throbbing in his ears. And he heard his door and Sansa's being opened but he couldn't move, or let the voices register. Not until he heard a familiar whimper.

His eyes shot to Sansa now who was being held by her brother then. Her eyes fluttering open and searching his, offering a weak smile at him. "You okay?" she said through gritted teeth.

Jon felt all the tension slip away from his body then only to be replaced with exhaustion and relief as he returned her smile, reaching over to move her hair off her face. "Never better. You?"

"Just another day," she grinned.

"Okay, that's enough for now." Robb carried Sansa then and looked at Jon gratefully. Jon could only nod at him. Of course.

Jon stepped out the car and shook off the paramedics fusing about him, going instead to Sansa still in Robb's arms as he carried her towards the medic bay himself.

"Did anyone...?" Jon asked Robb and a shadow fell over his face. "Arthur was the only one who made it. Larence..." he shook his head. "There were too many of them."

Jon's chest constricted. They all died for him. He's going to make sure he deserved this - their sacrifice as he looked down at Sansa who was frowning, thinking about her fallen comrades. After a few more races, he was going back to work for his father and then convince Sansa to run for office and campaign the hell out for her. None of them had the capacity to rule, unfortunately, but the Starks had two - three if Ned wanted to as well. The Starks were the best people to take over the regime after his father. This is how he'll honor his family's security team.

Sansa's eyes met Jon's and she smiled at him softly. "Thank you, Jon."

Jon snorted. "No, thank you."

"Well, the jig is up, I guess," she giggled then winced after, earning a frown from Robb.

"Who would've thought my sweet and pretty assistant could be lethal. Hiding knives and guns under her skirt," he joked earning a glare from Robb but didn't comment.

"A skirt, you've been trying to chase," she winked.

Jon blinked but laughed instead. "Well, you did say the jig is up."

"I hope you're not too betrayed."

"Stark, you took a bullet for me. You killed for me. Betrayed is the last thing on my mind," he scoffed.

Sansa closed her eyes then and smiled. "I'm just doing my job. Pretty smooth driving though. World class."

"I'm just doing my job," he shot back at her.

Sansa reached up and took his hand then, looking up at him. "Jon, now that we're out of the woods. Do you know yet? Did they tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

She tilted her head. "Where will you go?"

He bid Robb to stop walking a minute so he could lean down Sansa. "Where will we go?"

Sansa grinned up at him then though she looked pale and worn but still fucking beautiful. "You're my bodyguard, right? You made a vow to me. You promised you'd protect me," he winked.

"I guess I did," she said before closing her eyes and surrendering to her exhaustion.

Jon leant down again and kissed her forehead. "I'll protect you too."

And they started walking again.

"You know she can't be your bodyguard anymore, right?" Robb eyed him.

Jon just grinned. "Of course not. But she'll still be obligated to stay by my side."

"Oh, is she now?" Robb raised a brow at him.

"Yes. When she runs for office after my father, naturally, the first gentleman's place is beside her," he said matter-of-factly.

Robb burst out laughing. "Rhaegar will be pleased."

Jon snorted. "Rhaegar will shit bricks when he finds out Sansa's finally going to run and then he'll throw those bricks at me when I tell him I'm going to marry the daughter he never had that he specifically told me not to date."

"I'm sure Sansa will make him come around," Robb grinned at him. "You've seen how demanding she is."

Jon grinned wickedly. "Yeah, yes she is."

"Oy, get that filthy thought away from my poor incapacitated sister or I'll kick your ass. We're not known as Stark Protection for nothing."

"Yikes."

"Oh, yes, yikes. Wait until you meet our mom. She's the one who taught Sansa how to fire guns and arrows."

"Double yikes."

"Will you two shut up. I just got shot here," Sansa mumbled, squinting an eye at them. "And it hurts like the seven hells. I think it's lodged in my scapula."

Robb laid her down the stretcher and stepped back, dropping a kiss on her forehead as the staff went over her. "See you later Red Wolf. I'm proud of you pumpkin."

Sansa rolled her eyes and looked at Jon then who was looking at her tenderly.

"So, first gentleman, huh? The Palace is the cart before the horse there or what?"

Jon chuckled and kissed her gently then to the sigh and grumbling of the medics. "Yes. And that's after we have three children. One mini-you, one mini-me, and one a combination. Oh and a dog too."

"Awfully sure of you," she winced a little.

"Take it easy, and yes. Yes, I've never been more sure. I should've said it earlier but I love you."

Sansa closed her eyes and smiled serenely. "I love you too."

"I'll see you later," Jon squeezed her hand.

"You'd better,"  she muttered before looking at him then.

Jon watched as they wheeled her off, raising a hand in a wave and watched as Sansa smiled at him and lifted a hand, though a little weakly, back at him.

Sansa's been following him around and cleaning up after him as he went on his races but starting now, he'll be chasing nothing but her.

It was his turn to follow.

Professionalism be damned.

It was time to rip out her contract and give her a new one while he planned just one more race.

The race to the altar.

No way in seven hells was he wasting any more time.

Not when speed was all he knew.

When you knew, you knew.

And seven hells they both almost died today.

She was it.

She was the goal.

And speed...not necessarily a bad thing.

He smirked.