Of course I love you, it is my fault that you have not known it all the while ― Antoine de Saint Exupéry
Sansa couldn't make herself to sit still. She was pacing, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She was anxious.
She could hear people talking and laughing from downstairs and grew even more anxious. Jon had probably made his entrance. She could picture the Northerners raising their cups and complimenting their King.
Sansa looked at herself in the mirror.
She had worked both night and day and managed to finish her gown just in time for the feast. She was pleased with it.
Her eyes landed on the hairpin Jon offered her. She considered using it but she quickly erased that thought from her mind. The hairpin would stay on her dressing table.
This night was not about Jon and her. This night was about Jon and Margaery. If she would have to spend the entire night watching them dance and smile and flirt, she would make sure to glow; she would make sure all eyes would be on her.
She was still the Lady of Winterfell. At least for one night she would make sure that everyone knew that.
There was a knock on the door and Brienne entered in the room with Ghost at her heels.
"My Lady" – she said, bowing her head – "They are all ready for you"
Sansa felt her heart pounding inside her chest.
Smoothing out her skirts she took one last glance at herself in the mirror.
Brienne escorted her through the castle corridors. They silently walked down the stone steps.
The women approached the doors of the Great Hall and Sansa lowered her gaze for a moment, staring at the floor, trying to control her thoughts, her breathing, her heart …
She let out a heavy and unladylike breath, before raising her chin, disguising all her fears and worries with a beatific smile.
Brienne walked forward and opened the doors, allowing Sansa to step into the room.
She was a vision in gray.
Brocaded white snowflakes made their way down her skirts. Although the high neckline was simple, covering her collarbone, the bodice side cutouts added a touch of daring to the gown. On the front of her bodice was the figure of a direwolf, embroidered in white thread.
Jon focused his attention in the red thread Sansa used to embroil the wolf's eyes and realized that the direwolf in her gown was Ghost.
Her arms were bare. Her auburn hair was in a wavy ponytail that dropped elegantly over her shoulder.
He noticed that Sansa wasn't wearing any jewels. She didn't need jewels to look exquisite.
Suddenly, his heart stopped and he almost forgot how to breathe when Sansa turned her body so she could look at Ghost. The direwolf was behind her.
The whole room went silent.
He had thought that the bodice side cutouts that exposed her delicate skin were daring, but as he looked at her now, he didn't know how to describe the plunging open back that allowed all people to see her porcelain skin.
Jon watched men gasping in wondering and a possessive feeling invaded his body. His hands tightened on his chair and only good etiquette prevented him from rising from his chair and run towards his cousin. Every male eye stared at Sansa with flashes of hunger, especially Lord Lake – Bash, as Sansa preferred to call him.
The Lady of Winterfell approached the high table and their eyes found each other. He stood up and pulled the chair out for her. When he took her hand the whole world seemed to disappear. Unconsciously, his thumb started to draw circles over her skin, enjoying how delicate she felt to his touch.
Sansa sat on her chair and her breath quickened as Jon refused to let go of her hand.
"You look stunning" – the words stumbled out of Jon's mouth before he was even aware of his lips parting.
It took him a moment for him to realize what he had just said. He released her hand immediately, feeling his cheeks flush and avoiding eye-contact.
Sansa smiled and caught herself contemplating his appearance.
"You look very dashing" – she said, leaning into him.
Jon turned his head to her, surprised at her words.
Contrarily to most days, Jon wasn't wearing black, at least not completely.
He was wearing a red silk shirt with black Targaryen dragons stitched on it. He considered wearing a doublet, but quickly erased that thought from his mind. He wanted to feel as comfortable as possible. He opted for something simpler: a new coat of black silk.
An overwhelming sensation invaded his body as he realized how close her face was to his. Their noses were barely inches away from each other.
For a moment he wondered if this was how it would feel like if Sansa became his Queen. The compliments, the closeness, the touching... He wouldn't even mind attending to banquets and feasts if that meant that Sansa would be at his side, making him feel safe and complete.
Servants bringing food to their table, made them return to reality.
The Northerners raised their cups and complimented Lady Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell. Some guests even brought her gifts, like fine fabrics and precious stones. Sansa thanked them for their kindness and blushed a little.
