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What a Feeling to be a King Beside You

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“I’m a what?” Jon’s voice rang throughout the otherwise quiet Godswood. He looked down at his brother – or if what Bran had just was true, cousin – in disbelief. “I can’t be! I’m a Stark, I’m Ned’s son!”

“You’re still a Stark," Bran spoke simply. “The blood just comes from your mother rather than your father; all the same, Stark blood is still what runs through your veins. It is just that it is mixed with Targaryen blood as well.”

“I don’t want to be a Targaryen!” Jon shouted, a flock of birds startling from a nearby tree. “I am a Snow. I don’t want any other name, Stark or Targaryen.”

“But you’re not a bastard. Prince Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia Martell and married Lyanna Stark long before you were born. You are not Jon Snow, you are Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne,” Bran corrected the other man. He folded his hands in his lap to declare he was done with the conversation. “Samwell Tarly has found official documents for the marriage between your parents, as well as your birth. The choice to acknowledge your claim is your own.” Jon seethed and stormed away, cloak whipping behind him as he turned. He made his way in the main grounds of the castle and inside, heading straight for the royal chambers. There was only one person he wanted to talk to about this. He knocked on the door to the Lord’s chambers, waiting to hear the soft invitation before pushing through, barring the door behind him.

“Did you know?” he asked, voice still stiff and harsh as he rounded on his sister – no, he told himself, she was his cousin now. “Did you know about my mother?”

“Jon, what in seven hells are you speaking of?” Sansa asked, a little thrown by his tone. He had never been anything but soft and gentle to her. Yes, she had seen him boiling with anger more times than she could count but never had it been directed toward her. “I know nothing of your mother.”

“Bran just told me. Told me that my mother was Lyanna Stark,” he didn’t pause but he could still hear Sansa’s gasp of surprise. “And my father the crown prince Rhaegar.” He took a deep breath and looked over at Sansa hesitantly, unsure of what emotion he would find painted across her face. To his own surprise, she looked…relieved almost. “Sansa, I don’t know what this means. I shouldn’t be king in the North anymore, though. I am not truly of the North.’

“Don’t you dare say that,” Sansa scolded and moved closer to him. She cupped his downturned face in her hand and guided him to look her in the eyes. “I do not care for whoever spilled his seed in your mother as he is not your father. If what Bran says is true, he was probably dead before you were born. What matters is the man who raised you and that was Eddard Stark. You were raised in the North as a Stark and that is who you are, Targaryen blood be damned.” She finished her speech as Jon lifted his hand to wrap his fingers around the wrist that held him.

“But how am I supposed to lead a kingdom that I have no claim to?” he dared to step closer to Sansa, their bodies almost flush against each other.

“You were not given the North because it was your birthright, you were elected King because you are a good ruler. The Lords and Ladies chose you and they will continue to do so, even if your parentage is revealed. Besides, there is nothing Targaryen inside you. You look every bit a Northmen as any of them, probably more so, and fire can harm you,” she brushed the fingers of her free hand over his own gloved one where she knew the burn he suffered years ago was hidden. “You are King of the North, Jon Snow. Act like it.”

Perhaps it was her use of his bastard name, the name that was made king, but he nodded. “You’re right Sansa, you’re always right. I am sorry.” He sighed and looked down once more, letting his hand fall from its grip on hers.

“You should know that by now,” Sansa said, teasing obvious in her tone. “I am your sister.”

“Not anymore. You are my cousin now,” Jon turned his gaze back at her and his breath hitched, noticing the fire in her eyes. “And to be fair, we never really acted like siblings, did we?”

“No, we did not,” Sansa agreed, hand still holding his face, keeping them close. “We weren’t close, not like myself and Robb or you and Arya. We acted as though we barely knew one another sometimes.” Jon nodded and rested his hand on Sansa’s waist.

“And when you came to me, at Castle Black, we did not act as siblings then either,” his voice was quiet, Sansa only barely able to hear him. “Sansa…”

“I want you Jon,” she said boldly, keeping their eyes locked. “I’ve wanted you since you held me in your arms for the first time, probably in our whole lives. I’ve wanted you since you promised to protect me, promised that he wouldn’t ever touch me again. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“I’ve wanted you as well,” he confessed. “Seeing you after so many years, I saw how beautiful you really are. But Sansa, I do not just want you. I love you and I have loved you since you sat by the fire with me and brushed Ghost’s fur. Since you taught me how to braid your hair and showed me how to properly pull my own back to keep it from my face. I have loved you since that gate opened and I knew what home felt like again.” Sansa was weeping softly and silently, a few tears rolling down her cheeks as she listened to his declaration.

“I love you too, Jon,” she whispered, not wanting to break the intimacy of the moment. “I have loved you for so long. Since you offered to steal me away. Take me somewhere no one could ever hurt me again, as naïve as that thought was, it was the first time in years that someone has offered to do something for me to protect me. And I loved you for it. And ever since you have just made it harder and harder to stay away. Father once promised to find me a match who is kind and gentle and strong, and that is what you are Jon. You are everything Father would have wanted for me. I was too scared to say anything though. You were my brother and I your sister, nothing good would have come from that union. But now we are not. We are merely cousins.”

“We are,” Jon nodded. “It would seem that is the only good thing to come from the truth of my parents. We no longer to feel guilt or hide our feelings from one another.” He paused for a long moment and stared into her eyes. “Sansa? May I kiss you?” he asked, biting his lip nervously. Sansa nodded, glancing down at Jon’s lips before he began to lean in, soon pressing his dry, chapped lips to her wet ones. She had never been kissed like this. With Joffrey it aggressive and a show of dominance, he wanted to prove he owned her. With Petyr, it was a show of power. He had control of how safe she was and if she would ever return home so he could take what he wanted. With Ramsey, it was cruel and nothing more than another way to hurt her but this – this kiss was what she dreamed of as a little girl, the kind of kiss that had songs written and curses broken. This kiss was filled with nothing but love and want and passion and gentleness. Jon pulled away once the need to breathe became too much and he looked her over, panting slightly. “Are you alright?”

“More than, Jon,” she said softly and brought him back to her, kissing him once more. This time she wrapped an arm around his neck and one of his snaked around her back, holding her tight against his form. “J-Jon,” she gasped as he moved his lips to her jawline. “Please, Jon.”

