Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Sansa Stark! Say it isn't true! Tell me you are not choosing some desk job over spending the summer with me in the Highgarden!”

Sansa glanced up at her best friend’s dramatic entrance, smiling wryly at Margaery's petulant pout. “Marg, you know how much I need to make money this summer.”

Margaery plopped herself down on Sansa's bed with the same careless grace she always carried about her. “There's no need about it, darling. You're simply being stubborn.”

The redhead rolled her eyes, shutting her laptop and swiveling around in her chair to face the other girl. “Fine. You know how much I want to make money this summer.” It was true that her family was well-off, but considering her parents were footing the bill for her tuition and living costs, she didn't feel right constantly asking for more money whenever an extra expense came around. A summer job would create a nice little nest-egg she could use to start her savings.

Margaery sighed airily. “Yes, yes, your new independent streak.” She propped herself up on an elbow. “For what's it's worth, I really am proud of you, Sansa. I honestly thought there was a point when that bastard had destroyed both our confidence.”

It spoke to how far they had come that neither girl grimaced or winced at the mention of Joffrey Baratheon. For Sansa especially, who had witnessed an uglier side to Joffrey than his philandering. It had been the cheating, however, that had introduced her to Margaery. Who would have thought mutually dumping a whiny, two-timing, man-boy would lead to a friendship still going strong two years later?

Sansa's lips curved into a smirk at the insult toward their mutual ex, which was all the more satisfying considering the rarity that Margaery ever cursed. “Thanks, Marg. That means a lot.”

“You're welcome, sweetie.”

With a soft sigh, Sansa combed her fingers through her hair, wincing as she ran into a snarl. The creaking of bedsprings announced Margaery's movement as she came up behind Sansa, brandishing the brush she had grabbed from Sansa's bedside table. She began running the brush through the long auburn tresses, gently working through the tangles at the ends. “Poor dear. Finals week was certainly hard on you, wasn't it? Did you turn in that paper?”

“Just emailed it to Professor Blackwood.”

Margaery hummed thoughtfully, separating Sansa's hair into sections to begin braiding. “So tell me about this job you're abandoning me for."

"For the last time, I'm not abandoning anyone. As for the job, it's some kind of transcription work." At her friend's blank look, Sansa elaborated, "They talk. I type. They talk. I type some more."

Margaery stared at her incredulously. "That's what you're spending all summer doing?"

"Margaery…" Sansa started warningly.

"Okay, okay. Just know I'll be sending plenty of pics so you know exactly what you're missing.”

"I wouldn't expect anything less.”

+++

Monday morning would prove to be full of surprises, the least of which occurred when her GPS led her to a residential neighborhood on the west side of the city. She wasn't taken too off-guard, as it was common for the historic homes in the area to be used as private offices; but something about this Queen Anne style house screamed private residence.

She was pleasantly surprised when she knocked on the front door and was greeted by a dark-haired woman of age with her own mother. Her eyes were kind, the smile she gave Sansa warm and sincere. “Hello. You must be Sansa. I'm Lya. Please come in.”

Sansa glanced around curiously as Lya guided her in, taking in the open, pleasant entryway and appreciating the rush of cool air.

"I'm sorry to be so abrupt about this,” Lya told her apologetically. “But I have an appointment to keep. The one you'll be working with is my son. He's in the living room." She pointed in the room's direction. "You can go ahead, I'm sure he's waiting to talk to you."

Sansa felt rather dubious at the unusual introduction, but she nodded. "Thank you, Lya."

“You're welcome, love.” Lya opened the nearby closet, pulling out a messenger bag and what Sansa thought was a portable easel. Her friend, Mya, carried around something similar. The older woman noticed her uncertain hovering and gave her a reassuring smile. “I know things seems a little unorthodox right now, dear, but I promise you'll understand soon. Alright?”

There was something about Lya, something maternal and warm, that inspired Sansa to trust her. Reminding herself that the employment website they had used required thorough checking on both sides, Sansa nodded. Lya flashed her one last grin before disappearing out the door.

Taking in a deep breath to steel her nerves, Sansa followed the earlier directions and stepped into the hallway towards the living room. The shades were pulled down to create a cool, shadowy atmosphere and it was only after her eyes had adjusted that she was able to spot her potential employer.

He was eerily quiet, lounged back in recliner with his feet kicked up. His eyes were closed, the only movement coming from him being the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed- her only conclusion could be that he was sleeping. Deeply, at that.

A flash of irritation filled her. This is what she had dealt with morning city traffic for? Someone literally sleeping on the job? She stepped forward with the intention of shaking him awake, stopping in her tracks when she gained a closer look.

Oh.

This stranger… this slumbering stranger… had to be one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. His was a strong, rough-hewn sort of beauty, offset by a full, sensual mouth certain to inspire wicked thoughts one shouldn't have about a complete stranger. Thick, dark curls softened the rugged angles of his face, lending their same quality to the lashes feathered against eyes whose color she suddenly ached to know.

"Are you going to stare all morning, or will you speak any time soon?"

The deep, rumbling voice, raspy with drowsiness, startled her. She immediately flushed a beet red as she realized she had unabashedly staring. "S-sorry."

His mouth curved into a smile and he shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I take it you're Miss Stark?

"Yeah. And it's Sansa."

"Alright. Have a seat, Sansa."

He waved his hand toward the various living room furniture and she obeyed, seating herself in on the sofa. She felt strangely uncomfortable with him sitting there so calmly, so still, eyes closed as if to shut out the rest of the world. She fidgeted with her hands, crossed her legs and waited for him to speak.

"I suppose I should just cut to the chase," he stated, with a slow, lazy air to his words. "I'm a writer… I work fast and sometimes erratically. I need someone to transcribe for me. You'd have to be willing to work flexible hours, and you need to be able to keep up with me. That's pretty much it. Interested?"

Sounded simple enough, Sansa thought. Looks like those keyboarding classes in school were finally going to pay off. "When can I start?"

"You have any plans for today?"

She cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "Nope. Schedule's free."

"Good." Finally, as they had been languidly closed throughout their entire conversation, he opened his eyes. In the shadowed room, she barely caught a hint of their light hue. So light she thought they may be gray, or perhaps a very soft blue.

"Come with me," he continued. "I work from my room. There's a desk and computer, it should suffice." He cocked his head thoughtfully, "I'm Jon, by the way."

Jon. She turned the name over in her mind. It suited him.

He rose from his chair, slowly making his way through the room toward the hall. She followed after him, and closer to him now, she again found herself musing on his eyes. They passed by a window and she was pleased to catch a glimpse of gray in the fleeting sunlight. She didn't have long to dwell on it, however, as she watched the way he ran his fingers along the wall as he walked, noting that he never quite looked her way as he talked quietly about the story they would be working on. Her heart gave a strange little flutter as the pieces began to slowly fall together.

She swallowed and timidly started, "Jon… are you…?" She hesitated, not quite able to finish the thought.

He turned his head in her general direction, his stormy eyes fixed on nothing in particular. His lips curled into a humorless smile. "Blind?" he asked slowly. "Yes, Sansa. I am.”

Chapter Text

“What’s going on, little sister?”

Sansa smiled as she looked up at her brother’s call, watching as he approached the table she was seated at with Dany Targaryen, his girlfriend, at his heels. She placed a bookmark in the novel she had been reading, standing up to step into Robb’s outstretched arms. When she went to pull back, Robb trapped her against him in an exaggerated bear-hug, much to Sansa’s annoyance.

Dany watched with exasperated amusement as the “adult” siblings tussled back and forth. Sansa seemed to gain the upper hand after a few moments, but Robb retaliated by lifting her clear off her feet.

“Robbard Hoster Stark, put me down!”

“Gonna have to do better than the full name, San!”

Looking up at her to smirk and gloat proved to be his undoing. His grip loosened and Sansa worked her arms free, swinging up the hand holding her book. Robb yelped as the sturdy paperback smacked him none-too-gently in the face. Freed as her brother’s hands were occupied with shielding his sore nose, Sansa huffed and crossed her arms. Robb looked toward his girlfriend in hopes of sympathy, but Dany shook her head.

“I told you, you should stop messing with her. She’s not a kid anymore.”

Realizing no one would be coming to his defense, Robb settled for glowering petulantly at them both. The ladies rolled their eyes in response and turned their attention to greeting each other instead.

Sansa dropped a kiss to Dany’s cheek and drew back from their hug, smiling as Robb recovered from his pouting to step over and wrap an arm around Dany’s waist. “So what have you up to? It’s been a while.”

The couple exchanged glances and shrugged. “Just enjoying the summer,” Robb responded. “I heard from Dad that you got a job, though. What’re you doing?”

Sansa waved a hand dismissively as they all sat down at the table. “Just work. I’m treated well and it pays well. That’s all that matters.”

“Alright then. Keep your secrets.”

Dany wasn’t quite as dismissive. She cocked an eyebrow in interest. “Sansa Stark, woman of mystery. What’s the big secret, San? A secret affair with the boss?”

