Chapter Text
The well-known 'Black Church', wrongly nicknamed that just because it stood in the town of Castle Black —the Wall region—, was a medieval architectural gem that had remained untouched for centuries. It had been studied by plenty of researchers back in the '80s and, once the conclusions were drawn, Art History students would, year after year, memorize a short summary from the manual Medieval Architecture of the North of Westeros, Vol. 1, without ever questioning it.
Unlike her classmates, young Sansa Stark knew that church firsthand. Built of dark stone, it was on the smaller side, typical of the first Christian churches erected near the Wall. Inside, there were true wonders. Its paintings and two sculptures had been restored decades earlier and then left to fend for themselves again. Nobody seemed to care about the 'Black Church' anymore, that building that only got five minutes of explanation in class and had been the subject of one of the first theses on Northern Medieval Art in her department.
As soon as Sansa graduated, she was convinced there was something more hidden within those walls. Those old analyses were outdated, seriously, how could no one else see it? Well, Professor Aemon Targaryen, the oldest faculty member, had his own suspicions. He promised her that once she finished her specialization in Medieval Art, he’d supervise her thesis on a new analysis of Northern medieval buildings.
Sansa had always managed to achieve her goals. Back in high school, she insisted on learning Valyrian and actually reached a solid upper-intermediate level. In college, she outshined all her classmates, which earned her the envy of most of them, except her only real friend: Margaery Tyrell, the most beautiful girl in the entire Art degree. No upper-year student could compete with her beauty. Later, Sansa got into the Medieval Art master’s program without breaking a sweat. The only thing she hadn’t managed through all those years of college was landing a proper boyfriend. With all the classes, seminars, papers, and presentations, there was no time for that. She had to aim for top grades. Either she’d do it perfectly, or she wouldn’t do it at all. That drove her friend Margaery crazy.
They argued about it more than once. It’s not that Sansa wasn’t interested in dating; she didn’t care whether it was with a guy or a girl. She was a hopeless romantic, always dreaming of her love story. Let’s rewind and talk about her —very short— dating history.
Back in high school, at 16, she’d almost had something with Mya Stone. Mya was older, with short, shiny dark hair, gorgeous gray eyes, captain of the soccer team. She always smelled of coconut perfume. Mya taught her how to kiss, use the tongue and all, but things didn’t go past second base. Then she broke Sansa’s heart into a thousand pieces when she found out Mya was also dating Mychel Redfort, a dumbass senior. Two months later Redfort dumped Mya for another girl —Ysilla Royce, a very pretty freshman who was barely 13—, and to make things worse, he leaked nude photos of Mya to everyone.
Nothing much happened after that. The real disaster came in college. During her very first semester, mid-January, Sansa was running late to her first Ancient Greek Art class. She couldn’t be late, she couldn’t miss a single class. She couldn’t find the room and to top it off, she tripped and fell flat on her face. Out of a fairy tale, he appeared: Joffrey Baratheon. Blond, blue-eyed, hair a little long. Not very tall, but that didn’t matter. Sansa was floored. Joffrey walked her to the classroom, he was a Journalism student and had had classes there years before. He was in his senior year, almost done. Sansa thanked him, blushing, waving shyly as she said goodbye.
When class ended, they had to move upstairs for Aesthetics. As soon as she stepped through the door, she saw him again, leaning casually against the big windows. He nodded at her and Sansa’s whole body trembled. That was the most romantic gesture Joffrey ever made toward her in the five months until he finished his dissertation. The semester ended, Journalism threw its graduation party, and whatever had existed between them ended with it.
Because of that idiot, she had fought with Margaery more than once, but she couldn’t anymore: Margaery was part of the family now. She was dating her older brother, Robb. Robb had been the typical high school heartthrob: tall, strong, blue-eyed, you know the type. He gave up on studying early and became a basketball coach right after graduation. Everyone remembered the day Sansa received the email confirming her doctoral thesis would be funded by the State. She let out a massive scream in the middle of one of Robb’s games. It was the finals, no less —the Northern Junior Cup— and she completely threw the whole team off.
Sansa had achieved what very few in Winterfell ever did: graduated cum laude, specialized, and scored a doctoral scholarship at 23. The scholarship hadn’t turned out to be as generous as she had hoped; she was making about 500 dragons more than minimum wage. Compared to the other PhD students, it was pathetic: they were making twice that.
