Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8486440.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Jon_Snow/Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Sansa_Stark, Jon_Snow, Petyr_Baelish, Edmure_Tully, Davos_Seaworth, Ghost
      (ASoIaF)
  Additional Tags:
      Unplanned_Pregnancy, Scheming, Misunderstandings, Wedding_Night,
      Pregnancy_sex, Future_Fic, R_plus_L_equals_J, Somewhat_inspired_by
      Parade's_End, Angst, Secrets, Past_Sexual_Abuse
  Series:
      Part 2 of An_Honourable_Man
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-11-06 Completed: 2016-12-18 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 10136
****** Who is the Lamb and Who is the Knife? ******
by Lemoncake_Chioni
Summary
     A short summary of the events that have taken place in the Riverlands
     in this universe:
     The Brotherhood without Banners have freed Edmure Tully from his
     Lannister captors. They have murdered most of the Freys during the
     second Red Wedding. The Blackfish has retaken Riverrun, but died of
     the injuries he received during the siege. Lord Edmure has been
     restored to his seat.
     Sansa and Jon spend the remainder of Sansa's pregnancy at Riverrun.
     They both learn some new information a few days before the wedding.
Notes
     Sansa receives a letter and talks to her Uncle Edmure.
***** Mockingbird *****
Sansa stretched out her feet on the cushioned stool in front of her. She had
been at Riverrun for almost two moons now and she was still getting used to
sleeping under a roof again, to feeling sheltered within the security of four
strong walls. Her morning sickness had finally subsided about a fortnight ago.
At last she was able to let go of some of the tension her body had seemed to be
holding in for months now. She and Jon would be married in Riverrun's Godswood
within four days and she'd be safe. She should have known it had been too good
to be true. She found herself staring again at the letter lying in her lap.
Sansa was far from the frail, easily impressed girl she'd once been, but she
couldn't deny she'd almost fainted when she'd laid eyes on the wax seal on that
letter. A mockingbird. She'd rapidly dismissed the maid who'd brought it to her
and ripped it open.
The protective casing around the letter had been addressed to the Lady Sansa of
House Stark, but the actual message started with "My dearest Alayne".To anyone
else, it would have appeared to be a rather dull and unimaginative epistle,
inquiring about Sansa's health and wellbeing, but she herself had immediately
recognized it for what it was. Littlefinger had taught her this code a couple
of years ago. She sighed and started rereading Baelish' letter for the fourth
time.
My dearest Alayne
You cannot imagine how relieved I was to learn that you are safe with your
Uncle Edmure at Riverrun. Do you even realize how upset I was when I discovered
you had disappeared? I have never suffered as much in my life, worrying about
you all the time.
I must admit, sweetling, I was furious with you at first. Harrold Hardying has
wed the Lady Myranda Royce, as he was intending to do when we last spoke. Yes,
Alayne, I was very disappointed indeed. You had ruined my lovely plan for you.
I had meant for you to entrap your Harry. It's one thing to father a bastard on
a girl named Stone, but it is an entirely different case when that woman's name
is Sansa Stark. You would have been the Lady of the Vale and the North,
possibly the Riverlands too. Instead you chose to run off with that bastard.
However, new players have arrived since then and chaos thrives once again in
the Seven Kingdoms. I admire your foresight, it seems you have surpassed your
master, Alayne. You have managed to catch an even bigger fish, have you not, or
should I say dragon? Well done, Sweetling, I'm very proud of you!
I'm confident that Daenerys Targaryen will defeat the Blackfyre pretender who
claims to be her nephew. She will deal with Cersei Lannister and Lord Stannis
too. House Targaryen shall be restored. In fact, I have already contacted this
Dragon Queen, assuring her of the Vale's allegiance. She will want the throne
for herself, of course. She might have solved that little issue by marrying her
true nephew... I am pleased that you have prevented her from doing so.
Do not worry about Daenerys, Sweetling. She will prove easy enough to remove,
but we shall have to be patient after that. We might have to wait until you
have given your new husband a couple of sons. Remember that even a King does
not live an eternal life though. Quite the contrary, considering all the Kings
who have died over the last couple of years. It would not be unimaginable for
the Gods to add one more King to that list...
And then we will finally achieve what we have wanted for so long. The Iron
Throne will be ours, my sweet Alayne.
Yours sincerely
Petyr
Sansa tossed the letter into the fire and watched it crisp away. She'd thought
she was finally out of Littlefinger's reach and on her way home. She already
knew Winterfell would have to wait. She would have preferred to continue their
journey North after a short visit to her Uncle Edmure and a small wedding with
only a few witnesses. Lord Edmure had insisted on an extravagant celebration
for his niece though, the preparations of which had already delayed them
considerably. It was Jon who had asked her Uncle for an extension of his
hospitality however.
She had confronted him about it, eventually even begging him to take her home
immediately, but Jon's resolve had been unshakeable. " I understand, Sansa, I
really do, but it's impossible." He'd looked at her with his dark eyes full of
pity and sadness. "In Summer, we might have reached Winterfell in under two
moons. But Winter is here, the journey could easily take half a year. I don't
want you to get caught in a snowstorm in your condition and I certainly don't
want you to give birth on the Kingsroad. Your Uncle agrees."  Sansa had known
he was right, but she'd still refused to speak to him for a sennight. 
And now, once again she had become a pawn in one of Littlefinger's schemes.
Sansa realized how much she owed him, but that didn't change the fact that he
had used her and now meant to use her again. "It's one thing to father a
bastard on a girl named Stone..." Littlefinger had intended for her to
conceive. He must have tampered with her moon tea. Sansa screamed and tried to
jump to her feet quite unsuccesfully, held back by the burden inside her belly.
When she finally managed to rise, she kicked over the stool and sank to her
knees, sobbing and whimpering.
She cried for herself and for her mother and father. She cried for her sister
and her brothers. She cried for Myranda, who had been her friend. Why is it all
my friends end up marrying the men I was betrothed to? She didn't regret losing
Harry, had never really cared for him anyway, but she still felt the hurt of
the betrayal. She cried for Jon. Don't think about Jon, that's too complicated.
