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Seeds of the Northern Kingdom	By : Sigil_of_House_Throckmorton Category: A through F > A Song of Ice and Fire Views: 99145 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: The setting and characters of the series A Song of Ice and Fire belong to George R. R. Martin. I make no profit from this work, and will remove it should I be contacted by GRRM or any of his legal representatives.

Chapter List
- 1-Val
- 2-Alys
- 3-Lyanna
- 4-Meera
- 5-Wynafryd
- 6-Wylla
- 7-Sansa
- 8-Arya
- 9-Epilogue: Daenerys
- 10-Omake: Dany
- 6
- 7
- 8
With a party composed of Stark, Manderly, and Blackwood men, the ride from Seaguard to the Twins took only three days at a moderate pace. Jon felt nervous at the prospect of dealing with the first armed incursion into his territory during his reign. He adjusted his clothes, still unused to the heat of the Riverlands in high spring. He removed his Stark doublet and became once again in thought.

The North and Riverlands both were still recovering from the effects of war and winter, even if the former Frey lands were hit lighter than most. Without the destruction, looting, rape, and crop burning that had plagued its neighbors, the lands sworn to the Twins were a vital source of food for the North during winter, and Hoster Blackwood was still able to raise a substantial number of men-at-arms to defend the now extended borders of Jon’s kingdom.

Should these Vale men prove aggressive, minor lords and knights previously sworn to the Freys would be the first line of defense for the kingdom. The Charlton lands bordered the High Road leading up to the Gates of the Moon, and while they were quick to swear fealty to Jon and were not witnessed at the red wedding, Jon was still cautious to trust the border to them completely, should another war become likely.

The lands sworn to the Twins would be vital to his kingdom, should another winter come soon. Jon could ill afford any conflict to occur there.

Upon cresting a hill, the dual castles of the eponymous Twins rose into view. It was immediately obvious that something was amiss.

“Lord Blackwood, why is it that those banners are flying above your seat?” Jon asked, trying to suppress his exasperation.

“Well, Your Grace, I did not wish to continue using the banner of House Frey or House Blackwood – think of the confusion! – so I had the sewing women design a new banner for my new house, and I think it came out rather nicely –” Hoster prattled quickly.

It was rumored that the man had poor eyesight at a distance, and apparently that was true. Indeed, the newly created banner of the twins did fly over the gates, immediately below the grey direwolf on white declaring these to be Stark lands. The blue twin towers on a grey field were still present, but now bordered by a scarlet field with an orle of sable ravens.

“It is not your own banners I question, my lord,” Jon choked out while pointing in the distance, though he knew it would do little to help. “I saw those during our previous journey. It is the ones flying next to them that concern me.”

A multitude of new banners flew around the keep of the north castle. Some of them he recognized; the banners of Houses Waynwood, Redfort, Royce and Belmore were all flapping in the breeze, and all major houses within the Vale. Others Jon could not recall – a diamond lozengy argent and gules, a white chalice with wings on a pink field. But flying above all of them, of equal height to and abutting the Stark banners, flew the moon and falcon of House Arryn.

“I – there were no other banners when I left, Your Grace!” Hoster replied with mounting hysteria.

Jon sighed. I must not let impatience get the best of me here. Clearly something has gone horribly wrong, and caution is best advised.

Only friendly banners flew from the closer south castle, where they entered. As he had on the trip south, Ghost refused to enter the castle and ran north along the river edge, likely to build distance upstream in order to swim across once again. The castellan and steward of the Twins, an older man from a cadet branch of House Erenford, attempted to clarify the situation in the castle courtyard.

“You see, my lords, their liege lord has been kidnapped, and it would have been improper to forbid them from searching for the boy when they are sure his captor is close by,” the man explained in a feeble voice. “We only just yesterday received your letter asking us to detain them, but the Lord Protector of the Vale himself was with them, and many other nobles besides, so we had feasted them to show hospitality by the time the raven arrived.”

Hoster Blackwood ran his hands through his hair in frustration, and Jon could not blame him. What the old man have done the same if Tywin Lannister appeared on his doorstep?

Lord Wylis Manderly was the first to speak up, having left his wheelhouse when the caravan stopped. “Is this the traditional response to an armed incursion into your lands? I should hope the Mallisters are different, else I have left my daughter to an early grave in the south.”

The castellan was abashed, and attempted other petty justifications before Jon ordered him to leave.

“You will appoint a new steward immediately once this business is done. Is that clear, my lord?” Jon asked Lord Blackwood, although he made sure it was intoned as a mandate rather than a question.

“Of course, Your Grace,” he mumbled out. “I am no happier to have potential invaders welcomed into my castle than you.”

“Well, the only option now is to confront these Vale men. Leave twenty men-at-arms here with the women and servants,” Jon commanded. “The rest of us shall make the crossing and begin negotiations.”

Jon allowed Hoster to lead the men across the bridge, with Wylis Manderly on his right and Jon close behind. Friendly guards wearing the sigil of the Blackwoods of the Twins were posted at the opposite gate, and they were granted access to the great hall without preamble. Jon ordered them to fall in line with his men.

The hall was packed with men in a myriad of colors. Although most wore no armor or swords, Jon noticed daggers or other small arms on many. We would not evict them by force without some bloodshed, then.

