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“She is my wife.”
What had he been thinking saying that to Mance?
He hadn’t been. Aye, his first thoughts are always tied to protecting her and naming her his wife gives her some protection that naming her his prisoner would not but still…he’s not been thinking all that clearly since the day he stole her.
“The Crows turned foul on you, did they? Imagine that,” Mance had chuckled darkly when he’d had a moment alone with the man. “And this girl was there? And you used her to escape?”
“Aye.”
“And you’ve since made her your wife?”
“Aye. There’s more though.”
Mance had not been too pleased by that ‘more.’ He’d not been pleased at all to know her true name. “Her maidenhead will buy us all a noose or sword through the belly, I fear, boy.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
Mance is right. Lord Stark could bring a great host through the Wall with the Watch’s blessings and aid to recover his daughter. Even now, he fears the thundering of a thousand hooves.
Except Jon’s not taken her maidenhead. Nor will I. Not unless she wants that.
She will never want that, will she?
Oh, it's true the frenzied lust, the desire had nearly consumed them this morning right before Mance and the others had found them when Sansa had given him a sweet kiss to wish him a good morning. He had wanted to give her one in return which had been followed by numerous passionate ones. It was only the barest thread of restraint which had prevented him from carrying things further.
“If we don’t stop now, I’ll be wanting to go further.” Gods, he’d hated saying those words.
“Further would be…bad.”
Did she have any idea how her dubious tone and disappointed expression had tested him?
“Well, if you wish to remain a maid this morning, it would.”
“Yes…yes, you’re right. My septa says a lady mustn’t lay with any man who is not her lord husband.”
And there it was. Sansa is not meant for him. He is not the sort of man she had wanted. From her birth, she was meant to marry a lord. She had been betrothed to a prince. She still is. She should be a princess for true and someday queen of the kneelers, not a wildling’s wife.
“I figured as much.”
“But if you were to be my husband…”
What had that meant? He knows what he hopes it meant. Could she want that? He knows she doesn’t want to marry Joffrey but would she ever want him?
He never should've stolen her. He's only endangered her out here. He’s offered to take her home. He still might even being found by Mance. They would need to slip away though and Sansa is not…well, she would not be adept at slipping away.
All this was earlier today. Jon’s still not figured out what to do to his satisfaction.
Speaking of a lack of satisfaction, he is keenly aware of Sansa’s soft body pressed against his under the furs while they are camped with the others after a day of heading northeast and the muffled sounds coming from the couple across the way.
“Unn-unn-unn…fuck, woman.”
“More, more…yes…ahhh…”
This is torture.
It shouldn’t be any surprise to him. Val and Jarl are an amorous pair and have shared their furs for a long while. They’ve never had any shame over dancing beneath them when the fire’s burning low. Why would they? It is the way of things with his people.
But he knows Sansa can hear them as well and he wonders what she’s thinking.
He also wonders what she thinks of his hardening cock pressed against her backside.
No, that is not intended at all but she is lying close and the sounds of the others leave him helplessly aching and throbbing.
He starts to scoot back away from her but her hand reaches back, settles on his thigh and stills him.
“Don’t.”
She turns to look at him, over her shoulder and the firelight is enough for him to see her wide and liquid eyes.
“Why did you say that earlier to him?” she whispers.
“When I called you my wife?” She nods. “I thought it would be safer for you.”
“So you do not wish to?”
“Wish to what?”
Her mouth screws up and she's blinking rapidly before twisting back around. “Never mind.”
A low but carrying groan from the other couple greet their ears before he can say more.
“Thank the gods,” Orell says, sourly. “If you're done rutting finally, maybe I can sleep now.”
They weren’t the only ones still awake then. There’s a few random chuckles and Jon can distinguish Val’s laughter joining in.
“Excuse me,” Sansa says quietly a minute later as she’s rising from their furs.
He gives her a head start but she’s not going anywhere alone in the dead of night out here. He doesn’t like the idea of her going anywhere alone. He lets her lead but follows with Ghost in their wake. Among a patch of brush and rocks, she stops.
“Did you need to make water?” he asks, carefully. She was very offended by such questions when they first met. Granted, he’d asked if she needed to piss which is not a polite word he’s since learnt.
Away from the fire, the moonlight reflecting on the snow makes her features easy to distinguish. He sees anguish in them now. He has hurt her again though he never means to. He has little experience when it comes to women and feelings and love but he does feel very strongly about her. He loves her. He never wants to hurt her.
Maybe at one time he knew nothing of these things but he is learning. He thinks in this case, it may be his inaction that wounds her more than his actions.
“Sansa, are you angry at me for calling you my wife…or for not treating you as one?”
She presses her lips together. He suspects that is not the sort of question she feels comfortable answering, probably deeming it improper. He has little use for much proper.
He draws a little closer, two hesitant steps. He watches her exhale a frosty breath as she crosses her arms and pulls the cloak around her tighter. It will be up to him to say more.
“I would make you my wife for true if that was what you wanted. I would love you beneath the furs even with others about if you wished for it. I would make you cry out with pleasure and lap the juices from your..."
"Jon!" she yelps, thoroughly shocked.
"I would make you my woman for always.”
Her shocked expression softens. “For always?”
“Aye, for always…if I were what you wanted.”
“If you were what I wanted,” she repeats. “Once upon a time, you would not have been that.” Her smile warms him despite the cold when she adds, “But now…you are exactly what I want, Jon.”
He pulls her into his arms, his heart expanding twice over. He kisses her brow and then her sweet lips. “You’re exactly what I want as well, princess.” He dodges a swat. “I’m not supposed to call you princess, am I?” he chuckles and then she does, too. "I love you, Sansa."
"And I love you."
That deserves some more kisses. She seems to agree. Ghost whimpers impatiently. Go and hunt a hare, Jon thinks.
Their foreheads are pressed together, both of them still smiling like fools several minutes later.
“This is madness,” she says. There is a touch of the bittersweet flavoring her words.
“Aye, it is.”
It is. They are not meant to be together. She is a lord’s daughter and he is a wildling. His people will be always be leery of her and of him with her. Her people would rather see him dead. He is not what she’s was supposed to want but it will not stop them from chasing it to wherever it may lead either.
“It’s cold here away from the fire. We cannot pass our night here.” She shivers for emphasis with a hint of seduction in those blue eyes now.
“I wish I could build us a fire of our own but it’s too dark to collect what I’d need. I suppose if Ghost slept close though…”
“Perhaps I don’t want Ghost to sleep too close tonight.” She nips at his bottom lip.
“Sansa, do you mean…gods.” She’s rendered him speechless. Not an impossible task by any means but…gods.
“We can go back.” She takes his hand in hers. “We can go back and warm each other by the fire beneath the furs. If we were quiet, we could…we could…”
“Only if you’re sure.”
She seems to think it through before nodding again. He’ll be sure to ask again. He only wants this if she does and only if she’s sure. If not tonight, there'll be other nights perhaps.
“And the others?” he says, swallowing a gulp.
“Maybe they’ll be asleep by now.”
Or maybe we’ll keep them awake, he thinks wickedly before leading his princess back to their bed beneath the Northern stars.