She looked at the long banquet tables and watched as their guests ate and talked enthusiastically.
She had missed this. Seeing the Great Hall full of people and happiness warmed her heart.
Before she knew it, Sansa was laughing at something Jon said. They talked about the feast and trivial things. For the first time in a very long time, Sansa felt at home again. Talking with Jon made her feel happier than ever. She remembered their time together, after Ramsay's death. They used to spend hours talking … then Jon departure to King's Landing changed everything. When he returned, Sansa thought that things would remain the same, but Margaery's arrival turned her sweet dream into a nightmare.
Sansa watched him smile at her and smiled in return.
He really looks beautiful in red – she thought.
She casually moved her hand to rest on his forearm as they talked with some guests who approached the high table.
Their knees touched and Jon held her hand. His touch was gentle. Unconsciously, he entwined their fingers together.
Jon never thought it was possible for him to be so happy in a feast. The spring feast was a success. He was enjoying himself more than he thought it was possible … at least until the dancing began and Lord Lake approached their table.
Sebastian's eyes lingered on Sansa as he offered his arm for a dance.
Jon swallowed his jealousy down when Sansa glanced back at him. He forced a smile and helped her stand. He couldn't resist finding any excuse to touch her.
As Sansa made her way towards the dance floor, Jon refilled his cup with wine.
He could feel his heart beating against his chest. Lord Lake would probably present his proposal to Sansa while they danced.
He had been so wrapped up in Sansa that he completely forgot about Sebastian Lake and his marriage proposal.
He drained his cup, trying to hide his worried expression behind his wine.
He should be the one dancing with her, not Bash.
Jon couldn't help but hate the man even more. Contrarily to him, Sebastian Lake was a fine dancer.
Jon wished he had spent more time learning to dance, instead of spending most of his time in the train yard, learning swordplay.
He watched Sansa spinning around and laughing as Sebastian Lake caught her in his arms. Her auburn hair whipped against her back as she threw herself more vigorously into the dance. She looked like a living flame.
When the minstrel took up a new song, Jon gulped. It was a slower tune, the perfect song for a proposal.
Sansa felt Sebastian pull her closer as they swayed slowly to the beat. She rested her chin over her own hand, the one that was over Sebastian's shoulder. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the music.
She tried not to think about Jon but he managed to invade her thoughts. She wished he was the one holding her right now. She knew Jon didn't like to dance and that he was a terrible dancer, but she wouldn't even mind if he stepped on her feet if that meant that she would be able to feel his skin against her skin; to feel his breath against her neck; to feel his hands on her waist…
She was so lost in her dreams that it took her a moment to realize that Sebastian was talking with her.
She pulled away from him slightly.
"I'm sorry, can you begin again?" – she asked, trying to compose herself – "I didn't –"
Sebastian smiled and Sansa looked more confused than ever.
"Will you marry me?" – he said.
Sansa's mouth fell open, her body coming to a halt as his words echoed in her mind. She focused her eyes on the man in front of him, wishing he could, by some magic, turn into Jon.
She tried to speak but no words came out of her mouth. This was not supposed to be happening.
She wanted to run away from the dance floor and hide herself in her chambers. She didn't want to marry Sebastian Lake.
She tried to imagine a future by his side and shivered. She couldn't even picture a future with Sebastian Lake. He was handsome and charming, and Sansa was sure that he would make a fine husband, but despite all of that she couldn't imagine herself spending the rest of her life as his wife, away from Winterfell, away from Jon.
And can you imagine yourself spending the rest of your life watching Jon love someone else in your own home? – her conscience spoke.
Unconsciously, she looked at the high table. She immediately caught Jon looking at her. She was trying to read his expression when her eyes landed on the chair next to Jon. She felt a sharp pain in her chest, as if she had been stabbed. Jon was not alone at the high table. Margaery was sat right next to him, on her seat.
She's sat on my seat – she swallowed against her dry throat.
She felt tears coming to her eyes as she realized that she was having a glimpse of the future.
Sansa snapped her eyes away from Jon and Margaery to look back at Sebastian Lake. She met his green eyes and tried to find a solution, an escape.
