The Morning of Cocks and Betrothals
For most of the night, Jon's mind had buzzed with thoughts. So many thoughts that sleep was difficult to find despite the beautiful red hair that he saw and smelt on his chest. It was the most intimate that they had ever been in over a moon of spending most of the nights together. Jon was finding it hard to reconcile exactly why he was slumbering with his cousin. It had been for comfort. He presumed that it still was although her terrors were far less consuming and his own were less violent and jittery. But he doubted that it was for comfort alone anymore. He looked at her and saw something more than kin. She was not his sister. In truth she never had been even when Lord Eddard Stark had been his father. There had always been a distance between the pair. He had seen how Robb had held her. At times, they had been the closest siblings – the first two born to Ned and Catelyn. Then Robb had grown older, closer to Jon. Bran and Arya had arrived and Jon instantly found a bond with them unlike with Sansa. It had never been there with the eldest Stark girl, the eldest now living Stark.
He watched her as she began to break her fast, sitting to his left as Bran sat to his right. She was ever the lady. She had always been fit to rule whether it was a keep, a castle or a kingdom with a Lord, Prince, Knight or King by her side and, in truth, she would rule her Lord or King; she already ruled Jon. She supped her drink and then cleared her throat.
"Bran, Jon and I have had further discussions."
"After your outburst yesterday?" Bran asked innocently enough, the way only a brother could. The way that Jon still found himself able to talk to her, yet he was no brother. Jon shot a look at Bran warning him to back down.
"I must apologise. As long as we are keeping Jon's Snow secret, we should concentrate on finding a bride for you first, Bran."
"And who do you two think would seek to marry a cripple?"
"Someone loyal to House Stark," Jon answered.
"Perhaps the Mormonts," Sansa supplied and Bran put down his cup.
"I thought the three of us were supposed to make decisions together. After all, if anything I am the Lord of Winterfell. Not you, Sansa, nor you, Jon." Jon opened his mouth to defend himself, but Bran continued over him. "It is one thing for you two to be sharing a bed, but quite another to be making decisions whilst in that bed. Perhaps it is more suitable to marry one of you off to a loyal house and stop dishonouring each other."
"Brandon!" Jon snapped. "There is no dishonouring." He was glad for the hair that covered his cheeks as felt a flush at the lie, at his desire to be able to dishonor.
"I am not sure, no matter how loyal the Mormonts have been," Sansa responded in a quite and calm nature that both scared and awed Jon. "I do not believe that Lyanna Mormont would be suitable for Jon or as Queen in the North. Her flowering is also a few years away yet so no marriage could be consummated."
"Will little Lyanna Bear Cub truly leave Bear Island for me, a cripple, broken Lord of nothing? Or is that what you desire, me gone?"
"Winterfell is yours brother," Jon and Sansa said simultaneously and then looked at each other. Bran would always be his brother as much as Sansa would never be his sister. "I seek only to lead the North against the winter and then… I do not know, but I would take Winterfell from neither of you."
"Bran, you are the last true born son of Eddard Stark and this home is yours. Riverrun, if Uncle Edmure and his son fail, is yours through the Tully line. I wish for neither and to take neither from you. I wish to live beside you and your Lady wife and your children. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell and I cannot do that."
"How long before any wife of mine is not withchild and as such cuckolds me, the Stark name?"
"We can find someone we trust," Jon assured him. "The Mormonts are trustworthy."
Bran shook his head. "And when there is no heir for them or for us? The broken wolf and the last bear? That isn't a song I'd like to hear." Bran looked glum and Jon wondered what it must be like to doubt your ability to be a man. Did the Gods not want man to reproduce, to father sons and daughters and keep their blood alive? Did Bran question his ability to perform such a basic act?
"There is a house even more loyal and trustworthy," Sansa said, spooning preserve on to some bread and taking a bite, chewing slowly and thoroughly with all eyes on her until she was able to continue. "House Reed has kept Jon and father's secret for tens of years and Meera brought you home. Meera kept you alive after all of this time."
"You think I should marry Meera?"
"If she and her father are willing."
"She's his only remaining child, too," Bran pointed out. "Why would he marry his heir to someone who cannot have children?" Jon had never seen his younger brother so angry before. Bran glared at Sansa and Jon as Jon took a sup from his cup and Sansa took another long, slow bite of bread. As the Hall fell in to an uncomfortable silence, Bran glowering as Jon could remember Arya and Robb before him doing, Sansa spoke confidently across the void.
"Do you awaken with a stiff cock?" Jon spluttered out his drink, turning full on to his cousin as Bran stuttered over his words for a moment before Sansa continued. "If you do, then you can consummate a marriage."
"And if I don't want that cock in me or to be a breeding cow?" Meera demanded from the doorway before turning to leave. Sansa delicately dabbed at her mouth to tidy it from her meal and followed Meera, presumably to convince her of the match.
