The aftermath of Battle of the Bastards. Again some show stuff, but again with a twist. Soon things will diverge, I promise. Oh and before I forget, a little fluff/smut to add into the mix.

Sansa

The battle had taken shape exactly as before. Jon and his men were almost decimated, until Littlefinger arrived at the last minute, swooping in to save the day as if he were some gallant knight. Of course Sansa hadn't fell for it, but she needed to at least pretend to see him that way. Rickon was still dead, Jon had still been unable to save him. Thousands were dead from both sides, as was the last giant Wun Wun.

Eventually she rode through the gates of Winterfell. She dismounted to find Jon pummelling Ramsay's face, a madness taking over Jon. The whites of his eyes were bright against his face, hair and body, which was covered in blood, excrement and death. She stood there, watching him, willing him to continue, yet she knew Jon would kill him if he didn't stop, and Ramsay was her kill, not his. She wanted to chop his manhood away and burn him alive, screaming; fire and blood, just like Jon's family motto. It had been Jon who'd dissuaded her, claiming it would give the Lords an even greater cause to distrust Jon.

The first night back in Winterfell, Sansa spent organising the wounded and tending to some of them, while Jon helped find the dead bodies and burned them to prevent them from returning, should them not be able to prevent the army of the dead from crossing the wall. Sansa's duties left her barely any time to eat or sleep. Fortunately this also kept her away from Littlefinger, who she was trying to keep at arms length until the northern conclave. After most of the wounded were tended to, Sansa was able to find Jon. It was the first time they'd seen each other since they'd kissed, and Sansa was concerned things might be awkward between them. However, Jon's face was downcast as Sansa approached him. He was staring at Rickon's dead body on a stretcher. Even though Sansa knew she should feel sad, she'd had nearly eight years to mourn the death of her little brother, therefore the sight of him didn't upset her as much as it could've done. Jon, on the other hand, was visibly distraught.

"We'll bury him in the crypts, next to his father." he told the stretcher man who simply nodded and walked away.

"Jon." Sansa put her hand on his arm. "You couldn't save him, no matter how much you tried."

Jon nodded. "I know." he said quietly.

"Is he in the kennels?" Sansa asked, Jon nodded once more. "And his hounds?"

"Awaiting their last meal." Jon sighed.

"They're used to human meat. They're too dangerous." Sansa warned, knowing Jon wasn't happy about the dogs being killed afterwards, to be honest, neither was she, but there was no alternative, the dogs couldn't be controlled.

"I want to be there when he dies." Jon growled.

"Of course...There's still time to change your mind and use the other method like I originally suggested." Sansa worried her bottom lip, but Jon shook his head.

"We've gone over this before, it will just convince the Lords that I'm just like my forebears by influencing you to use fire and blood. Despite the satisfaction it would be to see him suffer, I don't want them to associate me with that family." His voice was low. "Come, let's get this over with."

They made their way to the kennels, where Ramsay was being held. Darkness had begun to settle while they waited until he was conscious so that he would suffer more. Neither Sansa nor Jon were cruel by nature, but Ramsay deserved everything he got. Ramsay was tied to a chair inside the kennel gates, mangled and bleeding from the beating Jon had given him. He groaned and coughed, raising his head to look at Sansa standing outside the gate.

"Ah. Sansa. Hello, Sansa. Is this where I'll be staying now?" he smiled. "No. Our time together is about to come to an end. That's all right. You can't kill me. I'm part of you now." Jon appeared from behind Sansa and smiled sadistically. "Oh, the sister-fucking bastard. You wanting to take my place in her bed? She does like to scream you know."

"Aye, maybe I will take your place. I'm quite fond of warming her bed. Maybe we should make it official." Jon smiled lovingly at Sansa, as he placed his arms around her waist, she could have sworn his eyes darkened. "Of course, her screams would be of pleasure." She knew it was an act to wind Ramsay up, but the thought of Jon giving her pleasure, did make her shiver.

"You baseborn sister-fucker. At least I'll die knowing I'm not an incestuous bastard." Ramsay looked smug.

