a lady of winterfell update, chapter fifteen: the masqueraders
I have always considered myself a son first and a military man second, but all that has changed. I am your husband first, and I cannot bear for you to think that you could be anything less than the woman who has consumed my every thought and held sway over my every move long before I knew you did. Your joy is my joy, and your pain is my pain. The home that you have made in my heart belongs to you and you alone, Sansa. Without you, there is only an emptiness within me that I will never be able to fill. You, you are more than I imagined and you are more than I deserve. And whether or not you return these feelings, it will not change the fact that I-I love you.
Sansa knits gifts each year, and everyone groans when they unwrap them except Jon. She’s a natural, however, and her scarves and hats are stylish and practical. Robb and Arya grudgingly wear an item or two after Catelyn gives them The Look, but secretly Sansa’s gifts are in the tops of their drawers, because they’re useful.
Jon though - Jon comes to the holiday celebration wearing every single piece of clothing Sansa has knitted for him over the years. The family snickers when he walks in the door because he’s head-to-toe Sansa - hat, scarf, sweater, mittens, socks, even the dark brown satchel she knitted for him that he uses to play Santa for Rickon.
Sansa’s gift for Jon is in a prominent spot under the tree this Christmas - there’s really nowhere to put it except right up front, the box is so large. Robb hushes Rickon as Jon tears into the silver paper, but Rickon insists on asking if it’s a pair of knit pants, because what else is left?
Jon’s mouth falls open as he lifts up the afghan. Even Arya gasps - it’s beautiful, thick ivory yarn with a cable motif.
Sansa claps her hands and sits next to Jon, helping him pull the never-ending blanket out of the box. When they’re finished she shakes it out over both of their laps. Jon’s ears are red but he’s smiling.
“What’s gong on?” Rickon asks. Catelyn Stark already looks pale.
Sansa takes Jon’s hand. “Jon and I are moving in together. He needs a blanket we can share when we watch movies and…watch TV,” she finishes, blushing under Robb’s glare.
“Wait, you’re dating?” Arya looks like she swallowed a nasty piece of fish.
“They’ve been dating for a year now,” Bran says quietly.
“A year and a half,” Catelyn murmurs, “but this is too fast, Sansa. You hardly know each other.”
Sansa straightens in her seat. “We’ve known each other forever, mother. Besides, I asked you for the knitting pattern six months ago.”
Ned puts an arm around Catelyn’s shoulder. “Didn’t you make me a blanket like that, when we moved into our first apartment?”
Catelyn’s lips are pressed into a thin line. “I did. But this isn’t the same.”
Jon takes a shaky breath. “I know it seems like a lot, Ms. Stark, but I promise I’ll be good to her.”
“Damn right you will,” Robb growls in his Big Brother voice.
Sansa stops herself from rolling her eyes. “Robb, Jon’s your best friend, and I really care about him. Trust us, okay?”
Robb runs a hand through his hair. “Fine. But I know where you live, Jon Snow.”
Jon nods. “I know you do.”
Sansa thrusts Robb’s present into his arms. “Please have the ‘I’ll intimidate your boyfriend’ talk after Christmas, Robb. Let’s not stop the evening.”
Robb grumbles, but agrees, and soon the family’s swept up in opening brightly wrapped boxes and bags. Arya plugs her new ear buds into her phone, Rickon narrowly misses Bran as he drives his toy truck around the carpet, and Ned and Catelyn are sitting in the loveseat, passing books back and forth. Robb wanders off to call Jeyne, after some more pointed glaring in Jon’s direction.
From time to time, though, Ned catches Sansa’s eye, and he’s smiling a little at Jon. Sansa smiles back and leans her head on Jon’s shoulder. Her father’s always liked Jon, and Sansa knows she can count on Ned to run interference with her mother and Robb. Sansa twined her fingers with Jon and kisses him on the cheek.
“So they haven’t killed me yet,” Jon whispers.
“They won’t,” Sansa answers. “They like you too much. So do I.”
