Winterfell

"Did you bend the knee to protect the North, or because you love her?" He felt the heat rise from his chest up towards his neck and his throat grow tight. What could he answer? The truth would make her part of his plot. On the other hand, she was incredibly clever, she could help him and gods knew he needed all help he could get with this. Which was the best way to protect her?

"Sansa…" He started, voice breaking, looking away from her, still not sure what to say. He sighed deeply and decided that all that talk of trust from before would mean nothing if he didn't share this with her. They were already partners in crime. It was all that he could logically do. "It was always for the North, for us, and Bran, and Arya. For you. I should have told you sooner, but I haven't really had an opportunity until now. I couldn't exactly send a raven." He sighed and steeled himself, leaned in and lowered his voice as he spoke. Right now he trusted no walls to keep his words. "You know how you kept telling me that I needed to be smarter than Robb and father?" Sansa nodded, but her face remained expressionless. "Well." He started, daring a small smile. "Believe it or not, but I did listen. Finally." She nodded slightly again. "It's not neat and elegant like you would do it... but... I found her weakness, and decided to use it." Sansa drew in a sharp breath and held out her hand to shake his.

"Welcome to the miserable club then." They shared a joyless smile. "You had me fooled." He chuckled a little.

"I'll agree the fact she has a prettier face than the mad king. But I swore to protect you, didn't I? Moreover, I feel quite offended that you would think that I forgot about the North so quickly." Her cheeks flared red.

"I..." But her throat felt dry and constricted. He smiled at her again.

"If I've managed to fool you, then she has to be too. I hope." She swallowed hard.

"Do you really find it so unreasonable for me to think that you could love her? Stranger things have happened in this world, you know. And men do stupid things for women they love." She stated bluntly, reaching for some water. A moment of silence went by.

"Aye, they do." He responded in a strained voice. "But she is not that woman, not to me." Another quiet pause. She drank and put her cup down. "And I thought that you trusted me more than to make that much of a fool of myself. I might need her for this, but I don't want her." She stared at him but said nothing, and he continued. "When you are summoned to the bedroom of the mother of dragons, you can't deny her. Tyrion was very clear on that note when he was sent to fetch me." A long moment of silence passed by before he looked up at her again, but he couldn't read her face. She was stunned. He sighed deeply. "I can't love her." And there it was; all that he could make himself say. He held his breath, waiting for her.

"If the situation had been reversed, I would have done the same thing. There is no doubt in my mind." She sighed. "Like with Littlefinger." The tension between them was gone, but the mutual understanding that settled was very gloomy. They stared blankly at nothing in particular.

"I'm spending what could be my last hours in life whoring myself out to fight a war I don't know I can win." There was a small pause. "And I've never felt so dirty in my life, or used, or trapped. But I guess I don't need to state the obvious to someone who's suffered far worse fates."

"No. I understand that bit perfectly". She said finally, looking at him with eyes wet from tears she refused to release. The shame he felt was immense.

"By the end of all this, if we happen to survive, I want you to be the Lady of Winterfell. Queen of the North if possible. I've seen how you are a mother to your people, and how they love you for it. And how could they not, if they see even half of what I see in you. You are the true lady of Winterfell even now." He ran a hand through his hair, looking away again. "This is your home. No matter if she is queen sitting in King's Landing or not, this will be yours, somehow. I promised to protect you, and the North… it's you, and it's yours." She shook her head ever so slightly.

"They elected you to be their king. So did I. And I will stand by you, always. Come what may." She raised her head and met his gaze. "I kept it for you when you were gone, but you are the king. Even if I will do whatever you ask of me." He let out a low laugh.

"And here I am, fighting for you to get your home back to you, leaving it in your safe hands you when I go. Trying to make sure it survives, for you. Of course I want to save the north, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't almost all for you." He looked down again. "I told Melisandre that if I lost the battle against Ramsey, I didn't want her to bring me back again. You told me you wouldn't be taken alive. What's the point of living if all you ever loved is lost? I love the North, it's my home, but it's not enough."

