AN:

I originally wrote this a long time ago on archiveofourown. It's started after Season 7 ends. It was all written in one day, originally as a long one shot, but it was written as an experiment so I decided to split it up and use different chapters, in particular later ones, as different kinds of tests.

As much as I liked reading GOT fics so many Jonsa ones contorted the characters. Dany became a tyrant. Sansa became a master schemer and strategist. Jon became a bumbling idiot who never deserved to lead, grovels at Sansa's feet begging forgiveness, or was playing Dany all along. It all ends up seeming bitter and made the stories worse. The point in writing this was to have a Jonsa story where the characters might seem a bit OOC but weren't wildly changed and made into assholes or idiots.

So here Dany isn't an evil bitch, Sansa isn't a super manipulator or Cersei 2.0, and Jon isn't a push over imbecile. Also there is smut around chapters 6 and 7.

It's not great but hopefully is enjoyable enough in places. I also have a Jon/Sansa/Dany story that is completed from season 4/5 through the end of the series. Either way, thank you for reading!

CHAPTER 1: A Vow To Break

For all Jon had looked forward to coming home, he wished he never had. He wished he had ridden North to face the Night King and everything that was coming. Even if he had to go alone, to die alone, he'd have done it to protect his family. But now they're gone. He doesn't have a family. He never did.

"Your name is Aegon Targaryan."

It hurt worse than a knife in the heart. He'd take a dozen of them if it meant he could just be Jon Snow. If Eddard Stark could be his father. He wouldn't care if his mother was some whore, if she never loved him or gave him away because he was just as much an awful reminder of the man she could never be with as he was a reminder to Catelyn Tully of her husbands supposed infidelity.

Everything he's done, everything he'd achieved had been done as Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell, and now he wasn't even a bastard.

"Jon."

He felt his body tense at the whisper from Arya. He'd been so happy to see her he worried he might have crushed her with his hug if she wasn't as strong as he knew she was. And now, barely hours later, he turned to find her staring at him with smudged tears around her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Arya," he whispered, turning back to weirwood tree his father-uncle would sit to clean Ice.

Walking toward him she shook her head. "Why are you sorry? I'm sorry."

"Because," he laughed bitterly, staring at the black water of the pond before them. "You had two brothers. Now you only have one."

Arya frowned, but quickly hid it as she pushed his shoulder. "Don't think this gets you out of being my brother. It'll take a lot more than this."

Jon looked to her and smiled. "I know. No matter what I am, you're still my sister."

He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, how long he'd been adrift in his mind, but when she reached out to give his hand a supportive squeeze it felt like the first piece of solid earth he felt underfoot. Of course it would come from Arya Underfoot. "Whatever happens, I'm on your side."

Jon looked to her and knew she would be. He could declare his intention to take the Iron Throne by force, and she would do everything she could to help him. Instead he shook his head. "Nothing's going to happen."

"I doubt that," Arya snorted. "This… it might not change us, but it changes a lot. Enough that it could be a problem."

"It won't. There isn't time." He frowned, looking back at the black pool and remembering himself sinking into black water beneath ice, knowing he had to get back up or else his family would die. The family that was never his. "I won't let it." Even as he spoke it, he knew it was another vow he would break.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"This will be difficult," Tyrion said with a sigh. "It already was before, but this won't help."

Daenerys sat staring at the fire of the room they'd been provided as Tyrion helped himself to a glass of wine.

"If it's true, if this isn't some game, then it makes him-"

"It's not a game," Daenerys interrupted, turning to look at Tyrion as he moved to the seat beside her. "You saw him."

Tyrion frowned thinking back to the king's clear devastation as he learned his life was a lie. "I know," he sighed, taking a long drink. "Still, it's a problem."

Daenerys glanced at him before returning her eyes to the fire. "You can't actually think he wants it. He wouldn't take it from me."

"It depends." Tyrion tapped the brim of his glass, thinking. "He could claim it, force you to accept his role, and give the north their freedom that way. They're already on edge because of us being here. It would be an easy way to regain their favor."

"He wouldn't claim it."

"He could threaten to, though," Tyrion reminded. "Even if he never claims, it will be a card he holds, a dagger to our throats." Daenerys frowned, clearly not liking his way of thinking, so Tyrion decided to offer a silver lining. "We can use your relationship to remove it."

Daenerys turned to him. "What?"

"I'm a dwarf, your grace," he said with a teasing smile, "not a fool."

She narrowed her eyes. "I meant what do you mean about using it. It's not something to be used."

"But it can be," he grinned at his cleverness. "Make a union. Marry him, have him be a king consort, let him have his rightful place while you remain as queen."

"I-" She stopped herself, sighing and looking to the fire. "I won't just use him to get what I want."

"Why not? You're queen. Maybe your claim isn't as good as his, but neither was Roberts, and he took the crown."

Daenerys shot Tyrion a glare that made him realize what he'd done. "I'm not some usurper."

