[MULTI-CHAPTER FIC] FOREVER AFTER DAYS (1/?)
Title: Forever After Days
Pairing: Jon/Sansa
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance, Fluff, Starkcest, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Alternate Universe - Canon, Sibling Incest, Early in Canon
Length: Will be three-shots, I think (Posted this at AO3)
Prompt: "There are many names in history but none of them are ours."
Summary:(Jon/Sansa throughout ASOIAF timeline [Most certainly AU of sorts])
Word Count: 3, 642
Disclaimer: The characters belong to George R. R. Martin.
[The Age of Heroes]
There’s always sunshine for Winterfell, even in the winters or raging storm. The sunlight would come down in panes of white, sometimes a beam of yellow and gold, other times they were streaks of ice blue or burning orange-red, and as a child, she used to watch the way they scattered and casted over the walls, the towers, around clothing and over skins-she was entranced by the sort of that spectacle.
But it had seemed like thousands of years ago when she had last seen a ray of light. In these trying times, darkness may just as well have lasted for generations. She forgot the sensation of radiance on her skin; the cold had seen to it as the chill and snowflakes piled atop her, weighing her furs and silks down, pinning her on the ground. She was lying on a field of snow, for hours or days, she could not tell. She could not even care to start thinking, could not bear remembering how the horror started. She was tired, her breathing ragged, and the cold had spared her from going numb, which was cruel when she’s suffering several wounds, deep cuts they were, throughout her body that a pool of red, bloody as her hair-color, surrounded her and stained the grounds of pure white.
The air was still, suffocating; she wanted to sleep but could not and would not. It seemed as if she was waiting for someone to come. But who could it be, when all she knew had perished from the monsters that used to inhabit her childish dreams, now come alive and had stolen her family, her home and her soul?
She moved some, began flexing her fingers and toes but that was all she did, the last time she tried to get up, pain shot through both her legs and ankles, her left side and her head had throbbed most furiously that the ground seemed to sway underneath. She opened her mouth once to hear her own voice but just a soft grumble escaped from her lips, and she did not repeat the process again for dread that she may have lost it. They said I have the sweetest voice, she thought, biting back a sob. Her lord husband and sons loved it when she sang songs and told them stories. She pressed her eyes closed for a while, she did not want to cry again, her tears have frozen and stuck on her face and she had enough of it, but she was taken aback when unbidden scenes flashed in her head-she saw her sons screaming, dragged by servants raised from the dead, watched as her lord husband became mad and was slashing at her with his priced dagger, noticed half of their household and the small folk fled while the other half were brought to the unlife-towed away she was by the loyal men that wanted to escort her to one of their liege lords, she saw herself running, or more like dragging her feet, she did not want to leave, she wanted their band to stop on the road, find her sons and bury them, but her men and her women would hear none of it, she asked most graciously and pitiable, “No, m’lady, it isn’t safe, these are dangerous times,” they all said, and so she screamed at them and begged them to leave her be but they did not pay heed all the same, the fifth night on the road they were attacked, dead against the living, a dance of life and death where the Others were inhuman and perilous and cold, cold, cold, while her fellow and kinsmen warm and all the more helpless-they leave her be in the end.
She woke some place in the North, alone and lying on her own blood, some frozen and crystal-like. Maybe she had walked some, had fallen or tripped. She could not be far from Winterfell but there’s no way of saying she was right either.
Everything’s coming back and she did not want it, did not want to linger on it, did not want to feel it but the cold has not made her numb enough. She choked back another sob and prayed to the gods of the Children. Take me, take me, take me, end this please, she crooned, pleaded and bawled inside her head. When she opened up her eyes she was staring directly into black orbs, darker than the sky. She was startled and so was the man whose suspicious eyes bore deeply on her. Her eyes glanced past his face and up to his arms where he was clutching a glass-spun blade aimed just above her throat and she knew, she just knew this was the one she was waiting for, the one her broken body held on for.
She mustered all her strength to talk but it came out whispery and hoarse, “P-please, e-end this… please.”
