It wasn't lovemaking either of them were after, not yet. Instead, contact. The feel of being close to someone.
She turned around, waiting. Jon considered this for a moment, torn between the concern of how they might be perceived, and the desire that was growing in his own belly. She felt his hands at her hips, feeling the thick fabric.
Then she felt him loosen the ties, and the dress slipped away from her in one quick movement.
Her back, belly, shoulders, breasts...all covered in scars. Different shapes, kinds. Burn marks. Slices, punctures. She felt tears welling in her eyes, feeling again as though he'd never left her. He'd always be a piece of her.
"Sansa..." Jon said in a low voice, looking at the scars in distress. He felt the anger building in his chest, and he tentatively reached for a wide mark near her lower back. Still pink, perhaps the freshest on her skin. He stroked it, trying to reassure her.
"I'm sorry." she said, turning towards him. "I don't mean to disappoint."
"You could hardly do a thing, ever, to disappoint me, Lady Stark." he said, smiling. "And, as you'll see..." he lifted the leather vest off his shoulders, and then slipped off the dark long sleeved tunic he had beneath. Matching her scars were his own, from the years on the wall, the battles he'd fought. Even still, she saw a shadow of bruises from the battle two months before.
And then his belly, covered in the 30 or so stab wounds by the men at the wall.
She brushed her hand over these, realizing if it weren't for the red woman, she would have been left completely alone. Another dead brother.
Well. Not brother.
Because no brother could make her feel as alive as she did right then.
"Come on." she said. "Under the covers. I'm freezing."
She pulled the blankets away, and crawled into the bed, letting herself sink into the softness. Jon followed, wrapping his arms around her, letting her settle on his chest. He could almost cry for how welcome her warmth and softness was. How there was never a time he felt closer to another person.
Sansa listened to the heavy thudding of his heart, and then looked up at him. His strong jaw, those lips...those lashes thick as lust and the deep brown eyes she could get lost in for hours. She rolled over, wanting him closer yet. She pulled him around her shoulders, laying on her side. He let his hand slowly travel down her arm, to her waist, to her thigh. She sighed, snuggling closer.
He bent slightly, pressing his lips against the back of her neck. She hummed.
Pulling her closer, she could feel his legs wrapped with her, her bum resting on the warmth beneath his drawers, feeling dangerously close.
"Sleep." he urged her, pulling himself up on an elbow, looking down at her face. "Sleep like you deserve, Queen of the north. I'll be here."
She smiled slightly, letting her eyes flutter close. For a moment, he was entranced with her face. How the red lashes brushed her cheeks they were so long, and how there was a small pattern of freckles on her cheeks he'd never been close enough to notice. He smoothed her hair, gently, and could feel as her muscled eased, the tension seeping out of them the closer she got to sleep.
He fell asleep quickly after, his face buried in her sweet smelling hair. They moved through the night, but never lost contact with eachother.
This ritual continued for the next week. Every night, Jon would come to her chamber, or her to his, and they would sleep. It was so innocent, but so needed.
They became inseparable in the day too, the Lord and Lady of the house, usually joined at the hip, unless there was something pressing. Sansa smiled easier now, and her worries, although great, were eased by his mere presence. They dined together, saw their various northern subjects together.
It was a week later, when a steward came for Sansa, when she was working beside the women in the kitchens.
"Petyr Baelish is here to see you, m'lady."
She felt all her muscles tense up.
"Did someone fetch Jon, yet?" she asked.
"Lord Baelish requested you alone."
She felt a bubble of distaste, but figured this would be better. Jon's anger might not help the delicate situation.
She untied her apron, hung it on a hook. She walked across the courtyard, and then had a thought. She whistled as she walked, long and high, waiting for a response. After a brief pause, she heard him. And then Ghost was at her hip, and she buried her hand in his thick fur.
"If I can't have Jon with me, I'd like at least someone on my side." she said to the direwolf, as if he could understand. He snorted in response, steam rushing from his nostrils. She grinned to herself, and opened the door to the throne room. Baelish was alone, waiting, standing in the center of the room.
"Lord Baelish." Sansa said coolly. She crossed the room, approaching him. He bowed, taking her hand and kissing it. She felt her stomach turn, but didn't make this apparent.
Ghost growled, deep in his belly. She turned, motioning for the beast to lay down.
"Handsome creature." he commented. "Loyal animals, they are, I'm sure."
