Dangerous Animals

Prologue

"You are Winterfell's king, you cannot go," Sansa insisted, "your people named you king, you must remain loyal to them."

"And who would you suggest I send instead?" Jon responded, his eyes dark. "She has dragonglass, Sansa, and the dead are coming."

"Send Ser Davos, he can represent your interests, while ensuring that the north's king remains in the north," she pleaded. She would not, could not let what happened to Robb happen to Jon. "Send someone, anyone else. Your people need you, you've said it yourself, the dead are coming. The north needs someone to turn to, someone they chose. Don't let what Robb happen to you, stay in Winterfell, prepare for winter." They had fought with these exact words before, and she presumed they would fight yet again. Jon didn't understand, there was so much Ned Stark in him. He'd never been south, never been to a place were words never as they seemed. Jon had his sword and his bluntness, and in the south they had their false courtesies and armor woven together by titles. 

"She is a queen, she must speak to a king. Sending Ser Davos, the Onion Knight, would ruin any chance of obtaining the dragonglass on Dragonstone," Jon's voice grew more and more irritated, and in the candlelit room, his eyes danced with soft yellow lights, making Ned Stark's son seem far more dangerous than the man the north had elected. "If we have any chance, any chance at all of killing the dead, then we need dragonglass, and we need an alliance. I cannot send a lord of some strange Northern house to the woman who claims to be the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, with three dragons by her side to plead that a bedtime story is coming to kill us all. Any man I send will be disregarded, for her council is made up of Martells and Tyrells and Lannisters, those who have never fought for the north, never died for the north."

"Send me."

"What?"

Sansa sighed, fidgeting with the sleeve of her dress. It was a nasty habit she'd broken when she was younger, but picked up again in King's Landing. "Send me. You're right, the Southern houses have had no part in Northern struggles and conflict. But I've spent years in King's Landing, I know some of the Dragon Queen's council members, and they may listen to the daughter of Ned Stark. I may convince this foreign queen, and if she kills me, well, the North won't lose its King." The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. The very idea of going any closer to King's Landing made Sansa want to vomit, and she did not revel in the idea of encountering Lord Varys and Lady Olenna again. The moment she and Jon had reclaimed Winterfell she had vowed to never leave it. She had spent far too much of her childhood hating the place she grew up, waiting to leave the cold castle for the warm city of King's Landing. Winterfell was her home, and Sansa did not want to ever give it up again. But the dead were coming, and Cersei would not rest until Sansa was dead. The North needed allies, and Daenerys Targaryen was their single hope. Daenerys Targaryen, and Tyrion Lannister.

Jon placed his hand on Sansa's arm, and she fought the urge to flinch, as she'd grown so used to the pain that came along with a man's touch. "I vowed to protect you, and you swore you'd never go South again. You have no more friends than I do in Dragonstone, and the death of Ned Stark's daughter would eradicate the Stark line."

Sansa looked her brother in the eye, watching as the soft light of the candles danced in his eyes. "You have Stark blood Jon, and as king you could legitimize yourself if anything were to happen. And I do have one friend on the Dragon Queen's council." Sansa thought back to her shortly lived marriage to Tyrion Lannister. Despite his Lannister blood, the man had always been kind to her, and he had vowed to never hurt her. He'd done everything in his power to protect her, as much as anyone could. "I've told you already, Tyrion Lannister was kind to me, and I believe he would do everything in his power to protect me from harm. I'll have Brienne to protect me, as well as other men loyal to the North." She lifted her chin, daring Jon to disagree with her. She was right, and she knew he knew that.

"Sansa, I-" he didn't want her to leave. The pain was obvious on his face. Sansa was the last surviving daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark. Her eyes were ice and her looks were cold. She was Winterfell. She was the bitterness of winter, the iciness that bit at people's skins and ate away at their very being.

But Jon was also winter. And he was the child of winter that the Northerners chose. So although both children of the winter should remain in the winter, the girl with ice in her veins and frost in her heart needed to leave.

"Jon," there was a pleading look in her eyes, the same look that had appeared when she had asked him to take back Winterfell with her. "Please, let me do this." She needed to do something.

He knew she was right, but Jon could not seem to form the words. As much as his sister denied his protection, he could not help but try to keep Winterfell's daughter safe from the cruel world. He had yet to accept that Sansa had seen just as much of the cruel world as he had, if not more.

The silence was all Sansa needed.

"Then it's decided. I will leave tomorrow, along with five Northmen and Brienne to accompany me on my journey to meet this Daenerys Targaryen."

I hope you guys liked this preview! This is my first fanfic and I'd always appreciate feedback and advice.