Just focus on the task, all you have to do is wed him. That had always been the
plan, to bed him and wed him. Everything was going according to plan. Not
everything, you liked the bedding part a lot more than you'd expected. A giggle
rose in her throat. Jon hadn't touched her in three moons though, not since
she'd told him. That thought made her bawl even louder. Jon would actually
make a decent husband, but he didn't want her anymore. And now Littlefinger was
planning to kill him and his Aunt. Sansa found herself crying for Daenerys
Targaryen too. Finally Sansa cried for the babe growing in her belly. She still
couldn't find it in her heart to love this child. It didn't feel like a child
to her. This creature had invaded her body, made her feel like a stranger to
herself and worst of all, it had ruined her life, when that life had finally
started to become a little better.
In the end, Sansa's tears stopped flowing and she felt strangely light and
giddy. She struggled to her feet and walked over to the far corner of her
chamber to wash her face. Someone knocked on her door. Sansa risked a glance at
the mirror next to the washing basin. Her face was red and blotchy. There came
another knock, followed by Uncle Edmure calling her name. Sansa sighed, she
couldn't send her Uncle away. She called out for him to come in, taking her
seat by the fire again. Edmure Tully walked into the room and gasped when he
saw Sansa's face. His eyes scanned the room, resting on the overturned stool.
He refocused on Sansa's face. "My dear niece! What happened? Are you well?"
Sansa forced a smile. "It's nothing Uncle, it's only the babe. The midwife told
me it's normal for an expectant mother to have emotional outbursts."
Uncle Edmure nodded, visibly relieved. "May I have a word with you, Sansa?"
She nodded, gesturing for her Uncle to take a seat. He was wringing his hands
in his lap. "Sansa, I've welcomed you into my home and I hope I've provided you
with everything you could wish for."
"Certainly, Uncle, I couldn't wish for more, you've already done too much."
He shook his head. "You're Cat's little girl. Everything I've done for you... I
have done so gladly and I would still give you much more, but Sansa... You've
been here for almost two moons and you're welcome to stay as long as you want.
I just... I haven't asked you to explain yourself, but I need to know, Sansa,
how did this happen?"
Sansa's eyes followed his hand, waving vaguely at her belly. "I believe I don't
need to explain that to you, Uncle. You're a grown man, I'm sure you know."
He narrowed his eyes. "Please, niece, you know what I mean. I don't understand.
You were safe in the Vale, Petyr was taking care of you... You were going to be
the Lady of the Eyrie, wife to a Lord Paramount, and you gave it all up for
him? You even let him bed you! Please, tell me the truth, did he force you?"
She huffed. "No, Uncle, Jon did not force me."
Lord Edmure looked at her in horror. "You mean to say that you gave him your
maidenhead willingly?"
Sansa closed her eyes. "Not exactly, no, but I was willing."
He frowned. "What? No, don't tell me, I don't want to know. But Sansa, he was
your brother! He's a bastard, your Mother loathed that boy!"
She bit her tongue for a moment, trying to force back any words she might
regret later. "We were never close, Uncle. I never thought of him as a brother,
my Mother made sure of that. And you're right, Uncle, she hated him. She hated
him for something that turned out to be a lie all along."
"You believe she'd approve?"
"Of course not! But my Mother died a long time ago and you killed what was left
of her, Uncle, she has no say in this!"
Uncle Edmure flinched, his face a mask of horror. Sansa regretted her words
immediately. "I am sorry, Uncle, that was uncalled for. I did not mean it."
Her Uncle was staring at the floor. "I wish you would have come to me sooner.
We could have fixed this or wed you to a proper Lord."
"Jon is a proper Lord, some might even call him a Prince or a King."
He raised his eyebrows. "Rhaegar Targaryen was already married to Elia Martell.
There is barely a person in the Seven Kingdoms who acknowledges his marriage to
your Aunt Lyanna!"
"Robb made him his heir."
He rubbed his red beard. "He did, but Robb didn't know... Sansa, I want you to
know that it's not too late. You don't have to marry him. You can stay here,
have the babe and I'll raise him as my own. Roslin hasn't been able to conceive
since her miscarriage. You could still see him grow up. No one would ever
know."
Sansa considered his proposal for a moment. Her throat felt oddly tight at the
idea of giving her babe to someone else. It's too late to turn back. Jon would
never allow it. He might, if he knew the babe wasn't his. She couldn't tell him
the truth. "You're very kind, Uncle, but I've made my decision. I will marry
Jon and he will take me home to Winterfell."
Her Uncle slapped his hands on his knees. "Yes, to Winterfell. Can't you see,
Sansa? He does not love you. He only wants you for your body and for
Winterfell!"
I know, Uncle, I know. She'd realized that a long time ago. No man would ever
love her for her. At least to Jon, Winterfell was more than a title and a keep.
"It's his home as well, Uncle. If you'll excuse me now. I'm very tired, I'd
like to rest for a while."
 
 
***** Friendly Advice *****
Chapter Summary
     Jon has a wolf dream. Davos Seaworth arrives at Riverrun with some
     news.
Chapter Notes
     I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all for your lovely
     comments!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Jon was running, the endlessly colossal trees flashing by in blurs of russet as
he moved his paws in a steady rhythm. The snow was deep, but it didn't bother
him. He only faltered for a heartbeat when one of his hind legs sank through a
thin crust of ice over one of the little streams. He relished in the strain on
his muscles, the feel of the wind in his fur, the lack of conflicting feelings
and troubling thoughts in his mind. This was a simpler life. There was only the
exhilirating rush of the run, nothing else. Suddenly, he heard the man sound:
 "Ghost", high and musical. She's calling you, the thought came unbidden.
He threw back his head, sniffing the air. The pure scent of the snow, the deep
essence of the tree barks, some of them also carrying a green fragrance, others
spreading the stench of death. And there she was: sweet, fresh, warm, her scent
more complicated and richer than it had been at first. He whimpered silently
for a moment, but then darted off in the opposite direction, following her
voice. 
When he reached her and wagged his tail in greeting, pressing his muzzle into
her protruding belly, she wrapped her arms around him. She rubbed her cheek
against his the side of his head, sighing and carding her hands into his
fur. Sansa, another man sound. He pointed his ears when her voice chimed
again. "Hello, Ghost. I'm glad to find you here. I couldn't sleep. Have you
been out here all night?" He tilted his head, struggling to understand the
meaning of her words. She almost stumbled at the motion and let out an odd
sound. She's laughing. She leaned against him heavily. "Let's walk."