Jon’s eyes are sparkling. “Movies and TV, huh?”
“Well I can’t exactly tell them all of our plans for it, can I?”
Jon sneaks a peek at Catelyn. “Uh, no, definitely not.” He brushes a kiss over her hair. “Thanks for this, love. It’s the best gift I could wish for.”
“It’s the best gift for me too, Jon.” Sansa feels warm and happy, next to the Christmas tree. She has her family around her, and Jon to go home to.
She bit her lip and exhaled shakily, “If you are so sickened by the prospect of marrying me, we should be able to obtain an annulment easily enough with your father’s connections.”
“I will do no such thing.” he snapped, refusing to look at her.
Sansa had never felt more rejected than she did at that moment. Her past experiences of being humiliated at the hand of Joffrey did not feel as painful as this. Even so, she could not allow him to see the weakness in her, not now.
“I refuse to be left out, Jon.” she said, tilting her chin up to look down at him.
He grimaced. They were silent for longer than she cared to count, but each second that he did not speak chipped away at her resolve and her ability to withhold her tears. Jon did not want her, and she could not blame him. It should not have distressed her as much as it did. She was never his favourite sister, she who treated him as a stranger since she was old enough to understand what a bastard was. A tear slipped down to her face until she tasted the salt of it on her lips.
tags: Alternate Universe - Modern, Oneshot, Explicit Sexual Content, University, Halloween, Costume Party, Exes to Lovers, They Are Not Related, Bickering Stark Siblings, Star Wars Cosplay, Mean Girls Cosplay, Cafe AU, Jon Wears Space Buns, Shorty Robe Wearing Robb, Horror Booth Shenanigans, Breaking Up & Making Up, Chaotic Humor
“Is that a lightsaber?” Margaery asked Robb, attention fully on him as she reached out to touch the hilt strapped to his waist. If Theon’s hopes of hooking up with her hadn’t already flown out the window, it certainly did now.
Robb cleared his throat, careful to maintain eye contact instead of staring at her breasts like the rest of the guys that walked past them to stop and stare. “Erm. Yeah. I borrowed it from my brother, Bran.” he managed to say, removing it from his belt to let Sansa’s friend hold it herself.
The heiress weighed it in her hand and twisted it around like a baton before finally switching it on; the saber made its distinctive hum as it extended, glowing bright blue under the club’s red lights, “It’s bigger than I expected.” she remarked, tilting her head innocently.
Jon choked on his drink then, his laughing eyes meeting Sansa’s own in a moment of shared understanding. She couldn’t count how many times they had shared that look with one another before she ruined things.
tags: Regency AU, Marriage of Convenience, Scandal, Slow Burn, In Denial
sneak peak
Gingerly, he released her hand and sat up from his place on the bed to look down at her, “I’m sorry…for being a burden that you’ve been forced to bear.”
Sansa pulled the blankets with her as she rose to rest her back against the headboard, the inner corners of her brows drawn up when she looked at him. "You are not a burden, you never have been…You have been nothing but patient and kind and—” she paused, suddenly unable to meet his gaze when she finished saying what she meant to say, “I am the burden in this marriage.”
He stared at her dumbly, stunned by her words. His lips pressed together into a tight line, stifling the anger that twitched inside him. Jon hated it when she spoke so lowly of herself. He shook his head, thinking of the words to string together in a proper retort, “Sansa, you—”
‘You are the only person who silences the chaos in my mind. You are the light in my darkest moments and my strength as you are equally my weakness. You are far braver than you give yourself credit for, and I dream of making you as happy as you will allow me to.’
“—you are the furthest thing from a burden…and there is no one whom I have come to depend on more than you.” he told her, though the words felt hollow as soon as they escaped his mouth.
