Jon

Winterfell

When the war is over, there's no going back

As it had turned out, through one miracle or another, both Jon and Sansa were alive when the war was over. Although many people had died, trough intervention by the old gods or luck or skill, the Starks were still there.

Daenerys, her dragons, and so many others had fallen in the battles in the south. Sansa had remained in Winterfell. He had insisted that there always needed to be a Stark here, and Bran had agreed, and so she'd told them everything she could about Cersei, and they had sent ravens back and forth when needed. It hadn't been ideal, but they had won, and now they were free. The seven kingdoms were free too, at least comparatively speaking. There was no king; a new council had been created, with representatives from the seven kingdoms and the most important of their vassals. With that settled, Jon had come home, Bran had stayed behind in Kings' Landing, and Arya came and went as she pleased.

He'd returned to Sansa around noon that day and heard as she'd been talking to one of the few thatchers' that had stayed behind, much too old to go to war. From what he picked up, he'd helped her organize the building of a few temporary longhouses for the people who had remained in Winter Town, because what was left of Winterfell couldn't hold everyone. She hadn't seen him at first as he approached her from the side, alone, without his usual armour on him. The gates had been open and he'd waved away the fanfare. It hadn't taken him long to throw himself off his horse and remove his top layer of steel plate and chainmail. He was sick of everything that made him feel like he was about to ride into battle again.

Sansa had not been difficult to find, standing there like a pillar of strength and furs and red hair among the rubble and snow and broken things. She was home and hope and …his? Jons heart skipped a beat. No, not yet.

When the war is over…

He never wanted to go back.

And he was desperate for her to love him.

But what if she wanted to pretend like their conversation before that battle had never happened? In all honesty, he'd been pretty sure that he wasn't going to survive, yet, here he was, and so was she, and spring was coming and… It was as though he'd been given a new, true chance at life.

He resisted an urge to run to her and take her in his arms and kiss her and do all the things he wanted to really do. He had missed her in a lovesick kind of way, and though he hadn't told anyone about it, ser Davos and Tormund had both figured out that something was "amiss". The others were mostly busy with themselves, and he could hardly blame them. So many things had been lost in the fires and battles and storms. They were all just trying to cope, mourn and get through the day.

But for him, somewhere in all the mess that was the new world, he had found solace in the thought of her. He'd sent her letters about things that would hardly warrant the use of the precious ravens of Kings' Landing, but he didn't care. He wanted to hear about Sam, Gillys pregnancy, the small people and if the roads were okay and if she needed anything, anything at all. Her answers were polite and about the practical matters of things, maybe a bit short at times, but even so just seeing her hand and stamp on the scrolls made him ever so at ease. He'd kept them all.

It also meant that he had no idea of what she really felt and thought about their previous encounter. He wanted to trust in her, as they had said that they would. He didn't doubt that she loved him, not at all. But castles in the air were just that, fantasies.

Part of him felt incredibly selfish and guilty. How many soldiers had been lost? How much needed to be rebuilt, reploughed, organized and repaired? But he'd grown weary from pretending to love someone. He didn't feel ashamed of it, not really, he'd done what he had to make sure that mankind survived. But he was so tired of it all.

Just once, he wanted to do something that wasn't a sacrifice or forced upon him or for the sake of duty alone.

Loving Sansa was pretty much the opposite of that.

He'd ridden ahead of his men to prepare Winterfell, as much as it could be prepared, for feeding and lodging an army. Many would still have to sleep in tents come nightfall, but they were more than used to it by now. He'd stay with them to keep the morale up, lead by example and all that. From what he'd understood by Sansas letters, at least the food would be better than all that salty meat they'd been eating for the last month.

And then he was by her side, nudging her arm with his naked hand and saying her name, and she threw herself into his arms and he held her and held her and held her…

When they pulled apart, he looked at her like he'd never seen her before, and there was a blush, and she held her head high.

