I'm so sorry for the waiting but this chapter was a hard one to write.
I really hope you like it! Happy reading!
I love you, with a touch of tragedy and quite madly – Simone de Beauvoir
It took the royal party two months to get to Winterfell. Dany wanted to see most of the northern lords before stopping there. Unlike Jon, she cared about politics (Jon cared about Sansa).
When Daenerys informed Jon that she was going with him to Winterfell, he thought that it would be just the two of them and the dragons… but the Dragon Queen had other plans. She summoned southron lords and knights to accompany them, which meant that their journey to the North would be by horse. The dragons would not leave King's Landing.
Formalities. Formalities. Formalities – Jon sighed.
All he wanted to do was return north, back to Winterfell; to Sansa, but he also understood Dany's reasons.
The Queen had never travelled so far north, and the northerners were excited to see their true ruler walking through their lands, learning about their customs, listening their demands and complaints.
Daenerys was a good queen. She was willing to put the needs of her people before her own desires. She always wished to rule with justice.
Her time amongst the Dothraki taught her pride, confidence and skills of command. She abhorred slavery, and made it her priority to stop the slave trade. Because of that, she was especially loved by the former slaves.
Despite her constant demonstrations of affection, Jon wouldn't want her any other way, he realized with a half-smile. He was her only living relative and he had grown to love her like a brother loved a sister.
A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing – Jon had once heard Maester Aemon say to Sam.
During his time in King's Landing, Jon learned that Daenerys loved the sea. She used to ride along the coast. She liked to speak with the sailors and to hear their songs and stories.
She also loved to read children's stories.
Every time Jon watched Dany playing with the northern children a sad smiled appeared on his face. He couldn't help but feel his heart sink a little. It killed him sometimes, knowing Daenerys wouldn't have children.
She would make a wonderful mother. She loved children. She had the blood of the dragon running through her veins, but her heart was gentle. Unfortunately there would never be children running around the halls of the Red Keep.
But, perhaps, someday there could be children running around the halls of Winterfell…
Jon's heart hammered against his chest. His need to be near Sansa was increasing.
Memories and dreams blended to form an image of life with Sansa at his side.
He could already feel the contentment of waking up each morning with her beside him; of seeing her smile before breaking his fast; of walking into his bedchambers every evening and having her take him into her arms and kiss him.
Their life would be perfect. He was sure of it.
They reached the castle before nightfall.
When the gates of Winterfell opened Jon felt his stomach twist into uncomfortable knots.
They sent a raven ahead, because according to Daenerys there were formalities they had to go through.
Jon tried not to roll his eyes.
People cheered at the sight of the royal party and he smiled slightly.
Of course Sansa had the whole household out in force to greet them – he thought as he dismounted.
He looked around, feeling the cold wind caressing his cheeks. Everything looked like he remembered it. The walls were as high and dour gray as ever, but it was only when he saw Sansa that he felt at home.
His smile became bigger when he watched his beautiful cousin greeting each of the knights in turn. Sansa knew all their names and their houses.
Of course she knew.
Then she turned to Jon and he was suddenly out of breath.
She was wearing a pale lilac dress. Green leaves and golden vines were embroidered from both shoulders of the dress down to the skirt to meet an embroidered direwolf.
The Lady of Winterfell opted for the classic Northern hairstyle: two braids beginning at the top of her head ending in a single braid.
Her skin looked luminous and soft.
Jon couldn't help but feel his heart beating against his ribcage.
She was only three steps away and Jon didn't know if he was the one moving or if it was Sansa the one decreasing the distance between them.
Unconsciously, Jon started counting the few freckles sprinkled across her nose. He already knew that she had twelve freckles, but he liked to count them over and over again. He felt as though he could count her freckles forever. Twelve freckles. She had exactly twelve freckles across her nose.
Jon smiled.
He looked into her eyes and had only a moment to absorb the shock of seeing her angry face before she pushed against his chest with both hands.
Her sudden action took Jon by surprise.
The courtyard went silent, even the horses stopped neighing. Everyone watched, in silence, as Sansa's rage rose to the surface, a hot, unstoppable tide.
