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She seems a stranger to him now. Every bit the lady as always even with her hair disheveled and blood streaking her cheek. It’s the smile on her lips that’s changed, he thinks. There was innocence there once and anticipation but never the knowing confidence it holds now.
It is not the first offer for her hand now that she’s the widowed daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, beloved cousin to the king, but it is the only one that makes her eyes shine with happiness. The Northern lords have all scrounged up their sons and nephews for her perusal. She’d disdained them all with the polite, distant way she has. Then, she'd looked hunted and turned to him for protection, for the assurance that she need never marry again, that he’d let her stay safe within the walls of Winterfell.
Now, he can hear the smile in her voice even when he tries to shut his eyes against her beaming expression. “It seems Lord Willas Tyrell was in Oldtown when their keep was attacked. He yet lives and, remembering how well his grandmother and sister spoke of me, would like to know me better if I’m amenable.” There’s a laugh then, light like he hasn’t heard her give since she rode through the gates of Castle Black.
“And you’re amenable to corresponding with a man you’ve never met whose house is in ruins and who cannot possibly have enough men at his disposal to protect you?”
“The war is done, Jon. I’m not in need of protection, and I’m not averse to the hardships that come with rebuilding a house.” She makes a small motion towards her face. “You’re right that I don’t know him, but I feel as if I do. Margaery and Lady Olenna spoke of him often when they planned for us to marry.”
“You were betrothed?”
“Secretly. It was a plot to save me from Joffrey and his viper of a mother. It failed, but the thought of it flamed my hopes many a night. Did you know that he’s so good-hearted Littlefinger swore he’d bore me to tears? That’s just what a man ought to be,” she says, sobering. “Better boring than a brute.”
He takes it as his opening. “I was under the impression that you didn’t want to wed after all that’s happened.”
“This isn’t a marriage proposal,” she lets the scroll curl in on itself. “It could be something more, someday, but for now it is only an offer of friendship.”
“Aye, it is. We both know that no matter how he dresses it now. There’s no sense in leading the man on when you’ve no intention of marrying him or anyone else.”
“And who says I’m leading him on? Who says I don’t want to marry someday?”
He walks closer to look at her better as if it is only the dim light that stops him from seeing her reason clearly. His voice is low and measured when he speaks. “Did you not beg me in this very room not to send you away?”
She looks down, shifting her jaw. “It was so soon after — It was so soon after Ramsay that I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to let a man touch me.” Her gaze touches on his, his lips before dropping again. “I know myself better now. He is gone. I am here, and I can’t think it wrong to want a man to desire me. Do you think me so spoiled that that could never be possible?”
“You don’t see the way the men look at you, freefolk and lords alike. The lords may want an advantageous marriage, true, but their eyes follow you even after they’ve been rejected.” He sighs. “Beautiful doesn’t do you justice, Sansa. You’re a sight to behold, the most comely woman south of the Wall.”
“Oh,” she breathes.
He’s taken her off guard, and she’s staring at him now like she finally understands him. He hopes she doesn’t. He clears his throat. They are so close, too close. She moves toward the window and there is silence as he reminds his body to breathe. His fist clenches and unclenches at his side. He wants to leave before he embarrasses himself. He wants to tell her not to marry anyone but him.
“Most of the men who’ve offered for my hand never lifted a finger to save me. They bowed to the Boltons and dined in the Great Hall. They threw worried glances my way and did nothing to help me.” She turns around to face him. “I could forgive that. There was no one to rally behind with me a girl twice married to her family’s enemies. I know that. But those same men refused the call when it was time to take back Winterfell. Those same men wanted to give me your crown the moment fealty became inconvenient. I simply can’t stomach the thought of dining across from a man like that for the rest of my days, of letting him — I couldn’t. That’s why I’ve eschewed the Northern lords.” Her voice softens. “Why have you?”
He swallows.
“You’re the king. You could have any woman you want for a wife but you’ve not taken the offers any more seriously than I have.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, inhales and exhales. “Not any woman.” He can’t look at her. He can’t see the disgust on his sister cousin’s face. He doesn’t want to see that cold stare she reserves for their enemies directed at him.
A featherlight touch on his fingers and his eyes startle open. She is so near that he could — he could… He tenses to stop himself from doing what he’s wanted to, what he shouldn’t.
“Any woman,” she stresses, “would be happy to have you. You’re kind and so brave. Braver than I want you to be sometimes, running off to stop the dragon queen and the Night King, always putting yourself between your family and danger. You’ll make someone a very good husband one day.”
Her smile is small but the warmth of it is reflected in her eyes. He’s watching that smile, not staring indecently at her lips, of course. She moves first. He always lets her move first. Their lips meet with no crash, no fanfare. They are gentle and move slowly. He holds her bottom lip between his and then she holds his. On and on and on until they are gasping. His hand comes to her back, the other at her hip. She presses herself close to him, and she is pushing him against the wall, her hands in his hair. And he can’t think of anything else but this moment.
She has to pull back eventually. He takes a look at her face, gauges her reaction, and then he is on her again. Kisses to the corner of her mouth up to her cheek and back down to her jaw where he pauses at the apex of her throat to suck. Her groan is breathy, and his hands tighten around her.
They shudder to a stop. Her fingers run through his hair, settling the strands into place. Her other hand cups his cheek. He takes a steadying breath and confirms, "You. I'll be a good husband to you." The lilt in question makes her laugh and drop her head forward onto his shoulder.
She hugs him to her. "Yes, Jon. You'll be a good husband to me."