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Castle Black Bar is packed that night. Absolutely packed. It usually is on Tuesday nights – the night the bar shows episodes of old VH1 reality shows – but this is crowded in a whole new way. Sansa actually has trouble moving through the crowd. She has closed her shop next door – Winterfell Designs – and as always, she has come next door to the bar, but she’s already regretting the decision to not take the stairs from her shop up into hers and Jon’s flat above and then coming down the stairs that lead into the bar.
“Whew!” Sansa nearly throws herself against the bar once she finally reaches it. “What on Earth is going on? This place is absolutely insane tonight.”
“Oh, is it? I haven’t noticed,” Daario replies dryly, never pausing in mixing drinks, and Sansa simply gives him a look with one of her eyebrows raised. He breaks into a grin. “We’re showing Flavor of Love’s first season Meet-the-Parents episode,” he explains and it might not seem like it, but that’s actually all the explanation Sansa needs.
The bar has showed this episode more than once – it definitely being a customer favorite – and every time “Pumkin” spits on “New York”, the explosion of cheers is nearly deafening.
“Looking for your lover?” Daario asks.
“I usually just call him Jon,” it’s Sansa’s turn to answer dryly.
Daario gives her another grin. “He’s in his office, brooding.”
“Why? What’d you do?” Sansa is instantly on high alert.
“What did I do?” He echoes. “How do you like that, Dickon?” He glances to the other bartender working behind the bar with him. “She immediately asks what I did to turn our moody boss even moodier.”
“And with good reason,” Dickon says, busy mixing up his own orders.
Sansa stares at Daario with a firm jaw and her arms crossed over her chest, waiting.
“All I did was ask him when he was finally going to propose to you,” Daario says with a shrug.
Sansa’s arms fall limply to her sides. “Why… why did you ask him that?” She asks, her voice sounding far too quiet to be appropriate in a bar that crowded.
She and Jon have an agreement. At least, she assumes they do. They’ve actually never discussed said agreement, so she supposes it’s an unspoken agreement between them; one they’ve reached at the same time without ever actually saying out loud that they’ve reached it.
They don’t speak about marriage. They just don’t. Sansa had dared to approach the subject a few months earlier – before the unspoken agreement – during the time after her first fashion show of the debut of her own fashion line – Winterfell. It had been a raving success and she read every glowing review as they poured in, along with the rare negative one, and Melisandre Asshai, editor-in-chief of the premiere fashion magazine in all of Westeros, Westeros Chic, began calling again for another interview and photo spread of her line.
Jon had been so wonderful in those days – both the ones leading up to the fashion show and the ones after. Endlessly patient as she stayed up at all hours, putting the final touches onto each of her dresses, coaxing her to come to bed or bringing her cups of hot chocolate and sitting up with her even though he’s already been up long enough himself, working the bar for the night and needs his sleep as well. Endlessly encouraging when she began to doubt herself, eyes welled with tears, because dropping out of school and leaving the South and trying to start her own fashion line was the riskiest, dumbest thing a person had ever tried to do and when she began entering those kinds of moods, Jon rubbed her shoulders and caressed her hands and kissed her forehead while murmuring that she was going to change the fashion world for the better.
And then the night of the fashion show, as Sansa had been backstage, ensuring each model was perfection before they hit the runway, Jon sat in the front row with the rest of her family and after the last walk and Sansa walked out on the runway, everyone had been on their feet, cheering for her, and Sansa had smiled and laughed with joy at the reception she was receiving and her eyes had locked with Jon’s and he had looked so proud of her, it almost made her want to start crying.
At the after-party, Jon had hardly left her side except to get them more flutes of champagne or when a picture of her was requested from one of the dozen photographers. There had been plenty of pictures though of Sansa and Jon taken that night. Once the photographers saw just how handsome her boyfriend was, they were more than happy to take more than a fair amount of Sansa and Jon’s picture together.
“He really is ridiculously handsome, Sansa,” Melisandre had murmured to her. “I know he has his own job, but do you think he would ever be interested in some print work?”
Sansa had to purse her lips together at that to keep herself from bursting out with laughter. She could just imagine Jon’s reaction when she told him that. And sure enough, when she had, his eyes had widened almost comically and he had then looked at her as if she was crazy; honestly having no idea how good looking he was – which she didn’t understand because he had to see all of the women that came to the bar just for him.
It had been a Monday morning. The bar was closed and Jon finally allotted himself those mornings to relax – for a bit, at least, before he went to his office below to tackle paperwork – so he sat on the sofa in their living room, sipping coffee, waking himself up and rubbing Ghost behind his ear as the dog laid on the couch with him. Sansa was curled into the armchair, sipping her own coffee and reading a fashion magazine.
She had been smiling, reading a small blurb about Sansa Stark and her Northern line of dresses – Winterfell – heavy with Northern inspiration that everyone in Westeros, no matter where they live, can appreciate…
“I wonder how much of a pain it will be once we get married and I’m officially Sansa Snow,” she mused out loud, still smiling and living her head to look at Jon. “I mean, I know I can still be Sansa Stark professionally, but I like the way Sansa Snow sounds more, to be honest.”
She had expected Jon to say something in reply to that.
The topic of marriage had been broached a couple of different times between them and Sansa knew that she, personally, had just assumed that they would get married one day, but looking at Jon now – there was a slight frown pulling down his lips and a pull between his eyebrows and he wasn’t saying anything in response.
Sansa looked at him for a moment, trying to read what was in his mind right now, but he remained quiet.