Sansa felt her face warm, much to her chagrin, and by the sly look that took over Dany’s face, she knew the other girl had realized she was more on target than she had thought. Sansa inwardly groaned; this attraction to her enigmatic employer was going to get her in trouble someday, she just knew it.

Thankfully, she was saved from answering when Margaery came sidling up to the table, Mya at her side. They were as mismatched a pair as the rest of the group was, Margaery with her flawless posture and couture fashions, and Mya with her paint-splattered overalls and mussed pixie-cut.

The five of them were as different as they could be, but somehow meshed together with a comfortable dynamic they had stumbled across completely by accident. Sansa and Robb had known Dany most of their lives, Dany being distantly related to their father’s best friend. Margaery and Sansa had their Joffrey drama, and Robb had been so impressed by fiery Mya’s deft handling of a drunk, handsy Theon one night in the bar, it was inevitable she and Sansa meet with how often they started hanging out.

All were invited for a night out to celebrate Sansa’s nineteenth, and the rest was history. Everyone had their own groups and interests, but they’d all had just a good time, over nothing more exciting than dinner and drinks, they made it a point to get together once or twice a week.

Margaery, sitting down next to her best friend, snatched the book out of Sansa’s hands, despite the redhead’s protests. “Oh, no. This is the first time in weeks we’re supposed to have your undivided attention, not share it with a book you’re read a thousand times.”

Sansa glared, grabbing the book back. Mya leaned to study the cover, giving Sansa an amused smile when she recognized it. “The J. Brandon novel again, San?”

Sansa nodded sheepishly. J. Brandon’s The Wolf Knight was a historical coming-of-age story set in the medieval North, centering around a young foundling who in turn adopted an orphaned direwolf pup. The book chronicled their adventures as they grew, culminating in a foolishly brave rescue of a trapped knight, who takes the boy on as his squire. The cliffhanger came when the Warden of the North was betrayed and imprisoned by a treacherous king, and his son called the banners to march south. The boy and wolf would face the reality of war for the first time, but the new phase of their journey had not yet been shared. J. Brandon had not published since his debut bestseller, and Sansa, like millions of others, was impatiently awaiting his next work.

Sansa rolled her eyes and huffed when Margaery slid the book into her purse, but she let the matter go and conversation fell away from Sansa’s reading material when their lunch order number was called from the front corner. Minor bickering ensued about who would go to retrieve the food, and eventually Robb and Mya were elected to do so. As the pair walked away, Sansa was amused to find Margaery’s eyes fixed firmly on Mya’s backside. It was all she could do not to break out laughing. “See something you like, Marg?”

Margaery turned to her with a pointed glare. Dany, however, met Sansa's eyes and in shared amusement, they broke out in laughter. "Could you be any more obvious, Tyrell?" was Dany's add-in, still giggling softly at the indignant expression on her friend's face.

"Hmph," Margaery sniffed, glaring at them both. "If you two are finished.”

Quieting her chortling, Sansa humored her. "Alright, we'll stop. But seriously, Marg, this has been going on for weeks. Mya’s oblivious to this sort of thing unless you spell it out for her, so why haven’t you?”

Margaery heaved a theatrical sigh, lifting her eyes heavenward. “I tried, just the other night, but all she could talk about was some artist woman who’s moved back to the city.”

"Lyanna Snow isn’t just some ‘artist woman’," came Mya's reply from behind them as she and Robb came back, sliding the trays onto the table. Sansa frowned when she saw her brother freeze at Mya’s words, utterly befuddled for a long moment before things finally clicked in her mind.

Lyanna Snow… To say Lyanna Snow had history with the Starks was the understatement of the year, though most of that history was a mystery. Sansa vaguely knew that Lyanna had been close to her father and his brothers, but something had happened after her Uncle Brandon’s death (before Sansa was born) that caused a hostile rift that only partially healed during Sansa and Robb’s childhood. The truce called between the adults originated when Robb befriended Lyanna’s son Jon, who remained his best friend until he was fourteen, when the Snows abruptly up and moved away.

No wonder Robb looked so startled. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t made the connection before; but in her defense, Snow was an incredibly common surname, and she hadn’t paid quiet, shy Jon Snow much attention as a child.

She watched as Dany gently tugged Robb down onto the bench, the other girl’s expression reflecting her own anxiety. Sansa’s face softened in sympathy. “Robb, did you know Jon was…”

Her brother shook his head, visibly steeling himself as his countenance went blank and he picked up his sandwich. “No. Doesn’t matter though. That family being back doesn’t change six years of radio silence.”

Sansa nodded numbly and started in on her own meal, though her appetite was long gone.

+++

Jon, as it turned out, had been spot on when he warned her he worked quickly and diligently. He spoke rapidly, only stopping when she had to admit she was struggling, and even then, he was grudgingly impatient for her to get back on track. To make matters even more eccentric, he had a tendency to jump around in his narrative. Whatever popped into his head went into the word processor, no matter how out of place or suddenly introduced. It helped that he had an incredible memory of what his chapters consisted of, just what sections he wanted to edit or go back to continue. Therefore, for two hours, or four, depending on him, Sansa sat at the laptop and he seated himself on a chair in the corner- he talked, she typed. But there was something else she learned within a week of working for Jon Snow.

He was talented- very talented.

His writing was refreshing in an age of overused clichés and predicable storylines. His words were mature, but still retained a certain type of innocence, reflecting both the charm and intellect that so made up who Jon was. As closed-off as he seemed at times, his book was what gave her a glimpse into his inner workings. He had lost his eyes, but his words and his passion served as her window into his soul.

"So, how long have you been writing?"

They were in the middle of what Jon liked to call "brunch break". There wasn't usually food involved, but it was one of the few times they stopped during a full day. His throat got dry, her fingers got tired and it was unspoken but unanimous when it came to taking leisure time. He was leaning back in his chair, arms folded behind his head as he relaxed, unbothered by her question. At least, as far as she could tell. He'd been sitting outside when she came that morning and hadn't removed the shades he had been wearing since. "Since I was about thirteen, I think. It didn't really pick up for me until a couple of years after that."

She nodded, nibbling half-heartedly at one of the muffins Lya had left for them that morning. Okay, so "brunch breaks" weren't always void of food, which was mostly Lya's fault. She apparently did a majority of her painting near a bakery she had done free work for, and received sinfully delicious baked goods whenever she visited. "So…"

He arched an eyebrow, "So…?"

"You know who I am, don’t you?" She had been wondering all morning how to broach the topic, now she figured it was best just to be blunt.

“Of course I do.” Taking a sip from his water-bottle, he cocked his head in her direction. “I haven’t been able to tell if you didn’t recognize me, or you just didn’t care.”

“The former. Jon, about Robb…”

He visibly tensed. “Sansa, I know cutting off contact with Robb was a shit thing to do, but a lot happened and I had my reasons. Can we leave it at that for now?”

"Yeah," she looked down, picking at the pastry in hand. "We can do that.

He was quiet for so long she wasn't sure he was going to answer and then he heaved out a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. "Thank you." He stood up abruptly, turning away from her. "Listen, I'm going to get some air. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Sure. Are you…" Her concerns went unheeded as he rushed out of the room, a sinking guilt filling her stomach at the distress she had caused him, as well as a profound curiosity as to what it was he was hiding.

And you know what they say: curiosity killed the cat. Five minutes turned to ten, to fifteen, and then twenty. Boredom got the best of her as she began to wander his bedroom. The room was decorated in shades of blue, its most distinctive feature being the over-crammed book shelves that took up most of its space. She idly flipped through a few volumes- he definitely had good taste- delicately running her fingers over the Braille patterns. Skimming across the spines, she stopped at the feeling of a different texture. Carefully pulling it out, she realized what made it stand out from the rest- it was a manuscript, not a published book.

Entitled The Wolf Knight.

"Find something interesting?"

She whirled around at the sound of his voice, intruding on her reflections. "Oh," the startled inflection to her voice brought a smile of amusement from him, "Sorry," and he shook his head.

"Its fine, Sansa. I'm sorry I took so long "What'd you find?"

She licked her lips, hesitating for a moment, "You're… You're J. Brandon?"

"In the flesh," his lips curled into a smile, enigmatic in a way that made her idly wish she could read the expression in his eyes. And then gave herself a mental slap- his eyes could tell her little. It was the trained mask he cast over his face that prevented her from being able to see into him. "Surprised?"

"A little," she admitted, biting her lip as she glanced at him hesitantly. "I know you're good, but I didn't expect…"

"Appearances can be deceiving, Ms. Stark."

"I suppose you're right." She sat down at the edge of his bed, picking up the book once more. "So why use the penname? Why hide who you are?"

He was silent as he quietly contemplated- as least, if nothing else, she knew that thoughtful look on him- before taking a seat in the computer chair across from her. "It would have been a disaster. A blind sixteen-year-old writing books for 'grown-ups'? The public, not to mention, the press, would have a field day. I didn't want that kind of attention, on me or my family."

"That makes sense." She was quiet for a moment, and then smiled softly at him. Though she knew he couldn't see it, he always seemed to sense her expressions, as he returned it with a content curving of his lips. "So, what are we working on now?"

