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Jon lies flat on his back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He no longer sleeps, he can’t, for every time he closes his eyes he is faced with the echoes of his brothers voices, “For the Watch,” followed by the agonising pain of blades tearing through his flesh, young Oli’s merciless stare as he delivered the final blow, piercing Jon’s heart and ending his life and Ghost’s haunting howls.

Then there’s falling. Falling and falling, spiraling into a dark abyss of nothingness.

Jon’s breathing grows uneven and his fingers grasp at Ghost’s fur tightly. He has heard stories of soldiers returning from war maddened by all they had witnessed, unable to forget the harshness of death and only fragments of the men they once were. Is that what is happening to him? Is he going mad?

Jon’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of high-pitched whimpers and screams.

Sansa.

It is only seconds until Jon is on his feet on his way to Sansa, Ghost close on his heels and Longclaw in his grasp.

When he storms into the room, his eyes fall upon a trembling Sansa, sat up in the bed, her face damp with tears and in Edd’s embrace. Upon hearing Jon enter, Edd immediately jumps up and explains himself.

“Jon, I--I heard screams and I was concerned for her safety. When I entered she was still half asleep and filled with fear, she--”

“Sansa, are you alright?” Jon asks, cutting Edd off.

Sansa nods, but the stream of tears still flowing down her eyes say otherwise. “I am fine. I--It was just a nightmare. I’m sorry that I woke you, Edd.”

Jon notices the way Sansa places her hand on top of Edd’s and feels a pang of anger shoot through him.

“There is no need to apologise, my Lady. I am just glad that you’re well.”

Jon manages to keep his jealousy at bay long enough to thank Edd. After all, had there been an intruder in Sansa’s room he may have saved her life.

“I best get some rest,” Edd says, dismissing himself and leaving Jon and Sansa alone.

“He’s very sweet,” Sansa says when Jon has closed the door behind Edd.

“Sweet, yes,” Jon says under his breath, thinking that Edd is a little too sweet on Sansa.

Sansa doesn’t seem to hear him and he goes over to the bed to sits where Edd did.

“Are you truly okay?”

“Yes.”

Jon raises his eyebrows at Sansa skeptically.

“Jon, really, I am. I just feel a fool for having scared you like that.”

“All that matters is that you are okay. You should try and get some rest. I will leave Ghost with you and be across the hall should you need me.”

With that Jon gets up to leave, but Sansa’s small voice calls out his name.

“Would you-- Would you mind staying with me?”

Jon is taken aback, but doesn’t even think to deny her. “Of course, Sansa.”

He was never much of a brother to her when they were children and with their separation he was unable to protect her from the hands of monsters such as Littlefinger, Joffrey and Ramsay, but now at last he can finally be a true brother to her. He can protect her, keep her safe and whole, just as father and Robb would have wanted him to.

Jon throws some sheets and blankets on the concrete ground to make a makeshift bed and Ghost immediately curls up beside him.

The two lie in silence for countless minutes, the only sounds being their breathing, the cackling fire and Ghost’s snoring. Jon finds it is the closest he has come to peace since he was returned from death.

Sansa is the first to break the silence. “I try to forget,” she starts. “About Ramsay, about what he did to me. But every time I close my eyes I see his face. His twisted evil smile, his cold, hard eyes.” Sansa shivers. “I thought it true of Joffrey that he was a monster, but in comparison to Ramsay he was nothing but a willful child drunk on power.”

Jon listens intently as she continues.

“When father was executed, afterwards, Joffrey forced me to look upon his head on a spike. I believed that to be the worst day of my life, that nothing could possible be more terrible, but somehow I found the strength to go on. Now...I do not know that I have any strength left.”

“That’s not true. If you had no strength left you wouldn’t have escaped Winterfell and found your way to the Wall. You’re stronger than you realise. I think when we faced with the greatest hardships, we all come to realise that.”

“Did you?”

Jon sighs. “I never expected to endure what I have or for the course of my path to go in the direction it has.”

“That’s not answering the question.”

“I do not feel particularly strong at present but I’m still here nonetheless, so I suppose... yes.”

