Cousins.

Ghost had brought Jon to Sansa in the godswood. She was kneeling in her violet skirts in the snow, here hands pressed to the face of the tree. There were tears on her cheeks. Jon bent down, and reached for her-

They were wrenched to the bedside of a women bleeding to death. She was giving a man, father, it's father, a baby, swaddled in rough cloth, with the last ounce of her strength.

Jon. Had it been Bran's voice? She still didn't know.

Promise me, Ned.

They'd looked at each other, speechless, under the red leaves, when the vision receded.

The dragon queen came, and tested Jon by fire. He'd passed through the flame unscathed, a small, defiant form next to Drogon. A Targaryen prince.

What did she know about him, really? He'd held her tight at Castle Black, they'd fought about the Boltons, he'd kissed her brow a few second too long. He'd sworn to protect her, although, in the end, she'd protected herself.

She hated Littlefinger for arranging a public bedding. He'd sculpted it from fears about the legitimacy of her first marriage. They'd be on display in front of hungry and hypocritical eyes, just a sheet to shield them from the crowd. The sheet was Littlefinger's idea, too, it would give the audience enough cover to pretend they were doing something honorable rather than salacious. A master brothel-keeper till the end. When she closed her eyes at night she heard the murmur, the whispers, the rustle of fabric in high-backed chairs. They'd have their titillating play. It would not break her.

Jon had recoiled when she told him, his brown eyes flashing. He'd agreed to the marriage. She'd framed it in terms he could understand, and couldn't avoid. Duty. Honor. Protecting her. Keeping her safe. "I'll be good to you. I swear it." He'd knelt in front of her. His voice was grim.

But the bedding seemed to enrage him. She could understand not wanting to be on display, but she thought his anger ran deeper . Surely he knew they'd have to lay together, at least for an heir, when he'd said yes?

It touched on her greatest fear, how she felt about Jon, that Ramsey had twisted her, somehow. She thought about that kiss too much, and without this bedding in front of them the sweet, vague dreams she had of him would bring her happiness. She resolved to confront him that night.

"We have to talk, Jon. It's three days from now." She closed the door to his chambers behind her. He wouldn't turn her away, not in the evening. There was no council meeting for him to go to, no other other task that needed his attention.

Jon didn't speak. He rested his arms on the windowsill. His profile was severe, his hair pulled back and clear of his face. He was in his bedclothes. She'd see him dressed like this once they were wed, at night, when they'd retire together. They were so close to that future. She yearned for it.

Jon cleared his throat. "There's no other way." It wasn't a question.

"No. Not after Tyrion." Littlefinger has spread all the right rumors, whispered sly insinuations, he'd meant to shame her out of this marriage. He likely hoped she'd come running back to him, so he could play out his sad, sordid fantasy of turning her into her dead mother. He wouldn't win. He couldn't. Looking at Jon frown, in the firelight, she had her doubts. If Jon backed out...

"Jon, you knew, didn't you?" She picked at the blue embroidery on the hem of her shift. "You knew we'd need an heir."

He nodded, once. "Yes. I knew."

Was it that he still thought her a sister? She remembered the warmth, the heat in the look he'd given her after he kissed her, even before they knew they were cousins.

"Will it be the end of the world, Jon?" She tried to keep her tone light.

"Not -" His mouth worked. "Not if it was us, just us. I could...give you all the time you needed."

Or you needed.

He looked over his shoulder at her. "To do this - it feels like forcing you. What you've been through -"

She wouldn't let him define those parameters for her. "I've paid higher prices, Jon. You're protecting me, by doing this." Sansa stood next to him. She reached for his hand and he held it, covering it with his other hand, as if he could hold them in place, hold them both still, when they were hurtling towards the ceremony.

"I know you won't hurt me."

She couldn't read his fervent gaze. "I'd never hurt you."

"The first time will be the hardest. Maybe we could...get it over with, ourselves. It might make the second time easier. How bad is it, Jon? Both of us have done this before. You're not a virgin."

That won her a softening of his eyes. "No." He sighed. "I'd thought to beg an audience of Daenerys, to have her stop this."

"It would just mean more questions, Jon. It would aid Littlefinger's plan." He nodded. "I know. It's why I didn't ask. I do learn, from watching you." She took heart from his small smile.

"I know you care about me." Her voice wavered. He does, she thought. I know he does. He'd fielded an army, fought Ramsey, forgone a marriage to Daenerys to keep her safe. Where will we go?

His knuckles were white. "I do, Sansa."

"But not that way. Not like a husband does, for a wife." He struggled, she sensed he'd rather be anywhere else, that he'd trounce whoever he fought tomorrow in the training yard.

"That's not it."

Her temper was starting to fray. She was ready to soldier through this, to do what had to be done, to get to the other shore to safety. It wasn't difficult, for men, was it? She was beautiful, she'd been told it enough, why couldn't her beauty serve her, this once, to make this possible for him?