"How could you?" – she demanded, hitting his chest with her small fists – "You didn't even say goodbye! You just left!" – she said, accusatory. Jon tried to speak but Sansa was faster – "And then you sent Bash away! Why did you send him away? Bash was my only chance to get away from here. I told you I wanted to leave …"
Sansa continued to talk but Jon barely heard her. Any words he might have said abandoned him. The word Bash was echoing in his head and Jon could feel the veins popping out on his temples; his pulse throbbing.
Why was she talking about Sebastian Lake? – her words made little sense to him.
He thought that their kiss had established that she didn't need to wed Sebastian Lake; that he didn't want her to wed Sebastian Lake.
Jon clenched his jaw.
He always hated the man. He hated when anyone, besides him, let their gaze on Sansa last too long. The idea of Lord Lake touching Sansa made him want to commit murder.
He didn't regret sending him away. He wanted him far away from Winterfell; from Sansa.
Sansa pushed at his chest, without much success.
"I'm not a child that you can lord yourself over!" – she exclaimed, making Jon return to reality. His eyes showed surprise, but he didn't move – "You have no right to make my decisions for me. I'm not a pawn!" – she felt her voice rise, but she didn't bother to force it back down.
Jon continued to look at her, feeling mired in a semi-permanent state of confusion.
Of course she was not a pawn. She was a Queen – his Queen.
She looked so fierce. Her red hair shone as if the sun – the fire – itself lived within her. Her blue eyes were set, harsh and questioning, narrowing further as she spoke. She looked like a Queen.
She could almost breathe fire, like the real dragons could.
Sansa pounded her fists against Jon's chest, growing more enraged as he remained passive. She hit him again, faster, harder, but he stood as still as a statue.
"And you told the kitchen staff to make lemon cakes? What did you think that would accomplish? My forgiveness?" – she threw another punch – "My silence?" – she attacked him again –"My obedience?" – she moved close to him, so they were almost nose to nose , then lowered her voice – "You can eat them yourself, because I don't like them anymore"
Sansa spun around and was gone in a swirl of skirts.
The double meaning of her words hung heavy around Jon as he watched her walk away from him.
He wanted to move, but his feet were too heavy. It was as if they were frozen.
He opened his mouth, but he was too bewildered to speak. It was like he was encased in a clear glass barrier.
Despite his frozen-in-place condition, his mind flashed back to the night he had kissed her: the way she grabbed the back of his head and captured his mouth; the way she gripped the front of his shirt, keeping him close; the way her hands trailed up his arms and encircled his neck; the way she pulled his hair tie and laced her fingers in his curls; the way she wrapped her legs around his waist…
Sansa's reaction was like a bucket of cold water poured over his head. He couldn't understand what was happening.
"I like her already" – Daenerys stated, interrupting his thoughts.
Jon threw a dark look in her direction and Daenerys smirked.
Sansa was slowly unbraiding her long hair as she stared out the window. It hung loose, almost all the way to her hips.
A knock on the door startled her.
The Lady of Winterfell straightened her shoulders and turned her body.
Brienne entered in the room. The woman bowed her head.
"The Queen wishes to speak with you, My Lady" – she announced.
Sansa bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hide her discomfort. She knew this moment was inevitable. She couldn't delay it forever.
Margaery was Queen now. She was Jon's wife now. The woman who didn't believe in songs was living her song.
Sansa felt a sharp pain in her chest. Her life was a never ending nightmare.
Margaery would probably want to talk about the scene she had made in the courtyard. Sansa had purposely ignored her, focusing her attention on Jon. She had turned the King in the North into a straw dummy. She had tried to take her frustration out on him, and failed.
She thought that arguing with Jon would relieve herself of her anger, but she was wrong. It only made her feel worse.
Jon was not hers. That realization made her incredibly sad.
She felt betrayed. Sansa knew that she shouldn't feel that way, but she did.
Maybe she was being childish, but she didn't care. Being the perfect lady for so long was exhausting... and in the end her efforts had been for nothing. She was no longer engaged. Jon had made sure of that.
She was stuck in a castle that didn't feel like home anymore. Jon had ruined her only chance to escape from her sadness.
Sansa was starting to believe that she was being punished for the way she had treated him when they were children. Jon had been an outsider and now he was determined to turn her into a prisoner.
