The snow was still falling as the shouts died down.
The room seemed to sting with the noise waste…it was chiming in his ears.
He looked around, then sat, moved and humbled beyond thought. He had just been declared the King. The King of the North, just as his father was…just as Robb.
Jon Snow looked at Sansa. She held a ghost of a smile on her face. As soon as he attempted to return it, she looked away.
He swallowed, and looked at Lyanna Mormont, who was holding his gaze. She nodded.
…and he looked around the room. "Thank you," he said. "I haven't the proper words to fully express how much this means to me. I hope to serve you well," and he stood once more. "We will face the winter together."
They all cheered, and there was merriment.
Likely the last of it in some time.
Jon Snow sighed. He looked around once more, then left the hall. He had no desire to speak to anyone…
"Where are you off to, Your Grace?"
He turned and saw Little Finger smiling at him. "I'm going to bed."
"Ah, but now? Now, when the whole of the North is chanting your name?" he shook his head and approached him. "This is unwise, King Snow. You should stay and speak with the houses. They desire your reassurance."
"I'm not one for words," he narrowed his eyes. "Why do you care?"
"Because it is in my interest to care."
"How?"
"Do I need to spell it out for you?"
"Please."
Little Finger sighed. "Well, as it happens, I care very much for your family."
"You care for yourself," Jon spat.
"That too, but I care for the Starks. You are a Stark."
"I'm a bastard."
"With Stark blood."
Jon sighed. "I don't want to hear anything from you, Balish. Stay away from me, stay away from my sister," and he turned once more.
"I helped you ascend to that position they just named you to. Never forget that."
Jon didn't look back, didn't respond.
His heart and his mind were troubled, and he required silence.
Along dark passageways he strode, his mind fixed on one thing, and it wasn't the fact that he was just named King.
Though, he thought, it probably should be.
It wasn't the fact that he had been accosted by Little Finger.
The wretch, he really despised him.
Nor was it the monsters who were lurking beyond the Wall.
It was the fact that Sansa hardly seemed to be pleased with the houses naming him King, and why it was bothering him.
It was the fact that on occasion, over the past few months, he had discovered decidedly un-brotherly impulses toward Sansa. He had been able to ignore them, for the most part.
It was becoming more difficult.
He reached his rooms and closed the door.
He sighed. This was not to be borne! How could he have developed an attraction to his own sister!
Jon rubbed his face and sat on the edge of the bed. He took his furs off and went to the window. He desired repose, but as he had discovered as of late, his sleep was marred by dreams of his sister, doing very unsisterly things to him.
He avoided sleep, and tried to concentrate on the Wights.
As a result, he was exhausted most of the time. Irritable. Jumpy.
And Little Finger was there…the man who sold her to Ramsay Bolton.
Jon looked out into the vast white of Westeros…it was peaceful, and deadly quiet.
A marked distinction from the screaming raging in his mind…she is your sister. There is no way that this can happen. Stop thinking about it, you're driving yourself mad.
And he was. He felt mad. He felt torn in two.
There were many times in his life he had longed to strip himself of his name.
But never quite so much as now.
The sun had long disappeared behind the hills surrounding Winterfell, he knew, because he saw it fall.
Because he couldn't sleep… or he wouldn't sleep because sleep meant Sansa.
He swallowed and stood. Perhaps he ought to walk about.
Jon left and shoved his hands in the pockets of the pants he still wore. His head was down, and he concentrated on the cold stone beneath his feet.
"Jon?"
He started, and there was Sansa, a few feet away from him. "Sansa? Are you all right?"
She shrugged and smirked. "I couldn't sleep."
"No. Neither could I."
She hesitated, then said, "Would you like to walk a bit together?"
He swallowed, nodded, and met her. His nerves were wringing his mind, though he reminded himself that he shouldn't be nervous. She was only Sansa, his sister. "That was a successful meeting, wouldn't you say?"
She laughed. "Yes. I'd say so."
He looked at her, and couldn't help but smile in return. "What?"
"Well, it's just that you're always expecting to be disappointed," as she fell into step with him.
"Am I?"
"You're as glum as they come, Jon Snow," she laughed.
He shrugged, not shedding his smile. "I guess I linger long in the sad bits of life."
"But it isn't all sad, is it?"
His face fell, and he swallowed. "No. Not all."
"Good," though her voice held a choke, and he looked at her as she cleared her throat.
"Is it? You don't seem sure," they rounded a bend, and at the end of the hall, a large window stood, offering a vantage point from which to see the many of the hills. There was a soft, eerie moonlight feathering in from the window, and the chill felt quite deep…it seeped in, through the dark air of Winterfell. Jon went to the window and peered out, his breath misting the glass as he did.
"I'm not sure of anything anymore, Jon," her voice came from behind him.
"No. I don't imagine that you do."
"Look at me."
He turned, and looked at her face…striking features against the deep red of her hair…she was lovely in the moonlight. "I see you."
"You're the only one then. I've been invisible for so long. Invisible," she went on. "Or else desperately trying to be something else."
Jon nodded, and approached her. "You only need to be yourself, Sansa. I know…that is," his eyes fell. "I know we were never close, and that you don't think I can protect you. But I promise, I'll do everything I can to make sure nothing happens to you that you don't want. Ever."
"Thank you. I believe that you'll try," and she pecked his cheek.
Sansa turned away and left him there.
And there he stood, for how long, he knew not.
Because Jon Snow realized something with that tiniest of kisses…he realized that he was no better than the Lannister's…and that enraged him…
Lannister siblings who fucked each other…claimed to love one another…
His chin went up, and he began taking long strides back to his room.
He needn't claim anything. The fact was burned into the very marrow of his bones.
He was in love with his sister.