After having made the rounds, meeting and greeting and all that, they turned their eyes to what was left of Winterfell. They walked around and studied the grounds and assessed the damage that had been done. Most of the able folk had gone South with them, so no work had yet been started in earnest. Thankfully, she told him, the foundation was mostly intact, and the first thing they needed to do was to allocate materials and builders. The reserves of food were still good, and the countryside had been spared almost all the usual burdens of war. The undead had not marched far, and where they had gone, they had not burned anything. The ice would melt, the days would get longer, and spring would come back soon. Sansa felt it in her bones.

"We've explored the cellar, and that and the main chimneys are still basically intact. The main towers are fine. I tried to fit as many as I could in the main hall and the other rooms that survived, and thankfully we got the kitchen in order rather quickly." She gave him a genuine smile, as though she wasn't looking at the remaining rubble of her ancestral home at all. But then, everything would be fine, wouldn't it? It was a strange feeling to know that things probably wouldn't, for once, get worse. "There will be bread and soup and winter apples for your men. And oats for the horses. And there's a couple of longhouses for your wounded." She closed her eyes, heaved a great sigh and wrapped her cloak a little tighter around her shoulders. "And now, Jon, I am so very tired."

He put his arm around her as they walked to the old Heart tree, and he felt the tenseness of her shoulders and neck, even if she'd put on a brave face since he got back. "I commend you for your work, my lady." He said finally, realizing that there weren't any words that could describe the gratitude and admiration he felt for her, but he wanted to say something. His own work had been comfortable compared to hers. The Red Keep had feather beds and a warm climate, even if the city itself had been crowded and smelled of death baking in the afternoon heat, and the workhours long. But then, she had probably worked as much as he had. She nodded at him, and they sat down on the stones by the pond. A few red leaves were lay scattered around them on the snow.

"I haven't slept much since you left," Sansa admitted with another sigh. "I was worried sick, and I wouldn't trust any letters until I actually saw you again." He gave her a small smile.

"I missed you." And he took her hand in his, but they weren't the soft hands of a lady anymore. They were the hands of a regina who did whatever needed to be done. She smiled back at him, and he drank it in. "And you'll have someone to share your burdens with from now on." She shrugged lightly and squeezed his hand, and he felt her warmth seeping through him.

"It's just…" She gazed at the frozen water before them. "Sorry but, will the troops arrive tomorrow?" Jon nodded.

"They ought to, yes." Sansa made a gesture at the castle walls.

"I think we should have a feast, or, at least a… celebration? The food is what it is, but the people need something to bring their spirits up. For all the warriors who came home, and songs and fires for those who didn't." She looked back at him again. "And before we rebuild Winterfell, we need to get Winter Town in order, and set up some kind of monument for all the one's we lost…" There was nothing for him to do but agree with her, and then they sat in stillness for a long while, the only sound being the distant howling of the wind. "And now you are the King of the North again." He shrugged slightly.

"Not if the lords have a say, and we need to give them that. With the new information, they should be given a chance to vote again." Sansa cocked her head slightly at his words and gave a crooked smile.

"Careful there dragonboy, you might lose." She was teasing him, but he'd let her have it if it kept her smiling.

"Aye." He responded flatly, and let his eyes gaze at her mouth for a breath before he returned them to hers again. She'd seen it, and her smile softened.

"Sansa", he said finally, feeling as though his heart might give up on him if he didn't get to talk to her about what had happened before the final battles had commenced. "I need to know… do you still…" And he looked up at her, and her eyes were so blue, and her entire being focusing on him. "I never thought I was going to live long enough to have this conversation." He breathed out heavily, but with a smile on his lips. "I'm sorry, I have no idea what I'm doing." He ran a hand through his hair, and to his great dismay he heard her giggle at him.

"You go about defeating undead hoards, restructure the seven kingdoms, and still can't talk to girls?" He felt a red heat spread from his chest up to his neck, and begged the gods not to let it reach his face. Unfortunately for him, the gods didn't care. He hid his face in his hands.

"You're so mean to me." His voice oozed with mock-hurt, bur she stopped giggling anyhow. "And I'll have you know, that statement's only true about the one girl." About half a minute went by in silence before she spoke again.