The thought of running away, like her aunt Lyanna once did, crossed her mind...but, unlike her aunt, she didn't have a prince to run into. Her escape would be useless.
She was cursed. She was doomed to have a miserable life.
The sound of a door closing made her return to reality.
Sansa was so focused on her own thoughts that she didn't even notice that Brienne was no longer in the room. The woman in front of her was much smaller. She had the most beautiful blonde hair that Sansa had ever seen.
Her indigo eyes glittered, never once wavering from her, and Sansa finally realized that the woman in front of her was Daenerys Targaryen, the Queen.
The Lady of Winterfell blinked.
Daenerys was the Queen, not Margaery.
She was wearing a red sleeveless gown, snug around her waist and fanning out at her hips. A silver dragon snaked its way up her neck. Her blonde hair was held away in a complicated array of braids. She was beautiful.
Unlike women, men would never understand the power of a braid or a pretty gown. They were lured to it, but it was not their domain. A beautiful gown and the perfect hairstyle could be a woman's most powerful weapons. It bewitched men. It made them want to serve.
"Your Grace" – Sansa said, regaining control of her thoughts and voice. She immediately sank down into a curtsy, feeling her cheeks flush red – "Please forgive my past behavior. I was utterly rude"
Daenerys approached her, pulling her to stand.
"There's nothing to forgive. Frankly, I found it rather amusing" – the Dragon Queen said, holding Sansa's hands – "And please call me Dany, I insist"– she added, offering Sansa a warm smile.
The Lady of Winterfell nodded. She appreciated how she set her at ease.
"I'm so glad to finally meet you. Jon told me so much about you" – Dany said – "I feel like I already know you" – she chuckled – "When he told me that you played the high harp I couldn't help but think about my brother. I've never met Rhaegar but everybody tells me that he played songs of such beauty they could reduce men to tears" – she explained –"Perhaps you have his spirit"
Sansa shook her head, feeling her cheeks flush.
"I'm honored, but I can't accept your praise as there are no grounds for it" – she said – "Prince Rhaegar was the best musician who ever lived. I'm just an amateur" – she added, running her fingers through her hair.
"Don't be modest" – Daenerys insisted – "From what Jon told me you excel at anything you put your mind to"
"I fear he exaggerated, Your Grace" – Sansa said humbly.
"Dany, please Sansa" – Daenerys corrected her.
The Lady of Winterfell invited the Queen to sit on a chair before the fireplace.
"Dany" – Sansa echoed, as she came to sit in the seat next to her.
The warmth from the crackling firewood kept the room cozy. The two women stared at the flames licking around the dry log.
"I owe you an apology, Sansa" – Daenerys said and Sansa gave her a confused look – "I ruined the entire meaning of the spring feast. It was me who invited Margaery to the feast, not Jon..." – she explained –"And in doing so I caused you some distress" – she added – "When I wedded Drogo, I thought I would never love him, but I did..." – a sad smile appeared on her face – "It was an arranged marriage but I learned to love him… and I was happy" – she continued to say – "I didn't have a kingdom, but I was happy"
Sansa remained in silence, waiting for Daenerys to continue.
"Jon and Margaery's marriage would benefit the realm. It would prevent a rebellion. It would ensure peace" – the Queen stated.
"I know" – Sansa said; her voice barely a whisper.
"But I also thought that if Jon wedded Margaery he would be happy" – Dany continued to say – "That, maybe, in time, he would come to love her" – she paused, looking right into Sansa's eyes – "I was oblivious to the fact that he was already in love with someone else"
Sansa gasped. She wrung her hands nervously in her lap.
She couldn't believe what Daenerys was implying.
Her mind was muddled with impossible possibilities.
Jon didn't go to King's Landing to wed Margaery. That was not why he left. He left because he needed Daenerys's support to end the rumors about Margaery and him. He left because, perhaps, he wanted to inform Daenerys about his heart's desires?
Sansa shook her head in dissent.
"I, Jon…" – she stammered as Daenerys's words echoed in her head. She rose from her chair and took a deep breath, before continuing – "Jon is not in love with me" – she said with certainty.