Summary: Jon Snow learns the truth about his heritage, and locks himself in his room, furious and ashamed. Jaime Lannister, Sansa’s sworn shield, arrives with food and a harsh message. Sansa herself follows shortly after, and Jon and Sansa get into an argument. In the heat of the moment Sansa confesses she’s glad he’s part Targaryen, and Jon reveals his true feelings for Sansa. 1k. Tagging @marydri @aliceinfwonderland @cup-of-etoiles @wajeehaqureshi @drinny-4ever
***
Jon wished Jaime Lannister had been anywhere else, when Sam stammered out the truth of Jon’s heritage.
But Jaime was Sansa’s sworn shield, much as Jon despised the notion, and she’d ordered Jaime to stay as Sam talked them through the annulment of Rhaegar Targaryen’s marriage.
Jon had listened with growing horror as Bran narrated the scene of his birth. Not a Stark. Never a Stark. His name and his family, ripped out from under him. He’d hurled Sam’s book across the room and hadn’t stopped running until he bolted himself in his chambers.
Now Jaime pounded on Jon’s door. No mistaking the sound of his golden fist. Jon recoiled from the noise, and huddled closer to the fire.
“Targaryens do still need to eat, you realize that don’t you? Your newfound dragon blood won’t keep you from starving.”
“Leave,” Jon growled.
“No, you see, I take orders from Lady Stark, not from you, and my orders are to stand here like a page boy with a tray of food until you eat it.” Jaime sighed. ”Lady Sansa’s worried about you, worried sick. So here I am carrying your stew.”
Jaime would do it, too. Stand guard until Jon yielded. Jon grudgingly opened the door. Jaime gave him a mocking little bow before setting the platter down. Jon stared at him in silence.
Jaime cleared his throat. “At least I understand why you look at Lady Sansa the way you do. Targaryens do have a propensity for–“
Jon snapped, and slammed him into the wall. He drew his dagger and held it to Jaime’s neck. “Finish that sentence, Kingslayer.”
Jaime held his gaze. “For loving their kin,” he murmured. “Go on, go ahead, make it quick. But strike clean, or I’ll hunt you down. I killed your grandfather. I wouldn’t mind continuing the streak.”
He’s mad himself, Jon thought, mad and brave and not afraid to die.
Jon drew back, breathing heavily. “Don’t you dare speak Sansa’s name.”
Jaime raised his hands. “Very well. I’ll see myself out.” He glanced back before he shut the door. “She loves you, you must know that. Everyone can see it.” Jaime smirked. “Everyone but you.”
Jon lunged, but Jaime was already gone.
***
The next knock on his door was light, but Jon knew instantly who it was. His heart sank.
“Jon, please, please let me come inside.” The simmering, furious, wounded part of him wanted to shut her out forever, shut everyone out. But he couldn’t do that to her. Not when he could hear the note of fear in her voice. He tamped down his anger and let her in.
Sansa had dark circles under her eyes. She stormed into the room.
“Jon, we’re still your family, we still love you! You can be a Stark and a Targaryen!”
“No I can’t! I can’t, Sansa, I’ve told you and told you I’m not a Stark and I never was.”
“Would Lyanna agree with you? Your mother, who gave her life for you? Who begged father to protect you? Who gave you to the Stark half of her family?” Sansa was flushed and furious.
Guilt twisted in Jon’s chest. All the people who’d died for him. Lied for him.
You never asked for it, a mutinous voice in his head hissed. You never asked for any of this.
“How can you bear to look at me Sansa? Stand to be around me? My grandfather was the Mad King! My ancestors forced the North to kneel!”
And I despise myself, for how I feel about you, how I burn with want when you’re close. I have to protect you from the monster inside me.
Sansa took a step towards him. “Well I’m glad you’re both! I’m glad because…because…”
Read more below or continue on AO3
Sansa was looking at his lips and her cheeks were flushed and gods he might be wrong, he might, but he wanted her. A recklessness overtook him, one he’d tried kept locked inside him since he came back from the dead.
She loves you too. You must know that.
“If I weren’t a Targaryen would I want to do this?”
