Sansa heard the crowd first, the grunts coming when she made her way toward the yard and found a large crowd had gathered. Making her way through them to stand with Melisandre and Rickon she found the crowd had formed to watch their king spar. Only unlike most others, he was fending off three men with his sword and shield.
Laul and Rila moved to stand beside Sansa, who gave each a small nod. "How long has this been going on?"
"Only a minute or two," answered Rila.
Sansa looked back to the yard where Jon's face was caked in dirt and sweat as he parried a strike and threw aside another with his shield before catching the third in the cross guard of his sword. He seemed to almost throw it aside just to move forward and bring his training sword across the attacker's chest, continuing his swing into the arm of the man on Jon's right and turning to catch another strike on his shield as he turned and thrust his sword into the chest of the one on his left.
All three backed away, their chests heaving as they struggled to catch their breath while Jon stalked around the yard, his head down in thought.
"They look exhausted for only a minute of fighting," Sansa noted.
"No, that match was a minute," said Laul. "They've been fighting for about an hour."
Sansa's brow rose. "All of them? Against Jon?"
"He fought them off for almost ten minutes before anyone hit him," Rickon said grinning with pride at his brother's skill.
"Our king is an excellent fighter," said Melisandre. "Though it seems this is more an exercise to exhaust himself."
Jon looked to the men and walked over, patting one of their shoulders. "Thank you for the match," he said to each, the men bowing their heads and thanking him. Once they left Jon looked through the crowd before pointing to a spot left of Sansa's group. "Arya, Brienne. I'm intruding on your match."
Sansa looked to the women, both of whom seemed surprised as the crowd broke into murmurs. After a quick glance between them, Brienne shook her head. "Your grace, I-"
"That's an order," he said firmly. His lips shifted to a smirk when he added, "Arya."
Sansa groaned as Arya threw herself over the fence. "Don't think just because you're king you can order me around."
"But I can order Brienne to stop training with you," he said with a grin. "How can I risk her harming a princess?"
Arya's hand clenched. "Point or yield?"
Jon walked over to grab a sword for Arya while Brienne had already gotten one herself. "Yield."
He tossed it across to Arya, who caught it by the hilt and spun it while moving to Brienne's side. "Are you certain, your grace?" The knight asked. "You've surely exhausted yourself."
"This is my cool down," he assured. "Now come."
"It seems he wants a beating," Laul said with a laugh.
Sansa frowned, clutching her skirt as she watched Arya dash forward, eyes narrowed as she took a curving path toward Jon's left side. At the same time Brienne rushed forward, positioned for a strike at his right. He could have backed away but instead he let them box him in, letting his sword catch Brienne's, sliding toward Arya and raising his shield to catch her strike at his side.
His shield rose, letting Arya's sword push off it, passing his head while his sword scraped Brienne's and his body turned. Brienne went for another swing at his shoulder, but he managed to spin to Arya's right, his own sword swinging toward the back of her legs. For a moment it seemed like Arya would be caught between both strikes until she flipped, Jon's sword passing under her while Brienne's passed above.
The crowd gasped as Arya landed, leaving Jon between them again, swinging up toward Brienne's abdomen. She deflected the strike to the ground at the last moment before taking a step back and raising her sword overhead.
Arya had slid to the side, thrusting at him again, but he bashed the strike away. His sword cut through dirt as it rose toward her chest, hitting her just as Brienne's sword passed by his shoulder a moment too late to land a strike.
Being the first hit seemed to make Arya stop holding back. While Jon turned to swing at Brienne's arm, Arya threw her sword to her left hand. A quick thrust made Jon raise his shield, but then she grabbed it, pulling his shield arm back while she thrust her sword at his chest. That just so happened to be when Brienne brought her own strike down a split second later.
The crowd gasped as he winced and brought his sword up, knocking theirs away and pulling Arya. He had enough strength to take her off her feet, seeming to throw her as she released his shield and she slid away to his right.
Sansa wanted to stop it, to leap over the fence and beg them to stop as they continued to land two strikes each for every one he seemed to. Yet none of them yielded. Minutes passed and Jon kept fighting, pushing aside their strikes, closing in on them, taking hits to try and land his own. It was hard to gauge their thinking, looking more like some wild dance. Arya and Brienne's matches seemed to help them fight in unison, weaving around each other to strike at Jon.
They could all see he was forcing himself to keep going, pushing through exhaustion, but no one knew why. It was hard to know if even Jon knew why, but he finally backed away waving his sword. "I'm done. I yield."
The crowd seemed to give a sigh of relief while Arya and Brienne backed away, each taking heavy breaths as they watched Jon toss his sword into the bucket with the others and hand his shield to Willam before leaving the field.
Sansa broke away from the group, holding her skirt as she hurried to Jon's side.
"Jon," she called out, making him glance back. His grim expression broke with a smile as he came to a stop. "Are you okay?"
With a shrug he started walking again. "I'm a bit tired and sweaty. I'd call for a bath now but it'll have to wait. I need to meet with Davos and go over plans for the Ironborn."
They were in the corridor heading toward his room when she grabbed his arm, making him stop. "Jon. What was that about?"
Jon looked at her before exhaling and shaking his head. "I wanted to do something I know I'm good at. I'm fine."
She had a feeling there was more to it than that, but she didn't want to push it and risk him doubling down. Instead she nodded and kissed his cheek. "If you need anything I'm here for you, okay?"
A sad smile took his lips as he nodded. "I know."
It was no surprise that shortly after their return news had spread that Jon had left to meet Daenerys. The men he brought were going to talk, they'd accepted that. What surprised her was when Lysa approached her with Petyr while Robin and Rickon played with Ghost.