"He surely is" – Daenerys insisted.
Sansa felt overwhelmed.
She swallowed the knot building in her throat.
Did Jon really return her feelings?
She opened her mouth to speak, but could produce no sound.
Jon loved her.
Sansa was starting to get dizzy as if her brain couldn't process Daenery's words. She could hear her own heart beating.
She flushed. Could her life still be a song, a happy song?
Daenerys held her hand gently.
"A long time ago, my father sent his first cousin, Lord Steffon Baratheon, to seek a bride for Rhaegar. I don't want to make the same mistakes that my father did" – she said, making Sansa look at her – "I don't want to force Jon to marry someone whom he does not love. He deserves to be happy"
Daenerys's words reflected Sansa's desires. She wanted Jon to be happy as well. He never was happy. That realization struck at Sansa's heart.
She had not been happy all her life, but at least she had happy memories of her childhood. Jon didn't. He never felt that he belonged and Sansa couldn't help but feel responsible for that.
She took a deep breath. She wanted to right the wrongs.
She wanted Jon to be happy. Happy with her.
She wanted him to feel that he belonged, that he wasn't alone anymore and never would be again.
"I shouldn't have hit him" – Sansa sighed, feeling the heat of guilt creeping up the back of her neck.
"Well, there are worse sins" – Daenerys's said and Sansa could hear the pain in her voice – "As Queen, I find it difficult to have true friends. Missandei is the only female friend that I've got" – she added after a few seconds of silence.
"My only true friend is a twelve-year-old girl" – Sansa stated.
The Lady of Winterfell's declaration seemed to humor Dany, making her laugh.
"I'd like us to be friends, Sansa" – the Dragon Queen smiled.
A friendship between a Stark and a Targaryen could be a powerful thing.
A friendship between two queens could be a powerful thing and a beautiful thing.
"I'd like that as well" – Sansa said with a matching smile.
Daenerys gave her a gentle squeeze on her arm – a friendly gesture – before walking towards the door.
She paused to look back at Sansa.
"Perhaps you could drag Jon out of his chambers and his brooding mood" – she said – "I'll entertain everyone else in the Great Hall" – she winked, before leaving Sansa's chambers.
As soon as the door closed, Sansa approached her dressing table. She immediately found the hairpin Jon offered her.
Running her fingers through her hair to smooth it, she sat before the mirror and grabbed the shiny hairpin.
When her hair was just the way she wanted it to be she thrust the pin into place, holding a few strands of hair.
Sansa rose from the chair. She smoothed the fabric of her gown and walked towards the door.
The Lady of Winterfell ran through the long corridor and only stopped when she reached Jon's chambers.
Reaching out to grasp the doorknob, she noticed the slight tremble of her fingers.
Breathe, you fool – she reminded herself, trying to steady her hand.
Forgetting all formalities, her hand closed around the knob and she opened the door.
She walked through the foyer into the great room. A table with four chairs around it was placed near a window. In another corner, stacked shelves were filled with leather-bound books.
Ghost was curled up on the blanket Jon had spread for him near the window. The direwolf's ears perked up at the sound of someone walking into the room.
Ghost looked at Sansa. With a silent sigh, the direwolf rested his head again on his paws.
Sansa stepped into Jon's bedchamber, and there he stood.
His figure unleashed a flutter of butterflies to circle in her belly.
Jon was sitting on a window seat, reading from a thick tome. He scrubbed a hand over his face.
Sansa stood silently watching him. She could see him rereading the same page over and over again as if he was unable to concentrate on it.
A moment later, Jon threw the book away, standing up.
Sansa's breath caught as he turned his body and the moonlight caught his features.
His thick, dark hair was slightly tousled and she couldn't take her eyes from him. He was so incredibly handsome.
Who was she trying to fool? She was not angry at him. She was – is – in love with him.
Sansa wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.
She had been a completely fool. The beautiful man standing right in front of her didn't leave her; didn't abandon her; didn't marry another. The only thing that he did was ensuring their future and she hit him for it.
Sansa bit her lower lip as guilt surrounded her.
She was a master of control, but somehow, with him, her ability to think clear ceased to exist.