Upon their entrance, most of the Vale men looked to a small man sitting at a table pushed into a corner. The man was short, with a sharp nose and sharper eyes. His dark hair was streaked with grey, including the pointed beard on his chin. He dressed in a light blue doublet, although no crest or ornamentation could be seen on his person. He did a double take when his eyes passed over Jon, but seemed to dismiss him just as quickly and continued his scanning.

Jon allowed Hoster to speak for their group. “It is quite a shock to see so many strangers in my own hall,” he began, surprising Jon with the amount of confidence he was able to project. Eddard Stark was not the only person with a Lord’s face separate from his true one. Hoster continued, “I am Hoster Blackwood, Lord of the Twins. My castellan has welcomed you all within my halls, and you can be sure that House Blackwood will not besmirch guest right here, a crime for which my lordly predecessors are now infamous. However, I will require a meeting with the masters of your expedition. I shall await their arrival in my solar. For the nonce, I will ask my retainers to open a few barrels of Dornish Red as a gift for you all to enjoy.”

Hoster’s announcement was well received by the men, and went a long way to soothing their spirits. As they awaited whatever men commanded the small army, Wylis congratulated Hoster for organizing a parting gift without drawing needless attention.

Eventually, two men entered the room. The first was a young knight, wearing a doublet fashioned with the same red and white diamonds Jon saw among the banners he did not recognize, with a sword adorned with golden lions and rubies about the hilt strapped to his hip. The second was the middle-aged man who had eyed Jon strangely in the hall.

Hoster sat in the middle of the room, with Lord Wylis on his right and Jon on his left. Lord Blackwood welcomed the men into his solar and introduced himself again, this time awaiting a response.

“I am Petyr Baelish, Lord Protector of the Vale,” said the older man, “and this is Ser Harrold Hardyng, the man who organized this expedition.”

Petyr Baelish, where have I heard that name before?

“It was good of your men to allow us to make use of your castle, Lord Blackwood,” Ser Hardyng said. “Some weeks ago, our liege Lord Robert Arryn was taken from his chambers. We believe the culprit was my lady wife, Alayne Hardyng, the natural daughter of Lord Baelish.”

He went on to explain that Lord Robert was small and sickly despite being a boy of eleven. His mother had been murdered by a singer, and Lord Baelish, whom she had recently married, was appointed his lord protector until his majority. Lady Arryn … that was Lysa, sister to Lady Catelyn. Despite internal conflicts amongst the lords, most believed Lord Robert to have been in safe in the hands of Alayne Stone, who had become the boy’s primary caretaker. Her wedding to Ser Hardyng was only recent, but upon noting them both missing, Ser Hardyng swore to find his wife himself in order to bring her to justice. He said this as he fingered the hilt of his fine sword.

“Please do not misjudge me, Lord Baelish, but I am surprised that Lady Arryn agreed to wed you,” said Wylis Manderly, once the story was done. “I recognize that you were the Master of Coin for the late King Robert, but I did not think you held any great lands or titles that would befit marriage to such a highborn lady.”

Petyr Baelish remained calm, but Jon noted an almost imperceptible tightening of his facial features.

“I was fostered with Lady Lysa in her childhood, where we fell in love. She married Jon Arryn on her father’s orders, and this I did not begrudge her, for we were obviously a poor match at the time. Some time after Lord Arryn’s death, I was awarded the lordship of Harrenhal for my service to the crown, thus elevating my station enough to wed her,” the shrewd man explained. Jon did not fail to notice that he did not say which king had given him this title. “Our time together was short, but the loss of our love still affects me today.”

The last lords of Harrenhal were the Whents…. No, wait, there was another one.

Jon spoke up for the first time in the meeting. “Who was your predecessor at Harrenhal, Lord Baelish? It has changed hands so many times recently, I am afraid I cannot keep track of it all.”

“Lady Whent was the last lord to hold it for any significant length of time, but I believe Janos Slynt was the man who held the title before me, if in name only. But tell me, who are you, again?” said Lord Baelish.

Looking down, Jon noticed that he had yet to replace the doublet he had taken off during the ride. Instead he was dressed in only a brown riding tunic and breeches. Probably for the best, elsewise this man would never have given himself away.

“I am Jon Stark, the King in the North. Hoster, Wylis, seize this man!”

Wylis Manderly was the first on his feet, and he was quick despite his sagging girth. Baelish was smothered beneath the fat lord before he had a chance to flee. Ser Hardyng drew a dagger, but was quickly outnumbered when Iron Emmett and a group of guards stormed into the room.

“You cannot attack us!” Hardyng spouted indignantly to the young Lord Blackwood. “You confirmed just now that we are guests in your hall!”

“I ordered my men to give you no such welcome, but they have defied me,” Hoster explained. “Any armed incursion into our lands will not be treated lightly. Still, guest right was given, and I will do you no harm. King Jon, why have we accosted these men?”

All eyes in the room turned to Jon. Emmett would not question Jon’s judgement, but Hoster was right to ask on what authority such a breach of conduct was ordered, and Wylis was like to want the same after endangering himself so thoroughly. The man cannot even ride a horse or wield a sword anymore, but he still throws himself in danger at nothing but the word of a Stark.

“In my time at the Wall, I met a man named Janos Slynt,” Jon explained slowly. His scarred hand clenched at the memory. “He claimed to be the rightful Lord of Harrenhal, by virtue of his service to the crown. He boasted how the bloody spear of his house represented the weapon he used to back-stab and imprison the traitorous Hand of the King, Lord Eddard Stark.”