"Is he going to leave you for the dragon queen?" Lysa asked without warning.
"Pardon?" asked Sansa.
"The king," she said pointedly. "Is that the reason for that display this morning?"
"You mean his sparring?" Sansa shook his head.
"Hm. I assumed it was because you've held to your maidenhood." Lysa's eyes narrowed. "You have, haven't you?"
"I have," Sansa nodded. "Why would that make him fight?"
Petyr chuckled. "Men who are bred for war often deal with frustration in particular ways. If they can't quell it in a woman's arms they take to the yard until their own are too heavy to swing a sword. It's often at it's worst when they're forced away from the former." He tilted his head innocently. "Of course, he's returned to you. I can't imagine he's missing a woman's embrace when his betrothed is with him."
Sansa shifted slightly, thinking on the implications. Was he frustrated because she hadn't laid with him? He'd taken care of her the night before but he'd been the one to turn her away, saying he wanted to focus on her. They hadn't laid together but they'd found ways around it.
Her brow knit as she realized Petyr was implying Jon had slept with Daenerys. She knew he hadn't, trusted him enough to know he would have told her… but he was behaving oddly. He'd always been giving, putting her before himself, but seemed so intent on it the night before. Almost as if he was making up for something.
He was fighting like he was angry, taking on multiple people knowing they would land hits. Jon wanted to lose. He wanted to be beaten and bruised. He was angry at himself, pushing himself until he was exhausted and couldn't take it anymore.
Jon would never do that. But why was he acting so odd? Something was wrong. She just didn't know what.
"We have Riverrun," Davos told them as Jon's council convened after he'd received a letter from her uncle. "Which means we have the Riverlands."
"They're useless until the Lannisters are gone," said Jon. "Tell the Manderlys to stay and help drive them out. Make sure the Riverlands can defend themselves before departing."
"And if we get the Tyrell and Martell men?" asked Davos. "Is it worth it to try and take Cersei before the Wall?"
"Can we trust the Kingslayer to convince his sister?" asked Arya.
"No," Sansa answered. "Even if she sees it, she'll never help us. She'll say to let us all die and then she'll claim the remains. She'll think the Night King will stop once he has the North. She vindictive and cruel, not smart."
"How long could the Wall hold him off?" asked Arya. "Maybe we just let him sit there and wait until we're ready to ride north."
"The Wall will not stand in his way," Melisandre said knowingly. "He will find a way around it or through it."
"Your flames tell you that?" Arya asked with a glare.
"Stories tell of ways to bring the wall down," Melisandre said simply. "The free folk talk of the Horn of Winter which can bring it down with a blow. It's also possible the Night King is unique or even linked to the Wall in some way. For all we know he had a part in making the Wall and may very well be capable of bringing it down with a touch."
"I hate magic," Jon sighed.
Sansa turned to him with a frown. "I don't. It brought you back."
"Some magic," he corrected, earning a smile from her. "I just wish I could even begin to understand it." Jon chuckled. "I hope Sam comes back a wizard."
"A wizard?" Sansa laughed.
"He said once he always wanted to be a wizard," Jon said fondly. "I hope he comes back as one."
"I hope not," Melisandre said shaking her head, "warlocks are awful."
"His father brought one to Horn Hill once," Jon said thinking back. "Sam said the warlock slaughtered an auroch and had Sam bathe in the blood to try and make him brave. When it didn't work his father had the warlock scourged."
Sansa frowned as the others looked shocked. "Poor Sam."
After nodding, Jon tilted his head. "Daenerys said she met warlocks too. They stole her dragons and tried to kill her with a manticore."
"Greyjoy supposedly keeps them as well," said Davos. When they all looked confused, Davos chuckled. "Pardon, I meant Euron. Varys told me there were tales around Essos that Euron took the tongues of his crew and kept warlocks to teach him magic."
"We'll have to handle him after Daenerys gets here," Jon said leaning into his hand, his elbow digging into the arm of his chair. "Maybe her dragons can help thin the fleet and we can try to get Yara back, if she's even alive."
Once the others departed, Sansa lingered as she often did.
"Did warlocks really try to kill Daenerys with a manticore?"
Jon turned to her and chuckled. "Apparently. I thought it weird but then there were three dragons flying off shore when she told me, so I couldn't really doubt her."
Sansa snickered. "Did you two talk a lot? You were only there a few days."
"Not much the first day," he said putting his papers in order on his desk. "But once we started it got easier. Why?"
"Do you miss her?"
Jon turned to her, trying to gauge why she asked. "I don't think so. I'd like to talk to her more." Jon's confusion gave way to a solemn smile. "She said she'd tell me about Rhaegar."
Sansa smiled, knowing he had heard a few tales of Lyanna in her youth but no northern lords had much to say of Rhaegar beyond tales of his victory at Harrenhal.
Watching her nod, Jon moved toward her arching his brow. "Why?"
"I was just wondering how close you two got."
"Are you jealous?" he asked with a teasing smirk.
"No," she said incredulously, crossing her arms.
His hands found her shoulders as he gave an assuring smile. "If you're jealous already I fear for my life the day you both get jealous of each other."
"I'm not jealous," she said smacking his chest lightly.
"Good," he nodded, "because you have no reason to be, my love."
Sansa smiled, pressing her lips to his, her body flush as she felt his tongue brush hers. She considered backing him to bed and taking him in hand then, but had enough sense to remember their duties.
When they separated she let out a sigh, kissing his jaw before backing to the door. "I'll see you tonight," she promised, not seeing his smile crumble as she left.