He woke up on his side, the smells all wrong, the air stagnant and pressing. He
whined and opened his eyes. He was Jon again, not Ghost. Sansa was gone. What
was she doing out there alone in the Godswood so early? There was hardly any
light filtering through the split in the heavy curtains hanging in front of the
windows. 
Half an hour later, he was striding through the Godswood, searching for Ghost
and Sansa. After calling out his name a couple of times, his wolf came trotting
up to him at a leisurely pace, Sansa absent from his side. Jon stretched out
his hand to scratch him behind his ear. "Have you brought her back inside? Good
boy!"
The cold was not as cutting down here as it would be up North, but still too
sharp to stand still for too long, so he started walking again, aimlessly.
After a while he looked up to see that his feet had carried him to the slender
heart tree at the centre of the Godswood. It was nowhere near as impressive as
the heart tree at Winterfell, but he'd found himself here often since their
arrival at Riverrun.
He tried to steer his thoughts away from the event that would be taking place
here in two days. Only a few days ago, he'd confessed here on his knees that in
his darkest moments, before Sansa had told him, he'd prayed to the Gods,
desperate to find a way to keep her. Be careful what you wish for. It seemed
they had granted him his wish, only in the cruelest way possible. He sighed and
clenched his fists. Another broken vow. He had sworn to himself long ago to
never father a bastard and now he'd done exactly that.
Jon wondered if Sansa resented him for it. Of course she does. She had grown
cold and more distant since she'd found out, lashing out at him from time to
time. She hadn't let him touch her since her teary confession. He could feel
bile rising in his throat at that thought, disgusted with himself that he'd
still expect that of her after all the trouble acting on his desires had caused
already. She wanted it as much as you did. She had been lonely and upset when
she'd come to him, seeking comfort. He should have known better than to give it
to her in that form, even if she'd begged for it. It had been a dream from
which they'd both been roused brutally when the enormous consequences had come
crashing down on them. 
He was startled by a vaguely familiar voice. "My Lord? Are you at prayer?"
Jon turned around. "Lord Seaworth! Forgive me, my thoughts were elsewhere."
Davos Seaworth nodded sternly. "I apologize for disturbing you, my lord."
Jon shook his head. "You didn't disturb me. I just wasn't expecting anyone to
be here this early."
"Sleep seems to come to me less easily as the years go by. Lately I've spent
many sleepless nights. I saw you coming out here from my chamber window and I
wished to speak to you in private. We haven't had that opportunity since I've
arrived."
Edmure Tully had welcomed Davos to Riverrun less than twenty-four hours ago.
He'd requested to speak with Jon and Sansa immediately. Jon had led him to
Sansa's chamber, introducing them to each other after she had let them in. He'd
gone to stand beside Sansa's chair, his hand hovering over the small of her
back. Davos had smiled at them both then, taking in their nervous faces. "I
believe congratulations are in order." They'd both thanked him mechanically.
Then he'd crossed his hands behind his back and announced: "I have good news
for you. Stannis did not want to entrust this message to a raven, so I've come
instead. Your brother Brandon has returned to Winterfell." Jon had felt his
mouth falling open. Sansa had struggled to her feet, throwing her arms around
Jon's neck. They'd laughed together in joy. Then she'd pulled away from him,
leaving him missing her warmth immediately. Davos had spent the next hour both
delighting and horrifying them with the further details.
He cleared his throat now and stated bluntly: "Stannis is not pleased."
Jon pressed his lips together. He'd suspected there would be more to Davos'
visit than merely bringing them the news of Bran's return. "Stannis is never
pleased."
Davos tilted his head in agreement. "You know he intended to wed you to
Shireen."
"Aye, I do. To prevent anyone from starting an uprising against him in my name.
To convince more lords to support his claim to the Iron Throne. There's no need
for that anymore now. Not now my Aunt has arrived in the Seven Kingdoms. Even
Stannis cannot hope to win against three dragons and a Dothraki horde."
"Indeed, he does not. He intends to bend the knee."
Jon stared at him incredulously. "Stannis? Bend the knee? Well, then he
wouldn't still expect me to marry Shireen, would he?"
Davos held up his palms. "On the contrary. He will bend the knee to this
Daenerys Targaryen and he'll accept whatever consequences to his own person
she'll command. But he wants to protect Shireen. He was hoping a marriage to
Daenerys' nephew would prove sufficient."
Jon felt the corner of his mouth quirking up involuntarily. Of course Davos
would defend any plan that might protect Shireen. He was extremely fond of the
girl. Jon clenched and unclenched his sword hand. "Daenerys hasn't even met me.
For all we know, she might be planning to kill me out of fear that some would
consider my claim more valid than hers. But from what I've heard, she doesn't
strike me as the type who'd kill an innocent child."
"An innocent child who might one day rise up against her to avenge her father.
I believe Daenerys was the same age when Robert sent his assassins to kill
her."
Jon shook his head furiously. "That's all speculation. And regardless of the
circumstances, I didn't make any promises to Stannis."
Davos pursed his lips before answering. "You did. You promised to discuss the
possibility of a betrothal upon your return to Winterfell. That discussion will
be quite futile, if you marry the Lady Sansa."
"When I marry Sansa."
"Stannis will be disappointed. He was already reluctant to grant you permission
to travel to the Vale in search of her."
Jon still remembered the day Stannis had received a letter, written in Sansa's
own hand, imploring him to to annul her marriage to Tyrion Lannister. They'd
discovered rather easily the raven carrying her message had been sent from the
Gates of the Moon. Jon had insisted on leaving immediately, determined to find
Sansa, especially after the Jeyne Poole disaster. He huffed. "He was planning
to send someone to treat with Lord Baelish anyway."
Davos raised his eyebrows. "Forgive me, but I believe you've ruined any results
your negotiations might have yielded by abducting your cousin."
Jon lunged forward and shouted: "I did not abduct her! She came to me, pleading
with me to take her away from that place! You don't know what they did to her!"
"Do you?"
Jon blinked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Davos folded his arms in front of his chest. "I'm only wondering how well you
truly know Lady Sansa. Your decision to marry her seems rather reckless, don't
you think? I know, I know, there's the babe... Do you love her?"
"I do."
"Does she love you?"
Jon bit the inside of his cheek. No. "I don't know."
Davos nodded. "You don't know. So she might not love you, yet she must have
been very eager to bed you!"
"Women have needs too!"
Davos smiled. "Yes, they do. Still, she believed you to be her brother for most
of her life... She's spent the last few years with Lord Baelish. We all know
what he is."