“What we were doing before was just a practice run. You and I, Sansa, we’re going to write the sequel to Wolf Knight.”

Chapter Text

Eighteen days and counting.

That was how long she had been working with and for Jon. In the two and a half weeks since she had made his acquaintance, she had come to know more about him than she ever thought possible. On the one hand, having said knowledge both thrilled and disturbed her. And on another hand, it perplexed her how much thought she was putting into this whole situation.

If she kept this up, she was going to drive herself completely mad.

But, crazy or not, she was still managing- slowly but surely- to unravel the mystery that was Jon Snow.

He was bright, well-read, and to her surprise and amusement, a complete and utter nerd, especially when it came to history and mythology. It was ridiculously endearing to listen to his diatribes about why the First Men influence held strong in the North, or the historical basis behind the Age of Heroes myths and Brandonian legend*. He was intensely dedicated to historical accuracy in his writing, and the depth of his research reflected that.

One of his favorite sayings was that there was a kernel of truth to every legend, that there was still something to be found in every myth that science could deconstruct. His enthusiasm was infectious, especially after he informed her they would be writing about the Young Wolf, a story she had always adored.

His literary and scholastic pursuits aside, she also came to discover that despite how guarded Jon was, there were people he would open up to. Namely his family. Beyond his affection for his guide dog, Ghost, it never failed to bring a smile to her face whenever he displayed how much he adored his mother, strong, bold Lya who had raised him alone for the first fourteen years of his life. He liked and respected his stepfather, Arthur, though he didn’t truly perceive him as a paternal figure. The crowning glory of her discoveries had been the brief glance she caught of Jon interacting with his younger siblings, four-year-old twins Alaric and Alanna, violet-eyed cherubs she had watched use their brother as a human jungle gym and receive patient fondness in return. Not such a misanthrope after all.

The secret of his lost sight hung between them until the day she finally gathered the courage to ask him.

"Jon, may I ask you something?"

"Nice manners," he complimented wryly and then nodded in assent to her question. "It's a free country. Shoot."

"How did it happen? The…I mean…" she cursed her awkward stumbling, but Jon didn’t seem offended.

“It’s alright. I know what you’re asking. When Robb and I were fourteen, I went out of town that summer on a family trip, do you remember?”

“Vaguely.”

“Mom and Arthur had gotten serious enough that Arthur wanted to introduce us to his family, so we went down to Starfall.” He sighed, reaching down to bury his hand in Ghost’s pale fur, the retriever* resting faithfully at his feet as always. His expressive eyes regarded Sansa as if in question as he sensed the change in his master’s mood, and he turned his head to touch his nose to Jon’s palm. The softest hint of a smile played across Jon’s lips.

“There are these cliff-sides outside the city, extending out over the Summer Sea. They’re made of this pale stone…when it catches the light, especially moonlight, it seems to glow. It’s gorgeous. So of course I wanted a closer look, right?” He shook his head with a scoff, just short of clucking his tongue in disapproval at his younger self’s actions. “I snuck out one night, climbed down past the tourist trail like the little idiot I was…” Sansa’s breath caught as Jon let out his own in a shuddered rush, steeling himself before he continued.

“I slipped. Getting tangled up in the rope ladder saved my life, but I slammed the back of my head so hard against the stone I knocked myself unconscious. Arthur found me, rushed me to the hospital. The doctors kept me in an induced coma until the swelling in my brain went down, and when I woke up, the world was still dark. Permanently.”

Her eyes widened with realization. "And then you left."

"Never came back," he corrected, surprising her with the shame she heard in his voice. "Until now, anyway…"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He gave her a bittersweet half-smile. “It’s been nearly ten years. It was a practically a different lifetime.”

She hummed with understanding, having adapted the sound in place of nodding. “Is it alright to ask you another question?”

“Just as long as it’s alright if I choose not to answer.”

“Of course.” She ghosted her fingers over the keyboard beside her, biting her lip in thought. “Why did Lya hire me to transcribe for you? Sorry to use television as my reference, but I thought there were things you could use.”

“I did, and I do. Assistive tech is a thing, you don’t have to be afraid to ask me about it. I use a screen reader, a mic if I need it, but my mother’s of the opinion I’m still lacking some things. On the top of that list is consistent human contact, so voila, new writing assistant.” He paused for a moment, and his face softened, the corners of his lips turning up into one of the few honest smiles she had seen from him. “I won’t admit it outside this room, but I’m glad she decided to motherhen. I like working with you, Miss Stark.”

“The sentiment’s mutual, Mister Snow.”

+++

One month, three days…

His words had slowed, grown random and soft-spoken, and she knew the quiet to mean he was deep in thought. Languidly, she stretched her arms, back arching in the effort. Tromping lazily across the floor, Ghost plopped down beside her, resting his head in her lap. She sighed, giving the Retriever a smile as she scratched behind his ears- the way he looked up at her with those big, gentle eyes so warmly, how could she resist?

"Are you okay?" Jon asked her softly, cocking his head slightly in her direction. "I can practically hear you thinking."

"Sorry, am I intruding on your brooding rights?"

He laughed softly. "It’s a serious intrusion. But still…are you okay? You seem off."

His brow was furrowed with worry, his mouth pulled down into a stern expression of concern and, not for the first time, it warmed her from the inside-out to know he cared about her. "I'm okay. I was just thinking about silly things."

"Like what? It might help to talk about it."

Sansa bit her lip. She really, really, didn't want to be talking to him about the fact that she was dreading fall coming and leaving her job- leaving him. She sidestepped the topic instead with another that had been on her mind. "How do you do it, Jon? How do you write so real, so vividly?"

He sighed softly, looking contemplative. His brow furrowed as his mouth opened a few times, only to close off before he vocalized whatever he had been thinking. "Sansa?"

"Hmm?"

"Come here, please."

It was more a gentle request than order and she did as he asked, coming to stand before him. "You mean, how do I write about things I can't see?" He raised his hand to hover beside her face. “May I?” At her soft sound of assent, he touched his fingers to her chin, skimming them up to her cheek. "I remember things. Vaguely. But mostly…I read. I absorb it. The way they describe colors and shape…the rest of it, I see it through other things." His other hand came to rest carefully at her hip, gently turning her to face him more fully.

"Other things?" Her breath hitched, as he came into contact with the sliver of skin where her shirt had begun riding up. His movements were slow and careful, uncertain how she would respond, and when she rocked encouragingly into his touch, he stroked back and forth, eliciting a shiver up her spine.

But Seven help her, she didn't want him to stop. She never wanted him to stop touching her.

"Hmm-mm. They say that when you lose one of your senses, all your others become all the more sharp. It's like with you. I know you're beautiful, just as surely as I know I breathe."

She blushed. "How do you know? You have no idea what I look like."

"Can I show you?"

When she softly assented, they both knew there was no going back. He stood up slowly, facing her.

"I love the sound of your laugh. Doesn't matter whether it's one of those sarcastic chuckles or one of those giggles you pretend you don't do." Her nose was crinkled up in the annoyed look he had been expecting, but when he touched her, the rhythm of her breathing became just a little more heavy, matching the way his was beginning to catch. He smiled.

He fingered the stray curl that fell into her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. "You smell good. I like that perfume you use. It's not too heavy, but it's still sweet. And I always know when you pass by. That shampoo you use, the smell of strawberries always follows you."

"You have the softest skin." He cupped her cheek, slowly stroking the pad of his thumb over the contours of her face. "I feel it every time you touch me. Sansa…you have no idea how good you feel, and gods, you are so damn beautiful…"

He had taken to stepping closer with every word and now his proximity was agonizing. The corporeal heat of him was exquisite, the warmth his closeness was causing in her…spreading through her with a sweet, sensual slowness. He traced a finger down the curve of her cheek, letting out a breathy chuckle. "So…that's almost all the senses…exempting the obvious."

Her heart picked up double-time, thundering in her chest. He was so close. She hesitated, licking her lips. "What's left?"

"…taste…" he whispered, the moist heat of his breath dancing in the space between them. The tone to his voice was deep and sultry, eliciting a shiver down her spine.

"Taste…" she repeated his words, eyes focused solely on his mouth- that sinfully talented mouth so good with words. "Do you plan to remedy that one?"

He touched his fingers to her hair, stroking. "Only with the absolute consent…"

She swallowed. Did he really think she was going to stop him now? "Permission granted."

He leaned closer, so close she could feel his breath against his lips as he whispered, "You have no idea what you do to me, Sansa Stark. Nothing else had ever made me so scared and so excited at the same time."

His lips finally found hers.

Oh. Oh.

If Jon had died right then and there, he would have gone a happy man. She was soft and warm and sweet and just so perfect. He groaned, pressing against her more firmly while still keeping the kiss gentle. A sinful slide of his mouth against hers, so good…so good…he felt like crying when they had to pull away in favor of air.