Jon was good and honorable and kind. He wouldn't ignore their kiss. He was the one who initiated it.
She had jumped into conclusions. She had looked at his sweet actions with distrust, when the only thing Jon was trying to do was to make her happy; to keep her safe. He wasn't trying to control her.
Davos's worries about her health were Jon's worries. He sent Bash away because he cared about her; because he didn't want her to leave Winterfell; because he wanted her in his life. He ordered the kitchen staff to make lemon cakes because of her; because he knew her; because he knew how much she loved lemon cakes.
Sansa felt a squeeze in her chest.
Had anyone treated her, aside from her parents, with so much love?
She was so used of being surrounded by liars and traitors that sometimes it was hard to let her guard down; to not jump into conclusions; to not hurt the people she loved.
Her armor had been on for such a long time that sometimes it was easy to forget that she didn't need it anymore, not with Jon.
We need to trust each other – his voice echoed in her head, making her heart beat faster.
She trusted him.
Gods, he was the only one she trusted and she still managed to create doubts in her mind and heart.
Jealousy really was a powerful thing. She thought that she was immune to Margaery's fake words, but apparently she wasn't. She had allowed her 'friend' to manipulate her; to make her believe in something that it was not real.
She wondered if that had been her plan all along or if Margaery really believed that she could be queen again.
Sansa met Jon's gray eyes then.
She wanted to ask if he was mad at her, apologize, maybe, for the punches (and the distrust), but the words refused to leave her mouth.
Jon was within reach before her once again, and in that moment she felt like she was the luckiest woman on earth.
Her body moved by itself.
Jon's eyes widened. Before his mind could register what she was doing, Sansa's body collided against his.
Jon was taken aback for a split second, before he finally encircled her waist, bringing her closer without even thinking. Almost unconsciously, he tightened his hold around her.
He closed his eyes and moved his right hand so he could slide his fingers through her hair, cradling the back of her head.
He loved her red hair. He liked to think that her hair was a different kind of fire. The sort of fire that was made to be touched and caressed. It didn't burn the skin but it definitely warmed his heart.
A sigh of relief escaped from his lips. Sansa was finally in his arms … and she felt good in his arms, natural. She felt like his – like she was made for him.
Jon held her like he wanted to be with her always.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Jon felt her soft laugh against his chest, then a small sob.
Sansa pulled herself away from him, so she could look upon his face.
"I thought you wedded Margaery" – she finally spoke. Her eyes looked bright with unshed tears.
"Gods, no" – Jon laughed softly, smoothing her hair away from her face.
Sansa's heart was hammering.
She loved that sound. She never thought she could miss someone's voice so much, but she did.
His calloused palm felt good against her skin.
Their months apart had felt like an eternity. She missed him so much that her body ached. She craved him with a physical desire.
Her entire life had been a struggle to free herself from the command of people, of men, but with Jon none of that made any difference. She wanted to be his.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for what I said to you… for what I did to you" – Sansa declared – "You did not deserve any of it, Jon" – she explained, resting her hand on his forearm – "I, I was wrong and angry at myself and at you and…" – she stammered – "and I know that I shouldn't but I –" – the words died on her lips as soon as Jon's right hand touched her hairpin.
She watched as a smile emerged on Jon's face.
There were times when Jon looked at her and he wasn't quite certain that she was real; that she was within reach; that she could be his.
Studying her face for a long moment, Jon searched for the right words.
Inside her deep blue eyes he could see her deepest fears; her old scars; the woman who didn't believe that anyone could love her.
I'm not a pawn! – her words echoed in his head.
She had been used for so many. Joffrey, Cersei, Ramsay, Baelish made her believe that she was just a pawn; that no one would ever love her. She couldn't be more wrong.
He wanted to erase all of her doubts and terrors.
He wanted her to know that he never saw her as pawn, and he never would.
He wanted her to know that, without her, he was sure that all of his strength, courage and happiness would fail him entirely.
He wanted her to know that he loved her.
He pushed her hair aside and nuzzled the back of her neck.
"You're not a pawn" – Jon said, remembering her words – "You're a Queen" – he murmured, his breath warm on her skin – "My Queen" – he smiled.
"Jon…" – Sansa tried to say, but her voice failed her.
