authorsnote: things are heating up, in more ways than one, you'll see

do enjoy, do review if you can!

also thank god ffnet has fixed emails, finally! though do feel free to join me over on ao3 (same username) in case idk ffnet breaks again, as it inevitably will (though dw I will always cross post!)

songrecs: guilty as sin - taylor swift (it just fits idk)

To say she trembled as she stepped forward, a rare moment of boldness cloaked in fear, would be an understatement.

She wasn't sure why she had stepped forwards, perhaps some desire to take control, to not be a quiet little bird as she once had been, to not be passive, not now, not with Jon.

He was Jon, not someone she'd been forced to marry, she knew if she'd refused he would have broken it, she knew this was as much her choice as it was his, a necessity yes, but still a choice.

She would not dishonour him by acting scared, this was different for both of them, and she knew Jon would take her lead.

She disguised her shaking hands by fisting them into her long skirts, that of her wedding gown.

For she was married now, married to Jon.

What had her Father once said?

'I'll find you someone who is brave, and gentle, and strong'

And he had been right in the end.

But what would he think? The thought made her feel slightly sick, imagining what their family would think – or hers, what would they think? To see two people who'd grown up as Stark siblings, wedded and about to be bedded? She knew Robb would throw a punch at Jon, her Mother might kill him.

There was no denying it was strange, hard, and yet Sansa didn't feel the disgust she knew her family would, it was scary how easy it felt.

She knew if Jon had been raised as the Prince he should have been, she would have loved him easily.

"Sansa" He said, gently, so gentle with her, what more could she ask for? This was Jon, she'd never be safer, ever. She trusted him with her life and more, she loved him really, and though she was trembling, she didn't hesitate.

He was waiting for her, he didn't even raise his hands, and as he said, "Are you alright?" That sealed it for her, this was Jon, her Jon, and he was her choice, in this crazy world they'd been thrown back into, she wouldn't have anyone but him.

She thought of the vows they'd exchanged, the ones that had felt the most important on the cliffs overlooking the bay, dragons roaring into the sky;

'Blood of two, joined as one'

'I love you'

Thought of, terrified as she was, terrified as she had been, she'd meant them. This was Jon, and she loved him.

She took the final step.

From there, it was as any newlywed couple should be, or the lucky ones, at least, it was easy.

Their lips met, and Sansa felt something spark inside of her as they did, her hands naturally found Jons chest, and then her arms wound around his neck, tentative at first, but then Jons hands were on her waist, and they slotted together like that was where they belonged.

Perhaps they did.

"Have you done this before?" She asked him as they broke the kiss, both panting, Sansa felt like a fire was slowly building in her belly, simmering, did Jon feel the same? She looked at him, into his gaze, purple, and yet imbued with fire, she thought he might, and that, more than anything gave her to smile, she wasn't alone, he was right here with her, in all of it.

"Aye" He said, she'd known the answer, but she'd asked all the same, "I will be gentle"

"I know" And she did.

Jon stepped forward this time, still hesitant, but he was there, she didn't want to think about the guilt he was feeling now, she knew hers must pale in comparison, and so as he kissed her gently, she melted into him, half on purpose, half without thought. Jons kisses were like drinking a sweet wine from Dorne, especially to her lack of tolerance, they were heady and full, she felt dizzy as he clutched at her waist, and yet she didn't want to let go, only Jon held her up, her hands bunching into fists at his collar, clinging on.

The backs of her knees hit the bed then, the great sweeping canopy prepared for their wedding night. She glanced at the white sheets, knew they'd have to bloody them, knew deep down she didn't feel so scared of that, she felt anticipation.

Gods, how far gone was she?

Jon guided her gently around the bed, and in a move surely to swoon any maiden pushed her onto it, but gently again and caught her with his hands before she hit the pillows, so fast, cradling her in his arms like she were something precious. That was what Jon thought of her; as something precious, to treasure. Any hesitation that had remained melted away.

Soon enough his tunic was pulled over his head, and her dress, "Just rip it" She urged as he kissed her again, and she knew the ties would be a nightmare. What was happening to them? Had passion, or dragonfire gotten the better of them? They kissed with a frenzy now, Jon atop of her on the bed, ripping her dress at her command, bunching her dress up at her thights, Sansa yanking at his tunic, what was this of them? The Gods would say it was baseborn instincts, as would be in incest, Targaryens would call it dragonfire, the Starks wouldn't have a word for it.