The young man, dressed all in frayed tattered clothes, stiffened. He slowly put the dagger away and heaved deeply. “Star-blue eyes,” he whispered not unkindly, “Strange and beautiful,” he spat, “What have they been thinking to describe Others as such?” His long face was grim and he did not look to be saying those words at her face, more like he was complaining to someone he knew. He stared down at her again and realized that she was still looking at him, her eyes oddly transfixed to his face. He looked struck when he realized that she wasn’t half delirious as he thought she was; he became conscious to what he had said and blushed furiously.
She watched him silently as he assessed her body, wincing at the number of bruises and cuts, “Gods be good, none of these are fatal but the open wound on your side may have gone deep in your ribs,” then he started unclasping his cloak around his shoulders with a sense of urgency and wrapped it around her. “You lost lots of blood m’lady. I have to get you to a Maester and fast,” he muttered more to himself, avoiding her eyes. He placed his dagger back to his belt, hunched over her and placed his arms under her to secure her to him.
“No… please, e-end-” she was about to say but the man cut her off with a grunt.
“I heard you the first time, and I can’t. I won’t.”
She studied his face, a scruffy looking man with dark curls and dark eyes and dressed in all black, who looked solemn and stubborn. A crow. She could certainly say he was of the North. Her mother used to say that dark wings bring dark words, but the messenger who came for her has nothing but gentle terms. She wanted to ask where he exactly came from, how he found her, whose lord he was serving, instead she hissed “I want to die and you were just about to kill me earlier.”
He stiffened again. “Aye, but thanked the Gods I haven’t or that would be a grave error in my part,” he answered softly.
“Still, I would as like die,” she gritted her teeth and controlled herself not to let out a whimper or shriek in pain when he lifted her up, for a moment she was puzzled that she was feeling a bit warm again. His hands, strong though lean, were steady under her shoulder and legs and she could feel him radiate heat, skin to skin despite all the clothes they were bundled in. She squirmed when the man started walking. “There’s no life after me to wherever place you’re going to take me to.”
He looked down on her for some time, studied her face as she did to him earlier. He had found something in her face that seemed to still him, that seemed to ease weariness in him. “I would as like not have to kill you. I slew a dozen this day alone, both stranger and kin. You’re the first I encountered that the Others didn’t turn as wight, I would have you know I didn’t enjoy the task.” He twitched the ends of his lips as if to give her a dark reassuring smile.
She stayed silent after that.
“I - I,” he broke the hush in between his long strides, “I came too late m’lady. And even though you don’t want to be saved now, I’ll foolishly insist. Let me help you find a cause to live, give me a year or two and if nothing else bloomed after your grievances, I’ll grant your death wish.”
She considered. She tried to glance around and saw nothing but snow for yards away; she could not tell if it’s morning, midday, or night already. It had always been dark. She considered his words again, they seemed hollow to her.
But she found she would gladly cling unto that. Her battered body did hold on for a long time, surely it must stand to something? She finally let her eyes rest, let the tears flow freely; she snuggled closer to him, basking in the sunlight the young man brought to her, the warmth that she thought was lost several thousand years ago.
[The Andal Invasion]
She liked to splash in the shallows on hot summer mornings same as this, but the water underneath their vessel most definitely wasn’t shallow. She spun on her heels and looked up to the high-masts, large white sails and figureheads carved in the shape of birds, all were useless since they’ve becalmed at dawn. Both men and women were restless in their stations. They’ve been left behind by most of the galleys, longships and carracks.
She lowered her eyes then and saw him first, storming out of the cabin. He was not hard to miss, what, with his raven curls atop his head amongst their fair-haired kin? He walked limping; his shoulders and lips were taut and his face still fresh from sleep. Finally he saw her (for she wouldn’t be easily missed too, she has long red curls so unlikely to be seen on their realm) and his eyes immediately darkened.
He swallowed some before he spoke, “Sister.”
“Brother,” she said while curtsying.
He glanced around, noticed how crowded their ship were, noticed that all eyes were on them no matter how they tried to hide it, so he settled for a whisper, a bit harshly to her liking, “You… you’re not supposed to be here. Last night…” then his breath hitched and he avoided her eyes.
Last night, she wondered if her eyes shone with mischief. “I never meant to lie,” was all she said to him, what she too had said to him a thousand times last night, evading his questions and playing him a mummer’s farce.