A solution. An escape – the words started to echo in her mind – He was the solution, the escape – Sansa realized.
She felt Jon's gaze on her but refused to look back. She couldn't look back.
Ignoring her heart, she pursed her lips and nodded her answer.
"Yes" – she made herself say, forcing a smile.
Sebastian gave her a surprised smile. Before he could spin her around, Sansa's attention was taken away by Ser Davos seeking a dance with her.
Sebastian bowed his head and gave her one last smile, heading back to his table.
As soon as Ser Davos's hand went to her hip, Sansa released the air she didn't know it was trapped inside her lungs. She put her right hand over his shoulder and tried to control her breathing and enjoy the music.
She had said yes. She had accepted Sebastian Lake's proposal.
It was my only option – she said to herself – At least this way I'll not be completely miserable. I won't have to live in the same castle as Jon and Margaery, and see them build a happy life together.
She looked around the room, trying to remember how good it had felt when she stepped into this room, after Ramsays's death. She tried to remember the joy she had felt; the way the stone walls felt warmer when she touched them; the way the air smelt better when she breathed it; the way the floor felt steadier when her feet walked around the room without fear.
Winterfell is no longer my home – she thought.
The walls turned cold again. The air smelled like roses – golden roses … and the floor, the floor was begging her to fall.
She disguised a sob.
Several men asked for her hand and Sansa tried to ignore the pain in her chest. She wanted to enjoy the dancing and the music but she couldn't. The only thing she could do was to force smiles and fake laughs.
When she finally grew tired of pretending, Sansa staggered away from the dancers.
She could feel the tears pricking her eyes as she left the Great Hall and ascended the steps. She walked through the long corridor, doing her best to fight back the tears. Her lungs hurt and she could hardly breathe.
When she was almost reaching the door of her chambers, a familiar voice invaded her ears.
"You promised" – Jon said.
Sansa sniffed loudly through her nose and rubbed her eyes, before turning her body.
She did her best to breathe normally when her eyes met Jon's.
"What are you doing here?" – Sansa asked, trying to disguise her trembling voice – "You're supposed to be at the feast"
"You said yes" – Jon continued to say, ignoring Sansa's question – "You accepted his proposal" – he added, sounding mad and distressed at the same time.
Sansa felt her heart beating faster as she watched Jon walking towards her.
Did Sebastian talk with him already? Did he tell him about their marriage?
Jon gave a frustrated groan.
"You promised you wouldn't leave Winterfell, Sansa!" – he said – "You promised and –"
"I know … but I, I can't stay" – she interrupted him, feeling her entire body trembling.
His obliviousness only made her feel worse. She knew she shouldn't feel this way but she did. She wanted him to save her, to stop asking questions, to open his eyes and see right through her.
She wanted her life to be a song. And she didn't even mind if the song was a sad one, not if that meant that when she fell, Jon would be the one to catch her in his arms. A sad song would be better than no song at all.
"Yes you can. Winterfell is your home" – Jon insisted.
"Not anymore" – Sansa said so low that she didn't know if she had spoken at all.
"You don't have to marry him, Sansa" – Jon said, taking a step forward, decreasing the distance between them.
Despite the amount of emotions that were invading her body, Sansa mustered up a stubborn look and stared up at him.
"Yes, I do" – she stated.
"Sansa …" – Jon tried to say but his cousin was faster.
"I want to leave" – she said with more roughness than she intended. Jon's eyes widened – "I want to leave Winterfell" – she added, softer this time.
"You want to leave?" – Jon managed to ask. Her words were like a punch in his stomach, hitting him so hard he thought he would crumble – "I don't understand ..." – he breathed – "Why?"
Sansa remained in silence, unable to speak. Why? Why did he have to say why? He was supposed to know the answer. In her dreams he knew the answer.
Jon bit the inside of his cheek as the worst scenario ever invaded his mind. He closed his eyes and forced the words to leave his mouth.
"Do you love him?" – he finally asked, doing his best to disguise his discomfort.
His heart thundered in his chest. The mere thought of Sansa saying yes made him feel sick.
