Chapter Text
The tavern was as disreputable an establishment as any Jon could recall visiting, even as a young officer unquestioning and willing to go wherever his fellow officers went. Ancient rushes covering the stone floor, grimy glasses and sticky tables. It was apparent from the steady stream of patrons and tavern girls tromping up and down the twisted stairs that the sale of small beer and ale was not the sole means of income there.
Upon arrival, he’d spied Edd Tollett huddled over a bottle and feigning sleep in one of the snugs and recognized two more of his men playing at cards, all three fitting right in with their surroundings. He purposely did not allow his gaze to linger, not knowing if Baelish might’ve had his own sets of eyes there, but he’d been pleased. He’d wanted all this nasty business done with.
Arrogant (and over-confident), Baelish had played his hand to the fullest, still thinking that Jon was going to hand over a small fortune based on his assertions. Even once he’d realized that was not to be, he’d been determined not to admit defeat even as he lay bleeding at Jon’s feet.
“Without me, you may never find her or God knows what they’ll do to her before you do. I was your only hope.”
All night, Jon had worried over leaving her at home without him there. Baelish’s final words had been like a dagger to the heart. She was in danger. This had been a trap.
Frantic, he’d dropped his pistol and called for his horse before the light had fully left Baelish’s eyes. Galloping headlong through the rain back to London, back to Mayfair and back to Grosvenor Square, never minding the agony it caused his leg.
He’d thought his heart would surely stop when he’d seen the front door of his residence smashed violently inward. The hall clock was destroyed, bits of wood and glass littering the floor…along with blood. He had feared the absolute worst.
But instead, she’d come running with the first hoarse, heartbroken shout of her name, running from the drawing room where everyone had gathered with their prisoners.
“For the last time, Jon, I swear that we’re all fine barring poor Grenn.”
He’s going to need to hear that a few more times before he thinks he’ll breathe easy. He holds her that much closer, never minding who is present. He fears if he doesn’t keep hold of her he may murder the fiends awaiting justice in his drawing room.
Still, the retelling of the defense of Colonel Targaryen’s London residence is enough to ease some his guilt, his terror and his rage. He cannot begin to express his admiration of and gratitude towards them all but he tries.
Cook says she may require a new rolling pin. “I won’t let this touch no dough of mine after touching up those rascals’ heads, sir.” She’ll have a dozen rolling pins if she wants and anything else her heart desires for all her days.
Arya had been quietest of the bunch which had surprised him until he’d learnt that the blood on the hall carpet hadn’t entirely been from the pistol shots Grenn exchanged with two of the others.
“I stabbed that man. A knife instead of a sword but still the pointy end just like you once showed me. Do you think he’ll die, Jon?” his sister asks him quietly when he and Sansa are with her.
He holds her and Sansa both, tells her that the man will die tonight or on the gallows soon enough but he inked his own fate when he entered this home with evil intent in his heart. He also tells them that his Stark girls are so incredibly brave and he loves them so very dearly.
“I don’t know how much resistance I truly offered,” Sansa admits as they climb the stairs alone together whilst most everyone else is enjoying some brandy and Ghost is having a plate full of sausages with Cook’s blessing. “I tried to fight but…I’m sure they would’ve taken me if I had been alone.”
“If you had been alone, hiding would’ve made more sense. But you were not, thank God, and you fought. You all did. I’m completely in awe of you, wife. You will never cease to amaze me.”
“Oh, I may someday. We’ve not been together all that long, you know.”
“Impossible. I will always be in awe of you, my darling girl. Every season of every year. I’m sure of it.”
They visit Grenn who Davos has just finished patching up. Kyra sits by his side upon the bed, holding Grenn’s hand. His head is resting against her hip. Something about it, the comfortable intimacy of the scene, brings Sansa’s visits to his own sickbed to mind after he was wounded in the duel with Ramsay.
Kyra won’t even allow the man to make his feeble jest about owing Jon a new clock after Jon thanks him for all his efforts.
“The colonel don’t care about no clock! You were so brave and fought so valiantly for us all. Please, tell him, sir.”
“Kyra’s absolutely correct, Grenn. I hope your wounds heal swiftly and I’ll speak with you tomorrow but for now we’ll let you rest.”
Tomorrow, he’ll ask if Grenn would ever consider leaving Mister Tollett’s employment and possibly going north.
Slipping back out of the man’s quarters, Jon says to his wife, “Is it my imagination or is there another possible match forming under my roof that I was unaware of until now, Mrs. Targaryen?”
She raises one slim finger to her lips and giggles. “Time will tell, colonel.”
In their bedroom, Sansa pulls the bell for Satin and asks if he would mind preparing a hot bath for the colonel.
“I don’t wish to trouble anyone,” he says as the valet retreats.
“I know but your limp is severely aggravated from riding-”
“It’s nothing.”
“Don’t deny it, Jon. I could see how you were struggling to climb the stairs. And you are chilled through from your drenching. A hot bath will help.”
She pushes his wet coat over his shoulders and lets it drop to the floor. She starts unknotting his cravat next, her blue eyes looking intently into his own. He recognizes that look in her eye, licks his lips and takes her hand.
“I will not argue that a hot bath would be welcome but I’m not sure I wish for Satin to attend me tonight.”
“Oh, he’s only going to help carry all that water up the stairs for me. I’ll be doing the rest, sir.”
