A/N: Because it was requested...
Truth be told, he was only just coping with the news of Jon's parentage, when he thought he saw something in Sansa's eyes.
"My Lady, you're trusting me with such a secret, you ask me to betray my queen…."
"Your queen?"
She spat on the ground, shocking them both.
"I did not bend the knee and I never will. Should Jon make his claim known, I will pledge my loyalty and that of the North to him, without a second thought. But this…. This… Ugh!"
He kept silent, feeling like this was not one of those moments where he could diffuse tension, or prompt a confession. It was about her, about what he had seen the night before in her eyes when he had laughed with Daenerys, about the way she just could not seem to adjust to the dragon queen.
"This.. queen of yours, should not be queen. I know Jon will hate me for having told his secret, but I don't trust this girl, this… trollop."
His eyes widened and he had to bite his tongue to refrain from saying anything about this turn of phrase.
"I will never pretend to like her. Please never ask me to pretend so again," Sansa finally said, as if having sorted out her thoughts and reached a conclusion.
"My Lady, Daenerys…."
*Already has my brother. She has all but bewitched him into not seeing what us all common Northeners have seen from the moment she made her appearance. She stole my brother from me. She took my husband too. What does she want? For all the men in Westeros to worship at her altar? This is not how a queen behave, no Sir, that just is not."
"Stole your husband?" he repeated, barely believing the words he was not certain he had heard right.
"You were mine first. Except you weren't, because you don't love me and I could not blame you. Even now, there is no blame to expand on anyone. I am spoiled goods. Gods, let's just be honest, I'm ruined goods. There is not an inch of my body or soul that has not been laid bare and naked and whipped. I am unworthy. Yet, you joked about having stayed married, and I never believed you. However last night, while you were laughing with her, it was the last stroke."
She turned to face him and she looked so pained he wanted to comfort her.
"When things were bad, my family had been torn to pieces and we were staying in hostile lands, we only had each other at King's Landing, I was the one you had wit contests with. I was the one you shared inner jokes with. We had something, I don't know how to describe it. I can barely stand the fact that she had to go and take my brother from me, but knowing she won you over too… It's just not fair. It's not fair," she repeated, before looking straight ahead, trying to hide tears from him.
"Sansa," he said, "I don't think I understand…"
"Forget it. She's not even that pretty. The heart of the matter is, there is someone else, someone better suited for this ruling role. Do what you may with this information. I will not be accused of having held back the truth from my husband."
"Sansa," he tried again.
"I am sorry my Lord, I will not call you thus again. I did not mean to cause any discomfort."
Words were failing him, so he all but jumped forward before she could dismiss him, and grabbed her hand.
"Sansa," he repeated. "Listen to me. Listen to your husband. She did not steal me, no one could. I trusted her to be the ruler Westeros needs, but now you've given me much to think about. No one could steal me from you. But I've been robbed over and over again of your presence. I never want that to happen again."
He found he meant those words.
"Then stay." She whispered.
"You know I cannot, no matter how much I wish I could. Come with us. When Daenerys is queen, you'll be by my side, and we'll try to have the wedding we never had the first time around."
"She will not tolerate my presence anywhere near her, especially if she discovers I know that she seduced her nephew," Sansa said, looking so torn and desperate.
"If Jon is the one sitting on the throne, he would let you be there and welcome you too…"
"You're speaking of treason My Lord," Sansa said softly.
When she did not say anything more, he just looked in her eyes and found everything he thought he never could have. There was someone out there who cared for him, not because they had to, not because he paid them good coins or something of the sort. There was someone who was genuine when she said that she wanted to remain his wife. And he found that he genuinely wanted to stay her husband, to protect her from all the tall bastards that would try to harm her.
"Do you have a ritual perhaps, in the North," he finally said, "some sort of lovers' pledge?"
He felt the warmth of her hand in his, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in her hair.
"We do, or the peasants do… When a woman will wait for a man, she gives him a lock of her hair, to remember her by. They say that if the man is unfaithful or betray his lover, the lock will bring him pain and suffering, while the person he betrayed awaits death."
"You northeners," he joked, trying to lighten the mood, "always so bloody serious about everything. Love should not be about death."
She reached around her neck, under the furs, and removed a piece of jewelry. It was a locket. She was nervous but took out a knife which she used to cut some of her sumptuous hair. She put it in the jewel, and said:
"Will you accept this token of love from an unworthy woman?"
"As I happen to find her extremely worthy and cannot believe my luck, I will. May the Gods strike me dead if I do you wrong."
She chuckled before handing him the locket, and she bent to kiss his lips before explaining, as she tried to hide a blush:
"What you just said is part of the script the Northeners use when getting married."
"What else do they say?"
She told him, and he repeated the oath. He did not expect her to reciprocate, yet she did. When the last word rung in the air, he felt like a new man, a new husband. He need to deal with this King's Landing business and come back for his wife. He reached for her cheek, and she bent to give him another sweet kiss.
"Some could say we just pulled a Rhaegal and Lyanna by getting married again, just the two of us, wouldn't you say?" He asked.
"Perhaps. I would not have it any other way."
"Neither would I."