Sansa had had enough of the two of them goading each other. "Your words will disappear. Your house will disappear. Your name will disappear. All memory of you will disappear." she said as she heard the dogs growl in their cells as they began filtering out of their cages and into the kennel.

Ramsay looked around at the dogs. "My hounds will never harm me."

"You haven't fed them in seven days. You said it yourself." Sansa reminded him.

"They're loyal beasts." Ramsay bragged.

"They were. Now they're starving." Sansa stated as the dogs growled. One of the enormous hounds approached Ramsay from the front, put its front paws up on his legs and sniffed Ramsay's face.

"Sit. Down! Down! Down! Down! Down!" Ramsay commanded, but there was an element of fear in his voice, one that was warranted as the next moment the dog bit his face and Ramsay screamed. Then the dogs converged on Ramsay and begin to tear him apart. The young Sansa would have run away screaming, but now she wanted to watch until he was dead. Jon's hands tightened around her waist, providing support that wasn't needed, but she appreciated his touch.

They lingered for a moment longer to watch, before turning away and heading towards their old rooms to finally get some sleep. However, they knew Jon would need to share with Sansa, so they waited half an hour before Jon crept into her old room to join her. They both climbed under the furs and faced one another.

"I'm having the Lord's chamber prepared for you." Jon told her.

"Mother and Father's room?" Jon nodded. "You mean for us? We are to be married soon remember."

"How can I forget?" Jon smiled as they closed in on each other and Sansa rested her head against Jon's chest.

"We can't do this for much longer. I was thinking it might be better if we married in secret and let the Lords know at the conclave. They should be here by tomorrow. Does it matter if we are crowned King or Queen in the North?" she asked.

"And what of northern independence?" Jon frowned.

"I was thinking, the best person to give that independence, would be the King of the Seven Kingdoms." Sansa sighed dramatically. "We just need a King who'd be prepared to give allow it."

"I take it that means me having to become King of the Seven Kingdoms." Jon sighed.

"It does I'm afraid." Sansa nodded.

"Farming sounds good this time of year." Jon japed. "Far more productive than being a King, and lot more appealing."

Sansa laughed. "A simple life would be nice, but we weren't born for a simple life. I certainly wasn't."

"No." Jon frowned. "You weren't." he tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. "You were always destined for something bigger." Sansa's eyes drifted to Jon's soft lips, the sudden urge to kiss him overwhelmed her. Jon clearly understood what she wanted. "Are you sure?" he whispered.

"Yes." Sansa nodded.

Jon didn't hesitate as their lips merged. At first, it was slightly chaste, like the kiss they shared the night before the battle, however Sansa wanted more than chaste, she wanted to feel heat and passion. Jon must have sensed her desire, he pulled her waist into his and deepened the kiss. Their tongues testing and exploring one another. Sansa felt a haze of passion sweep over her, all she knew was Jon, the way his body moulded against hers, how he tasted of ale and she could smell a faint scent of smoke, more than likely from the day spent burning bodies.

Jon's hand went under Sansa's thigh, which she instinctively wrapped around his waist, pushing him down so his back was flat on the bed and she was above him, straddling his hips; her hair fell around them like curtains, however it ended up in their mouths.

"Sansa." Jon panted, his hands pushing her hair back so he could see her face. Sansa sat up straight so she could drink him in.

"I'm not ready for that." she shook her head. "Not yet. But he can't win. I need to feel something, to understand what he took from me. I need the burning desire. But I'm not sure..." she worried her lip, but Jon smiled.

"I promised I'd wait until you were ready. We don't have to do anything now."

"But I want to do something...now." Sansa pleaded. There was that strange heat between her legs, an ache which needed attention.

Jon thought for a moment and then smiled. "There is something, it isn't as good as the real thing, but it would be a start. No intimate touching, but done properly, we both might get some pleasure from it. Is that what you want?" he is voice was gentle. Sansa nodded.

"Both together." she said. "I need the confidence that it will be alright."

"Are you wearing smallclothes?" Jon asked, Sansa nodded. "You might want to take them off..." he started as Sansa blanched at the thought. "...but we'll try with them first. They might just lesson the sensation for you."

