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Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warnings:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive WarningsNo Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

F/M

Fandoms:

Game of Thrones (TV)A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin

Relationship:

Jon Snow/Sansa Stark

Characters:

Jon SnowSansa Stark

Additional Tags:

Jon knows nothingexcept where to put itthough that comes lateridek

Language:

English

Series:

← Previous Work Part 5 of the Deeply, Madly, Stupidly series

Stats:

Published:2019-06-29Words:2088Chapters:1/1Comments:6Kudos:73Bookmarks:8Hits:732

honor above all (idiocies)

zarahjoyce

Summary:

Three times Jon tries to fight his feelings for Sansa and the one time he lets her just. Jump him.

Because that's what heroes do. 

(a semi-sequel to "Quote the Raven")

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

i. 

Of course, there are always ledgers to compute and letters to write. 

It is just one of the tasks that he'd absolutely hated, back when he was the one in charge of doing them.

Yet she does it with grace, as though she's been doing it all her life.

Jon watches Sansa dip her quill in her inks and sign the parchments with a flourish, before straightening in her seat and hiding a yawn behind the back of her gloved hand. He steals a glance at the window, then turns to her. "Your Grace," he calls softly, letting his fingers rest on her shoulder before drawing away. "Perhaps you may already wish to retire?"

She looks up at him before grimacing at the pile of papers before her. "Oh, but there is still so much to be done," Sansa says, sounding as queenly as always - even if her eyes are already drooping shut despite her efforts to keep them open. 

He fights the smile worming its way to his face. "You have done a tremendous job rebuilding the North," Jon tells her with all the sincerity he can muster. "I believe it can manage all on its own while its Queen rests for a few hours."

She sighs. "And if it all crumbles while I'm asleep, I shall lay the blame solely on you."

"You may," he agrees, quite solemnly in fact, "and I'll welcome your punishment gladly."

Sansa rises to her feet, goes to the table behind her to drink water from the pitcher atop it - only to find it empty. Before she can speak, however, he takes it from her and says, "I won't be gone long."

"Oh no, Jon, you mustn't--" 

"Your handmaiden is already sound asleep given the late hour. As your Queensguard, let me take care of you now."

And before she can protest, he pivots on his heel and leaves for the kitchens.

It doesn't take him long to return to her solar. Quietly he enters, only to find--

--that she's already half-asleep, unceremoniously slumped over her desk.  

For a moment he frowns; she can't at all be comfortable, sitting like that. And so he decides to do what's proper, at that moment:

As gently as he can, Jon lifts her up to carry her down to her own chambers.

Let me take care of you now.

She hums as she settles in his arms and soon her head lolls to rest on his shoulder; he can see her parted lips and they are close, so close to his own and he-- 

--purposely looks away from them to focus on the task at hand.

A few steps more and he's already in her room. He lays her down on her bed; soon as her head touches the pillow she sighs, and he finds it difficult to remove his arms from around her form without rousing her. Slowly, oh-so-slowly he pulls away because it isn't at all proper that he's in her private chambers far longer than he should be, that he's touching her as he is now. She needs her rest desperately, and he, on the other hand--

Without warning Sansa turns towards him, cups his face with one hand, and grazes his cheek and the corner of his mouth with her thumb.

For one wild moment, Jon forgets to breathe.

"Hmm. Hello," she whispers, eyes still closed, and there's a curious smile on her lips that he's beginning to wish he can chase with his own; he just needs to dip his head and--

With a sharp inhale Jon moves away from her, already cursing his wayward thoughts.

Sansa is probably dreaming, he thinks as he hastens out of her room, of wild and wonderful things. Of the lovely things she wants. Of all the beautiful things he aches to give her - but never can.

She doesn't at all deserve to receive the debased, craven desires of her Queensguard while she's at her most vulnerable. 

The Queen - no, Sansa - deserves better than that.

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Main Content

Archive of Our Own betaLog In Site NavigationFandoms Browse Search About Search Works

Work Search: tip: arthur merlin words>1000 sort:hitsSearch

Become an OTW member by June 30 to vote in the upcoming Board of Directors election!

