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Darkness Follows	By : Nocturne Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 23340 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: All characters belong to George R. R. Martin. I do not own the Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire fandom, nor do I make any money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
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He was handsome. He was kind to her, always. He held open doors and pulled out chairs. He was a true gentleman, the sort of gentleman young women dreamt of or read about in fairytales. But in the same breath, she had never seen him as anything but her father’s bastard son for fourteen years. He was Jon Snow. He was a stain on the reputation of the kind and noble Eddard Stark. He was a mistake.
Earlier that week, however, everything had changed. The truth came out like a hoard of soldiers on the battleground. He wasn’t Eddard’s son at all. He was the son of the late Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. This made them first cousins, but even so, Sansa couldn’t help the fantasies that transpired following the revelation.
Joffrey’s cruelty had her searching for asylum in the most unlikely of places and her cousin Jon was no exception. She had gone to bed on more than one occasion with thoughts of him rising in her head like smoke from a fire. In this case, the fire was between her legs. The Queen had briefly spoken to her about the hormones that followed the red flower’s first blossom, but Sansa had never expected such vivid hopes and dreams and fantasies.
She hadn’t seen him in months, but none of it mattered. She could still smell him and feel him and hear his subtle laughter. He was always a quiet one, always in the corner or by Robb’s side. Jon avoided the spotlight, no matter how difficult it was to downplay his superiority on the training ground. He was a skillful soldier, just like Eddard. He deserved more than the Night’s Watch, and Sansa had every intention of letting him know that during her visit to their camp.
It was customary for the reigning king and his men to show appreciation for the Night’s Watch, and usually the women stayed behind but Joffrey insisted Sansa should tag along – much to Queen Cersei’s chagrin.
“It appears as though we’ve arrived.”
Their carriage came to an abrupt halt. It was cold, colder than anything Sansa had felt since leaving Winterfell. She missed the cold. She missed home. She missed everything about Winterfell.
“Come,” spoke Joffrey, failing to offer his hand as he stepped off the carriage.
Sansa took in one deep breath, feeling the frosty air travel down her throat and into her lungs. It was bittersweet to be back in brisk weather. Nevertheless, she lifted the skirts of her finely tailored frock and made her way out of the carriage. The air was even colder outside, but she wasn’t thinking about it for long. Her attention immediately shifted to the ground where fresh snow blanketed the gravel. It had been so very long.
“Your grace,” greeted the Lord Commander, stepping forth in his uniform of all black. It seemed as though everything in their camp was either white or black, and suddenly Sansa felt foolish for wearing emerald. As if her bright red hair didn’t draw enough attention already. “I welcome you to Castle Black of the Night’s Watch.”
Joffrey gave him a snarky grin. “I thought it would be bigger.”
The Lord Commander narrowed his eyes for the briefest moment before brushing off the comment. “Allow me to escort you and Lady Sansa to the dining hall. A feast awaits us.”
“I wouldn’t call rotten meat and stale bread a feast, but carry on. I’m famished from the journey,” said Joffrey, oblivious to his own bigotry.
It was disgusting to think she once craved his affection. He was no king. He was barely even a boy. Little Arya had effortlessly disarmed him and she was over a foot smaller. It didn’t take long for Sansa to feel that familiar throbbing in her chest. She missed her immensely. Every night she prayed for Arya and the rest of her family. Life with the Lannisters was tough, but it was probably better than whatever fate had befallen her younger sister.
They strolled from the entryway and into a large building with rectangular tables and food laid out. It smelled surprisingly delicious. Sansa held her stomach as it began to grumble, drawing the attention of several men dressed in black. One of them winked at her, and at first Sansa felt the need to lift one of the trays and hurl it at him, but upon closer inspection she paused. Her body turned rigid.
“Jon,” she breathed. “I…I can’t believe it’s you!”
He beamed, stepping forth as though he was about to embrace her but settling for a kiss on the hand as Joffrey caught wind of their exchange. “It’s so good to see you, sister.”