"Okay. Look at me." And he did, and her smile was warm, and her hand brushed his hot cheek and it made all tension in him melt away. "Are you still Jon? The same as before this… mess?" He nodded against her.

"Yes. And I've receded my Targaryen name, all the claims that went with it, abdicated, and kept my mothers name. But I guess I told you that already… All I ever wanted to be was a Stark, here, in Winterfell. I don't know what the other Northerners will think of me, but I'm all the same as before." He crinkled another smile at her. "Does that answer my lady's question?" And Sansa nodded softly at him, leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"Then, Jon Stark, will you keep your promise to me and take me as your wife?" He laughed softly.

"Are you proposing to me?" Her smile didn't fade.

"Yes." And he bowed slightly to her and kissed her hand, feeling like a knight from one of the old stories who had finally won the love of his precious lady.

"Then I say yes."

His heart felt light as a little bird.

And yet…

They both knew in their hearts that it wouldn't be as easy as simply getting married and living happily ever after. There was so much to be done before they could focus on their own happiness. Not to mention the fact that if they married now, the nobles would think that he'd gone from perusing one queen to another, because there was no doubt in his mind that Sansa would be elected over himself, being the true Stark that she was. He tightened the grip on her hand, and she smiled up at him, pulled back from her thoughts.

"We've got this." She kissed his cheek.

"Brick by brick, as uncle Ned used to say." He brushed some hair from her face and moved himself closer to her, and she leaned in to kiss him and the world around them fell away for one sweet moment.

They sat in silence by the old tree as the night fell over the castle, the lights were lit and helped guide them right as they slowly began to make their way back over the broken ground. They held hands in the dark and talked and laughed as though nothing special had happened lately, and it was just any other beautiful winter night. The silvery moonshine made long blue shadows of their forms on the snow behind them.

Then, just before they entered the castle grounds, Sansa stopped, let go of his hand and gave him a nervous smile.

"Right, a few practical matters. I gave your room to Gilly and Sam." He raised his eyebrows slightly at her.

"And?" She fiddled with the sleeve of her dress.

"Well, she's having a baby any day now so I only thought it right they have a proper room for the delivery. I moved in to an old reading room by the library that still has a functioning fireplace. You could have it if you'd like. It's small but it's-" He stared at her.

"I brought my tent." And even in the weak light from the walls behind them, he saw her blush.

"Oh… okay." But she was still blushing. "It's just… it would be very strange if the king of the North slept in a tent outside of his own castle." He shrugged.

"I can't very well throw you out."

"Uh… well…" Why did she still look so nervous? "I could sleep in one of the halls with the others? Or in the longhouses?" He shook his head.

"The lady of Winterfell can't very well sleep outside of the castle either, and honestly, not amongst the commoners either. Not that I mind them as such, but…" He shrugged. "You know what I mean."

"Well, there aren't really any other rooms. Not with working fireplaces. I gave them to the pregnant women, and anyone else who were in an especially precarious situation. I can't very well throw toddlers out."

"Well, I still have that tent-"

"Or we could share it?" And then he understood what she'd probably been getting at the whole time and felt like a complete idiot.

"Oh." He felt his own cheeks grow hot. "Uh, I'll have my bed set up?"

"No no, no need, I'll fix one, it's not a problem. I know how horrible the travelling beds can be, and I've had mattresses prepared so there's plenty." He couldn't help but feel as though the sentence was a bit rehearsed, and gave her a questioning look. She was playing him.

"Please just say it outright next time." She gave him another smile, but less nervous this time.

"Why, what ever do you mean my lord?" Again with that cheek. God, how he'd missed it, along with so much else. He took a step closer to her, leaning in to whisper to her as though the wrong person might hear, but there wasn't a soul nearby.

"Don't toy with me Sansa. Own it." He felt more than heard as she drew in a sharp breath and there was a twitch in his chest.

"I want you in my chamber tonight." And his pulse grew quicker, as though he hadn't already been prepared for what she'd had to say. She pulled away, straightened her back and quirked a brow at him. "And if you'd insisted on staying in that horrid tent, mark my words, I would have found a way to get in there as well." Then she shook off some snow from the hem of her dress and left him to his thoughts and started towards the caste again. "And anyhow. Surely you can't fault a girl for being a tad nervous when her man comes back from war." Her man. She meant him. The words danced throught his mind.