“But what if I want you in the bath with me, wife?”
“My dear colonel…that was always part of my plan.”
His wife is quite brilliant in case you were unaware.
Summerhall Estate, Lancashire
The summer and autumn months have passed happily and with unimaginable swiftness.
After making all the arrangements for his London residence to be closed up for the time being, Jon and Sansa had traveled to Wembury escorting the twice-widowed and much gossiped about Aunt Lysa to her brother’s home.
To say it was a long carriage ride would be a very great understatement but the lady had not breathed a word over Jon’s involvement with her second husband’s death. She’d just prattled on about seeing her dear Edmure again and her longing to see Sweet Robin and wondering aloud if anyone might be willing to let his London home to an impoverished relation living in shame for a reasonable fee when he doesn’t wish to be in town.
Jon had sighed inwardly and kept his mouth closed but Lysa is a small burden he will gladly tolerate in exchange for knowing that Baelish’s schemes cannot threaten his wife ever again.
Their visit with the Tullys had been an amiable one though and then Jon and Sansa had left for the north with Arya, Brandon and Rickon. The boys are delightful rapscallions and Jon had enjoyed taking them fishing with their sister on fine days on his estate.
The trip to Winterfell in September had been a more solemn matter for them all. Their childhood home had many happy memories that Jon’s own had lacked but those who were no longer present were felt in every quiet moment in those halls. Nevertheless, it would be a home again and the Starks would endure.
Bran had come to Jon with his worries whilst there about managing it all someday and Jon promised to do his best to help him make ready for that day. His father had never done that for him and he’d felt terribly lacking as the unexpected heir when it had been thrust upon him after he’d already joined the army. In Bran’s case, no one had had the chance to prepare him before both his parents and Robb were gone but there’s still time. Jon won’t let him feel the burden too keenly and knows his sisters and brother won’t either.
After the visit to Winterfell, the youngsters had returned to their uncle’s home for a time and allowed the newlyweds a chance to settle into their home at last. That had admittedly been a most idyllic time for Jon and Sansa. To Sansa, it was all new but Jon saw his boyhood in a new light through his beloved’s eyes.
Whether she’s sitting by his side in his study or he's stealing kisses in the stables from her (or an obliging and perhaps enchanted wood), they’re making memories together here just as they had in London. The shadows, the tears and terse silences no longer lived in Summerhall for him. It is alive again with their love.
Of course, they’ve hardly been alone. Ghost is here, enjoying frolicking along his country lanes again, and all the staff has rejoiced in their master’s return and meeting their new mistress. They’ve all been delighted to meet Kyra’s new husband as well. Grenn likes fixing things around the estate and is already well-liked.
So together, Jon and Sansa have been happily busy making this grand house into a true home.
And like most grand homes, it occasionally does some hosting…
Late December has arrived with a few snow flurries and a festive mood in the air. Sansa’s sister and brothers have returned and Jon will admit he’s missed the sound of their laughter in these halls over the course of autumn.
And tomorrow, Lord Tarly and his wife will be arriving to spend Christmas at Summerhall along with Sam’s mother.
What with Talla newly married to Garlan Tyrell, that young lady is at Highgarden finding her way as the future mistress of that estate…and keeping her sister and brother-in-law in line.
And, after Dickon’s shocking elopement with Myrcella Baratheon in late August (which the gossips all agree left Cersei Baratheon spitting mad but in no position to oppose since the dashing lieutenant and young lady had already spent three nights in one another’s company before she could discover them), Horn Hill has seen its share of excitement and speculation lately so Sam and Gilly had decided a trip north would be welcome as opposed to London.
Equally welcome will be Lord and Lady Martell and their children arriving from Sunspear where they’ve been since August having had enough of the Season to suit themselves.
Meanwhile, Mister Manderly will be hosting some young ladies at his home for Christmas, his two granddaughters, Lady Arianne and Mrs. Royce all of whom have sent their good tidings for the approaching new year which in turn have been returned.
Tonight though, Jon walks down a silent hall with Ghost by his side as the boys and Arya had finally turned in after a lengthy round of cards. Sansa had retired an hour ago, claiming fatigue and a sudden headache, but insisted he spend some time with her siblings at least since she could not.
However, when he enters their bedroom, his wife is not abed. She is seated by the fire and sewing.
“What’s this? Are you feeling better, my love?” he asks, dropping a kiss upon her head.
“I am, thank you. The fatigue has been with me on and off for a fortnight but the headache has passed.”
“A fortnight? You have not mentioned that." She has looked somewhat pale and tired of late but he'd blamed the chill of these halls and him keeping her up quite late most nights for that. "Why have you not mentioned it to me?”
She grins at his slightly scolding tone. “I wanted to be a little more certain first but I spoke with Cook earlier and she thinks it’s extremely likely. She’s had five, you know.”
Too afraid to hope she means what he thinks she might mean, he asks for clarification.
She doesn’t reply with words. Instead, she holds up her handiwork, a small dressing gown which can only be meant for an infant.
“Sansa? Truly?”
His eyes are welling up with tears of joy but he can still make out her radiant smile and blush. It is all the answer he requires.
A year ago, Colonel Jon Targaryen had been a single man of good fortune who had claimed no interest in finding himself a wife.
Oh how sweet it is when Fate has other designs in mind.