Jon felt his rage resurfacing. "What are you suggesting?"
"Oh, I'm not suggesting anything, I'm just questioning everything. What about
her last betrothed? I've heard the lad has quite the reputation, some call him
the new Robert Baratheon."
"And I'm supposed to be the evil Targaryen who stole his precious Stark
maiden?"
It dawned on him then. Robert Baratheon's reputation. Sansa had not been a
maiden. He'd assumed it had been the Imp... No. Sansa wouldn't do that. She
bedded you, didn't she? Then why wouldn't she bed some handsome lordling? It
didn't matter. Ygritte must have had at least four men before him. It would be
ridiculous and unfair to set a different standard with Sansa. Her past didn't
matter. All he should care about was her future. He was going to take her home
to Winterfell and their child would be a Stark, not a Snow. Jon had promised
himself that he was going to keep them safe and that he would do his best to
make them all as happy as possible. 
He looked up to Davos, who was offering him a rueful smile. "I did not mean to
cause offence. I just wouldn't want you to come to regret this decision."
I'm doing the right thing. He smiled back. "Thank you. I won't."
 
Chapter End Notes
     Next chapter: the wedding.
***** Hold On to Your Heart, Cause I'm Coming to Take It *****
Chapter Summary
     Jon dreams again the night before the wedding. Sansa is surprised by
     a piece of news. Jon decides to take a risk on his wedding night.
Chapter Notes
     The title of this chapter is a line from the Florence + The Machine
     Song "Hardest of Hearts".
     This is a long chapter with a lot going on, but it didn't feel right
     to split it up...
Jon
Evening had come when Jon slumped down into a chair, suddenly realizing he was
exhausted. After he'd retired the night before, his mind had kept mulling over
Davos' words. Something about what he'd said wouldn't stop bothering him, but
he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It remained present in the back of his
mind, always just out of reach. It annoyed him like an itch he wasn't able to
scratch away. It had kept him up all night. I'll just close my eyes for a
moment. He did and immediately slipped into Ghost's skin.
He was sitting on his haunches, head tilted to one side, watching the sweet-
smelling human. "Come here, Ghost!" His ears perked up and he eagerly arose to
canter to her. She put her hands on his neck, dragging an object with a dozen
small tips through his fur. "We have to make sure you look pretty
tomorrow." She kept pulling the object down. The light tugging
sensation delighted him. She began humming a tune, adding words to the melody
after a while. 
                   The trees stood tall, the snows lay deep
                         The Dragon Prince pressed on
                And urged his steed e'er further from the keep
                        The Knight ahead still laughing
                            Till both men came upon
                   A mighty hill, its slope endlessly steep
                        The brave Knight turned around
                       And faced the Silver Princeling 
She continued singing as she worked his fur. When she had finished the song,
she climbed into the bed and the wolf leapt onto it, nestling into the furs
next to her. She let out a peal of laughter. "You're sweet, Ghost, but I'd
prefer... other company..." She burrowed into his side, leaning her head
against him. She whispered: "Do you think he'll stay? After the bedding
ceremony? We wouldn't - it would be enough if he just held me..."He turned to
lick the wetness from her face. It tasted salty. She giggled.
The room dissolved and he was out in the woods. He was running again. He was
not alone this time though. To his left was a smaller wolf with shiny crimson
fur. She looked at him with crystal eyes and came to a halt to turn back. He
mimicked her actions. A little red wolf cub was stumbling up to them, unsteady
on its little paws. The white wolf unfolded his leathery golden wings and took
to the sky. The cub yelped, jumping up and down, before spreading its own wings
to follow its father. The little wolf struggled up, flapping its tapered
feathers. The crimson wolf, still down on the ground, wailed, as the white wolf
was overwhelmed by a sharp pain. He was enclosed by searing black claws,
smouldering like burning coals.
The dream shifted again and Jon was back in the abyss, surrounded by emptiness.
Then he was pulled away, piece by piece, the fire bringing him back to life
racing through his veins, scourging him. He woke up panting and sweating, still
drooping in the chair he'd fallen asleep in. It had to be hours before dawn. He
gripped the arm-rests, forcing his breathing and heartbeat to slow down. He'd
had a dream, a dream he felt was somehow significant, but he couldn't remember
the details, only the sense of foreboding it had left him with. 
Before that he'd spent time inside Ghost's mind again. He'd been with Sansa.
She'd been combing out Ghost's fur, singing to him. Jon only half-remembered
the song. He'd never heard it before. Afterward she'd snuggled against Ghost in
her bed, laughing and crying. She'd said... Had she been talking about him? He
tried to recall her words, but it was hard to retain them now he'd returned to
his own body. He imagined he must have misunderstood her meaning. It must have
been a dream as well. She wouldn't say that.
Sansa
Sansa took a step back to have a better look at herself in the mirror. Her
wedding gown was all heavy ivory and soft grey damask skirts. The bodice was
slashed in deeply, covered by a panel of Tully blue Myrish lace. The long
dagged sleeves were lined in red silk, another Tully colour. The gown looked
lovely. But I don't. Sansa eyed her belly as she smoothed her skirts over it. I
have no waist left at all.She sighed and turned around. The maids her Uncle had
sent fastened the velvet maiden's cloak with the grey direwolf embroidered on
its back around her neck with a silver chain, lifting her hair and arranging it
to fall down her back in soft curls. She took one last glance at the mirror and
headed for the door. Staying in my room isn't going to make me any prettier. 
Her Uncle was waiting for her at the edge of the Godswood. He was dressed in a
splendid ensemble of crimson and deep blue velvet. "You are very beautiful,
Sansa."
"It's kind of you to say so, Uncle. You look very elegant yourself."
He offered her his arm and Sansa took it. "I still wish you'd agreed to a
wedding in the Sept."
Oh, this again. "We're of the North, Uncle. Jon follows the Old Gods."
He started leading her down the narrow path through the trees. "Your mother
once told me you worshipped the Seven."
Sansa closed her eyes for a moment. "I did, but the Seven never answered my
prayers. The Lannisters married me to the Imp in a Sept. I do prefer it this
way, Uncle. I'm a Stark of Winterfell."
They were close to the heart tree now. The guests were arranged in a half-
circle around it, but Sansa didn't look at their faces. Jon was standing under
the heart tree, Ghost sitting next to him. He was dressed simply in black and
red, a grey cape lined with white fur hanging around his shoulders. His posture
seemed relaxed. Sansa thought his eyes lit up a bit when he saw her approach.