“But you did, a lie is a lie,” he said dejectedly, still, his eyes wouldn’t linger on her. He played a fool for her last night, had amused her with stories and wine, but now’s the moment of truth, and she could just as well tell that he saw it fit to do on the deck with dozens of people around; he, unsullied from the comforts of his bed, they haven’t even broke their fast yet.
“You and Arya’s supposed to be on board the Andalos, where is she?”
He made it a point to talk at his right and so she moved where he was looking to block his line of vision. “She wanted to board the Warrior Hills and I the swan ship so Robb helped us on the eve of departure.”
His brows furrowed, he wanted to wheel away but she knew she has a hold on him so long as she caught his gaze. “And it’s a bother for me to be let on the plan?”
“You were with Father that night, or did you forget?”
He flushed. “I remember. And I remember all too well that I’ll be the one to answer this waywardness, as I often had. Where’s Robb?”
That was her turn to blush.
“He’s with Theon on board the Faith, wasn’t he?” he was flexing his right hand now which was a sign that he’s not taking anything too well.
She couldn’t lie anymore than she did last night so she nodded. “And so are Bran and Rickon.”
He took that hard as she thought he would, she was starting to feel guilty now.
“It’s too dangerous for Arya to be on a war galley. Bran and Rickon too, in a longship like Faith. Robb and I are supposed to command the archers on the swan ships; this is madness I tell you. We’re about to invade lands…” and he trailed off. His face was a grave statue resembling the Father.
“And what of me in a swan ship?”
“What?” for a while he looked lost.
“What of me in a swan ship? You didn’t make a comment on that.” She didn’t mean to tease him so when he was thinking hard about his responsibilities and their safety, it was only that he blushed so red-a beautiful flaming red like last night as she removed the hood of her dress and revealed her face to him-brighter than her hair that she had an urge to do so.
The two of them weren’t even that close as children to begin with. Bastard born they may all be, their father was King Ruben of the Andals, a direct descendant of King Hugor of the Hill. Her and Robb’s mother was of the Flatlands while his, Arya’s, Bran’s and Rickon’s all came from Pentos.
He didn’t fail her expectation on that though. He was red as a pomegranate now. “You know I wouldn’t let any harm befall on you long as I stay on command of this ship.”
She smiled and reached for the hand he was flexing earlier, enclosed it with hers and said, “I know. The Seven would help us all though. And you’ve been my wonderful champion last night.”
The blood on his face wouldn’t circulate down and she felt his hands softened at her touch. A dark cloud passed over his long face. “I was plainly drunk. Why else would I brave the knights and archers board on this for a fair maiden’s company only to find out it was you all along?”
And mayhaps, she too, was drunk in levity, else why did she permit Osha and Asha’s provocations and even goaded Mya to raise the stakes for the men to win her hand?
A kiss! A kiss! And a night in confinement!
She even raised the hood a little, teasing the knights with her lips and her voice as she sang to them some verses from her favorite songs. Oh, how bold she has been! Arya may just as well kneel eagerly to the Seven if she only knew.
“Why indeed?” and they held their gazes for more than a little while.
Jon slightly shook his head and smiled at last.
Of course he knew it was her under the entire masquerade.
She knew that he was well aware of her reason on coming to the ship that he commands, and though there’s nothing more she’ll like than for him to voice out that he knew what she knew of this arrangement, of his actions last night, and what’s truly inside their hearts, she decided that it was fine.
There’ll be few confrontations left on the morrow and the next, and the next one after that, just as he saw it fit to do.
[Age of Valyria]
He was keeping an eye on her, lying on her stomach near the cliff overlooking the immense chain of volcanoes commonly known to them as the Fourteen Fires. Half of her red hair was teased and twisted elegantly atop her head while the other half flowed in ringlets below her shoulder. The wind caught it and swayed it into the air and he pulled his upper body up and shot his right arm to grab hold of it. Three of his fingers intertwined with the red tufts before they freely loosen themselves from his grasp.
Smooth and oiled, just as what Father said the men from the Empire prefer of their hair. Though they did find her from the ancient city Ghis, they could all tell she was no Ghiscari due to her pale creamy skin. Father had once said to him that they had thought of her as the harpy come alive, after they had discovered her in the ruins of the burned city; and so she was spared from working neither in the mines nor as a bed slave.
