Chapter Text
Three Months Later
Buddy Holly is playing on the new radio in the parlor. Jon’s glad the curtains are still closed. Not only because it’s sunny out today but because any nosy neighbors would likely faint dead away to see the recently widowed Jeyne dancing as she vacuums.
“All of my love
All of my kissin'
You don't know what you've been a-missin'
Oh boy, when you're with me
Oh boy, the world can see
That you, were meant, for me”
Ramsay Bolton’s body had been found three weeks after she’d moved in the next town over. Young Detective Podrick Payne from Winterfell’s Police Department had come to the house to break the news. Jeyne had been suitably aggrieved as Sansa had sat by her friend’s side, holding her hand and wiping away crocodile tears of her own.
Jon had quietly thanked the detective and asked if there was any leads into what had happened.
“Well, to be honest, Mr. Targaryen…we’re not sure what happened to him. It looks like a wild animal got hold of him and it was lucky he had a tattoo from his navy days to even make is possible to…”
Jeyne had given a pitiful sob and rushed out of the room at that point. No, it was not completely an act. Jeyne has a gentle heart though that monster didn't deserve a single one of her tears. Thankfully though, her grief has been very short-lived…especially when their handy electrician comes over.
Grenn, the electrician, may not be an Einstein as the kids like to say but he knows his way around electrical wiring and most of the new-fangled gadgetry these days which Jon is certainly no master of and he's a good-hearted man.
He's strong as an ox which came in very handy when it came to removing the Targaryen family portraits that Aerys had hung. Whatever dark magic had been used to hang them, it has been weakened by the love that blooms in this old dark house now. Or perhaps the fact that Ghost is indoors so quite often now has some effect. Regardless, Grenn had helped Jon remove the portraits, one by one.
Grenn had asked what Jon had planned to do with them. He'd said he was putting them in storage. Instead, he and Sansa had had a little bonfire that night. He would swear he could hear their hateful voices cursing him one last time as he tossed the match onto the pyre. He hadn't cared one bit.
But back to Grenn, he is also single. He’s a bit of an Elvis fan, wears a leather jacket and his hair in a pompadour. Wonder if he likes Buddy Holly.
“Jon? It’s ready now,” Sansa says from the entryway to the parlor.
The delivery man left a little while ago after weeks of waiting for her orders from Gimbels and the Sears & Roebuck catalog to come in and Sansa’s been busy. He’d offered to help but she wants to surprise him.
“Wait, what’s that?” he asks as she holds out a swath of fabric.
“It’s got to be a surprise.”
He could tell her that if he wanted to spoil her surprise, he’d just try and read her mind but she already knows that and he doesn’t want to spoil her surprise. And her tinkling laughter has him submitting to whatever she wants as always as she ties the fabric securely around his eyes.
The smell of paint is strong but it’s her fragrance that teases him, leads him along in her wake as they climb the stairs. He can smell the blood of every mortal in his house as well as the wolf. He’s growing hungry but no one under this roof need fear him. He’ll feed soon.
“Just a few more steps, dearest Jon,” Sansa tells him, guiding him down the hallway next. He never fails to smile when she calls him her ‘dearest Jon.’
It’s a novel feeling for him, being blindfolded. Of course, his hearing and sense of smell is as keen as ever but not being able to see, putting himself in Sansa’s power holds a certain allurement.
“I think I’m going to ask you to blindfold me again later,” he tells her, letting the innuendo drip from his tongue.
A startled squeal and some amused feminine laughter remind him they are not alone at the moment. Sansa squeezes his hand though and he knows she’s not adverse to the suggestion at all. His hungers are only matched by her own.
Their little audience, Margaery Baratheon, Alysanne Bulwer and Alys Karstark, are busy repainting one of the other bedrooms.
They’d all come down to the kitchen earlier, in pedal pushers or dungarees depending upon their tastes with their hair covered by scarves, to tell him of their plans over breakfast. He’d simply nodded and told them he couldn’t wait to see what they would do. All of the women here can express themselves freely and fix up their new rooms as they please without fear of what a man (or vampire) will think or say.