“Don’t you wonder how much we can take? How much pain we can suffer before we are broken beyond repair? Sometimes I feel I already am.”

“I do too,” Jon admits. “Since I was brought back I feel backwards, as though the pieces of me have been stitched together wrong.” It is the first time he has ever spoke of this with anyone. It’s uncomfortable and unnatural, but also liberating. As a man, he is expected to conceal all weakness but there are times when he so desperately wants to surrender to it. “I am wrong. By the law of the gods, I should not be alive. Perhaps I’m not. As of late I barely feel I am living at all, more that I am a ghost inhabiting the body of my former self.”

Jon clears his throat and apologises, feeling shame and embarrassment for speaking this way to a lady.

“Do not apologise. We are family and that means we share everything.”

It was still strange to hear Sansa refer to Jon as family, since for so long he was considered an outsider and by Sansa most out of all of his siblings.

“Perhaps I’m a fool for believing it, but I think there is still hope for us yet.”

Jon smiles. “You may be right.”

Sansa props herself on her elbow and peers over the bed down at Jon. “Jon, can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“I heard-- Since I’ve been here I’ve overheard people speaking. It may be no more than gossip but, is it true you fell in love with a Wildling girl?”

Jon is not sure what he expected her to ask, but it wasn’t that. He stammers incoherently unsure of how to respond. Where to start with Ygritte? He has fought not to think of her lest speak of her since her death for the pain is still too great, but this is Sansa who is asking the question she he must tell her.

“Aye, it’s true.”

Sansa’s eyes widen in surprise. “What was her name?”

“Ygritte.”

“Ygritte,” Sansa repeats. “Where is she now?”

“Dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Jon shakes his head. “She fell in battle when the Wildlings stormed the castle, nothing could be done.”

“She--she fought against you?”

“Aye. She was Wildling to the bone, that one.” He cannot help the fond smile that comes across his face at the memory of her. As a crow, he should hate all Wildlings, but oh, how he loved her.

“And you--you broke your vows with her?”

“Aye.”

Silence falls upon the room and tension arises. Jon notices the fire is dwindling so goes to add more logs to it. As he returns to his makeshift bed he says, “It’s late, we should try to rest. When everyone rises at dawn sleep will be impossible.”

“Jon?” Sansa chimes as Jon rearranges the blankets on the floor. “I would be uncomfortable to see you sleep on the cold hard ground. There is room for both of us in the bed.”

Jon stares at her in disbelief. He has never shared a bed with any girl save Arya when they were children and knows that honorable men do not sleep beside women who are not their wives.

“Thank you, but I have slept in worse places,” Jon replies with a light laugh.

“Please,” Sansa says with conviction.

Jon hesitates for a moment more before agreeing. Sansa shifts along and pulls back the covers for him the climb in. They’re at opposite ends of the bed with Jon hanging off the end for fear of invading her space or disrespecting her. He cannot explain why, but he feels guilt as though he is doing wrong by lying in bed beside her. He reminds himself of the many times he has shared a bed with Arya, the many times Robb shared with Sansa and Bran with Arya and Sansa. It is what brothers and sisters do, it’s harmless. Yet that was when they were children and Jon and Sansa are children no longer.

“How did it feel?” Sansa asks.

“How did what feel?”

“To be with another person, to love them and have them love you in return.”

Jon remembers Sam asking him a similar question once. He found it difficult to provide him with an answer, but with Sansa it is ten fold. Though he has never been a true brother to Sansa he can sense this is not typically what brothers and sisters speak of, yet he can’t seem to stop himself indulging in it.

“It felt...different. Different than I imagined it would be.”

“Good different? I am sorry to ask but I--I know nothing of what it is to be touched by soft hands nor what it is to be loved. Ramsay took my maidenhead and he didn’t have the ability to love only hate. He couldn’t even find room in his heart to love his own wife, I was merely an object. A possession he owned and controlled, just like his horse.”

Sansa has barely spoken of what happened to her in their time apart, but each time she mentions it, it stirs a rage within him. He does not know when or how, but he will find a way to kill Ramsay, even if it is his final act before he falls.