He could hardly believe it though, Sansa was the most beautiful creature he has ever seen that thinking of wings of a bat, legs of an eagle and a scorpion’s tail that could sprout from her body anytime seemed wholly a droll.
The girl seemed to have felt his fingers since she turned her head and looked above her shoulder to him. A hint of a smile was playing on her lips.
“Pretty,” he said to her. He had never been much good with words though he had inkling that she understood him all the same. Sansa could pick up some of their Valyrian tongue after all. He suspected it was because the Ghiscari Empire had needs of learning their tongue if they meant to conquer them and win their dragons.
“Good, boy,” she said in a thick dialect in their tongue though not of High Valyrian, and she bobbed her head down, her own way of saying thanks to him.
“I won’t be a boy any longer. I’ll be ten-and-six soon as my nameday comes,” he stared at her then. She has such a young face, he wasn’t sure if she’s a girl or one who’s lived a long life, if words of his Father and their folk were to go by.
He propped himself and went to lie next to her near the cliff. “When’s your nameday? Do you know when’s your nameday?”
She contorted her brows and shook her head.
“Birth? The day you were born?” he tried some more.
Again, she shook her head and turned her head away from him to continue looking over the dragons’ lair. She released a small sigh, then.
“What are you thinking of Sansa?” he asked another.
“The Gods, and slavery they do not commend,” she answered him at last, her fingers clutching the end of the precipice as if to peer down and see the hot mines underneath.
That again. “But the Empire did have slaves,” he pointed out to her.
He was met with a sharp turn of her head and a raised eyebrow. “Belong to them I do not, you and your kin know that well.”
And you won’t tell me where you came from either. And whoever your Gods may be. “We free-holders need them to mine gold and silver, to built roadways and cities.”
“They suffer,” she said as a matter of fact, chin turned up. Her dazzling blue eyes were clearly challenging him.
He lowered his eyes and acquiesced; he had nothing to refute back with. His kith and kin used to be a minor civilization of peaceful sheep-herding folk for hundreds of years until they learned of dragons, magic and the art of war. And there had been numerous revolts from the past years; he had asked Father once if there was no other way for all of them to compromise but his answer was only brief, that it had always been that way, and so he repeated that to her.
Her lips curled into a frown and immediately he wanted to take it back, wishing he had said something more clever and reassuring. After some time she snapped her left hand away from the precipice and placed it over one of his hands.
“Jon, please, please listen,” Sansa said serenely. “Want to save you, I do.” Her eyes spoke something urgent that it stirred something inside him.
“What do you mean?” he moved closer to her.
She clutched his hand a little more forcefully, “Leave all this behind.”
“You… want for me to run away?” he wasn’t sure if that’s what she really meant to say.
She nodded gravely; her clear eyes seemed to consume every ounce of intensity in him.
“With you?” he heard himself say.
She bit her lower lip and looked sideways before bobbing her head down. “Dream of misfortune, I had. Of Valyrian Freehold no more… please Jon, take heed.”
“But I…” he trailed off. What of my family and fellows? The Valyrian Freehold… we are the most powerful race in the realm, surely nothing could make us all fall down?
But Sansa’s dreams have always come true, though it’s a secret to just the two of them.
His free hand reached towards her and cupped her forlorn face. “You know full well I can’t.”
“If b - become the harpy, I did… and grew wings and snatch you away from them?” Sansa appealed with tenacity.
He smiled softly at her. “Then I have to fight you,” his thumb ran lazy circles along her left cheek. “Though not without a broken heart, I promise.”
She pressed her lips tight and then said afterward, “Hate you but want to save you all the same.”
He chuckled and had closed the gap between them. Her offers have been nothing but tempting, to leave all behind and just be with her. He pressed his forehead to hers. “Our Gods and your dreams make cruel jests, but I want to save you too.”
They have just found each other and already the world wanted for them to part. A cruel jest, indeed.
FAD Part 2 [click here]
A/N: Title came from one of The National's songs. Quote in the summary that served as prompt and inspiration for this and the coming part came from Richard Siken (Crush; Little Beast).