Margaery had come to them two months ago after Sansa had paid a call upon her old dear friend and invited her to come and live here if she should ever wish to leave her husband, Joffrey Baratheon, D.D.S. The Baratheons and even some of the Tyrells were outraged when she took Sansa up on the offer. It’s a scandal, her seeking a separation. She’s left her picture perfect housewife life behind to be someone’s hired help. Her parents think it's a phase that will pass. Her mother-in-law is thinking of hiring a hitman. Of course, Margaery's life was far from a picture perfect life and she’s happily left the bruises her husband would leave upon her skin behind, too.
Margaery’s husband, Joffrey…Jon’s been waiting for him. He's more than ready to feast but too many dead husbands or relatives connected to their house at once might pose a risk. Best to wait a month or so in between anyway. Poor Detective Payne already has enough cares what with Harrold Hardyng disappearing after being denied a promotion shortly before Ramsay’s body was found. Harry’s body will never be found. Jon had made sure of that. Sansa already had her divorce. Now, Jeyne is free as well.
Margaery’s young cousin Alysanne was the next to join their household. Her parents, members of a very severe fundamentalist set, had been pushing the girl, not quite fifteen, towards a marriage with some man from their church, a much older man. She hadn’t wanted it but had thought she had nowhere to go until Jon had learnt of her plight from Margaery. Now, she is here. So long as her narrow-minded parents are simply content to say she's disowned, Jon has no reason to pay them a call...for now.
Alys Karstark is a friend of Jeyne’s. Her parents had passed away last year leaving her with a good bit of money but her uncle, with the help of some of his nefarious business associates, has been trying to have her committed to a sanatorium so he can claim it for himself. Her views on communism, sexuality, organized religion and the proper role of women are much at odds with their current society's thinking. She reads the sort of books Alysanne's parents would see burned. She possesses a brilliant wit and a razor sharp tongue.
Concerned over her safety, Alys had asked Jeyne if Mr. Targaryen might need any extra help. She’d been told with the house being fully renovated extra help would be most welcome. Perhaps someday, Aly might speak her opinions outside of this house without fear. Meanwhile, she is safe here and is happier. Her and Margaery are becoming fast friends as well.
Her uncle recently took a swan dive off his office building. Though the coroner ruled it a suicide, it was noted there wasn’t much blood in his body when he was autopsied. It must've all been washed away by the rain that night.
“Here we are,” Sansa says, opening the bedroom door and removing the blind fold.
Jon steps inside and looks around his bedroom, or rather, what was his bedroom. It’s their bedroom now and he’s very glad of it.
But does it have to be so…turquoise?
“Well? What do you think?” Sansa asks from beside him, her hands clasped together as she beams at him.
“There’s a great deal of color.”
There’s not a whiff of black anywhere in here, save for himself. At least, he’s got his nice new cape for dark nights. It hides the blood of dark hearts well and is, thankfully, machine-washable.
“I know! Isn’t it dreamy?”
She’s left most of the furniture, saying it was well-made and not in need of replacing, but the walls have been papered (a pastel floral print) and there’s carpeting in here rather than the old moth-eaten rug. Cobwebs all gone, nary a speck of dust. A new mattress (nice and firm and being thoroughly broken in), new draperies, new bedding, a newer table with two chairs added by the hearth for when they wish to dine upstairs and alone (he doesn’t mind that addition one bit), it’s like a brand new room. And no bloody Targaryens glaring at him from behind a dusty sheet.
He glances at his love and how happy this makes her and realizes he wouldn't care if the bedroom was covered in polka-dots or that it now resembles a turquoise powder poof so long as she’s sharing it with him.
He reaches for her hand, gives it a kiss. “The blue is almost as pretty as your eyes, my love.”
She flushes and holds a finger up to her mouth. They are not alone.
“I think Grenn’s figured out you’ll be sleeping in here with me,” he whispers.
“Mr. Targaryen,” she quietly gasps before giggling like a girl. “Just remember that Mother and Daddy are coming for dinner tomorrow night and we’ll not be saying such things then.”
“Yes, love,” he grumbles playfully, making her giggle some more.
