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Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person — Sylvia Plath
Jon fell on the bed as soon as he entered in his bedchamber.
He had spent the whole morning with his council and some leaders of the factions in the North, looking over maps and sharing opinions about the best way to rule the Seven Kingdoms.
He was tired. His head hurt and all he wanted to do was to never return to those endless meetings about the future of Westeros; about his future. He was tired of hours of debate.
He tried not to think about last night and his encounter with Sansa, but his mind refused to erase her image from his head. Not even the boring conversations were able to distract him.
He got out of the bed and made his way out of his chambers. He needed some fresh air and to feel the winter wind touching his skin.
He walked through the training yard and remembered the times he used to spend there with Robb, Bran, Arya and sometimes even Rickon.
In his childhood memories he could always find Robb, Bran, Arya and Rickon, never Sansa.
As much as he tried to force his mind to remember a sweet moment between them when they were children, he couldn't. The Sansa that his memory offered him was a girl who liked dolls and needlework; a girl who liked to be a lady and refused to talk with her bastard brother. Those memories were so far away from the present that sometimes he didn't know if they were real at all.
The sound of a scream invaded his ears and made him run towards the place where the sound was coming from.
As he entered into the woods the screams changed and turned into giggles.
"Ghost, you almost ripped the laces of my gown" – he heard a familiar voice saying.
Jon hid himself behind a tree and watched Sansa caressing Ghost's fur.
"You're lucky I love you" – she said and a strange sensation invaded Jon's stomach.
Ghost started to run and Sansa followed him.
Her hair was not loose but she looked as wild as last night. The top of her long braid was a little mussed, probably because of the soft wind that insisted on touching her hair, but Sansa didn't seem to mind.
Jon could see her dark boots touching the snow as she ran.
She was wearing a blue gown, simple but beautiful, that made her look like a Queen – the Queen of Winter(fell). Despite the cold weather, Sansa didn't wear any furs; she was used to the cold, like him; the cold was part of her, making her a true woman of the North.
Jon continued to watch her until her figure disappeared between the high trees. He was about to follow her when a snow ball hit his back.
"Since when do kings hide themselves behind trees?" – her voice made him turn his body. Before he could say something in return, another snow ball hit his chest and the sound of Sansa's laugh invaded his ears – "You're such a good tracker, Ghost" – Sansa said as Ghost sniffed her hand.
"Traitor!" – Jon accused the direwolf, smiling at the same time.
When Jon's eyes found Sansa's smile he was almost sure that he hadn't seen true beauty until then.
Her smile was beautiful – white as snow but warm as fire.
At that moment Jon regretted all the times he wished he was a Stark. At that moment he thanked all Gods for not being Eddard Stark's son.
Maybe it was fate, maybe there was a reason for Jon and Sansa never been close when they were children… Maybe there was a reason for them to find each other after so many years.
At that moment Jon was happy for being a Snow for so long.
"Were you looking for Ghost?" – Sansa asked when Ghost approached him for a scratch – "Sorry for stealing him from you" – she added, before Jon could answer her question.
Sansa tried to disguise the sadness from her voice but somehow Jon understood what she was trying to say.
Sansa had no direwolf. Jon knew that that was one of the many wounds that would never heal; that Sansa would always feel the pain cutting her heart every time her mind insisted on thinking of Lady. Ghost was a stark reminder of what Sansa had lost – Lady.
"I believe he has grown quite found of you" – Jon said – "He was miserable all the time we were in King's Landing" – he added, making Sansa laugh.
Gods, how he loved that sound.
"So if you were not looking for Ghost, then …" – Sansa started to say.
"I thought I heard someone screaming" – Jon quickly explained as he followed Sansa through the Godswood.
"I was tired of being inside the castle walls" – she said, gathering up her skirts and looking at her dark boots as they touched the white snow.
Jon was glad she didn't ask him why he had hidden himself behind a tree. He didn't know if he would have a good answer for that question.