Pairing: Jon/Sansa
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance, Fluff, Starkcest, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Alternate Universe - Canon, Sibling Incest, Early in Canon
Length: Will be three-shots, I think (Posted this at AO3)
Prompt: "There are many names in history but none of them are ours."
Summary:(Jon/Sansa throughout ASOIAF timeline [Most certainly AU of sorts])
Word Count: 3, 642
Disclaimer: The characters belong to George R. R. Martin.
[The Age of Heroes]
There’s always sunshine for Winterfell, even in the winters or raging storm. The sunlight would come down in panes of white, sometimes a beam of yellow and gold, other times they were streaks of ice blue or burning orange-red, and as a child, she used to watch the way they scattered and casted over the walls, the towers, around clothing and over skins-she was entranced by the sort of that spectacle.
But it had seemed like thousands of years ago when she had last seen a ray of light. In these trying times, darkness may just as well have lasted for generations. She forgot the sensation of radiance on her skin; the cold had seen to it as the chill and snowflakes piled atop her, weighing her furs and silks down, pinning her on the ground. She was lying on a field of snow, for hours or days, she could not tell. She could not even care to start thinking, could not bear remembering how the horror started. She was tired, her breathing ragged, and the cold had spared her from going numb, which was cruel when she’s suffering several wounds, deep cuts they were, throughout her body that a pool of red, bloody as her hair-color, surrounded her and stained the grounds of pure white.
The air was still, suffocating; she wanted to sleep but could not and would not. It seemed as if she was waiting for someone to come. But who could it be, when all she knew had perished from the monsters that used to inhabit her childish dreams, now come alive and had stolen her family, her home and her soul?
She moved some, began flexing her fingers and toes but that was all she did, the last time she tried to get up, pain shot through both her legs and ankles, her left side and her head had throbbed most furiously that the ground seemed to sway underneath. She opened her mouth once to hear her own voice but just a soft grumble escaped from her lips, and she did not repeat the process again for dread that she may have lost it. They said I have the sweetest voice, she thought, biting back a sob. Her lord husband and sons loved it when she sang songs and told them stories. She pressed her eyes closed for a while, she did not want to cry again, her tears have frozen and stuck on her face and she had enough of it, but she was taken aback when unbidden scenes flashed in her head-she saw her sons screaming, dragged by servants raised from the dead, watched as her lord husband became mad and was slashing at her with his priced dagger, noticed half of their household and the small folk fled while the other half were brought to the unlife-towed away she was by the loyal men that wanted to escort her to one of their liege lords, she saw herself running, or more like dragging her feet, she did not want to leave, she wanted their band to stop on the road, find her sons and bury them, but her men and her women would hear none of it, she asked most graciously and pitiable, “No, m’lady, it isn’t safe, these are dangerous times,” they all said, and so she screamed at them and begged them to leave her be but they did not pay heed all the same, the fifth night on the road they were attacked, dead against the living, a dance of life and death where the Others were inhuman and perilous and cold, cold, cold, while her fellow and kinsmen warm and all the more helpless-they leave her be in the end.
She woke some place in the North, alone and lying on her own blood, some frozen and crystal-like. Maybe she had walked some, had fallen or tripped. She could not be far from Winterfell but there’s no way of saying she was right either.
Everything’s coming back and she did not want it, did not want to linger on it, did not want to feel it but the cold has not made her numb enough. She choked back another sob and prayed to the gods of the Children. Take me, take me, take me, end this please, she crooned, pleaded and bawled inside her head. When she opened up her eyes she was staring directly into black orbs, darker than the sky. She was startled and so was the man whose suspicious eyes bore deeply on her. Her eyes glanced past his face and up to his arms where he was clutching a glass-spun blade aimed just above her throat and she knew, she just knew this was the one she was waiting for, the one her broken body held on for.
She mustered all her strength to talk but it came out whispery and hoarse, “P-please, e-end this… please.”