He took her face in his hands, and leaned in, capturing her mouth. He’d meant to be gentle, but the moment his lips touched hers his body constricted with need and he licked into her mouth. He thanked the gods when she whimpered and pulled him closer, as desperate as he was for the kiss. They were a tangle of tongues and teeth and her skin was as soft and smooth as he’d dreamed, night after guilty night.
She melted into his embrace, throwing her arms around his neck as if she’d never get close enough. The fevered way she gasped his name, Jon, before opening her mouth to him again drove him wild.
He couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. Their touches were frenzied and hot and heated as she tugged at the rawhide strip in his hair. He yanked it off and cast it away. She sighed when she carded her hands through his curls, tightening her grip, making his scalp tingle. He moaned and pulled her flush to him, pressing open-mouthed kisses down her neck. He needed her more than air, and now that he’d tasted her, held her, felt her shudder when he nipped at the spot just below her ear there was no going back.
She reached for the laces of her dress. Her hair was mussed and her pupils were blown and his blood sang with the knowledge that she ached for him as well. He longed to drag her to the bed and kiss every inch of her skin. But this wasn’t temporary madness, this was forever. He couldn’t let himself get carried away entirely. He had to know if it was forever for her.
He stopped her, and kissed her palm. “Sansa, wait…”
She smiled at him. “Didn’t you just tell me you wanted to see all of me, right now?”
Jon blinked. He had been talking, a stream of pleas and endearments, and he yearned to see her naked and waiting for him. But he summoned up a shred of restraint and caressed her cheek instead.
“I did, sweet girl, I’m sure I did.”
Sansa laughed, a delicate, lovely sound. “You don’t even remember, do you.” She was happy, light and teasing, nuzzling his jaw, warming his heart.
“No,” he admitted, but he was smiling too. “No, I don’t, but I want to remember this.” He took a deep breath. How anxiety and doubt could still thrum through his veins he wasn’t certain, but he knew he wanted more than a passionate kiss. He wanted a life with her.
So tell her.
“I love you, Sansa–“
“I love you too Jon.”
“I want to marry you under the heart tree, make you my wife, cherish you, care for you.” He kissed her forehead. “I want to fill the castle with children, children with your red hair and your blue eyes–“
She kissed his cheek. “We could have a grey eyed baby too. A boy with dark hair. Or a girl.” She blushed, and Jon laced his fingers with hers and squeezed, gently. Perhaps she was nervous as well. But she had nothing, absolutely nothing to be worried about. He’d do anything she asked.
“That sounds wonderful, love.”
She ducked her head. “I’ve married you half a hundred times under the heart tree in my dreams already. Before…before I knew you were my cousin.”
Jon stifled the laugh that bubbled up inside him. Was that her concern? But he needed to reassure her, and laughing was unlikely to help. He tilted her chin so he could meet her gaze. “So did I Sansa. So did I.”
She smiled, then rested her head on his shoulder. “Then it’s lucky for us you’re a Targaryen, or we’d have suffered though each other’s weddings.” She peeked up at him. “Would you tell me? About the wedding you imagined?”
Jon leaned in, tracing the shell of her ear. “What if I tell you about all the weddings nights I’ve dreamed of instead?”
Sansa shivered. “I’d rather you show me first.”
Jon grinned, and kissed her again. He granted her wish that night, and the next morning too, and every night thereafter.
A pre-canon au where Jon and Sansa have loved each other ever since they were children. Inspired by this amazing fic written by @letjonsnownap and this amazing fic by @ladywolfmd! 2k.
***“
“Sing me another song, Jon.”
Sansa curled up next to Jon’s side. She tucked her head under his chin as the thunder boomed. Jon’s chambers were smaller than hers, but as soon as he saw the first flash of lightning he knew Sansa would be off and running, on her way to him. Sansa was proud of being a little lady at four, but Winterfell’s storms terrified her.
“What do you want to hear?” Jon stifled a yawn. Jon would stay up with her, as long as she needed. Robb would, too, of course, but Sansa had confided that Robb teased sometimes, about being afraid of the rain.