“Tell me what you want, sweetling,” he rasped, pulling off to look at her. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

“I know. I want you though, Jon. All of you,” she tangled her fingers in the hair against his neck. “I know you won’t hurt me and I know you’ll care for me. I’m not a maiden, Jon, you know that. but I have never had someone in my bed that loves me.”

“Now you will,” he said and brought their lips together again. This time it was less gentle, the kind of kiss Sansa’s maids whispered about when they thought she couldn’t hear. Sansa pressed herself against Jon as much as she could, their bodies aligning together. She moved her hands to his shoulders and pulled off the cloak he wore, the same cloak she made him all those months ago before they had retaken Winterfell, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. She ran her hands over his doublet next, pulling at the belt until it was loosened enough that he could pull it over his head as well.

“You’re beautiful,” Sansa blurted, looking at Jon carefully. “I used to think that golden princes were the epitome of magnificence but you have changed my mind, Jon Snow. I much prefer the dark Northmen now.” Jon chuckled and kissed her lightly.

“Thank you, my love, but you might not think the same when you see me fully. I have suffered many injuries over the years and a number of them have left their mark,” he said sadly, looking at her like that might make her change her mind.

“And you do not think that I do not have my own marks as well?” Sansa countered. “You are beautiful, Jon, scars included.”

“Then you are as well, sweetling,” Jon grinned, pulling at the laces of her dress slowly. He was not so concerned with undressing her as he was with pleasuring her and making this night, her first night to truly lie with a man, a good one. Sansa shuddered as her dress slowly fell away from her body as Jon undid the laces. She pulled her arms from the sleeves as it pooled at her waist, revealing the warm woolen shift she wore underneath. Jon’s breath hitched and he watched as she shimmied and then stepped out of her gown, leaving her only in her shift.

“Please, Jon,” she whispered and kissed him again, pulling at his shirt. Jon broke away to tear the shirt off, throwing it over a chair. Sansa stopped breathing as she looked at his chest, the scars from his brother’s betrayal prominent on his fair skin. She carefully reached out and ran her fingers over the one on his chest. “Jon…”

“I know. But I’m here now and I’m with you. And I’ll never let anything or anyone hurt you again,” he kissed her bare shoulder, wrapping his arms around her body completely to hold her to him, keep her close. “You’ve seen my scars now. Can I see yours?” Sansa nodded and took a deep breath. She grabbed it around her hips and bunched up the fabric before pulling it over her head, draping it over the same chair his shirt rested on. She couldn’t dare to look at Jon’s face as he observed her body and the different ways it was damaged. She had marks all over from Joffrey back when she was still in King’s Landing, but Ramsey had done most damage to her back and thighs, cutting her deep and whipping her hard enough to leave lasting scars.

“Jon?” she whispered after what she felt was an overly long silence, peeking up at him.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said roughly, glancing up to meet her eyes. “You are. And I’m the luckiest man in all the seven kingdoms,” that made her blush and he smiled when he saw her cheeks color. He stepped closer and settled his hands on the bare skin of her waist. Her hair fell perfectly over her shoulders, covering her breasts in a way that made her all the more enticing. He stepped back, bringing Sansa with him, until he was sat on her bed with her standing between his spread legs. This put him level with her chest and he couldn’t resist, leaning in to nuzzle the valley between. She gasped as the course hair of his beard scratched her delicate skin and her hands immediately made their way to his head, fingers threading into his hair. “Can I?”

“Yes,” she whispered, looking down at the man, whimpering softly as she felt his lips on her, moving over to her right teat until he finally took her nipple into his mouth, suckling much like a babe would. Sansa cried out in pleasure, no man had ever done this before. She had been beaten on her chest but they had never been used to give her pleasure. Her noises only encouraged Jon, who doubled his efforts and sucked a bit harder, being careful to only just scrape his teeth along her nipple. “Jon!” she cried out as he pulled off, looking up at her. His cock was straining against his breeches but he wanted to make her feel good.

“Can I kiss you somewhere else?” he asked. Sansa panted as she looked down at him.

“Kiss me where?” she questioned, not knowing what he meant. Instead of a verbal answer, Jon moved his hands up her thighs to her smallclothes, settling at the sides with his thumbs rubbing gently over the center, over her center. She gasped a little and her cheeks tinted pink, from both the placement of his hands and the realization of what he was asking. “I-I didn’t know that was something men liked to do.”

“It might not be,” he admitted. “But it’s something I like to do. Will you let, my lady?” Sansa’s cheeks darkened at the title and after a moment she nodded. Jon smiled up at her and stood, kissing her as he turned them around so he could lay her back on the bed. Once she was flat on her back, her bright hair standing out against the white of the linens on the bed, he tucked his thumbs into her smallclothes and dragged them down her legs. When she was finally completely bare to him, he let himself look her over and take her in, the curve of her exposed breasts, the dip of her stomach, and the red thatch of curls over her sex.

“Jon,” Sansa said quietly, squirming slightly under his gaze. His eyes snapped up to meet hers and he laughed lightly.

“Like I said, sweetling, the most beautiful,” he gripped her thighs and slowly spread them, watching her for any signs of discomfort. When he found none, he laid on his stomach between her legs and wrapped his arms around her thighs to pull her to him. He groaned when the scent of her hit him, grinding his hips into the bed below him. Sansa forced herself to lay flat on the bed, keeping Jon from her eyesight as she knew if she let herself watch what he was doing, she would be too embarrassed to let him continue. She had never even heard of a man kissing a woman there, not from her maids or during her own time as a bastard when people didn’t care how they spoke of in front of her. However, all thoughts left her head as soon as she felt his tongue against her for the first time. She let out an unexpected wail, hands flying up to cover her mouth.

“Jon, oh Gods,” she gasped, chest heaving as he continued to lick and nip at her, staying away from the nub that he knew would affect her the most. He kept his eyes open to watch her reactions as he pushed his tongue inside her cunt shallowly, licking at her feverishly. He had never tasted anything sweeter, though there was still a slight hint of musk that he couldn’t get enough of. He wanted to keep his head here forever, keep his mouth buried between her thighs until his last day and die the happiest man. He kept licking at her, sucking her nether lips and swallowing down her wet. He listened to her carefully, to all her pants and moans and whimpers for him to keep going, that she was close. With that knowledge, Jon finally moved his mouth up just so and sucked the sweet spot that made her scream as she reached her peak, the sound muffled in the pillow next to her head. Jon sat up, kneeling between her legs as he watched her come down, laying limp against the bed.