She smiled at him, lacing her arms around his neck as she kissed him again, a quiet, languorous contact, a soft press of her mouth to his. It deepened as he gently pressed her back against the bedroom door, his body molding into hers in a way that sent a thrill down her spine, slowly stirring a heat between them. His hands stroked her sides, eliciting a startled gasp from her as they skimmed upward to just barely brush the curve of her breasts in a ghostlike caress. She clutched at his shoulders, leaning further into his embrace as the warmth of him, the feel of him, enthralled her, called to her, beckoned her closer to the edges of loving passion.

They parted reluctantly once more at the need for breath and she sank boneless back against the door, pulling him down with her as his arms locked around her. His face pressed to the crook of her neck as his body weighed her down. He hardly remained idle, however, as his lips began to teasingly trail light, fleeting kisses down her collarbone. She tangled her hand through his hair, angling her neck to give him better access. The moment his tongue flicked against sensitized skin, something jarred her back to awareness. A hint of rationality broke through the fog of pleasure as she gently but insistently shoved at his shoulders, fighting down her desire in favor of common sense.

"Jon, stop," she whispered, tilting his head up, "This is…"

"Too fast. I know.” He kissed her nose, "But wow…"

She let out a throaty laugh. "I know what you mean."

He rested her forehead against hers. They smiled, and together, they just breathed.

Chapter Text

Two months, one week, and four days…

“Okay, I think we ought to take a break.”

His announcement was a welcome one, as they had been working for the past three hours straight. Sansa leaned back in the desk chair and raised her arms above her head in a back-arching stretch. She gave him a sidelong glance, finding him laid out comfortably on his bed with Ghost laid out beside him, quietly snoring. Jon’s eyes were closed, hand resting on Ghost’s head as he idly scratched behind the dog’s ears.

She watched him for a while, watched the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, calm and deep. She found there was an odd comfort to be found in his peacefulness.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice little more than a whisper in fear of disturbing him if he had fallen deeper into his rest.

His eyes peeked open and he gave her a crooked smile. "Hey yourself."

"It's still early.” She glanced at the clock. "Just barely ten. You want some coffee?"

"Sure. I'd like-"`

"Straight black," she finished for him. "I remember," she wrinkled her nose at the thought. Even after all the time they had spent together, she still couldn’t understand how he could like it so strong.

He chuckled. “Don’t knock it until you try it, Sans.”

“I have,” she called back, already halfway down the hall. “And I nearly choked myself to death.”

As the sound of her voice faded from his hearing, Jon tucked his arms behind his head and stretched back out with a grin. Of all the things he had experienced in his twenty-three years of life, Sansa Stark was one of the most amazing.

If there was one thing that Jon had gotten better at since losing his sight, it was self-awareness. There was no denying that the accident had changed him. His personality had done a one-eighty: he was bitter, angry, sad, and ashamed, all at the same time. He withdrew from everyone, resisted his mother and Arthur’s help as they tried to help him adjust to his disability. His moods were violent and sudden, full of grief and rage over what he had lost.

Oh, he regretted how he had shut everyone out, turned Robb away, refused contact. When his mother and Arthur made the decision to move in a last ditch effort to save him from himself, he had his mother deliver the news to the Starks. Not what had happened to him- only that they were leaving.

His mother’s pregnancy with the twins had served as his wakeup call. He didn’t want to give up his life, he still had it and he was suddenly, painfully aware just how grateful he was to be alive.

He set out to take back his life, and slowly, he adjusted. He took lessons in Braille, learned how to use assistive tech, met and bonded with Ghost. For the next six years, he focused all his energy on conditioning himself in mind and body, and being the best brother possible to Alanna and Alaric. For six years, he lived by structure and discipline, his existence sheltered and ascetic. Then Sansa Stark came along.

She threw his world and everything he knew completely off balance. He had gone for years guarding himself, keeping a certain distance from the people around him, but meeting Sansa tore those barriers down one by one. And he came to realize that for all those years, he had been so focused on keeping himself alive, he had forgotten what it was to really live.

"Hey."

The quiet sound of her voice broke through his reflections, drawing a slow, warm grin from him as he tilted his head in her direction. "Hey yourself."

He lifted himself up, coming to sit at the edge of the bed. She approached him, setting their coffee mugs on his side table. "You were pretty quiet. Whatcha thinking about?"

"You," he said simply, "How amazing you are.” He smiled. "And how much I love you."

It had been a couple of weeks since they had exchanged those words, but to hear them still sent the same shock and thrill through her that she had experienced the first time he said them to her. Her heart melted at his sentiment and she became abruptly aware as something shifted in the air between them.

They kissed lightly, languorously and he sought to deepen it, burying his hand in her curls when she suddenly pulled away. He grumbled in displeased bewilderment, sighing as she leaned away from him. "Sansa, what's wrong?"

"Ghost’s watching."

He was silent for a moment, slowly processing her words, before bursting into laughter. She glared at him, swatting his arm. "Shut up. It's not funny."

"I'm sorry," he managed between chortles, trying to calm down so not to irritate her any further. "Are you afraid we'll corrupt him?"

She blushed, hitting him again for good measure. "It just makes me uncomfortable. That's all."

"Alright." He chuckled again, and slapped his thigh twice. As he was trained to, Ghost obediently jumped off the bed and came to rest at his master's feet. Jon scratched his ears. "Ghost, go lay down."

With a sleepy yawn, the shepherd did as requested, trotting out of the room in search of a comfortable place to curl up. Jon leaned in and pressed a kiss to her nose, grinning softly as he tenderly tucked her hair behind her ear. "Better?"

"Better." Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, lips tracing the outline of his jaw up to his ear, giving a husky whisper of his name, "Jon…" Her voice was soft and sweet, like the wind's caress, and he was drawn into it, drowning in it. Jon wrapped his arms around her and they fell back on the bed together, Sansa resting lightly atop his frame. She trailed her lips down his neck, smoothing her hands down to begin untucking his shirt. Jon took in a shuddering breath, licking his lips as he felt his rising nerves raise his pulse. “Sansa, I…I’ve never done this before.”

“Okay,” she softly replied, her tone warm with understanding. “We’ll take it slow, then. Unless you want to stop?”

“God, no.”

Their kisses started soft, little more that light caresses of lips upon lips. He set their pace, kissing her gently, in no real hurry as he took the time instead to savor the feel and taste of her, as if to ingrain the memory into himself for life. Clothing soon became obstacles they could no longer stand, strewn off in random directions as they were hungry for the touch of bare skin, for the touch of each other. Despite their urgency, their caresses were still slow, sensual, each touch of mouth and hands passionate yet loving.

When they were finally reaching the point where they could take no more, Sansa rolled a condom down his sex and stroked him slowly, reaching up to link her arms around his neck. "Jon, can you…"

Her hands were running up and down his shoulders, legs shifting to rest him more comfortably between her thighs. He cocked his head thoughtfully, catching the meaning to her question. Resting atop of her, doing this could be a tricky predicament. He couldn't see her, couldn't see her body to guide himself. He could easily slip, be unable to find the right angle or rhythm.

Some moments had been awkward enough already, but Sansa had been patient with him, knowing it was his first time. Still, more than anything, he wanted to make this good for her. He couldn't live with disappointing her… with disappointing himself. He wondered if he should just admit defeat, roll over and let her take control.

"Is… is that what… you want?"

She smiled at the hesitation to his voice. As confident, as mature, as intelligent a man he was, seeing Jon Snow shy and befuddled was certainly adorable. She reached up, stroking his cheek, hoping to alleviate his fears. "I just want you close, Jon." She wanted to feel that of him, the weight of him atop of her, the muscle and the strength of that amazing body, the pure masculinity she would know moving above her.

He nodded, quietly concentrating as he gently trailed his hands over her, tracing the planes and curves of her beautiful body, the soft skin, the angles of her limbs, the content sighs that escaped her when he found certain spots. Confidence welled up in him and he smiled. What was he so worried about? He knew Sansa. Their bodies fit so well together, like two matching puzzle pieces. He kissed her softly, an unspoken agreement passing between them. She reached between them to slowly guide him into her; gasps and stifled moans followed their joining and Jon groaned, resting his head against her shoulder as he struggled to regain his mental balance. God help him, he had never felt anything so wonderful.

Her legs hooked around his waist, a heel against the small of his back giving him his cue. Jon let out an unsteady breath, levering himself upward and he thrust forward. Sansa's hands came to rest lightly against his hips, subtly leading him to a steady rhythm, and they moved together, aware of nothing beyond each other.

It may have been corny or cliché to say, but the truth was that he had never felt so close to another person as he did in that moment. There was a steady, slow cadence to the way they moved, the rise and fall of bodies melding together. There was a sense of loss for her for not being able to see into his eyes- not seeing the reflection of the passion, the desire, he felt, his adoration and his love. Jon could sense the feeling in her. He compensated by the way he whispered into her ear, keeping up a constant litany of words- how good she felt, how amazing she was, how beautiful, how much he wanted her, how he loved her, how precious she was to him. Warmth swelled in her heart every time he spoke, only working to intensify the influx of pleasure flooding her every awareness.

His heart pounded, its thundering beat keeping in time with the tempo of their lovemaking. Her nails scratched along his back, a gasping breath of "Jon," against his skin, and he knew she was gone. He wasn't far behind, an aching pressure filling his body like nothing he had ever felt before. His head fell back, his spine arched, and he cried out her name as he fell.