She looked at the one man who saw her as more than a pawn and she nearly lost her balance; her knees felt weak.
She let out a watery laugh.
Sansa had always longed for a golden prince, but now, as she looked at Jon, she wished she could go back to the day she left Winterfell and scream at herself that Joffrey was not gold and not a prince… only a monster.
What she had wanted, her prince, had been right under her nose. She had lived with a prince all her life. It just took her a bit longer to see it.
She brushed her fingers against his face, pausing at his lips.
His thick dark hair was tousled. His gray eyes were brimming with tenderness and passion and love. Love.
Sansa remembered her talk with Daenerys:
I was oblivious to the fact that he was already in love with someone else.
Jon is not in love with me.
He surely is.
Jon loved her, and she loved Jon.
She loved him and she wanted to tell him so. She wanted to say those words to him, and she knew he would want to hear them, too.
She loved everything about him, from his brooding gray eyes to his unruly hair that was dark as a raven's wing.
She couldn't believe how strongly she felt for him. She hadn't felt this way for anyone before.
His hair was soft and warm between her fingertips as she toyed with it idly, like she used to do with Ghost's fur, and like she once did with Lady's.
She could tell him that. Tell him that she loved him.
Instead, she kissed him, almost knocking him over as she lunged for his lips.
She kissed him like she would die if she didn't.
Jon moaned, leaning forward into her, pulling her to him. His arms wrapped around her waist as her hands trailed up his arms and encircled his neck.
Their bodies seemed to almost sigh with relief at being joined again.
Jon surrounded her with strength, making her feel strong and fearless.
Sansa's tongue plunged into his mouth, deepening the kiss. Her hands lifted to his head and she laced her fingers in his curls.
His mouth matched hers in want, in greed.
Jon could taste the slight hint of sugar from the lemon cakes she insisted she no longer liked. A lie; a beautiful lie that made him smile like a fool. It was one of Sansa's many powers. She made him smile, which he was discovering he didn't do nearly enough of.
Jon's kiss was fierce, but his hands were warm and supporting as they moved across her back.
His mouth dropped below her jaw and his teeth nipped at her throat.
Sansa's moans were like music to his ears. She always excelled at singing the way she excelled at anything she put her mind to. Her moans and whimpers were the most beautiful song he had ever heard.
She took his earlobe between her teeth and gave it a small tug.
Jon moaned loudly. She made him want to howl, in a good way.
His hands tangled in her hair and he kissed her hard.
If Sansa made Jon feel like a wolf, then Jon made Sansa feel like a dragon. When Jon touched her skin, she felt as if there was fire running through her veins, but just like a dragon the fire didn't burn her. It made her feel alive.
Jon kissed her with an intensity that had her toes curling in her shoes. Sansa couldn't help but want his naked skin sliding over hers.
Her free hand curled into the front of his tunic to pull him closer; her fingers stroking his flesh through his tunic, making him groan slightly.
Sansa wanted to touch every part of him.
She bit his neck, unlacing the front of his tunic, as calloused palms moved along the curve of her waist, steadying her.
Jon touched her as only he could, making her heart flutter with anticipation. He seemed to know just what she needed.
Their bodies were close, but not close enough.
"Are you even aware you're undressing me?" – Jon chuckled and Sansa returned to reality – "Not that I'm complaining" – he added.
Sansa pulled back, breathless.
She met his eyes and her insides fluttered, sending curls of heat through her stomach and shivers all the way down her spine.
Gods, she wanted him.
She wanted all of him. She would never want anyone else.
She wanted to bury herself in him.
She wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anything in her whole life, but reality intruded nonetheless.
Sansa pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to control her erratic breathing and pounding heart.
"We can't" – she panted heavily, realizing with mild embarrassment that Jon's tunic was still open down the front – "I mean, we can… just not right now" – she tried to explain – "Supper is almost served"
"Can't we skip it?" – Jon immediately asked, leaning in so his breath tickled her face.
Sansa found his words humorous. She bit back a smile and rested her forehead against his.
"They'd only send someone up to get us" – she explained – "Lord Slate, probably"
Jon groaned and Sansa tried to stifle a laugh.
