Oh what we could be if we stopped carrying the remains of who we were ― Tyler Knott Gregson
A fortnight later and the Northern lords started showing up at Winterfell's gates. Sansa mentally thanked them for their arrival.
New guests meant new distractions and Sansa desperately needed new distractions.
She had tried her very best to lose herself in the work. Planning a great feast had always been one of her dreams but she quickly realized that the spring feast would be nothing but a nightmare.
Margaery's constant interferences only increased her desire to lock herself in her chambers and forget about the feast. The worst part was that when Margaery was not around, Sansa found herself wrapped in a thick web of jealousy, because if the Maid of Highgarden was not by her side, she was certainly by Jon's side.
Sansa Stark was jealous.
Jealousy – an unexpected and unwelcome feeling.
She was not used to experience this type of feeling. She never felt insecure about herself and her looks. She was used to being called beautiful. She had grown up hearing compliments about her good manners and her beautiful embroideries. She was the perfect lady.
She was used to being the one who made other jealous, not the other way around … but now, now she was jealous of Margaery Tyrell and the way her eyes, her hands, lingered on Jon.
She couldn't help but feel jealous.
Winter was being replaced by spring and Sansa Stark was being replaced by Margaery Tyrell.
She didn't feel like the Lady of Winterfell anymore. She felt like a little girl alone in a strange house. She felt alone.
She tried to distract herself instructing on table arrangements and dinner courses but not even that had been enough to stop the jealous thoughts from invading her mind and heart.
Lyanna Mormont's arrival was like a breath of fresh air. It felt good to talk with someone so different from Margaery. Lady Mormont was always honest. She didn't hide her thoughts with pretty words. Her responses were remarkably candid. The girl reminded her of Arya – her bravery, her stubbornness, her boldness, her candor.
For the first time, since Margaery's arrival, the Great Hall felt a little less cold. It felt cozier.
The Mormont men talked enthusiastically, presenting Jon with toasts. Shouts and laughter echoed through the Great Hall. Lords and Knights from House Tyrell and House Glover were also present.
Sansa caught herself enjoying dinner. For the first time in weeks she managed to smile and eat all the food on her plate.
She was sat across from Jon, at the head of the long table. Lyanna Mormont was sat to her right and Ser Davos sat to her left. At least ten chairs separated Sansa from Jon and she was glad for it.
Sansa didn't know if she would be able to spend another endless dinner in Jon's solar with Margaery as guest of honor.
She only happened to see Jon at dinner, where she remained in silence or spoke her mind on accident. He didn't usually seek her out during the day but when he did, she quickly found an excuse to avoid him.
Despite the noise in the room, Sansa's laugh invaded Jon's ears. He would know that sound anywhere. He missed that sound. It had been weeks since he last heard her laugh.
She was different – sadder, colder.
Their last dinner have proved that.
They were in his solar, waiting for Margaery in utter silence. Jon watched Sansa drink a cup of wine and broke the silence.
"You haven't been yourself since the Tyrells arrived" – he said, watching Sansa finishing her drink.
She tried to hide her frown behind her wine but not even that was enough to stop her from speaking her mind.
"You've not spent time with me since she arrived how would you know if I've been myself?" – she blurted, putting her cup down.
He was taken aback by her words, by the intensity with which she spoke them. She was the one who was always busy. She was the one who suggested that he should spend time with other people. She was the one who told him that marrying Margaery was for the best … and now she was acting like she was cross with him. She almost sounded like she was … jealous?
Jon realized that Sansa chose to say: "since she arrived", instead of "since they arrived". Jon had mentioned the Tyrell party but Sansa had only referred to Margaery. Why?
Jon was about to speak when Margaery joined them in the solar, preventing the words from leaving his lips. Sansa picked up her wine and drained her cup.
Sansa's laugh warmed his heart.
Her sweet voice invaded his ears:
What could you possibly want more?
He looked at Margaery Tyrell. She was sat to his right.