It was an obscure feeling… like dying. But lying in her arms, one hand gently stroking his back, the other his hair, he felt as if he was to rise and live again. He inhaled deeply, nuzzling against her as he savored the feel of her lazy caresses. "Am I too heavy?" he murmured drowsily, not really wanting to move.

Sansa smiled, brushing her lips against his forehead. "No. I like it."

"So… was that… okay?"

She tipped up his head to kiss him softly. "It was amazing, Jon."

He gave her a wolfish grin, leaning up to catch her mouth in another kiss. "Then I say we do it again."

She squealed when he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them over, pinning her to his body as he kissed her hard. "Confident already, are we?" She laughed lightly, moaning with contentment as he started those slow, skillful caresses, his lips trailing down to her neck. “Jon, we have work to do.”

He shrugged, his concerns elsewhere, as he nibbled on the underside of her jaw. "It’s not as important as you.”

Sansa huffed out a laugh. “You love writing.”

“I love you more.”

She immediately stiffened against him, rolling away to sit up on the side of the bed. Jon blinked quizzically, “Sansa?”

“I’m sorry, Jon, but I have to go.” She began retrieving her clothes from the floor, pulling them on haphazardly. 

“What? Sansa…” He struggled to get up, consequently tangling his legs in the sheets.

“I have to go!”

"Sansa!" He finally managed to free himself, getting to his feet.

But he was too late. Her only response was the closing of the door.

Chapter Text

Catelyn Tully Stark had always prided herself on never fully relying on the service of hired help, and imparting a similar conviction and responsibility first in her younger siblings and then in her children. Her example had been considerably less successful with Lysa and Edmure than it was with her own little ones, but it was a point of pride that her children could be responsible and self-reliant despite their privileged upbringing. The Stark family properties, namely the town and country houses, were large, sprawling buildings with intricate corridors and nooks and crannies filled with lavish antiques and furnishings that required a skilled, dedicated staff to keep things swept, dusted, and polished on a regular basis. The rest was up to the occupants.

Dishes, laundry, cooking, vacuuming, and general cleanup were all duties Catelyn’s mother always insisted should never be pushed off to hired help, and her oldest daughter followed her example, dividing the chores between family members according to age and role in the mess. She would have never forgiven herself if any of her children left her and Ned’s household not able to do their own laundry and dishes, or maintain enough culinary skill not to starve or live off takeout. Even Arya, who’d once infamously set fire to a bowl of instant noodles, could throw together a few homemade meals. Catelyn had been very confident in Robb and Sansa’s ability to care for themselves when they moved out, but the distracted, haphazard way that Sansa was currently “helping” to fold towels was enough to cast some doubts.

When the point came that her daughter’s preoccupation became less amusing and more concerning, Cat reached out to catch Sansa’s fidgety hands, lest they wear through the stitching her nervous fingers had been worrying at for the better part of ten minutes. “Sansa, sweetheart, as much as I appreciate the visit and your offer to help, you’ve been twisting the same towel around in your hands for the past ten minutes. Is there something you want to talk about?”

Sansa hesitated for a moment, biting her lips uncertainly before she nodded. “You and Dad know the Snows are back in the city, right?”

Catelyn barely held back another sigh. She had wondered if the day would ever come when she and Ned would have to explain what had happened with Lyanna Snow. “We’re aware, yes.”

“Will you… will you tell me what happened back then?”

Well then, Catelyn thought wryly. At least it’s Sansa. Better it be a child who was old enough and mature enough to realize that parents weren’t infallible, that her and Ned’s mistakes- especially mistakes made in grief- didn’t define them as people.

“Of course, darling, but it’s a difficult time to remember. Let’s leave the laundry for now. I’ll make us some tea.”

+++

Scarred by her experiences with Joffrey, Sansa Stark had become far more guarded in adulthood than she ever was in her childhood and teenage years. But there were still a select few she was comfortable with opening up to, and the top of that list when it came to romantic matters were Daenerys and Margaery.

When she arrived that evening at the apartment Dany shared with her brother, she discovered Robb had been kicked out for an impromptu guys’ night with Theon. Her best friends were waiting for her with a fresh lemon cake and a bottle of sweet Chardonnay Margaery had brought back from her last visit to the Arbor.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to tell everyone, but I didn’t want Robb, or well… anyone, to hate me.”

Both Margaery and Dany looked concerned, but Margaery squeezed her hand and Dany smiled at her reassuringly. “We could never hate you, Sansa. Robb certainly couldn’t. You’re our best friend, you can tell us anything.”

Sansa took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “It’s about Jon Snow. I know him, now. He’s the one I work for. I’m so sorry I haven’t told Robb. Jon asked me not to.  But it’s been so long, so much has happened, and now I don’t feel comfortable keeping everything from you all. I really did want to wait until he was ready, but I need someone to talk to. I know how much you love Robb, Dany, but please don’t hate me.”

Sansa heard a familiar huff of amusement from Margaery, as the older girl leaned over to bump Sansa’s shoulder with hers. “You’re rambling, Sans. I think if you open those pretty blues, you’ll notice Dany looks anything but hateful."

Sansa did as bid, cautiously opening her eyes to be greeted with Dany's wide eyes and flummoxed expression. The longer the silence dragged out between them, the more Sansa's insecurities began to build back up. "Dany? Say something."

Dany took in a deep breath, letting it back out in a rush. "Wow."

Margaery gave a short, breathy laugh. "Is that all you have to say?"

"I'm still processing. That's a lot to take in." She shook her head. "Okay... I don't hate you, Sans, and I definitely don't think your brother will. I just... I think I have some explaining of my own to do before this makes sense to you both."

A resounding, incredulous yell of, "Nephew!?" filled the room a few moment later, and Sansa and Margaery sat transfixed as Dany explained that yes, Jon Snow was her nephew. He was the youngest son of her enigmatic oldest brother Rhaegar, who had disappeared mysteriously before Dany was even born, gone missing during an overnight hike to the ruins of Summerhall Castle, a place the eccentric artist and musician had been known to frequent.

"Rhaegar was still married to Elia when he and Lyanna were seeing each other," Dany informed them. "They didn't find out about each other until after Lyanna was pregnant, and let's just say... no one was happy. Elia kicked Rhaegar out of the Dragonstone house and then he went on that trip. He just… never came home.” She paused for a moment, looking solemn and reflective. “The whole thing’s still hard for Mama to talk about, so Shaena told me most of what happened after…” Her voice grew first softer, a distance in her eyes as if she could glimpse back at a past she hadn’t yet been born to witness.

 “The way Shaena tells things, Mama was eager to reach out to Lyanna right away, but Elia was a lot more reluctant. She came around eventually, though. We used to have playdates a couple times a month- Jon, Vis, Jae, Rhae, Egg, and I- more often after Uncle Arthur and Lyanna became close. He was Rhaegar’s best friend, so he was always hanging around, watching out for us.” She sighed softly. “I don’t think Lyanna and Elia ever hated each other, but the way they interacted was always so stilted and uncomfortable. It was kind of a blessing when Arthur started bringing Jon over in her place.

“I was thirteen when everything changed. Arthur and Lyanna had started dating, and the three of them went on a family trip to Starfall. Only… they never actually came back. Jon called a couple times, a few short conversations that never really went anywhere, and… Well, when you ask to visit someone and they make excuses through their mother why you can’t six or seven times in a row, eventually you just give up.”

Her words trailed off into silence, that distance back in her eyes. It was Margaery who dared to interrupt her reflections, resting a hand against her shoulder and questioning softly, “Dany, are you alright?”

Dany blinked rapidly for a moment, glancing back at her friends before her face settled on a wan smile. “I’m okay. I just… It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t still sting.”

Her eyes grew a little misty with tears and Sansa and Margaery reached out in unison to wrap her up in a group hug. Dany gave a watery laugh, returning the affection until she had fully calmed, and they all slowly pulled away.

Dany sighed softly, letting her head fall back against the cushioned back of the couch as she eyed Sansa curiously. "Your turn, Sans. What else is bothering you?"

When Sansa tried to refute her, Margaery scooted closer to her best friend, giving her knee a squeeze. "Don't even try it, sweetling. Go ahead and tell us all about how you've fallen for this mysterious Jon Snow."

Dany's eyes widened, her head turning to stare incredulously from Margaery, to Sansa, and back to Margaery again. "Really?! How can you tell, Marg?"

Margaery's answering smile was a little bittersweet. "Because I've seen her gone over a guy before.” I'm just hoping this time he's worthy of her.

Her heart in her throat, Sansa summoned her courage and told them everything, editing out a few choice details here and there when appropriate, considering Jon and Dany were apparently related. As she finished, Margaery and Dany shared thoughtful looks, Margaery deciding to deliver her blunt assessment.

“Honestly, Stark, I think you’re scared.”

Sansa’s eyes widened and she looked to Dany for some backup, but Dany only shrugged. “Sorry, Sans, but I agree. I don’t think you can make any other excuses for running out on him the way you did.” She paused, and then gently continued. “You’re in love with him.”

