The Real Game Begins

Blinding white walls met Jon's eyes when he awoke and his eyes flittered around the room desperate to try and locate some kind of identifying factor.

Had he died?

He looked down at his arms and saw the myriad of scratches and bruises. He could feel more across his body, too. Surely, if he had died then he wouldn't be covered in wounds.

Then he remembered. Images from the Games flashing through his mind. He had somehow survived the Games and was going home. Both he and Sansa would be going home.

But where was Sansa? Was she okay? The last time he had seen her, they had been lifted up into the hovercraft. She was worse for wear than him. Her neck a horrible discoloured colour from where Joffrey had almost strangled her and she had limped, her leg wound obviously not quite healed. Was she off in some room similar to his?

The door to the featureless room slid open and the small male crow from King's Landing entered. He carried a tray which he put down next to Jon before he gave him a warm smile. Was he happy to see that Jon had actually survived? Despite the fact that Jon had ignored him during his time of need?

Pushing himself upright, Jon looked at the crow sadly. "I should've helped you," he said.

The crow shook his head vehemently, a frown descending between his eyebrows showing how much he disagreed with Jon's words but they didn't make him feel any better. He wished he had somehow been able to save the crow.

"Sansa?" Jon asked with desperation in his voice. "The other tribute from the North. Is she okay?"

The crow shrugged his shoulders and gave Jon an 'I don't know' gesture with his hands. The crow was probably assigned to serve just him. Pointing to the bowl, the crow indicated that Jon should eat, before he patted his arm and turned away, exiting the room.

As if agreeing with the crow, his stomach rumbled and he realised that he had no idea what day it was or when the last time he had been able to eat was. He slurped up the thin broth in no time and wished there was more on the tray. However, before he could climb out of the bed and investigate, the IV drip made a whooshing sound and he was drifting back to sleep.

The next time he awoke, all the imperfections on his skin had disappeared. There were none of the scratches or bruises that he'd earned in the arena, nor any of the longer scars he bore from his illegal hunting activities. His skin was smooth and flawless. He frowned feeling as if his life had been peeled away.

The door opened and Renly entered. He stood in the door for a moment, observing him before he came close and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I knew you could do it," he said quietly.

There a quiet moment where more could've been said but Jon appreciated that Renly left it at that simple statement. There was a price to winning the Hunger Games and Jon knew he would see Shireen, Gendry and even Joffrey in his dreams for a long while.

"Come on," Renly said. "You've been released from the hospital wing and the team are waiting for you. You have the victory show to prepare for."

"Sansa?" Jon asked.

"She's fine. She's getting ready, too."

"Can I see her?"

"Not before the show. They want you to reunite on air."

"Oh," Jon said.

Then he was being lead back to the North's penthouse apartment where his prep team waited for him with big smiles. They pulled him in close for a hug, still decked out in their signature colours and cheerfully chatted about what they'd all done during the Games and where they'd been during key moments.

Jon let it wash over him. If he thought too deeply about it then he would probably be annoyed that they were so shallow that they only thought of the deaths of children in terms of where they had been.

"They mean well but they don't understand," Renly murmured to him as the prep team left the room. "They all pooled their money together to sponsor you."

That fact made him slightly better. Those gifts had often meant the difference between life and death in the arena – especially that burns cream.

Renly worked on him in silence, which Jon appreciated. He saw how thin he'd become in the mirror as he stood waiting for whatever outfit Renly had designed for this evening. He could count his ribs in the mirror.

Then he was dressed and it wasn't what he expected. Gone were the cold, wintery, predatory colours and styles and instead he was dressed in something much softer. A white suit with a pale yellow shirt that was reminiscent of a new sun rising.

He raised his eyebrow at Renly who said, "This is the dawn after the long night."

Jon was taken aback from the romanticism of the design. Usually victors were dressed as a manifestation of power not something so whimsical. Then again, Renly hadn't made a false step yet so Jon went with it.

