The Wolves In Winterfell

Chapter 1: Bittersweet Homecoming, Pt. 1

Sansa kept striding away from the kennel. Ramsay's screams had stopped mere moments before, and she could still hear the dogs eating at him, growling over a leg or an arm. Jon had told her of how it felt to kill someone, but his opinion was skewed by his obsession with honor and duty. He had not enjoyed hanging his brothers on the Night's Watch; he never talked about it, except before her coming down here. But she had enjoyed watching this monster be ravaged by his own dogs. She felt right. It did not make up for the years of hell she had went through since first leaving Winterfell, but in this moment, still wounded and sore from Ramsay's onslaughts on her, she felt an empowering rush of vindication.

As Sansa approached the castle door, one of the Knights of the Vale who were standing de facto guard, opened the door for her. As she entered, the guard said, "Lady Sansa, Lord Snow has requested your presence in the Great Hall."

"Thank you", she responded, and made her way to the Great Hall.

She made the long walk, feeling at once conflicting senses of deep fondness, and trepidation. She did love Jon, deeply, but right now, she wasn't sure if she wanted to see him. She wasn't annoyed with him; she felt...guilty. The near-disaster of the day's battle weighed heavily on her.

And so did his loss.

Sansa approached the Great Hall, and stopped as she saw Jon's bunned black hair seated at the fireplace.

"You summoned me?"

"Yeah," he said, slightly awkwardly, as he got up. "Do you like mead?" She nodded her head in response. Jon poured two glasses from a table adjacent to the fireplace, as Sansa sat down at a chair next to Jon's. He handed her a cup, and as she thanked him, she looked at him, trying to read his face, searching for any hint of anger. If there was, he was good at hiding it. His sad-set eyes didn't leave hers, and his lips were slightly upturned in a sympathetic half-smile.

Don't look at me like that; be angry with me. Yell at me, tell me how stupid I was. You should; you have every right to.

They sat in silence for a long while, sipping the honey wine, and lost in their own thoughts in the fire's light, bringing themselves back into reality by glancing at each other.

"What's wrong, San?"

She realized she was staring at him, so she turned to the fireplace.

"Why'd you summon me here?"

"I wanted to see you." His face reddened slightly. "Make sure you're alright."

She smiled at him. As Sansa took a gulp of the mead, Jon watched her; saw a tired sadness in her eyes. He could not blame her. Today was...harrowing, to say the least, for both of them. Then, melancholia washed over her her face as she looked at him again. "I'm so sorry, Jon."

"For what?"

"For everything. Everything that happened today was my fault."

He just stared at her, letting her speak.

"I didn't tell you about the Vale army. I let you go in knowing that you all might be butchered. And I made you give up on—" She stopped, collecting herself to finish her sentence before she started crying.

"--I didn't even try to save Rickon, or let you save him; I just assumed he was dead. I didn't even try to save him."

"Sansa, look at me." He grasped her hand, and she raised her brimming eyes to his.

"I should've attempted a reconnaissance before we got to Winterfell, or charged faster for him. RIckon is on me." As she started to shake her head, he said "SANSA, look at me. It is not your fault. No one will blame you for Rickon." He tried to reassure her with a smile. "And we won today. We won. We're back home, San. Ramsay can't hurt you anymore; I know you just saw to that."

"I thought that he had already killed—"

"You made a guess based on what you knew of him. That doesn't make you a murderess."

"Then what does it make me?"

"It makes you a survivor."

"With our brother's blood on my hands."

"Sansa...it's not your burden to bear."

She just looked at him. After a pause, she said, "...And now, we're the only ones left, aren't we?"

"What?"

"We're the only ones left, Jon. You, and me. Just you and me."

Jon just looked at her, not saying anything, but wondering what she was getting at.

"There's no one else in our family. No more Starks left in the world."

"They might very well be--"

"They are..." Sansa sighed. She started to ease a little, as Jon still held her hand.

"...I wasn't even that close to Rickon, and, when I see him in there, I think of all of them. But I think of...father the most." She looked at him, and the sorrowful look on her face made Jon's heart break.

"I saw it, you know?" She continued. "I was there, when they cut his head off."

Jon didn't know what to say to her. He wanted to comfort her, but didn't know how, in the moment. "That--must have been...horrible."

"They called him a traitor. That monster Joffrey had his head cut off, and made me fucking look at it! That bastard..."

"Literally, from what I've heard," said Jon. Sansa chuckled for the 1st time since they were children.

"Wouldn't surprise me," she said.

"When a raven brought word of what happened to father, I nearly ran away from the Night's Watch. I tried to do it."

Sansa looked puzzled; Jon was as obsessed with honor as father had been, maybe more so. "They would've--"

"--killed me, I know. But he was my father, same as yours. I would've risked it for him. I wanted to." He hung his head low, and Sansa moved her chair right next to his, and embraced the slouching, brooding man.

"They eventually did kill me, tho."

"What?"

"They killed me, San."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want to know?"

She let go of him and sat back down.

"It's hard to explain; the only way to really explain is to show you. But, it will shock you."

"I've likely seen worse; just show me."

He started to unbutton his shirt; as he did; she started to unconsciously cock an eyebrow. Then his shirt came off, and she saw the scars. They were still slightly open and bright red, and deep. They dug into his left lung, and rib, and his heart.

If Jon thought Sansa's ivory skin couldn't get any whiter, it did. Sansa blanched at the sight; for a moment, she couldn't breathe. She looked at the scars, then to Jon, and back again. She got up, still trying to breathe, her eyes bulging out of their sockets.

"Who--did this??"

"Five of my brothers in the Watch."

She gasped, and looked from his scars and into his eyes. As the full meaning of what Jon just said hit her, she searched his face, taking in every facet and feature, as if she'd never see him again. The Night's Watch, men he had regarded as friends, brothers, had viciously murdered him...even though he was standing here, he had died, just like the rest of them...taken her last brother, her bastard protector away from her...she would never have seen him again...

Her breathing heavy and fast, and tears once again welling into her eyes, she asked "How are you here?"

"The Red Woman brought me back," he said simply.

After a moment, she threw her arms around him, hugging him as hard as she could, nuzzling her head against his, feeling how warm he was, knowing that he was alive, and clinging onto him. She was sobbing uncontrollably now, tears free-falling from her face. Just as Sansa's hand met the exit wounds on his back, Jon wrapped his arms around Sansa, letting her cry into his shoulder. He did not know the entirety of what Sansa had endured, but he knew he would go to any length to protect her. And Sansa held onto him for as long as she could.