He has no wish to offend them. It’s just a shame that they look at him with so much suspicion. Granted, they’re a couple of wise old wolves and not fooled by Sansa’s ‘Mr. Targaryen this’ and ‘Mr. Targaryen that.’ They’ve figured out more is going on between their daughter and her employer and think he’s taking advantage. Maybe he’ll win them over in time. He’s already been secretly shopping for a ring. It’s good that it’s dark so early in winter so he can get out before the stores close. He’s not ordering that from the Sears & Roebuck catalog.
Grenn stands from where he’s been crouched over in the corner with his shirt tail hanging out and dusts off his hands. “Here we go now. If you wanna give it a try, sir.”
Jon turns the knob and there’s a flicker and fuzz.
“Hang on,” Grenn says, expertly toying with the rabbit ears until…
“Wow…Gunsmoke.”
“Yes, sir. One set for the parlor and now one right in your own bedroom. Fancy that, eh?”
“Thank you, Grenn. It’s perfect,” Sansa chirps as Jon sits on the edge of his newly made bed, mesmerized.
So many years living in the shadows, he's admittedly swept away by the various places he can visit in the movies and now here inside his home even. "Marvelous."
Jeyne comes in to announce there are sandwiches if anyone’s hungry for lunch. Sansa starts elbowing Jon in the ribs but he’s already well aware that Jeyne and Grenn will be engaged in a bashful little staring contest like usual and having some amorous thoughts about the other even if they’re not quite ready to believe the other person could possibly be thinking the same.
Just kiss her, for God's sake. Or you kiss him.
Mortals can be so tedious. Do they think they’re going to live forever? He supposes they’ll figure it out in time.
"You two go ahead without us," he tells Jeyne and Grenn. "We'll be down shortly." There, I helped.
Sansa smirks at him as he tugs her hand, pulling her down into his lap. "What do you think you're doing, Mr. Targaryen?"
"Now that our bedroom is finished, I was planning on trying out the bed properly."
She bites at her bottom lip bewitchingly. "Is that so? Are you sure you're not distracted by your spiffy new television set?"
"What television set?" he asks before twisting them around so that he's on top of her, making her shriek with laughter.
His beauty is surrounded by the turquoise bedspread that seems to set her hair aflame. Everything about this room is perfect. How could it not be? Sansa's in it and she has made it so.
“But you’re happy, darling? He makes you happy, does he?”
“Yes, Mother. Completely and utterly happy.”
“Well, he is quite gentlemanly and the house is coming along splendidly,” Catelyn Stark concedes as she dries the next dish passed her way. “And the other women here are…”
Sansa resists the urge to roll her eyes at her mother’s leading statement. She knows her mother is concerned more with Sansa’s welfare than anything. “They are my friends but they just work and live here.”
“I see. And you're sure there's nothing of Harry to Jon? No roving eye or...”
"No, there's not a drop of a man like Harry in Jon." Except for all the blood of his Jon drank. "Shall we go join Daddy and Jon in the parlor?”
They leave the freshly-painted lemon yellow kitchen behind to rejoin the men. The other women went out for burgers and the drive-in tonight so they could have this dinner to tell her parents about them. Not everything of course.
Once the meal was done (roast again though less rare), Sansa had made excuses about the dishes, knowing her mother would never be easy until she’s had a chance to question her alone about Jon now that she’s aware there’s something going on between them.
Jon had shot a pitiful glance her way when she’d suggested he take her father into the parlor. She doesn’t have to read minds to know he wants them to like him and that he’s stung by some of their concerns regarding him. She hopes that maybe they've had a nice conversation. Instead, when Sansa and her mother walk in, they are watching an episode of Perry Mason and completely absorbed by it. Men. Oh well.
“I never should’ve allowed your father to buy a television,” her mother laments. “He’s worse than your brothers were over their comic books.”
Actually, Sansa must admit she’s touched by them sitting side by side. Ghost had been brought in tonight and, though initially, her parents had looked as if they feared being eaten more than getting to eat their dinner, they’ve warmed to him. He’s quite a civil wolf for those Sansa loves.