Jon didn't want Margaery Tyrell. He never did and he never would.
What could you possibly want more? – Sansa's words kept following him.
He looked at the other end of the table. Sansa was sat directly across from him.
You – he should have told her a fortnight ago in the Glass Garden – I want you, only you.
Even if she didn't feel the same at least she would know the truth – his deepest secret; at least he wouldn't have to pretend anymore; at least the weight in his chest would cease to exist … but he didn't say the words and now he could feel the distance between them increasing.
It was already late when Jon ascended the steps that led to a long corridor. He was tired but as King he couldn't leave the Great Hall before his guests, so he waited until Lord Glover decided to finish his drink and that it was time for bed.
As he walked through the corridor he looked at the faint torches on the walls and took a moment to relax in the peaceful silence that surrounded him. The entire castle was already asleep.
He saw the streaks of light coming from the far end of the corridor. His feet started walking again and Jon found himself in front of Sansa's chambers.
He approached the half opened door and studied it for a long time. No sound came from the room. Nothing. Only silence surrounded him.
Jon was suddenly gripped by an unreasoning fear. The door was half opened, there was light coming from the room and yet he couldn't hear any sound.
If Sansa was still awake why couldn't he hear any sound? And if Sansa was asleep shouldn't the door be closed?
"Sansa?" – Jon broke the silence, leaning against the door, waiting for a response.
His call remained unanswered.
"It's me, Jon" – he tried again. He could feel the worry and panic growing in his body – "Is everything alright?"
Jon waited for a response but no one spoke. He looked at the door for a moment before finally pushing it open and stepping inside.
He walked through the foyer into the great room. White curtains hung between columns, separating the other rooms from the one he stood in.
Before he could pass through the curtains and see the bedchamber, his eyes laid upon the table in the corner of the room, placed near a window.
Sansa was sat on one of the chairs; her head rested on the table. Jon could also see a cyvasse board next to his cousin.
Despite the strands of hair that covered some of her face, Jon could see that her eyes were closed. The dancing light from the fireplace accentuated the red color of her hair and Jon caught himself contemplating her appearance.
She looked peaceful, younger … beautiful.
Jon sat on the chair near the fireplace and remained in silence, watching Sansa sleep. He could stare at her forever.
He didn't know how much time have actually passed when a familiar voice broke the peaceful silence.
"Your Grace" – Lyanna Mormont said, making Jon turn his head, startled by the sound.
"Lady Mormont" – he managed to say, rising from the chair.
The small girl was carrying a tray full of lemon cakes. Before Jon could explain himself the girl spoke.
"I was only away for a quarter of a candlemark" – Lyanna said, sitting down on the furs near the fireplace, formalities forgotten as she took a bite of cake before speaking – "I was afraid this would happen" – she explained, swallowing the lemon cake. Her lips curved up in a satisfied smile – "She kept yawning but refused to end the game" – she added – "Can I offer you some lemon cakes, Jon?"
Jon smiled and sat down on the chair. He looked down at the girl. Lyanna Mormont was one of the few people that called him by his name when they were not in public.
"Thank you, but Sansa is the one who loves lemon cakes, I prefer honey fingers" – Jon said.
Dany loved honey fingers, as well. Maybe it was a Targaryen thing.
"Are the rumors true?" – she asked. Jon looked at her confused, saying without words that he was not following – "Are you going to marry Lady Tyrell?" – she explained. Her big brown eyes never leaving Jon's grey ones.
Jon sighed.
"It's the right thing to do" – he said softly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.
"The right thing to do …" – Lyanna repeated Jon's words – "What about happiness, companionship, love?" – she countered – "Are you ready to give up from all of that?"
"Wouldn't be the first" – he mumbled. Lyanna pursed her lips disapprovingly – "It would be for the good of the Realm. It will ensure peace, Lyanna" – Jon explained, not knowing if he was trying to convince his friend or himself.