Although Petyr Baelish’s mouth could not move beneath Lord Manderly’s massive, flabby arm, muffled cries could be heard protesting now. Small arms and legs thrashed, to no avail.

“He told any who would ask about his powerful friends in King’s Landing, who had assisted him in investigating the Hand’s corruption,” Jon said, making every effort to keep his voice from shaking in rage. “Particularly one Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, who confirmed that he would have the crown’s support if he commanded his gold cloaks to eliminate the Stark guards when Petyr gave the signal.”

Jon signaled to Emmett. “Relieve Lord Manderly of this foul man.” He looked back to Petyr, whose eye was barely visible underneath a roll of skin. “Would that I could take your head, Lord Baelish, for surely that is what justice demands. However, I will not have my bannerman become an oathbreaker. You will be released from the north castle gate without pursuit.”

After Wylis rolled his impressive girth off of him and the small man had caught his breath, Petyr responded with all of the condescension as Cersei Lannister would have used to speak to a simpleton. “Just as honorable as your lord father was, Jon Snow. We shall see how long a bastard can play king once the Iron Throne hears of this. You taint yourself with this affront to the crown as you did Cat with your very existence. ”

“I do not care to hear whatever you have to say, you cowardly fool. Emmett, gag this man until he is due to leave,” Jon ordered, and watched as Iron Emmett faithfully carried out his instructions.

“Then he is free to go?” asked Ser Hardyng.

“I will give him a horse and rations, and none of my men will pursue him, as the king says,” replied Lord Blackwood.

Jon grasped the handle of Longclaw at his hip, but knew that he could not use it. I will not become a Frey.

The Lord Protector of the Vale was led out to the courtyard of the north castle. He did not struggle as he was placed on a horse. When the reins were placed in his hands, Jon thought he even saw a malevolent smirk appear on the man’s pointed face. It reminded Jon very much of the expression Janos Slynt revealed, when he thought he would be allowed to live. The gates were opened, and the small man proved to be an excellent horseman as he left the Twins at a canter.

Jon watched from the battlements as Baelish road across the drawbridge over the moat and continued into the fields along the river bank.

He smiled in grim satisfaction when, just before entering the tree line, a colossal white blur leapt from the forest.

The horse disappeared from view into the woods, but the rider was caught by the neck in the jaws of a fully grown direwolf. Ghost thrashed, and the head of Petyr Baelish was torn free of his torso. Ghost flung the head aside and dragged the mauled body into the woods. The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword … well, something like that happened here.

The aftermath was simple enough to deal with. Ser Hardyng and his men swore to recognize the sovereignty of the Kingdom of the North over the lands surrounding the Green Fork of the Trident, the Cape of Eagles, and Blackwood Vale. They would be dismissed from the Twins to search whatever other lands they pleased. Jon swore in return to search for their liege lord and Alayne Hardyng, and promised to return them to the Vale expeditiously should they be found.

The Stark and Manderly parties stayed one more night in the Twins before departing northeast towards the Neck the following morning. While Jon might have preferred to stay longer to ensure no future border disputes arose, he had promised Val that he would be back at Winterfell in time for the birth of their child, and he had every intention of keeping his word.

“Be careful on the road, Your Grace,” Hoster Blackwood said to him during his farewell. “There has been a large wolf pack spotted moving north through my lands. Their leader is apparently some grotesque beast, nearly as tall as a man.”

Ghost dreams of wet but fertile lands, surrounded by small cousins….

Ghost joined them on the road, carrying a rather ostentatious dagger in his mouth that Jon vaguely recalled seeing worn on Petyr Baelish’s hip. He gave it to Wylis Manderly as a boon for his actions in Lord Blackwood’s solar.

Wynafryd had yet to miss her moon blood, but Ghost could now smell the changes he associated with pregnancy on her not long before they were to split at Moat Cailin. Jon took her once more that night before their impending separation, for affection as much as physical need.

When they arrived at the ancient, crumbling fortress, they were surprised to find the Children’s Tower occupied. Guards with small figures and bronze scaled armor welcomed Jon into the structure, where he met with a man he had not seen in over a year.

“What brings you out of the swamps, Lord Lucen? Is this some rebellion for deposing you of your seat?” Jon teased him. Lucen Reed was short, like all crannogmen, and looked remarkably like his brother Howland, but for a flatter nose and bushy side-whiskers rather than a beard.

“Nothing near so grave, King Jon,” he replied. “My niece is returned to me, so I thought to return a relative to you in as thanks.”

“What do y—” Jon began to ask, before he was interrupted by a feminine cry from another room within the tower.

“Jon!”

Jon turned to the commotion and was nearly knocked over as a woman who looked near his own age ran into him and smothered him in a tight embrace. The poor woman began to sob in his arms, and Jon truly had no idea what was happening.

“I knew it, I knew I would find you and you would protect me, and, and—” the stranger gushed at him between sniffles.

Jon pulled her away by her shoulders and looked at her. The woman’s dress was once fine but now tattered, as though she had traveled a great distance without changing clothes. Her auburn hair was streaked with what appeared to be mud, or perhaps brown dye. She had high cheek bones on a longer face, but still had a soft chin, and vivid blue eyes.

Eyes that now looked at him with a pained expression.

