10 09-Return

Disclaimer: I don't own HP, GoT or ASOIAF.

Acknowledgements: This chapter was edited by Cataclysmic Moon. I also want to thank my beta-reader, nicknm, for helping me bounce ideas around.

*

Sansa Stark

Everything was going well. More than two thousand men had joined them from the Mountain Clans, led by Hugo Wull, Morgan Liddle, and Torghen Flint, answering the call of "the Ned's son and daughter" against the Boltons. They had a few scuffles with the wildlings, but she somehow managed to pacify them and make them focus on the Boltons. Having a living dragon the size of a large horse following her most of the time helped immensely.

Lyanna Mormont, a fierce young girl who strongly reminded her of her sister, Arya, had also answered their call with seventy men.

Lord Mazin and the Hornwood bastard Larence Snow and n had brought another five hundred swords together, bringing their total strength to nearly 5500 men and three giants. She thought that Wun Wun had been the only giant, but apparently, there were dozens of them scattered across the Gift. After her brother had been elected Lord Commander, Jon had made a deal with a few wildling chieftains and giants to let them pass the Wall in exchange for hostages and oaths to defend the Wall against the Others. The giants were twice as tall as the biggest of men and ten times as strong and surprisingly peaceful unless provoked. She was now rather confident that they had a real chance to defeat Ramsay and win back Winterfell.

Nearly a moon's turn ago, Melisandre of Asshai had met them on the road with a half-frozen Devan Seaworth and Shireen Baratheon in tow. The Red Priestess had actually managed to find and return Stannis' daughter. The girl looked completely terrified of the Essosi woman and stayed away from her as much as possible. Thankfully, Melisandre didn't make any trouble and simply skulked around the camp and stared at the fires. Ser Davos was glad to see his son alive and took Shireen under his wing. Sansa didn't know what to make of the Baratheon princess; she was a sad and quiet girl. Almost everyone avoided Shireen, most likely because of the greyscale scars on her face.

And most surprising was the appearance of her granduncle Brynden Tully, also known as "The Blackfish". Sansa wouldn't have been able to recognise him as she had never seen him in her life before, but thankfully Brienne had met the man at Riverrun and confirmed his identity. The Blackfish was a famous war veteran who participated in every major war in the last forty-five years and did not lose any battles. Last Sansa had heard of him; her granduncle held Riverrun stubbornly even after the Red Wedding. Brynden had escaped after the fall of Riverrun and wandered aimlessly until he eventually heard about her escape from Winterfell and looked for her. He was gruff and blunt, but it was reassuring to have a family member alive, no matter how distant, and he would be a great help with the upcoming battle.

The one thing she tried to forget was the creepy rattling chest that the wildlings were carrying with them. She had seen the rabid body at the starting stages of decay. It had glowing blue eyes and was frantically trying to move despite being shackled and bundled in chains, stuffed into a sturdy chest, and secured with half a dozen locks. It was the body of one of the mutineers, Ser Aliser Thorne, who had been hanged by Jon personally. The corpse had been left in the ice cells. Any doubts about her brother's story from before had evaporated at this sight. When she asked Eddison Tollett why he would send the wight south with them, the black brother simply responded that they would need it as proof.

The weather itself seemed to be on their side. While it was cold, it did not snow or rain a single time. Rain could have slowed them down immensely as the Kingsroad was just a dirt track in the North, and snow would see them freezing, unable to forage for food, and their meagre supply lines blocked.

Sansa herself felt stronger and more full of energy as time passed. She could finally sleep well at night, with little to no nightmares, and always received the best food in the camp.

Ramsay had even sent a raiding party to burn their supplies and harass them during the night, similar to what he did to Stannis. But Ser Davos had already warned them about this particular tactic. The raiders were found by one of the wildling skinchangers before they could even attack and met their end swiftly at the hands of the Thenns.

Everything was going well; everything but the most important thing. In front of others, Sansa put on her impassive mask. But inwardly, she was despairing. The host was three days away from Winterfell, and Jon was nowhere to be seen, nor was there any word from him. It took them nearly two moons to travel this far on foot from Castle Black. Jon should have scouted Winterfell to check if Rickon was alive and turned back to meet their host more than a moon's turn ago. Did Jon get caught by Ramsay or killed? With every following day, a sharp feeling of dread twisted her guts, conjuring worse and worse scenarios in her head. She was also feeling furious with herself. She should have done everything she could to dissuade her brother from his mad plan. The most painful part was that she had no idea what had happened to her brother.