"And you?" Sansa asked.

"It won't affect me if you wear them or not. Although knowing you're not wearing them might." he smirked.

Sansa thought about it for a moment, if she were to remove her smallclothes, she wanted something in return. She smiled. "I'll take them off, as long as you take off your tunic."

Jon frowned. "Why?"

"Mayhaps I might like looking at your chest?" she smiled innocently. Jon nodded in agreement and sat up. "Don't look." Sansa told him as she got off his lap and pulled her smallclothes down from under her nightshift and threw them on the floor, where they landed on top of Jon's tunic. Deciding to be a little adventurous, she unlaced the very top of her shift, allowing him to see some cleavage, knowing it affected the desires of men. She turned to face Jon, who was still flat on his back. "Where do you want me?" she asked.

Jon swallowed and Sansa could tell he was as nervous as she was. "I want you to straddle my hips." he said as she placed her legs astride him like before. "Move down there." he helped her in place as she realised where he wanted her to sit. She felt her face flush in embarrassment. Jon must have noticed. "We'll be married soon, and this is nowhere near as intimate as it will get." he warned.

Sansa nodded and sat, feeling his already hardened manhood through the material of his breeches, as she sat, his breath hitched. "Did I hurt you?" she asked.

Jon shook his head and chuckled. "No, the opposite. It feels nice." he curled his finger, beckoning her to him. She lowered herself slowly, he raised his body up and pressed his lips to hers, pulling her back down with him. They began to kiss once more, however this time it was fiery with more passion. Sansa's head was almost in a whirl, and then he moved his hips slightly, brushing his clothed manhood against her. Jon's hands made their way down to her hips as he began to guide her, at first to give her confidence, however, she soon knew what they both wanted.

The first thing Sansa wanted was touch, not for Jon to touch her, but she wanted to touch the naked flesh of his chest. The wounds were fading to scars since she stitched them up, allowing her to now see the planes of muscle more clearly. Drinking in the sight of him, stoked the fires of desire inside of her, the ones flames which seemed to burn when he was involved. She ran her hands up his chest, moving her hips along the ever hardening length of his manhood. Part of her wished they weren't separated by the cloth of his breeches, but she knew this was the only way they could go forward. She rubbed her core, where the desire was centred around, up and down his breeches, his hands guiding her hips. Wanting to kiss his chest, Sansa gently bit Jon's bottom lip and began to kiss her way down his beard and neck, the hair tickling her face.

"Sansa." he whispered. His voice was deep and full of desire, nothing like the man who would one day be King. This was a man at her mercy, a King, and she was the one with all of the power over him. It made her feel invincible. The moans coming from Jon as she kissed his chest, her hands and lips explored every inch. He had little chest hair, save for the the area close to his breeches, leading to a place where she would one day travel, but not today. They were on an adventure to get to know one another, to gain trust. Jon's Stark grey eyes locked onto hers, except they no longer looked grey, a purple hue seemed to take over. It appeared, in passion, the fire of the dragon burned deeper, which Sansa felt was appropriate. She pushed herself up a little, allowing the neckline of her shift to drop, revealing her cleavage, ensuring Jon was aware her actions were intentional. He licked his lips as one of his hands ran up the curve of her body, while the other continued moving her up and down his shaft.

Sansa sat up straight, giving her better access to the feel of him beneath her. Something began to curl inside of her, her core itched with desire and heat. Jon glanced at her breasts, which were pressed up tightly against her shift and looked at her nervously. Sansa nodded, knowing he wanted to feel them, although only through the cotton which covered them. However the material was light, the shape of her breasts weren't hidden, and she knew he would possibly be able to see the outline of her nipples. Not that Sansa cared. The sensation inside of her was building up to something, but whatever it was, she had no idea. When Jon gently palmed her breast, Sansa began to move faster, for some reason, this small action fuelled her desire.

"Jon." she moaned.

"Come for me Sansa." he whispered, his brow creasing.

"I don't know how." Sansa felt like weeping with desperation.

"Do you want me to help you?" he asked. Sansa bit her bottom lip and nodded in desperation. "I promise I won't hurt you."