“Please, Jon, you have to know that it is me—please! I never meant those things when we were little … I swear I did not know what cruel things I was saying, and I know I’m not the sister you wanted, but, I—I….” she pushed out, the words clearly out of her control before her spirit shriveled in front of him.

“I thought to return a relative to you as thanks.”

“I never meant those things when we were little…”

“I’m not the sister you wanted,”

“Sansa!” Jon shouted as the realization materialized like a flower blooming in spring. He grabbed her back into a hug and he could not recall how long they spent leaning against each other and sobbing.

When their tears were spent, the two finally separated. The men had cleared out of the Children’s Tower, allowing them to reconnect in peace. Dusk had settled over the surrounding ruins, but that did not diminish for either of them the joy being reunited.

“Oh, Jon … I never thought I would see you again,” Sansa said, still sniffling and trying to wipe moisture away from her bloodshot eyes. “For the longest time, I thought I was the only Stark left, and even then I was a Stark no longer….”

“It was the same for me, Sansa,” Jon said, holding her hand tight lest she slip away again. “Every time news came to the Wall, it seemed another member of my family died or went missing.”

“I thought for the longest time that you were dead as well. One day you were the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and the next you were betrayed,” said Sansa. “And then, I heard of an army of savages ravaging the Twins, and the North being overthrown for a new Stark king. I was not sure who to believe.”

“Is that what led you here, Sansa?” Jon asked. “How is it that you are here, in Moat Cailin?”

“I—it is just that, I heard that the new Stark king was always accompanied by a great white wolf, and I knew it was you. That there was somewhere I could go to be safe. Brother, please, I need your protection,” she finished, clearly distressed.

“I am not your brother, Sansa,” Jon told her as a wave of melancholy crashed against his heart.

“Jon—Jon! You must not say that! I—you are the only one I have left, and now that I have been a bastard I realize how cruel it was of me to ignore you and call you half-brother, how awful I was to you, but I never would have said it if I had known—if I had even thought of how terrible you must feel!” she pleaded. “Jon, I am desperate, and I you are the only one I have left!”

“Sansa, be calm,” stilled Jon as he pulled her once again into an embrace. “I will always protect you, Sansa, no matter what happens.”

He smiled at her and stroked her hair as he gave her time to compose herself again. “It is true, though, that I am not your brother, or even half-brother. I am your cousin.”

Sansa looked at him as though he had just declared Edmure Tully the King of the Grumpkins. “How could you be my cousin, Jon, when we shared the same father?”

“We did not share the same father. That was Eddard Stark’s closest secret, his only lie,” Jon explained to his bewildered cousin. “He made me a bastard to protect me, and to keep me safe, even at the cost of a happy marriage and endangering his children.”

“Jon, I am sorry, but I do not understand. I have been made a bastard myself, so I know how that can happen, but why would father ever do that to you?” Sansa asked. “It was miserable,” she finished despondently.

“Because the name ‘Snow’ was less dangerous than the name ‘Targaryen’,” whispered Jon.

Sansa had a blank expression at first, much like Jon surely had when Meera first told him the tale. Jon could see when the implications of what he said truly sunk in, the shock on her face followed by a trembling horror as she pieced together who his parents must have been, how Eddard had returned to Winterfell more of Lyanna Stark than just her bones. Her face settled until she comprehended the second, more startling portion of what Jon said.

“They were married,” she uttered softly, making sure that only Jon could hear. “She went with Rhaegar willingly, and uncle Brandon and grandfather and all of those men died due to a misunderstanding.”

Sansa appraised him critically, as though seeing him for the first time. “You were the heir to the Iron Throne.”

“It matters not to me,” Jon told her. “I took the North as the last Stark, and because it needed someone to unite it. But you are more Stark than I am, Sansa, and it will be yours if you wish.”

“You would … you would give me your kingdom, just like that?” she asked incredulously. “Even though I am a woman, and was married to Tyrion Lannister, made a bastard and married again without a true divorce? Even though I have done nothing good for you, ever in my life?”

“You survived, Sansa, and it is the best gift anyone has ever given me,” Jon said. “A piece of my family has been returned.”

Sansa squeezed him tightly around his middle. “I will not take what you have so rightly earned, Jon Stark. You have united the Northern lords, and I hear that you are rebuilding our home. A farmer further south said that you ended that horrible winter, and stopped an invasion from beyond the Wall.”

“That … is a long story,” Jon said, looking away and feeling the blush crawl up his wet cheeks. It was not a story he wanted to tell at the moment. “There are more important things for us to discuss. Earlier, you said you needed protection, Sansa. I will not allow anyone to hurt you again. Tell me, from whom do I protect you?”

Sansa’s face hardened and fire filled her Tully blue eyes. “You protect me from Petyr Baelish, the Lord Protector of the Vale, a liar, murderer, rapist, and the most dangerous man in the seven kingdoms. He is manipulative and cunning, Jon, and incredibly dangerous. He took over the Vale without drawing a sword, and he will stop at nothing to find me. He can bribe or corrupt almost any man or woman – you cannot trust anyone Jon, his spies are everywhere.”

Jon began to chuckle, and found that he could not stop himself in his exhausted and emotional state. He laughed until his belly ached and his face was red. Sansa’s face turned red for entirely different reasons.

“This is no laughing matter, Jon!” she yelled at him. “You cannot underestimate this man! That is how he destroys you. No one suspects him of anything, but he has his hands in everything.”