"But you're not a girl, are you?" He heard the words coming out of his mouth, but he still stood there, frozen, and she stopped again to listen to him. Once he found his bearing he walked up to her, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. When he pulled away he realized that he'd been holding his breath and took a deep drink of the icy cold air.

"No, I'm not." Her voice was low and steady. "But fear makes one feel small, and I've felt so small since you left. Not that I let it rule me. But there is little joy in the world when all of your loved ones are risking their necks and there's no guaranties that any of them will survive." He merely nodded at her and hugged her close.

"I don't know how many times I've heard old children's songs sung around the campfires. Or how many stories about siblings or mothers or grandfathers. We tell ourselves that we do it for them. But I would be lying if I said that I never felt guilty for marching the Northern armies down south to put another despot on the throne. So somewhere along the line, I decided not to. I'm not sure how it would have come about if she hadn't been killed in the battle of Kings Landing, but… I guess that's over now." He felt her nod into his shoulder. "Uh... the point I was trying to make was that war makes us all feel small." He thought that he'd said too much, but she hummed at his words.

"I'm so glad you're here."

When they got back, almost everyone else had gone to bed. During the short days they worked hard, and at night sleep fell over the castle like a heavy blanket. Sansa pulled him along to the kitchen to make sure he ate some reheated soup and bread, asked for her room to be prepared and sank down into one of the chairs by the small table next to him. She looked absolutely exhausted and a little pale, but ate her soup all the same. Even now, she was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen, and he felt so grateful for getting to share this small, quiet moment in their real home with her.

The library had a few wax candles still burning, and they walked past broken shelves and unsorted piles of paper. Surprisingly though, in one of the corners stood an almost clean desk, and next to it a seemingly organized shelf. That must have been Sam's doing. And then they were at her door, and she let him in, and the room was warm smelled like her. The guards were on the other side of the library, meaning that Jon and Sansa were completely alone, probably in this entire part of the castle. A shiver went through him at the thought.

He closed and locked the door behind him and surveyed the cramped space. There was a chest which he assumed held Sansas private things, clothes and so on. A huge old desk with a book holder on it, a sectioned shelf for storing letters, (which had long ago reached its capacity), and a rather wide bed squeezed in between said desk and the wall. His was on the other side, covered in linen and soft furs. The fire crackled and was the only source of light in the room.

She hung up her cloak on a hook on the door, walked over to her trunk and pulled out a nightgown, then she pointed at what he realized was his own luggage as though to tell him to do the same. He knew that there was supposed to be a tunic somewhere in there, searched it, and found it at the very bottom, thankfully still clean. He probably hadn't worn it since King's Landing. And then he realized that he smelled very much like a soldier, and cursed himself for it.

"Jon." Sansa finally said after what seemed like an eternity. He turned towards her, and she was standing facing him, unbuttoning the front of her dress. But she didn't say anything more, but simply undid her dress and let it fall to the floor.

"Yes?" His voice sounded strangely distant.

"You're not going to sleep over there, are you?" She ran a hand through her hair as undid one of her braids. He really needed to stop freezing up at every single thing she did, but gods, she did them good. His chest grew warm and he ran a hand through his hair.

"What?" His voice was hoarse, and he couldn't really process anything anymore.

Her undertunic fell on top of her dress, and before she pulled her nightgown on, if only for a moment, he saw her standing in her smallclothes and high socks and felt as though none of this could be real. And then she walked up to him and started to undo his leather vest, pulling slowly at the straps as though there wasn't anything special about it. After a moment, as he returned to his senses, he put a hand on hers as to stop her and finally caught her gaze. But in her blue eyes there wasn't a trace of the shy girl she once had been. It was the eyes of a woman who knew what she wanted, and who expected to get her way.

"I want to share my bed with you."

And then he was wholly and utterly lost.

The war was indeed over

And there was never any going back