Jon tilted his head back, draining the last of the coffee from his cup, and then stood up. He came to Sansa and bent down, kissing her on the head. “I’m going to go take my shower,” he said and she didn’t say anything as she watched him walk into the kitchen to drop off his coffee mug and then into their bedroom.
Sansa hadn’t said anything and had remained curled in the armchair, sipping her coffee and reading her magazine and vowing to never mention marriage again – even in passing or as a joke. She had thought that she and Jon had wanted the same thing, but perhaps, he had changed his mind and just hadn’t told her. And if he had changed his mind, Sansa had to begin to wonder what the whole point of them was because Sansa was madly in love with him and wanted to marry him one of these days and if he didn’t feel the same way… well, it would be best if they didn’t waste each other’s time, right?
No, Sansa had shaken her head at that. Jon loved her. She didn’t doubt that for even a second. Maybe this just wasn’t the time to approach the marriage topic. Maybe it was still too soon to talk about those things.
Hence, the unspoken agreement.
“Don’t look at me like that, Sansa,” Daario says now. “I did it for you. You deserve a ring on that finger and I just think Jon needs to nut up and ask you before someone else comes and sweeps you away.”
“When it comes to me and Jon marrying, don’t do anything that you think is helping,” Sansa tells him.
“You’ll thank me one of these days,” is Daario’s reply, but Sansa is hardly listening to him anymore.
She gets her way through the people to get to the side of the bar and then ducks down underneath the end of it. She then walks past Dickon and Daario – casually slapping Daario on the back of the head as she passes him and ignoring his “Hey!” – and then ducks down under the opposite end of the bar.
The door at the end of the little hallway is partially open and Sansa knocks on it softly while poking her head in. She’s not entirely sure what she’s expecting. Jon is sitting on the couch against the wall, leaning forward, and he seems to be staring at the floor. Sansa slowly steps into the office and closes the door behind her.
“Jon,” she says and moves to close the space between them.
She halts suddenly however when she gets closer. Jon’s not looking at the floor like she had initially thought. Instead, he’s looking at something he’s holding in his hand. A ring box – closed so she can’t see what’s inside, but it’s a ring box all of the same.
“I was going to ask you after your fashion show,” Jon speaks then.
Sansa shakes her head slightly, as if shaking herself from the surprise of him holding that particular box, and she slowly sits down next to him on the couch.
“Why didn’t you?” She asks.
“Because your fashion show was amazing and that night, it belonged to you and what you had accomplished.” Jon turns his head and finally looks at her. “I didn’t want you to have to share that night. And I decided that when I finally asked you, I wanted our engagement to not have to share the spotlight.”
She smiles at that and is so relieved to see Jon smile a little in response.
“I’m sorry Daario’s an idiot,” she says.
Jon smirks and shakes his head. “I think we both know no amount of apologies from anyone will cure him of that,” he comments and Sansa smiles, too. “He did make a very good point though. I need to ask you before someone else comes and steals you away from me.”
“I’m not going anywhere. You know that.”
“I do,” he nods and then visibly swallows. “I’ve just been waiting for a perfect moment, that’s all. I’ve been waiting because I want the only marriage proposal you ever get to be absolutely perfect.”
Sansa feels her insides warm at his words and she can’t help, but laugh softly, shaking her head at herself. “I had convinced myself that you weren’t thinking about marriage at all,” she admits.
Jon looks at her as if, perhaps, she’s crazy – and Sansa doesn’t necessarily blame him for thinking that – and he turns more on the couch to face her. He lifts a hand to her face. “It’s all I think about,” he replies. “Besides how many ways I can tell Tormund ‘no’ when he keeps bugging me to have a trivia night.”
Sansa lets out a laugh and then exhales a deep breath. “It’s all I think about, too, besides deciding what colors I’m going to focus my next collection on.”
Jon smiles and his thumb begins caressing her jaw. “I want to ask you, but I also want to plan something absolutely perfect for you before I do.”
“I don’t need something perfect, Jon,” Sansa tells him though she feels like he should already know that.
“I know,” he proves her right. He looks into her eyes. “Is it okay though if we wait a bit more just so I can plan something perfect?”
Sansa is quiet for a moment, staring into his eyes, too, and she lifts her own hand to his face, her fingertips feeling the familiar pricks from his beard. “I’ll wait forever,” she says then softly.
Jon leans forward and presses his lips gently to hers. “I don’t need forever. Maybe just a month or so? Even though you obviously now know it’s coming, I still want to surprise you.”
Sansa feels as if words are failing her right now and her heart is beating so fast in her chest, she pleads with herself right now to not pass out. She’s certain Jon would take that as a bad sign if she was to pass out while they’re talking about engagements and marriage.
She is able to keep breathing and nod her head with a smile and Jon leans in for another kiss. A loud roar of cheers rises up in the bar from the other side of the closed door and both Jon and Sansa’s lips curve into smiles, still pressed together.
“I think someone just spit on someone,” Jon says, referencing to the episode being shown, and Sansa lets out a laugh, her entire being feeling warm. She puts her hands on his cheeks and pulls him in for another kiss.
They kiss for a breathless minute before their lips part and he rests his forehead to hers, Sansa closing her eyes and the smile instantly forming on her face once more. Silly unspoken agreements. She wonders if she’ll finally learn that if something is on her mind or if something is bothering her, she just needs to actually talk with Jon about it.
“I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” she murmurs. “But I think I have to thank Daario now of all things.”
…