"You didn't join me for breakfast" – Sansa declared, feeling Jon beside her – "Did you meet with your council?" – she asked.
"One of the downsides of being a King" – Jon sighed.
"It's better than to be in the battlefield" – Sansa said so low that if Jon wasn't right beside her he wouldn't have heard her.
The idea of Jon in the battlefield made Sansa's stomach contract and twist into a knot.
Ghost was trotting at Jon's side when a sound caught his attention. The direwolf wagged his tail and hit Jon's torso, before making his way towards the Wolfwoods.
As soon as Ghost's tail touched his body, Jon felt an intense pain near his ribs that made him stop walking.
He clenched his jaw, trying to control his body and disguise the pain. Sansa eyed him suspiciously and he faked a smile, trying to convince her that everything was fine.
Sansa opened her mouth but Jon was faster:
"It's nothing" – he said, answering Sansa's unspoken words.
Before he could react, Sansa reached for his tunic and lifted it. His abdominal muscles reacted as soon as her cold fingers touched his skin.
Sansa's eyes widened when she saw the livid bruises that were plaguing his skin and a bandage wrapped around his torso stained with blood.
"Sansa…" – Jon tried to say.
"You told me you were unhurt" – Sansa said with a serious voice – "Is this your definition of unhurt?" – she asked sharply.
The way Sansa was looking at him and the tone of her voice should have made him feel uncomfortable, but instead of that Jon caught himself grinning at her. She was scolding him and he was smiling at the beautiful woman in front of him.
"This isn't funny, Jon!" – Sansa said harshly, releasing his tunic – "You told me you were unhurt" – she added, crossing her arms over her chest. She took a deep breath – "What happened? Were you attacked?" – she asked, biting her lower lip.
Her concern warmed Jon's heart and he had to fight every impulse in his body to not caress her cheek.
"No, I was not attacked" – he started to explain – "I was training with the Kingsguard and got a little distracted, that's all" – he said, remembering the incident and trying not to look at Sansa.
His eyes found a lonely vivid blue wildflower in one of the many shrubs that surrounded them. His feet started to move towards the shrubs, but before he could pick the flower Sansa grabbed his hand and made him turn his attention back to her.
"We need to go back to the castle" – she said still holding Jon's warm hand.
As they made their way towards the castle, a memory invaded Jon's mind:
He was in his tent, looking at the missive for about an hour.
He was only a couple of days away from Winterfell when a raven arrived with a message from his Aunt.
He didn't know how many times he read the letter – a useless attempt to change the words in the missive.
Some high lord – Lord Lake – was seeking for Sansa's hand in marriage. The idea of a man touching her delicate skin made him feel sick. A strange and possessive feeling invaded his body.
He ripped the missive and grabbed his quill pen. He was being selfish. He knew that under different circumstances Sansa would be already married, probably with children and a life of her own. But that was under different circumstances.
He didn't want her to marry a stranger He didn't know anything about this Lord Lake; he could be a bad man; he could be worse than Ramsay Bolton – excuses he told himself as he wrote the letter, declining the offer.
Once he finished the letter he grabbed his sword and got out of his tent. Some men of the Kingsguard were training and he decided to join them.
The sound of steel hitting steel ran in his ears but somehow the words in the letter continued to echo in his head. He tried to erase them as he attacked one of the guards with his sword.
He didn't know how this Lord Lake looked like but his brain insisted on showing him images of Sansa smiling at Lord Lake; Sansa wrapped in Lord Lake's arms; Sansa kissing Lord Lake.
The images were slowing down his movements and making him feel dizzy. Before he could react the knight's sword hit his ribs, making him fall on the ground and an excruciating pain invaded his body.
"I'm so sorry, Your Grace. I didn't mean to …" – the guard immediately said, dropping his sword.