If she was younger, she would have prayed to the gods, but Sansa knew her prayers would be left unanswered. Was she cursed to live and suffer while all the family around her died one after another? Just as she was stewing in her regrets and worries, she heard loud shouts and cheering outside. Sansa threw a fur cloak over her shoulders and went out to see what the commotion was about. As she exited the tent, Brienne silently followed her.

On the side of the camp, a crowd had gathered. Her heart skipped a heartbeat. In the middle, a tall, familiar figure accompanied by an enormous white wolf. Jon had returned! She quickly made her way through the crowd with Brienne's help. Once Sansa was near, Jon's gaze instantly moved to her. Wasting no time, she threw herself in his arms, despite the fact that he was covered in dried-up blood and mud.

"Gods, Jon, I thought I lost you again," she whispered in his ear while trying to squeeze the life out of him. After a few breaths, she let him go, scrunched her nose up, and muttered, "You stink."

He raised an eyebrow at her statement and humorously agreed. "I know." Even his face was covered in dried blood, and his hair was plastered together. "I'm going to wash up; I saw a river east of the camp."

"I wish to accompany you," Sansa blurted out, following after her brother. A moment later, she blushed heavily, realising what she had just insinuated.

Trying to forget what she had just said, Sansa focused her attention on Ghost, who had trotted next to her and gently nudged her with his head. She happily scratched his neck and noticed that not only was his fur softer and had a silky feeling, but he was somewhat bigger than before. But still, he was the same softie. Before, Ghost was still slightly shorter than her, and now, he was a few inches higher. Truthfully, she had never seen an adult direwolf and wouldn't know how big they could grow, but Sansa felt that Ghost was larger than an ordinary direwolf. If only her stupidity didn't kill Lady, maybe she would still have her own companion. It was a great irony that out of all the Stark children, only her half-brother still had his direwolf.

"Ghost seems to have grown even bigger. How big can direwolves even get?" she curiously asked.

"I've no idea. When we found the pups, the mother was a bit smaller than Ghost is right now. But she was also very skinny, and I'm not sure she was fully grown. And the only other direwolves I have seen were Ghost's siblings," her brother replied with a shrug.

After a short silence, when the excitement of seeing her brother alive had finally subsided, she finally asked what was on her mind. "So what happened?"

Her brother sighed and spoke. "You were right. I found Rickon dead in Winterfell's dungeons." Sansa felt sad at the confirmation, but she had already expected this outcome as soon as she heard about Rickon's whereabouts. A trueborn male Stark was the greatest threat to Ramsay's legitimacy, and he would not be untouched, especially after she escaped from Winterfell. "The bastard had brutally tortured him to death. I was furious, and I simply lost it."

Sansa waited for her brother to elaborate, but all she got was silence. She remembered the sight of Eddard Stark's head and what it made her feel. Regret, loathing, self-hatred, fear, and anger. And she knew that Ramsay did far worse than simple beheading. Jon was outwardly relaxed and thoughtful, and his voice was even, but she had spent the last four years surviving by observing people and getting clues from their body language. While he seemed outwardly relaxed, his stride was choppy and forceful, his face was an icy mask, and his gaze was sharp and unforgiving. Jon was furious on the inside.

"And what did you do?" Sansa prodded gently. She couldn't allow any problems to be left unresolved. She didn't want to push her brother on this, but keeping your feelings in only clouded your mind and made you take rash decisions, something she learned painfully first-hand. In anger, he could do something stupid that would get him killed in the coming fight. She would do anything in her power to not lose Jon.

"I killed a lot of people," Jon finally replied laconically. He definitely didn't want to speak about it. Knowing how stubborn he could be, asking more questions would not get her any answers but make him close off completely. Sansa sighed inwardly. This was not how she imagined the reunion with her brother would go. At that moment, they finally reached the river. Jon unceremoniously started taking off his clothes and unashamedly jumped into the icy waters. Her brother was covered in grime, dirt and blood under his clothes.

"Lady Stark, this is not appropriate," Brienne of Tarth reminded her quietly. She had forgotten about the tall stormlander's presence. The truth was, Sansa cared nought for propriety anymore, especially after all the rape, torture, beating and shaming she had endured. And she had already seen her brother naked before when she first came to Castle Black, so this would be nothing new. But Sansa doubted she would get anything else out of Jon now, as he could be as stubborn as a mule. And appearances had to be observed, or rumours would start to fly.

She turned around with a small huff, heading back towards her tent, trying to chase thoughts of Jon's naked body out of her mind.

