authorsnote: I loved writing this chapter, the angst hit differentttttt

also I'm aiming for monthly updates in 2024, lets see but I love this story and want to see it going!

songrecs: another love - tom odell


Sansa had thought she knew the ins and outs of the Court of Kings Landing, of the way it worked, of the machinations, the subtleties she had to follow, the nuances of which families were in and out, she thought her time in the dreaded Capitol, though not fondly looked back upon, had prepared her for anything, at least to some degree.

That was where she had gone wrong.

Perhaps it was how she had to approach things here. She was to be the future Queen, yes as she had once been Joffreys prospective bride, but that had been different. She had been quiet, shy, and then upon being stripped of any prospect of becoming Queen and being known only as a traitor's daughter she had fallen not just quieter, but silent.

She had been on the fringe of everything then, observing, understanding, listening, but silent, never part of things, never voicing an opinion, never stopping to chat in the corridors, never entertaining or going on meandering walks or sitting in sewing circles, all of that had gone.

She had once dreamt of being a Southern Lady, of being Queen in truth, she had thought she was ready for it, thought she knew what would be expected of her.

Yet again she was wrong.

Perhaps she had been ready, to be Joffreys Queen, quiet by his side, never to take the attention away from, in a realm drowning in debt that had fallen on hard times and opulence was forgotten to what it had been, perhaps in that world, she would have thrived, quiet and compliant, birthing Baratheon, Lannister babies as Joffrey ran the Crown into the ground and Tywin Lannister kept it propped up even as the gold mines ran dry.

But this world? This was different.

And it started with wedding planning.

A wedding that over a family dinner, Targaryen and Tully the night after the announcement, Queen Visenya, Queen Rhaenys and her Aunts agreed need not be postponed, to Sansa's wide eyes and Jon's moderate look of panic, the wedding would take place before the next moon, 'For why wait?' Queen Visenya said, and Jon nodded, the panic not quite receding from his gaze.

From the second their betrothal was announced, and the date then set, Sansa was swept up in a whirlwind of planning. First it was to confirm she'd be getting married in the Kings Landing Sept, a smaller building than the one Baelor would build 130 something years later. Still, the original Chapel remained smaller, but the Targaryen's made it special, with the High Septon still presiding, however Queen Visenya had interjected that first and foremost Jon and Sansa would take part in a Targaryen ceremony on the morn, though she did not say that within the High Septons hearing.

Sansa nodded, knowing nothing about Valyrian Wedding Traditions, she hadn't even known the Targaryen's practiced them, a well-kept secret from their devout subjects of the Seven.

Every street in Kings Landing was lined with thousands of candles in preparation, banners blazing with the red and black dragon were erected, every individual in Kings Landing was gifted a flag of black and red to wave, and a candle to put in their window. The city would look on fire, but with that of the dragon. Red, black, and gold dominated the colors of the city, banners of House Tully sat either side of the Aegonfort and the Sept, but the dragon was dominant.

Sansa was hurried from one task to the next, Queen Rhaenys was her companion alongside her Aunts, Queen Visenya would occasionally see her but rarely commented on the wedding. Instead, Sansa was guided by her own Aunts and the softer Queen, no less discerning, ensured it was a grand affair, ensured it would be an affair not forgotten.

That seemed to be what the Targaryen's were going for, and Sansa understood. Jon was the first Targaryen Heir in Westeros, his wedding had to be a grand affair. The opulence was unmatched, the Chapel though small and simple was quickly built upon, with gold, and the ever present dragon banner. Everything was bigger and better, not quite 77 courses for the wedding menu, but it was long, hundreds of bottles of Reach wine had been procured, invites to all major Lords and Ladies, and Rhaenys reassured her she'd be gifted enough dresses, jewels, and books she'd never need to buy more.

The dress was an affair all in itself. Sansa was swept into a fitting just two days after the betrothal was announced. It was a dress made of pure spun red (for Houses Targaryen and Tully), with rubies and sapphires (again a nod to both houses) quickly sewn into the hem, collar, and cuffs. The dress was long and draping, puffing out in the Southern style over her skirts, with long sleeves and a neckline that just peeked through. The color should have clashed with her hair and yet the deep red complimented her fiery locks, as the maids cooed at her first fitting.

Four more followed, to tailor, sew and fit the dress. Each time she was sure it got more opulent, and yet it never went too gaudy, it was simply put, as two days before their wedding (her hands shook at this point), the most beautiful thing she'd ever worn, she was sure of it.

A moment of peace was in stitching her Tully Maiden Cloak with her Aunts, the three heads bent talked amiably, Sansa allowed the court gossip to wash over her as she sewed, getting a deep satisfaction as she always did with each well placed stitch. The cloak was sapphire blue, with red and grey stitched fish, each fish had sapphires for eyes, but nothing more, it was simpler, and yet she'd near cried upon its completion, to see the symbol of her Mothers house.