The young man, dressed all in frayed tattered clothes, stiffened. He slowly put the dagger away and heaved deeply. “Star-blue eyes,” he whispered not unkindly, “Strange and beautiful,” he spat, “What have they been thinking to describe Others as such?” His long face was grim and he did not look to be saying those words at her face, more like he was complaining to someone he knew. He stared down at her again and realized that she was still looking at him, her eyes oddly transfixed to his face. He looked struck when he realized that she wasn’t half delirious as he thought she was; he became conscious to what he had said and blushed furiously.
She watched him silently as he assessed her body, wincing at the number of bruises and cuts, “Gods be good, none of these are fatal but the open wound on your side may have gone deep in your ribs,” then he started unclasping his cloak around his shoulders with a sense of urgency and wrapped it around her. “You lost lots of blood m’lady. I have to get you to a Maester and fast,” he muttered more to himself, avoiding her eyes. He placed his dagger back to his belt, hunched over her and placed his arms under her to secure her to him.
“No… please, e-end-” she was about to say but the man cut her off with a grunt.
“I heard you the first time, and I can’t. I won’t.”
She studied his face, a scruffy looking man with dark curls and dark eyes and dressed in all black, who looked solemn and stubborn. A crow. She could certainly say he was of the North. Her mother used to say that dark wings bring dark words, but the messenger who came for her has nothing but gentle terms. She wanted to ask where he exactly came from, how he found her, whose lord he was serving, instead she hissed “I want to die and you were just about to kill me earlier.”
He stiffened again. “Aye, but thanked the Gods I haven’t or that would be a grave error in my part,” he answered softly.
“Still, I would as like die,” she gritted her teeth and controlled herself not to let out a whimper or shriek in pain when he lifted her up, for a moment she was puzzled that she was feeling a bit warm again. His hands, strong though lean, were steady under her shoulder and legs and she could feel him radiate heat, skin to skin despite all the clothes they were bundled in. She squirmed when the man started walking. “There’s no life after me to wherever place you’re going to take me to.”
He looked down on her for some time, studied her face as she did to him earlier. He had found something in her face that seemed to still him, that seemed to ease weariness in him. “I would as like not have to kill you. I slew a dozen this day alone, both stranger and kin. You’re the first I encountered that the Others didn’t turn as wight, I would have you know I didn’t enjoy the task.” He twitched the ends of his lips as if to give her a dark reassuring smile.
She stayed silent after that.
“I - I,” he broke the hush in between his long strides, “I came too late m’lady. And even though you don’t want to be saved now, I’ll foolishly insist. Let me help you find a cause to live, give me a year or two and if nothing else bloomed after your grievances, I’ll grant your death wish.”
She considered. She tried to glance around and saw nothing but snow for yards away; she could not tell if it’s morning, midday, or night already. It had always been dark. She considered his words again, they seemed hollow to her.
But she found she would gladly cling unto that. Her battered body did hold on for a long time, surely it must stand to something? She finally let her eyes rest, let the tears flow freely; she snuggled closer to him, basking in the sunlight the young man brought to her, the warmth that she thought was lost several thousand years ago.
[The Andal Invasion]
She liked to splash in the shallows on hot summer mornings same as this, but the water underneath their vessel most definitely wasn’t shallow. She spun on her heels and looked up to the high-masts, large white sails and figureheads carved in the shape of birds, all were useless since they’ve becalmed at dawn. Both men and women were restless in their stations. They’ve been left behind by most of the galleys, longships and carracks.
She lowered her eyes then and saw him first, storming out of the cabin. He was not hard to miss, what, with his raven curls atop his head amongst their fair-haired kin? He walked limping; his shoulders and lips were taut and his face still fresh from sleep. Finally he saw her (for she wouldn’t be easily missed too, she has long red curls so unlikely to be seen on their realm) and his eyes immediately darkened.
He swallowed some before he spoke, “Sister.”
“Brother,” she said while curtsying.
He glanced around, noticed how crowded their ship were, noticed that all eyes were on them no matter how they tried to hide it, so he settled for a whisper, a bit harshly to her liking, “You… you’re not supposed to be here. Last night…” then his breath hitched and he avoided her eyes.
Last night, she wondered if her eyes shone with mischief. “I never meant to lie,” was all she said to him, what she too had said to him a thousand times last night, evading his questions and playing him a mummer’s farce.