*

Jon Snow

He had washed off all the blood, grime and mud he had accumulated in the past few days. He even took his sweet time to carefully shave his facial hair with one razor he had looted. He was tempted to cut off his long locks too, but something stopped his hand. There were a few small rivers and springs in the wolfswood, and he had regularly used them to clean himself up, but after he had finished his bronze armour, he had begun aggressively hunting and killing every Bolton man he and his direwolf managed to find, forgoing everything but food, drink and only sleeping the bare minimum. After his quick bath, he put on a pair of woollen breeches and a linen shirt from his bearskin bag, tied his sword belt on his waist and started walking around the camp deep in thought, without any specific direction.

Just as in his original world, the magic here was considered a fancy tale or a scary, unknown thing. He was far from powerful enough to ignore the opinions of others yet, and openly doing magic would invite unwanted scrutiny upon himself. He had thought long and hard about explaining his magical armour and weapons, but he realised he didn't have to say anything. Questions might be asked, but he would keep silent unless asked directly. He did not owe anyone anything anymore. Others would form their own opinions or explanations.

Jon wanted to tell Sansa the truth, or at least a believable version that didn't sound completely ridiculous. Lasting bonds and relationships were formed and maintained by being honest and truthful. And sooner or later, his magic would be exposed, and it would be better if Sansa knew beforehand. In his previous world, he had been alone for more than two hundred and fifty years, and while he thrived on fighting and delving into the deeper mysteries of magic, he still longed for family. Other things would come and go, but the real family stayed true. His parents, James and Lily Potter, lay down their lives for their child without a second thought. Sirius was a godfather who, despite all his flaws, gladly died for him. Even his former wife, Daphne, had loved, supported, and helped him full-heartedly. Daphne had also saved him from trouble of his own making multiple times, despite having to marry him because of a magically binding contract.

The real family was always worth fighting for. In his previous life, after he lost his family completely, loneliness slowly ate away at him from the inside. Here, all he had right now was Sansa. She had been through many things and was sometimes still a bit foolish, but she was family, and Jon wouldn't trade her for the world. There was this fear in his head that if Sansa learned about his magic or his terrible deeds, she would be terrified and disgusted and keep her distance and avoid him, just like his original cousins, the Dursleys. This irrational fear made him hesitate in telling her; that and the fact that there were people within hearing distance nearby, including Brienne of Tarth.

"My prince, I have fulfilled your task. I have brought Shireen Baratheon back." The voice of Melisandre interrupted his musings. The priestess was standing in his way, expectantly looking at him with her creepy red eyes.

"First of all, I'm no prince. My name is Jon Snow, and you would do well to remember it. And if you have brought back the princess, where is she? I do not see any Shireen Baratheon around," he replied with a hint of annoyance.

"The princess avoids me and resides with the onion knight," the red priestess responded.

Melisandre wouldn't have lied, as this was something easily checked. And it was natural that Shireen would avoid the one that proposed burning her alive. So, despite her being an absolute annoyance, at least she was not completely useless.

"Thank you for finding Shireen and bringing her back, red priestess. You have proven yourself... capable."

He had to think of another task for her, but at the moment, nothing came to mind.

"R'hllor showed me the way; I am but a humble servant. The one true God is all-powerful and grants his followers many boons..." Jon tuned out her zealous recruitment speech. Her talent for divination was undeniable, but he wondered if keeping her around was even a good idea. Meddling with fate was a perilous thing. Seeing the future and actively trying to change and influence it could create a heavy backlash and give further power to existing prophecies and divination. He'd know, because he had seen how Voldemort started his own undoing firsthand. He'd gladly kill the red priestess, but he had no real grudge against her, and the act would serve no purpose other than to shut her up and piss off other followers of the Red God. Killing priests here was as nearly as big a taboo as kinslaying in this world.

"Thank you once again, Melisandre of Asshai," Jon finally interrupted her preaching rant. "I will call on your services when I need them. You should rest now. And do not forget, you shall not preach to anyone that does not ask directly of your Red God."

He threw her a sharp look and flared his magic as he finished. The red priestess realised that she was being dismissed, and despite her visible reluctance, Melisandre wisely got out of his way and left him alone.

Now, it was time to find himself a place to crash for the night and speak to some people.

*

Shireen Baratheon

Shireen Baratheon had been alone most of her life. Greyscale marked her life far harder than it marked her face. Everyone avoided her like the plague or looked down on her with pity. Her mother never really spent much time with her. Her father was much the same, as she knew Stannis inwardly wished she was a boy instead of a girl. Her own Septa, which was supposed to educate her, had only shown dislike and thinly veiled disgust. Oh, none had dared to do or say anything against the daughter of Stannis Baratheon, but Shireen had seen through all the masks and expressions.