She couldn’t move in with Margaery because she was apartment hunting with Robb, and she didn’t really have any other close friends. She had put off moving out for a year, when everyone her age had already done it either in college or right after. But Sansa hadn’t been able to work during college, except in the summers, and she had saved up a little. Nothing major. She had blown part of it on her senior trip and another one after finishing her medieval specialty, to see the works in person. And on a couple of concerts. And on a ton of clothes, because Margaery insisted she needed a complete makeover. To sum up, she was broke.
Sansa still had three years left to finish the doctorate. That year Sansa had managed to get a lot of work done from home, studying local buildings and attending every seminar and course she could. But reality was catching up to her: she needed to get out of Winterfell. Just the thought of it made her uneasy, she hadn’t done a single exchange program during college. The only one she had ever done was to the Vale back in baccalureate for a month. It depressed her to think the other students had already traveled outside of Westeros, and spoke Valyrian fluently. No matter how many merits she had earned, she didn’t have the same status or position as her classmates.
Aemon Targaryen kept pushing her to go to Castle Black in person. If she was going to study the 'Black Church', she had to see it for herself. At least a week. Take as many pictures as possible, notes, sketches, and study the area thoroughly. She would eventually need to go back to check the Wall Archive and review the medieval documents studied back in the '80s.
The first thing Sansa did was grab her phone, open the browser, and look for a place to stay near the Wall. Castle Black had been abandoned almost two centuries ago, and only ruins and a few small towns were left nearby. There were also houses built 20 or 30 years back as summer homes or vacation retreats. The only thing she found were rural rentals for 170 dragons a night. One hundred. Seventy. Per night. There was nothing closer; the other towns were 20km away from the church. She tossed her phone onto the bed in frustration. Would Robb let her borrow his van? If not, maybe she could rent a car…
In the neighboring towns there were only luxury hotels, with rooms going for 80 or 90 dragons a night. Breakfast not included. Add car rental and meals on top of that, because her parents couldn’t lend her their car. They needed it for work.
Her mentor had told her there were travel grants available to cover part of the costs for research stays, but it had to go through the secretary’s office, get reviewed by a committee, approved and budgeted by the PhD Council, and at the end of the year, they’d decide how much. The deadline had already passed in July, and now it was late September; she could submit all her expenses the next year and maybe get a small part reimbursed.
Everything sucked. Sansa threw herself onto the bed, face down, and began to cry. She was a PhD student with four siblings: one already on their own, two teenagers, and a little one. She didn’t own a car, she barely had any savings. The only thing of value she had was her college degree. She was a spinster, tall and awkward. And a redhead, covered in freckles, like Anne of Green Gables. But unlike Anne, she hadn’t grown into a pretty girl: no one ever looked at her. Everyone looked at Margaery. If anyone spoke to her, it was only to ask for her number, and Sansa always had to explain she was her sister-in-law.
Faced with this inconvenient reality, on the third day of her period, Sansa felt like the biggest loser in the world. In fact, she had just won the award for Greatest Loser in Westeros right there in her own bedroom. Her three Sonny Angels and her My Melody figurine clapped enthusiastically.
Sansa was sure nothing could ever be worse. She was wrong, because she dragged herself to the bathroom to wash her face and change. As she pulled up her pants, she knew there was no other choice: she had to ask her parents for advice.
Her parents knew the area pretty well. They had vacationed there many times, she herself only twice. Her father’s sister, aunt Lyanna, had inherited a country house built by their grandfather Rickard when he died many, many years ago. The house stood close to the ruins of Castle Black, and if you followed the trail on foot, you could reach the church. Sansa had a vivid memory of the church, of walking inside and playing with her siblings and her cousin, aunt Lyanna’s son. Jon, the bastard.
Over dinner, her mind wandered back to that. Had it really been… almost fifteen years? God. Back then she had been just a kid. Arya had already been born —she must have been three— because their mother had already been pregnant with Bran. It was summer, which meant Robb was about to start high school. The bastard too.
She always called him the bastard, just like her mother. They hated him. Aunt Lyanna had lived with them when her mother was pregnant with Robb; the two babies had been born almost at the same time. Her mother hated her, and she hated her nephew too, because she said Ned paid more attention to them.
There were constant arguments. Catelyn felt like a stranger in her own home: newly married, she couldn’t even have a proper married life because her sister-in-law and her nephew were there. Her nephew, a fucking bastard. All the neighborhood women looked down on her whenever she went shopping, whenever she went out for a walk. They gossiped endlessly. Even her own family had gotten angry with her for taking in that kind of woman and her child.