Sister. The sound of it burned holes in Sansa’s heart. They weren’t siblings. “It’s good to see you,” she greeted, feeling her cheeks and neck grow warm as his lips pressed the back of her hand. “You look different.”
“I look different?” he joked. “Look at you, Sansa. You’re a woman now.”
She smiled. She knew he was just trying to be nice. There was no difference in her appearance since she left Winterfell save for a new hairstyle and nicer clothes. Jon, on the other hand, he truly looked different. His hair was longer and he had a bit of a beard growing through. Sansa had always found facial hair a tad unattractive, but it made Jon look good – like a proper man.
Unlike her betrothed, the likes of whom couldn’t grow a beard to save his life and the life of his incestuous mother.
“You must be the bastard,” interrupted Joffrey, folding both arms as he joined their conversation. “Good thing you joined this bloody monastery, or the iron throne would be back up for grabs.”
“Good thing,” repeated Jon, offering a smile only Sansa would recognize as sarcastic. “I hope you enjoy your stay at Castle Black, your grace. Should you require my assistance, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Assistance with what?” snorted Joffrey. “Wiping my arse or fucking your sister?”
“I’m not his sister,” Sansa clarified, her soft voice going unnoticed.
Jon rarely lost his temper. In fact, she had no recollection of him ever losing his calm and collected nature, but in that moment it didn’t take a psychic to know he came frighteningly close. “I was thinking more along the lines of Wildlings and the other creatures that linger just beyond the wall.”
“Your scare tactics won’t work on me,” spat Joffrey, despite the way his smug grin faltered at the mention of Wildlings. Sansa figured he was the type to shy away from his own shadow from time to time. “Come, Sansa. I don’t want your brother’s filth to rub off on us. Let us feast while he scrubs shit from the scuffs of his boots.”
Sansa wanted to chuck him over the wall, but instead she settled for a low nod, watching as Jon’s smile disappeared at the sight of her submission. “Yes, your grace.”
*
Dinner went well. She had been starving, cleaning her plate despite what was expected of a highborn lady. Sansa was too cold and too hungry to worry about such formalities. She rubbed the exhaustion from her eyes following their feast, shifting away from Joffrey’s false recollection of his first battle to the rest of the table and out of the dining hall.
“I’m going to take a walk,” she said airily, knowing nobody took notice of her as she left the table.
Sansa carelessly dragged her skirts along the floor, passing through the doors without bothering to look back. It felt nice to be outside again. It felt nice to feel the fresh air against her skin. Lord knew she needed a break from Joffrey and it seemed as though Castle Black was the perfect place for such a thing. He had plenty to distract him. He had plenty of fake war stories to retell and lowborn soldiers to tease.
“My lady,” spoke an unfamiliar voice.
For a moment Sansa thought it to be Jon, but as she spun around she felt a wave of disappointment. It was another young man, a round young man with a belly the size of a boulder.
“Samwell Tarly of Horn hill,” he introduced, holding a chubby hand to his chest. “I’m a friend of your brother’s.”
Brother. Ugh. Sansa forced a smile and gave him a soft nod. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Samwell Tarly. I was just going for a stroll. Would you care to join?”
His face lit up with joy, as though she’d offered her bed instead of a walk. “I would love to join, but, erm, I don’t mean to cause King Joffrey displeasure.”
Ah. So he was fat and scared. Sansa smiled again, but this time it was genuine. “You have nothing to fear, Samwell. The King is inside regaling triumphant tales from his first battle. He’ll be in there for hours.”
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“Would you refuse your future Queen?”
Samwell straightened. “Certainly not!”
“Good. Now let’s go before –”
“ – Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Both of them spun around to see the tall and unmistakable silhouette of Jon Snow. He was dressed in different clothes than before, but still black as per regulation. He joined their spot in the courtyard and placed an arm over Samwell’s shoulders. “Sam, you weren’t bothering my sister, were you?”
Sister. There it was again. “No,” Sansa answered on his behalf. “He was most kind.”
Samwell beamed. “Jon speaks of House Stark quite fondly. I never thought I’d get the chance to meet any of you.”