“Florian and Jonquil.”
Jon started to sing, in a high, sweet voice. He never sang for anyone else, never even considered it. But a month ago, when Sansa couldn’t stop shaking as the hail pelted the windows, he’d tried it, and she’d soon fallen asleep in his arms. The same was true tonight - Sans’s breathing evened out, and soon she was dreaming peacefully.
Her mother found Sansa in Jon’s bed the next morning.
“Sansa!” Lady Catelyn’s face was bright red. Sansa shrunk into a ball. Jon fumed silently. He knew Sansa hated disappointing her mother, and there was no call to shout at a small girl.
”Out, right now! Leave!”
Sansa stumbled down the hall. Lady Catelyn fixed Jon with a stare. “If I ever find Sansa in your rooms again, Ned will know if it, and punish you.”
“Yes, Lady Catelyn.” Jon’s pride stung, but he worried about Sansa too, especially when he saw her clinging to her mother’s skirts later that day.
“Why mama? I was scared. Jon sings to me, he’s nicer than Robb, he-”
Lady Catelyn carded her hand through Sansa’s hair, but her voice was firm. “Sleep with Robb, if you’re frightened, Sansa. He’ll help you. Not Jon.”
Because I’m a bastard, Jon thought darkly. He was seven, no longer a baby. He knew where the lines were drawn.
***
Robb instinctively stepped in to be Sansa’s champion when the Stark children played Knights and Dragons. Sansa was a lady of twelve now, a highborn daughter of Winterfell. Jon hovered at the edges, bitter but resigned.
He rarely saw Sansa these days. She was swept up in sewing and music lessons. She’d be wooed, in a few years, princes coming from distant kingdoms to win her hand.
Why would she need him to sing to her, when her life was a song already?
Read more below or continue on AO3
He was nursing a good sulk as he stalked off to the godswood one afternoon. Only the sound of sniffling shook him out of his bad humor. Sansa’s green cloak covered half her face as she knelt by the tree. Her hair was mussed, and tears streaked her cheeks. Jon ran to her. Sansa turned away.
“I’m sorry Jon, I’ll leave you to your prayers, I didn’t mean-”
“These woods are more yours than mine, Sansa.” He risked putting a hand gently on her shoulder “Are - are you all right?”
Sansa closed her eyes. Jon knelt carefully next to her.
Sansa seemed to be struggling to talk, until the words burst out of her. “No, no I’m not, a boy, in the stables, he attacked he, pawed at my dress, and I couldn’t run-”
Jon was on his feet. “I’ll kill him, Sansa, stay here-”
To his surprise, she caught his hand. “Robb’s already after him.”
Of course he is, Jon thought, he’s your champion, not me.
Sansa turned her face up to him. “But…would you stay, Jon? For a little while?”
Jon’s heart constricted. Sansa used to ask that of him, when she was a baby, if she could stay for a little while. He gave her the same answer now he gave her then.
“As long as you like Sansa, always.” He sat down next to her, in the soft carpet of leaves, and put his arm around her shoulder. Sansa leaned inside his side, crying again, until she fell into his arms. This was dangerous, dangerous, but he he drew her close to his chest all the same. She settled into his embrace. He stroked her back and gave in to the old, familiar joy of comforting her. Sansa’s sobbing subsided as they sat beneath the heart tree. Jon held his breath when Sansa tucked her head under Jon’s chin.
“Jon would you - could you-” This couldn’t be easy for her, letting him soothe her, when her mother had insisted on keeping them apart.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. He’d seen Robb do the same. Surely there was nothing wrong with the gesture.
“What song would you like, Sansa?” He felt he curve of her lips against his shirt. He sent a prayer of thanks to the old gods, wrong as it was, when she let him sing Florian and Jonquil to her again.
***
Jon held the gauze to his arm, hissing. Maester Luwin had tended to the wound, and he’d return to stitch him up once he was finished with Robb. Ser Rodrick had permitted Jon and Robb to use tourney swords for Jon’s sixteenth name day. Robb and Jon had clashed a little too enthusiastically, and they were both laid up in bed this afternoon.