He didn't see Jorah until he was back in the basement of the training centre. Not in the gym this time but what looked like a disused storage room.

"They've never had two victors before," Jorah said, coming in with a shrug. "So they had to make some modifications and as you and Sansa are not to see each other until the cameras are rolling, they put you in here."

Jorah came over and in an uncharacteristic display of affection, he flung his arms around Jon and pulled him in for a hug.

"Listen to me," he whispered harshly into his ear. "The President is angry with you. There was no plan for two victors. You need to play up the romance angle to this and make your actions the desperate last gasp of a boy deeply in love."

Jon's romantic outfit made sense now. He was not to appear threatening. "Does Sansa know?" he asked.

"Yes."

Then Jon's mind was reeling. Jorah's worried and rushed words in his ear were so unlike the usually disinterested mentor, that Jon knew this was something serious.

Jorah pulled back, his eyes intense and Jon gave him a tiny nod. He could do this. He could play up the romance aspect. It wasn't as if he had been pretending in the arena. Once he had allowed his emotions to the surface, it had all been real.

But had Sansa? A little voice in his head asked.

Has she been pretending, knowing that it would bring her home.

He dismissed the thoughts. He couldn't allow doubt to creep in his mind now. He didn't have the luxury of pulling back and making sure Sansa wasn't just playing a game with him.

All too soon, Jon was being lifted up onto the stage where Varys waited, his robes a soft rose colour in a thin silk that was very romantic.

Then he turned and saw Sansa, looking thinner than he'd ever seen her, running towards him. She flung her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. He nuzzled down into her hair, breathing in the scent of lemon.

"The victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games," Varys said with a sigh.

The crowd cheered and Jon and Sansa drew apart. Mindful of Jorah's words, Jon pressed a soft kiss on her forehead and then a more passionate one on her lips that lasted longer than was probably comfortable for those watching.

Then they were bring ushered to a small loveseat and pushed down onto it as Varys asked them all kinds of questions. Sansa sat cuddled up next to him, looking impossibly young in a matching yellow dress to his shirt. Her shoes were kicked off and her feet tucked under her as she simpered at Varys and the crowd and answered most of the questions.

Then it was time for the highlights of the Games and Jon could not help the way he tensed up. Sansa leant her head on his shoulder and her hand brushed his knee comfortingly. He looked down and she was giving him an understanding look. Neither of them wanted to watch this but it was all part of the celebration and they had to look interested as the cameras would keep panning onto their faces.

Jon kept his face clear as he watched footage of him and Shireen. It helped that Sansa squeezed his hand tightly and he could focus on that rather than Shireen's soft smiles and the horror of the moment when that spear had pierced her chest. As he had expected, they'd shown nothing of how he had mourned her, the flowers only shown once the hovercraft had collected her body.

"One of the highlights of these Games for me," Varys said, once the viewing was over. "Was watching you, Jon, fall in love with Sansa. We all know that she went into the arena carrying affections for you, but when was the moment that you realised you loved her back?"

It was the kind of question Jon dreaded. It was bad enough having his feelings under the spotlight for the whole of King's Landing to analyse without him having to verbalise them too.

"I think those feelings had been there before the arena," Jon said quietly and the crowd sat forward lapping up his words. "The time that we spent in King's Landing enabled me to get to know Sansa, but I didn't want to acknowledge those feelings. We were going into the arena and I might have to kill her."

He caught eyes with Jorah in the crowed who shook his head a little and Jon knew to try and stay away from the grim side of the Games.

Play up the romance, Jorah's eyes seemed to be saying.

"But when the announcement came that two tributes from the same region could come home, I no longer had to suppress how much I had come to love her."

Sansa squeezed his arm and kissed his cheek and the crowd ah-ed.

"I was never more grateful to see Jon as when I did," Sansa said, lightening the mood, making everyone laugh and moving the questions forward.

