Once they went over their plans with the lords of Neck the council decided they would march in two days. After quick words with Davos, Tormund and Barbrey Dustin, Jon departed from the hall, glancing back to see Sansa and Brienne speaking with Lyanna Mormont and the Manderly sisters.
In the corridor he found Howland Reed waiting for him. "Lord Reed," Jon said with a nod.
"Could we speak in private?"
"Of course."
They walked through New Castle, making their way to Jon's chambers. Once inside, Howland quietly paced around them, scanning the walls as if worried someone would be in them. Looking at the man, Jon fought back a frown as he remembered what Sam had told him of Bran being with the Reeds.
"My lord," Jon started, "it's been a long time now, but I thought you should know back at the Wall, one of my brothers saw your children."
Howland came to a stop across from the hearth. "Jojen and Meera?"
"They were with my brother Bran, helping him get beyond the wall." Jon wore an apologetic frown. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop them, but the man who met them said they seemed determined."
A solemn smile took the small man's lips as he nodded, moving away from the wall. "They were. Jojen's greensight made him more confident than I might have liked at times, but Meera has a good head. If she's with your brother then I'm sure he's safe."
Jon couldn't help but smile at this man's confidence in his children being such that his concern was more for Bran.
Seeming satisfied they were alone, Howland took a breath and looked the boy over. "Do you know who I am?"
"Howland Reed," Jon said with a nod. "You were with my father when he found his sister and killed Arthur Dayne."
The man searched Jon's face for a moment. "Did Eddard ever tell you about your mother?"
Jon's brow furrowed. "No. He said he would when we met again. That was before he went to King's Landing."
Howland sighed, his head sinking as he stroked his forehead. With a breath he looked to Jon, steeling himself. "Would you like me to tell you who she was?"
Jon's jaw shifted as he glanced down asking, "Was?"
Howland answered with a frown.
Jon was quiet for a moment, his head down as he thought. As much as he wanted to tell him it didn't matter, it did. It always would, and if either of them died during the battle he'd regret not hearing it. Looking to Howland, he nodded.
"I rode with your father to Dorne at the end of Robert's Rebellion. Everyone thought Rhaegar had kidnapped his sister Lyanna and locked her away in a tower in Dorne. When we arrived there were kingsguard waiting outside." Howland looked to Jon's eyes. "Do you understand?"
Jon shook his head.
"There was a maid there who told us that Rhaegar hadn't kidnapped her. She'd run off to be with him, to get married in secret by the High Septon before everything went wrong. Before Aerys killed Ned's father and brother, committing us to a war built on Robert's lie.
"But when we arrived Aerys was dead. Rhaegar was dead. Rhaella and Viserys were on Dragonstone, but the kingsguard were in Dorne." Howland looked to Jon and saw his brow furrow, starting to put it together. "They were there to guard their king." He paused before clarifying, "To guard you."
Jon's eyes darkened as he stared into Howland's. "Me?"
"The son of Rhaegar Targaryen and his wife, Lyanna Stark," said Howland. "Ned called you Jon, but before she died your mother named you Aegon Targaryen."
Jon felt like he was being choked, his breath growing heavy suddenly as he turned to clutch the back of a chair and keep himself standing. His eyes burned nearly as much as his chest, his stomach twisted into a knot that felt like it reached his throat. His right hand reached for his face as he winced, gritting his teeth.
Howland could only frown, giving the man space. "I'm sorry, Jon. He told me she made him promise to keep you safe, to hide you from Robert. He'd already murdered Rhaeger's other children… your half brother and sister. He made me swear to keep it secret as well, but with him gone I thought it best you know the truth."
His head shifted before rising and shaking. Jon sucked in a breath and turned to Howland Reed, his expression ice. "No. Thank you, Lord Reed. Thank you for telling me. I needed to know."
Howland would wonder that, but nodded. "I'll go prepare my men for the march north."
Leaving the room, Howland lingered outside the door where he heard what sounded like a table being turned over, letting the pitcher smash against the floor as Jon yelled. With a frown, Howland left, hoping he'd made the right choice.
Sansa sat at the high table with the Manderlys at they gathered for supper, but she found herself, like many others, looking to the empty seat between her and Wyman on he left. Jon's seat. Her concern wasn't for the slight the lords might take from his absence, but the fact this was the first time he'd done so. If Jon hadn't come he had a reason or something was wrong.
She felt relieved when the doors opened and Jon made his way to the table with nods to the lords. "Pardon my tardiness, not even the maids couldn't rouse me from my sleep."