Jon knew it might be an hour till he saw the man again. Maester Luwin was thorough, and did not neglect his duties. But Robb liked to talk when he “bested” someone in the training yard. The maester would have no choice but to listen. Jon stared at the ceiling as blood seeped through the dressing.
“Jon? Jon, it’s Sansa, may I come in?”
Jon blinked. He must have dozed off. “Yes, of course, come in.”
Sansa bustled into the room with gauze and a needle. “Maester Luwin sent me, he’ll be a while longer with Robb, he…”
Jon snorted. “He needs to hear the heroic story of how two boys managed to cut each other with tourney swords.”
Sansa tsked, but a smile played at the corner of her lips. “Jon, be kind. But yes, Robb’s been spinning a tale and…I was worried about you. Maester Luwin gave me leave to come see you, I’m good at sewing, I might be able to stitch you up, Jon, only if you didn’t mind-” Sansa was chattering, nervous.
Jon took her hand, touched by her concern. “That’s very thoughtful of you Sansa, but you needn’t worry. I’m-” He broke off and hissed again as Sansa removed the bandage.
Her eyes darkened. “He shouldn’t have left you like this, Jon. The cut’s deep, it needs tending.” All her hesitation was gone as she pushed him back onto the pillow. Jon was pleasantly light-headed and barely felt the sting of the needle as Sansa sewed. She wrapped his arm up again, more tightly.
Jon was warm under the blankets, drowsy. Sansa touched his forehead. She frowned. “You’re running a fever, Jon, I’ll have the maester come right away. You need him.” Jon marveled at how blue her eyes were, how beautiful she was. He stopped himself before he reached out to touch her hair.
Sansa leaned in to kiss his cheek, just like he’d seen her do for Robb after she tended to his wounds. “Please, Jon, get better for me.”
He turned to tell her he’d be fine, to thank her, and Sansa kissed his lips instead. They leapt apart. Jon half-expected Sansa to run. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Sansa brushed his hair from his brow and leaned in again.
Jon put a hand on her chest, even though all he wanted to do was chase her lips win his own. “Sansa, wait…”
Then all he could say was her name, again and again, once she started to kiss him in earnest. His heart hammered in his chest. He sat up, cupping the back of her head and kissed her more deeply, until they were both breathless.
A knock on the door startled them apart.
“That’s Maester Luwin. I’ll…I’ll go, now.” Sansa murmured. She gathered her supplies and left, but not before squeezing Jon’s hand firmly, almost desperately. For the first time Jon wondered if Sansa might yearn for him as he longed for her.
***
Prince Joffrey came to visit that fall. Jon hated him on sight, hated the cruel lines of his face and his worm lips, but hated him more than anything for how he mocked Sansa behind her back. Jon was shocked to learn his father had agreed to a marriage between Sansa and the prince. Robert Baratheon was king, though, and a king’s command could not be turned aside.
Perhaps it was for the best. Jon couldn’t meet Sansa’s eye anymore, not after the kiss they’d shared. It was his duty to stop this madness before it started. He kept far away from Sansa, and readied himself for the long march to the Wall.
Jon was packing up his warmest clothes when he heard a light knock at the door. He knew instantly who it was, even though the hour was late. He froze.
“Jon, it’s Sansa, may I…may I say goodbye?” Her voice broke on the last word. Jon rushed to the door.
Sansa was in her nightrail and dressing gown. Her auburn hair tumbled down her shoulders. Jon ushered her inside, careful not to touch her. She picked up one of his gloves, twisted it in her hands. “It’s true, then. You’re off to the Wall.”
“And you’re off to King’s Landing,” Jon said sharply. He winced inwardly. He hadn’t meant to chastise her, but his anger boiled over.
Sansa tossed the glove down. “You think I want to go? With him? With that prince? With a man who can’t bear to be near me, who can’t-“ She burst into tears. All the fight went out of Jon. He took her in his arms, and let Sansa lead him to his bed.
