DAGGERS TO THE HEART Part 2 - CLASH OF THE KINGS

Sansa XII

The courtyard had fallen silent at Jon's unexpected announcement. Sansa couldn't take her eyes off Jon. All eyes were on him, and he was also aware of it.

In that moment, with his hair tied back, and decked in his father's clothes, he looked every inch the Targaryen Prince he was. Her heart swelled with pride.

She noticed his sword dripped with Ramsay's blood, walked towards him, and handed over a black handkerchief with a white wolf in one corner and the three-headed dragon in the other. Jon took the cloth and wiped the blood from Longclaw before returning the sword to its sheath. Then Sansa placed the cloak over his shoulders and fastened it for him.

He gave her a nervous smile. "Have I done the right thing?" he asked, in a whisper.

She gave him a resigned smile. "There will never be a right time to announce you are a long-lost Prince of the enemy. At least father is here to help smooth things over."

Jon faced the crowd which surrounded them. Whether the revelation had surprised them, was a mystery. The Lords, Ladies and servants were all on their bent knees because her father was doing the same.

Sansa knew the gesture would make Jon uncomfortable, but it was essential, for he needed to become accustomed to such reverence. He hadn't liked it in his last lifetime, but at least he'd earned it. This time he would hate it even more, as all he had done was to be born with the right name.

Jon led Sansa towards Lord Stark and motioned for him to rise. As soon as her father stood, the rest of the Lords and Ladies followed. Allowing Sansa to assess the crowd.

Lord Varys, Prince Oberyn, The Blackfish, Tormund, and Howland Reed, were smiling. The rest looked at Jon with a mixture of curiosity and surprise. However, a few glared at him with contempt and hatred. But that was to be expected after the events surrounding Robert's Rebellion.

Sansa's attention returned to her father, Jon and her family.

"Winterfell it yours, Your Grace," Lord Stark said.

Jon opened his arms and embraced the man he had called father for most of his life.

"Thank you, Father,"

A lump rose in her throat, which she had to swallow. Lord Stark pulled back and turned to the crowd.

"My Lords and Ladies, It is time we returned to the Great Hall to answer your question, for I'm sure you have many," he called out as tears formed in his eyes.

"Aye," Jon agreed. "It's getting cold and dark. You lead the way as I must take care of something."

Her father nodded and led the Lords and Ladies back into the Great Hall. Once Jon and Sansa were alone, she handed him an empty glass vial. He stooped, filled it with Ramsay's blood, replaced the stopper, and returned it to Sansa, who put it in a pouch hanging from her dress.

Jon turned to one of the female servants, who was gawping at him. "Find someone to rid this from the yard. I want the body burned," he added.

"Yes, Your Grace," the woman replied. She gave him a quick curtsey and ran to the kitchens.

Jon turned to Sansa. "Let's get this over with."

"Are you sure you are ready?" she asked.

Jon took her gloved hand in his and kissed the back of it. "No," he told her. "But I never will be. If it were up to me, we'd be in that cave near Queenscrown."

Sansa blushed, memories of their time there, flooding back. "Well then, your grace. Lead the way and rescue father," she said.

⸺⸺⸺◊◊◊⸺⸺⸺