“Was that the first time?” Jon asked once Sansa’s breathing had regulated again. “That you’ve…finished, I mean?” she nodded her answer and pushed herself up into a sitting position.

“It was amazing, I did not know I could feel so good,” she blushed as she spoke, not meeting his eyes. “Mother and Septa Mordane and even Cersei have always told me that it is my duty to my husband to make him feel good, they never spoke anything of the same for the woman.”

“I will always make sure you feel like that, Sansa,” Jon promised, kissing her sweetly.

“There will be more of this?” Sansa chanced to glance at him. He nodded quickly.

“As long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here.” Sansa smiled at that and kissed him, pulling him down so he was laying over top of her and she could feel where he was hard against her thigh. She looked at him with wide eyes, disconnecting their lips.

“I want you,” she whispered. “I want you inside me, Jon, please. I want to know how it feels when it’s someone who loves me.” Jon could only nod. He sat up again and began unlacing his breeches, pushing them down to his thighs and awkwardly slipping out of them to throw them to the floor. Sansa’s eyes were on his cock, lips parted slightly. Jon let her, keeping still in front of her. She reached out after a moment and wrapped her hand around the base of him, squeezing just so. Jon grunted and closed his eyes as he focused on not moving, wanting to let Sansa go at her pace. Sansa bit her lip and released him, moving her hand up to Jon’s shoulder to bring him down, kissing him soundly. Jon kissed back, letting one hand lay flat on the bed to hold him up and the other falling to her waist, fingers tightening slightly.

“Sansa,” Jon started, speaking her name against her lips before using his hand to push against the mattress to flip them over so he was on his back under Sansa as he used the hand that held her to bring her around as well. “Sweet girl, I figured you would be more comfortable if you had the control.” Sansa trembled above him before nodding slowly. She was sat on his stomach and he could feel her wet against his skin.

“I don’t know how though,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Don’t worry about that, it’ll come to you,” he assured her, sitting up so she slid back to his hips, arse cradling his cock. “Just do what feels good.” Sansa nodded and rose up on her knees, reaching under herself to gently grab Jon’s length and line it up with her entrance before slowly sinking down, using a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. Once she had completely sheathed him inside her, she bit her lip and began rocking her hips, whining high in her throat. Jon groaned and buried his face between her teats, sucking and biting the skin there to leave a mark, one that was made from pleasure and not pain. He squeezed her hips where his hands lay, holding himself back from just fucking up into her. She was so tight and wet and warm around his cock and Jon didn’t think he had ever felt this good, not by himself and not even with Ygritte. He opened his eyes and looked up at Sansa, at the way she panted, the way her hair was matted to the sides of her face with sweat but flowed freely down to where he was, pressed between their bodies. He watched how her brow furrowed more the longer she rode him and as her peak grew nearer.

“Jon!” Sansa gasped as the man in question met her hips with a short thrust, jolting her on top of him. “Again, do it again,” she demanded and moaned as he repeated the action. He moved inside her quickly, dropping one hand between them to rub her. As he fucked up into her and she fell down onto him, her breasts bounced so temptingly he had to attach his mouth to her nipple, Sansa crying out above him as she finally reached her peak, Jon following not long after as he spilled inside her. Sansa fell against him, panting heavily as he laid back on the bed and rolled them onto their sides, pulling out of her slowly.

“How do you feel, sweetling?” he asked quietly, trailing his fingers over the side of her face.

“Tired,” she giggled, looking over at him. “But very, very happy.” Jon smiled back and leaned in to kiss her. “And how do you feel?” Sansa asked once they broke apart.

“Loved,” he muttered against her skin, pressing his lips to her neck. “Content, sated. You are everything I need Sansa, and now I have you. And you have me.” He kissed her one last time before she drifted off to sleep, safe in his arms.

The next weeks continued much the same as they did before the reveal of Jon’s parentage and his and Sansa’s confessions, except now Jon and Sansa shared the Lord’s Chambers and he was inside her every chance they got. They coupled most nights and, on a few occasions, during the day in stolen moments together. The King was visibly happier and the Lady of Winterfell smiled at every servant she came across instead of her usual icy facade. They kept up their affair for almost two moons turns before Jon received a raven from Daenerys Targaryen, telling him to come bend the knee or suffer the consequences. Sansa, at the same time, received a raven from her former lord husband telling her it would be most beneficial to the North to claim the Dragon Queen as their rightful queen and help her and the North fight the war against Cersei. Jon had been set on staying in Winterfell until Sam had come to him with the news that her keep, Dragonstone, sat on a mountain of dragon glass.

“Do you think I should go?” Jon asked Sansa that same night as they laid together, naked under the furs. “We’ll need all the dragon glass we can get to fight the dead, and if I could convince her to fight with us, they wouldn’t stand a chance against her dragons.”

“Except she’s telling you to meet her so you can bend the knee. And no good has ever come from a Stark man going south,” Sansa explained.

“But I’m not just a Stark now, I’m her nephew that she probably doesn’t even know exists,” Jon sighed. “Sweetling, I think I need to go. We need the dragon glass and her dragons if we even want to have a chance to win this war. Cersei is a problem that can be dealt with after.”

“I know. I don’t want you to leave and never return. What if she decides to burn you as soon as you refuse to bend?” Sansa sighed and leaned her head against Jon’s.

“I’ll come back to you, I promise. I will always come back to you, my love,” Jon kissed her sweetly, pulling her flush to him. Sansa nodded and curled close.

“I’ll have your things prepared for you tomorrow,” Sansa said, tucking her head in Jon’s neck. “Who will you bring with you?”

“Davos and just a few men. Bringing half an army might seem like a threat. We’ll also be able to travel faster the less men I bring.”

“And who will lead the North in your stead if you’re taking Davos?” Sansa asked.

“You of course,” Jon chuckled. “Who else would it be?”

After a long six weeks, Jon and his small company finally arrived at Dragonstone to meet with the Dragon Queen. As they made their way up to the castle, Jon walked with Tyrion, speaking with him for the first time in years.

“And Sansa? I hear she’s alive and well?” Tyrion asked as they began their long trek the steps up to the keep.

“She is,” Jon said, eyeing the Imp a bit suspiciously.

“Does she miss me?” he japed, looking up at Jon. The other man wore a dark expression as he glared at Tyrion. “A sham marriage. And unconsummated.”

