Jeyne was with child, the heir to the North. The king insisted on a celebration, inviting lords from all of his kingdom to join him and his reunited family.

Jon leaned against a wall tugging on the neck of the doublet he had been dressed in earlier in the evening. His new clothes were finer than what he was used to, most anything would be finer than his garb from the Wall. "You really ought to smile my Lord Hand," Sansa chirped into his ear. She looked out of place leaning against the wall beside him.

"My lady," Jon took a deep playful bow. Sansa dipped into a curtsy fit for royalty. Upon their return to Winterfell he felt he understood Sansa much better, perhaps because she had changed most of all. Everyone had to reacquaint themselves, but her life had been turned on its head quickly. She could take a teasing tone with him, and switch to a proper lady in a heartbeat.

"You know ser you should tell a girl she looks pretty at an event like this." Sansa chided. She did look pretty, Jon thought, her hair was down in copper waves and her smile was brighter than he had seen it in a long time.

"You look very pretty this evening my lady," Jon replied. "Why aren't you dancing?" A lady like Sansa belonged on the dance floor with a handsome lord, not skulking against the wall with a sullen bastard like him.

"I could ask you the same," she teased. "These men see a ball as a means to take me from my home," she replied honestly. "They can dance with the princess and hopefully they are chosen by the king as her betrothed. And they can take their prize back to their keep, and it's likely she'll never see home again." Jon heard through her light tone, if he was looking at her he'd probably see through her carefully placed mask.

"In the North, beyond the Wall the Free Folk arrange their marriages. If a man wants to be with a woman he has to steal her." He talked so little of his time on the Wall that he knew she was paying attention. "If the woman doesn't want him to steal her she only needs to fight him off, with a weapon that is. I don't agree with that process much either."

"So I could be married off to create allies, or I could be stolen from my bed at night." Sansa said. "I used to want to marry for love, it seems foolish now."

"The King loves his Queen," Jon reminded her. "Your mother loved your father."

"The King could marry the Queen for love because he is the king; my parents were fortunate, this family has had more luck in love than most. I used up my luck when I left Kings Landing." Sansa still spoke lightly, "I've come to accept it Jon, I am the sister of the King." She stepped away from the wall they had been reclining against. "Come let's dance, perhaps we can discuss something else."

Those who were dancing were in pairs to a quick tune Jon couldn't name. He led Sansa across the floor as best he could. "I tried to teach you once, do you remember?" He nodded shortly, wondering how she could talk and dance at once. "I'd expect a prince, even one who abdicates the title, to move a bit easier," she teased.

"Perhaps that's why I abdicated," Jon said, staring at their feet. "I'm trying not to step on you." She laughed a full laugh, one he hadn't heard in a while. He had only stepped on her feet twice in their three dances before she dropped their arms.

"I would prefer talking to you," she was not cross as she linked her arm through his and walked to their seats at the high table. She paused in their walk to chat with one of the Karstarks, asking him about his journey and ended the conversation when he asked her to dance. "I'm afraid I need to rest for the moment ser, but I thank you."

Jon pulled her chair out for her, his squire refilled their glasses and Sansa smiled pleasantly. "I do wish Robb had the time to bring a singer here," she said as she looked at the band. "There hasn't been a singer in Winterfell in so long."

Robb had returned to the table with his queen. His voice boomed across the hall as he raised a toast to his heir. As they toasted some eyes lingered on the head table too long. Jon could feel their eyes on him, no matter whose bastard he was he was still a bastard at the King's table. He gulped down more of his wine, at least as Ned Stark's bastard they didn't question his loyalty to the North. He was a dragon as well as a wolf, there were some who would never fully trust him.

"What's got you so far away, I thought you were done brooding for the night." Sansa's voice broke his thought. He hadn't considered she would have such a close eye on him.

"They don't trust me." He told her, she had been honest with him earlier, why not repay the kindness.

"Some of them may not trust you, but many of them do. You helped restore the North to a kingdom of its own, that has not been done since Aegon the first. Our people are thriving, and they have you to thank for it." Sansa often knew more than she let on, she left many things unspoken until the right moment. She had saved her praise until he needed it, he was thankful for that.

Eventually she had to rise and dance with more of the men in the hall. If he hadn't heard it for himself he would have thought she was enjoying herself. "It's been a long time since the hall has looked like this," Robb observed.

"They needed a reason to celebrate," Jon said. "The North has been restored, and they have an heir to the kingdom."

"Perhaps they will have another wedding to look forward to as well," Robb nodded to the floor where Sansa danced with the elder Manderly. Jon felt his discomfort resurface. Sansa had told him her fears in confidence, of that he was sure. Would it be a betrayal if he spoke of them to Robb, in order to put an end to her fear?

"White Harbor is far your Grace," Jon said. "Sansa has been gone for some time; do you think it wise to send her away so soon?"

"Sansa has always wanted to marry," Robb countered. The song had changed, and Jon watched Sansa release her partners hand walking back to the table.

"The Sansa of old wanted to marry. We have all changed since the war your Grace," Jon said. "What if Sansa wishes to remain here?"

Robb turned to him, "has she said something to you?"

"No," Jon replied quickly. Sansa had taken her seat, and Jon had said too much.

"Sister," Robb called. "Have you found any contenders for your hand?" Jon cringed, approaching Sansa in such a way was unlikely to yield the results Robb wanted.

Sansa's smile didn't falter. "If there is a man you would have for me I should listen," her response was reticent enough to defer the Kings attention. She would always do her duty to her kingdom, she wouldn't bat an eye. Jon recognized all of those things in her, but why should she put duty before happiness?

"My lady, would you walk with me?" Jon requested offering his arm. Sansa complied without question. He led her out of the hall, down the drafty corridors until they were in the empty glass gardens. "I may have a solution to your problem."

"Which problem is that my lord?" She was admiring the winter roses.

He tugged at the sleeves of the doublet. "You said that marriages made for reasons outside of love can end in love?"

"As long as there is a respect for one another I suppose so," Sansa said meeting his eyes.

"I wanted to suggest that we be married," the words were not as elegant as she deserved. "We have grown closer upon returning to Winterfell, closer than we were as siblings." Jon wondered how most people spoke this long.

"Jon,"

"You are free to say no; that's why I asked you away from your brother. I have no land, as Hand to the King I remain in Winterfell."

"Jon," her soft hand rested on his face. "You make a gracious offer, I am thankful for that. What will you do if you truly fall in love with someone? Would you not want children with her?"

"I was prepared to spend my life without a wife or children, you'd make a far better lady than the Wall."

"What if you don't come to love me?" her voice was softer, her hand had fallen from his face.

"Sansa," he took her hand. How could he say that loving her would be the easiest part of this marriage. "I should worry more that you would not come to love me." He kissed her knuckles, still in his hand.

Sansa was quiet. The silence was a comfort to him, she was considering. She had released his hand, folded them in front of her, and her hair fell over her shoulders. "And if I should want a family?" she asked.

He hadn't expected that. "We would have one," Jon promised, "whatever would make you happy."

"And if I decline, would you help Robb send me away?"

"Never," he replied before she had finished the question. "I would fight to keep you here, you deserve to have what you want."

She considered his response. It was in moments like those Jon felt as though she could see right through him. "You mean it? You would truly do this for me?" Jon nodded. "Then I would be foolish to say no," his head snapped up. She took his hand into hers once more, "would you like to tell the king, or should I?"