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It’s silent here and peaceful, far more peaceful than the hall had been when she’d made her escape earlier.
Her grey maiden’s cloak is growing sodden from the falling snow but she’s not prepared to go back inside yet. The hood has fallen down and her hair which is auburn once more appears dark like blood when she sees her reflection in one of the windows.
She once made a snow castle here but she is in no humor for rebuilding Winterfell today out of snow.
She chews at her lip, unable to decide if she is more relieved or angry with Jon at the moment. This had all been so carefully planned but all those tedious hours of flirting and bewitchment whilst keeping Ser Harrold at arm’s length were for naught. All those swords Petyr had promised to help her regain her birthright might be gone in the space of a few harsh words and a challenge.
All because Jon Snow, the half-brother she’d once thought she would never see again, arrived with a large host of his own and a crown along with a secret and tales of dead men walking a moon ago and discovered her secret. Everything has changed. Everything has changed between them, too.
Ser Harrold will never forgive either of them.
Ser Harrold can walk through the Moon Door for all she cares.
But the scene earlier…gods, she flushes just thinking about it.
She closes her eyes when she hears boots crunching across the snow behind her. She doesn’t have to look to know its him. Littlefinger does not move the way he does. She knows Jon’s step, knows his smiles, knows his mind in a manner she doesn’t have to think about, not in the way she must with everyone else here.
She knows the feel of his hands on her as well, may the gods forgive her. Rough from years of swordplay but tender and warm. Firm and sure but never grasping, never forceful. She loves the way he touches her when they are alone. The King in the North has been alone with Alayne more than anyone here could guess.
“Have you come out here to challenge the godswood’s statues for my hand and my honor now?”
“No, I…” He glances around, perplexed. “This isn’t a godswood.”
“They call it one,” she shrugs.
He’s amused. “I’ve never seen anything less like a godswood.”
She cannot help a momentary grin. “You’ve not seen all that many godswoods, have you?”
“No, not in the South.”
The amusement fades. He sighs and then she sighs as they stare at one another. What are they to do?
“All I wanted was for you to be happy.”
“And standing there silently watching me marry a man I don’t love was part of that?”
He bows his head. “No, me raising an objecting was.”
“An objection? That was a very forceful sort of objection. You’ve offended our host and the heir to this house.”
“I’m sorry, Sansa. He could never be worthy of you. I never intended to ruin everything though.”
It’s not completely ruined, she thinks. She’s not been sitting here idly all this time. She may still rally the Vale to their cause even without Harry the Heir as a husband. Littlefinger has his own motivations for wanting to see her back in power at Winterfell. He’s used her enough for his schemes. Perhaps it’s time she makes use of him…for a time anyway. He’s dangerous and should be kept in sight.
She mulls that over before returning to her cousin and the wedding he interrupted earlier. “Why did you do it? Last night, I told you how I felt and you did nothing.”
“Aye, you told me how you felt and I did nothing because I wasn’t sure what to do. I stayed up all night thinking like a fool when I should have told you I felt the same.”
She suspected as much but it’s nice to hear.
They’ve drawn closer here in the godswood. He wraps his arms around her tentatively.
“It would’ve been easier to say this last night than knock my bridegroom to the floor this morning.”
She meant to make him laugh but he’s deadly serious as he holds her, pouring out his heart. “I could not bear to see you marry him. I love you, Sansa.”
“And, I, you.”
“But no one can know the truth about our father…or rather about your father and mine yet. Not until we retake Winterfell. No one in the North will rally behind me if they know I’m…”
“A Targaryen. Yes, you’re right.”
No one else would understand that Jon Snow’s interruption of a wedding today had as much to do with jealousy over his supposed half-sister as concern for her happiness either.
“I do want you to be happy, more than anything,” he says as if he knows the bent of her thoughts and wishes to affirm that jealousy wasn’t at the heart of his actions, not completely anyway.
“I can think of few things that would truly make me happy, Jon. I only want our home back…and you.”
“Then, I will endeavor to give you both in time, my lady. First, our home and then…”
“You?”
“You already have all of me but, once we have our home back, I’ll make you my wife…in a real godswood.”
“A real godswood?” she smirks.
He lowers his face to hers, his warm breath ghosting across her lips when he whispers, “Aye, the one we know best.”