He currently has his big furry head resting on her father’s knee. Her father is absently scratching behind his ears and a flash of memory comes to Sansa of another Ned Stark sitting by a roaring fire and petting this same wolf as he told his children a story. Her eyes begin to well up.
“Sansa?” her mother asks, her smooth hand caressing her cheek, “Are you feeling alright?”
Jon’s head turns from the program and he gives her a soft smile. He knows. He understands.
“Yes, Mother,” she says sweetly before taking a seat on the arm of the new sofa beside Jon. He wraps one arm around her waist and she leans into him contentedly. They're the picture of domestic bliss. Her mother doesn't need to worry. Sansa's never been happier.
Three nights later, Jon is looking wan and the silver at his temples is more noticeable. He’s tired and hungry. He must feed. Margaery, Alysanne, Jeyne and Alys have left for a short vacation with Margaery’s grandmother to her beach house six hours away. Now is the perfect time. Margaery will have an alibi and Jon and Sansa don't really know Joffrey at all.
All the same, must he be so dramatic?
“What? I like getting into the spirit sometimes before I go out. I’m so happy these days, my love. It makes it harder to get into the right frame of mind.”
“The right frame of mind? You’re a vampire, Jon.”
“A vampire who loves his new record player.”
She laughs as ‘Night on Bald Mountain’ continues to play, the horns swelling ominously. “How appropriately creepy,” she tells him, straightening the collar of his new cloak and kissing him lightly on the lips.
“Don’t I get more of a kiss than that?”
“You’ll get more kisses than that once you return…and use the mouthwash I bought you before you come to bed”
He grimaces like a boy. He doesn’t like the taste of the antiseptic but she has no desire to taste Joffrey Baratheon's blood on her lover’s tongue.
“Ghost,” he calls when he steps out into the night with Mussorgsky’s music still running through his head.
The wolf lopes out of the woods, tongue hanging out and red eyes burning. He’s always ready to join Jon in a dish of dark hearts.
“Let’s go hunt.”
Joffrey Baratheon, D.D.S. His mother had wisely suggested the occupation to him back when he entered college. He likes hurting people. Why not get paid for it?
A fancy office space downtown. He’s taken to working late on Tuesdays and Thursdays since his wife left. She’s not home to toy with so he’ll toy with his patients...as much as he can get away with it.
Jon enters the office where the reception desk is already vacant. The poor lady gets tired of the screaming. He can hear the drill whirring as Joffrey finishes with his last patient of the night, his last patient ever.
The older gentleman comes out clutching a handkerchief to his jaw, thinking the toothache was almost better than the cure. He dons his hat and coat that have been waiting on the rack and leaves without noticing the man or wolf sitting in the shadows.
Jon locks the front door after him and walks down the hall, his new loafers clipping softly along the tiled floor.
“Who’s there?” Joffrey calls from the examination room where he's inhaling more Nitrous Oxide. Can't let him have too much to dull the coming pain.
“Your death,” Jon whispers, knowing he will not hear him.
Joffrey pokes his head out into the hall. “Who are you?”
“I'm Jon. I don’t have an appointment but a friend of your wife recommended I pay you a call.” Joffrey scowls. "I have cash on hand to pay," Jon says, flashing a stuffed money clip, knowing Joffrey's avarice will work to his advantage.
Joffrey sizes him up, sneers at the lovely black cloak Sansa made him and nods. He likes hurting people and thinks he’ll get to hurt Jon and bleed him dry of cash. That's not quite how it'll go.
“What’s the trouble?” Joffrey asks, indicating the strange chair where Joffrey works on his victims.
“There’s something odd with my teeth.”
Joffrey rolls his eyes. “Obviously or you wouldn’t be here. Take a seat.”
Jon does, he lays back and smiles. His smile is making Joffrey nervous. Ghost growls softly down the hall. Joffrey didn’t hear it but Jon did.
Joffrey picks up a couple of his instruments of torture, already figuring he’ll bill him double and make him sorry he came so late in the day. He leans over Jon, his hot, foul breath right in Jon's face as if he seeks to intimidate him with the position and says, “Open up.”