She noticed how he clenched his fist a little before asking in a steady voice:
""Who comes? Who comes before the gods?"
Her Uncle answered: "Sansa of House Stark comes here to be wed. A woman grown
and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods.
Who comes to claim her?"
"Me, Jon of Houses Stark and Targaryen. I claim her. Who gives her?"
Sansa nodded, glad Jon had followed her advice in stating his names. There
wasn't any sign of hesitance in his declaration. It was her Uncle's turn again.
"Edmure of House Tully, her Uncle. Lady Sansa, will you take this man?"
She met her Uncle's challenging look with a defiant glare. "I take this man."
Edmure led her closer to the heart tree, placing her left hand in Jon's right.
She clung to it to kneel down, supported by her Uncle's hand on her back. Jon
knelt as well. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. Sansa followed his
example. She didn't know what to pray for. She had to admit to herself that she
hadn't really considered what would happen after the wedding. The only thing
she'd truly focused on, envisioning her future, was Winterfell. It could easily
be another year before she ever saw it again. And even then there would be no
guarantee she could stay there. Bran was Lord of Winterfell now. She'd tried to
ask Jon about his plans, but he'd told her he wasn't worried at all. He hadn't
seemed deterred by the fact that his prospects of becoming Lord himself had
been nullified by Bran's return. He was certain Bran would allow them to stay
in Winterfell with him. I hope he's right. 
She felt his warm hand on the small of her back. He offered her his other arm
to help her back to her feet. He unclasped her maiden's cloak with firm hands,
a solemn look on his face, and handed it to her Uncle. Satin brought forward
the bride's cloak, smiling his quirky smile. The cloak was black velvet and
fur, lined with red silk, but there was a white direwolf embroidered on it. It
looked very heavy, but Jon swept it over her shoulders in one smooth motion,
standing behind her. He came around to face her then, tenderly kissing her
cheek as he leaned forward to fasten the clasp. He is so handsome, she thought
when his face was close to hers. And it's more than that. He has a truly kind
face. She offered him a tentative smile.
The wedding feast was held in the Great Hall. Sansa was grateful the weather
had ruined some of her Uncle's more extravagant plans. Only sixty guests had
made it to Riverrun in time, most of them her Uncle's bannermen and their
families. Ser Wylis Manderly and the Greatjon Umber were the only Northmen in
attendance. Jon drank heavily and ate but little. Sansa had discovered that
eating more than miniscule portions would leave her queasy and bloated, so she
didn't eat much more, until Jon motioned to one of the servants to bring her a
covered plate. Sansa uncovered the dish and found a stack of lemon cakes
towered on the plate. She stared at Jon in surprise, who beamed at her and
squeezed her hand.
When the musicians started to play, she turned to him . "We should lead the
dance."
Jon's mouth turned into a hard thin line. "I don't dance."
Sansa lowered her head in disappointment and started pulling her hand back from
the table, where it was still lying, covered under his, but he stopped her and
nodded. "Alright then, one dance. I hope you won't regret it."
She had to stop herself from giggling by biting her lip when she found out what
Jon had meant. His movements were usually very elegant for a man, especially
when he had a sword in his hand. But he seemed to possess none of that
litheness on the dancefloor. Once he almost stepped on her toes, frowning and
shooting her an apologetic smile. Her protruding belly wasn't exactly helping
their awkwardness. Sansa almost missed a step herself when she heard one of the
former Night's Watchmen mention Janos Slynt. Jon flattened his hand on her back
to steady her. "Everything alright?"
Sansa smiled up at him. "I- I heard someone say Janos Slynt's name."
Jon grimaced. "Did you know him?"
Yes, he threw Father down so Ilyn Payne could chop off his head. "He was Lord
Commander of the City Watch in King's Landing. Did you know him?"
Jon nodded absently. "He was a brother of the Night's Watch for a while."
"What happened?"
He sighed before answering. "He refused to obey my commands. So I had to take
his head."
Sansa faltered, her mouth falling open, her hand flying for her throat. No,
that's too good to be true. Jon was frowning at her, his face twisted in worry.
"Sansa?"
She stared back at him, unable to utter a single word. The song ended then and
Jon took her hand to escort her back to the dais. She took her seat next to him
again, sipping her cup of watered wine as she watched her Uncle dance with his
wife. There are no heroes. But Jon was real enough. The sound of a chair
scraping against the floor startled her. She glanced up. Jon was talking to Ser
Patrek Mallister. To her right, Lord Davos Seaworth was looking down at her,
clearing his throat. "My Lady, may I take a seat?"
Sansa collected herself. "Of course, My Lord. Forgive me. Please, sit down."
Lord Davos smiled at her, taking his seat. "I wanted to congratulate you again,
My Lady. You are a lucky woman. Jon will make you an excellent husband."
Sansa smiled back and nodded. "I know he will."
Davos continued. "He's a rare one. Brave, gentle and strong. Everything a lady
could wish for. I do hope you appreciate what you have."
Sansa felt her heart had skipped more than one beat. "Thank you, My Lord. Would
you please excuse me? I need some air. It's incredibly hot in here."
She pushed herself up, leaving the Hall and making her way out into the
courtyard. She slumped against a wall, tilting her head back and closing her
eyes. She heard footsteps quickly approaching. She turned her head to find Jon
striding up to her, her bridal cloak folded over his arm. Of course it's
you. He fastened the cloak around her shoulders again, smoothing her hair back
from her face. His eyes were boring into hers, his gaze dark and ardent. She
buried her face in his chest and his arms came up to wrap around her
hesitantly. She whispered: "I'm tired, Jon."
He rubbed her back. "The guests will have to continue without us then. I'll
take you to your chambers."
Jon
Jon lingered at the treshold for a moment, before Sansa asked him to come in.
He closed the door behind them. She unclasped her wedding cloak and hung it
over a chair. She turned her back to him. "Would you help me out of my dress?"
He swallowed before approaching, and put his hands on her back to untie the
laces of her gown. When it became undone, it sank to the floor, pooling at her
feet. She stepped out of it, leaning on his arm and her silk shift slipped from
her shoulder. Jon tried to resist the urge, but before he could think, he
pressed his lips to the milky skin it revealed. He slid his hand down her arm
and over her hip and pushed her hair away from her neck, placing a sloppier
kiss there. Sansa gasped. He staggered back, holding out his palms. "I'm
sorry."
