Dream Of Winter | C. Stark & H. Targaryen

Natural Mystic

But he's technically a Targaryen. So maybe they are. No. That's absurd. Probably.

"I think it's a reasonable assumption that he's passed out. He's too young for anything other than watered wine. He might still be asleep until midday tomorrow. I shall have words with him then." Sansa felt a intrinsic desire to mother Rickon. He didn't like cuddling. The isolated Northerners that raided him bred him for combat. But he was still her youngest brother. Her protectiveness overrode her senses sometimes.

"Aye. I'll talk to him and to Tormund myself."

A calm and serene silence descended. She knew where she had wanted this conversation to go. It's especially tricky to get there.

Sansa softly calls out his name.

Jon looks up, his eyes meeting hers. There's a flicker of sadness in his gaze, as if he already knows what she's about to say.

Could he?

Jon's face tightens, his jaw clenches, but he doesn't breath a word.

Her voice is trembling but she manages to not falter. "I know that we were raised as siblings. And how you feel about the Targaryens. But I want you to understand how I truly feel about you. You've always been the one who protected me, who stood by me when no one else did."

Sansa takes a step closer to Jon, her hand reaching out to touch his arm gently. She's looking closely at his face, trying to gauge his reaction. Desperately hoping she's not making a fool out of herself.

He didn't make it a secret that he frowned at Aegon and Daenarys' marriage. Despite the fact that the two had never met each other before the Fall of King's Landing to Aegon's forces. Or that match was purely political.

There's a mix of emotions swirling within her, but he remains silent. She keeps going before she loses her nerve.

"I've watched you grow, seen the man you've become. You're honorable, brave, and kind. You're everything a true leader should be. And... you're everything I've ever wanted."

Joffrey's no prince Aemon. One day I'll make you a match with someone who's worthy of you. Someone who's brave and gentle and strong.

Her father had promised her thus. And it seems he had no idea just how right he was.

Jon's breath catches in his throat, his eyes widening in surprise. He searches Sansa's face, his heart pounding in his chest.

He whispers her name and takes her hand

"I love you, Jon. I've loved you for so long, even before I knew the truth. And now... knowing who you really are, it doesn't change a thing. My heart still belongs to you."

Jon's eyes well up with tears, a mix of joy and sadness. He reaches out and cups Sansa's face.

"Sansa... I don't know what to say."

Sansa smiles through her tears, her thumb tracing circles on the back of Jon's hand. "You don't have to say anything, Jon. Just know that my feelings for you are real, and they always will be. We've faced so much together, and I want to face whatever comes next by your side."

Jon's voice is filled with emotion and sincerity.
"And I want nothing more than to have you by my side, Sansa. You've always been my rock, my strength. I love you too, more than words can express."

For so long she's thought her fate was doomed. She would spend the rest of her days drowning in her grief. Her pack was scattered to the wind. No hope in the darkness.

It's been ages since she's savored being wrong.

**

Bran Stark POV

The last greenseer accessed the Winterfell heart tree once more. He had managed to partially reinstate his tether to Helaena.

He was more than concerned their link could've endangered her life. Another Brandon had spoken quite a few unflattering words to him about his magical knowledge.
One can't get that much instruction when his mentor is dead. So he ignored the insults and focused on his actual aid.

The oldest Godswood in the North offered a perfect place to rejuvenate the dragon princess' mystical reserves. He can practice moderation. So he spoke to her only once a month. The night of the full moon to be specific. When the veil between the realms of the past and future were at their most vulnerable.

Of course he contacted Helaena so sparingly from her perspective. About four years had passed in her era. But it's been less than year in his time.

A long grueling one. The Others had already used the horn of Winter to destroy the Wall. Nightmarish hoards from Old Nan's stories are at their doorstep.

The Northmen, the Knights of the Vale and the rag-tag Riverland survivors are beneath their roof, preparing for the fight of their lives. King Aegon and Queen Daenaerys Targaryen had finally arrived atop their young dragons Viserion and Drogon, leaving Rhaegal at the capital to maintain order. They didn't even believe the Others were a legitimate threat before landing. Now it's too late to call for their army to ride north. More food for the undead swarm is all it'll make.

That is why Bran had tried to guide Helaena into preparing for the invasion centuries in advance. He didn't like hearing that Caraxes was killed. He was one of his favorite dragons as a child. And every soaring mount would be vital. Syrax's death didn't bother him as much. He read that she never contributed to the war efforts so no harm done. Tough that could've been more of of rider thing.

The real issue that the Stark kept thinking about was his family's survival should the castle fall. And it probably would. Very soon.

That night. He and Helaena and the Umber heir shared a dream. It was particularly haunting. The shadows were predominant and sentient. They circled around them and steered them down a path of their choosing.

The trees whose faces were carved long ago by the Children of the Forest screamed and cried rivers of blood. The red stream converged around the pools by the base of the ancient bark. When he and his companions looked at the reflecting eerie wells, ice and fire were swirling in a symbiotic dance. The shadows latched onto to their feet and threw them atop the void of crimson.

He's not ashamed to say he yelled out and tried to break free from the dark bind but also to breath when his nostrils were filled with crimson. His lungs were swelling. He was falling to his death this time.

Then, he awoke.

That vision played in a loop in his mind for weeks. A stalking predator. For him and his fellow seers. With each version, it became more clearer. He was convinced they were being mentored by the old Gods. They had seen his plight. And decided to help him. He was their agent according to Leaf. So they must want him to succeed and repel the Great Other. Or at least lay the foundation for his defeat centuries before his emergence.

He can accomplish the latter now. Only death can pay for life.

If his family and home loses the fight against the servants of the Endless Winter. The past will embrace them.

It has to work.