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Actions

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Work Header

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

F/M

Fandom:

Game of Thrones (TV)

Relationship:

Jon Snow/Sansa Stark

Characters:

Jon SnowSansa StarkArya StarkRobb StarkCatelyn Tully StarkNed StarkTheon GreyjoyBran StarkRickon StarkRobert BaratheonMaester Luwin

Language:

English

Stats:

Published:2019-06-25Updated:2019-06-25Words:5961Chapters:1/?Comments:15Kudos:119Bookmarks:8Hits:922

sweet creature

Krewlak

Summary:

yet another salty teens story that no one asked for - that's it, that's the fic.

Notes:

i've been working on this on and off for a year now. i'm just posting part one of it just to see what people think so PLEASE leave all the comments. i will say the concept is 100% inspired by 'it's not a fairytale' by purple_angel. unbeta'd.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

i.

Father’s eyes are sad when he tells them the full story of his sister, of Jon’s birth, of the war that spiralled beyond anyone’s control afterwards. Sansa keeps waiting for them to fill with tears but it never happens. She’s sure that over the last seventeen years, he’s had time enough to shed tears for his dead sister and the child she left behind. There are most likely no more tears to shed. 

“How?” Maester Luwin asks, gaining everyone’s attention. “How did this come out? You say only three people knew of Jon’s birth - yourself, Lord Howland Reed, and the birthing woman. If it did not come from you, my Lord, then who?”

“That I do not know,” Father says, shaking his head. “I have told no one save for those in this room and I trust Howland Reed to hold to the oath he gave me that day.”

“The missive came from the South,” Maester Luwin says, tapping his chin. “Perhaps the birthing woman was found. Forced to speak on what happened that day.”

“But why? It has been seventeen years,” Mother says, voice choking on the words. “Why say something now ? There has been peace, a thriving south - what is there to gain from spreading this knowledge?”

“That is something we cannot know,” Father says slowly. “The only thing we can do is prepare.”

“Prepare for what?” Robb asks. Sansa looks at him with wide eyes. There is sweat on his brow and his lips are trembling but he’s trying to be brave. For Father and Mother, for all of them and Sansa loves him for it.

“King Robert will not tolerate Jon to live. It is only a matter of time before word reaches King’s Landing. If it has not reached Robert’s ears already,” Father says slowly. Sansa cannot help the gasp that slips from her mouth as she turns back to her father. He waits for the shouts of protest from his children subsides before continuing. “The North is already uneasy with this news. There are too many who still curse Rhaegar for what happened with Lyanna - who curse the Targaryens for what happened to my father and brother.”

The silence is deafening and she finds that she cannot bear to look at her father any longer. The grief that was so close to the surface as he spoke of his sister spills over at the mention of the father and brother lost as well. She cannot look at Jon both for fear of what she will see on his face and out of loyalty to her mother that she’s clung to for so many years. She’s willing to give him what privacy she can, so she looks to Arya, Bran, and Robb. 

They share the same look of fierce determination. Jon is their brother and they will not suffer anyone who tells them otherwise, that much is very clear. Sansa wishes, for the first time, that she had the same deep feelings for Jon that her siblings share. Sansa looks down at her hands and tries to find something inside of her for Jon Snow, some feeling other than quiet acceptance and second-hand hatred. There is no love. No anger at having lost a brother, a bastard half-brother but a brother all the same. There is nothing but the slightest bit of relief. 

“It is not safe for him to stay here,” Mother announces in the tone of voice they all know well, breaking the oppressive silence that fills the room. It's the tone she uses when they’ve been arguing all day and she is calling an end to it. It’s the tone she uses when Rickon refuses to bathe or Arya insists on wearing breeches instead of dresses. It’s the tone that allows no arguing only obedience. “We must look to our family first.”

“He is our family!” Bran shouts, pointing at Jon. Sansa finally looks at Jon over her shoulder. She doesn’t think he’s ever looked so miserable. “He is our brother and you would have us cast him out?”

“Cousin, Stark,” Jon mutters. The first words he’s spoken since Father summoned them to his solar. “I am no brother of yours.”