She stepped between him and the window. "Show me then, if you can't tell me. It's a few days away. We have one chance to make it clear between ourselves before there's a hundred eyes on us." He winced.

"Kiss me. Tell me that way if there aren't any words. We'll put on whatever display we have to, but at least we can tell each other the truth here. I'd rather know, going in, Jon."

She looked down. My brow, or my cheek. Quick and dry and brotherly.

"You asked me to forgive you, once."

"Yes."

She heard him move closer to her. "I'm asking the same. Please, forgive me now." His voice was wrecked. "Forgive me, Sansa."

His lips met her cheek, just at the edge of her mouth. His hand slid up her jawline and pressed her face closer. He was trembling.

She hadn't imagined it, that look, after the moment in the courtyard. Jon wanted her, but he was ashamed. Sansa was done with the heavy weight of shame, of hiding. She'd take what she wanted, even if she didn't know exactly what it was.

He drew back, hovering over her lips, so close their noses touched. His mouth was parted. He brushed her lips once and then again, as if he couldn't stop, lingering longer each time. When she tugged on his bottom lip he made a sound low in his throat. It was a key clicking in a lock, that sound. He slanted his mouth against hers and wound his hand in her hair.

When they broke apart she threw her arms around his neck, an echo of their reunion. "Jon." Her voice was higher, needy in a new way. She was drunk with knowledge. He was clinging to her.

She pulled back, looking at him, willing him to hear her. "Jon. I want this. I want you."

He rested his forehead on hers. She could see his chest rise and fall, rapidly.

"I want you, too, Sansa, like a husband wants a wife, like a lover does." His words were rushed. "I didn't want to let you down, to frighten you, to have you learn the truth, especially if you didn't feel the same, in front of those monsters, that I love you.

She nestled into the crook of his neck. She wanted more of those words. "Say it again, Jon."

"I love you." He kissed her temple. "I love you, Sansa."

"I love you too, Jon. You were angry because you couldn't just go through the motions, that night?"

She felt him shake his head, firmly. "No. I couldn't. Not with you, Sansa. I turned it over in my mind at night, trying to find an answer, but I couldn't, I couldn't..."

"...think of a way to be cold." She finished for him.

"Will you be all right, in front of them? I swear, I'd ride out of this castle with you, we'd leave, before I put you through it." She was cocooned in his arms. They couldn't ride out together, but they could be with each other now. She rose and led him to the bed, tugging his shirt off.

He was softer, still insistent, his hands at her rib cage. He peppered her with kisses, holding her face between his hands, his beard tickled her skin. He seemed content to do this, to kiss her, she reveled in the push and pull of his mouth as he touched his tongue to hers. She lay back and he joined her.

His fingers traced a line from her ear to the top of her shoulder and back, keeping them connected. She hadn't known this was a moment they would both live in, a conversation between them. She understood his reluctance better. He was shy to start, and this was intimate, and raw, and real.

"Could you do just this? Kissing?"

"Yes." He ran his thumb over her lips. "For days, Sansa. I'd learn what you liked, I'd tuck it away, for later."

She'd imagined he'd think about how it would feel good to be inside her. Nothing more. She tilted her head at him. "I didn't expect you'd think, much, about what I would feel. I didn't know it would matter."

He nuzzled behind her ear, and she shivered. Jon already knew what she liked, and she hadn't known it herself. He propped himself up on his elbow. "It matters more to me, Sansa. It feels incredible, so sweet, to watch you, that's what keeps me up at night, thinking about what would bring you pleasure here."

She was curious. "What kept you up the most?" He blushed and she almost laughed, they were about to have sex in front of strangers in three short days, and he was nervous about telling her in private. She traced the scars on his chest. "It's new to me, someone caring about that."

"It shouldn't be."

"What did you want to do?" His eyes were darker, and she could feel his muscles twitch under her fingers. "I kiss you here." Her breath hitched at his gentle touch between her thighs, over her shift. His fervent, husky tone raised goosebumps along her arm. "I dream about what you taste like, Sansa, about feeling you peak, coming apart under my tongue, showing you how much I love you." She was shy with desire, turned into his chest, but his hushed words washed over her.

"Do I like it?"

Jon huffed out a laugh and held her tighter. "Yes, in my dreams, you like it very much."

"...Do you like it?"

He sighed. "Some days, when were together, it's almost the only thing I think about." He saw her puzzlement, this was a unknown country for her, and mistook it for fear. "Sansa, we don't have to do any of this." She wanted to explore all of it, with him.

"I don't want you to kiss me there, in front of them. That's just for us." He relaxed. She carded her fingers through his hair. "The rest of it we can manage. They don't need to know, how we feel, how I love you. It's not their business. I want us to get to that other shore, Jon. They can only demand a show once. We'll spend the rest of our lives here, together. Please. Pay this price with me."

"I will, love. I can. Now."

She stopped him before he ducked his head to kiss her again. "It can be quick, for them. I don't want to be quick, now." He smiled, his eyes full of light. "Then we won't be.