Jon does gladly. He shows Joffrey his perfectly white fangs as Ghost’s toenails clack hurriedly down the hall.
The police will think there may be some psychotic killer on the loose when Joffrey is found the next day after the receptionist’s screams startle the entire block the next morning. The newspapers will relish the grisly details of how the man was found strapped to his own exam chair, all of his perfect teeth pulled out, one by one, and him eviscerated with his green eyes still open but unseeing.
People around Winterfell will keep close to their hearths at night for a few weeks afterwards perhaps but, in time, they’ll move on. They always do. This modern world keeps spinning and people are becoming numb to horror, it seems. Maybe they always were in some ways.
“I used mouthwash,” Jon tells her two weeks later when he’s slipping under the covers to join her.
“Mmm.” She stretches and rolls to face him, giving him a light kiss. “Ghost?”
“He’s downstairs by the fire.”
She chaffs at his bare arm. “You’re freezing cold.”
“It’s snowing in the woods.”
They’d needed to feed and the police won’t notice if some deer or rabbits go missing. “I would warm you if I could.”
“We’ll warm each other.”
He pulls her into his arms, nipping at her chin. He places his hand on her chest, feeling for her heartbeat. She know how much he loves hearing it.
“I do…so much,” he says, his voice full of emotion. His thumb glides over her throat.
“I know you do but, if it’s cold and snowy the next several weeks, I’ll be wearing my scarves.” They have been discussing it.
“Sansa, are you sure you want this?”
“You promised to love me always. Do you remember saying that to me? Once upon a time beneath our tree?”
“I do. I will love you always, no matter what, no matter when, my love.”
“I know but I don’t want to grow old without you. I don’t want you to be alone again. I want us to have always together, Jon.”
“We’ll be plenty old together if you join me in this life.”
“It’s what I want.”
“Then, you will have it. But we will go a little slow, yes?”
She nods, knowing what he means. He wants her to get used to being bitten first before he drains her and has her drink his blood.
“And will you marry me, Sansa? Will you be my wife?”
She pretends to ponder the question. “I don’t know. I rather like being a liberated woman.”
He grins, knowing she teases him. “You’ll always be free to me, Sansa. No one will ever hold you back from the things you wish to do.”
She knows he means it, too. “I’ll marry you, Jon,” she tells him before giving his chest a push and climbing over him.
He laughs, rolling to his back so she may be on top, his she-wolf. “Good.” He nips at her shoulder. “I am still a bit peckish.”
She pulls her nightgown over her head, her hair falling in waves in the low lamplight. She loves the way his eyes drink her in with adoration.
Her breasts bob before him and he licks his lips. “Peckish? What are you in the mood for?” she asks, leaning forward.
He suckles one breast and then the other, sending sparks of desire shooting all through her body and making her wet. Sansa slides down his cock, taking him in with a hiss of pleasure. He wraps one hand through her hair and pulls her closer, her chest touching his.
“Ride me,” he tells her as his eye-teeth grow longer.
Her hips begin to move, a torturous undulating rhythm that drives them both to the brink of madness.
When her peak is upon her, he sinks his teeth into her neck, not hard, never enough to kill, just enough to drink. The pain pushes her over and she cries out in ecstasy. He is hers and she is his. They’re going to have eternity together.
Halloween 1959
“You're mine
And we belong together
Yes, we belong together
For eternity
You're mine
Your lips belong to me
Yes, they belong to only me
For eternity…”
Jeyne wipes her eyes as the Thunderbird pulls to a stop in front of the A&P. The Ritchie Valens hit from last year always makes her cry ever since February.
Grenn chuckles softly beside her, taking her hand for a kiss before saying, “Come on, Pretty Kitty. We got eats to buy up. We’ll cry over poor Ritchie some more later.”
“Yeah, Grenn’s right. And how often do we get to say that?” Alys asks from the back seat, making everyone laugh.
Jeyne laughs along and nods, climbing out so they may do their shopping. There’s going to be a party tonight.