From the corner of his eye he saw a single teardrop on run down her cheek, but that was all. One tear. Her face was pale and hard like marble.

He hated himself.

"Sansa…" he reached out his hand toward her, but she pulled away harshly. She wiped her cheek as though the tear itself made her angry.

"I'll consent to calling it ours. Ours and all other Starks. Though by the tone of your voice, it almost sounds like you're planning on dying." He looked up and locked eyes with her, feeling as though a shiver went through him.

"I don't especially want to. But I will if I have to. If I have to give my life for the survival of the North, I will." She gave a short, joyless laugh.

"How very gallant of you. But could you please try to stay alive in stead?" He gave a small nod and tried a smile that he didn't quite manage. "I…" Sansa started, but stopped herself, her face going blank, leaving him hanging. "I'm… I need to tell you…" She dug her nails into her thighs through the fabric of her dress. He watched her every move, heard her breath echo through his mind. There could have been a war going on the other side of the door, and he would not have noticed. "I thought I was done with my silly girly fantasies." She stated in a strained voice, finally looking up at him again. "I was convinced that nobody could protect me, that there were no heroes and that deception will happen sooner or later with everyone." He felt her hand tremble as she pulled it away from him. "But then I met you. And you ruined me." He couldn't help the small smile that crept over his face, and she mirrored it for a second before it disappeared again as she spoke. "I'm not… It's not right. I'm not a Lannister or a Targaryen. It's not fair, and its not right either." His mind emptied and he felt all the colour drain from his face. Her breathing was shallow, and she turned her face away again. "I'm jealous."

"Sansa…" He started carefully, fearing his voice might break again. "I…" But she quickly cut him off.

"Please, this is so hard for me to say," she pleaded, and he kept quiet, waiting for her to continue. "There is one more thing." She was thinking that if this was the last day she lived, she had no time for games. When she raised her head to meet his gaze again, there was shame written all over it. "I was jealous." Her voice was thin and blank, stating it more to herself than him. "I still am. I know it's useless and incredibly inappropriate, but I am." His head filled with a weak, white noice, though he didn't quite understand why. Things were getting way too real.

"Sansa..." He started again, but had no idea how to go on. She watched his face closely.

"I have no idea of how much time we have left in this world Jon. But I can't stand the thought of that... woman... stealing it from me. I want to spend it with you, with Arya, and with Bran." She heaved a deep sigh. "But the reasons I want to spend time with you is different from the others. And if we die tomorrow, I want you to know." Jon felt as though his stomach filled with cold water. "I love you, more than I know I should."

There was a moment of heavy silence when neither knew how to go on. Should he leave? No. But the moment just when on. He tried to meet her eyes, but she looked away.

"You know," he started finally, trying to find the right words. "Before you arrived at Castle Black, I didn't have much left to live for. I lived to kill, to fight, to defeat the hoard of death coming our way." He raised his hand and ran it over her smooth cheek, and she didn't pull away. "You were the first good thing to happen to me in a long time. You gave me something to live for, to really fight for..." A crooked smile crossed his face. "But I have to admit that I didn't just see a sister when I met you again. Now I see a strong, brave woman that I truly admire." He became aware of the fact that he'd been leaning closer to her, and moved back a few inches. "I have no idea of how you came out alive, and even less still with your strength and heart and sense of honour intact. I never met anyone like you, I sincerely doubt I ever will again. And I need you in my life, always. Without you we would have lost several times over. I would be lost without you. Wandering around aimlessly in the world, brooding, without a true purpose. Because fighting against something isn't half as powerful as fighting for something, or someone."

She finally met his gaze again, with just the hint of a smile in her shining blue eyes. "It is my sole comfort that we are together in this horrible mess that the world has come to." His eyes crinkled a smile.