Sansa was near lost to it.

They kissed throughout, as Jon pushed her skirts up, and then Sansa stopped, just for a moment, panting as she quickly allowed Jon to yank it down, the fancy fabrics torn and tossed across the room, Jons breeches followed suit, Sansa's smallclothes too.

Even in all the passion, Jon halted as he hovered over her, "You're sure?" Her nod, fast and quick, insistent, was all he needed.

And yet was it?

He didn't enter her right away, instead he continued to kiss her, but it was slower now, more languished but no less, that fire continued to build in her, and her hands found their way to his hair now, twisting in it, keeping him close, keeping Jon close, as he continued to kiss her, licking a stripe over her bottom lip that made her squirm, even more so as his fingers found between her legs.

A choking sound left her lips as he touched her there, gently at first, and then with pressure, a finger found its way inside of her, and then another, accompanied by Jons hurried whisper, "Gods above" As she squirmed, a whimper leaving her lips that Jon kissed away. Was this what it was to be on fire? Was she alight right now? She tried to ask Jon but only a moan left her lips.

If this was a sin, fuck the Gods.

"Jon" She moaned, as his lips found her necks, butterfly wing kisses decorating her collarbone, he growled into her skin, like the half wolf he was, as she squirmed and whined, and then it felt like a cup running over, water breaking against the shore, as something built and built and built, and then her gentle whimpers turned to something close to a scream, as pleasure exploded across of her, two fingers inside her now, his thumb swiping back and forth.

She'd never known pleasure like it.

"Sensitive" She whined as Jon removed his fingers.

"That's the point" He said, and there was mirth in his tone, that got a smile from her, even with every other overwhelming sensation, and then he was kissing her again, "It will still hurt a touch, but trust me?"

"With my life" She didn't need to think before saying it, as Jon nudged forward, all of him, big and full, and then, inside of her.

It did hurt, there was no denying that, a breaching that made her wince, a soreness she knew she'd feel tomorrow, but there was something else as well as Jon buried his face in her neck, "Gods forgive me" He groaned into her, before nipping at her neck, and that had the pleasure coming back to her, squirming as Jon moved, so gently in, and out, it was only as she nodded, moved her hands, pulled him back to kiss her, that he sped up.

And pleasure came again.

"Jon" She was moaning now, her legs hitched up around his waist, any pain smothered by pleasure, "Jon please" She wasn't even sure what she was asking for.

"Sansa" It was her name that had her undone again, whereas the first explosions of pleasure had crept up upon her this came out of nowhere, rolling over her, and she knew, as she bit into Jons bottom lip, tasting blood, as he groaned into her mouth, she knew as she clenched around him, that he followed, spilling into her, with another growl, half man, half wolf, and utterly lost to her.

The feeling was mutual, Sansa felt as though she'd become utterly lost, only Jon anchored her, as she clutched at him.

"Gods" Jon mumbled as he rolled off her, and yet, thankfully he pulled Sansa into his side, where she went willingly, clinging around him, two bodies, but pressed together, her cheeks reddening, pleasure like none she'd ever even hoped to know, Jon tucking her into him, protecting her as he always did.

Wedded, and bedded in both. Man and wife now, for good.

Neither said anything more, there was nothing left to say, as they held onto one another, sleep coming to both of them, first Sansa, and then Jon who prayed to the Gods to forgive him, for defiling the woman he'd promised to protect, and loving it beyond that of sin.

What would the Gods think of them?

Was it terrible that, that answer wouldn't have seen either on a different path?

The dining hall looked much different to Sansa as they entered to a cheer from the gathered nobles. It was all for show, and Sansa's cheeks blushed a pretty pink. This Kings Landing was not the evil she had known as a child trapped here, but she kept her guard up, knowing the game never stopped, not when she'd been surrounded by Lannisters as she was now Targaryens.

As she was one herself now, she realized.

Sansa Targaryen.

Stark, Tully, Lannister, Targaryen, the last one she'd never anticipated being, and yet Jon wore it, if he did she would too, and hoped she could bear it with fortitude as he was.

She was his wife now, and even though that made her tummy flutter, and she was sure her blush deepen, it meant more than just her own feelings, of … happiness? So foreign to her now, and a healthy dose of guilt too, more than was healthy.

Did Jon feel it too?