“But you did, a lie is a lie,” he said dejectedly, still, his eyes wouldn’t linger on her. He played a fool for her last night, had amused her with stories and wine, but now’s the moment of truth, and she could just as well tell that he saw it fit to do on the deck with dozens of people around; he, unsullied from the comforts of his bed, they haven’t even broke their fast yet.
“You and Arya’s supposed to be on board the Andalos, where is she?”
He made it a point to talk at his right and so she moved where he was looking to block his line of vision. “She wanted to board the Warrior Hills and I the swan ship so Robb helped us on the eve of departure.”
His brows furrowed, he wanted to wheel away but she knew she has a hold on him so long as she caught his gaze. “And it’s a bother for me to be let on the plan?”
“You were with Father that night, or did you forget?”
He flushed. “I remember. And I remember all too well that I’ll be the one to answer this waywardness, as I often had. Where’s Robb?”
That was her turn to blush.
“He’s with Theon on board the Faith, wasn’t he?” he was flexing his right hand now which was a sign that he’s not taking anything too well.
She couldn’t lie anymore than she did last night so she nodded. “And so are Bran and Rickon.”
He took that hard as she thought he would, she was starting to feel guilty now.
“It’s too dangerous for Arya to be on a war galley. Bran and Rickon too, in a longship like Faith. Robb and I are supposed to command the archers on the swan ships; this is madness I tell you. We’re about to invade lands…” and he trailed off. His face was a grave statue resembling the Father.
“And what of me in a swan ship?”
“What?” for a while he looked lost.
“What of me in a swan ship? You didn’t make a comment on that.” She didn’t mean to tease him so when he was thinking hard about his responsibilities and their safety, it was only that he blushed so red-a beautiful flaming red like last night as she removed the hood of her dress and revealed her face to him-brighter than her hair that she had an urge to do so.
The two of them weren’t even that close as children to begin with. Bastard born they may all be, their father was King Ruben of the Andals, a direct descendant of King Hugor of the Hill. Her and Robb’s mother was of the Flatlands while his, Arya’s, Bran’s and Rickon’s all came from Pentos.
He didn’t fail her expectation on that though. He was red as a pomegranate now. “You know I wouldn’t let any harm befall on you long as I stay on command of this ship.”
She smiled and reached for the hand he was flexing earlier, enclosed it with hers and said, “I know. The Seven would help us all though. And you’ve been my wonderful champion last night.”
The blood on his face wouldn’t circulate down and she felt his hands softened at her touch. A dark cloud passed over his long face. “I was plainly drunk. Why else would I brave the knights and archers board on this for a fair maiden’s company only to find out it was you all along?”
And mayhaps, she too, was drunk in levity, else why did she permit Osha and Asha’s provocations and even goaded Mya to raise the stakes for the men to win her hand?
A kiss! A kiss! And a night in confinement!
She even raised the hood a little, teasing the knights with her lips and her voice as she sang to them some verses from her favorite songs. Oh, how bold she has been! Arya may just as well kneel eagerly to the Seven if she only knew.
“Why indeed?” and they held their gazes for more than a little while.
Jon slightly shook his head and smiled at last.
Of course he knew it was her under the entire masquerade.
She knew that he was well aware of her reason on coming to the ship that he commands, and though there’s nothing more she’ll like than for him to voice out that he knew what she knew of this arrangement, of his actions last night, and what’s truly inside their hearts, she decided that it was fine.
There’ll be few confrontations left on the morrow and the next, and the next one after that, just as he saw it fit to do.
[Age of Valyria]
He was keeping an eye on her, lying on her stomach near the cliff overlooking the immense chain of volcanoes commonly known to them as the Fourteen Fires. Half of her red hair was teased and twisted elegantly atop her head while the other half flowed in ringlets below her shoulder. The wind caught it and swayed it into the air and he pulled his upper body up and shot his right arm to grab hold of it. Three of his fingers intertwined with the red tufts before they freely loosen themselves from his grasp.
Smooth and oiled, just as what Father said the men from the Empire prefer of their hair. Though they did find her from the ancient city Ghis, they could all tell she was no Ghiscari due to her pale creamy skin. Father had once said to him that they had thought of her as the harpy come alive, after they had discovered her in the ruins of the burned city; and so she was spared from working neither in the mines nor as a bed slave.