Sansa was choking on her fish at dinner; she had no idea how to bring up the subject. Arya was arguing with Bran, both wound up about their first exams. Arya, in her last year of baccalaureate and Bran in middle school, in the middle of puberty. Rickon didn’t notice anything, same as their father. Catelyn was starting to lose her temper, and both of them made that same little mouth-tightening expression when they were angry. Maybe because Sansa was her mirror image. Robb reminded her of their grandfather, he had those same beautiful eyes. Arya looked like their father, and a little like Aunt Lyanna too…
“Stop it!” their mother yelled. “Bran, to your room. That’s enough.”
Bran jumped up right away, yelling, while Arya grinned triumphantly. Her smile faded the instant she saw her mother’s face. Honestly, it wasn’t the best moment to bring up the matter of traveling to the Wall.
There were a few seconds of silence; Sansa’s phone buzzed and she jumped. It was only Robb. Her mother hated when they brought their phones to the table during lunch or dinner, but she’d slipped it into her pocket without thinking when she left her room. Before Catelyn could open her mouth, Ned spoke:
“By the way,” her father said. “I’ve sorted out your trip to the Wall.”
“What?” his wife snapped back.
“You’ll stay at the Castle Black's summer family house, the one my sister inherited. Do you remember it, Sansa? When we used to go there on vacation.”
“Which house? are you talking about?" Arya asked, stunned. "We had a house at the Wall?! We had a house there and we went on vacation to—”
“We didn’t have it.” her mother corrected. “Your grandfather left it to your aunt.”
“But… aunt Lyanna—”
“The bastard inherited it.” Sansa cut in.
“But if cousin Jon lives in Braavos, what does he even want with a house at the Wall? We could use it for vacations!”
“He doesn’t live in Braavos anymore” her mother replied.
“He doesn’t?” Arya said curiously.
“He lives at Castle Black” Ned clarified.
“You’re telling me that guy lives at Castle Black?” Sansa couldn’t believe it. “In the summer house?”
“Exactly.”
“Please, Ned... You didn’t, right?”
“I asked if you could stay there a few days while you do your research of the church.” Eddard answered his wife.
Catelyn rubbed her forehead furiously while Arya stared at her sister, confused by the situation. Sansa’s face said it all, she’d gone pale.
“This is unbelievable…”
“You’re suggesting I spend a week with the…” her daughter almost called him 'bastard' again, “with Jon… in the summer house.”
“Yes. He won’t charge you anything, of course. Plus, he’s got a jeep so you can drive to—”
Catelyn threw her napkin onto the table and stood up without another word. Ned could only sigh.
“Pretty cool, right?" said Arya. Sansa stayed very still in her chair, arms crossed. "Getting to stay with our cousin for free. Take me with you! I haven’t met him yet. Can we invite him to Winterfell, Dad? He could stay with us for a week in exchange.”
“If he came here, he’d better buy himself a coffin. Your mother would kill him. Besides, you have classes until Christmas.”
“Come on, Dad…”
Everything had been decided in an instant, and still Sansa couldn’t be less pleased. She had to spend a whole week at the Wall with Lyanna’s bastard! The last time they’d seen each other had been before she got sick and died. Her father had shown her a few pictures of him years ago, when he was a teenager. He was small, dark curly-haired, with glasses. She knew little else. He’d lived in Braavos, dropped out of high school, and won some stupid programming contest. He’d even been on the news, he was only 15.
Sansa’s hatred for Jon had been entirely instilled by her mother. It was completely irrational. To her, it felt innate, natural. Her father’s attempts to give her updates about him, to spark some kind of interest in his life, had all failed. That name alone filled her with nothing but disgust.
And now she’d have to live with a complete stranger for a week. A grown man, no less; in the middle of nowhere, cut off from the outside world. Perfect conditions for research, really.
Aemon Targaryen had sold her the idea as a few days of total disconnection, of union with nature, of full immersion in the medieval ruins and the church itself. Living it firsthand, reconnecting with the very place that had set her on the path to her doctorate. But the shadow of the fucking bastard was ruining everything.
It was ridiculous. A week trapped in Castle Black with him, all in the name of research... She leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling and finding solace in the dim bulbs of the antique kitchen light fixture.
“The things I do for love of my PhD.” Sansa sentenced murmuring, mentally preparing herself.