Neither had said much, waking to a handmaiden to dress Sansa, and Jon had excused himself to allow her to bathe and dress. It had been quiet, not awkward, but they needed time to talk, and talk freely, none they'd get today. Today only their thoughts would keep them in true company.

Forgive me, she whispered to the Old Gods that morning in the bath, cheeks red, her maid twittering, would they condemn her now? Knowing Jon had never been her brother even though she'd known it? She wished for a Heart Tree to visit, the Sept, her planned destination this afternoon when Jon was to be swept away by his family, now hers too, would have to do.

It wasn't enough though, she wanted to feel mud under her knees, her hands scraping the bark, the Heart Tree over her with its swaying branches, she wanted to feel the weight of the Old Gods and hoped they'd forgive her.

Forgive her for the sin of sleeping with a man who had once been her brother and liking it, no loving it, liking it wasn't enough, not just that but urging him on, acting like wolves in the night the way they'd torn at each other, bloodied and bedded and wanting more.

Damn herself.

But the stone-cold floor of the Sept, not of Baelors (she reminded herself that wasn't built yet), but a smaller more modest one, would have to do.

There were no Weirwood trees here, but she hoped the Old Gods were listening, hoped and prayed, quite literally.

She broke her fast with Jon, both quiet, they couldn't talk freely here, and though they had managed to come to some level of understanding, she knew they both thought back on the night before, Jon stoic, her, with pink cheeks, on what they'd done, what it meant, what it could mean.

She wasn't' alone in that, she knew.

"I'm called to council" He offered her as their plates were cleaned, and she nodded, smiled, never having to fake one for Jon, not even now. The brush of his lips over her knuckles deepened her blush, and then he was gone, all eyes following him, the sweep of his black cloak the last thing she saw before he disappeared, off to council, where she was not invited.

In private she would strategise with Jon, speak her mind and scheme as she'd so grown used to doing in Winterfell, and Gods so missed, but here she was merely Princess Sansa, a pretty (very pretty, she heard the envy), smiling Southern girl, who sewed in circles with gossiping Ladies, enjoyed lemon cakes so much so the cook always prepared them fresh for her, and played the part of a court Lady, nothing more, nothing less, but never anything more.

It made her want to scream.

It reminded her far too much of her first experience in Kings Landing, hiding behind walls of ice, never showing her true face, words echoed in her mind;

'We're all liars here'

Even hundreds of years in the past, that still rang true.

But what other choice did she have? And so, she forced herself to sit with a group of tittering Ladies, many she knew she'd need to take on as handmaids, many she needed to cultivate relationships with. She faked a smile as they asked her about her wedding night, she didn't have to fake the blush.

She might not be able to be beside Jon in Council meetings, but she could do what she had done before, she couldn't be invisible here, a pretty quiet, invisible bird, but she could learn, watch, observe, and gather information as she once had, both in Kings Landing and Winterfell, she could do that here.

They all had their roles to play, and everything was bigger than them, she tried to remind herself of that, as she and a group of Ladies left to attend the Sept, tried to remind herself that her own feelings weren't so important, and yet they lingered, as did the sounds Jon had made, and hers, mingling into the night, where she hoped the Gods hadn't heard.

As Sansa contemplated making alliances and scheming without being seen to be scheming, Jon sat in another Council meeting, not quite the Small Council yet, but close enough.

Though this time it would be more aptly named a war council.

"There is still no new information on Orys, your Grace"

"The same letter holds the same weight, they will release him for his weight in gold"

"We do not negotiate with those savages"

"We should not be talking, but acting"

"Caution is best with the Dornish"

But the Kings word silenced them all.

"Enough!"

Only the Targaryens didn't flinch.

"My Hand must be released, we must protect our own" Aegon insisted, "Give to the Dornish what they want and see him returned"

"They will never truly let him go" Visenya hissed. Any jibes about Jons marriage had been forgotten by the news from Dorne, they demanded the same; the weight in gold for every man captured at Wyl, or their deaths.

Jon knew what it would come to, he just wished he didn't.

"They have sworn" Aegon said, "Our men back for their weight in gold"

"That doesn't mean they will return them whole" Jon said gravely, he would have suggested as such without knowing the histories.

"Jon is right" His Aunt spoke then, her gaze fierce, as nice and jovial as she was, Jon reminded himself she was just as much of a dragon as her siblings, and she looked it now, "We must take them back by force"

"And risk their deaths?" Aegon demanded angrily.

