Sansa had been miserable after she had rejected Jon. Seeing him had hurt, but having the seat beside her empty through supper made it hard to endure. Yet she felt a similar twist filling her chest as they supped in the Great Hall.
He spoke with any who came to him, but never engaged anyone. He seemed content to get lost in his cups, downing two mugs of ale before finishing his meal, likely only eating it so it wouldn't go to waste.
It was clear that something was bothering him. Not just kingly matters like most would assume, but something personal. Something was eating at his heart, leaving him to sink away, his eyes distant and lost.
She tried to reach for his hand beneath the table but he pulled his away, reaching for his mug and gulping down the remaining half. He set the mug down and rose, departing with nods to those who spoke to him as he passed. He didn't head for his room but out toward the courtyard.
Her stomach was in knots as she tried to give it time so it wasn't so obvious that when she finally excused herself she did so to chase after him. She had endured a lot, but not this. Something was wrong and she wouldn't let it take him from her.
Sansa scoured the courtyard but found no sign of him. The glass garden was empty, the broken tower showing no sign of entry, no fresh tracks going toward the Godswood. She was starting to wonder if he'd ridden off, but then her eyes drifted toward Winterfell's crypt.
Giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim candle light, Sansa made her way inside. It didn't take her long to find Jon. He was sat on the floor with his back against a wall, looking at the statue of his mother. The only woman she knew of among the crypt meant for kings and lords.
She'd only seen him down here once before, when they first claimed Winterfell from the Boltons. Jon had led a party into the crypts to make sure no Boltons were hiding within it, and when the others came out he didn't. She and Rickon descended to find Jon stood before the statue of his mother, staring at it until he noticed and left with them, giving her a smile that told her all was okay.
This time he looked to her and turned away, his head hanging as if ashamed. Her heart twisted, but she remained quiet as she moved to the wall and sat beside him. If he wanted to talk he would, but it would be enough to be there for him.
Looking at him, she saw him return to staring at the statue and carefully slid her fingers through his. She felt so relieved when they wrapped around her hand. He took a breath, his throat bobbing before he shook his head at some ridiculous thought.
Finally, his eyes on the floor, he said quietly, "I feel so pathetic."
Sansa remained silent, wanting him to get out whatever was on his mind.
After a moment he continued. "I know it's… It's stupid. I think about it and I tell myself I'm being an idiot, but I can't stop thinking it. Even though I know the rest outweighs it I still see all these little things that feel like daggers in my side, telling me it's true. That no matter how much I want it, I'm still who I always was.
"I know you told me about him." Sansa knew who he meant almost instantly. "How he'd try to get under our skin. I don't think he even realized he did, not in the way he intended, but it was enough to glance against something that had been eating at me. Something that such a dumb, petty thing could make seem so much worse. Even when I know, I don't.
"I know it's not true and I feel awful for even thinking it, but it's still there. It makes me wonder if I've been fooling myself because I'm so desperate for things I never thought I could have. Things I don't think I deserve. It makes things I know don't matter seem worse, and it makes me afraid to ask because I know you'll answer, and as much as I want to hear one answer, the other seems worse than taking another knife."
"What did he say?" she asked quietly.
"He implied that you were with me to be queen," Jon said shaking his head. "That you got what you wanted in the end. That even if it had to be with someone you knew as your half-brother you'd endure it to be queen."
Sansa turned to him, clutching his hand with both of hers. "You know that's not true."
"I know," he nodded with a broken smile.
"Then what is it." She reached up to stroke his jaw. "You can tell me."
"Kiss me."
Sansa did without hesitation, pressing her lips to his, desperate to take away whatever was upsetting him.
When she pulled away he asked, "What do you feel?"
Sansa blinked. "What?"
"I know you wouldn't be me for a crown or whatever he was trying to make me think," Jon said dismissively before meeting her eyes. "But I know I was never what you wanted."
Sansa wanted to say that wasn't true, but it was. She'd always talked of blonde princes, not dark haired ones. She talked of men serenading their loves with harps, but the only singing Jon did was with his sword.
"It's the same for you," she offered.
Jon frowned, shaking his head to her surprise. "Once I understood what it meant, whenever I imagined a wife, you were what I measured her against as much as anyone else. When I didn't tell myself it would be easier if she just do what I want to do and end up like Arya, when I really thought about the things I want, she had to stand against you. When I tried to be nice to a girl I thought of how I would be nice to you.
"It felt so easy to love you that it worried me. It made me think I might have been the only one. Then when you turned me away it was like I'd been a fool to think I'd ever be more than a bastard, and a lady would never love a bastard.
"Then you came back and said you wanted me. You asked me what I felt. I told you I loved you different then anyone else. I barely even noticed then that you never told me the same and never have."