Wyman looked at Jon and laughed. "Don't worry, lad. We all deserve a good nap sometimes."
However her concern returned as the meal continued and she noticed Jon was quieter than he usually was. His expression forced or restrained, hindered by something. At least he wasn't normally as boisterous as Tormund. If anyone else noticed they'd surely take it as him being thoughtful, weighed down by thoughts before their march.
Once they finished their meals the lords and ladies lingered, enjoying themselves. She could see Tormund standing, one foot on his seat as he waved his arms and thrust his hips while the mountain clan leaders laughed. Brienne was smiling as Lyanna spoke, though she seemed surprised when Barbrey Dustin cut in with a comment that had Eddara Tallhart choking back a laugh. Davos wore a somber smile as he spoke with Howland Reed, Robin Flint and Rodrik Ryswell.
Sansa noticed Howland glanced toward Jon, frowning slightly before returning his attention to Robin Flint. Looking to Jon, she found him sat back in his chair with a hand on the top of his mug of ale, tapping his finger on the rim. His brow was knit in thought, his eyes aimed at the table but likely not seeing anything, his mind clearly somewhere else.
Seeing his right hand resting on the arm of his chair, Sansa reached over and picked it up. That seemed to break his trance, making him look to her. She offered a smile he tried to return but he barely moved his lips before his eyes sank.
"Is something wrong?" She asked quietly, tugging on his hand.
Looking to her he shook his head. "No, just… a lot on my mind."
Sansa nodded. "It's okay. You don't have to worry. You're doing great, Jon. They all believe in you. I don't think any of them would mind saying if they didn't."
That earned a hollow laugh from Jon, who nodded. "No, but I'm glad they wouldn't." His eyes met Sansa's and he was reminded of everything he'd felt that first time he saw her. Everything he'd felt when he came back from the dead.
"Sansa," he said quietly, "I spoke to Howland Reed-"
"My lords and ladies," Wyman boomed as he rose from his chair. "I thank you all for being here, for all you've done and all we will do together in the days to come, the kingdom we will reclaim and remake as it should be. Any thanks you hold for me, I must be honest and ask you direct them to my grandchildren, for when I feared what may become of White Harbor if we did as Lady Brienne offered, it was my granddaughters who reminded me of the debt White Harbor owes the Starks of Winterfell. A debt that can never be repaid.
"So for Lady Sansa and Lord Jon I did what I could. I drank with Jared, japed with Symond, promised Rhaegar the hand of my own beloved granddaughter…" Sansa glanced at Jon as she felt him twitch at Rhaegar's name, only then realizing she was still holding his hand. "But I never forgot their part in my son's murder. I will never forget, because I am of the North, and the North Remembers!"
"The North Remembers!" The hall cheered, raising their glasses.
Sansa released Jon's hand even though he hadn't moved it, using his left hand to raise his mug along with the others. Noticing the room starting to look at Jon, she smacked her hand against his leg. When he looked at her she subtly motioned to the room, making him realize they expected him to speak.
Jon got to his feet, looking around the room. After a moment he seemed to gather his thoughts, taking a breath. "Whenever we were riding to a new house I would remind myself of something Sansa said while we were at Castle Black. She told Ser Davos that her father told her northerners are different. More loyal." That earned a murmur of agreement as well as a few nods toward Sansa. "I remembered her words and told myself that you would listen, you would know ours was a just cause, worthy of your support, and you would help us… but you didn't have to.
"None of you had to keep faith. You could have turned us away, you could have taken Sansa and turned her in to the southron king. You could have claimed me a deserter and taken my head. Instead you all met us, listened to us, and put your faith in us. I'm sure you all respected Eddard Stark, but his name alone isn't enough to bring you all this far. Loyalty, trust…" He glanced at Sansa, a smile tugging at his lips as he looked back to the others. "That's what has brought us here.
"When we ride for Winterfell we do so together! Knowing that this isn't a war we want to fight, but one we need to. We do it knowing we are stronger together than we ever could be on our own. And when we win, when Ramsay Bolton lays dead at our feet, let the rest of the world remember that when it mattered we stood together and returned a Stark to Winterfell!"
"Winterfell!" They roared.
Sansa beamed proudly up at Jon, feeling tears prick at her eyes as she watched him sit. When he glanced at her she quickly mouthed 'thank you' and the small smile it bought him made her warmer than the wine she'd drank.