"They are dead anyway, what if the Dornish take a leg?" Visenya insisted, she too with dragon fire behind her eyes.

"Or their sword hands" Jon added, now the histories helped.

"Orys would rather be dead" Visenya added, "You know it Aegon, his men too"

Aegon looked paler, he knew too the Dornish couldn't be trusted, they hadn't resisted sure invasion by being honest, they were treacherous and Jon knew the current way wasn't working.

But could he suggest what he knew would work? Knowing how many would die if he did?

"I will go to Dorne" It was Aegon who spoke then, "And treat"

"You are too valuable" One of the Councilmen protested, "We can't risk giving the Dornish such a hostage"

"I will be on Balerion" Aegon insisted.

"And it only takes one arrow" Rhaenys replied, "I will go" She said with a nod, "And ensure the Dornish treat"

And Jon knew then, he had to step in.

He'd been weighing this up in his mind ever since the first Council Meeting, he knew the current strategy, of ignoring the Dornish capitol, focusing on smaller settlements out of fear of martyring the Martells or the scorpions wasn't working, he knew what they had to do, how the Dornish would fall in line, he knew as a commander, he knew what orders he would give.

He just didn't want to.

To see men bathed in fire, only defending their homeland, as he knew the Northerners would have done if they could, as he had done, and yet this was different now, he remembered the tales of Rhaenys, shot down on Meraxes, dead before her years, he couldn't let that happen now.

Perhaps the Tullys had the right of it; family, duty, honour, in that order. Jon knew if it were Sansa he wouldn't hesitate, and he couldn't now.

"No" Jon interrupted, and he had to stop himself from sighing, he knew his next words might change the course of Westerosi history, and would see him presiding over the decimation of men only defending what was there's, and yet family came first, they had to.

"They will never let Orys Baratheon free unscathed" Jon insisted, and he stood then, to the chalk on the nearby board, outlining Dornish settlements, he felt sorrow as he looked at them, but this was war, this was to defend the family, there could be no hesitation.

He was not Eddard Stark, bound only to honour, he was not wolf only, he was dragon too.

It was time to show some fire.

"They will either maim or execute him, it doesn't matter which, they will never let him free the same" Jon insisted, the room was silent, listening, his Mother offered him a proud smile, and that forced him to continue, "We must accept he is gone"

"Jaeherys-" Aegon began, but Jon shook his head.

"Father, you know its true, you know as awful as it may be, that Orys was lost the day the rocks trapped them in Wyl" He said, with no loss of sympathy in his voice, but even as Aegon shook his head in bitter anger, but acceptance crept across his expression, Jon knew he could not stop.

There was only one way to win this war.

"And that is not all, bringing the Dornish to heel, if that is what we must do, we must change tactics" Jon insisted, and that was when he thought of Sansa, of her smile, of the fact that Westeros had to be united to hope to be prepared for the future, that he would never risk her, ever.

Nothing else mattered but her, Sansa and his family, all Targaryens, Sansa too now, Sansa Targaryen. Not family, duty, honour here, but fire and blood.

"What we are doing isn't working" Rhaenys said, and she too looked proud, Jon knew what that meant.

He didn't hesitate now, couldn't, he didn't pause as he took a piece of chalk, brandished it, and circled Sunspear, "We must burn Sunspear to the ground, all of the Martells with it, and then the Dornish will fall in line"

"They will become martyrs!" One of the councilmen protested and Jon shook his head.

"It doesn't matter" Because he knew it didn't, martyrs would mean the Dornish would never forgive, it did not mean they wouldn't fall in line, "Without the Martells they have no leader, the houses will infight as to who should take over, we can offer treat to the most likely to side with us, or burn any house that refuses and one eventually will" He swallowed then, the weight of his decisions never lost on him, "It will also show the Dornish that we would rather see Dorne burn than independent, they will fall in line"

Silence followed, the Councilmen looked nervous, the Targaryens proud.

Jon was one of those Targaryens, had sounded like them, acted like them, as his Father rose and clapped his shoulder, his Mother and Aunt proud, he knew he'd sounded like them, was one of them, what he didn't realise though, as his Father began to speak again, praising Jons plan, that he had sounded not just like a King –

But a Conqueror.

its all happeninggggggggggg

no time for our newlyweds to process being newlyweds, war is coming

trust me, jon and sansa will have some fluff, but prepare for angst, our poor bbys are in emotional overdrive

hope you enjoyed, do review if you can

speak soon