Sansa turned around and closed the distance between them, framing his face in
her hands. "Don't be."
He kissed her, slowly and softly at first. He pushed his tongue into her mouth
as he pressed his hands to her waist and she moaned. He tried to pull her
closer, but bumped into her swollen belly, so he spun her to her side. His
right hand on her neck, fingers in her hair, he brushed her cheek with his
thumb and captured her lips again. He lowered his other hand to the curve of
her ass, gripping it. When he released her mouth to catch his breath, he
searched her eyes. They were such a deep blue and her desire was plainly
visible in them. He panted out: "I thought you didn't want me anymore..."
She blinked. "What? No, I- I was sick and tired all the time. And now I'm fat
and gross. I thought you didn't want me anymore."
He cupped her face. "You're not fat or gross. You're stunning. Your hair is
even brighter and your skin is so soft and rosy. It glows."
A couple of tears escaped from her eyes. Jon leaned in to kiss them away. "I
want to see you."
In that long moon they'd spent every night together, he'd had her in every
possible way, but they'd never been able to remove all their clothes. He wanted
to have her completely naked now. He let go of her to tug off his doublet and
tunic, stepping out of his boots. Sansa undid the lacings on the front of her
shift and pulled it over her head. She reached down to pull of her silk
stockings. "No, leave those on."
She rose up and toed off her shoes.Her hands flew up to cover her belly and
breasts. He took her hands and kissed both her palms, before pulling back to
look at her. She was all soft curves and creamy skin. Her white legs were
endless. He licked his lips when his eyes grazed over her smallclothes, but
continued up. He held his gaze on the swell of her stomach, where their child
was growing. Her teats had definitely become more than a bit larger. He was
already painfully hard, his cock straining and throbbing against his breeches.
He practically lunged forward then to bury his face between her teats, nuzzling
them and taking in her scent. She tangled her fingers into his hair and mewled.
He cupped her left breast with an overflowing hand and latched onto her right
nipple with his mouth. His other hand travelled down into her smallclothes.
When he slipped a finger between her lower lips, he found her already sopping
wet. He groaned and brushed the hood of her nub. She bucked her hips and cried
out.
He pulled back. "Did I hurt you?"
She looked at him, chest heaving, face flushed. "No. It's just... Everything's
so sensitive right now."
"Good," he growled. He kissed her again, nibbling at her lips and flicking his
tongue over them, all the while walking her back to the bed. He helped her onto
it and lowered her to her back, pressing himself to her side. He bit her
earlobe and suckled at her neck, shuddering at her moans. He hovered over her
to plant a trail of wet kisses down her chest and abdomen. When he reached her
smallclothes, he ripped them off. He pushed her legs apart to settle between
them and kissed the hair on her mound. Her wetness was dripping down her
thighs, soaking the bed sheets. He licked some from the inside of her thigh and
groaned. Lemons and honey, but stronger and saltier than I remembered. Sansa
pushed herself up on her elbows and wheezed out: "Jon, please, no."
He glanced up at her in surprise. She was looking down at him with hooded eyes.
"I just mean, I can't lie on my back this long. It hurts."
He shot her a grin and helped her up. "On your hands and knees then, wife."
Together they propped up some pillows for support and Sansa leaned down on
them. Jon pulled her hips up a little, kneading her arse before lowering his
head again. The auburn curls between her legs were glistening. He parted her
folds. For some reason her arousal seemed even more apparent than other times.
Her lips and nub darker and more swollen than he'd ever seen them. He nipped
her outer lips lightly before trailing his tongue up and down her slit. She was
mewling, already bucking her hips against his face. His cock was practically
screaming for attention now. "Easy, love. Calm down"
He pressed the flat of his tongue against her nub, which made her moan in
response. Gods, I'm going to spill inside my breeches like some green boy. He
started sucking at her clit then, circling his tongue around it. Sansa started
sobbing and grinding her cunt against his mouth. Within minutes she had soaked
his entire face with a gushing release and screamed loud enough for the entire
castle to hear. She'd never peaked this quickly.
Sansa sank to her side, pulling her legs up. Jon couldn't take it any longer.
He pushed down his breeches and smallclothes and pressed himself against her
back. Sansa pushed her arse back, propping her foot up on his thigh to give him
better access. "Yes, sweet girl, let me into your cunt. I've missed being
inside you. Have you missed me?"
She panted out: "Yes, Jon, please."
He aligned himself against her entrance and pushed into her. He sank in
effortlessly and they both gasped. She was so hot and tight, still lightly
quaking around his cock. It's a good thing she's so wet, or I wouldn't last
three thrusts. He held still for a moment, relishing in the feeling of being
fully seated inside her and the desire for friction. Sansa bucked back her
hips.
He started moving in long, slow strokes, holding on to her thigh. He slid his
hand up, cupping one breast, massaging it and rolling a nipple between his
fingers. He was already losing his rhythm, fucking her fast and hard, splaying
his hand flat between her breasts. She turned her head around to pull his lips
into a messy kiss. He was so close.
Sansa's hips began undulating, setting a new pace as she slid over him,
mewling. Suddenly she erupted around him, sobbing again. When she slumped
against him, he thrusted into her, gripping her thigh for purpose, and found
his own release within moments. He bit her shoulder as waves of pleasure pumped
out his seed, only intensified by the pulsing sensation of her cunt around his
cock. He collapsed, licking the angry red teeth marks on her
shoulders. Mine, he thought, all mine. The words slipped from his mouth before
he could control himself. "I love you."
Her answer was the real surprise though. "I love you, too."
 
***** If This Is a Dream, Don't Wake Me Up *****
Chapter Summary
     A couple of months have passed since the wedding and Sansa has given
     birth to a daughter.
     Sansa and Jon spend some time with their daughter and have some alone
     time as well. Sansa remembers something she wants to forget. She's
     living in constant fear that her happiness with Jon won't last long.
Chapter Notes
     It's been a while since I last updated. I've been busy with real life
     and my other fic, and I was a little stuck with this one. I didn't
     know where I wanted to take this story anymore, but I think I've
     figured it out now.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Sansa turned around in the bed and stretched out her arm. She groaned and
patted her hand around the mattress. Instead of Jon's warm body to cling to,
there was only a cold spot next to her. She sat up shivering and blinked in
sleepy confusion. She reached for her robe and wrapped it around her. She
lowered herself from the bed and tiptoed across the room on her bare feet. She
wondered whether she'd been so fast asleep she hadn't noticed anything. Gently
she pushed open the door to the nursery. She slumped against the doorframe, a
dreamy smile spreading across her face and her limbs weakening at the sight
before her. 