"I know." Sansa nodded. "Please Jon..." she begged. Jon's hand moved to her core, which he found her nub, and through the material of her shift, he massaged it with expert fingers. "Seven hells!" Sansa cursed as the sensations magnified, the ache between her legs intensified, yet she knew something was building, something magical.

"Sansa." Jon whispered. "Look at me. I want to be with you when you peak."

Unable to manage any coherent words, Sansa simply nodded as she rocked herself, while Jon worked his fingers with one hand and held her other in his. Sansa placed her free hand on Jon's chest, as close to the top his breeches as possible, knowing this would spur him on. It had the desired effect. Jon's mouth was open, his breathing heavy as his own hips moved in synch with hers. Sansa could feel beads of sweat on her forehead, but she didn't care, carnal desire had a different form of beauty, she could see that just by looking at Jon.

Suddenly, the intensity of the feeling inside her core pulled hard, she felt her insides throbbing and pulsing, taking her breath away.

"Gods...Jon.!" she needed something to grab a hold of, instead she found Jon's hands, which she feared she might break from the ferocity of the sensations which were flowing through her body. She felt herself go rigid, and bit her bottom lip. Jon suddenly sat up, pulling her in tight to him.

"That's it, I'm here." he rested his forehead against hers as they continued to move together. Suddenly she noticed Jon's face crunch, which under normal circumstances she wouldn't have found it to be desirable. With the understanding he was experiencing a similar pleasure to her, it gave his expression an entirely different meaning. She could look at him all day reaching his peak.

They held each other tightly as their bodies convulsed in the aftershocks of their pleasure, before pulling apart slightly and kissing, only this time was more chaste than before. Eventually Sansa lifted her leg and rolled off Jon. They got back under the furs and Sansa snuggled into Jon's chest as he wrapped his arms around her. She suddenly remembered something. Jon, I forgot to tell you something. A raven came from the Citadel. A white raven. Winter is here."

Jon pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Well, your father always promised, didn't he?"

Sansa looked up at him. "You know, you can say it." she said, but Jon frowned with confusion. "He may not have sired you, but he was your father too."

Jon nodded. "I know. It'll just take time, that's all." he squeezed her tight. "We best get some sleep. The Lords will be here tomorrow. It's a big day." he added, closing his eyes. Sansa observed him for a moment, drinking in his handsome features, realising he was the prince she'd always wanted as a little girl, even if she hadn't realised it.

"Goodnight Jon." she whispered, and closed her eyes.

The next day was chilly but bright. Sansa hadn't visited the Godswood since they'd returned, but she knew she needed to do so today. Firstly, this was where she would be marrying Jon, and she wanted to see how many people it would hold. There were Lords from all over the north and the Vale assembled in Winterfell. Not only that, but there were the Freefolk who had come to help Jon. Yet, when she sat on the stump under the red leaves of the weirwood tree, the face carved into it staring upon her; all she could think was that she wanted the marriage to be more intimate. Her mind rushed back to the previous night, and she blushed, the memories of Jon's fingers pressing into her behind, his back raised, the expression on his face as he peaked beneath her. Gods, she'd never be able to forget that image until the day she died.

The second reason for her to be in the Godswood appeared a few moments later. Putting off meeting Littlefinger was a bad idea. Therefore she decided to repeat the timing of their previous encounter, at least she'd have an idea of what he was going to say, although even now, she didn't trust Littlefinger to be predictable.

"Forgive me, my lady… if you're at prayer." Littlefinger started.

"I'm done with all that. I came here every day when I was a girl. I prayed to be somewhere else." she lied. When she was a girl she prayed to the Seven. "Back then I only ever thought about what I wanted, never about what I had." Sansa stood up and walked towards Littlefinger. "I was a stupid girl." she said, almost flirtatiously.

"You were a child." Littlefinger reminded her, almost kindly.

"What do you want Lord Baelish, with me?" she asked, knowing the answer, but hoping he'd give another breadcrumb of an answer.

"I thought you knew what I wanted." Littlefinger replied.

"I...I'm not sure." she shook her head. "I thought it was Winterfell, then I thought it was...No I must have been wrong." she sighed.

