Sansa watched as Jon led Daenerys through the grounds. The way they walked next to each other, close enough to just barely touch, made her jaw tighten in a way she was unaccustomed to. Sansa had experienced many novel quirks since the arrival of the Dragon Queen; something about her, about always seeing Jon with her invoked in Sansa a frosty disposition that hardened her and frightened those who witnessed the change, the shift to a stoniness that made her almost statuesque. She didn't know how long she'd been staring at them before Jon looked up and saw her standing on the balcony.

Their eyes connected for a moment and Sansa felt a bit of her chill melt, a quick flutter of her heart that wasn't uncommon whenever she and Jon looked at each other but still caught her by surprise whenever it tickled her chest. She turned away, leaning her back against the railing and nearly started when a few minutes later, he came toward her, joining her on the balcony.

They said nothing for a few moments.

"She's quite beautiful," said Sansa finally. "Your silver-haired queen."

The neutrality of her tone didn't fool Jon; in fact it betrayed the depth of her anger at him and caused his hands to tremor with anxiety. "Sansa…"

"Before I sentenced him to die, Lord Baelish suggested her beauty is what made you bend the knee," she said. "That seemed too common a reason for you but perhaps it's a weakness in Stark men. To follow beautiful women to their doom."

Jon looked sharply at her. "Do you really think I would put all the North at risk because I thought a woman was beautiful? Do you really think I would put you at risk for something like that?"

"I don't know what to think anymore," said Sansa.

Her words were a pang in his chest, a painful ache that made him flinch. "How could you say that?"

"What do you expect me to say, Jon, you didn't consult any of the Northern houses, you didn't consult me. You never consult me."

Slowly, Sansa's frigidity gave way to a rising in her chest, a rising that threatened to scorch upon its release.

"Sansa, my reasons are—"

"Are what?" she said severely. "Now you want to consult with me? After the fact?"

"Will you not let me get a word in?" said Jon.

"Why should I when you didn't afford me the same courtesy?"

"That isn't fair."

"At least we agree on that! I suppose you didn't know that everyday for weeks I would look for a raven from you? For all I know you could've been dead or held prisoner never to return. But I suppose you never thought about that? I suppose it's easy to forget the people you left behind when you venture so far?"

The words were spilling from Sansa's mouth fuelled more by anger than actual concern; it was hard for her to discern where this rage sprang from, it was a sense of betrayal certainly but a betrayal that felt more primal than logical and it compelled her to keep shouting.

"I thought that leaving the North in my care meant that you finally trusted me enough—"

"Do not talk to me about trust," said Jon, his voice rising. He felt his incredulity swell into anger, anger at her presumption, at her charge that he didn't trust her, that he didn't carry her with him wherever he went. "You are the one who isn't trusting me, Sansa."

"And how should I trust you? As a king who abandoned his people or as a brother who abandoned his family."

"You should trust me as a man!" he yelled. He paused. Sansa's eyes widened imperceptibly and Jon felt a nervousness roil in his gut but he continued speaking.

"You should trust me as a man who tries to do what's best, who tries to take his duty seriously. Every decision I make, I have you in mind! I bent the knee to Daenerys because I believe she can make the world a better place, a better place for all of us, a better place for you! The moment you came to the Wall, I swore that I would do everything I could to protect you and —"

"Oh for Goodness Sake, Jon, I am not your helpless little sister who is in need of —"

"I don't try to protect you because I think you're helpless, I try to protect you because of how much you mean to me, Sansa! Can you really not tell the difference?"

"Can you really not understand that it's hard to see the difference when you don't respect me enough to involve me in your decisions?"

"Do you really believe that? That I don't respect you, that I don't admire you for surviving everything that you have? There isn't anyone I respect more than you!"

"Except her," said Sansa coldly, taking a step to walk away.

Jon turned her around, his hands grasping her shoulders so he could look her in the eye with all of his intent and sincerity, he burned for her to understand the intensity of his affection and knew he would hold her gaze until she understood it in her bones. She stared back at him, her expression guarded but her green eyes shining with what Jon recognized as vulnerability, a vulnerability that inflamed his desire for her to understand. It was strange. He didn't have this impulse with Arya or Bran; his affection for them, protectiveness of them, it was deep-rooted but not nearly as severe. It was a unique feeling, one he didn't even have for Daenerys. And then he wondered why that mattered, why he compared the emotions he felt for the two women when one was most certainly, absolutely, without a doubt brotherly.

"I won't say that Daenerys and I don't share something. We do. I can't quite describe it but it's there, I won't lie to you. But … but …"

Jon's eyes searched Sansa's face; his skin was flushed red with heat even in the Northern cold, his heart beat so fast it was making him light-headed.

"But nothing and no one will ever come between us, Sansa. Nothing and no one will ever distract me from my duty to the North and … and my duty to you. Do you understand?"

Sansa stayed where she was for a moment, captive in Jon's gaze, and then she pulled herself out of his grasp, turning on her heel to head back inside. Perhaps when she was alone she would remember how to breathe again.

Jon sagged against the railing. He felt strangely winded. Exhausted. Empty. And yet his entire body was humming from the impact of the argument. The sensation distracted him to the point that it took him a few gasps of breath to realize that Daenerys was standing on the other end of the balcony.

"Daenerys," he said.

She walked up to him with slow, deliberate steps, skimming her fingers along the ledge. "Your eldest sister?" she inquired. "Sansa?"

"Yes," said Jon. "You heard us?"
"Difficult not to."

Jon nodded. He glanced at her and laughed in confusion. "What's that look?"

"Nothing, it's only…" Daenerys smiled but Jon could tell that she wasn't actually amused. "You are an earnest person." She tilted her head slightly. "It's what drew me to you. But I don't think I have ever seen you quite so affected in the time that I've known you."

"It's Sansa," he said. "She has a way of bringing out my passions is all."

Daenerys nodded. "And you her it seems," she said before walking back the way she came.

Jon watched her go and looked in her direction long after she'd left the balcony. He couldn't shake her shrewd eyes from his mind; and more than that, he couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps she was right, to speak of him and Sansa with such a knowing tone.