Notes: Hello, guys.

Wow. Just... WOW.

Thank you so much for the amazing comments and all the kudos. I was so shocked. Seriously, I gushed about it for an hour and Ayla had to tell me to shut up... lol

I am really happy you're enjoying this.

On this one, we're going to see Jon's POV, more about his feelings and the backstory of how they came to be married.

I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 2

Jon knew, even before he was fully awake, that he was back on Winterfell.

They had ridden hard the day before, just to be there sooner. His men were ready to have the protection of the walls around them and Arya wanted her bed. Jon himself just wished for something different.

He'd been so tired when they arrived that he barely remembered the whole affair. He had some flashes, as if he'd drunk too much ale, even though he knew he hadn't. He remembered the gates, the tub…

Sansa.

She was the brightest flash in his memory. He remembered her linking their arms together, telling him that food waited for him on his chamber.

Then…

No. Certainly he was wrong. He'd been alone when he entered the tub, of this he was absolutely sure. Was his imagination running wild?

He thought he remembered Sansa washing his hair, his back… But he had to be wrong. She'd never touched him outside of the few times they…

He'd probably been too tired and had fallen asleep and dreamed.

He wasn't delusional, because he knew he was at Winterfell. Only here he could sleep in peace, the quiet sounds of normal life around the keep were calming to him, he could feel the weight of Ghost's body against his shin, and the bedsheets smelled of rosemary.

But today… They also smelled of roses.

Like Sansa.

The thought was what made Jon finally open his eyes, and the vision that greeted him made him wonder if he was still sleeping.

It was Sansa. There. On his bed.

He was lying on his side, facing her who was mirroring his position. He had one of her hands secure in his, but it was the only place where they touched. Her other hand was gently tucked under her face, her breathing steady. Jon noticed, by the light coming into the room that it was still early and they had another hour before the sun fully came up.

Looking at her Jon noticed that she wasn't wearing her nightgown. She was actually completely dressed on her normal clothes, like she'd fallen asleep there by accident. Even her hair was still braided, even though it had fallen apart a bit.

She was still the most beautiful sight Jon had ever seen.

Which still didn't explain what she was doing on his bed; she'd never slept there before. Even when they bedded it was on her room, and after he'd return to his cold and empty bed and wonder when things had become so complicated.

Probably around the time he found out she was his cousin and had to marry her less than a moon's turn after.

Not that he felt forced to marry her, even if Daenerys had pressured him into it. He'd accepted it because he wanted to protect her and Winterfell. He just never expected the feelings that came after. He didn't expect to actually love her.

The feeling crept up to him slowly, even though he supposed he already loved her somehow before. Not like he did now, but he imagined even complicated feelings had to come from somewhere.

And he'd been so stupid, saying this should be nothing but a marriage of convenience. He'd believed that would be what she wanted and that it would make this easier for both of them.

It didn't. It made everything so complicated, so messy. He didn't want a marriage of convenience, not with her.

But how could he go back on his word now? Sansa had agreed to it, which meant it was what she wanted, and he'd never force anything else on her, because the Gods knew that she –most than anybody else –deserved peace.

He wished he could have protected her from this marriage as well. Sansa had earned the right to marry or not, she suffered too much in the hands of so many men that Jon thought it was cruel to make her marry again.

The joke was on him, since now he was the husband.

However, he'd never force himself on her. If she wanted to keep this marriage perfectly polite and unconsumed he'd do it, for her.

The problem was that they needed an heir. Daenerys was sure she was barren, so she made Jon her heir for the Iron Throne. She'd wanted to marry him to someone else, then also marry Sansa to another man, but Jon wouldn't have it.

He agreed to marry anyone Daenerys chose, as long as Sansa could remain at Winterfell and only marry if she so desired.

Then Dany made the last offer: Jon could marry Sansa and have children with her or she'd marry both of them to other people.

He talked to Sansa and made it clear it was her choice and he would fight for her and protect her it didn't matter what she chose.

"I know, Jon." She'd replied. "And that's why I choose you."

And that had been the end of it. Daenerys made him Prince, he and Sansa were married for political reasons, even if he loved her more than he thought he'd ever love someone again.

Jon had accepted that, as a man of the Night's Watch, he'd never have a wife or a family, but in the few delirious moments when he allowed himself to dream about marriage, he always imagined he'd love this woman and that she'd love him back.

Now, the mere thought of demanding Sansa's love, made him feel beyond selfish.

But in this –almost- morning, she was here. Right in front of him; eyes closed, breathing deeply, eyelashes fanning her cheekbones. He wanted to touch her, feel her skin under his hands, but he wondered what would happen if she woken up and saw him there.

Why was she there anyway?