Sansa instinctively opened her mouth to argue, but she knew deep down that her friends were right. She let out an unsteady breath and nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I guess I am.”

Margaery hooked an arm around her, coaxing her closer until her head was resting on Margaery’s shoulder. Dany moved over to their couch, curling up on Sansa’s opposite side. “So here’s what we’ll do,” Dany stated. “You tell us about Jon. All the things you like about him, how he treats you, how he makes you feel.”

"And we'll remind you from time to time that Joffrey Baratheon is a detestable worm," Margaery continued, a familiar glint of glee she got whenever given the opportunity to badmouth their ex. "Why anything he's ever said or did is complete shite, and why you can’t let that worthless asshole keep you from being happy."

"Sounds like as good a plan as any."

++

It was the next morning when Sansa finally summoned up the courage to go back. She couldn't quite make herself meet Lya's eyes when the older woman let her in, unable to see the concerned frown directed at her as a result. Lya's voice was gentle as she directed Sansa back to Jon's room, reiterating what Sansa already knew, that Jon was out jogging with Ghost. His schedule was nothing if not predicable. 

"I was on my way out, love," Lya informed her, again keeping with a ritual that helped make the household's routine. "But he should be back soon."

Sansa nodded silently, and found her eyes drawn to the bed as Lya left her alone. She wasn't sure if having the extra time of anticipating Jon's arrival was a good thing or not. She had a little more time to prepare herself, but at the same time, she might have too long to worry and work herself up all over again. 

Faced with the spot where it had happened, it was hard to shake memories of the day before, the tenderness and passion they had shared. She filled with a yearning nearly palpable in its intensity, an overwhelming desire to be surrounded by his warmth and presence. Nearly without conscious thought, she found herself toeing off her shoes, careful to place them out of the way of Jon's usual walking paths**, and moving to curl up on the bed, taking solace in his scent clinging to the sheets.

She closed her eyes and breathed him in, her mind calming as the impending panic attack ebbed away.

That was the way Jon found her when he stepped into the bedroom, cocking his head and carefully listening until he could make out the sounds of her breathing. He softened with concern as he remembered the contents of his mother's phone call, sighing softly as he slid off his sunglasses and shoes and crossed the room toward her. The bed hissed with an almost inaudible creak as he down beside her, pressing a hand to her back with a whisper of her name. "Sansa."

Sansa shivered under his touch, moving a little closer under his hand. Jon stretched out beside her in response. "Sansa, what are you doing here?"

"I work here, remember?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Not only is it your day off, we parted on strange terms yesterday."

The slight bite to his words was fair, she decided. "I know."

"Tell me what's wrong.”

She turned toward him, nestling into the strong circle of his arms, burying her face into his chest. "I'm sorry, Jon," she muttered, her voice muffled against his skin, bare-chested as he was for running in the summer. "I'm so sorry."

Jon slowly closed his eyes, sighing softly as he sank further into the bed, tightening his arms around her. "It's okay. I'm sorry too."

"I'm so sorry I reacted. It wasn't really you… It was just…"

He rubbed a hand against her hip, gently encouraging. "Just what, Sansa?"

"Just that everything we'd just done... everything we said... really set in."

His face instantly fell into a worried expression and she knew it was for something other than the state she was in. "What we did? Do you regret it?"

Hearing the vulnerability in his voice, she was quick to reassure him. "No, no, of course not. I was just… scared."

He frowned, still not understanding what exactly she was trying to convey to him. "I scare you?"

She shook her head, looking up at him. "No, baby, that's not what I meant." She heaved a heavy sigh. "This isn't coming out right at all."

The first thing he registered was the frustration in her voice… The second was the fact that she had called him 'baby'. "You called me baby," he said softly.

The words meant to be a statement came out more like a hesitant question. She smiled, "What, do you not like it?"

He gave her a shy smile. "That's not it. Just… no one's ever called me by a pet-name before. Unless you count my mom."

She gently stroked his cheek. "Well then… we'll have to change that, won't we?"

He smiled again. He seemed to do that a lot around her. "Sansa, why are you afraid?"

She cuddled closer to him, seeking reassurance in the gentle strength of his body. "When we were together yesterday… I realized something." She drew in an unsteady breath. "I've never been the type to sleep around, Jon, but I can't pretend I don't have a past."

"Of course not. There's no reason to." He nudged her gently, seeking to institute some levity. "I'm glad at least one of us knew what we were doing."

She huffed out a laugh. "You didn't do too bad, all things considered. But anytime I've been intimate before, Jon, it was just sex. I've only made love once, and that was yesterday. That... what you said..." She sighed, nuzzling against him. "I've never felt like this before and it scares me, but gods, Jon, I love you too." She tilted her head up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I am so in love with you."

Jon felt like he could fly. He couldn't help it. His heart swelled with emotion, his pride soared and he had never felt so much love for another person as he did in that moment. He cupped her face, Sansa picking up on his intent to guide his mouth back to hers. Warm and gentle, with no hesitation to let the passion ignite between them. They deepened the kiss, eager to reacquaint themselves with the taste and feel of each other.

They broke apart with reluctant need, shifting closer to one another as not only bodies pressed closer, but more open in their hearts and freer in their souls than they had felt in a very long time.

He smiled, rubbing his nose against hers in an Eskimo kiss she found cutely endearing. "I have something for you."

She perked up, "yeah?" She feathered her lips teasingly against his chin, "getting me gifts already. I see I made a good choice in boyfriend."

He laughed, disinclined to leave her but needing to get up anyway as he shifted off the bed. She watched him make his way to his desk, shuffling through papers before he pulled out a manila envelope. "Open it."

She went to him, doing as he asked. She pulled out a thick stack of paper, bound together. She studied it, idly flipping through the pages, her eyes widening as realization set in. "'The Young Wolf'," she said breathlessly. "You finished it."

He grinned at her, so wide he flashed teeth. "I did."

"But…how…?"

"My friend, Sam." He paused as she failed to stifled her sound of surprise. "I know, believe it or not, I do keep in contact with some friends. But he was willing to help me out, so we were up most of last night getting things typed out and organized."

She shook her head disbelievingly, tears unexpectedly pooling in her eyes. "You did it. I am so proud of you, Jon."

He grinned, wrapping his arms around her until he lifted her off her feet, causing her to flounder for balance, her hands gripping tightly to his shoulders. "You like it, then?"

"Yes, I love it." She ran a hand down from his shoulder to his pectorals, brushing her fingers along the subtle musculature of his chest, her fingertips tracing along the dark lines of dark hair trailing down his torso. "Jon…" she pressed kisses up along his chin and jaw, nestling closer to him, "…I wanna feel you again…"

He found her lips again, cupping her hips to pull her closer, letting out a guttural groan as her hands stroked his chest and arms with feather-light caresses. "Sansa, love, I can't think straight after a kiss like that. Guide me where we need to go?"

"Absolutely," she affirmed, hooking her legs around his hips as he began backing them up. "Move a couple steps to the left, baby, and we'll be there."

Shuffling until he felt the back of his knees nudge the bed, he let them both fall back onto the mattress, leaning over her and rucking up her top to find the silken-soft skin he was craving to feel. Hunger ran through him, for touch, for skin-to-skin contact, combining with awe that this wonderful, beautiful woman wanted to be here with him.

Passion, want, desire, all of them coursed through him in a storm of feeling that manifested in a full-body tremble when he finally hovered above her, bare and vulnerable. But this time, the shudders were born of excitement rather than nerves. Still, he hesitated, and Sansa gently coaxed him onto his back, kissing him sweet and slow as she sank down to join their bodies together.

As she took him inside her, Jon's body sang with sensation, the heady ecstasy overwhelming as instinct took precedence and he began to move under her. Their rhythm was slow and steady as a dance, the joining of their bodies speaking more than they could ever express in words.

Exerted breaths mingled between them, the drumming of their heartbeats pounding in unison, bodies entwining so tightly that he felt he could imprint himself into her right then and there. He wanted so badly to find a place for himself in her heart, to be sheltered there, never having to leave the warmth of her body.

His senses dulled as the sweet pain of release caused his body to jerk and tense, her name a hoarse gasp ripping from his throat, as the very foundation of his world was shaken. The very depths of his soul trembled in the aftermath of orgasm, destroyed down to his core as her answering climax sent him barreling into another series of aftershocks.

They lay together, limbs hopelessly entwined, bodies still joined. His mind pleasantly foggy, his body exhausted, he quietly whispered to her, "I love you."

"I love you too." She ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, cradling his head from where he'd laid it against her breast. "And I don't just mean affection. I mean in love. I just want you to know that."

He smiled. "I know, but it's still good to hear."

Chapter Text

Sansa watched with a fond smile as a pair of tow-headed troublemakers stampeded by her, only slowing when they closed in on their quarry, sprawled out on the living room floor playing with Ghost.  The twins pounced, landing on their brother’s chest and stomach respectively, Jon’s loud groan giving Sansa a fleeting concern for certain parts of him she was invariably fond of. But he seemed to recover just fine a moment later, rolling over to dump Alanna and Alaric onto the plush carpet, much to their giggling protest. The kids pounced once again, and the wrestling began in earnest.