The Targaryen cloak she would not get to see until the day itself, but she knew it would be beautiful.

Two days before the day she couldn't quite believe had come so quickly and everything was ready.

She had been alone in most of the planning, which she didn't hold against Jon, this was the place for her, her Aunts, and the Queens to put their mark on things, to show a Targaryen Heir wedding a Tully daughter, and showing the opulence and dominance of the dynasty that would rule Westeros.

She had managed to speak to Jon a few times, for reassurance, always seeking him out, but rarely able to wrestle herself away, Jon too, his Father here always next to him, teaching his Heir. Sansa hated herself for her concern at how Targaryen Jon seemed, purple eyed, dressed in black but often slashed with red, smiling with his Mother, even closer to his Father here.

Tried to deny her own jealousy, her own fears, that she truly was the last Stark from their line, tried not be selfish, but in truth longed for Jons company all the same, was thankful that he seemed the same when he sought her out.

Time marched on, and soon the three weeks given to organize the wedding were over, and she was alone, in bed, and the ceremony was the next day.

It was the first time, as she lay in bed the night before, it dawned on Sansa that not only would she marry Jon, but in this time, as he should have been before, he would be King, and she Queen.

Jon had been King once before, but she had never been a Queen.

It wouldn't come yet, with Aegon young and in his prime, but it would happen, she and Jon would rule as they had in Winterfell, only this time he would be King of all of Westeros, and she would be by his side, not as his sister then cousin, but as his Queen.

The thought made her cheeks pinken, she felt warmth at the back of her neck, and she tried not to contemplate why she felt perfectly okay with that, with being not just the Queen, but Jons Queen.

He had never been her brother, not really, not in anything more than name as children, thanks to her own snotty behavior, and not when he'd returned, the two forged together through circumstance, and then when the truth had come …

He was not her brother, and here he would be her husband.

With all that entailed.

That aspect made her nervous, a maiden here as she had been in their future, and … and …

Now she would not be.

She and Jon would be man and wife, and that meant one thing.

It wasn't the same nerves she'd had before, escaping Joffrey, being spared by Tyrion and then escaping Littlefinger, when he'd taken her North (as would be his ruin), and she'd leapt from her horse the second she'd passed the gates of Winterfell, running as fast as she could to Jon, not stopping for a second until she'd been in his arms and finally safe, this wasn't the same feeling, the same nerves, this was different.

Somehow that made her more nervous, the thought of being with Jon like that. Shouldn't it disgust her? To think of a man who'd once been her brother in such a way?

Should she be disgusted with herself that it didn't?

She tried to sort it all out in her mind, aware of her lack of disgust, aware that she would be marrying Jon, the only man she felt safe around and had since her Fathers head had been taken. Aware she cared for him more than anyone (not aware enough to figure out how she cared for him), aware she was to be a Princess and one day Queen, aware she was to be his wife.

His wife.

She had been a Lady by his side in Winterfell, his confidant, had truly felt worried about him taking a Queen to supplant her, Wynnafryd Manderly or Mira Forrester, to take her place by his side, she'd have no worries about that here. She thought of Lady Primrose, of Lady Ashyln, how they would take her place in a heartbeat.

How, she didn't want them to.

Was that enough? As she turned over, aware she needed sleep, aware of how tired but how awake she was, she knew it would have to be.

But would there be more than enough? For her and Jon? Would she be enough for him?


Jon's world too, now acknowledge not just as Heir, to be married, to carry on the Targaryen name, with his purple eyes, dark hair unmentioned (the Gods meddling he had to guess?), he had been known as a Prince before, but now, he was the Targaryen Prince, and far more exposed than he had been.

He continued his daily tasks, attending Small Council (though it wasn't called that yet), meetings, training in the fighting yard, riding Ceraxes (who he bonded more and more with each day), but there was more now.

Twice over the fortnight where everything seemed busier than it had been, he held court in his Fathers name. He took over and held meetings with smaller Lords, he attended every session of Court, trained with his Father even (who was good, but so was Jon, and his Father, to his surprise had been delighted at their draw, before he'd taken the final game), and lived the life of a true Targaryen Prince.

Thankfully, Jon was used to ruling, in some respects, thanks to his time as Lord Commander and then King in the North. He did not flatter or simper, but he was clear, blunt at times (perhaps too much so), but he was honest, which people valued, and unfailingly just. He did not carry the Stark name here, but it bled through in his actions.

He was left to it on the wedding planner, he'd mentioned to his Father, asking if he should be involved, to which the King (for that was what he was, Jon had, had a Father in Eddard Stark, and yet with each day the lines blurred), laughed, and promised him minimal involvement, which Jon preferred in truth.