All she had was Patchface and the kind Ser Davos, who loved her more than anyone else. She sometimes wished that the onion knight was her father instead of Stannis. Patchface had frozen to death in the cold one night. Now, her parents were gone, and Shireen was incredibly lucky to be alive. She had no idea what the future would bring, but at least Ser Davos was taking care of her now.

She couldn't help but remember how close to death she had been multiple times.

When Devan Seaworth told her that Stannis had agreed to burn her alive as a sacrifice to R'hllor at the suggestion of the red priestess, deep inside, she didn't want to believe it. But Shireen had seen how much sway Melisandre had over her father. And she had seen the red priestess burn people alive before. So, she grabbed her thickest fur cloak and ran away with Devan. It was a small miracle that they weren't found out immediately by either deserters, her father's men, or the enemy's raiding and searching parties.

They were stupid and reckless, but it likely saved their life. The North was harsh and cold, and they managed to slip through the snow unnoticed by pure luck. Devan was a terrible hunter, but he could occasionally manage to catch a fish or two in the lakes or rivers. They had to survive mostly on roots and nuts, and even those were hard to come by. Thankfully, her love of reading finally proved useful, as she managed to identify everything remotely edible. Every day was a struggle to find shelter and food and keep moving north while hungry and exhausted.

They were trying to go north, back to the Wall, to find Ser Davos, but they were slowly getting increasingly exhausted and hungrier as the days passed. She thought they would die in the wilderness when Melisandre found her with a dozen Baratheon men-at-arms. Gods, she thought the red priestess had come to burn her alive or return her to her father, but it wasn't like they could resist.

Shireen then found out that Stannis had fallen in battle. With her father's forces scattered or killed, the red priestess had been sent to find her and bring her back at the behest of Jon Snow. The princess couldn't do anything but go with the essosi woman, despite her dislike and fear of her. Thankfully, she was not to be sacrificed to R'hllor this time.

Shireen was to be brought back to Jon Snow, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, who had been killed … and walked alive out of his funeral pyre with three newly hatched dragons. This sounded incredibly unbelievable or like a tale straight from the age of heroes. Shireen didn't believe it back then, but when they met the wildling army, she saw the young crimson drake accompanying a red-haired beauty, Sansa Stark. She had been a bit envious of Sansa Stark's pretty looks until she had heard rumours of what she had been through at the hands of the Bolton Bastard and Joffrey. They said her body was covered in scars and wounds when she showed up in Castle Black. If that was the price of beauty, Shireen did not want it.

And the dragon, named Bloodfyre, had been nearly as big as a horse, which was far too big for one hatched less than a moon ago. It went against everything she had read in the books, but Ser Davos himself had been there when it hatched, and one couldn't argue with what was in front of their eyes.

Ser Davos had been with the wildling host and immediately took her under his wing. Truthfully, she had no idea what would happen to her now, nor as to why Jon Snow even sent someone to look for her. Nonetheless, Shireen was truly grateful, as she knew that she and Devan would probably have died in the wilderness, far away from the Wall.

The more she heard about Jon Snow from Ser Davos, the more she did not know what to think. A bastard declining legitimisation and the chance to become the Lord of Winterfell. Ancient horrors from the far north stirring. The second coming of the Long Night. Jon Snow, the one who saved thousands of wildlings from the dead at Hardhome, slaying a White Walker in single combat in the process. Jon Snow died, betrayed by his men, and raised unburned and alive from his funeral pyre with three dragons and his sister in his hands. The man who gained the respect and support of the unruly wildlings and giants. She was unsure if she had gone crazy or if the world had. Or this was the advent of the new age of heroes, where ancient evils walked the land, and mighty heroes rose to challenge them and do great deeds.

But nothing had truly changed for her. Everyone but Ser Davos still avoided her. The wildlings threw her dirty looks, and she had even heard that she should be killed lest the grey death spreads. Thankfully, nobody had tried to harm her, and she was safe with the onion knight. All of the Baratheon men with Melisandre had abandoned her after reaching the wildling host. Devan Seaworth also got lost somewhere in the camp again, doing his own thing, away from her.

There were no books here, and Shireen could only practice her stitching, speak with Ser Davos, or get lost in her thoughts. As they were nearing Winterfell, there was still no sight of Jon Snow, who was said to have ridden ahead to try and save his brother Rickon. Would the wildlings also get crushed by the flayed man, just like her father? They had more men than her father, but Stannis had defeated a wildling host more than twenty times his number at the Wall. Did she escape the Stranger's grasp, only to fall into his embrace once again?

As she was lost in her dark thoughts of the future, Ser Davos entered her tent, followed by a big man and a giant white wolf.