"If this is it, there's no place else I'd rather be, I want you to know that."

For a long while all that was heard was the crackling of the fire behind them and the wind howling and whining outside of the small window. He knew that he'd need to leave her sooner or later, but loathed the thought. The idea that this was possibly the last moment they ever had together alone was one that led to the gates of madness. And equally the thought of losing the war, or her, or both would drive him insane, and so he shoved it to the back of his mind. Fear was possibly his worst enemy right now, aside from the monsters themselves. Then he felt her caress his hand with her thumb, and all he could feel was an overwhelming sense of warmth spreading through him. They weren't fighting yet. He was here, she was here, and that was all that mattered.

"I'm not really that good with words, as you might have noticed by now." He stated, laughing slightly. She smiled widely at him, maybe a little too widely for his liking.

"Once or twice. But you're definitely getting better." He turned his face towards the fire.

"I've stayed at the Wall and drafty old castles for what feels like ages. I've slept out in the snow beyond the wall. As long as I've been tired enough, I've rarely had any problems going to sleep." He sighed slightly. "After you came to Castle Black, that changed, and not just because of the night terrors you suffered. I've lain awake in my bed just thinking about you. About what will happen after the war, if such a time will come. I've no more will to feel ashamed of my thoughts anymore, just like you said. However wrong they may be. I've thought about all those stories of heroes and fair maidens we used to read as children. About the songs you would sing to yourself when you thought that nobody could hear you. About us, here in our true home, with children of our own and you singing the same songs to them." He ran a hand through his hair, but didn't blush. Being honest was kind of his thing after all, and this was a time of confession.

"Children…" He heard her answer softly, and he waited for her to continue but nothing came.

"Aye." He breathed out. "Ours. Little girls that look like you. Maybe a son, but gods know they are so much work." They both chuckled quietly. "In a different world, I would be your husband, I'd care for and honour you. There would be no war, and our love wouldn't be wrong." He sighed, but their smiles never left them.

"If we do survive this", Sansa started in a level voice, squeezing his hand again. "Let's make it happen. If we survive an army of the dead, I don't think I'll ever care about what some northern lords say anyways." He looked up to meet her eyes again. Hooded, dreamy eyes.

They were building castles in the air, and they both knew it. This might be more than they'd ever have again, and time was running short. They were never left alone for long, someone always found them, weather together or not. It was the simple curse of being the people in charge.

"Sansa…" He started finally, not caring if his voice was breaking. He felt desperate. Time was chasing him and he detested the feeling. "I promise to honour and love you until I die." He felt his heart pounding against his throat. "No matter what. I'm yours. If you'll only forgive me this sordid affair I'll prove to you that I'm worthy and-" She cut him off with a kiss, he froze and felt her arms around him. He wrapped himself around her a moment later when his senses returned. She was warm and soft and everything he'd ever wanted but never dared to dream would come true. Then she pulled him into a tight hug and he closed his eyes, took in her scent and felt the softness of her hair.

"I will love you forever." Even if forever only lasts until tomorrow. There was so much emotion in her voice that he couldn't find any more words, and he just wanted to feel how real she was in his arms. The feeling was deeply bitter sweet.

And then came the quick knock on the door that they had dreaded so much and the moment was gone. She gave him one last longing look as she went to open it, straightened her dress and visibly stiffened herself back up, transformed back to the ruler she was meant to be.

As he got up to join her and ser Davos in conversation, something about supplies, he felt slightly dizzy and winded. The fear he felt mixed badly with the sweet happiness that pooled in his stomach. He was staring at her face as she spoke and couldn't help himself, not wanting to miss a single thing before their inevitable parting would occur. He burned the image of her into his mind; the way the light of the fire illuminated her hair and danced on her face, how very blue her eyes were, even in this relative darkness, and how dignified she was as she spoke. She was everything to him.

He had to live. She had to live.

There had to be a tomorrow.