The stares greet them when they enter the store like they always do but none of them care anymore. You’d think we’re a biker gang with a bad rep. Yes, there's a small part of Jeyne that enjoys being considered a dangerous woman, even if it's only by fools.
Margaery and Alys head off ahead of the rest, holding half of Sansa’s lengthy list and holding hands, not caring one bit if Old Mrs. Stokeworth or anyone else inside has a stroke over it. They're perfect together, two pieces of the same puzzle that's been missing each other until fate had brought them together.
Grenn, Alysanne and Jeyne go to work on the rest of the list. It’s not just the party they’re buying for. They’ve got a lot of mouths to feed at their house. It’s more than just a house now, too. Any woman in need of a safe refuge is welcome at Mr. and Mrs. Targaryen’s home. Wives, mothers, daughters and lost souls, they're all treated as old friends when they step across the threshold.
Some stay for a little while.
Amerei Frey had moved in last autumn, needing a place to stay after her husband had caught her with another man and beat her black and blue. She’d moved out a few months later.
Sarella Sand had come to them after she’d unfairly lost her post at the local library due to the boss’s bigotry and then lost her apartment. She’d found a new job though and has since got herself an apartment in town.
Some stay for longer.
Alysanne has been with them nearly two years but she’s talking about going to college next fall and Jon’s going to make sure she can just like Sansa made sure she got reenrolled at Winterfell High last year so she could finish after running away from home. Jeyne is going to miss her so much but she’s happy for her, too.
And some will stay always.
At one time, Jeyne had thought that would be her fate. But now, Grenn’s bought her a ring and asked her to be his wife, the wife of a good man, one who treats her like a queen. She’d happily said yes.
Jon and Sansa had married the previous winter. Sansa had been sick the three weeks leading up to it and kept to their bedroom but Jon had assured them all he fully expected her to recover. Ghost had kept guard over her whenever Jon could not be by her side.
And when she’d come out that late January evening in the tea-length wedding dress she must’ve been working on in secret, she’d looked as beautiful as ever though a little different.
There was a fiery steel in her blue eyes which Jeyne had not remarked in them before and her pale porcelain skin seemed even paler though no less lovely. The freckles on her shoulders had faded away without the summer sunshine.
But her red hair had seemed to glow in the romantic candlelight and she’d clearly been radiantly happy as her father had walked her across the parlor to exchange vow with the man she loves. Jon had stood in a new black suit beside Samwell Tarly, the local Justice of the Peace, and, with his teeth brilliantly white in the candlelight, he'd looked fit to burst with joy.
Sansa and Jon are…well, they are a little odd but Jeyne does not let it bother her. They take care of them all and they’re so kind. She loves them and knows they love her, too.
Their items all gathered, the five of them reconvene at the front of the store to check out. The check-out girl is friendly, wishing them all a Happy Halloween. For every Tanda Stokeworth, there’s a friendly face these days.
Some of the less pleasant faces around town have faded away completely though. Ramsay, Harry, Joffrey, Alys’ uncle, all gone. Samwell Tarly’s horrible father passed earlier this year along with Joffrey’s awful mother. There's been more than a few who have died mysteriously or disappeared over the past couple of years.
Jeyne knows it’s probably wicked of her but she doesn’t miss a single one of them. Honestly, beyond poor Detective Payne, whose job it is to care, she doesn’t get the feeling that any of them are that sorely missed here in Winterfell.
“Well? How do I look?” Sansa says, stepping out of the new private bath they share. Grenn knows lots of handymen who work wonders with their ever-evolving house. It hardly resembles the dreary looking manor it was with she first laid eyes on it in the moonlight two years ago.
“Like a vampire,” Jon says as he turns with a smirk from the record player where he’s just started a song. But his smirk has already vanished as he looks her up and down. His mouth has fallen open and his eyes have grown dark and hungry. It's flattering to a girl (or vampire) to say the least.
"My love must be a kind of blind love
I can't see anyone but you
(Sha bop sha bop)..."
She huffs. “I’m supposed to be a witch!”
“Oh, you’re an adorably sexy witch, my love,” he promises, stalking closer to inspect the costume. “I especially love the pointed hat. Should we get you a black cat?”