"No, you weren't. Every time I'm faced with a decision, I close my eyes and see the same picture. Whenever I consider an action, I ask myself will this action help to make this picture a reality? Pull it out of my mind and into the world? And I only act if the answer is yes. A picture of me on the Iron Throne… and you by my side." he told her again, leaning in to kiss her. Bile rose in her throat, the thought of Littlefinger's touch made her feel ill. Sansa put her hand on his chest to stop him.

"It's a pretty picture." Sansa smiled. "But he did things to me. I'm not sure how I can...you know."

Sansa tried to walk past Littlefinger, but he grabbed hold of her hand. "News of this battle will spread quickly through the Seven Kingdoms. I've declared for House Stark for all to hear. I'm sure once you are in the comfort of your new chambers, you'll be more open to marriage." he smiled.

"Mayhaps." Sansa nodded. "You've declared for other houses before, Lord Baelish. It's never stopped you from serving yourself. "What has changed?"

"The past is gone for good. You can sit here mourning its departure or you can prepare for the future. You, my love, are the future of House Stark. Who should the North rally behind? A trueborn daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark born here at Winterfell or a motherless bastard born in the south?" he asked.

Sansa been wondering how much Littlefinger knew about Jon, now was the ideal opportunity. "The south? You mean to say Jon is not a Snow?" she frowned.

"Did you not know?" Littlefinger asked, Sansa shook her head, looking curious. "I believe he was born in Dorne. He is a Sand not a Snow."

Sansa sighed, either Littlefinger was lying about what he knew, or he was holding back, it wouldn't matter either way, for Jon would announce it himself within the next few hours. "I doubt it will make any difference. He is Robb Stark's brother, he returned Winterfell back into Stark hands."

"We both know that battle was lost. If it were not for you and I, Winterfell would still be held by the Bolton bastard." Littlefinger reminded her.

Only because you held back until the last minute, Sansa wanted to say, but couldn't. "I had no choice, couldn't let Jon die. He's the only family I have left."

"Do you want him to take your crown? Am I not your family?" Littlefinger stroked her cheek. Sansa almost flinched, but she had to keep playing him. "I know you are close. I hear he shares your bed. Which as I'm sure you know, isn't proper. Any prospective husband would require an examination to prove you are not with child."

"Ramsay tortured me and I have nightmares when I sleep alone. Jon is the only person I trust to take care of me without an ulterior motive." she told him truthfully. "Despite that, I do not think he should be crowned King in the North." Sansa chose her words carefully, as far as she was concerned, Jon was the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, not just the north.

"You're not a little girl anymore Lady Sansa." Littlefinger said creepily. "You can't share a bed with your bastard half-brother when you are wed."

"Of course, when I wed once again, I will only share my bed with my husband." she sighed. "Do not worry Lord Baelish, I intend to be declared a Queen come the evening." her voice was hard and steady. "You were instrumental in winning back Winterfell, so you are invited to the meeting."

"Thank you for the invitation, Lady Sansa." Littlefinger smiled, however when Ghost appeared, the smile dropped and turned to fear.

"Hello boy." Sansa grinned as the white direwolf circled around Sansa protectively, his eyes never leaving Littlefinger's.

"Is this the direwolf I hear so much about?" Littlefinger tried to compose himself, however Littlefinger was clearly terrified. "A magnificent beast. Did you not have one yourself Lady Sansa?"

"She did!" came Jon's voice from behind Lord Baelish, who turned to watch his nemesis approach. Sansa's heart raced as images of the previous night flashed through her mind. "The most well-behaved and graceful, and may I say, beautiful of all the pups...save Ghost. Here boy!" he called out to Ghost before turning to Sansa. "It is time for Rickon to be rested in the crypts."

"I'll be along in a moment." Sansa smiled as Jon gave her a half-smile and left her alone with Littlefinger once more. "I'm afraid I must leave." she told him. "I will see you in the great hall this afternoon." she bowed her head.

"I do offer my condolences. To you and your half-brother." Littlefinger said as Sansa made her way out of the Godswood to meet Jon and lay little Rickon to rest.