Jon Snow & Sansa Stark - Game of Thrones Fanfiction

The Unknown

Silence. Deafening Silence.

Jon barely dared to breath when the calm after the storm, the peace after the war, had finally arrived.

And he was still standing.

He was bruised all over his body. Blood seeped from countless wounds covering his skin. His armor was shredded and his hair a tangled mess. He was covered in sweat and dirt.

But he was still standing.

He seemed to be the only one.

Friends and foes laid in the muddy mixture of melting snow and smoking ashes. They had their eyes wide open and stared at the sky, where the winter clouds were chased away by the promise of spring.

They had won the war and lost it at the same time.

He had won the war and lost it at the same time.

His footsteps echoed all around him when he started walking. He tried to avoid the corpses and unrecognizable bodies as much as he could, but once in a while he stepped on a hand or foot, twisted in some weird angle.

If he could, he would close all their eyes and carry them home to the wives waiting for them, to the children hoping their fathers would come home, to their mothers praying day and night for a safe return of their children. But it were too many. Too many corpses to carry home, too many widows, too many children without a father, too many mothers without their sons.

But he was still standing.

His heart was still beating in his chest. His lungs were still breathing in the smoked and poisoned air. His eyes saw the destruction, the price they all paid for their freedom and safety.

In between the bodies of humans, lay the bodies of dragons. Once they had been fierce and strong. They had breathed fire and ice. They were responsible for most of the corpses, for most of the dead foes and friends. And in the end they had killed each other with the only weapon that could destroy them. The fire had killed the ice and the ice had killed the fire.

But he was still standing.

He had no sword anymore. At some point he had lost it, continuing the fight with his bare hands until the bitter end. Once the sword had been valuable and important, a weapon he would never leave behind. Now he hoped he would never need it anymore. He didn't want to use it anymore. He never wanted to fight anymore. He had seen too much. He had done too much. He had escaped death a few too many times.

Not again. Never again.

He put one foot in front of the other. He climbed over piles of dead bodies without daring to look if he'd recognize them. For miles and miles he seemed to be the only soul alive.

No one else breathed. No one else moved. No one else stood. No one else walked. King slayers, dragon daughters, king mothers. Titles didn't matter anymore. Status didn't matter anymore. Those who fought, died. And dead they all looked alike. Miserable. Lonely. Broken. Empty.

But he was still standing.

He didn't know what kept him going, apart from his beating heart pumping blood through his veins, apart from his stubborn lungs breathing in and out.

Nothing was waiting for him anymore. No one was waiting for him anymore. Those who mattered had come with him. Those who mattered had all died.

Apart from him. He was still standing.

He was still breathing. His heart was still beating. But he felt nothing anymore. He felt hollow and empty. He felt like nothing but a shell of whoever he had once been.

But he kept on walking, kept on climbing. And with each step it was easier to forget that the bodies he climbed over, the hands and feet he stepped on, had belonged to people he hated and loved. And with each step it was easier to forget that he had been their commander, that he had asked them to fight, that he had lead them to their very end.

Sam, Theon, Bran, Arya and Sansa. Most of all Sansa.

He fell down on his knees in the melting snow. He shouldn't have brought them. He shouldn't have brought her. If they'd not been here, if she'd not been here, he had someone left to live for, someone left to go home to.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to free his salted tears and let them roll down his cheeks. But he couldn't. He was too tired, he was too hopeless, he was too broken.

He was surrounded by dead, surrounded by war, surrounded by the ugly leftovers of war. And there was nothing left for him apart from the great unknown. No future. No plans. No life.

He wanted to push himself up, but he couldn't. He wanted to keep on walking, but he couldn't. The war wasn't ready to let go and there was nothing pulling him home.

"Jon..."

Jon's eyes flashed open when he heard her voice. He was imagining it. He had to be imagining it.

He was the only one left standing.

"Jon..."

He saw the slight trembling of fingers, a few inches away from his own hands and on his knees he shoved towards her.

Her dress had been a bright green once, but now it was wrinkled, shredded and almost black. Her red hair was blooded and sweated.

But when his hand touched her wrist he could feel it.

Her heart was still beating. Her chest was moving up and dawn. Weakly and barely visible, but still.

Maybe not just cockroaches and weeds survived the odds.

"Sansa!" He lifted her body up and pressed her to his chest. His heart beat faster, pumping blood and adrenaline through his veins. "I'm gonna bring you home..."

"I know..." She didn't open her eyes when he lifted her up.

And he didn't have to force himself anymore to set one foot in front of the other, to climb over bodies of horses and men, to reach the edge of the battlefield and the beginning of their new life. "How did you know it was me?" He whispered while he kept on climbing and walking. "How did you know I survived?" He started running. Faster and faster, over the wasteland towards the green meadows.

"I felt it." She spoke softly, but her lips curled up into a smile. "I always feel it when you're near."

Jon finally felt the tears rolling down her cheeks. Relief, sadness, anger, love, fear and the strangest kind of joy filled his numb and empty heart.

"I'm gonna get you home, Sansa." He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her chin, her nose. "I'm gonna get you home."

And whatever would wait for them there, they'd survive. Because the war was finally over.

And they were still standing.