Jon was sitting in the large cushioned chair she used for breastfeeding, little
Lysanne lying in his strong right arm, tucked against his chest. His face was
so soft and tender as he looked at her, Sansa's heart almost melted. At first
he'd refused to hold her, afraid he might break her, but Sansa had seen the way
his hand was flexing, the twitch of his lips. She'd known that despite his
hesitation, he really wanted to, so she'd encouraged him to pick her up. She'd
never forget his bright smile or his bewildered eyes as he'd done so. It was
the most wonderful thing she'd ever seen, though it had been tainted by her
guilt. It had been a lie, but she wanted to believe it needn't be. No one knew,
she wouldn't have to take this away from him, she wouldn't have to hurt him.
She'd carry that burden alone.
Jon smiled up at her as he carefully pulled the babe's swaddling clothes a
little tighter. She entered the room to kneel beside him and whispered: "Why
didn't you wake me up?"
"I thought you could use a little more sleep."
Despite their low voices, Lysanne started to stir and let out a whimper. Sansa
felt a few drops leak from her teats at the sound. "She needs to be fed. You
can go back to bed if you like."
Jon shook his head as he spread his legs and stretched out his arm to help her
up. "No, I'll stay."
She settled in between his thighs and leaned back against his chest, taking the
babe from his arm and lowering her robe and shift so she could latch onto her
nipple. She bit her lip when her daughter started to suck, then she sighed and
relaxed. "I think my milk is starting to dry up. We'll have to find a wet
nurse."
Jon put his arm over hers to support the babe's weight and squeezed her hand.
"If you think it's necessary. Don't worry about it, you've done it all by
yourself so far. Most ladies use a wet nurse from the start."
Sansa smiled. At times she still couldn't believe her luck had turned at last.
She hadn't expected to ever fall in love again. It's just because it's Jon.
He's probably the best of them all and he's mine now. The last few months had
felt like a dream. Sansa had woken up one morning, surprised at the realization
that she was happy. Yet part of her bliss had always been overshadowed by her
fear that it was too good to be true. Sometimes it would overwhelm her, she
wouldn't be able to breathe for a few moments and she'd tell herself it
wouldn't last. Surely something would go wrong. Jon would tell her he'd grown
bored of her, that he didn't love her after all. Or he'd suffer a terrible
wound or a horrible accident and she'd lose him. Or perhaps he'd find out the
truth.
The last few weeks before Lysanne's birth had been the worst. She'd dreaded the
moment she'd go into labour, not just because of the pain and the fear of the
unknown. The pain had been excruciating beyond imagination and the enormity of
her new responsibility had been too much to take at first, but Jon had been
there to alleviate her worries. She couldn't really have anticipated any of
that though. What had truly terrified her was that she'd have the babe and it
would look exactly like Harry. 
She looked down at the tuft of auburn hair on Lysanne's head and found her
staring back at her with bright blue eyes. As if on cue, Jon kissed her hair,
rubbed his cheek against the side of her head and said: "She looks more and
more like you with each passing day. She's beautiful."
Sansa chuckled as she switched her to her other breast. "She is."
She does, she thought as she stroked her daughter's dimpled cheek with one
finger, let's hope it stays that way. Jon wrapped his arms around the both of
them and kissed Sansa's neck. "I love you. I never thought I'd get everything I
want."
Neither did I. "I love you, too."
When Lysanne started to doze off, Sansa got up and twisted her in her arms
until she was lying against her shoulder, over which Jon had draped a drying
cloth. "You should go and get some sleep now, Jon."
He nodded and kissed her forehead and Lysanne's hair. "Don't keep your Mother
up too long, little one."
Half an hour later, Sansa returned to the bedroom to find Jon still awake. He'd
lit some candles and was sitting against the headboard of their bed, completely
naked and smirking at her. "There you are."
She raised her eyebrows at him. He shrugged.  "A man grows lonely without his
lady wife in such a large bed."
Sansa grinned back as she approached him, slightly swaying her hips. His eyes
were dancing across her body as he took in her movements. She climbed up on the
bed, pulling up her skirts to straddle his lap and put her hands on his chest.
She shook her hair out of her face. "Sshh, I'm here now. Tell me, what can I
do?"
His hands started untying her robe, sliding up to push if off her shoulders. He
reached for the hem of her shift and pulled it over her head. "Hmm, how about I
show you?"
He took her hand and guided it down until she was cupping his balls. His other
hand gripped the back of her neck and pulled her forward until their lips met.
Their kiss was rough and impatient, all teeth and tongue. Jon moved his mouth
to her jawline, slowly making his way to the sensitive spot behind her ear.
Sansa palmed his cock to push it against her mound as she started rocking her
hips. He groaned into her ear. She pulled back and started moving down. She
looked up at Jon and licked her lips. His chest was heaving and his eyes were
dark with desire. She inclined her head to swirl her tongue around the head of
his cock. "Sansa, you don't have to," he grunted.
"But I want to."
That wasn't entirely true. Part of her wished she'd never have to do this
again, but she knew how much Jon enjoyed it, so she wanted to do it for him.
Giving birth to Lysanne had left her too raw to take him inside her, so she'd
used her mouth on him for the last few weeks. It had been over two moons now
and she still didn't know whether she was ready for actual coupling. She
circled his balls with her tongue and licked and sucked at the skin between
them before closing her mouth over his length.
It's not the same, she had to tell herself, it's Jon. Jon wouldn't tell her to
suck him like a proper little whore, or thrust into her mouth until she gagged.
Jon wouldn't pull at her hair so hard that it hurt, or call her 'Cat' when he
spilled all over her face. Jon would stroke her hair back gently, rubbing his
thumbs over her temples and cheeks, Jon would whisper her name, telling her she
was perfect, he'd beg her to look up at him while she pleasured him like this.
And it was different. She was the one with the power here, the power to
completely unravel him. No one was forcing her. It was Jon, surrendering to her
completely. Suddenly he framed her face in his hands and said: "Sansa, please,
stop."