Though the lords lingered, Jon was one of the first to excuse himself. Sansa followed shortly after, remembering that he'd seemed to have something important to say before Wyman interrupted. In the corridor she found Ghost waiting for her and reached over to rub his head.
"Good to see you again, Ghost," she said scratching under his jaw. Normally he enjoyed it, but he let out a small whine. "What's wrong, boy?" She asked, coming to a stop and rubbing behind his ear.
Ghost looked at her then turned and went to sit beside Jon's door. Sansa chuckled, scratching his chin as she knocked. The door opened and Jon arched his brow, pushed aside by Ghost as he made his way into the room.
Jon seemed to stare at her, thinking something over before he looked up and down the corridor and waved her inside. Once she was in he closed the door. "Sorry, but I spilled my wine earlier and never managed to ask for more."
"It's fine," Sansa said walking toward the hearth. "I thought I'd come speak with you. It seemed like you had something you wanted to say earlier. Before Wyman got up. Something about Howland Reed."
"Oh," he nodded, gripping the back of a chair. "I spoke with him after he arrived. You remember who he is, right?"
"One of father's friends," she said with a nod, turning the chair in front of the fire to face him before she sat. "He was with him when he killed Arthur Dayne and aunt Lyanna."
"That's not all they found in Dorne," Jon said somberly.
Sansa's brow knit as she sank into her chair. "What do you mean?" She knew Jon had been born in the south and her father brought him north when he returned. However his tone made it clear it was more complex then him thinking he should be named Sand.
"When we spoke he asked if I wanted to know about my mother."
Sansa's brow rose. "He knew her?"
"I told him I wanted know," Jon said taking a breath to steady himself as he looked to Sansa, "and he told me about Lyanna."
At first confusion shaped her brow, but that quickly gave way to disbelief. "What? Lyanna couldn't be your mother, father would never…" She stopped speaking, a trembling breath escaping her throat as it clicked. "Rhaegar."
"The maid told them she'd left to marry him, before all the deaths." A bitter laugh made Jon shake his head. "I was never a bastard. My name isn't even Jon."
Sansa's stare broke with a blink. "It isn't?"
Jon shook his head. "Before she died, she named me Aegon Targaryen and made your father promise to keep me safe or else I'd die like Rhaegar's other children."
The sorrow and anger in his face seemed so obvious now. Sansa put a hand over her mouth as tears of sympathy stung her eyes. "Oh, Jon…"
Jon turned toward the hearth, both hands gripping the back of the other chair. "I was never a Stark or a Snow. Everything I was… everything I am is a lie. I wasn't even a Targaryen. I'm no one."
"You're not no one," she said firmly, getting to her feet. Her hand found his arm, squeezing it while she tilted her head to look on his face. "Whoever gave birth to you, whatever your name, it doesn't matter, not to me. It doesn't change who you are. You're Jon, the man I've stood beside from the Wall to White Harbor."
Jon turned to her with his left hand on the chair and a smile on his lips. Her tone lost it's pleading edge to grow softer as she slid her right hand to his cheek. "The man I trust with my life, the man I'd follow beyond the Wall and across the sea if he asked. It doesn't matter if you're a Targaryen, a Snow, a Sand, a Stark… You're Jon. You'll always be Jon."
She felt frozen under his gaze, and yet she managed to bring her lips to his. His hand fell from the chair as she pulled away, opening her eyes to find shock on his face.
"Sansa," he whispered in surprise.
Her stomach twisted in disgust and shame. She'd let her emotions go untamed and now she'd ruined it. How could she be so desperate? She didn't want him to leave her or distance himself, but he didn't deserve this.
"I-I'm so-" She was cut off by his hand sliding into her hair as he pressed his lips to hers. The knot in her stomach eased, replaced by another that stretched to her chest, her fingers shaking before they sank into his curls.
She'd been so sure she hated kissing. While there had been a few she enjoyed when she was still a stupid little girl dreaming of a golden haired prince, ever since she'd traveled south every kiss had been vile, awful things forced upon or stolen from her. A weapon used against her to make her stomach turn in disgust and fear. She thought she'd never enjoy it again, and yet with Jon's lips she felt as if all those awful things had been pushed away, leaving her lighter than ever.
When he pulled away, taking a breath and opening his eyes to meet hers, she sighed, sliding her hand down to his jaw. "I spent every day going north dreaming of you and it never lived up to what I found. I won't let this take you from me."
"I doubt much could," Jon said smiling solemnly. "This won't."
Sansa slid her hand over his heart. "You promise?"
Jon held her head, pulling it forward to press his lips to her forehead. "I promise."