She scoffed and for a moment Jon could actually see Arya in front of him, doing the exact same thing.
"You will never be happy and if there's one thing I learned from my History lessons is that when the King is happy so is Westeros, so I think you should reconsider …" – Lyanna said, sounding like the competent and intelligent leader Jon knew. Sometimes he had to remind himself that she was only a twelve-year-old girl – "There are other ways to ensure peace" – she insisted – "You can be happy and so can she" – she added softly, looking at Sansa.
"It's not that simple" – Jon blurted. It took him a moment to realize what he had just said; what he had admitted.
He felt his heart pounding against his chest as his eyes met Lyanna's.
She knew. How did she know?
The girl smiled and Jon felt his cheeks flush.
He opened his mouth but no words came out of it.
"You have the support of the Northern Houses. You know we would go to war with you" – she started to explain, standing up from the floor – "Queen Daenerys has dragons, armies and allies. The Tyrells don't stand a chance" – she added – "You don't have to marry Margaery Tyrell to ensure peace. She doesn't has the upper hand, you do"
Unconsciously, he looked at Sansa. His beautiful cousin was sound asleep.
Could he really have her? Could he really be happy … with her?
He knew he had feelings for her. It seemed useless to deny it, at that point, but could he call those feelings love? The kind of love that makes men start wars? The kind of love that made Lyanna Stark run away with Rhaegar Targaryen?
Lyanna smiled at him like she was hearing his thoughts.
"My mother used to tell me that you know you love someone when you can spend the entire night, sitting by the fire, watching them sleep" – she said, winking at Jon before leaving the room.
As soon as Lyanna closed the door, silence invaded the room. Her words started to echo in Jon's mind and he couldn't stop looking at Sansa.
After a few minutes he rose from the chair and approached her. He touched her face carefully, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
He lifted her body from the chair, trying not to wake her. He almost froze when he heard her mumbling something that he couldn't quite understand as he carried her bridal style. He put her in her bed and kissed her forehead.
You know you love someone when you can spend the entire night, sitting by the fire, watching them sleep.
Jon only left her chambers when the first rays of the warm morning sun streamed through the window.
The next morning
"Will you teach me more tomorrow, Jon?"
"Of course"
"Of course not!" – Sansa mumbled, taking her frustration out on a straw-filled dummy.
After breakfast she went to the stables. Lyanna was occupied. She was the Lady of Bear Island which meant she was invited to attend Jon's council meeting.
Sansa needed to distract herself, but more importantly she needed to avoid Margaery. She didn't know if she would be able to hear her complimenting Jon and stay with a neutral face. She was tired of pretending.
Her right fist hit the straw dummy. She could hear the horses neighing.
A fortnight ago Jon told her that he would teach her how to defend herself but Margaery's arrival changed everything, so here she was, alone, without a teacher.
She was coated with sweat and exhausted but she didn't stop hitting her target.
She was wearing an old dress. The sleeves were faded and the hem hit her shins rather than brushing the floor. Her feet were bare and her hair was pulled in a messy knot secured by a ponytail holder on the top of her head.
One of her favorite gowns was upon a sack of grain. She was still the Lady of Winterfell and she needed to look like it. The straw dummy didn't care about her looks but the rest of Winterfell did, so she needed to look like a lady as soon as she stepped out of the stables.
She didn't remember much about last night. She didn't remember finishing the cyvasse game or getting into bed. She blamed the wine she drank at dinner. The only thing she remembered was her dream about Jon.
She shook her head, trying to erase that thought from her mind.
Her body was streaked with sweat and dirt.
"Three quick jabs to the stomach, one to the throat" – she repeated Jon's words – "And he'll go right to his knees"
She hit the straw dummy harder, but the dummy didn't move.
Sansa sighed and mopped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.
She leaned heavily against the wooden door and closed her eyes, trying to control her breath.
After a few seconds she heard voices. Sansa pressed her forehead against the wood. There were cracks between the boards and she tried to look through one of them. She immediately saw Margaery and Jon.