The final part of the evening was for the victors to be crowned. President Aerys came out, followed by one crown on a velvet cushion. Jon wondered who was going to be crowned and how this was going to be played out when President Aerys twisted the crown apart and it broke away into two small crowns.

President Aerys was all smiles as he placed the crowns on their heads but his eyes blazed with anger and Jon had to suppress a shudder. If he had not realised just how powerful an enemy he had made then he knew it then.

Finally, the victory programme was over, but the night was yet to end for Jon and Sansa as they were required to attend a victory feast at the Red Keep.

It was held in the old King's Throne Room, which was a massive hall that had a monstrosity of an iron throne at one end. It was huge and there were stairs to reach the actual throne, which looked insanely uncomfortable. It appeared to be made out of swords and he couldn't imagine why the old kings of Westeros would've wanted to sit on something that could harm them.

The hall was decorated with large dragon skulls. A reminder that President Aerys was a member of House Targaryen, who had conquered the old Westeros with blood and fire atop their dragons. Perhaps it was now apt that President Aerys now ruled over the region with the blood of the Hunger Games.

Sansa shivered as they entered. "This place is horrible," she whispered into Jon's shoulder and he couldn't agree more. However, they had to play excited and in love victors which meant swirling around to the music with whatever guest wanted to dance with them and eating from the never ending courses that came out.

Jon was full after a fraction of the food had been served. Guyard laughed at him and offered him a vial of some sort. "Go to the bathroom, drink this and you'll vomit. Then you can come back out again and eat more food."

It took a moment for Jon to work out exactly what Guyard meant and when the meaning of the vial struck Jon, he recoiled in disgust.

"Why would I want to do that?" Jon snapped, turning the vial down angrily.

Guyard just shrugged and moved on leaving Jon stewing behind him.

"What was that about?" Sansa asked.

"He offered me something to make more room in my stomach for food."

"Ooh, I could use something like that," Sansa said with a smile.

"Not this you couldn't," Jon said and explained.

Sansa's disgusted facial expression said it all. "To think that people in the regions are starving and they are taking potions to make themselves sick so they can gorge on more food," she said.

Then the night was over, and Jon and Sansa were being driven back to the Dragonpit and their apartment. They would be leaving for the North tomorrow and Jon couldn't wait. He wanted nothing more than to leave this hideous place and return back to the cool, sharp air of the North and Bran.

The train journey home was quiet. Jorah retired to his room and Myranda pottered about looking pleased and excited.

"I am going to miss my favourite tributes. You have done me so proud," she said before she continued and ruined it. "Maybe next year I'll be promoted to a better region."

Not bothering to wait for their reactions, she clapped her hands at the prospect and disappeared out of the room.

"Good to know that we might have scored a promotion for her," Jon said sarcastically.

"Yeah, that's precisely what I was aiming for when I went into the arena," Sansa replied with a laugh.

That brought it back to Jon that he still didn't really know where he stood with Sansa. Had she been playing a game when she'd declared her feelings for him in the interviews before they went into the arena? And carried that on inside the Games, knowing it would give her an angle to play with the audience and to gain sponsors.

He sat down close beside her and asked her quietly, aware of the bugs that King's Landing planted on all their tribute trains. "Did you mean what you said about me before the Games started?" he asked.

"When I said what?"

"That…you know…that you liked me?" he asked nervously, tugging on his curls.

She looked up at him then with sad eyes. "I didn't lie about any of it. Why did you?"

"No," he said vehemently. "No, none of it was pretend."

She beamed up at him then with a breath-taking smile of true happiness. "Then I guess this makes it easier for when we get home."

"What do you think we'll have to do," he asked, slipping his arm around and pulling her close into him.

"Pretend that we are violently in love," she said.

"Hmm…that's going to be such a hardship."

Jon didn't know what the future would bring, what kind of horrors President Aerys and King's Landing had in store for him and Sansa, but he knew that he could face whatever they were as long as he had Sansa by his side.