“Ramsay Bolton is no man. He knows nothing of honour or respect. I shall kill him for what he did to you.”

“The day will come when he meets his fate,” Sansa simply replies.

Jon nods.

“All I wanted as a girl was to find love and be loved, truly loved by a gentleman both gentle and kind.”

Jon sighs softly, memories of the sweet and innocent Sansa he knew as a child returning to him.

“I thought I loved Joffrey once.” She scoffs. “I was just a stupid child. It was not Joffrey I loved, but the southern dream. The dream of marrying a prince and one day becoming a queen.”

“You were not wrong to want that.”

“Perhaps not, but if I hadn’t of insisted on going to Kings Landing all that happened wouldn’t have. I begged my mother to let me go.”

“It was not your fault. None of what you have suffered is your fault.”

“Do you know what is worst of all? Deep in my heart I still have that same dream. I still long for love, for happiness.”

“And you shall have it. All is not lost, Sansa. One day you will find a true prince, that will be utterly devoted to you and treat you with the kindness and care that you deserve.”

Jon hears Sansa inhale deeply. “What if it’s not a prince I want?”

Jon gulps and a sudden tension erupts between them. Throughout their conversation, they have been laid side by side looking up at the ceiling and when Jon turns his head to look at her, her eyes are already on him. They glisten in the fire light, a deep, beautiful ocean blue and though he’s inexperienced in the ways of love, he recognises the look in her eyes. It is the way Ygritte used to look at him. It always used to set his heart racing and it does now.

A voice inside his head screams at him to leave the room, to bid her goodnight and return to his chambers, but he cannot ignore the pull between them. It’s as though they are bound by an invisible rope that is tightening and tightening.

Jon moves closer to Sansa and leans down, planting a gentle kiss on her lips. It’s soft and brief and Jon saw Catelyn kiss her sons on the mouth many times just like this when they were children. It is a comforting kiss between family. That is all it is.

But Jon finds it is not enough and he wants more. Sansa is gazing at him, her eyes intense and Jon seems to return to his senses, abruptly moving away from her. “We should get some rest. Goodnight, Sansa.”

With that Jon rolls to the far end of the bed, his back to Sansa. His attempt to deny his desires is pitiful, for if he truly meant not to act upon them he would leave the room.

Sansa shifts closer until the heat of her body is radiating against Jon’s back. His heart leaps in his chest at feeling her so close and he knows how wrong it is, but nonetheless he turns around to face her.

She’s so close he can feel her breath on his face. He summons enough strength to get out of the bed and announces, “I think I should return to my own room.”

Ghost wakes and Jon instructs him to stay, before making a bee-line for the door. Sansa crawls across the bed and grabs his hand.

“Jon, please don’t go. I don’t think I could bear to be alone tonight.”

“Ghost will protect you more than I or anyone else could.”

“He will, but I still want you to stay.”

“Then we will sleep.”

Sansa nods and Jon relents, climbing back under the covers. Sansa rolls until her back is to him and Jon closes his eyes willing sleep to take him.

Beneath the covers Sansa’s hand finds his and she brings it to her waist. It catches him off-guard and his breathing ceases.

“I want you to touch me,” Sansa whispers.

For a moment Jon is certain he has fallen asleep and this is his twisted mind dreaming up dark fantasies. But when she turns around to face him, he realises he’s not dreaming and this is reality.

Jon removes his hand from her quickly.

“Sansa, you need to stop this. You don’t know what you are saying. You are afraid and confused and exhausted. You need to rest and--”

“I know what I want,” she insists, her tone firm.

“It’s wrong. I am your brother, it is my duty to honor and respect you.”

“I don’t care that it is wrong, I want this. I need this.”

Jon can see how serious she is but still cannot comprehend how she can be asking this of him.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want to feel. I want to be touched. I want to feel desired and loved.”

All night Sansa has spoke of her longing for love, and as much wants her to have the love and devotion she’s asking for more than anything, as her brother he knows he cannot be the one to provide it.

“And as I said, you will be, but not by me.”