“I’m sorry, Sansa, I’m so sorry, I wish you didn’t have to leave, I wish-“
“I wish I could stay with you,” she whispered. She kissed him as if they’d never stopped, that day when she’d dressed his wounds. They clung to each other. She was warm, and pliant, and he was already lost.
Jon kissed her tears away, powerless against the wave of desire that welled up inside him at the sweet press of her lips, the small noises she made as she climbed into his lap. He kissed her mouth and her cheek and her collarbone, murmuring promises he could not keep into her ear. He couldn’t stop touching her, overwhelmed by the blinding storm, the ferocious force that seemed determined to pull them together. Sansa clutched at his shirt, tugging him closer.
“Jon, please, I-“
Ned Stark burst into the room. There was no mistaking the two of them, how Sansa was cradled on Jon’s lap, how they were both flushed. Sansa shrieked, and ran. Jon closed his eyes. He had to fix this, for Sansa’s sake.
“It’s my fault, father, all of it, don’t blame her.” Blame me, and my bastard blood.
Ned Stark had never laid on a hand on Jon, but Jon fully expected a blow. He deserved one.
Instead, his father ran a weary hand over his face. “You leave for the Wall tomorrow, Jon, and you will not see Sansa again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, father.”
Jon thought of Sansa often, over the years, until the memory of her began to fade, worn at the edges, like the memories of the rest of his family.
***
“Open the gates!”
Jon trembled as he and Edd stood on the balcony at Castle Black. It could still be Uncle Benjen, come back for him. He’d never given up hope, entirely, that he might see his uncle again.
Then Sansa dismounted, and Jon couldn’t breathe.
It can’t be her. It’s not possible. She died with the Lannisters.
Sansa’s gaze met his. Jon walked towards her in a daze. The snow fell thick between them. Is this a trick? The red woman’s magic? I’m seeing things that aren’t there, maybe I’m still dead, maybe I never came back-
Then Sansa threw herself into his arms, and the weight of her, her warmth, almost brought him to his knees. She nuzzled his cheek and he let himself believe it was truly her, back with him now, after so many years. She was alive, and strong and free. He brought her in from the cold, and bundled Sansa up by the fire. He went to get something hot, whatever soup or stew their meager kitchen had.
Tormund stopped him in the hall. “Your woman?” He jerked his head towards Jon’s chambers.
“My sister,” he gritted out. For once, Tormund leaned back, raised his eyebrows but let him be.
Jon sighed. She is, she’s your sister, nothing’s changed, except you don’t have a child’s excuses anymore.
Sansa did not approach him, or try to kiss him, while they fought for their home. She’d outgrown the whirlwind of folly that swept them up when they were younger. Jon’s heart ached, but he resolved to do the same.
***
“So you’re Aegon Targaryen, you see,“ Sam said. “It’s - it’s right here, in the book, and Daenerys…well Daenerys is your aunt.”
And Sansa’s my cousin.
“What should we do, Jon?” Sam was concerned, as he should be. This was a matter of life and death. Jon posed a threat to a queen he’d prodded himself to seduce. Now Jon was a danger to her, and the three full grown dragons that roamed the skies.
“We’ll think of something, Sam.” Sansa was brisk, all business, every bit the Lady of Winterfell. “Can you please leave us for a moment? We can speak again in the morning.”
Sam bowed and left.
For a brief moment when they were alone neither of them moved, and then Sansa threw herself into his arms again. Jon caught her and he kissed her, kissed her, kissed her, tasting her mouth, drunk on her closeness and her scent and how it felt to bury his nose in her hair.
“Jon, Jon, I love you, I have, since we were children, I-”
Jon pulled back and kissed her forehead. “I love you too Sansa, you must know that. I always have, always.”
Sansa’s smile was radiant, as beautiful as the sun. Jon resolved to wed her, when the war was over, no matter the cost.