“I didn’t ask,” Jon sneered quickly. “Her second marriage didn’t end up so.” They made the rest of the way up in silence and Jon was led into the throne room with Davos at his side. His breath caught when he saw the Dragon Queen. She was beautiful, there was no denying it, but the way she sat on her throne and looked down at him…something didn’t quite sit right with Jon. After Missandei’s introduction and Davos’s returning one, and Daenerys’s long-winded history lesson, Jon had had enough.

“No, Your Grace, I am not here to bend the knee,” he said politely. “And before we continue, there is something you should know. About your brother Rhaegar.” That had Daenerys sitting up further in her throne.

“What do you mean there is something I should know?” she asked, fire in her voice.

“Lyanna Stark, Rhaegar did not steal her as the stories tell. They ran away together and married in secret. I have the documents proving it to be true.” Daenerys gripped the arms of the throne until her knuckles turned white.

“And why is that of any meaning to me?” she fought to keep her voice steady but Jon could tell her temperament was close to getting the better of her.

“Because, Your Grace,” he said, looking back at Davos for a moment to gather the courage. “Their union resulted in a child.”

“And, pray tell, who is this child?” Daenerys seethed, keeping her face as calm as she could, but her body was tensed.

“Me, Your Grace,” Jon said simply. “My true name is Jaehaerys Targaryen.” He ignored the looks Tyrion, Varys, and the rest of the queen’s entourage was giving him. “I was raised Eddard Stark’s bastard and until two moons’ past I did not know the truth myself and to this day, only three people besides the ones standing in this room are the ones who know.”

“Who are these other three people who know?” Tyrion asked as Daenerys looked over the papers Davos had handed over proclaiming the marriage and Jon’s birth.

“My sis-” Jon stopped himself. He still had not grown used to calling Bran and Sansa his cousins, no matter what he and Sansa did together. “My cousins, Sansa and Bran. Bran is the one who told me of my true lineage, and Sam Tarly. He was in Old Town at the citadel training to be a maester when he found the documents confirming it.” Everyone was silent, waiting for Daenerys to respond.

“You are my nephew then?” she stated, looking up at him. He nodded minutely. “I thought all my family to be dead. I wish to reconvene in an hours’ time,” she stood and left immediately. Jon let out a sigh and turned back to Davos.

“Jon Snow,” Tyrion said from behind him and Jon turned, facing him. “You did not come to bend the knee, nor to find your long-lost aunt. Why is it you’re here?”

“There is an Army of the Dead,” Jon said defiantly. “They are north of the wall but they will soon not be. They are a threat to everyone living in Westeros and they need to be defeated before they can reach us.”

“You understand how ridiculous that sounds, don’t you?” Tyrion asked.

“Aye, I do.” An hour later Daenerys had come to Jon and asked him to relinquish any claim he had to the Iron Throne before she would even consider listening to his proposal. Once he did, they spoke of what he wanted and he told her all about the Army of the Dead.

“Tell me, Jon Snow,” Daenerys spoke up in the middle of their discussion. “If you need my help as much as you say you do, why do you not just bend the knee?” Jon was quiet for a moment.

“The North remembers, Your Grace, they remember what your father did my grandfather and uncle. They remember and they want no part in it. The North has always thrived when it is independent, southron rulers do not know the needs of the North. The North wants its independence and I will give my life making sure that happens.”

“And who is ruling in the North if both the King and his hand are here meeting with me?” she asked, almost condescendingly. “Which Lord did you choose to rule over your entire kingdom while you were away?”

“I chose no lord, Your Grace, my cousin, the Lady of Winterfell is acting in my place until I return.” The rest of their discussion didn’t prove to be fruitful for Jon. Daenerys was stubborn and refused to help him fight an enemy she didn’t truly believe existed. Over the next several weeks as he was held captive – no matter what anyone told him he knew he was prisoner on the island – he slowly tried to convince Daenerys to side with him and aid him in the fight against the Others. She found him one day as he stood on a cliff watching the ocean below him, Varys by her side.

“Tyrion has told me much of your cousin, Sansa. He says they were once married,” she said, forgoing a greeting. Jon didn’t even look around.

“Tyrion knows nothing of who she is now. He knew her as a girl trapped in a lion’s den, she is a wolf.”

“You speak highly of her,” Daenerys commented. “Were you two close as children?”

“Quite the opposite, we barely spoke,” he revealed. “But she is still family. I would do anything for my family.”

“I am also your family, Jon Snow,” Daenerys said a bit scathingly. “I am your aunt. Would you not do anything for me?”

“No offense, Your Grace but I did not even you existed until a few years past, and only known you were my blood for four moons,” he finally turned to look at her. “I will tell you again, I belong in the North. I am of the North before anything else, Stark or Targaryen.”

“My lord?” Varys spoke up, speaking to Jon directly for the first time. “May I ask how you became King in the North?” Jon looked over to the Spider.

“I was elected after my cousin and I took back Winterfell from the Bolton’s,” he said curtly.

“You don’t sound like you wanted the title,” Varys observed.

“That’s because I didn’t. They elected me so I will lead but there are much better suited people to sit on the throne in the North.”

“And who might that be?” Daenerys asked, almost sounding hopeful, thinking he had come around to her ruling.

“Sansa. We would have lost the battle without her and she is the trueborn Stark. But the North elected me and I will do my best to serve them. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he nodded and walked past them, heading back up to the keep.

“Varys?” Daenerys asked. “Do you know if Jon Snow has a lover in the North? One that is keeping him so tied to it?”

“I do not, Your Grace. I will find out for you,” he said, looking over at his queen.

“Please do.”

Chapter Text

Sansa knew something was wrong when she missed her moon blood twice, though she suspected she knew what was affecting her body. She and Jon had not been careful in their coupling, he almost always spending inside her.

“Am I correct in my suspicions?” she asked Bran as she sat on the stone bench in the Godswood next to Bran, confined in his wheeled chair.

“You are,” he nodded. “It was the night you were together here, against the Heart Tree, actually.”

“Bran-” Sansa’s cheeks colored pink.

“Don’t worry. I did not watch,” he smiled at her. “You are still my sister after all.” Sansa glanced over at him and giggled.

“You are to be an uncle then. How do you feel about it?” she asked, moving one hand to cover her still flat stomach under her cloak.