"They are." she said. "He's killed for me. Killed for Jon. Would do it again in a heartbeat."
She said this lightly, trying to pretend it wasn't a threat.
"I came to you because I'm concerned about your well being. I feel so responsible for you, Sansa. I hope to find a link for our houses, sooner rather than later."
"I don't understand." she said. "You married me off. My husband is dead. Technically, I am still in grieving."
"A regretful circumstance, I'm sure you think so as well."
"That's putting it lightly." she hissed.
She turned to the dog, bending low. She whispered to it, and he stood, padding off.
Littlefinger made no mention of this, but was sure he knew what he was told to do.
"And so what do you suggest, once my grieving period is over?"
"A marriage between you and your cousin." he said.
"And would he come here, to Winterfell?" she asked.
"Your brother is Warden, Sansa. He was legitimized. The North could do-"
"Absolutely not." she said. "I am never leaving my home again."
"I was afraid you might say that." he sighed.
Sansa turned, and ascended the steps to the throne.
"Why?"
"Because I'm afraid...the counsel of house Arryn, they believe without a benefit to our house...we can't support you with troops."
Fear buckled her knees, and she was glad to be sitting.
"Sansa." he said, speaking quickly now. "Would you leave your house so vulnerable, turn your back on on your family? This is a chance for you to strengthen the north, to truly have a chance against Lannister forces when they inevitably come for you-"
"Enough." she said, loudly. The next moment, the hall doors burst open.
Jon tried to remain composed, but it was hard. Staring a man he considered a vile, disgusting excuse for a human.
"Littlefinger." he said, dropping any sort of politeness. He walked up to him, inches from his face. He opened his mouth, ready to unleash a
"Jon." Sansa said, and her voice brought him back to reality.
He clenched his jaw, and turned round, joining Sansa beside her.
"Littlefinger is threatening to pull his troop support unless I wed my cousin." she said, dangerously icy in tone. "Another match made for me by dear Uncle Baelish."
"Do you forget your sworn to house Stark, Baelish?"
"Not if I promise my allegiance to the Baratheons, in the coming war." he said.
"You threaten us?" Jon hissed.
"Not intentionally." Baelish said. "But all actions have consequences."
"We will find you a Northern house of high rank to wed the Lord of The Vale." Sansa said. "My home is here. I don't intend on leaving it. Nor do I intend to be a pawn in your game, Lord Baelish. I am no longer your bargaining chip."
She stood, feeling the anger rise inside of her.
"This is my house, these are my people. They stood for me before, they'll stand for me again. All of the northern houses, now, have sworn their allegiance to us once more, and they will join us in battle again. With, or without you."
She walked closer to him. "You say you will leave, but you won't. You can smell the change. And you always want to be on the winning side, Lord Baelish. Not to mention, Kings Landing will be the last of your concern when the whitewalkers come for us all. They hold no house allegiance, Lord Baelish." she stepped even closer now. "They can't be toyed with. They can't be bargained with. You can't auction off your niece to their king. They will just kill. Kill us all."
He swallowed.
"You're welcome to stay the night, but I urge you to return to the Vale first thing tomorrow. You'll be wanting to tell Sweet Robin of all the pretty women of the north he can wed."
He didn't say anything for a while. She didn't take her eyes off him, daring him to make another move.
"Forgive me, m'lady." he said. "I will write to the council, and tell them of the amiable bachelorettes."
"If I hear one whisper of an allegiance made with the Baratheon's, I will have you killed." she said. "I swear on the graves of my family. We might not win, if they come, but you, Lord Baelish, I will see you are destroyed. You will not cross me again. You sold me to a man who raped and tortured me, and in turn you lent your army to my house. We are even, and I owe you nothing."
He looked down at her feet, and then bowed.
"Leave my sight." she spat.
After a moment, he was gone. She turned, looking at Jon. He was leaning forward, his hands on his knees.
"Remind me not to get on your bad side, Lady Stark." he said, standing. "I don't think you needed me here after all."
"Maybe not." she said. "But I needed him to see we were united, and stronger than him."
"I'd rather see him killed slowly than allow him to walk away, but we must make allegiances sometimes with the most repulsive of people."
"Aye." she agreed.
He walked up to her, standing close. He pushed away a lock of hair from her eyes.
"He deserves to die for what he did to you, Sansa. Know that. Know that I would kill him the moment you asked, if it weren't for the house he's tied to."
"He will pay." she said. "Someday, we'll make him pay, Jon."