“Well I’m delighted to meet any acquaintance of Jon’s,” she said truthfully. “I’m sure he would have told me a lot about you had we spoken at all over the past several months.”
“Ah, yes.” Samwell stared between them. “I suppose I should let you two catch up.”
Jon smiled. “That would be nice.”
“Right. I’ll see you in the morning,” the chubby watchman said to his friend. He then turned to Sansa, bowing his head. “And you, my lady.”
The young man left without further word, whistling a jovial tune as he made his way past a couple of disgruntled rangers. He stuck out worse than she did, believe it or not. Nevertheless, Sansa turned to face her cousin only to notice he was already looking at her.
“How was the feast?” he asked.
She shrugged, following into gradual step with him as they made their way through the grounds. “It was the nice. The food was good.”
“Nothing compared to home,” recalled Jon. “It’s been so long. I think I forgot what food from Winterfell tastes like.”
“Me too,” agreed Sansa. “I miss it terribly.”
“Though I suspect the food in King’s Landing isn’t all that bad,” joked Snow.
Sansa snorted, having dropped the lady-act ages ago. “The finest wines and the freshest fruits in all of Westeros,” she said, as though reciting a script. “But none of it matters if I have to share it with…him.”
“Ah,” sighed Jon. “I was wondering when we’d get to that part.” They stopped walking after reaching the edge, which Sansa recognized to be the edge of the wall separating them from whatever lingered on the other side. “How are you holding up?”
She didn’t know how to respond. The last thing she wanted to do was worry Jon. They already had so much on their plates. Any problem she had was minimal in comparison to the rest of the world; at least that’s how she felt. “It’s not unbearable,” Sansa lied. “What about you?”
“Don’t lie to me,” Jon said with a protective tone to his voice. “I heard the way he was talking to you out there. He’s wretched.”
Wretched was a nice way to put it. “I don’t know,” Sansa began. “There’s no escape, so why complain? It’ll only make things more difficult.”
“Or it’ll relieve some of the pressure,” he countered. “Come on, Sansa. You know you can be honest with me.”
He was right. If there were one person she could always count on, it would be Jon Snow. “I hate him,” she whispered, closing her eyes as a surprising amount of emotion flooded them. “And he hates me.” Before she could stop herself, Sansa drew back the left sleeve of her clothing, revealing a bruise along her wrist the size of Joffrey’s hand.
“No…” Jon breathed. “He – He’s touched you?”
She nodded.
“I’ll kill him,” vowed the soldier. “I’ll kill him with my bare hands right here in Castle Black for all the Night’s Watch to see.”
Sansa instinctively placed both her hands on his shoulders, trying to calm him down. “It’s what I signed up for,” she explained. “Just look at him, Jon. Would you expect anything else?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he argued, brushing her off. “He laid his hands on my sister and for that he’ll pay with his life.”
“Why?” Sansa asked, dropping her calm tone.
“Because it’s wrong. He’s disgusting. I’ll round up the boys and we’ll drag him out onto the courtyard and –”
“ – No,” interrupted the future Queen. “Why do you keep referring to me as your sister?”
It took a moment for Jon to realize what she had said. He looked taken aback. “You – You are my sister. We were raised together.”
Sansa tried to hide the pain in her eyes. “We aren’t siblings,” she said firmly. “Everyone knows that now.”
“I…I didn’t know you felt that way,” Jon said a low voice, as though he’d been slapped across the face. “I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you desire.”
“What?” Sansa stared at him with confusion before it hit her. He thought she meant to dissociate herself from him. “No – No. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s all right,” Jon assured her, shrugging his hood back on. “I’ll just return to –”
“ – Nonsense. You misunderstood me. That’s all,” she explained, facing him once again. “I still care for you, Jon.”
“Then what’s the matter?” he asked innocently.
Sansa paused for a moment. It was the perfect opportunity to explain her change of heart, but how would he react? He was still three years her senior and far too noble to set aside their upbringing. But perhaps the past several months with the Night’s Watch, away from the rest of the world and on the brink of death, distorted Jon Snow’s judgment in her favour.