“Excited. I will never have children of my own but I will be honored to know yours and watch them age,” Bran said, reaching over to take Sansa’s free hand. “Perhaps you should ask Arya next.”

“Arya?” Sansa gasped. “She’s alive?”

“She is. She’ll be here within the fortnight,” he said. Sansa beamed and squeezed Bran’s hand.

“Soon all our family will be home again. You and me and Arya and Jon. All the Starks left will finally be home in Winterfell,” she said dreamily. She had never thought she would see any of her siblings for so long and now they will all be back.

“Yes, with another Stark on the way,” Bran corrected. “And I’m sure that you and Jon will do a wonderful job of restoring the Stark name.”

“Thank you, Bran. And yes, the four of us and one more on the way,” she sighed and looked over to her brother. “We cannot tell anyone, Bran. I am not wed and no one knows Jon to be anything but my bastard brother. I can’t even tell Jon; a raven is too likely to be intercepted.”

“You’re right, you must wait until he returns to see for himself. Will you tell Arya?” he asked.

“Yes. She will want to know and I don’t want to keep it from her. As for the Lords and Ladies…I will tell them my child was father by a wolf. It is not the exact truth but not quite a lie either,” Sansa reasoned. “Do you think that is wise?”

“Yes. We cannot tell them of Jon’s heritage until he returns and they cannot know you two are lovers until they know that. They will know in time and I believe they will happy. The Stark’s will rule over the North and have an heir,” Bran said, smiling softly. “They will be happy because their King and Queen are good and just rulers.”

“There you are, my Lady,” a voice sounded from behind them. They both turned to look to see who had joined them, Sansa holding back a sigh when she saw it was Littlefinger.

“Yes, Lord Baelish, was there something you needed?” she said politely, giving him her best courtly smile.

“Yes, I was hoping we could speak privately,” just his voice grated on her.

“Of course, Lord Baelish,” she stood and kissed Bran’s head before walking over to Littlefinger. Once they were a distance away from her brother, she chanced a look at the Lord Protector of the Vale. “What did you wish to speak about?”

“Your brother, well half-brother,” Littlefinger corrected himself. “He has been in Dragonstone for two weeks now and, based on his ravens, has not come any closer to convincing the Dragon Queen to aid the North.”

“I am well aware, Lord Baelish, is there a reason you are bringing it up?” Sansa asked, working hard to keep the malice from her voice. She knew what Petyr wanted from her and now that she knew she was carrying Jon’s babe, she was beginning to lose all patience for the man.

“With it taking so long, he might be considering giving up the North to her, he is desperate for a way to win against this army north of the Wall,” Littlefinger said. Sansa rolled her eyes discretely.

“Jon is our King, he will do what he knows will be best for the North and he knows that that means not bending the knee to a southron queen,” Sansa said confidently. “He was elected King for a reason.”

“Well, of course! But sometimes people don’t make the best decisions under pressure or in time constraints. Jon had just defeated Ramsey and the people of the North were quivering for a leader, they did not give themselves time to think over their options.”

“Lord Baelish, I appreciate the concern you are showing for my people, but they are in the best hands with Jon as King. He is the North’s King and he is my King, and he always will be. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to the needs of my people,” Sansa nodded gracefully and walked away, leaving Littlefinger behind to watch her warily.

Over the next three moons’, Jon works tirelessly to convince Daenerys to go North to help the North fight the Others. He told her of what he had seen beyond the Wall in great detail and what Sam had done. When that didn’t work he thought of Sansa and what she would do. He then began to just speak to the queen, tell her bits and pieces of himself and ask for the same in return. He told her of how he helped the Wildlings and of Ygritte. She in turn, told him of her late husband Drogo and how she came to lead the Dothraki and the Unsullied. He noticed that she began to seek him out more on her own, tell her more of herself, and ask him questions instead of responding to his. Finally, on the day Jon received a raven from Sansa that Littlefinger was starting to convince the Northern lords that perhaps Jon had been the wrong choice, Jon came to Daenerys’s strategy room.

“Your Grace, I need to return home,” he said tersely.

“And why is that?” she asked, Varys and Tyrion turning to watch Jon as well as herself.

“My cousin Sansa, she needs me to return. A problem at home has gotten out of hand and needs to be dealt with. Your Grace, I will ask you one last time if you would join the North in fighting the Army of the Dead, but if your reply is no I ask that you let me leave and return home to Winterfell. You have my word that I will never fight you for the crown nor throne. But the North needs me, Sansa needs me,” he said a bit desperately, something both the Spider and Tyrion picked up on. Daenerys just observed him for a few moments.

“You may return to the North but we shall be accompanying you. Before I officially dedicate my help to you, I wish to see this army myself,” Daenerys stood, placing her hands on the table in front of her. “We shall leave first thing on the morrow. Tyrion, tell Missandei to coordinate everything for our travels.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Jon said, sounding very relieved. “I must go, I need to send a raven to Sansa telling her that we are on our way.” He bid them goodbye and quickly left the room, not noticing Daenerys watching him. Tyrion and Varys both stood and, after acknowledging their queen, left as well.

“You’ve told me that when you first visited Winterfell all those years ago, Jon Snow and Sansa seemed to be at odds with one another,” Varys said, looking down at Tyrion as they walked.

“And they were. Then. Things have changed and they have changed. They have both been through much. It would make sense that they would cling to the small family they have left,” Tyrion rationed.

“Of course, of course,” Varys nodded. “But the way Jon Snow speaks of his cousin…it seems very intimate. I am worried for our queen, you know she has grown fond of her nephew.”

“Yes, she has, hasn’t she?” Tyrion sighed.

Their journey back North passed painfully slowly to Jon. He spent each day on the ships pacing the length of the deck or reading any number of the books on board. He was anxious to get home and see Sansa and Bran again, and finally reunite with Arya. The day they arrived at White Harbor, he was first off the boat, sighing happily to be back in the North where he belonged.

“You seem enthusiastic to be back,” Tyrion observed as he followed Jon down the docks.

“I am. It’s less than a week’s ride back to Winterfell and then I will be with my family again,’ Jon said, keeping up his cold exterior.

“I am sure they will be glad to see you as well. Your younger sister, Arya, is back now as well?” Tyrion asked.

“Yes, she is. No one has known where she has been since Lord Stark’s beheading in King’s Landing,” Jon glanced down at Tyrion, noticing the Imp grimaced slightly.