He didn't even realize he was staring at her until she opened her eyes, blinking slowly. Jon froze for a second, like a child caught doing something wrong. He didn't know what to expect from her, but it certainly wasn't the smile he got.

"Jon." She sighed, a dreamy, sleepy smile on her lips.

He wanted to kiss that smile on her mouth. He wanted to whisper that he loved her, then prove it with his touch.

He was a stupid man.

Jon just wanted to hold to the illusion a bit more. "Hey, sweet girl." He whispered, afraid that his voice might break the spell.

She rubbed her eyes with the hand that wasn't still in his. "This is new." She murmured.

"You don't like it?"

"I like it too much." She yawned and Jon's heart hammered in his chest.

Jon tried to think fast of something else to say, but Sansa was more awake now. The sleepy smile fell away, as she noticed more of what was going on around her. Suddenly she sat on the bed, fully focused, her hand leaving his.

Jon missed the contact immediately.

"Jon." She gasped, her hands going to his chest. "What am I…" She looked around once again, like she wasn't sure of what she was doing there. "I guess I fell asleep…"

Ghost had raised his head, probably guessed there was some human drama happening and climbed out of bed. The direwolf went to lie by the fireplace, leaving his master and mistress to sort themselves out.

Jon sat on the bed, finally noticing he was shirtless. He resisted the urge to cover himself with the furs, like he was some kind of maiden.

Jon cleared his throat. "I thought I had dreamed. About the bath." He clarified when she looked at him confused.

Sansa blushed under his gaze, her eyes going to her lap. "You fell asleep inside the tub." She finally told him. "I worried you might drown."

He snorted. "That would be a story told for centuries. The Prince that came back to life, defeated the Others and drowned on his own bathtub."

Sansa giggled, then covered her mouth, like she was embarrassed by it. Her hands went to the bodice of her dress. "No wonder I am so uncomfortable." She murmured more to herself.

"I was wondering about that as well." Jon admitted, his eyes drinking her in, even if she would not look at him.

"You wanted to talk." She informed him. "You grabbed my hand and asked about Winterfell. I guess I just fell asleep at some point."

"I am sorry for imposing on you, My Lady." He murmured, his eyes falling to the bed.

He saw from the corner of his eyes Sansa stiffening. Somehow, he'd said the wrong thing; he had no idea of what, though.

"Not at all, My Lord." She quickly got out of the bed. "I will let you rest more." She curtsied to him and Jon felt it like a slap. "I will see you later, My Lord."

As she left his chambers closing the door behind herself Jon wondered how things had gone wrong so fast; from waking up to her smile, to an empty, cold bedroom.

He truly knew nothing.

XxX

After Sansa left his room Jon had been incapable of going back to sleep, so he decided to start his day, even if it was so early.

He dressed alone –he didn't need a valet to put his breeches on –and went down to the kitchen. The servants were already working, preparing the breakfast. Jon –used to the many years he had sneaked around Winterfell's kitchen –got himself a bit of food and took to his solar.

One of the servants asked him why he didn't just ask one of them. Jon realized it hadn't even crossed his mind to ask for someone else to do something he could do himself.

Jon entered his solar and looked at his table. Sansa had left it perfectly organized for him, even though she knew better than anyone else he would make a mess of it in less than a day.

He put his food down, and let his eyes take everything. The supply of feathers, ready to be used; the inkwells, the extra paper… All within easy reach. There were letters he needed to answer, ledgers he needed to check…

Sansa made his life so much simpler with the way she took care of him.

Even though he'd planned on working and catching up on the business he couldn't focus; he kept replaying the brief interlude from earlier.

Sansa on his bed.

Her hand on his.

The smile on her lips.

He'd called her sweet girl and she'd said she liked it.

Was he missing something? She'd seen perfectly happy to be there until she fully woke up. Jon kept trying to remember the night before, but he could only remember flashes, and –even then –he wasn't sure if they were dreams or not.

Her hand on his face, on his chest, his back… Had he really stood naked in front of her?

His wife had never seen him completely naked. Actually, she'd never touched his skin either, much less his chest or back.

And by the Gods, did Jon want it.

Their beddings were always so… Practical. There was no passion, barely any feelings. Jon wanted to touch Sansa, feel the heat of her skin, kiss her lips, her throat. But she'd gone through so much! How could he demand that of her?

She had a lot of things taken from her and Jon wouldn't ask for anything she wasn't willing to give on her own free will.

But…

It was a stray stupid thought. And still…

Did Sansa know she had the choice of giving? Did she know that if she wanted Jon would worship her body and her heart?

Did she have any idea of how much he wanted to be a good husband to her?

Jon didn't think that she did.

And that… That changed everything.

Notes: Finally someone is thinking here! lol

I hope you enjoyed it!

I'll be posting on "Kiss with a fist" this weekend and some of my other works.

Let me know your feelings!