Surprised at his words, she did. He pulled her up and turned them over, rolling
on top of her. "Not tonight," he told her, before starting to suck at her
earlobe, "I want to feel you, Sansa. Please, let me fuck you. I want to be
inside you."
He attacked her lips again, pinning her arms above her head with one hand. He
only released her mouth when she started gasping for air. "Please," he breathed
into her ear. When her breathing had grown steady enough to speak, she
muttered: "I-I don't know if I'm ready, Jon."
Jon started sucking and licking at her neck as he pushed her legs open with his
thigh. He pressed it against her core and she mewled. He ran the fingers of his
free hand up and down her left leg. Finally he slipped it into her
smallclothes, cupping her mound and folds. He slipped a finger between her
lower lips and she bucked her hips up. He groaned into her ear: "That's it,
sweet girl."
He pulled his hand back to remove her smallclothes and slipped his finger into
her wetness again. He spread it over her nub with his finger, before starting
to rub circles around it. A moan escaped from her lips. He increased the
pressure and speed of his finger, his other hand keeping her wrists in an iron
grip, his mouth still trailing kisses across jaw, throat and collarbones. His
lips settled for her sternum as he carefully slipped a finger inside her. He
moved it in and out of her a couple of times before adding a second finger. He
crooked them inside of her and pressed his thumb to her clit. Sansa rocked her
hips against his hand, sensing that she was close. 
Sansa cried out as her release washed over her, closing her thighs around his
arm. Jon moved up to kiss her cheek and chuckled. "I'd say you're ready. What
do you think?"
She looked up at his face hovering over hers and nodded. He released her arms
and settled between her legs, before resting his weight on his hands planted on
either side of her face. He pressed their foreheads together and entered her
slowly. She realized how much she'd missed the feeling. She pulled her knees up
and arched her back. Jon dropped down onto his forearms and buried his face in
the crook between her neck and shoulder, growling against her skin. He pulled
back out almost completely and pushed himself in again as deep as he could. He
stilled when Sansa gasped. She grabbed his shoulders, digging her nails into
his flesh and whispered: "Don't stop!"
Jon obeyed immediately, quickly starting to thrust more shallowly. He pushed
himself up on his hands again and gazed at her with heavily lidded eyes. "Touch
yourself."
Sansa slipped her right hand between their bodies, easily finding her nub. She
flexed her finger over it as Jon fucked her hard and fast. She slapped his arse
cheek with her other hand. He lost his rhythm for a moment and grunted in
surprise. When her second peak hit her, she gripped his arse with both of her
hands, pushing up against him. After three deep thrusts he faltered and growled
as he spilled inside her. They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, quickly falling
asleep.
When Sansa woke up a couple of hours later, grey light was beginning to filter
through the curtains and Jon had already left the room. She washed and dressed
quickly so she could head to the nursery to feed Lysanne. After she'd finished,
she returned to their chambers to find breakfast spread out on the table in the
solar. She took a seat and picked at her food, wondering where Jon might
have gone. As if summoned by her thoughts, he entered the room as she sat
nibbling at a piece of honeyed bread. Her smile faltered when she saw the frown
etched upon his face. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and slumped down in the
chair next to her. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat and stared at
him. After a couple of minutes had passed in silence, he reached into his cloak
and pulled out a letter, handing it over to Sansa. "This arrived early this
morning."
Sansa searched his eyes, but he just motioned his hand at the letter,
encouraging her to read it. It was addressed to Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell
and Warden of the North. That didn't make any sense. Jon could claim the Stark
name through his marriage to her, but Bran was Lord of Winterfell, though
Warden of the North might be open for discussion until he came of age. She'd
told Jon he should ask Bran to be named his Regent, so they could stay in
Winterfell and to prevent another Northern Lord from taking over power, but
he'd only shrugged and said: "We'll talk about it when we've returned to
Winterfell."
She studied the seal on the letter, but the black wax had crumbled away and she
couldn't make out the sigil. She opened the letter and started reading it. 
 
To my Nephew Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North
You cannot possibly understand how it delights me to write those words, 'my
nephew'. For the longest time I have believed that I did not have any kin left,
until I learned of your existence through Lord Stannis. 
I'm glad to inform you that we have driven the Lannisters from the capital. It
is my understanding that they have fled back to Casterly Rock. We'll deal with
them when the time comes. King's Landing is mine, and so are Dorne and the
Stormlands. The Reach is still divided, but we'll settle that soon enough. I've
received a letter from Lord Baelish in the Vale, declaring his support for
House Targaryen. Only the North and the Riverlands have remained silent. 
Your presence is requested here in King's Landing so we can debate these
matters personally. I would like to get acquainted with my last remaining
family. Through my meeting with Lord Stannis I have learned much about you,
including the news of your unfortunate marriage. We'll have much to
discuss when you decide to come South. 
Send word back to me as soon as possible. I will send a ship to Seaguard to
take you South.
Looking forward to your reply
Greetings
Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of
the First Men, the Andals and the Rhoynar, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms,
Protector of the Realm, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of Meereen,
Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons
 
Sansa stared at the letter in horror. It was filled with veiled threats,
Daenerys Targaryen was making it clear that Jon had no choice in this matter.
She skimmed the letter again. Daenerys had believed she had no family left. Had
she found out that Aegon Targaryen was not who he claimed to be? Her eyes fell
on the words 'unfortunate marriage'. She wondered what the Queen could possibly
mean by that. She put the letter down. This is it. She'd known this life she'd
found with Jon had been too good to last. She'd known she was going to lose
him. She looked up to see Jon studying her face. She rose to her feet and
clutched his hands. "Jon, you can't do it. You mustn't go South."
He stared at her with a grim look on his face, standing up as well. "Sansa... I
don't have a choice."
She tried to fight back her tears. "I know, but nothing good has ever come from
a Stark going South. You have no idea how dangerous that place is. I can't lose
you."
His face softened at her words. He cupped her cheek. "Don't worry. I'll come
back, I promise."
She shook her head: "No. Don't say that. Don't make any promises you can't
keep."
"Sansa, what do you want me to do?"
She took in his furrowed brow and sad eyes. "I don't know, Jon."
She closed the distance between them to rest her head on his shoulder.
Hesitantly he wrapped his arms around her. She pulled away to look him in the
eye. "I'll come with you."
Chapter End Notes
     In the next part of the series, Jon and Sansa will travel to King's
     Landing to meet Daenerys.
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