“He’s so good with them,” Sansa said softly, directed toward Lya who was standing at her shoulder and watching her roughhousing children with similar fondness.

“He always has been.” Something soft and poignantly maternal passed over her face; an intimate thing Sansa almost felt uncomfortable bearing witness to, a feeling that eased as Lya continued to share freely. “The twins were the reason Jon came back to himself after the accident… In fact, the first time he’d laughed in over a year was right after they were born.”

She smiled softly at the curiosity Sansa couldn’t quite hide. “He was especially agitated the entire time . I was pregnant, but he refused tell us what was bothering him. It turned out he’d been worrying himself sick over knowing he would never get to see his little siblings’ faces. When they were born looking just like Arthur, Jon laughed himself to tears.” Lya chuckled herself at the memory. “That boy spent months staring Arthur down after we started dating, he certainly knew what the poor man looked like.”

Lya’s soft laugh was infectious. As Sansa took in the light and warmth highlighting the beauty of her features, Sansa understood how her father and uncles could be so enthralled by this woman.

“Rickard, your grandfather, was fond of saying there were three things certain in life: taxes; winter; and knowing that wherever Lyanna Snow went, a Stark boy was sure to follow.”

Her mother’s words echoing through her head melded with the way Lya’s tone turned wistful and quiet. “They didn’t look much like the Brandon and Branwyn I was expecting.”

Thinking of the twins, with their pale blonde curls and violet eyes, their high cheekbones and cupid’s bow lips, Sansa had to agree. But still, the mention of Brandon tugged at her mind. Lya must have seen in the change in her expression, sliding a little closer and lowering her voice. “I take it you’ve been talking with your parents, love?”

Sansa nodded sheepishly. “I told my mom that Jon and I were together, and she told me what happened with Uncle Brandon.”

“And after?”

“And after.”

Lya sighed. “Brandon Stark was a force of nature. I wish you kids could have known him. He was a good man, flaws and all.” She leaned back against the doorframe, solemnly thoughtful. “Brandon had no one but himself to blame for his wife leaving him, but when she announced she was marrying Ned less than a year later… Well, I was young and I adored your uncle to the point of stupidity. I was already horribly rude to your parents because their engagement. Brandon and the bridge was just the last straw to send me into outright hostility.”

Sansa winced at the mention of the harsh truth her mother had deemed her old enough to learn: her uncle’s wild charm had its dark side. His penchant for partying and reckless driving had been part of it, to a fatal result late one winter night on an ice-slick bridge.

“Mom told me they said a lot of things out of grief they wished they could take back,” Sansa tentatively offered.  Lya smiled wanly.

“Ah, yes, a good man like Ned Stark wouldn’t consider accusing me of being secretly pregnant with his brother’s child and keeping quiet about it out of spite as his finest moment.” At Sansa’s horrified expression, Lya gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Don’t worry, love, it was only fair, considering I blamed them for Brandon’s recklessness in turn. As I said, I was young… And hurting. I took it out on your parents, but it was never their fault. Brandon made his own choices, and I should never have blamed them for finding their happiness.”

Everything about her screamed regret and past hurt. Sansa couldn’t help herself from reaching out to take the older woman’s hand, Lya started in surprise but gave Sansa’s fingers a grateful squeeze. “My point is, Sansa, I hope you kids don’t keep getting hurt by our mistakes, or repeat them. Has Robb or Jon said anything about talking to one another?”

Sansa smiled, looking back over where Jon seemed to have gotten Alanna on his side, the two of them pinning Alaric down in a tag-team tickle attack. Looks like even the twin bond can’t hold out against big brother worship, she thought, amused. She remembered how badly her younger self wanted to be just like Robb in everything he did, dogging her big brother’s steps everywhere he went until she started school and made friends of her own.

“We’re all meeting for lunch tomorrow.” She paused, glancing thoughtfully at Lya. “Daenerys as well.”

Lya’s eyes widened with surprise. “That should be interesting. Where Dany goes, Rhaenys and Aegon are sure to follow soon enough. Likely the rest of them as well.”

Remembering how fed up Dany seemed every time she dealt with her abundance of protective, nosy older siblings (Robb had been terrified when the older Aegon, Daeron, and Jaehaerys all gave him shovel talks in quick succession when he and Dany got serious), Sansa found she had to agree with Lya. Things were about to get interesting indeed.

++

The silence between the quartet waiting at the restaurant table was uncomfortable enough that even Margaery found herself fidgeting, her leg bouncing in such an uncharacteristic gesture of discomfort that Mya cast her a concerned look, reaching out to rest a hand on Margaery’s knee, halting her restless movements. Margaery looked up at Mya giving her as reassuring a smile as she could, its effectiveness dimmed by how clearly everyone else’s nerves were affecting Mya herself.

The shared tension was most prevalent in the couple across from them. Robb was clearly displeased, scowling as he slumped down in his chair, arms folded defiantly across his chest. Dany was practically vibrating with anticipation, her eyes darting to the door every time the attached bell ran to indicate the arrival of a new customer. Her patience finally won out when their unexpected company stepped into the café. Four gazes followed one another to land on the tall, dark-haired man, one hand holding the leash of a quiet retriever, the other arm-in-arm with Sansa. Sansa smiled as she spotted them and she and Ghost led Jon toward them.

The awkward silence that followed was broken when Dany hesitantly rose from her seat. She approached her old friend, biting her lip with trepidation. She reached her hand out to him, hesitated, and then dropped it again, indecisive. Sensing her proximity, Jon cocked his head toward Sansa, his brow knitting together quizzically. She responded to his unspoken question, whispering into his ear the identity of the person standing before him. He brightened, "Dany…"

There was a quiet, barely audible, "Hey, Jon," and his mouth stretched into a slow smile, reassuringly answering. "It's alright, Dany. I don't bite."

His words rumbled with a deep, rich timbre so unlike the little boy she had once known, but his voice was gentle, his smile genuine, and Dany stepped into his arms without question. She clung to him, tears welling up as he held her tightly, his embrace strong and comforting. "Jon Brandon Snow, where the hell have you been?"

He chuckled softly. "It's a long story. I've missed you, Dany."

"I missed you too, you big idiot." She pulled back, sniffling as she glanced up to take a good look at him. She cupped his chin, tilting his head toward her, examining the features of the boy-turned-man. "You've changed," she murmured quietly, more to herself than anyone else.

"And you haven't?" He paused for a moment and then held up his hands, letting them hover, briefly brushing his fingers against her cheek. He tilted his head questioningly, asking for permission she wasn't sure she was supposed to give. "Dany?"

Confused, Dany shot a look toward Sansa, who smiled at her, gesturing as she traced a finger along her own nose, to her cheek and jaw-line. Jon spent so much time around people comfortably familiar with him, that he sometimes forgot others may not be able to immediately pick up on the exclusivity of his gestures.

Dany seemed to catch on, placing her hands over his to guide them to her face. Wearing an expression of thoughtful concentration, Jon gently explored, taking in the more angular definitions that came with womanhood, smiling as he encountered familiar dimples, and when her nose twitched as his light touch tickled.

He brushed a thumb against her cheek, humming to himself. "You're really grown up, haven't you, Dany? You've become so strong. Beautiful too. I bet you look like Grandmother.” He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear as Dany blushed at his words. "Robb's lucky to have you."

Dany smiled, feeling dangerously close to crying again. Jon took her hand, squeezing it gently; the two and Sansa proceeded to sit down, Jon at the end the girls on either side of him, Ghost quietly settling at his feet. Releasing Dany's, he sought Sansa's hand and she responded, their fingers entwining quite comfortably from where they rested them atop the table. Robb eyed their joined hands dubiously, Dany smiled, Margaery looked apprehensive, but Mya was open-mouthed and astonished.

"Umm… How in the world did you…?" she trailed off, unable to finish her words.

"Read a person?" Jon offered. "Hidden talents of the blind man. It's just part of my charming mystique." He finished off the words with an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows, turning to his girlfriend with a flirtatious smile. Sansa rolled her eyes and whacked his chest. "Ow," he pouted. "What was that for?"

"You know what," she quipped back, glancing toward the rest of their company. "I know this is overdue, but I guess introductions are in order. Everyone, as you know, this is Jon. Jon," she took his hand, gesturing in the general direction of each person she named, " this is Mya, Margaery, you know Dany, and… Robb."

Jon nodded, mentally storing away the information, knowing he could come to recognize the person by their voice once he sorted out who was who. It would help to know from where each voice was supposed to come from. "Pleased to meet you, ladies.”

There was a charm to his smile, his usual solemnity softening from the way that being with Sansa over the months had built up his personal confidence. Margaery caught up with it, grinning, "My, my. Sansa told us a lot about you, but she didn't mention that she'd snagged someone so handsome. Well done, Sans.”

Jon laughed. "You must be the one and only Margaery Tyrell. Sansa's talked about you too."