He remembered the moment she had accepted Lord Lake's proposal. His insides quivered and his chest tightened. He didn't hear her say the word yes, but when she nodded and Sebastian Lake's smile widened, Jon knew that she had accepted his proposal. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to disappear.
Sansa laughed mirthlessly. Gods, he was such an idiot and so blind… and so Jon.
"No …" – she said, shaking her head – "… and I probably never will" – she muttered, looking at her own feet.
"Then … I, I don't understand …" – Jon stammered – "Why do you want to leave?"
Tired of pretending, of hiding, of restraining, Sansa stared up at him.
"Because I'd rather live with a man that I don't love than to stay here and watch you be in love with someone else for the rest of my life!" – she blurted, meeting Jon's stunned and widened eyes. Her heart started to beat faster as the words stumbled out of her mouth, practically on their own – "And I know I shouldn't feel this way but I do … I can't help it. It's too painful and –"
Before her mind could register what he was doing, Jon stepped forward and brought his hands up to cup her face. He crashed his lips against her and a small gasp of surprise rose out of Sansa's throat as she felt Jon's lips pressed to hers.
A moment later, Jon withdrew slightly, opening his eyes to look at her for a reaction.
Sansa opened her eyes slowly and almost forgot how to breathe when she met his gaze. His eyes were serious, full of adoration and doubt.
She remained in silence, looking at his beautiful gray eyes. She was too bewildered to speak.
Jon misunderstood her silence.
"Forgi –" – he tried to say but Sansa interrupted him.
She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him back to her, capturing his mouth. Jon moaned, leaning forward into her.
His arms wrapped around her waist and Sansa moved one of her hands so she could feel the skin of his neck.
All the sexual tension between the two of them that had built up over the last months fueled the moment.
When Jon's hand trailed down to span across her lower back, Sansa shivered against his touch and gripped the front of his shirt, keeping him close.
Jon's left hand caressed her cheek and tilted her head to deepen their kiss. Sansa felt Jon's tongue seeking immediate entrance, forcing her mouth to open. She heard him moan into her mouth and felt as if there was fire running through her veins.
She had never felt anything like it. Her whole body felt as if it was on fire.
She moaned as he ravished her mouth. Her hands trailed up his arms and encircled his neck.
Jon's arms moved around Sansa, so he could press her body fully against him.
Touching her was hypnotic and addictive at the same time. He didn't know if he would ever get enough of her; he wanted to touch every part of her.
Her hands moved up from his neck and she ran her fingers through his hair. She pulled his hair tie and laced her fingers in his curls.
Jon pushed her against the stone wall and leaned in, losing himself in her touch.
Gods, he'd wanted to do this for so long.
She felt good in his arms, natural.
He reached down and grabbed her thighs before lifting her up. She responded instantly, wrapping her legs around his waist. She pressed her body more fully to his and heard him groan as her hips moved against his.
Her gown crept up her thighs and Sansa clung to him, gripping his shoulder with one hand and the back of his head with the other, as Jon touched her bare skin. She could feel his right hand on her leg, rubbing up and down.
The tingles, racing over her skin, pooled between her thighs. She was addicted to his lips, his hands, his body…
They both knew that this should not feel half as natural as it did.
Jon used to be her brother. Sansa used to be his sister.
Half-brother. Half-sister – a little voice reminded them. A pitiful excuse, since they both knew that their feelings wouldn't change, not after fate allowed Sansa to reach the Wall and find Jon; not after fate allowed Jon to live again, so Sansa could find him … so they could complete each other.
And maybe they were sinners. Maybe their lust for each other, before they knew the truth about Jon's parentage, was a sin…
But it was not a mistake, never a mistake – they realized – How could that be a mistake if nothing about this moment felt wrong?
Sansa's fingers kept losing themselves in his unruly hair, pulling his face even closer to her own.
Jon's tongue kept plunging into her mouth, deepening the kiss, enjoying the way she moaned against his lips.
They didn't seem to get close enough to one another.
Suddenly, the sound of a scream startled them.
They broke apart. Jon lowered her down, so Sansa's feet could touch the floor again. His hands were still on her waist.