Jon reclaimed control of himself to allay her worries. “You shall never be threatened again by his men, Sansa, or the man himself. You are safe.”

“Jon—” she started, but he did not let her finish.

“Ghost has already made sure that Petyr Baelish will never betray anyone, ever again,” Jon said with a grin.

“Ghost!” Sansa exclaimed. The animal in question peeked his head around a door to the chamber they sat in. He pranced closer at her excited squeal and seemed pleased to accept her cuddles. “You really killed Petyr? What a good direwolf you are! I hope you ripped him bloody. Gods, Jon, he was the runt—how did he get so big?”

Jon smiled at the compliment. “I look after him and he looks after me. We are one and the same.”

“I have not seen a direwolf since – since Queen Cersei had father kill Lady, because of my lie,” she said, ending once again with a crestfallen expression. “I was a terrible little girl then, Jon. I made so many things worse because I refused to believe what monsters the Lannisters truly were. I betrayed Arya, and Lady was killed but I did not learn. I betrayed father too eventually, and that got him killed, and likely Arya too.”

Jon did not know what to think about that confession. Betraying Eddard Stark was Jon’s justification for allowing Ghost to do what he had to Petyr Baelish, without any second thoughts. But I have betrayed people before – Mance and Ygritte. And I have broken oaths aplenty. Some of the few members of the Night’s Watch remaining still think me a traitor.

“It matters not what we have done in the past, Sansa,” Jon consoled. “What matters is that we have each other once again, that we are a pack.”

“‘The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.’ Father said that to us when we were little. Is that what we are now, Jon? A pack?” Sansa asked, smiling at the ridiculousness of the statement.

“I suppose so,” Jon said, returning her amused expression. “But why were you running from Petyr Baelish? Are you in league with the kidnapper he was seeking in our lands?”

A haunted look glazed over Sansa’s once bright face, as though all joy and mirth had been sapped out of her.

“I am the kidnapper he seeks, of course. I stole Robert Arryn, my diminutive cousin, from his rooms and smuggled him out of the Gates of the Moon,” she said with a mechanical voice. “We were preparing to return to the Eyrie, now that winter has passed. I would have been trapped there, even more a prisoner than I already was. A woman who claimed to once serve my lady mother discovered my identity, and agreed to help me escape. Petyr had been poisoning Sweetrobin for years, though and I could not just leave him to die. I took him while he was sleeping, hoping to flee before anyone was the wiser. The woman stormed the gatehouse at the Bloody Gate so that I could escape, and I never saw her again. I went north once I was out of the mountains, hoping that the rumors of a Stark in the North once again were true. I made it to the Neck, but I could go no further. Sweetrobin … his condition got worse, he had shaking fits more often and became febrile. By the time Lucen and his men found me, Robert Arryn was dead.”

The Lord of the Eyrie was dead. The Vale men would be furious, when they found out.

“That means that you must have been going by another name, for your story to mesh with theirs. You were called Alayne Hardyng….” Jon said before appreciating what that meant. “You were married to Ser Harrold Hardyng.”

Sansa bit her lip and looked away before nodding.

“Were you … did you love him?” Jon questioned, hoping that this development would not end in heartbreak for her.

“No, not in the least. Harry is an absolute arse,” she replied indignantly.

Jon relaxed upon hearing that. “That is good. He said that he would bring you to justice himself, should the accusations have been true.”

“I am not surprised. He never learned of my true identity, and he resented Petyr for forcing the marriage onto him,” Sansa said. “He saw me as a bastard girl and a brood mare, nothing more, and Petyr attempted to take that from him too.”

Jon stuttered. “Sansa, do you mean….”

She appeared deadly serious. “Petyr would find reasons to send Harry away during the middle of my cycle, and make me lie with him instead. His eventual plan was to reveal my identity and use me to claim the North and the Riverlands, and by passing his son off as Harry’s, he would get the Vale as well. He would have probably had Harry murdered at some point, so that he would not have to share me anymore. But the worst part was, whenever he rutted into me, we could call me ‘Cat’, as though I were my mother.”

The clinical, detached way Sansa stated all of this shocked Jon to his core. This stupefaction manifested in what was probably a horrified stare.

“You need not worry so much, Jon. One of the reasons I ran was so that I could get rid of my pregnancy. It felt good to see that child bleed down my leg, once Lucen Reed’s men got me some moon tea. Petyr’s or Harry’s, I could not bear to keep it,” Sansa said. “My body is nothing a curse. I have lost count of the number of men who lusted after me, and being fucked by those two gave me nothing but pain. How Myranda ever enjoyed it, I will never know.”

Jon was quiet for a moment, before he said, “You never received pleasure while making love, Sansa?”

“I do not think I have ever made love, but I certainly get no pleasure from carnal activities,” she replied.

“Then that is because no one has ever been with you properly,” Jon declared. “You are a beauty Sansa, truly, and it is a crime that you have never been with a man who could show you how wonderful sex can truly be.”

Sansa blushed, bringing a rosy color into her high cheeks. She was indeed beautiful, tall with womanly hips and a bust not as large as the Manderly sisters’ but perhaps larger than Val’s, and no less shapely. Her pouty bottom lip was drawn into her mouth again, similar to an expression Arya used to make when apprehensive.