"Sansa never talked about you" – Margaery said, twisting her hair around her finger.
"We've never been close" – Jon explained after a few seconds – "It's different now, though" – he added and Sansa felt her heart beat against her chest.
"It's different now" – Sansa murmured, looking at Jon.
"Loras and I have always been close but every sibling relationship is different, I suppose" – Margaery continued to say.
"We're not siblings" – Jon quickly said – "Sansa is not my sister"
"Yes, I know" – Margaery said and Sansa frowned as soon as she saw her annoying smile – "But you still see her as if she was, don't you?" – she asked.
Sansa bit her lower lip and turned her attention back to Jon. He remained in silence, looking at Margaery.
"Don't say yes" – Sansa whispered – "Don't say yes, please"
Why doesn't he say anything? – she yelled in her mind – Why doesn't he say no?
"Yes" – Jon said an eternity later.
The world slowed down around Sansa. Jon's response was like a punch in her stomach, hitting her so hard she thought she would crumble.
She shut her eyes before turning around and pressing her back against the door. She put her hand over her chest.
Yes – the word started to echo in her head.
She clenched her fists, walked towards the straw dummy and hit it harder, feeling the sweat dripping down her body.
She wanted to scream but she knew she couldn't, not without blowing her cover.
She hit the dummy again when all she wanted to do was to hit Margaery's face … or Jon's.
The pain in her hands was nothing compared to the pain in her heart.
After a few moments she let herself fall heavily to the ground as tears started to form in her eyes.
He should have said no. Why couldn't he say no? Why? Was that so much to ask?
Sansa took a deep breath, trying to calm herself and stop the sobs. She wiped away the tears and let out a heavy breath.
She got up from the ground and took off the dirty gown. She grabbed the one it was upon the sack of grain and dressed herself.
At her third attempt of getting her braid right a disturbed thought invaded her mind.
You look so much like Catelyn – her aunt Lysa had once said.
Sansa always loved her Tully hair. She always loved the way people compared her to her mother. Catelyn Stark had been a perfect lady. Sansa always wanted to be exactly like her … until now. Now she wanted to look like a Stark. She wanted to have dark hair and grey eyes. She wanted to look different. If she looked different maybe Jon would look at her differently.
She was the spitting image of the woman who hated him. Of course he would never feel for her what she felt for him. How could he? It was impossible.
That realization made her want to tear off Margaery's brown hair.
Sansa finished her braid and got out of the stables.
She was about to enter in the castle when a voice caught her attention.
"Lady Sansa!"
She turned her body and saw a familiar face walking towards her.
"Lord Lake" – Sansa smiled, offering her hand.
He took her hand and kissed it.
"We had a deal, My Lady" – the blonde man said teasingly, making Sansa blush.
"Did we?" – she asked, narrowing her eyes, enjoying the way his lips curved up in a smile – "It's good to see you again, Bash" – she said, emphasizing the last word.
Sebastian Lake was a very good looking man. He didn't look like a Northman. He looked like the golden-haired knights Sansa always dreamt about. He had green eyes and a charming laugh. She had met him almost a year ago while Jon was in King's Landing.
Before her mind could register what he was doing, he stepped forward and touched her braid.
She watched as yellow stems floated in the air.
"You had little pieces of straw in your hair" – Sebastian explained, meeting Sansa's eyes.
"Did you came for the spring feast?" – she asked, running her hands through her hair.
"Aye. I couldn't miss the chance to dance with the fairest woman in all the North" – he said, grabbing her hand.
He lifted the arm that held her hand, spinning her in a quick circle. Sansa was unable to stop the laugh that escaped from her lips.
She was so wrapped up in Sebastian Lake that she didn't hear the sound of footsteps approaching.
I'm evil, I know!
(You know you love someone when you can spend the entire night, sitting by the fire, watching them sleep – I got inspired by Dawson's Creek.)