“I care for you,” she repeated, stepping closer to him and allowing her eyes to travel from his boots all the way to his face. “Just not like a brother.”
He blinked hard, as though the world was spinning circles. Sansa didn’t know what to do. She had already spoken. It was too late to take anything back. The sound of her voice and the look in her eyes said enough. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to lose Jon.
The young man stared at her with a blank expression before his features turned as brisk as the weather. He opened his mouth to speak, but another voice filled Sansa’s ears.
“There you are!”
She closed her eyes, clearly agitated at the sound of her king. Sansa turned around just in time to spot Joffrey with a few of his men trailing behind. The young king stared between them.
“I’ve been searching for you all over this miserable place,” he lectured, grabbing Sansa by her bruised wrist. “Come with me.”
Jon plucked Joffrey’s hand off her with ease. “I should advise you to keep your paws off my sis – off Sansa.”
“Is that so?” challenged the king, glancing back at his men with pure amusement. “Last I checked it wasn’t your duty to advise me, bastard. I don’t care who you are to one another. She’s mine now.”
Snow narrowed in on Joffrey. Suddenly he didn’t seem so quiet and calm and kind. In that moment he looked like a true solider from the North, a true force to be reckoned with. “You’re lucky.”
“Lucky?” repeated Joffrey, maintaining his smug grin. “How so?”
Sansa’s eyes darted between the two of them, feeling her body freeze with anticipation and fear. “Stop it,” she suddenly said. “Just stop it. Both of you.”
Jon glanced at her with surprise.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said to him, pain laced within her eyes as she bowed her head farewell. “Stay out of trouble. Please.”
“Listen to your sister,” Joffrey added. “Or I’ll have your head on a spike adjacent to your precious Eddard.”
*
I care for you, she said. Just not like a brother.
The words hovered in the depths of his memory. Night had fallen long ago, immersing Castle Black in a veil of darkness. Needless to say, it suited his mood entirely. Sansa’s visit was something he had been looking forward to for ages, but in that moment he felt nothing but numbness. It was difficult enough seeing her submit to the cruelty of King Joffrey, but to know where her heart truly rested was something entirely different.
He didn’t know what to think. Lord knew he wouldn’t catch a wink of sleep that night. Jon couldn’t help but wonder if Sansa was having as much trouble. She and Joffrey were staying in the structure across from his own, in the guest quarters. If he was careful enough, perhaps he could wave her aside to continue their conversation.
No. It was too risky. Joffrey had laid his hands on her once. If Sansa snuck off in the middle of the night with the Bastard of Winterfell, he would surely do it again.
But it was so difficult. He had to know what she meant by those words. She could have easily been cluing into their friendship. Jon shook his head, running both hands through his hair. He knew it had nothing to do with friendship. The look in her eyes was unmistakable. Sansa, little Sansa from Winterfell, wanted him in a way she shouldn’t have and right then, in the middle of the night, he wasn’t so sure he didn’t feel the same way.
She had grown into a fine young woman. She was no longer at the skirts of her mother or obsessing over handsome knights. No. Sansa had matured in every sense of the word.
He could only imagine Lady Catelyn’s outrage.
“I’ll cover for you,” broke a familiar voice.
Jon turned on his bunk to see Sam bobbing his head around the corner. “What are you doing awake?”
Sam shrugged. “Can’t sleep.”
“Neither can I.”
“You should go see her,” suggested the chubby man. “I’ll keep watch and alert you if anyone should pass by.”
“She’s probably asleep.”
Sam gave him a knowing look. “Doubt it. I wouldn’t catch a second of sleep in the same vicinity as King Joffrey.”
“That’s probably true,” Jon thought aloud. “What makes you think I want to see her anyway?”
Tarly glanced away with a look of guilt, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “I, erm, I might have eavesdropped on your conversation earlier,” he admitted. “It just sort of…happened. I was meant to keep watch over the wall and…there you were.”
Jon didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or angry. In the end he settled for both, feeling his insides churn with uncertainty. “Go to sleep,” he finally said. “We have an early day in the morning.”
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Darkness Follows