“Bollocks!” Arya yells, jumping from her chair. She ignores the warning yell from Mother and launches herself at Jon. She wraps her thin arms around his neck and presses her face to his shoulder. He catches her easily enough and it’s only a moment before he presses his face to her hair. “You will always be my brother.”

Sansa is sure that she hears him mutter a simple aye in return. Not one to be left out, Bran is out of his seat a second later, latching onto Jon from the other side. His cheeks are pink from trying not to cry but Sansa can see the tears threatening to pour over. Jon releases one arm from Arya to clutch his little brother to him and Sansa feels her heart break for the three of them. She’s sure that if Robb were younger, he too would be clinging to Jon and shouting proclamations about their brotherhood. Not for the first time, Sansa is sharply reminded just how different she is from her siblings.

“What is it that you’re always saying, Father?” Sansa asks. The words are out of her mouth before she has even had time to think them. “When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. Is Jon not one of our pack? And is winter not coming?”

The room is filled with a tense silence as each member of her family turns to stare at her with wide eyes. It is not like her to defend Jon. She knows that. They all do but she won’t take it back. She may not have any love for her bastard half-brother turned a bastard cousin but that does not mean she wishes him harmed. 

“It is a complicated issue, Sansa,” Maester Luwin says slowly. Father looks to his wife who does not meet his eye. Sansa wonders what harm this truth has done to their marriage. Seventeen years of a lie. A cruel lie that caused nothing but pain for her mother. Sansa cannot imagine that learning of Jon’s true parentage has come as a relief for Lady Catelyn. “We cannot defy the king.”

“You’ve defied him for seventeen years,” Sansa says with a flippant shrug. “What is one more defiance compared to that?” 

“Sansa!” Mother says, shocked at her disrespectful tone. Sansa feels her cheeks flush and she looks down at her lap in shame. She knows better. “There is more at stake than just our family. There is the North to consider. Do you think we could withstand the full wrath of Robert Baratheon once he knows that Rhaegar Targaryen’s son was harbored here? The son that killed his mother as she pushed him into this world? No. He would decimate every inch of the North that Jon Targaryen’s feet has ever touched. Starting with Winterfell.”

“Mother,” Robb begs, voice thick with emotion. “Please.”

“Your father decided seventeen years ago to lie to me,” Mother continues, her Tully eyes swimming with tears. Sansa can’t help but notice how much they look like the clear blue springs by the Weirwood tree. She wonders if they’ve always resembled the springs or if they changed after years of the hardness of the north. When she was Sansa’s age, barely a woman flowered and full of songs, did her eyes resemble the blue currents of Riverrun? “For seventeen years, I lived a falsehood. I have lived with a dragon playing amongst my children. I will not have it anymore. Not now. Not after the truth has come out.” 

“I am no dragon!” Jon snaps. Mother finally looks to him, eyes wide with rage. She starts forward but Father lays a hand on her shoulder trying to calm her. “And I am no wolf.”

“Jon,” Father says and now the tears are falling down his cheeks. “You do not have my name but you have my blood. You are as much a Stark as any of my children.”

“But I’m not your child, am I?” Jon snaps. Father jerks back, mouth set into a thin line. Jon looks down, shame filling his face. “I am sorry, my lord. But I have the solution to this. I will be neither wolf nor dragon. I will be a man of the Watch. Like Uncle Benjen. I can cause no harm from the Wall.”

“No.”

“Ned!” Mother shouts, turning to her husband. “Let the boy go .”

“You are not my father, you cannot stop me joining the Watch!” Jon all but shouts. He pushes away from her siblings and curls his hands into fists. 

Both Arya and Bran call his name in shock but Sansa knows the look on his face. It’s the one he gets when he’s blocked from feasts. The look he gets when Mother walks past him without a single acknowledgement. It’s the look of a boy who has never gotten what he wanted, a boy who has grown used to the taste of disappointment in his mouth. There is no reasoning with that boy. 

“Are you of the North?” Father asks. He no longer sounds like their father. No, this is the Lord of Winterfell speaking now. They all straighten their backs and cast their eyes down. There is no other way to act in front of such a man. Jon nods but it’s not enough for Father. “You want to act as a man, then speak as a man.”

“Aye, my lord, I am a Northman.”