Sansa felt like a caged wolf pacing her room and tugging at the cuff of her left sleeve, her brow knit so tightly it hurt. "I'm a Stark," she whispered to herself as she went to her door. "I'm a Stark."
With a breath she knocked on Jon's door, looking down the hall until the door opened and she turned to find him holding the door. He'd removed his jerkin and boots, leaving his breeches and tunic.
She'd expected some surprise, maybe even hoped for him to stutter and go wide eyed or smile with relief. Instead he maintained his even expression. "Mm?"
It shook her, but she was a Stark. She could endure the cold. "Am I interrupting?" She asked with a glance past him, seeing papers strewn about his desk. His dinner lay half eaten on his tray, though the mug of ale brought with it was turned over and empty.
He looked past her, into the corridor. "Is everything alright?"
Sansa frowned. "I hoped we could speak."
He'd been so quick to let her in before, yet watching him clearly think it over she wasn't sure if that was good or bad. At least he had to think instead of readily refusing her.
Without a word he pushed the door open and made his way back to his desk, letting her step inside and close the door herself.
She watched him look over the papers, picking one up and tossing it back down, shaking his head and heading over to the hearth. He stood in place for a moment, his arms crossed across his chest.
With a glance to his desk she asked, "Are those the documents Sam found?"
Jon turned to her and nodded. "Most of it."
"Most?" She asked, putting on a smile, making her way to the desk.
"There's a letter or two," he said with a wave of his hand, "and some reports on the Dreadfort."
Sansa came to a stop, looking from the papers to Jon. "Reports?"
"They've cleared out the dungeons, taken down everything linked to the Boltons." He shrugged. "It should be ready in a few weeks."
She quietly took a breath to replace what had left her so suddenly. "Are you leaving?"
Jon's jaw shifted, turning back to the hearth. "I haven't decided yet. I might head back to the Wall to check on Tormund's group. I'd like to have a wight before any southron lords send someone to meet us."
Her chest grew tight, struggling to breath. She hadn't just driven him from her, but driven him away from Winterfell, driven him to the Wall and beyond.
Jon stared at the wall, but it wasn't until he closed his eyes that he realized how long she'd been quiet. Arching his brow, he turned and felt his stomach drop when he saw her stood with her head leaned forward into her hands while her body shook silently.
In a burst of movement he rushed across the room, wrapping his arms around her. Sansa let out a sob the moment she felt his arms brush her back, taking her hands from her face to clutch his tunic as she pressed her face to his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," she said with a sob, "please don't leave me."
"Sansa," he groaned, not wanting to argue with her.
"Please," she pleaded into his shoulder.
Taking a breath, he steeled himself and pulled her off him, shocking her. "I can't just stay here forever, Sansa. You and Rickon will be fine here without me." His jaw shifted slightly as he declared, "I won't stay where I'm not wanted."
Sansa shook her head. "You're not unwanted. I swear, you're not."
Jon took his hands from her shoulders. He bit back the things he wanted to say that had more bite to them. He wouldn't hurt her just because he was angry. Instead he asked, "What's changed? Nothing's different from when you told me this was pointless. I won't waste whatever time we have arguing with you for something you didn't care to try."
She felt it all slipping through her fingers, making her chest tighten even more. "Jon, please, I… I can't stand another day. I tried, but I can't. I don't care what happens, I want to be with you." Sansa grasped his hands, squeezing them as she met his gaze. "Whatever comes, I want to be at your side when it does."
"And what happens after that?" He asked, her own words like a slap. Yet his somber tone felt like a victory. "What's changed?"
"I don't know. I don't care. I only know I'd be by your side when it does."
Jon stared into her eyes for a moment before exhaling. "You're sure?"
"Gods yes," Sansa said stepping forward, sliding one hand up his neck as she pressed her lips to his while the other slipped under his arm to keep him close.
His left hand pressed the small of her back while his right slipped through her hair, his tongue brushing her lips. While before that had been about the limit of what they did, she felt his hand slid to her hip and rise to press her breast, making her gasp against his lips.
She felt like she might stumble as he pressed forward, making her step back again and again before his hand slid from her chest to press against the wall. Jon pulled his lips from hers and pressed his hands to the stone wall behind her, his chest heaving as he stared at her.
"What do you want?" He asked quietly.
Gods, how could a question make her feel like this? Her chest heaved, body flush and head a fluttering mess, making it difficult to find the right answer. "You," she said shaking her head, "just you."
His eyes darkened with intent as he leaned toward her. "If you like your gown then remove it."
She'd never found her laces faster, letting the gown go slack before it fell to her feet. At once she felt both under and over dressed, embarrassed yet wanting to strip until she was bare for him.