“I am glad she is back,” is all he said before they were being lead off to the stables. For this trip North, they left the majority of Daenerys’s army back on Dragonstone, only bringing her most trusted warriors and advisors. Daenerys herself choosing to ride on Drogon most of the time. Once they were all saddled and ready to leave, Jon lead the party out of town on the road North to Winterfell.

They spent just five days traveling back to Winterfell, Jon pushing them all to ride faster and longer through the days, eager to get back to Sansa. As the south gates opened when they finally stood outside, Jon dismounted his horse, leading the mount in instead of riding in. He walked in slowly, looking around the courtyard. There were many servants and maids, bowing or curtsying to him but he took no notice. He finally spotted the bright red of her hair standing out against the white snow and dark stone.

“Sansa,” he muttered and let go of the reins of his horse, walking toward her slowly when he was suddenly slammed into forcefully, almost knocking him to the ground. He immediately recognized the small body as Arya. He smiled widely and lifted her off the ground, swinging her around. “Arya!”

“Jon!” she shouted in joy, clinging to him. They had always been close and it was so wonderful to see her again. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he whispered, holding her tight. Though he would never admit it to anyone, he felt a few tears roll down his cheeks. He let her down after a long moment and cupped her head, kissing her hairline. “Look at you, all grown up now.”

“You too,” she smiled. “You’ve got muscles and everything now.” Jon laughed and hugged her again as he looked over at Sansa. He could never forgot how beautiful she was but he was still taken aback by her. He watched her as she quickly wiped tears from her eyes and her hands went back to her swollen stomach and as soon as he noticed he froze where he stood. Though she was wearing a high-waisted gown that helped to conceal it, the bump was still apparent. He pulled away from Arya and made his way over to Sansa slowly. He stood in front of her, unable to take his eyes off her protruding stomach. Sansa giggled and wrapped her arms around him, tugging him as close as possible.

“Later,” she whispered in his ear. “When we’re alone.” He nodded weakly and embraced her, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. He felt like he could breathe again. When they finally broke their grasp on each other, he stepped back.

“I’m sorry for being so rude. Your Grace,” he turned to Daenerys, “this is my family. Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, Bran Stark, the three-eyed raven, and Arya Stark. This is Queen Daenerys Targaryen.”

“It is wonderful to meet you, Your Grace,” Sansa stepped forward and smiled politely at Daenerys, playing the perfect lady. “And I am honored to have you here in our home. I would be glad to show you to your chambers, and my maids can show the rest of your party to theirs. I know you have been traveling a long while.”

“Thank you, Lady Stark,” Daenerys said, returning the smile though her eyes would not leave the other woman’s bump. Jon had given no hint that his cousin was married or even interested in being so. “I would like to retire to my chambers to clean up before we dine tonight.”

“Of course, right this way,” Sansa began walking with Daenerys to the Great Keep. “Jon has told me much about you, Your Grace.”

“I wish I could say the same, but your cousin is quite secretive,” Daenerys said, looking around. She could not understand what Jon loved so much about this place, it was on the precipice of crumbling into nothing.

“Oh, don’t take mind to that, Your Grace. That’s just how Jon is, how he’s always been,” Sansa said. “He’s been one to keep to himself since I can remember.”

“Well, he’s kept plenty to himself. For instance, I was not aware you were with child,” Daenerys fought to keep her voice even.

“Oh, you really cannot blame him for not telling you that as he did not know himself. I only found out after he had already left,” Sansa tensed up slightly at the change of topic but kept herself as cool as possible.

“Oh. He told me you had gone through two marriages, one to my hand, but that you were currently unwed,” Daenerys explained.

“He was not lying. I am unwed,” Sansa said simply.

“If you don’t mind my asking, who is the father?” Daenerys prodded. She had noticed something between Jon and his cousin when they were reunited and she wanted to know the truth of their relationship.

“A wolf, Your Grace,” Sansa smiled. “These are your chambers. I’ll have a maid fetch you for supper.” With that Sansa turned and made her way up the stairs to her own chambers where she knew Jon would be waiting. Just as she expected, as soon as she barred the door behind her, his hands were on her waist, turning her to face him. His hair was pulled back but slightly longer than she remembered, but his lips were just as full and eyes just as dark. “I’ve missed you, my King.”

“As I have missed you,” Jon muttered. “When did you find out?” Sansa giggled and leaned in, kissing him softly in greeting.

“About two moons’ after you left,” she whispered once they had parted. “Sam says the babe will take another three or four turns before they arrive.” Jon’s hands flew to her stomach and cradled it.

“I want to see it, and I want to see you, Sansa, please,” he said, looking up at her longingly. She nodded and slid her cloak off first, turning to allow Jon to undo the laces on her gown.

“I began wearing these as soon as I found out,” Sansa said. “It delayed the questions a bit.”

“And just what are you telling the lords and ladies?” Jon asked, pulling the laces loose to let the gown fall and pool just under her breasts. He helped her push it over the bump and step out of it. He laid it over the chair at her dressing table carefully.

“That my babe was fathered by a wolf,” she smiled at him. “I figured it was close enough to the truth without actually telling them it was you.” Jon laughed and kissed her shoulder as he undid the buttons on her shift.

“Who knows the real truth?”

“Sam, Bran, Brienne, and Arya,” Sansa said. “Bran is the one who confirmed it for me, Sam has known of our affair since the beginning, as has Brienne, and I did not want to keep this from Arya after finally getting her back.” Jon nodded and pulled the shift over her head, leaving her in just her smallclothes. He turned her around slowly and stared down at her swollen stomach.

“That’s my babe,” he muttered, hands holding her gently. “I got a babe in you. Sansa, we’re not wed. This babe will be a bastard.”

“No, it is not. This babe is a Stark and I’ll hear nothing else. We will wed eventually and no matter whether it is before or after the birth, it is a Stark,” Sansa said sternly, tilting Jon’s head up so he had to meet her eyes.

“You want to marry me?” Jon asked, voice cracking just a bit. Sansa bit her lip and nodded, having not even realized she had revealed her desire to call him her husband.

“Of course I do. I love you, Jon, and we are to have a child together,” Sansa said and smiled, kissing him again.

“I love you too,” he muttered against her neck as he moved his lips down. “And I will wed you. But first I must bed you, it has been far too long since my mouth has been on you.” Sansa nodded eagerly and pulled at the laces of his breeches, cloak and doublet discarded before she even entered the room.