"Princess Shireen, this is Jon Snow." The onion knight presented the man, who bowed slightly at her. This immediately grabbed her attention. He was the reason that she was alive. She never saw him in Castle Black, as her father had kept her away from all the members of the Night's Watch. Jon Snow was very tall and broad-shouldered with a clean, sharp, handsome face, mesmerising purple eyes, and long curly hair. He looked unbothered by the cold, despite only wearing a linen tunic and a pair of leather breeches, barely covering his robust body. His figure was not overly bulky, and his form seemed packed with explosive power.

Jon Snow looked calm and relaxed, but all of her senses were screaming that he was insanely dangerous. She had seen many of the lords and knights following her father and none of them gave her this feeling of danger. Even the silent white direwolf next to him looked relatively harmless in comparison.

Yet she wasn't afraid. Jon Snow had the same gentle eyes and kind gaze as Ser Davos. She had long been used to being glanced at with fear, disgust or pity. Shireen grimaced inwardly at being called princess as, truthfully, she was not one anymore. Her father was dead, she had no people or lands, and everyone aside from Ser Davos seemed to have forgotten her former royal status, or it simply did not matter to them. Not that becoming a princess had changed anything for her, aside from adding a useless title to her name and putting her in greater danger than before.

She remembered her courtesies, stood up, and carefully curtsied. "Thank you for sending the red priestess to save me, Lord Snow. I would have died in the wilderness otherwise."

"Call me Jon, Princess Shireen. I'm not a Lord, and I hold no lands. And anyone in my place would have saved you," he humbly replied. She carefully looked at his face to see if he was trying to mock her, for very few people cared about her at all. But that was not the case. There was no deception on his face, and he was being honest.

She took a few moments to think and spoke, "If you're not a Lord, then I'm not a Princess either, Lord Jon. My father has no kingdom, and the last of his men easily abandoned me, save for Ser Davos, who now follows you. And while you claim you're not a Lord, thousands of men answered your call and are willing to die fighting for you. My father called himself king, yet few followed him, no matter what he said or did. And most people would have given up on me."

Jon Snow stilled for a moment, then nodded in agreement and chuckled softly.

"May I call you Shireen?" At her nod, Jon continued, "So, Lady Shireen, I take it you have seen Bloodfyre?"

"Yes, I have. He is magnificent," Shireen agreed with a small smile. The young drake was truly a wonder, but she was unsure what it had to do with the topic at hand.

"Do you know who your paternal great-grandmother is?" Jon asked curiously. Shireen tried to recall her lessons with Maester Cressen or the stories she had read. Stannis had never spoken about his parents, at least not to her, but she knew from the maester that they had perished in a storm near Storm's End. As for her great grandmother…

"My great-grandmother is Rhaelle Targaryen, daughter of Aegon V," Shireen hesitantly replied.

"Yes, indeed, and that makes you my kin." At her confused look, he elaborated. "Only those with dragon's blood can hatch and control dragons. We share a common ancestor. That makes you my kin, and the least I could do is look out for you."

Shireen's mind was jumbled. Sure, Jon Snow could be her kin. But none of her family cared much for her; why would he do so now? She was ugly, scarred, and had inherited many enemies from her father.

As her thoughts were in disarray, Jon Snow approached her. "May I touch it?" He gently asked while nodding towards her scarred cheek.

The request stunned her completely. The only person who had ever touched the greyscale had been Maester Cressen, and that was only with a needle to check on her. People had been afraid not to catch the deadly disease. Even Shireen herself avoided touching her stony skin.

But it was not like she could decline the request after he had saved her, so she silently nodded, not knowing what to say.

His hand slowly but surely approached her face, and Jon Snow gently ran his fingers through her scaly skin and cupped her scarred cheek. The touch felt very warm and gentle. This was the first time she had felt anything through her scar, as the maester had explained to her that the skin was considered dead. As she looked at his face, Jon Snow's purple eyes held no fear or disgust; instead, they were very focused. The touch felt nice and pleasant, and she felt heat appear on her other cheek. Her whole body felt warm, despite the cold northern air. Gods, she was blushing.

Jon Snow withdrew his hand and gratefully nodded at her. "Thank you for indulging my curiosity, Lady Shireen. If you need anything from me, all you need to do is ask. Now, if you'd excuse me, I have to visit more people and find a place to sleep for the night." He bowed slightly and left the tent, leaving Shireen with her scrambled thoughts.

She never really had a goal before in her life or wanted anything aside from being normal. She wanted people to not treat her like something to be feared, avoided, or even killed. Yet she had accepted her fate long ago. And just now, Jon Snow had been genuinely kind to her. For the first time in her life, Shireen found herself wanting more.