Sansa gripped his tunic. The music had stopped and all she could hear was people talking, shouting and screaming words that she couldn't quite understand. Jon could hear something else. He could hear the sound of wings beating in the sky – dragon wings.
"Rhaegal" – he murmured, looking at Sansa's blue eyes. She looked at him, confused – "One of Dany's dragons is here …" – he managed to say, taking a step back – "I, I need to know what's happening … I need, I need to go …" – he stammered.
His feet started moving. The faint torches illuminated the long corridor. He was about to descend the steps when he stopped.
Jon turned his body. Sansa was still leaned against the wall, a stone statue, looking at him. He locked his gaze on hers.
Unconsciously, he pressed his fingers to his lips, remembering the kiss.
How he wanted her. How he loved her.
His body moved by itself. He crossed the corridor in a couple of strides and took her face in his hands. Sansa looked up at him; her lips desperate for his kiss.
Jon rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.
He could hear his own heart pounding in his chest as he smelled the unique scent of her skin. He wanted to feel her lips against his again. He was drawn to her, like a moth that is drawn to the light, wishing to kiss the flames.
He was the dragon, but she was the one with fire inside her. All of her was fire: her hair, her lips, her touch, her words …
"Jon, I –" – her sweet voice invaded his ears.
"I'm sorry" – Jon interrupted her before she could finish her sentence; his breathing ragged.
He let go of her head and stepped back.
There was so much that he wanted – needed – to tell her, but he couldn't. Not now. If he allowed the words to leave his mouth now, he wouldn't be able to leave her side, ever.
Maybe that was why the only words that left his mouth were the words I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for leaving like this but I have a dragon to tame – he added to himself.
Jon descended the steps and this time he didn't look back.
Sansa watched Jon disappear from her view.
She put her hand over her chest. Her heart felt like it was ready to bust out of her chest.
Gods, she'd kiss Jon.
Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses.
She pressed her back against the stone wall. It felt cold. She needed Jon's presence, his warmth. The need to be near him made it hard for her to breathe.
She had almost admitted that she was in love with him, but before she could say the three words, Jon interrupted her.
I'm sorry – his words started to echo in her head.
Insecurity rose in her chest.
Of all the words that he could have chosen, he chose the words I'm sorry.
Why did he say those words? – Sansa started to feel dizzy – Did he regret it?
Her heart sank. She remembered the way Jon crossed the corridor and took her face between his hands. She had expected him to kiss her again, to lift her from the ground, to spin her around, to tell her that he loved her … but Jon didn't do any of those things.
He told her I'm sorry and walked away.
For a moment Sansa wondered if she had dreamed it. If their kiss had happened at all.
She pressed her fingers to her lips. Vivid flashes of Jon invaded her mind: the way his lips molded over her mouth; the way his hands touched her skin; the way he set her whole body on fire. She hadn't dreamed it. It had been real.
Sansa felt her eyes sting with hot tears.
Her trembling hands found the iron handle of her door. He entered in her chambers and walked towards the small table in the corner of the room.
She grabbed the jug and filled a cup with wine. An useless attempt to extinguish the fire in her veins.
She made her way to the bed and sat down, trying to control her breathing.
She couldn't jump into conclusions. She had kissed Jon but he was the one who kissed her first. Jon kissed her first. He was the one who initiated it. That had to mean something, right?
"Right" – Sansa murmured, after drinking the wine in the cup.
She put the cup down on the nightstand. She was about to stand up when a feeling of extreme dizziness invaded her body, as if the blood was rushing away from her.
She felt very languid and weak. The room around her was blurring.
Before she knew it, her head fell back against the pillows on the bed and she fell into a deep sleep.
Jon ignored the worried looks and approached Rhaegal.
He crossed the courtyard and stopped inches away from the dragon – his dragon, as Dany liked to remind him.
Jon couldn't deny that he felt a connection between him and Rhaegal. The type of connection that he didn't feel between him and Drogon or Viserion.
The moonlight illuminated Rhaegal's emerald green scales. Jon could also see a few bronze scales on the underside of his neck and tail. The dragon's bronze eyes looked brighter than polished shields when Jon stroked his wings.