“What would you know of such relations, Jon? Were you not the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch?” she asked in a half-hearted jest.

After considering his words, Jon said, “I know more than you would think, Sansa. I have had lovers before, and each has shown me something new and beautiful that can be found when men and women come together.” Jon took a calming breath before saying, “I would show you, if you liked.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “You cannot mean—Jon, that is … really?” She was clearly flustered, glancing about nervously as though Septa Mordane might peek around a corner to send her off to the silent sisters for her impure thoughts. “You would do that for me?”

“Only if you wanted me to, cousin,” he answered. Definitely not my sister.

“… I thought about you, once. Before father was captured, he wanted to send Arya and I home. He told me that he did not want me to marry Joffrey, and that he would find me someone good and brave and strong instead,” she said, before offering a small grin. “I did not realize until much later, when I heard you were the Lord Commander, that you were all those things, and had been your entire life.”

Now it was Jon’s turn to color. Those words would have only been more surprising coming from Lady Catelyn herself. “What is your wish, then, Sansa?”

She did not answer immediately, but after a few moments gave a hesitant nod. “I want to know, Jon. I realize that I might have to marry again, but I want to try this with someone I trust, someone who already loves me. I want to try it with you, cousin,” she said with a sheepish smile.

The decision was made. “Ghost, guard the base of these stares. None are to follow us.”

The albino beast nodded in reply. With a predator the size of a horse guarding the only stairway in the Children’s Tower, which still had all of its walls, Jon felt confident that they would not be caught, and he could explain it away as more bonding time if they were missed.

Jon led Sansa up the stairs by her delicate hand, and she seemed happy to follow. They found the lord’s chambers of the tower, still made up with a fur bed in the corner from Ronnel Stout’s occupation of the tower at the end of the war, when it was last garrisoned.

“Will this do, my sweet lady cousin?” Jon asked, trying to keep her spirits light. Sansa’s cheeks glowed with either embarrassment or arousal, or perhaps some of both, and she signaled her agreement. She approached the small bed and reached behind her back to begin unfastening the laces to her dilapidated, high-backed gown. Jon came up behind her and moved her hands away, rubbing his thumbs in soothing circles over the base of her thumbs.

“There is no need for that right now, Sansa,” he hummed into her ear with his chest pressed firmly against her back, letting the vibrations buzz through her. Val always made it a point to tell him how much that excited her.

“Oh,” was Sansa’s eloquent reply. Jon let his hands drift down to her hips. “But Jon, there is something that you must see, that might dist–” she continued before he cut her off and pulled her mouth around to his, giving her every opportunity to escape, if that were her desire.

Sansa did not protest or fight when their lips met, tentative and sweet. Jon pulled away, just far enough that he could still feel the tingle of her flesh against his beard, and whispered to her, “You will control how the kisses go. Find out what you like,” before converging with her once again.

“Jon, I’m not sure,” she said, breaking away after a few hesitant moments. “Petyr’s kisses were always so disgusting, and Harry never bothered…. Could you show me?”

Jon grunted in the affirmative and entwined their mouths again. He used his hands to stroke her back and the nape of her neck while he slid his lips across hers, occasionally wetting them with his tongue. Jon did not want to disenchant Sansa by thrusting his tongue into her mouth – she always seemed too much of a proper lady to be able to enjoy that sort of thing – but he was happy to dally at her pliable lips, content in the feeling of closeness such a kiss generated.

Sansa gradually relaxed into his kiss and began to slip her tongue between them. Jon let her take control of their joining gradually, and parted his lips when her tongue skimmed across them. The timid advances she made into his mouth were quite endearing, and Jon’s patience paid off when she finally took the plunge and thrust her small pink muscle into his mouth to lick at his teeth.

She pulled away not long after. “That is … oddly exciting, isn’t it?” she asked with a grin.

“That it is,” Jon answered. He guided them down onto the furs and rolled them so that they were facing each other on their sides, and allowed her to continue at her own pace.

They went on in this way for some time, before Sansa became restless. “Jon, it feels wonderful, truly, but … I think I am ready for more.”

“Then you stay here, my lady, and let me make you feel good,” he said as he slid down the small bed until he was kneeled at her feet.

She separated her legs on instinct, allowing her skirts and shift to fall over her hips and exposing her silky thighs and lacey smallclothes. Sansa looked away as Jon slid the frilly garments free, exposing her glistening mound, puffy lower lips, and auburn curls to the air.

Jon had no difficulty expressing his appreciation. “Gods, Sansa, your c–, your womanhood is beautiful,” he uttered as he slid his torso between her legs and lowered his head into her groin.

Sansa protested, “Jon, what are you doing down there, and why are your breeches still…. Oh, Jon … Jon.” Her protests dissolved into moans as stroked his fingers down the inside of her thighs, pinching softly along the way, and blew a tight stream of air across her moist nether-lips.

“This is how lords are supposed to kiss their ladies, Sansa,” Jon said in a low voice before he ran the flat of his tongue from base to apex along her cunt. The curious ‘Mmmm?’ he got in reply convinced him that she approved of the idea, and so he started in earnest.

Most of her pubic hair was above her cunt itself, resting over her pubic bone. The outer lips were red and tumescent, but not overly bushy. It was as though her cunt were made for feasting. Jon sucked one swollen labium into his mouth and ran his tongue along the pink interior border from bottom to top. Sansa took a deep breath and grabbed at his head, twisting the curly brown hairs there in circles with her dainty fingers. Jon repeated the treatment to the opposite side, escalating her reactions.

