It was late when Jon heard the soft knock on his chamber door.

Surprise forced him to raise his head from his desk full of papers, dark eyes widening when the door opened and it was Sansa standing there. "Sansa," he breathed, their eyes meeting, her blue eyes full of suffering. "It's late, my love." At once he was on his feet, rising up so fast that he nearly upended the chair he'd been sitting in. He crossed the room to stand before her, reaching out a hand to tenderly touch her cheek, realizing then just how tired she looked. Had she not been sleeping? Jon cursed himself for not paying more mind to the woman he'd grown to love. "Are you alright?"

How did she tell him the truth behind what kept her awake? That despite the safety and comfort he provided for her, she felt terrified. That dreams of those who had hurt her still yet haunted her dreams, that visions of her father's death still yet swam through her memories. The last few years of her life had been nothing but abuse and anguish, a life so unlike the one she had sought for herself. She tried to remain strong, she tried to fight back against the demons that plagued her, but sometimes... Sometimes in the darkness of night, she lost against the pain. This was one of those nights.

The dream in particular had been awful; one of Ramsay and his violent eyes, of his hands on her body. A shudder raced the length of her spine at the mere memory of it and though she told herself that Ramsay was dead and gone, unable to hurt her any longer, she could not help but to tremble. He had hurt her in ways she could not explain... Had destroyed her utterly, from her mind to her body and even her very soul. "I just couldn't sleep," she finally spoke, adverting her eyes, pushing past him to stand beside his desk, littered with papers involving the state of affairs within the new realm. Sometimes it was strange to remember Jon was not just Jon anymore, but rather the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Well, six, she reminded herself, for did she not hold the power of the North herself now? A faint smile crossed her features as she looked back up to him, though it vanished at the sight of his face. "I'm still not a very good liar, am I?" She asked with a heavy sigh, to which Jon shook his head, coming towards her with open arms. Sansa buried herself against his chest, the warmth of his body offering her more comfort than any of his words ever could.

"No love, you're not," Jon chuckled at her expense, drawing her towards his bed and settling her down beside him on its edge. "Tell me." His soft command was enough to get her speaking, spilling to him the dark details of the nightmare she'd had. Jon knew her better than anyone else and he knew this was what she needed. She needed someone to unload upon, someone to hear her fears. She needed someone to protect her. Jon still yet cursed himself for not being there to protect her, for allowing her to ever fall prey to abuse at the hands of another man- her suffering should have ended with Joffrey, but she was sold to a madman instead, and Jon could scarcely think of what that brute Bolton had done to her. "It was just a dream, sweeting." Jon said when she had finished speaking, gripping her hands gently with his own. He wished he could protect her from the nightmares, from the pain of all she had suffered... But he could not. All he could do in a moment such as this was offer her comfort and love. "You know I would never let someone harm you, don't you?" He reached up, hand beneath her chin, drawing her sweet face up to look at him. "I will always protect you, Sansa." That was a promise he had made to her many months ago, the day of their first reunion, when Brienne of Tarth had brought her to him at Castle Black. Jon never would forget the way she had looked that day, so small and pale, draped in a black cloak that she had trembled beneath. In that moment, Jon had felt an anger like never before, but it was gone, soon replaced by the shame of knowing he had failed to protect her.

A small smile curved her lips upward, her blue eyes darkening as she gave a single nod, allowing for him to yet again draw her towards his chest. After a few moments, he pulled her back against the pillows, leaning over her; with slow hands, Jon undressed her, palms tracing the outline of her body, stopping only once he got to her hips. Beneath his gaze, Sansa could not help but to smile again, knowing what he said was true, he would always protect her. He would always take care of her. Jon's mouth was then upon hers, a gentle kiss that was still enough to take her breath away. But then he was pulling away, trailing the softest of kisses from her mouth down her neck and towards her collarbone, stopping only when he came to the small, white line of a scar. Sansa slid her hands into his hair as he brushed his lips against the scar, his cheek pressed to her breast, her heart beating wildly against his skin. When he raised his face back up, it was to look in her beautiful blue eyes and know he was the luckiest man in all of the world.

Much later that night, Sansa was tucked beneath his arm, her red hair a stark contrast to the pure white sheets of his bed. She slept soundly there beside him, perhaps for the first time in a week or more, and for that he was thankful. Though he had left his work unfinished, there was nothing more important to him than the young woman asleep in his bed. Leaning over her, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before settling into place beside her, smiling when she turned closer to him, face buried into the crook of his arm. Jon closed his eyes and breathed in her sweet scent, hoping as he drifted off that her dreams would finally be as sweet as his own.