“Yes please, Jon, I need you,” she gasped as he moved his mouth down to her teats, sucking a mark into the soft flesh there. “The babe has been making me wanton, I’ve had to bring myself to my peak.” Jon pulled off her immediately and stared at her. Her breath hitched as she saw the desire burning in his eyes.

“I want to watch,” he said. “I want you to lie in our bed and touch your cunt the way you do when you’re alone and I want you tell me what you think of.” Sansa complied and climbed onto their bed carefully, holding her stomach with one hand. She settled with her back against the pillows.

“Could you?” she asked, wiggling her hips. Jon moved to sit in front of her and gripped the band of her smallclothes, bringing them down her legs to drop them off the side of the bed and onto the stone floor.

“Now, touch yourself, my Lady,” Jon all but ordered, eyes trained on her exposed mound. Sansa reached under her the swell of her middle and gently placed her hand on the red curls, lightly brushing the tips of her fingers over the sensitive bud at the beginning of her cunt. She closed her eyes and whined softly.

“It’s been getting harder the bigger the babe grows,” Sansa said, breath already growing heavy. She brushed herself with a little more pressure and gasped. “I-I’ve also been more sensitive, especially my teats.” She found herself blushing at the admission, knowing Jon would abuse the knowledge.

“Do you ever touch yourself there? Or do you stay between your legs?” Jon asked, pushing his palm against his cock through the loosened breeches he still wore.

“No, my King, I don’t. They are too sensitive for me, I can never make myself continue,” she said. Jon quirked his head and moved closer to her.

“Is that a challenge, sweetling?” he asked, laying his hands on the tops of Sansa’s milky thighs.

“It could be,” she replied, licking her lips as she moved her hand further down herself. She teased her entrance with two fingers, just dipping them in. Jon smirked and moved to sit back with her thighs laying over his, watching her again.

“You’re so wet, my Lady, is that for me? Have you missed me so much your cunt is sopping at the sight of me?” Jon inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. “I can smell you from here.”

“Yes, my King, it’s for you,” Sansa panted, chest heaving. “It’s always for you. Every time I touch myself, I think of the ways you have touched me. In the stables when you ducked under my skirts in the middle of the day, or when we are here in our bed and you kiss every spot on my body. I especially like thinking of when you took me against the Heart Tree. That is when we conceived.” Jon’s head shot up to look at her.

“That’s when we made the babe?” he asked, one hand gliding up to hold her stomach. She nodded.

“Yes, love. We made our child under the eyes of the Gods,” Sansa smiled. “Now, my King, I must demand you see to my needs at once as I can no longer reach that spot inside me that you know I love so much.”

“Of course,” Jon laughed and easily moved to lay on his stomach between her legs. “As a good king, I must see to it that all my subjects are satisfied.”

“I’m just your subject then?” Sansa teased, lifting one leg to lay over his shoulder while she spread the other further out to give him room to work.

“No. You’re my queen,” Jon said and licked up her cunt, relishing in the surprised cry of pleasure that fell from Sansa’s lips. He repeated the action a few times more before licking at the pearl that made her scream, sucking it into his mouth. Sansa covered her mouth with her hands as she moaned and gasped under Jon’s talented tongue. Her hips bucked and wriggled under his tight hold, trying to both seek more pleasure and get away from the almost overstimulation of it. In the end, Jon brought her to her peak twice with just his mouth before moving up and sliding his cock into her after pulling it from his breeches. He fucked her until she begged for him to spill inside her, his fingers pulling her fourth and final climax from her as his seed slowly dripped out.

“We must dress and make our way to the Great Hall soon,” Sansa said. She was laid back against the pillows as she attempted to catch her breath. Jon lay on his side next to her, hand on the largest part of her middle.

“I do not want to leave this bed. I would keep you like this forever if I could,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss her. “Keep you round with my babe, as well.”

“Well,” Sansa’s cheeks darkened slightly, “I won’t say no to that. You know I have always wanted a large family with many children. But we have duties to attend to. You are King in the North and I am Lady of Winterfell.”

“One day I will make you my Queen,” Jon said.

“I always dreamed of being queen. I never thought it would be because I marry my half-brother turned secret Targaryen cousin while with his child,” Sansa smiled and kissed him. “Now we must redress. Supper will be served soon and the lords have been clamoring to see you. Perhaps Ghost will return as well.”

“Ghost? Where has he been?” Jon asked as he slid from the bed, pulling his breeches back up and lacing them.

“The Wolfswood, he likes to go hunting but he comes back every few days to check on me and the babe. I think he knows it’s yours, he has become very protective of anyone who gets too near me that he sees as a threat,” Sansa explained, rubbing her bare bump slowly. Jon nodded and helped Sansa back into her gown once he was presentable.

“Ready to go?” he offered Sansa his arm. She smiled and grasped the crook of it gently.

“Very,” she said and they descended the stairs, crossing the short distance of the yard to the Great Hall. They entered and moved to sit at the head table. The hall was small as they were still rebuilding but as they had not had many people around it worked well. Jon waited for Sansa to be sat comfortably before taking his own seat, the tables already full with their bannermen and Tyrion were already seated as well, Daenerys on Jon’s left and Tyrion on Sansa’s right.

“How are you, Lady Sansa?” Tyrion asked once Sansa had sat down and tucked into her filling but bland meal. With as heavy winter as it was going to be, they needed to ration what little they had.

“I am well, Lord Tyrion,” she said and smiled genuinely at him. While he was hand to Daenerys, Sansa would never forget what he did for her in King’s Landing. “And yourself?”

“I have been worse. Congratulations, by the way,” he gestured to her stomach. Her smile only brightened and she laid a hand on her stomach.

“Thank you. I am excited for there to be children in Winterfell, it has been far too long,” she said. “I am also glad that Winterfell will have an heir now.”

“Please don’t take offense to this but I thought you were unwed? Would this child not be a bastard?” he noticed that Sansa immediately hardened, her shoulders tensing and her smile slipping from light-hearted to forced. Tyrion doubted anyone else would have noticed a change at all, but he had spent his life learning to read people.

“My child was fathered by a wolf. You cannot get more Northern than that,” she said in such a way that Tyrion knew any further questioning on the subject would be ignored.

“Of course, my Lady,” Tyrion nodded. “Are your siblings adjusting well to Winterfell again? I am afraid I have only heard rumors of what they have done in their time away from home.”