Sansa shakes her head and tears fill her eyes as she pulls away from him.

“It’s not because you’re not beautiful, because you are. Sansa, you are...” When her gaze returns to him all words leave him. She really is beautiful. In fact, he cannot recall ever having seen a woman so beautiful.

Sansa kisses him and though it is as brief as the first, it stirs inexplicable emotions in Jon.

“I do not think I could forgive myself,” Jon breathes, it taking every bit of strength he has to resist her.

“There would be nothing to forgive. I am a woman grown, Jon. I am no longer a girl.”

Jon knows that to be true. He has noticed her blossoming womanhood since her arrival at Castle Black, much as he’s tried not to. He cannot fail to notice it now even more so with her laid so close to him, only the thin layer of her nightdress covering her naked flesh. He can see her erect nipples poking through and is overwhelmed with a desire to lick them and suck them.

Should Catelyn Stark be looking down upon him right now she would strike him where he lay, as would their father.

Sansa strokes Jon’s face tenderly and he closes his eyes, sinking into her soft touch. “You do not know what you ask of me,” Jon whispers, tortured.

“Nobody need ever know, only you and I.”

Jon breathes in deeply, an internal battle waging within him.

“Do you--do you want to touch me?” Sansa asks.

The question causes a lump to form in Sansa’s throat, as she anxiously awaits his response. She notices his dark eyes lustfully and longingly sweeping over her body and when he meets her gaze she says, “You do,” she says. “I can see it in your eyes.”

She traces her hand up his arm and leans closer, until the smell of lavendar and sweetness is filling him.

“Show me Jon. Show me how it feels to be touched by gentle and kind hands, to be kissed by a true gentleman. Show me what it is to be loved.”

They regard each other silently for a couple of minutes, their eyes searching each other.

“I trust you.” Sansa brings Jon’s hand to her breast and he can no longer ignore the hardness in his trousers or his body’s deepest desires. He kisses her, hard and fast, causing them both to let out a moan of elation.

It lasts only a moment until Jon pulls away again, his conscience returning to him.

“Do not stop. Never stop,” Sansa says pulling him back to her breathlessly.

All of Jon’s resolve and morality leaves him in an instant and all he cares for is to show her every ounce of passion and desire he has for her. He kisses her slowly and fervidly, his mouth soft against hers and his tongue only lightly tracing across hers.

Sansa has never felt anything like it before. She’s seen many lords husbands kiss their lady wives, but she had never expected it to feel this way. Her entire face is tingling and her body reacts to the feel of his hot tongue and scratch of his beard on her skin.

She takes his hand and slides it underneath her nightdress and up to her bare breast.

Jon’s eyes fly wide open in shock. “Sansa...” he breathes, panic in his eyes.

Sansa holds his hand against her and nods eagerly until Jon begins to massage them gently in his hands.

“That feels good,” Sansa tells him, making Jon feel a sense of pride. “I want more, show me more,” she breathes, sitting up and taking off her nightdress.

Jon looks down upon her doubtfully.

“Jon. I am not made of glass. I give you leave to do whatever pleases you.”

“You will say if you want me to stop?”

“Yes.”

Jon lies down on top of her and kisses her briefly, before sucking her ear lobes, kissing and sucking her neck and making a gradual trail down her body. Sansa is afraid Jon will be disgusted by the ugly scars left by Ramsay’s cruelty, but feels him place feather-like kisses on each of them, melting the pain of each one into dust.

She cannot believe a mouth against her skin feels so good. Ramsay never took the time to use his mouth. He never took the time to do anything. He entered her and with a few violent and hard thrusts would spill into her, before leaving her curled up in a ball trembling and in pain.

In this moment there is not a single ounce of pain. Her entire body is radiating warmth and she keeps her eyes closed, soaking in every single sensation that Jon’s tongue and mouth evoke.

Sansa’s skin is pale and soft and clean and sweet and Jon’s cock pulsates in his trousers as being able to feel her beneath him in this way. He plays with her breasts which she seems to enjoy immensely and still he cannot believe this is happening.