Sansa's brow knit. "What?" She shook her head. "No, I told you…" Her voice drifted as she thought back and realized he was right. She'd told him she wanted to be with him and marry him, but never said plainly that she loved him. The first time she'd said it had been to Brynden, then she told Arya, Bran and Rickon she loved Jon, but never him.
Suddenly it all made sense. His questions in the solar were about her. He wasn't trying to apologize for some affair when he spent the evening pleasuring her, he was desperate to make her love him. His frustration wasn't carnal but emotional, punishing himself. Gods, he'd even called her his love and she just kissed him and left with only a promise for the night to come.
Sansa looked to him and sighed. "Jon," she whispered, sliding her hand against his beard. "It felt like I said it every day when I woke and every night before I slept. It felt like I said it every time I look at you, and every time you look at me. If I spoke it every time I felt it I'd never speak any other words, but if that's what it takes for you to believe then I promise, I love you."
Jon's lips twitched slightly. "And make it meaningless?"
"Never," she whispered, pulling him to her so she could kiss him.
It seemed odd yet she couldn't help but feel like the kiss was deeper, more meaningful than they had before. He'd been holding that for a long time it seemed, but she would make sure to chip away until nothing was left of that doubt.
When they finally broke away he frowned. "I'm sorry I let him get to me."
"It was dumb luck," she said shaking her head. "I didn't exactly come out unscathed."
Jon's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"It was little ways. Remember what when you thought me jealous?"
His protective anger gave way to a grin. "You were."
"Not really. It's like you said, I knew it wasn't true but I couldn't help think it. I knew something was wrong, I knew you were acting different and then he suggested you were frustrated because you'd slept with Daenerys and returned to me, the maiden."
Jon shook his head, brushing his hand through her hair. "I want to wait for you, Sansa. Don't ever think I mind. Especially not when we've found other ways."
Sansa smiled. "I know, but I can't help worrying that I'll be your worst. You said Ygritte was no maid. Daenerys is younger than you but still older than me and married once before. I'll be the novice."
"We'll have time to practice," Jon assured. "It's not that hard to do, not when you both enjoy it. Something Daenerys didn't find much in her first marriage."
Sansa frowned. "No?"
Jon shook his head. "She mentioned a lover she'd left in Mereen, but seemed to say her first marriage was… rough. She was sold to a Dothraki Khal who took her like a broodmare. I doubt she found what I did in Ygritte's furs, and what I promise you will in our bed, and should we marry her then… what she'll surely feel if she desires it."
"And how do you imagine that happening?" She asked, noting he'd avoided saying he or they would make her feel it.
"I have no fucking idea," he admitted with a laugh. "But I'll make sure you never feel unloved."
Sansa nodded, brushing her fingers across his neck. "And I'll do the same for you. Now let's go back. I can't do what I want with the dead watching."
Things seemed easier now things were clear between them. Sansa had spent the first day speaking whispers of her love whenever she could, exaggerating them so even songs of old seemed to pale in comparison, but soon her teasing eased and it became more natural. He didn't want it spoken every moment of every day, he certainly didn't say it that much, but it seemed to help her goal of chipping away at whatever doubt she'd created when she turned him away.
Petyr kept giving small comments whenever he could, but he was a mockingbird pecking at the Wall, for that was how large Jon's place in her heart was, how secure she felt in their love.
"The dragon queen rides North," Jon told the lords gathered in the great hall. Whispers of the Second Field of Fire had reached them, so it was no surprise when the letter arrived saying she was moving.
"Is she with or against us?" asked Robett Glover.
"She isn't against us," Jon said carefully, placing the letter on the table as he stood looking toward the lords. "Whatever comes, she'll stand with us against Cersei and I've little doubt she'll support us during the Long Night. When she arrives we'll begin discussing where we stand, but I doubt there will be any bloodshed. Neither of us wants that. She's even bringing a shipment of dragonglass mined from beneath Dragonstone."
"And what of her dragons?" asked Eddara Tallhart.
"They'll come with her, but they won't harm anyone. They obey her commands."
"Do they obey yours?" asked Barbrey Dustin.
They all looked to Jon with renewed interest until he shook his head. "I was never near enough to command them. Davos got closer than I did."
"And I about pissed myself," Davos said with a laugh, "so I doubt they'd obey me."
Once the chuckles quieted, Jon tapped the table. "The Night King's army is heading toward Eastwatch. We'll need to send men there to support the wildlings when they arrive, but once we've gathered all our armies we can all march north and finish this. If Cersei won't step aside we'll need to rely on the southron houses and men at Moat Cailin to keep her busy, otherwise I'll call on them to send as many as they can. North, south, none of that will matter when they reach the Wall. Only living and dead."
While the hall emptied Jon noticed the lords move aside, letting Bran enter. He made his way to the dais. "I found it."
Those at the high table tensed. "What do we need?"
Bran frowned. "Dragons and dragonglass. Fire and blood."