He'd stepped away to pile the papers on his desk and toss them on his chair. The moment she raised her head to look he'd returned to catch her lips in a passionate kiss, pressing her against the wall. She felt his hand hold her side, his thumb on her breast while his left hand clutched her thigh and suddenly he lifted her and turned, setting her on the desk.
"Jon," she asked watching him sink to his knees, "what are you doing?"
He pressed a kiss to her knee, running a hand up the inside of her thigh as he told her, "Proving I'm a man of my word."
Redressed and sat before Jon's hearth, Sansa took a long drink of the wine he'd offered her and let out a content sigh.
"You didn't have to do that," Jon said sinking into the seat beside her.
Looking over she found his grin more than worth the odd taste lingering even through the wine. "It's fine," she said shaking her head, "I liked it."
"Did you?" He asked arching his brow. "It wasn't just you trying to return the favor?"
"It was, but that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it," she said with a shrug. "What about you? Did you enjoy me?"
Jon's grin returned. "I did."
"You should thank Rila," Sansa declared suddenly.
"For?"
"When we saw you in the yard with Rickon she made a joke about wanting to show you how she looked kneeling," Sansa revealed, looking to him with an enticing smile. "That's what made me think I could do it."
Jon sat back nodding as he took a sip of wine. "I should thank Rila."
Sansa giggled and Jon smiled at her, having missed her laugh as much as her company.
Setting his glass aside he leaned forward. "Sansa, what do we do now? What do you want from this? From us?"
With a solemn smile she reached over, taking his hand in hers. "I told you already. You. Just you."
The fire flickering beside them cast shifting shadows across his face as Jon stared at her. "Would you marry me?"
Sansa sat up, her eyes widening. After a moment she took a breath and set her glass aside before looking to him, turning her chair but not releasing his hand. "Is that something you'd want?"
"I never thought I'd have a wife," Jon said with a laugh. "I'd be lucky to have one like you."
Sansa's smile faltered when she thought back to the training yard. "But you've had a wife before."
Jon's brow furrowed. "What?"
"A wildling woman."
Realization flashed across his face, followed by sorrow and regret as he sank into his chair, his hand slipping from hers, rising to rub his forehead while he sighed. "She wasn't my wife. Even by free folk custom, I never stole her, not really."
Sansa nodded, shifting in her seat. "Did you love her?"
Jon took a moment to think. "I don't know. It felt like it at the time, but then I left her. I was sure she loved me before I left. Before she died."
Sansa frowned, having suspected that from how Laul and Rila spoke of his wildling wife, but suddenly felt awful for whatever jealousy she'd felt. "What do you feel for me?"
Jon's gaze turned to her, his hand falling from his head to hold the arm of his chair. "Love. Different from Rickon or anyone else. Different from Ygritte. You make me happy and I want to make you happy. I want to give you the kind of life you deserve, one better than you've had to suffer these last years, better even than we had before we left if it were possible. I want to be with you in every way I can, but I don't want to harm you or do anything that might reflect poorly on you."
Sansa clutched the arm of her chair under his gaze, giving a small nod as he finished. "I want to be with you too. Any way I can. I want to help you every way I can. I want to ease the burdens you bear, give you respite and council whenever you need and peace and solace when you're worried or upset." Sansa reached over to take his hand from the arm of his chair. "I want to marry you."
Jon's lips stretched into a smile, turning his chair and leaning forward to pull her hand up and kiss it. After a moment he raised his head and looked to her eyes.
"Could we announce it tomorrow?"
Sansa blinked. "So soon?"
"Just announce it," he clarified. "The lords here now should be the first to know, but I think a good way to avoid proposals for us could be to include it in the letters I send. Make it part plea for aide, declaration of my intent for the throne in time, and part betrothal announcement."
Sansa took a moment to think before nodding. "I think it could work."
"Good," he seemed relieved by her agreement. "I'll leave your aunt and the Vale to you but I'd ask your help with the others as well."
"Davos was at Dragonstone with Stannis."
Jon grinned. "He already gave me a list of houses in Dragonstone and the Stormlands he thinks hold loyalty to the Targaryen name."
"Now we just need the Riverlands and Iron Islands and we'd have the Lannisters surrounded on all ends."
Jon's brow knit. "You might be able to call for some houses aide. I'm sure there's some that were loyal to Targaryens during Robert's Rebellion, those and the ones loyal to the Tullys could flee here, regroup. And if Theon ever gets better he might be a way into the Iron Islands."
Sansa shook her head, laughing. "If this works… we might be able to let the southron armies take out the Lannisters from all sides while the northern houses focus on the Wall."
"If it works," Jon said with a laugh, "but it won't. Something will happen. It always does."