Sansa feels a strange sensation at her center that she has never felt before. A tingling sensation paired with an occasional throb, and the closer Jon moves south, the more intense it becomes. She doesn’t understand what’s happening or why, but she can’t stop herself from winding her fingers into Jon’s hair and pushing his head further down.

The second she feels Jon’s mouth make contact with her through her underwear she lets out a gasp. Jon jerks his head up to look at her.

“Are you okay?”

She nods. She’s more than okay, she just never expected to have a man’s head between her legs, least of all Jon’s.

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure.”

Jon bows his head back down and reaches for the waistline of Sansa’s underwear, all the while, his eyes on hers. She watches as her underwear slides down her legs and Jon discards it on the floor.

Jon’s eyes fall to her center, the red patch of hair curly with wetness and her folds glistening with juices.

Sansa feels a flush of embarrassment take her over at Jon seeing her so close, of smelling her so close and her insecurity makes her want to close her legs. However, there’s an overriding need that she cannot ignore that and she allows Jon push her legs farther apart and sink between them, until his mouth is on her.

Jon makes one slow lick through her folds and Sansa’s body jerks, a gasp of surprise leaving her. He looks back up to her face to ensure this is still what she wants and she nods at him enthusiastically. Never in a million years did he ever imagine he would be able to have Sansa in this way nor did he realise just how desperately he’d been craving it. The tension that has been built between them in the days since they were reunited seem to have all led to this moment and Jon feels as though his body and soul are singing.

Jon kisses her tenderly, his tongue probing her gently and swirling around her folds. Sansa still feels a sense of embarassment and defensiveness to have Jon’s face pressed into her wetness, but as his tongue grows firmer her legs fall open and her body sinks into the mattress.

Ygritte sung her praises for the way Jon ravaged her with his tongue and mouth, but with Sansa he wants to give her even more. He wants to ensure that she gets all that she deserves. He wants to ease the pain and memories of endless nights of cruel and harsh hands and words. He wants her to know love, just as she dreamed of.

He still knows he should not be the one to be showing her, but now that he is, he realises he wants and needs this every bit as much as Sansa seems to. The broken pieces of his soul seem to be falling back into place and it feels life is returning to him once more.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers between licks.

Sansa bucks her hips in response to his words and slowly all her doubts, insecurities and fears melt away. He thinks she’s beautiful. Sansa did not realise how much she needed to hear that until he said it.

As her confidence begins to grow, Sansa moves against Jon’s face, wanting to feel the friction of him and the scratch of his beard.

“More,” she breathes. “Show me more.”

Jon hears her request and licks the erect nub at her center more fiercely, remembering how Ygritte loved that.

Though it embarrasses him to ask, Jon doesn’t want to do anything against Sansa’s will and asks, “Can I put a finger inside you?”

Sansa is surprised by so lost in pleasure that she nods without hesitation. Jon slowly slides his index finger inside her.

“Oh!” Sansa calls out.

Jon worries he has hurt her but then she adds, “Good, good.”

He puts his mouth back to her and cautiously begins to slide his finger in and out of her, careful to be as gentle as possible.

Sansa has never felt another man’s finger inside her and it feels just as odd and incredible as his mouth. When she asked Jon to show her what he knew, she hadn’t expected that he knew so much.

She’s so wet that Jon’s finger slides about clumsily and her insides seem to bloom as though they are craving for more.

“More,” Sansa asks again.

“What would you like?”

“Another finger.”

Jon obliges and slides another finger in with ease. Sansa bites her lip hard and nods frantically. “Yes, yes,” she gasps approvingly.

With his fingers inside her and his tongue on her, Sansa is overwhelmed with feelings the likes of which she never believed possible. She cannot comprehend how other-worldly she is feeling right now with her half-brother between her legs, her juices all over his mouth. It is wrong, it is forbidden, yet it is the most right thing she has ever felt.

Jon senses a change in her body as she begins to move with more urgency and groan more audibly. He worries that he will not be able to give her what she wants, what she deserves, but as he focuses his tongue on her sensitive nub and begins to pump his fingers into her, he feels her walls contract around his digits.