"My fault" – Jon said through gritted teeth, trying to diminish the pain as he got up from the ground – "I was distracted. My mind was elsewhere" – he explained.
Just like the night before, Jon found himself in front of Sansa's chambers. This time he wasn't alone.
He looked at their entwined fingers and suddenly it felt like his body was on fire.
Sansa opened the door and before he could protest she dragged him to inside the chamber.
When she closed the door, Jon didn't feel like a king at all; he felt like a fish out of water gasping for air.
This was not the first time they were together in her chamber. They had spent many nights in this room writing missives, bent over ledgers, talking about plans to rebuild Winterfell, and in each one of those encounters Jon was glad for the several interruptions, every time a servant opened the door, allowing him to breathe and fight the perverse thoughts in his mind.
Sansa released his hand and opened a drawer. Jon looked at his hand and felt the loss of her hand in his.
He looked at Sansa as she opened another drawer. He saw her tucking a strand of hair behind her hair and noticed a small snowflake in her braid. It looked like a piece of jewelry.
Sansa turned her body and made her way towards him. She was holding a piece of cloth and Jon could hear his heart beating against his chest already knowing why Sansa had dragged him to her chamber.
"I need you to take off your tunic" – Sansa said and suddenly Jon's face heated.
"Sansa, I'm well, truly" – Jon managed to say – "You don't need to…"
"You need a new bandage" – she insisted, lifting his tunic.
Jon looked at the ceiling as soon as he felt her delicate fingers touching his chest.
Sansa bit her lower lip and tried to focus on her task instead of how warm Jon's skin was; how beautiful his body was.
Have you always been this warm? – her words from last night echoed in her mind.
Unconsciously, she started to trace one of the many scars that were plaguing Jon's chest.
Jon shuddered and Sansa stopped the movement of her fingers, suddenly realizing what she was doing.
She cleared her throat.
"I need you to take off your tunic" – she repeated, trying to disguise the trembling in her voice – "You should have let me bind the wound as soon as you arrived home" – she added as Jon pulled his tunic over his head.
Sansa looked at his bare chest and silence invaded the room. He was beautiful.
Jon's eyes found hers and this time it was Sansa who looked away.
She forced her hands to unbind the dirty bandage and told her mind to focus on the wound and not on the rest of Jon's body.
She should have known this was bad idea. She was supposed to fight her impulses, not succumb to them … but as soon as she saw that Jon was injured she felt the need to heal him, to stop his pain, to make him whole again. It was a strange feeling. She didn't think twice when she lifted his tunic. It was an automatic action, like when she had thrown her arms around Jon's neck.
It was like she was drawn to him. She shouldn't, but she was.
He only sees you like a sister – a little voice inside her head spoke – He doesn't return your feelings.
Sansa tried to act normal.
What would Jon think of her if he knew about her perverse thoughts? They may be cousins, but he would always see her like a sister.
Why couldn't she see him as a brother as well? – she yelled in her mind.
When she finished binding the new bandage around his torso, she allowed her eyes to look at him.
"Thank you" – Jon said, gently touching her hand – the one that was still on the bandage.
Sansa immediately took a step back, trying to increase the distance between them so his hand was no longer on hers.
"You're welcome" – Sansa said, running her hand through her hair and destroying the snowflake in her braid. Jon remained in silence looking at the spot where the snowflake used to be – "I'll see you at dinner" – she added.
When Jon walked out of Sansa's chamber the small snowflake was still in his mind.
He smiled as an idea popped into his head.
He might never put a crown upon her red hair, but he could certainly try to make the snowflake permanent … because sometimes the snow was not doomed to melt.
I hope you liked this chapter. I know the Jon and Sansa buildup is slow, but I'm trying to be as realistic as I can, considering they spent their whole lives thinking they were siblings, so … Until then, the tension between them is going to keep building.
Prepare yourself for next chapters, things are about to get interesting in Winterfell!
Love you guys! (don't forget to tell me what you think!)