Jon shifted his focus to the smaller, petal-like inner folds that now protruded slightly whenever he pulled back. He separated her outer lips with two fingers and flicked his tongue along the slick folds, one by one. As he did this, he used the middle finger of his other hand to toy with her entrance with pressure, but no penetration yet.

Sansa still took profound breaths, but seemed to be able to control her reactions. Something primal within Jon wanted to change that, wanted to break his polite, lady-like not-sister with ecstasy. He pursued this goal by slipping his tongue inside of her opening above his finger and tracing the tip up, across the smaller salty hole and against the slick fleshy hood covering the pearl of her pleasure. His nose was buried in the soft curls of her pelvis, and the musky scent he encountered there was intoxicating. With the hood retracted, Jon began his lingual assault.

“Jon!” she gasped, clenching her fingers and pulling his hair taught. Jon ignored the discomfort and continued licking, rapid flicks with the focused tip of his tongue. Jon bent the finger he had inside her upwards and delivered slow strokes along the ridged interior of her cunt.

“Eeeerghh – gods, Jon, oh, oohhh,” Sansa moaned as he increased the intensity of his fondling.

He could feel Sansa’s legs tensing around him, and the hand resting across her belly to spread her open felt her stomach contract. She was on the edge now, and Jon wanted to launch her from it.

Jon rotated the motions of his tongue against her nub between flicks over it, tracing circles around it, and sucking it between his lips and pinching. He added another finger to the one stroking her slick insides and positioned the index and small fingers of the same hand between the inner and outer lips of her cunt; now when he pumped up and down against the sensitive spot inside of her, he rubbed her inside and out. The sloshing noise accompanying this motion sent chills down Jon’s back and straight to his cock.

“Sansa, you are so wet for me,” he said, talking into the indurated pink nub as he teased it with his lips. “This is what it should be like, you dripping with excitement, your cunt begging for your lover’s cock.”

“YES, yes Jon, I’ve never felt this way before—UNGH! I feel like—like I’m about to break in two, Jon, what is happe—Jon!” she cried.

Sansa’s cunt clenched tightly around Jon’s fingers and her knees crushed his arms into his chest. She screamed incoherently as her thighs and pelvis trembled beneath his mouth. She is so beautiful when she comes, Jon thought as he looked up at her completely flushed face, neck and chest. It is criminal that no man has made her feel this way before.

Aftershocks rippled through her svelte limbs and voluptuous body. Jon was mildly alarmed when a hidden corner of his mind realized how similar she was to Lady Catelyn in her figure, but he pushed that thought aside. She was Sansa, his lady cousin, and he was here by her request.

“Jon, that was absolutely incredible. I did not know feelings like that were even possible,” Sansa said between heavy breaths. Her skin felt clammy where they touched, and Jon realized belatedly that he never removed her dress or shift.

“Sansa, you must be sweltering,” Jon denoted. “You might be more comfortable if we removed your dress, unless you would prefer not to….”

“No, I agree, it is far too warm here to be wearing this many clothes,” she acquiesced. “Help me undo my laces, please?” she asked as she sat up with a contented grin on her roseate face.

She sat up and rotated on their small bed to present her back to Jon. The height of the laces surprised him; it was high, even for a winter gown in the North. The fact that it was high spring and that she clearly obtained this gown in the Vale only muddled the situation further. Sansa’s shift was equally high, once the gown was tossed over her head, but as Jon undid the laces there he felt irregularities underneath. With a strong feeling of foreboding, Jon slid the last garment off his graceful cousin.

Sansa still sat facing away from him, her hands wrapped protectively under her bosom and her face angled away from him towards the floor. Jagged eruptions of skin appear in clustered rows of four on her upper back, healed over imperfectly. The spacing between each row is about the distance between two knuckles on his hand.

“Sansa…. What did they do to you?” Jon asks with dread.

“Joffrey’s Kingsguard were no true knights,” she said succinctly. “But we are not doing this for pity. Please Jon, make me feel that good again, but this time with your … with your cock,” Sansa pleaded. She turned around on the furs and separated her arms after some internal effort. Her breasts did not droop at all when they were no longer supported, and her skin bloomed with arousal all the way down to her small pink nipples. Sansa’s abdomen was flat and smooth until it flared out into womanly hips.

Doublet, tunic and breeches were removed faster than Jon could remember. He grabbed her by her pliant hips and scooted her down the bed towards him. Sansa laid her head back and spread her thighs again, but this time rather than look away she stared right at him. She looked to be fascinated by his stalwart member as he rubbed the smooth cockhead up and down her folds.

“Let me know if this hurts in any way, Sansa—because it shouldn’t,” Jon instructed as he parted her nether-lips and sunk into her heat.

“Nnn—no, it doesn’t hurt, but it is larger than I am used to,” she confided. “Let me relax for a moment?”

Jon passed the time with his cock half-encased within her by leaning forward, careful to avoid advancing himself, and kissing the dimples around her mouth. Sansa responded enthusiastically, tugging at his lips with her own and resuming their tender kisses from earlier.

Eventually, Sansa gripped his buttocks with the balls of her feet and rocked them gently, urging Jon into tranquil motion. The walls of her cunt were sleek yet sturdy; gripping him tightly all the way back as he completely sheathed himself inside of her. He remained still, waiting for her invitation to continue.