Sansa could not predict nor imagine what happens next as her entire being shoots into the stars, her core exploding and tightening around Jon’s fingers, as her entire body writhes uncontrollably. There is no room for shame or embarrassment as she cries out Jon’s name relentlessly, still crying, “More, more, more!”

Jon obliges and continues to pump in and out of her, until she suddenly contracts around him again, this time so intensely that he has to remove his fingers. The moment he does a gush of liquid flows out of her and onto his face. Jon’s eyes sting and he coughs and sputters, having been completely unprepared.

He looks up at Sansa, completely bewildered and stares on at her as she spasms on the bed, uncontrollable and inhuman moans coming from her. It is something he has never witnessed before, but it causes him immeasurable pleasure and joy.

When at last some semblance of consciousness returns to her, Sansa stares up at Jon who is on his knees hovering above her.

“What in Seven Hells was that?” Sansa breathes.

“I don’t know. I have never seen such a thing.”

“I have never-- I-- I cannot--” Sansa stammers unable to articulate her thoughts. “I did not think it was possible to feel that.”

Jon feels his heart burst with joy. Since the day he set eyes upon Sansa again all he has wanted to do is take her pain away and provide her with the happiness and love she so deserves, though he never expected to give it to her in this way.

“I’m sorry,” she says, embarrassed for the way she lost her grace and spilled all over Jon’s face. “It was-- I was very un-ladylike.”

Jon laughs. “There is nothing un-ladylike about you, Sansa. There never could be. I meant what I said before. You are always beautiful to me.”

Sansa pulls him down to her mouth and kisses him passionately. More brave now than before, she massages her tongue against his firmly. She can taste herself on his mouth as she kisses him, and though she would have expected to be disgusted by such a thing, she finds she enjoys it.

"Thank you, Jon.”

“You need not thank me.”

Jon cannot help the solemn expression that comes across his face.

“You do not feel guilt or shame for what we have done, do you?” Sansa asks.

“No. That’s why I hang my head. I feel no guilt nor shame any more.”

“Nor do I.”

“But I should,” Jon says.

“No, you shouldn’t. You should not feel any shame for what I have asked of you. You have done no wrong. You haven’t violated me nor done anything against my wishes.”

“I did not do what I did merely because you asked it of me.”

“You didn’t?” Sansa asks.

Jon shakes his head. “I did it because I... because of the love I bear you.”

Sansa parts her lips and wraps her hands around Jon’s neck. “You mean to say you love me?”

“Aye and it is not the love a brother should bear for his sister. It is against the natural law, the law of the gods.”

“Fuck it,” Sansa calls out with a gesutre of her hand.

Jon stares up at her, surprised to hear her curse in such a manner.

“Fuck what the law says or the gods, they cannot tell us what is pure and true in our hearts. You do not love where it is not wanted for I also love you.”

“You do?”

“I do,” Sansa nods, tracing her fingers across Jon’s cheek.

It was strange to say aloud the feelings they’ve held in their hearts but could not even admit to themselves.

The emotional intimacy of the moment seems to evoke stirrings in Jon and Sansa feels his hardness press against her stomach. She stares down at it and Jon covers his hands over his bulge as though he is ashamed.

“I’m sorry.”

Sansa shakes her head and brings his face to hers, until their eyes are locked. “Do not be sorry. For this is what lovers do.”

Sansa takes his hand away from his crotch and pulls his pants down until he’s free. Sansa has to suppress a gasp as she is greeted with Jon’s engorged cock that is bigger than she knew it was possible for a manhood to be.

Her nervousness returns to her as she realises how inexperienced and inadequate she is, but then she remembers that she is with Jon. With Jon she is safe and she is loved, and there is nothing for her to fear.

Looking him square in the eye she says, “Show me how you make love. I want you to make love to me, Jon Snow. I want you to make love to me gentle and slow and long until the sun rises.”

Jon does not need to be asked twice and lies Sansa gently down onto the mattress before filling her. It is in that moment they come to realise all of the hurts of their past have been healed, for in each other they are completely whole.