"Forgive me, your grace," Tyrion bowed his head. "I merely mean to say that you've earned your place atop the throne. A better claim shouldn't stand in the way of all you've done, of everything you've earned."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

The sun had set and Jon sat in his chambers wishing the ale he downed would destroy the knot in his stomach. His eyes lingered on the crackling flames, shifting toward his burned hand. A snort forced it's way through him, dismissive and cold as he thought, 'A real Targaryan wouldn't burn.'

He'd heard the tales. Some from her men, others from her as they lay in bed on their way to White Harbor.

"Why Unburnt?" he'd asked laying in her bed after cleaning themselves.

"I walked into a funeral pyre. It birthed my dragons and left me untouched." She wore a sad smile, resting her head on his shoulder. "Fire cannot kill a dragon."

He wasn't a real Stark and he wasn't a real Targaryan. Maybe he should go to the faceless men. He was already no one. Maybe it was best he just accept it.

That was how he found himself knocking on her door. His burned hand clenching, fingers brushing the rough skin, reminding himself this was what he had to do.

The door cracked open and he was met by a somber, warm smile that grew as the door opened. "Jon," Sansa whispered, surprised and glad.

"Can I?" He nodded into her room.

"You may." She stepped aside and he held back a chuckle at her subtle grammatical correction. He could only imagine her and Davos sat behind him correcting him with mays and fewers.

Once he was inside and she closed the door her took a breath and turned to her. His hands rubbed against each other in a final reminder of what he wasn't.

"You have to make sure they don't do anything stupid."

His sudden proclamation left her confused as she made her way to her desk, furrowing her brow. "What do you mean?"

"When you take it," he said meeting her eyes. "When they give it to you."

Sansa's confusion fell to a frown understanding what he meant. "Jon, I'm not taking it. I won't."

A bitter smile flashed across his lips. "I'm not an idiot Sansa. I know I seem it, but I'm no fool."

"I don't think you a fool."

"When they find out everything, they're going to damn me. They're going to give you the crown and they're going to turn against Daenerys." She was going to speak but he cut her off. "You can't let them. You need to make sure they put aside whatever they feel and face north. We can't spare a single man now they're past the wall. I won't have them die because they're too foolish in their anger over me."

Sansa wasn't sure whether to frown or smile. "Jon. They don't have to find out. I know you thought it best she know, but if Daenerys and her people keep it quiet then so can we."

"We won't." His jaw shifted, holding back anger that had been boiling since they told him. "I won't lie to them."

The quiet accusation aimed at her father, their father, hurt more than it should. Part of her was angry at him too, and she understood his own, yet she was still his daughter. And Jon wasn't her brother.

With a frown she sat back in her chair. "You don't have to. You could just not tell them. It wouldn't be a lie if they never ask."

"I'm tired of the lies, Sansa," frustration laced through his voice. "I'm tired of the games. I'm tired of dealing with people who would rather let the Night King ride to Dorne than look beyond themselves!" Jon deflated, shaking his head. "It won't matter."

Seeing him so disheartened made her tighten her grip on her skirt. "What do you mean?"

"Arya told me what happened." His eyes turned to her, and though they held only relenting acceptance, they felt like daggers to Sansa. "With Baelish and the lords, before you killed him. They're already waiting to cast me aside. I'll at least give them a better reason than me bending the knee."

Her lips were a line she wouldn't let bend, not with the shame clawing at her throat. Arya had been right. Of course she had.

"Was it just because you're feelings for her?"

Jon shook his head. "You think so little of me?"

"I think you a man," she said with a small smile.

"It's the right thing, Sansa." He sighed, clearly not intending this when he came to her. "If you saw them, you'd know. The North can't stand alone. As much as they may want to, they can't. We can't. I won't let them die because they'd too stubborn to face the truth. They can't act like children.

"Whatever she is to me doesn't matter. Whatever I am doesn't matter. I'll stand beside Cersei Lannister if it means making it through this. I don't care if they hate me. I don't care if you hate me. I won't let you die for it."

Sansa got to her feet. "I don't hate you."

It was clear he doubted that, but he didn't say it. "It was before anything happened. They'll say it's because I'm fucking her, they'll call her a foreign whore, they'll bring up Robb and me being a bastard. They'll say I did it because I knew I was a Targaryan all along, that I'm coveting the Iron Throne and using her and them to get it."

He took a step toward her, his face stony and resolute.

"What they say-what they feel-doesn't matter. None of it does if they die. You have to make sure the North remembers that."

AN:

This was written all in one go with no planning and hasn't been truly touched up or edited beyond basics, so pardon if it seems a bit dry in places and weird slips or repeats. I didn't even have a title in mind, so it may change one day.

This is based on show canon through season 7, but it isn't what I think will happen. It's intended more as an experiment, a kind of response to some problems I have with tropes I've seen becoming more common.

Tyrion comes off a bit poorly, but I like the idea that he's a well meaning but poor adviser, so used it along with northern lords being idiots.

I took a few liberties with characters at times, but typically tried to keep them close to how they're presented in my view, their behavior hopefully explained by shifted actions.