Foreheads pressed together, Sansa confessed in a nervous voice, “With Harry I would already be bleeding by now. He never gave me attention beforehand, and it always hurt.” Jon kissed the tip of her nose as he rocked back and forth within her, letting her know that he would not judge, that he was here for her, whatever she needed to say. “Petyr … Petyr liked to shove his tongue down my throat and call me Cat.”

“You are yourself, Sansa,” Jon told her, reminded of his one, appalling meeting with the creature Theon Greyjoy had become. “You are Sansa Stark,” he said as he livened the motions of his hips.

“Of course you are right, I am me,” she said. The velvety folds of her cunt squeezed around Jon and held, increasing his pleasure exponentially. Fortunately, the white translucent essence leaking around his cock prevented friction from complicating their intercourse. “I am Sansa Stark, and I am with a wolf again.”

Warm feet pressed insistently against Jon’s backside. “I want more, Jon. Mmnn…. Is there more?” Sansa requested.

“As much more as you would like, Sansa,” Jon said. He pulled his head away from hers and took in her fine body, splayed out below and around him. Her breasts heaved with her deep breaths, jiggling in time to his light but fast thrusts. Jon picked up her legs, wrapped on either side of his hips, and swung them above his shoulders before leaning forward once again, lifting her hips off the bed and digging further into her in the process.

“Ooh yes, that is incredible! Keep going like that Jon!” Sansa begged him. Jon needed no further motivation. Jon plunged inside of the girl he once thought of as a sister, albeit a distant one, over and over. The slap of his hips against her callipygian body was incredibly arousing, but the look of rapture on her face was the most stirring part of the experience by far. He was pounding into her hard now and he could tell she would get another orgasm before he finished, he was becoming fatigued and his legs began to give out.

“Sansa, I need a break,” he said as he pulled out of her and lay on his back, attempting unsuccessfully to massage the ache out of his thighs. “My legs cannot keep that pace for so long.”

“That is … disappointing,” she said between her own heavy breaths. She looked down her sweaty body at him, staring at his large hands as they worked into his muscular legs. “But if it is your legs that are bothering you, perhaps I can be of assistance?”

She squirmed upright and ran her silky palms up his limbs until she met the sore muscles, where she began kneading away the knots. “It is too bad your cock cannot enjoy itself while you recover,” she said in a jesting manner.

Images of his first time with Wynafryd passed through Jon’s head. “It does not have to suffer, if you are willing to try something.”

After an awkward explanation and a bit of shy shuffling, Sansa sunk her dripping cunt over his cock once again. She continued her manipulation of his over-exerted thighs as she began to bob her hips against him. Her impossibly round buttocks clenched with every bounce, making them even more prominent but doing nothing to stop the fleshy ripples cascading through them.

The sight became too much for Jon. He grabbed her by the bony part of her hips and began directing her to increase her speed. She complied, giving up on massaging him with her hands in favor of massaging him with her cunt, squeezing rhythmically against his cock. Unlike the uncontrollable shudders of a climax, Jon knew that this was completely intentional.

“Gods Sansa, that feels incredible. Rrggh. You are incredible,” he stuttered out, showing his appreciation. Sansa’s response was far more inarticulate, which he considered to be a good thing.

“Jon – haaahhh – whatever it is, nnnng, that feeling is close again, I can – oh, ah!” she managed to get out. Despite her claims, Jon could tell that she was not quite there.

His hands flew across her sudoric skin. The first groped her breast, using it as leverage to pull her back against his chest. The second flew to the apex of her cunt to once again tease the swollen pearl there. Sansa was taken off guard by the maneuver, which left it to Jon to finish their copulation by using his now recovered legs to ram into her clenched and spasming opening.

Sansa’s squeals of pleasure were high and pristine, like the bell chimes of a southron sept. Rather than fluttering, the walls of her cunt contracted around his cock so hard that he thought he might be forced out of her. Burying his ironclad member as deeply as he could was the last stroke for him – his seed erupted out of him, and each pulse burned as it surged up his cock against the spongy tip of her womb.

They stilled eventually and reveled in the afterglow of their love-making. Jon wrapped both arms about Sansa’s middle and allowed her legs to slip between his knees, holding her protectively against him.

“That—that was….” Sansa started, before gathering her wits and trying again. “I can now see why so many women are glad to embrace scandal, if it means feeling like that.”

“I hope you do not see this as some sort of scandal, cousin,” Jon chided. “I will never tell a soul if you will it.”

“I’m afraid it is, though. I have tempted you away from your lady wife,” she said, and seemed to lose all cheer. “My body leads even the best men to sin, it seems.”

“You will find that Val Stark holds no grudge against you, despite what we have just done,” he corrected. “I do not expect you to believe so now, but ask her yourself, in private, and see what she says before condemning yourself. I would not have done this if it would have angered her.”

Sansa rolled over in his embrace and gave him an incredulous look.

“While I love you like a cousin, like family, Sansa, I love Val as my lady wife, and the soon-to-be mother of my child,” Jon said, smiling. “I hope you will come to love your good-sister.”

“If she has captured the heart of a good, brave, kind man like you, I can only imagine how fine a lady she must be.”

“Trust me, Sansa, you have no idea.”
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Seeds of the Northern Kingdom