He frowned, all moody and brooding. Ghost approached him for a scratch.
Jon caressed Ghost's fur and Sansa watched his features soften and the tension disappear from his brow.
"You're right" – he finally said, facing reality.
Jon reached for her left hand. He entwined their fingers together, raising their joined hands to his lips and pressing a kiss against her knuckles.
"Allow me to escort you, then" – he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, offering her a warm smile.
Sansa loved it when Jon smiled. It was such a rare occurrence.
Reluctantly, she forced her body to move, hating herself for ruining the moment.
She took a step back and closed her eyes for a second.
She wanted to let Jon escort her, but she couldn't. She had already behaved improperly in front of the entire royal party. She needed to act like a lady now.
"You can't" – she said. Jon arched an eyebrow, confused – "There are formalities we have to go through" – she explained – "We're not husband and wife" – she added, softly.
Jon stepped forward, capturing her face in his hands.
"Yet" – he said, like he was completing her sentence, though the barest hint of a blush undermined his confidence. Sansa's cheeks burned with color – "Don't take too long" – he murmured, rubbing his nose against hers in a tender motion.
Sansa chuckled lightly. Jon could be quite charming when he tried, and she couldn't help but think that it was a shame that others didn't see this side like she did.
She pulled away, nodding with a reassuring smile.
"I won't" – she managed to say, looking at the beautiful man in front of her.
Jon walked towards the door and Ghost followed him.
The King in the North opened the door and paused to look back at Sansa. The intensity of his gaze made her stomach twist.
His smile was as intimate as a kiss.
Sansa knew that the life they would build together was going to make all her dreams come true. Looking into Jon's eyes, she suspected that he felt the same way.
She watched him (and Ghost) walking out of the room and put her hand over her chest. Her heart felt like it was ready to bust out of her chest. It was beating so hard she could feel it in her ears.
She sat on his bed and took a deep breath.
She braided her hair in a single thick braid and tied it together with her hair tie. She grabbed the hairpin that looked exactly like a snowflake and put it in the middle of the braid.
She touched the snowflake in her braid and smiled.
Sansa opened the door and pepped outside into the empty hallway. Hurriedly, she left the room and walked as fast as she could. She couldn't take her mind off of Jon.
She silently walked down the stone steps.
She could hear people talking and laughing, and felt her heart pounding inside her chest. She could picture the royal party talking enthusiastically, waiting for her entrance.
She approached the doors of the Great Hall. Standing on each side were two guards holding spears. As Sansa took a step forward, both crossed spears, barring her passage.
Sansa frowned.
They were wearing helmets, which hid their faces. She couldn't see their eyes, yet she was certain they were staring at her.
Why were they wearing helmets? The guards posted there never wore helmets.
Sansa gulped, feeling the worry growing in her body. Something was wrong.
She tensed; her whole body went rigid.
She was about to open her mouth when someone grabbed her from behind. Sansa couldn't see the person's face, but somehow she knew it was a man.
He placed a scented cloth over her nose and mouth, cutting off her air. The scream rising out of her disappeared in the back of her throat.
She looked at the two guards standing right in front of her. She begged with her eyes for help, but they didn't move a muscle.
She struggled but she couldn't break free unless the man allowed it.
The cloth over her nose was covered with a foul-smelling liquid. Her eyes widened as she realized the intruder was trying to drug her into unconsciousness.
The backs of her eyes stung; tears were threatening.
No, no, no, no – Sansa screamed in her mind, trying to keep her eyes open.
A feeling of extreme dizziness invaded her body.
She looked at the doors in front of her, wishing they could open.
She tried to remember what Jon taught her.
If a man comes at you, hit him in the throat.
It was useless. Her back was against the man's chest. She couldn't hit him in the throat. She didn't know what to do if a man grabbed her from behind.
Three quick jabs to the stomach, one to the throat.
One lesson didn't make her a fighter. Jon only taught her the basics.
Sansa wanted to cry. The room around her was blurring. Waves of dizziness washed over her.
Slowly, darkness crept over her.
As soon as her eyes closed, something jangled faintly at her feet – a snowflake dropping onto the stone.
You better prepare your heart for the next chapters (don't hate me!)
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