“I would if I wasn’t afraid Ghost would revolt…or eat the poor thing. I’ll be a witch with a white wolf instead of a cat. Aren’t you going to get dressed? Our guests will be here soon.”
“I am dressed,” he says, holding out his cape. “I’m Count Dracula.” He'd been in stitches watching the Dracula remake last year. They were lucky not to be asked to leave the theater where everyone else was covering their eyes in horror.
She sighs playfully. “A vampire impersonating a vampire? Ground breaking.”
He laughs as she knew he would and pulls her close. “I love you.”
“And I love you, my dearest Jon.”
“Dance with me? Alone here in our room before we go down?”
Of course, she will. She’ll gladly be dancing with him forever.
“ Are the stars out tonight (sha bop sha bop)
I don't know if it's cloudy or bright (sha bop sha bop)
I only have eyes for you dear
(Sha bop sha bop)
The moon may be high
(Sha bop sha bop)
But I can't see (sha bop sha bop) a thing in the sky
I only have eyes for you…”
The chiming of the bell below recalls them to their duties as hosts. They can’t let the ladies and Grenn manage everything alone.
“It’s Mother and Daddy,” Sansa says, already sensing their presence.
She flies down the stairs, though not so fast as to raise alarm, and opens the door with a smile.
Her parents have come to accept the changes in their daughter. No, they do not know and yet they know something is different. But what matters to them and Sansa’s brothers and sister is that Sansa is happy and Jon is good to her.
He would’ve been good to me in that other life as well.
That’s the past. This is their life now.
Soon their other guests are arriving, either from elsewhere or just upstairs, and Sansa is enjoying seeing everyone in costume. She particularly loves Margaery as Cleopatra and Alys as her Roman general but Rickon’s werewolf costume is a hoot especially when his howls are met by real ones from just outside which gives all the mortals a chill.
The doorbell has been chiming on and off as there are more than a few trick-or-treaters who are brave enough to visit this house this year. It's probably a dare for them. Little cowboys and princesses, ghosts, witches, mummies and skeletons, clowns, black cats and even a few little Draculas have all paid their calls with Jon and Sansa greeting each one with smiles and candy in between their dances.
But as the party is winding down, the doorbell chimes again and Sansa answers to find a young woman in a shabby coat on their doorstep, teary and heavy with child.
“My mother named me Gilly,” she tells them after apologizing for interrupting their evening. She’s a runaway from further north. She wipes her eyes saying she’d heard of their house through a friend. “I’m sorry. I have no place to go.”
“You have a place now, Gilly,” Jon tells her. “You can stay here with us as long as you like.”
“But I’m expecting soon and…”
“My wife and I would enjoy having you and your little one here, I promise."
Sansa nods with enthusiasm. The mother and child will of course be welcome here but the practice may come in handy as well since Sansa suspects they'll have their own little bundle of joy arriving several months from now. They might grow up to be playmates...with some interesting differences.
"In a few days," Jon continues, "when you are settled and feeling up to it, we’ll have you seen by Dr. Luwin." He glances at Sansa. "And maybe we'll pay a call on Detective Payne and Samwell Tarly at City Hall?”
“Oh, sir! I don’t want him to find me! I don’t want him to…”
“Don’t worry, Gilly,” Sansa assures. “You're safe here and he won’t ever touch you again.” The halls of justice are one thing but there are other forms of justice for men like Gilly's father. Samwell is single though and maybe they might be introduced later on.
Sansa escorts the poor girl upstairs and shows her to one of the free rooms, telling her it's hers and they'll go find a crib before long.
Once Gilly is settled, Sansa glides back down to find Jon. Most of the guests are gone but Jeyne and Grenn are cleaning up.
“Do you want me to leave any of the food out, Sansa? I never saw you eat a bite all night.”
Sansa’s eyes meet Jon’s and he gives a subtle nod. Outside, Ghost howls, eager for the hunt.
“That’s alright, Jeyne. If you two don’t mind putting it away, we’ll see to the rest of the clean-up. Mr. Targaryen and I have decided we’ll be dining out tonight.”