There was another long silence and Jon supped his ale once more.
"I never thought I'd hear my sister say cock," Bran laughed as Jon sprayed his drink across the table once more.
GOT – GOT – GOT
Brushing the horse's manes seemed to be therapeutic to her after everything that had happened and Sansa had no idea why. It was never something she had ever done before. Although she had spent ages brushing and stroking Lady's fur as she would now with Ghost when they were inside. Ghost was not allowed near the horses and they didn't have enough people within Winterfell to see to all of the jobs that needed performing. Sansa had learnt long ago that anyone could do anything. A lady could even empty her own chamber pot, she smiled as she realized that the Sansa Stark that had been a child within these walls would never have considered that appropriate.
"What's amusing you?" She did not need to turn away from the horse to recognize Jon's voice or recognizable smell as he entered the stables. She had not seen him since they had broken their fast together and Sansa had left to speak with Meera. Firstly Sansa had apologized to the younger lady for speaking behind her back and, even worse, planning a marital match without both parties being involved. Sansa knew what it was to be just a title, just a name, just a stake and a vessel to make withchild. That had never been Sansa's intention she explained, she had simply wished to gauge Bran's reactions to different ideas. Meera had accepted her apology and explanation and then Sansa had said "For what it is worth, though, my lady. I think Bran would enjoy a marriage to your good self and I? I think I would quite enjoy having a good sister like you."
"Just thinking about how I was as a child."
"You would never have been found in here."
"More likely you would." She continued brushing the horse, feeling his eyes on her back burning through to her flesh and she knew that he had something else to ask. She knew him too well, she feared. "What brought you here?" Finally she turned to face him and he was closer than she had thought. Her breath caught in her throat as he kept his hands behind his back, his eyes now on the straw covered floor. Was he nervous?
"When we were breaking our fast… How is it that you know of men in the morning?"
He could not say the word cock to her face and it made her smile. This man in front of her, the King in the North, the man who had led armies beyond the wall and to take back Winterfell, the man who had finally made her feel safe as no one had since her father, could not say the word cock. Sansa had left Winterfell for King's Landing in the hopes of marrying a Prince who would treat her as a lady deserved. Now she was so far from being a lady, but her cousin saw her as only that. It caused a flutter in her heart.
"Ah, yes, I apologise for the bluntness. I've learnt that sometimes acting differently, shocking people gets a better effect. Sorry if I offended you, your grace." He rolled his eyes at her using his title and she smirked, knowing that he hated being a King, being a grace or anything other than Jon.
"We have promised to be honest with each other, have we not?"
"Yes," she replied with genuine curiosity.
"The morning…" She found herself blushing at his inability to find the correct words. "How do you know of it?"
"I have been married twice, I have lain with men and awoken beside them."
"The Imp and Bolton?" There was a pained look on his face at speaking those two names and Sansa took a deep breath before answering him.
"Although Lord Tyrion never forced his upon me, we did, on occasion sleep side by side. He took more pleasure in whores than I."
"What a gentlemen," Jon mumbled under his breath.
"More so than Bolton," she corrected and Jon's eyes flashed guiltily to her own. "Although I barely slept when he chose to remain in our marital bed all night."
"It scares me when you speak so coldly." Sansa looked at her cousin wondering if he meant the statement hurtfully or was just stating the truth. He seemed saddened by his words.
"Only about things which hurt," she responded after a few beats, ignoring the fact that her voice was still as cold as the snow that surrounded them outside. "I will never be pained again."
"I promise you, Sansa," he said, taking her hands in his. She stared down at their joined hands and wondered if their warmth could melt her voice. "You will never be married again."
"Unless we need an Heir?" The harshness was still there and she suddenly hated it.
"We?" he smiled at her and her face softened in response.
"House Stark," her voice was suddenly a whisper and she fought the blush that reddened her cheeks, turning away to hide herself from him. "Technically you may be considered House Targaryen."
"I would rather be a Stark." His words were barely heard, his voice gruff and low and Sansa suddenly and desperately wanted them both to be something else.
"Perhaps we should…"
"Yes?" Fighting the urge to turn back and face him, Sansa could only wonder if his thoughts were the same as hers. Though they should not be. They had been brought up as brother and sister, no matter how hard she had fought it. Whatever way that she was beginning to feel for him, he would never reciprocate.
"Maybe our night terrors have passed?"
Her face and voice hardened once more, but not from trying to keep past pain out. This time it was to stop the pain that she could already feel snaking around her. "If you wish, your grace."
"Do not say it like that, Sansa." How dare he use her name?
"Say what and how?" Anger was seething within her. "You are my King and I must do as you say."
"You are my-"
"Do not say sister!" she hissed far louder than she had intended. "If you do not wish to comfort and protect me, that is your choice. If it is some misguided notion of propriety. Well," she moved to the door and stormed out as she said: "I have already felt your morning blood many times in the past few months and it matters nothing."