"What are you doing here?" – Jon asked softly – "You're supposed to be in King's Landing"
They stared into each other's eyes and Jon understood why Rhaegal had traveled towards North.
He had sensed that something was wrong with him. Just like Ghost, Rhaegal could feel when Jon was uneasy, sad, angry. These last days had been a torture to Jon and Rhaegal had sensed that.
"I'm fine" – he smiled as Sansa's image invaded his mind – "I'm more than fine" – he added as he continued stroking his big wings.
Rhaegal lied down, enjoying the attention.
Jon remembered when Dany taught him how to fly. He was skeptical at first but once Rhaegal tore through the sky, he understood why his Aunt loved the dragons so much. He felt powerful and invincible on Rhaegal's back. He felt like a dragon … and the view was something that he couldn't quite describe. Everything looked more beautiful, more peaceful.
Every time he hovered over King's Landing he wondered what it would feel like sharing that moment with Sansa. She would love seeing King's Landing from the sky, and Winterfell and Quart and Braavos and all the Seven Kingdoms.
He could already feel Sansa pressed up against his back, her arms around his torso, her legs wrapped around his legs. He could picture her red hair billowing out around her as she enjoyed the beautiful scenery. They could travel all the Seven Kingdoms in less than a month.
In less than a month – Jon looked at Rhaegal as an idea invaded his mind.
The journey to King's Landing by horse would take him at least a month, but if he rode Rhaegal he would only waste a couple of days.
He could ride Rhaegal and travel to King's Landing. He could tell Dany that he finally found a bride. For the first time in his entire life, Jon wanted nothing more than to discuss his marriage prospects. He wanted to end all the rumors about Margaery and him. He wanted to make Sansa Queen of Winterfell; he wanted to make her his Queen.
He knew that the Tyrells wouldn't be happy once they found out about his decision, so he needed to talk with Dany first. They needed to find a solution. Maybe Margaery Tyrell could have a seat on the Small council, that way Daenerys and Tyrion could keep an eye on her, maybe find her a new husband and make sure that she didn't try anything against them.
Daenerys was good with the political matters. Tyrion was a good advisor. He knew King's Landing and how the game worked. Together they could control Margaery Tyrell.
Lyanna Mormont's voice invaded his ears:
Queen Daenerys has dragons, armies and allies. The Tyrells don't stand a chance. You don't have to marry Margaery Tyrell to ensure peace. She doesn't has the upper hand, you do.
Lyanna was right.
Jon ordered Rhaegal to wait for him and entered in the castle.
He made his way towards his chambers and grabbed his quill pen. He immediately started writing a number of letters with instructions and orders. His hand moved by itself.
Once he finished the missives he searched for Ser Davos and Brienne. He asked them to inform the private council about his departure to King's Landing.
Before Ser Davos could ask him any questions, Jon gave him the letters and left the room.
He ran through the corridors and only stopped when he reached Sansa's chambers.
Forgetting all formalities, Jon opened the door and stepped into the room with a grin on his face.
He needed to see her before leaving. He needed to tell her about his feelings. He needed to tell her that he loved her, that he wanted her to be his as much as he wanted to be hers.
He passed through the white curtains of her bedchamber and saw her sleeping figure.
Sansa was lying on bed, sound asleep.
Jon approached her and smiled. He reached out and caressed her cheek gently.
She was beautiful. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Jon covered his cousin with the bed furs, before approaching the writing table. He grabbed Sansa's quill pen and searched for the right words.
Jon was never good with words. His script was rough but this time he selected the words with painstaking care. He reread his words and looked over his shoulder, hoping to see Sansa waking up so they could have a proper goodbye, instead of a simple letter, but her blue eyes remained closed.
He sealed the letter and walked towards her.
He wanted nothing more than to stay in this room, next to her, watching her sleep, memorizing every line of her face … but he couldn't. He needed to go so he could return and be hers completely.
He refrained himself from kissing her or touching her again. He knew that if he did, he wouldn't be able to leave her, so he just leaned into her and whispered the words that were not in the letter:
"I love you"
Finally! I know! Still breathing?
I need to know what you think!