"Did you bend the knee because of the north or because you love her?"

Jon just stared into Sansa's eyes. He knew this was about to happen the moment he sailed with the Targaryen Queen to the North. Things with his Sansa were different since CastleBlack. They never saw one another as brother and sister and the words felt weird in their mouths when said; it never felt like that.

He only noticed how things were different when they were already set in the North, him as King and she was Lady of Winterfell. He was in her bed days later, entangled in her red flames just like he'd once been with Ygritte, trying his best not to make any noise and attract the guard at her door, or even not trying to think about what they were doing. They'd had the decency of saying it wouldn't happen again every time for the first times, but that was a habit they lost. No one knew, and if anyone did, they never said a thing. Davos sometimes gave him looks and Brienne had silenced Podrick's whispers once, but that was it.

"Sansa..." Jon stepped forward, closer to her.

She just took a step back.

"Answer me."

Her voice was just as cold as the lands around them, just as cold as the tone she'd used with Targaryen Queen.

"I did what I had to do for the North," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully.

"Liar," she said, filled with disgust.

"She wanted me to bend the knee, I..."

Her face was enough to make his heart filled with pain.

'Hit me', he wanted to scream. 'Slap me, punch me, push a knife into my stomach'.

All of those options were better than what she was doing to him, better than the way she looked and sounded hurt because of him.

"I couldn't say no."

"Liar. You did a lot more than just bending the knee."

Jon's blood pumped in his veins faster, loud enough for him to hear it in his ears.

"I had no choice."

"Liar!" her voice came out loud and clear, and both stopped, expecting a reaction to the outburst.

Liar. Liar. Liar. Three times a liar. He had been called many names in his life: Brother, bastard, Lord Snow, crow, Lord Commander, traitor… Brother. Lover. But not a liar. This was the first time he was called a liar.

"I saw you two," she didn't flinch, the pain in her eyes destroying him inside but not even showing on her face. "All Winterfell did."

Sansa knew the answer to the question, even if he didn't. In the bottom of her heart, she knew. She knew it when he arrived when she had laid her eyes on the beautiful foreign queen beside the man who'd promised he'd never let her suffer again.

"I don't love her," he finally whispered, stepping in and cleaning her cheek with a thumb, making Sansa realize a single tear had fallen there. "I couldn't love anyone but you."

She knew better than to lean into his touch but did it the same way, and Jon used the opportunity to kiss her lips, something he'd been dying to do since his arrival.

His sister… Their father would die out of disappointment if he wasn't already dead.

He pulled away, however.

"I must keep convincing her," he affirmed, but Sansa didn't know if he told that to soothe her or himself. "She wants someone to adore her. I'll do what I need to do for the North."

Sansa didn't protest or even answered, keeping her silence.

Stupid girl. Stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learns.

"It's late. You should sleep," he decided, offering her his arm. "I'll accompany you to your chambers."

Sansa took his arm with no words. She kept her silence until they reached her door and only offered him a nodded and a soft goodbye.

She didn't lock the door yet but just sat by the fire and waited, unbraiding her hair. It was just when she heard a knock on the door she moved her eyes away from the flames.

"Lady Sansa?" Brienne called outside.

"Come in."

The blond knight entered the room with heavy steps, the cup still fuming in her free hand and a frown decorating her face.

"Maester Wolkan sent you this, my lady."

Sansa nodded politely.

"Leave it on the table. You can go."

Tansy with mint and wormwood, a spoon of honey and a drop of pennyroyal.

"Moon tea, milady?"

She moved her hand to her lower stomach. She had waited a long time to do this. Almost too long, the maester had said, but her hopes had been too high until them. It was no less than two weeks before Jon had left, and Littlefinger had started to suspect of it the night before his death. She hadn't told Arya, and if Bran knew he hadn't said a word.

"Thank you, Brienne," Sansa insisted.

The knight woman said nothing else and only obeyed. She was just at the door when her Lady called her name.

"Lady Brienne."

She stopped.

"Yes, my lady?"

"I trust you not to tell this to anyone."

Brienne lowered her eyes.

"Of course, my lady."