He could hardly believe it though, Sansa was the most beautiful creature he has ever seen that thinking of wings of a bat, legs of an eagle and a scorpion’s tail that could sprout from her body anytime seemed wholly a droll.
The girl seemed to have felt his fingers since she turned her head and looked above her shoulder to him. A hint of a smile was playing on her lips.
“Pretty,” he said to her. He had never been much good with words though he had inkling that she understood him all the same. Sansa could pick up some of their Valyrian tongue after all. He suspected it was because the Ghiscari Empire had needs of learning their tongue if they meant to conquer them and win their dragons.
“Good, boy,” she said in a thick dialect in their tongue though not of High Valyrian, and she bobbed her head down, her own way of saying thanks to him.
“I won’t be a boy any longer. I’ll be ten-and-six soon as my nameday comes,” he stared at her then. She has such a young face, he wasn’t sure if she’s a girl or one who’s lived a long life, if words of his Father and their folk were to go by.
He propped himself and went to lie next to her near the cliff. “When’s your nameday? Do you know when’s your nameday?”
She contorted her brows and shook her head.
“Birth? The day you were born?” he tried some more.
Again, she shook her head and turned her head away from him to continue looking over the dragons’ lair. She released a small sigh, then.
“What are you thinking of Sansa?” he asked another.
“The Gods, and slavery they do not commend,” she answered him at last, her fingers clutching the end of the precipice as if to peer down and see the hot mines underneath.
That again. “But the Empire did have slaves,” he pointed out to her.
He was met with a sharp turn of her head and a raised eyebrow. “Belong to them I do not, you and your kin know that well.”
And you won’t tell me where you came from either. And whoever your Gods may be. “We free-holders need them to mine gold and silver, to built roadways and cities.”
“They suffer,” she said as a matter of fact, chin turned up. Her dazzling blue eyes were clearly challenging him.
He lowered his eyes and acquiesced; he had nothing to refute back with. His kith and kin used to be a minor civilization of peaceful sheep-herding folk for hundreds of years until they learned of dragons, magic and the art of war. And there had been numerous revolts from the past years; he had asked Father once if there was no other way for all of them to compromise but his answer was only brief, that it had always been that way, and so he repeated that to her.
Her lips curled into a frown and immediately he wanted to take it back, wishing he had said something more clever and reassuring. After some time she snapped her left hand away from the precipice and placed it over one of his hands.
“Jon, please, please listen,” Sansa said serenely. “Want to save you, I do.” Her eyes spoke something urgent that it stirred something inside him.
“What do you mean?” he moved closer to her.
She clutched his hand a little more forcefully, “Leave all this behind.”
“You… want for me to run away?” he wasn’t sure if that’s what she really meant to say.
She nodded gravely; her clear eyes seemed to consume every ounce of intensity in him.
“With you?” he heard himself say.
She bit her lower lip and looked sideways before bobbing her head down. “Dream of misfortune, I had. Of Valyrian Freehold no more… please Jon, take heed.”
“But I…” he trailed off. What of my family and fellows? The Valyrian Freehold… we are the most powerful race in the realm, surely nothing could make us all fall down?
But Sansa’s dreams have always come true, though it’s a secret to just the two of them.
His free hand reached towards her and cupped her forlorn face. “You know full well I can’t.”
“If b - become the harpy, I did… and grew wings and snatch you away from them?” Sansa appealed with tenacity.
He smiled softly at her. “Then I have to fight you,” his thumb ran lazy circles along her left cheek. “Though not without a broken heart, I promise.”
She pressed her lips tight and then said afterward, “Hate you but want to save you all the same.”
He chuckled and had closed the gap between them. Her offers have been nothing but tempting, to leave all behind and just be with her. He pressed his forehead to hers. “Our Gods and your dreams make cruel jests, but I want to save you too.”
They have just found each other and already the world wanted for them to part. A cruel jest, indeed.
FAD Part 2 [click here]
A/N: Title came from one of The National's songs. Quote in the summary that served as prompt and inspiration for this and the coming part came from Richard Siken (Crush; Little Beast).