As much as he had adapted quickly to Kings Landing, even enjoying parts, he would never be comfortable, fully, as a Southern Prince, and the aspects of Court life, the parties, and the planning and all of that he could avoid, the better.

But there were some parts he could not avoid.

He barely saw Sansa, for whereas he managed to avoid it, it seemed every second she was not stood in Court, he stealing glances at her, or going on small walks (where they were surrounded nowadays by people giving them well wishes, they couldn't talk freely), she was under the arm of her delighted Aunts, organizing the wedding, looking tired, but determined.

"Are you alright?" He'd managed to get them alone two nights before, picking her up for dinner and instead absconding them into an empty parlor, thankfully a Princes order was strong enough to banish their guards at least down the corridor.

He'd managed to get the door shut before without thinking he'd reached for her, cupping her pale cheeks that pinkened under his hands as he asked after her, purple meeting blue as he looked down at her.

"I'm fine" She'd said, cheeks tinged redder now, Jon had realized how close they were, coughed stepped back, but any awkwardness had disappeared as Sansa had slipped into his arms for a hug with a sigh.

"Tired" She confided, and he pulled her closer, "But don't say I look it" He didn't mention she sounded it.

"I wouldn't dare" He joked, and hearing her laugh warmed him, warmed them both, as she smiled, and Jon felt something in him ease.

"I feel we've barely seen each other" Sansa said, pulling back, Jon didn't acknowledge that he missed the feel of her arms around him, his around her, the comfort, as she stepped back, clasping her hands in front of her light blue skirts, she looked beautiful in any color, though Jon did miss her a touch in grey.

"We'll see each other plenty when we're wed" Jon observed, because they would, more than either had anticipated. Yes, they'd been joined often at the hip back in Winterfell, but this would be a different level of involved.

They wouldn't be siblings, or cousins here, they'd be man and wife.

They both turned pink at that, at Jon's words, and the implication of them, which he hadn't meant for, but now couldn't ignore.

"You know I'll never hurt you?" Jon had felt the need to say, his voice dropping lower, nerves skirting over his neck, he needed her to know that, that he'd die before he harmed her, and he felt warmed as she reached for his hands, his fingers gladly sliding between hers, as she offered him a smile.

"I've always known that Jon" She said with that smile in place, her blue eyes, so often like ice against her enemies, glowed for him, "And never doubted it"

At that he placed a kiss to her forehead, leaning in close as she tilted into him.

They didn't speak again of the truth that marriage meant, wouldn't until the night, instead Sansa moaned about wedding prep and acted outraged as Jon mocked her, and they ignored the fact they'd yet to accept;

A wedding meant a bedding.

Neither had acknowledged it, Sansa had thought on it, Jon didn't know that of course, knew he had, many times, more times than he should have. Hated himself for thinking of Sansa that way, was he truly a Targaryen to think of someone he'd once thought of as a sister that way? Did Sansa feel disgust where he didn't?

"We'll be okay" She said gently as they went to leave, the wedding just two nights away they'd be unlikely to have any real alone time together before then, and they clasped hands before they left, "We will"

"I know" Jon said, almost as a vow, "I will never hurt you Sansa, and …" He paused, unsure if he should continue but he did, "I will honor you as my wife"

Her cheeks flamed, but to Jons happiness she didn't look away and instead she nodded, "And I will be honored to be your wife Jon" She glanced around then, to ensure no one was present, Jon knew the probability of spies was low, but she still dropped her voice and he leaned in to hear her whisper.

"I know this is just to keep us together, to stop me being sent away but…" Sansa stumbled then, and Jon squeezed her hands, which seemed to give her the strength to continue, he hoped he could be her strength when she needed it, "I won't regret marrying you Jon" Sansa said gently, "Never you"

Jon felt something warm swell up in his chest, he knew Sansa had once never wished to marry again, had felt nervous for steering her into this position when in Winterfell she had said as much, that she would happily live and die a maid, to hear her say those words allowed something in his chest to ease, and once again he pulled her close, only this time, somewhat nervously he didn't kiss her forehead but gently brushed his lips against her pale cheek.

"I could never regret you Sansa" He whispered gently as she leaned into him, tipping her head back, their foreheads meeting as they leaned against one another, borrowing each other's strength this time, "Never"

Their eyes closed as they leant on one another, two days before they'd be married, two days before they'd be wedded and bedded, but perhaps already fallen.

Not perhaps.

Fallen.

To their obliviousness … or denial.


my bbys, so dumb

yes in every story I write jonsa have the most agonising road to realising their feelings and in 90% of them they haven't even got there yet lol, maybe this will be the one?

do enjoy, chapter 15 will be the wedding! or will it? hahaha, lets see, drama as always will ensue

do review if you can! they do fueeeel me