"Only good things I hope." Margaery cast a smile in her best friend's direction, easing Sansa's fears that Jon's uniqueness would make all of her friends uncomfortable. Two down, two to go…

Mya cleared his throat, shifting her eyes toward Sansa, sending the message that she would at least make an effort. "It's nice to finally put a face to the guy who's been making Sansa smile so much over the past couple of months. That definitely gets you brownie points."

Three down…

Jon nodded, catching onto the underlying message. If there was one they had in common that they could build on, it was a shared desire to see Sansa Stark happy. "So… Sansa tells me you’re a fan of my mom’s work. She’s done some strange things in name of art. Interested in any stories?”

It took some time, but things began to relax and flow more freely around the table, highly due by Mya’ enthusiasm to hear stories about her favorite artist. Soon enough, they were deep in a conversation about the month Lya and eight-year-old Jon spent around the Summer Islands in pursuit of a reclusive bird native to the island chain, whose beautiful color scheme Lya was sure would inspire her next series of paintings, if only she could get a closer look. As Lya’s antics grew more and more absurd, even Robb was drawn into throwing in some commentary here and there.

Margaery  shuffled her way over to Sansa to engage in girl-talk, soon having her best friend blushing fiercely with her suggestive comments. Sansa playfully smacked her at a few particular risqué words, Dany wrinkled her nose at the thought of her nephew in such a way. If any of them had glanced over, they would have seen tips of Jon's ears go red as he accidently overheard.

It wasn't exactly an everyday occurrence for his girlfriend to be asked how he was in bed, with him just a few seats away.

Eventually, they were approached by a waitress, and everyone put in their breakfast orders. As she walked away toward the kitchen, Sansa glanced around thoughtfully, taking in the sparsely populated café. “Did we miss the morning rush?”

Margaery slyly arched an eyebrow. “You did. Funny, I’ve never known you to be one to sleep in.”

Both Jon and Sansa flushed, Sansa shot back. “Things happen.”

"I'm sure they do," Margaery slipped in coyly and laughter rang, the lovers bashfully accepting the good-natured teasing with only minor complaint.

The meal was over soon enough, plates and silverware being stacked to the side as debates over how to split the bill ensued. Jon leaned forward in his chair, resting his chin in his hand as he contently listened to the conversation around him. He smiled as he felt Sansa's fingers curl around his wrist, the pad of her thumb slowly rubbing circles against his palm. He responded by shifting himself, looping his arm across the back of her chair, stroking her shoulder.

From nearby, Dany watched them, watched the way they seemed so comfortable together. She watched the natural way he wrapped an arm around her, and Sansa leaned into him, trusting and at ease being so close to him. She watched as he smiled down at her, Sansa returning the expression as she raised her hand to his face. She stroked his cheek, gently guiding his mouth to hers. Their lips met in a soft kiss, a low murmur of content sounding from Jon as he combed his fingers through her hair.

They pulled away with matching smiles, Jon resting his forehead against Sansa's before he spoke. "Dany, would you like to go for a walk?"

More than eager to accept the less-than-subtle invitation to talk in private, Dany gave her boyfriend a look; his jaw clenched and his expression turned dark. She put a hand on his knee warningly and looked back to her friend. "Sure, Jon."

With a nod, Jon stood and with a soft-spoken command, the dog dozing beneath his chair was alert and ready, leading him around the table. As he passed, Jon ran his hand over first Sansa's chair and then her own, holding it out to her, palm side up. Dany took it, letting him help her to her feet and together they made their way out of the café.

They were watched as they left and began their trek down the street. As they disappeared around the corner, Margaery turned back to Sansa, bubbling with curiosity. "Well?"

Sansa looked up at her nonchalantly, hiding her smirk behind her cup as she took a drink from her coffee. "Well, what?"

Margaery rolled her eyes at the red head's coy response. "Is it weird at all? With him being… You know?"

"Blind? You can say it, Marg, it’s not some forbidden word.” Margaery nodded sheepishly, and Sansa continued with a thoughtful look. "It’s not all that strange. Just different. Jon is… He's hard to describe. He can't use his eyes, but at the same time, he sees the world in this incredible way. In ways I could never think of, and he just blows my mind. He's brilliant and he's intense and he's gentle. The way he treats me…" Sansa shook her head, unable to help the dazed, dreamy look that crossed over her face. "He's just beautiful, Margaery."

She looked back up to see Margaery quietly shaking with laugher, Mya grinning mischievously on the other side of her.

"What?"

Margaery sighed, reaching out to pat Sansa's cheek. "You've got to be really into him to sound that cheesy."

Sansa attempted to glare at her, but failed, unable to stop the way her mouth curled up into a bright smile.

"I'm sorry."

Dany looked up at her companion, as they strolled aimlessly through a nearby park. She'd noticed that once they were alone, his personality seemed to shift. In the café, he had been charming and witty; out here, he had become quiet and serious. She realized that his behavior back at the restaurant was an effort to gain their acceptance, to distract them from his disability and learn to trust him at Sansa's side. Both sides of the real Jon, the one beside her thoughtful, solemn and deep. "You don't need to be," she replied gently.

"I still am. I hid things from you, and I left without a word. That's got to violate the family code."

"Definitely," she patted his arm. "But you were forgiven a long time ago, Jon Snow."

He inhaled, letting the breath out in a heavy rush. "I love you, Dany. That's… Never changed. I just wanted you to know that."

A tear came to her eye inspite herself and she wiped it away, glad he couldn't see her sentimentality. "I love you too." She smirked. "But I bet you say that to all the girls. I hear you've been throwing it around a lot lately."

He looked away, blushing shyly. "Yeah."

"For the record, I think it's great. Sansa seems happy. More Sansa-like than she's been in a long-time."

"Sansa-like?"

She glanced at him. "I'm sure you know by now, but Sansa’s become really guarded in the past few years. She doesn't open up very easily anymore, and even when she lets you close, she still doesn't let you all the way in. She's different with you. More relaxed. More trusting."

"She does the same for me. I feel more comfortable and content with her than I've ever felt before."

"I'm happy for you both. You two definitely deserve it."

He stared at her for a moment, seemingly turning over thoughts in his head. "Dany, I need a favor. In the name of that happiness.”

“Of course, Jon. What is it?”

"I need someone to look over the outline for my new book.”

"I don't mind, but what about Sansa?"

“Not just yet. Not when it's about her."

She smiled, squeezing his arm. "So tell me about this book."

He cocked his head a little, giving her an enigmatic smile. "It starts with a red-haired queen, and the wolf knight who wishes to serve her…”

xx

Gravel crackled under the weight of the tires, Robb’s head rising in time to see Dany’s car pulling up to the playground he and Jon had frequented as children. Dany was at the wheel, Jon in the passenger seat.

Through the windshield, he saw Dany’s mouth move, Jon nodding in response to her words, getting out of the car with his lead dog. Robb felt a twisting in his stomach, a tightening in his throat, as the other man made his way over to his bench, taking a seat on the opposite end.

“I’ve spent a decade trying to find the words to apologize, but I haven’t found them yet. You’d think I would’ve, considering the writer thing.”

Robb snorted. “Do they make apology cards for abandoning someone?”

Jon flinched. “I was selfish and stupid. I was a kid. I don’t have excuses… But I do have an explanation.” 

Robb’s jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything. A long, stilted silence stretched out between them and the more time that passed without words, the more uncomfortable they both became. Jon himself was debating getting up and walking away when his old friend finally spoke.

“I’m listening,” Robb said finally. Jon sighed with relief, scratching Ghost behind the ears as he began his narrative.

xx

Their lips met and the kiss was sweet, soft as a whisper and gentle as the brush of a breeze.  They slipped from their clothes, baring delightfully bare skin to exploring hands and mouths. “Jon,” she breathed softly, deepening their kiss into something more ardent.

He tipped his forehead against her shoulder to take in an unsteady breath, Sansa’s hands tangling in his hair to hold him closer. "This still feels so unreal,” he murmured against her skin. “I can't believe you found me. I feel like I've waited forever for you."

She slipped her arms around his neck. "I'm here now," she reassured him, arching into the caress of his hands along the curves and dips of her body. “Let me show you how real we are.”

He lowered himself into her open arms, sinking home with a shift and twist of their hips. In the slow synergy of making love, Jon came to a realization. They had found each other, whether fate or circumstance, and he knew now that he never wanted to let her go. Soon enough- too soon, for he felt the need to be one with her always- he gave himself over, surrendering himself to her, mind, body and soul.

As they lay together in the aftermath, Sansa languorously stroked his back, regarding him thoughtfully. He cocked his head in her direction, sensing the weight of her thoughts in the air between them. “What is it, Sans?”

“I was thinking about what you said earlier, about this still feeling unreal. At risk of sounding cheesy, if this is a dream, it’s the realest thing I’ve ever felt.”

“Mmm, we’re not dreaming yet,” he muttered with a small smile, the words having barely before he released a heavy yawn. “However much you’ve wrung me out.”

“Sleep then, love.” She smoothed his hair back against his forehead, brushing a kiss against his cheek. “It’s been a long day. The rest of our lives can wait for morning.”

End