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A couple of ASOIAF ficlets from Tumblr.
The last person Sansa expected to see in the bar was Jon Snow. But there he was, striding through the crowd of drunken college students to the small table she and her roommates were bunched around.
"What are you doing here?" she asked him, before he can even get a word out. "How did you know where I was?"
Jon glanced behind her, nodding at the two men standing in the corner. Her guards, of course. Ever since the war ended, and Robb was crowned King in the North, the entire family had guards shadowing them 24-7.
"We're going to King's Landing. I've come to get you."
"No." She shook her head, and her voice was calm even though she felt like yelling. "No, I'm not going. Mother and Robb said I never had to go to King's Landing again." It was why she was here in White Harbor, going to the University, and not back at Lionsgate College, where she spent her freshman year before the war started.
"Sansa," Jon said, leaning close to her so she could hear him over the noise in the bar. "Robb and your mother sent me to fetch you. They're already on the way to King's Landing with the others. There's a plane waiting at the airport for us."
He reached for her hand, tugging at her, but she didn't move. "Why? Why do we have to go?" She was aware she sounded like a petulant child, and her friends were staring at her, and she was probably making a scene, but King's Landing. No. Not even with Jon and all the rest of them.
"They're finally going to release Father's body to us. Come, we have to go now."
Sansa can smell something burning before she's fully awake, and for a moment, she considers going back to sleep, so she can have a good reason to skip breakfast.
It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibilty — she didn't get home until after three in the morning, and she was drunk enough then that she could claim a terrible hangover now. But that would be unkind to Jon, who is doing such a kind thing for her, and she rolls out of bed and makes her way down the hall to the kitchen.
Jon's hunched over the stove, poking tentatively at what Sansa thinks was intended to be scrambled eggs. But he looks up when she walks in, giving her a slow smile. "Good morning."
She's not sure, but she thinks his voice may be a little louder than usual. Maybe she does have a hangover. The way her head is pounding certainly seems to indicate one.
She sinks down into a chair, and not a second later, he's placing a cup of coffee in front of her, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head as he leans over the table.
"Lovely girl," he murmurs, and she laughs, because only Jon would think her lovely first thing in the morning, especially this morning. She hasn't glanced in the mirror yet, but she doesn't have to look to know her hair looks like a bird's nest. And she doesn't remember washing her makeup off last night before she tumbled into bed next to him, so she can just imagine how her face looks now.
"What's funny?" he asks, but she just points to the toaster, which has black smoke streaming out of it.
"I think your toast is on fire."
"I am. Yours." She smiles at him and this time it’s not shaky or tinged with sadness. It’s one of her most brilliant smiles and it lights her whole face, because this, right now, makes her happy, and she will take her joy where she can: he is hers, and she is his, and they are together, and this is home. It’s all she needs, and she has him back, and she will keep this moment in her heart forever.
The last person Sansa expected to see in the bar was Jon Snow. But there he was, striding through the crowd of drunken college students to the small table she and her roommates were bunched around.
"What are you doing here?" she asked him, before he can even get a word out. "How did you know where I was?"
Jon glanced behind her, nodding at the two men standing in the corner. Her guards, of course. Ever since the war ended, and Robb was crowned King in the North, the entire family had guards shadowing them 24-7.
"We're going to King's Landing. I've come to get you."
"No." She shook her head, and her voice was calm even though she felt like yelling. "No, I'm not going. Mother and Robb said I never had to go to King's Landing again." It was why she was here in White Harbor, going to the University, and not back at Lionsgate College, where she spent her freshman year before the war started.
"Sansa," Jon said, leaning close to her so she could hear him over the noise in the bar. "Robb and your mother sent me to fetch you. They're already on the way to King's Landing with the others. There's a plane waiting at the airport for us."
He reached for her hand, tugging at her, but she didn't move. "Why? Why do we have to go?" She was aware she sounded like a petulant child, and her friends were staring at her, and she was probably making a scene, but King's Landing. No. Not even with Jon and all the rest of them.
"They're finally going to release Father's body to us. Come, we have to go now."
Sansa can smell something burning before she's fully awake, and for a moment, she considers going back to sleep, so she can have a good reason to skip breakfast.
It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibilty — she didn't get home until after three in the morning, and she was drunk enough then that she could claim a terrible hangover now. But that would be unkind to Jon, who is doing such a kind thing for her, and she rolls out of bed and makes her way down the hall to the kitchen.
Jon's hunched over the stove, poking tentatively at what Sansa thinks was intended to be scrambled eggs. But he looks up when she walks in, giving her a slow smile. "Good morning."
She's not sure, but she thinks his voice may be a little louder than usual. Maybe she does have a hangover. The way her head is pounding certainly seems to indicate one.
She sinks down into a chair, and not a second later, he's placing a cup of coffee in front of her, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head as he leans over the table.
"Lovely girl," he murmurs, and she laughs, because only Jon would think her lovely first thing in the morning, especially this morning. She hasn't glanced in the mirror yet, but she doesn't have to look to know her hair looks like a bird's nest. And she doesn't remember washing her makeup off last night before she tumbled into bed next to him, so she can just imagine how her face looks now.
"What's funny?" he asks, but she just points to the toaster, which has black smoke streaming out of it.
"I think your toast is on fire."
"I am. Yours." She smiles at him and this time it’s not shaky or tinged with sadness. It’s one of her most brilliant smiles and it lights her whole face, because this, right now, makes her happy, and she will take her joy where she can: he is hers, and she is his, and they are together, and this is home. It’s all she needs, and she has him back, and she will keep this moment in her heart forever.