“They are settling in quite well,” Sansa’s polite demeanor slipped back onto her face. “If what I see is true, Bran might be married by winter’s end.”

“Oh?” Tyrion glanced over at the crippled boy. He was sitting with the Reed girl, laughing and smiling at something she said. “Oh, yes, my Lady, I see it too. Was she with him on his…travels?”

“Yes, my Lord, she was,” Sansa confirmed. “I can tell Meera is fond of him. Bran is a bit harder to read but he always smiles around her.” Tyrion kept to himself that was another man not sitting two feet away that reacted that way around her.

“Sansa?” the man in question spoke then, turning to face the two of them. “Are you feeling alright? You haven’t eaten much?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Sansa said, a smile creeping onto her face. A smile, Tyrion noted, he had not seen before. Not with him, not with her bannermen, not even with her siblings. This was a smile she saved for her King and in that moment, all of Tyrion’s suspicions were confirmed.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Sansa and Jon woke to a knock on their chamber door. Sansa slipped out of bed and tugged on her dressing robe before going to open it after making sure Jon would not be visible. She was surprised to see Missandei standing in front of her.

“Sorry for waking you, my Lady, but my queen has requested that you give her a tour of Winterfell. She is waiting outside,” Missandei nodded and smiled politely before walking back down the hall. Sansa groaned and shut the door, moving to her wardrobe to pick out an appropriate dress. Once she had all over her under layers on and the gown fitted right, she shook Jon awake.

“What is it?” he muttered, slowly opening his eyes. He frowned when he saw Sansa completely dressed. “Where are you going so early?”

“The queen wants me to show her Winterfell. I need you to lace up my dress as I cannot reach it on my own,” Sansa said, unable to stop herself from admiring the expanse of Jon’s chest as he sat up and more of his skin was exposed from under the furs.

“Course, sweetling,” he sat up on the edge of the bed and Sansa noticed, a little guiltily, that he was hard against his thigh. Had she had the opportunity, she would have relieved him of that problem a little later, much like she had last night – twice.

“Thank you,” she turned to face away from him and moved her hair over one shoulder to get it out of the way. He stood and pulled the laces taught and tied them, kissing her shoulder softly. “I’ll see you soon, my King.”

“And I you, my Queen,” he kissed her cheek as she flushed, hurrying out of the room as she slipped her cloak on. She got her breathing under control by the time she made it to the main floor of the keep and outside where Daenerys was waiting.

“Hello, Your Grace,” Sansa said, putting on her polite and regal smile. “Did you sleep well?”

“For the most part, I am not used to the Northern weather. I was hoping you could show me around Winterfell? If I am to rule over the seven kingdoms, I should know them and the people in them,” Daenerys said. Sansa nodded, taking in the queen’s genuine interest.

“Of course. You came in through our south gates last night, and you have seen the Great Hall and the Great Keep. Please bear in mind that since the Greyjoy’s ransacking and the Bolton’s takeover, the castle was left in a quite dilapidated state and while we have done much to repair the damages, we have a long way to go,” Sansa said as they began walking along the path.

“Of course, my Lady,” Daenerys nodded and looked around her as they moved along.

“The Sept my father had my mother built stood there,” Sansa gestured to an empty patch of dirt. The library tower is just over there,” the two women continued their stroll, Sansa telling the queen what every building was or what buildings had stood there.

“Tell me, Lady Sansa, of your marriages,” Daenerys said as they made their way through the Godswood.

“There is not much to say, Your Grace. My marriage to Lord Tyrion was nothing but a way to keep me trapped in King’s Landing and my marriage to Ramsey Bolton was nothing more than a business exchange for the man who arranged it,” Sansa said, ice seeping into her voice the more she spoke.

“So, you would not be averse to another marriage?” Sansa’s head snapped to look at Daenerys.

“On the contrary, Your Grace, I would be very much opposed to a marriage that I had no say in,” Sansa said stiffly. “I will also not leave Winterfell, not while I breathe and not while my body rots in the crypts. I shall live my life here in my home.”

“Of course, my Lady. I would never wish to sell you to any man or ask you to marry someone you had no affections to. I was actually sold into marriage as well,” Daenerys smiled sadly, looking over at Sansa. Sansa looked slightly confused.

“I am sorry to hear, Your Grace, I was not aware. What happened to your husband?” Sansa felt sympathy for the other woman, she knew what it was like to be used only for a man’s gain.

“He has long since passed. Drogo was my everything. I loved him and he loved me,” Daenerys took a deep breath. “He promised to give me the Iron Throne, you know? Though he didn’t actually understand what he was giving me, there is no Dothraki word for throne.” For the first time, Sansa was seeing the Dragon Queen as the human she was, someone who had emotions and hurt too.

“I am glad you grew to love him, Your Grace. Some have said it is better to have loved and lost than have never loved at all,” Sansa said, stopping them both in their tracks so she could look at Daenerys.

“I believe it to be true. As much as my heart aches for my Khal and my son, they have made me who I am today. And I will see them again, whether it be in two months or twenty years, my Drogo will be waiting for me,” Daenerys said, looking down at her clasped hands. “I am sorry for the sad tale, Lady Stark, I did not mean to burden you with my woes.”

“It is of no trouble, Your Grace. We all have sad stories and they only make us stronger. Now, let us continue our walk.” Sansa smiled encouragingly at Daenerys.

“Yes, let’s,” Daenerys said. “Are there any lords of the North that you could see yourself marrying?” Sansa felt any positive thoughts she had for the queen leave her mind. Though she understood more of what Daenerys had gone through, she still only worked to serve herself.

“Not particularly, Your Grace,” Sansa said and began speaking of the Glass Gardens, cutting off any avenue for other conversation. “And finally, the kennels. They are situated by the Hunter’s Gate which leads into the Wolfswood. That is whe-” Sansa was cut off as one of the guards standing on top of the aforementioned gate yelled for it be opened. Sansa and Daenerys both frowned as the large wooden doors were slowly pushed open by the gears turning though as soon as Sansa saw who was waiting on the other side, her mouth morphed into a smile. “Ghost!”

“Lady Sansa, what is this th-” Daenerys began to ask but was interrupted as there was a flash of white fur and suddenly a growling muzzle and bright red eyes were the only things she could see.

“Ghost, heel,” Sansa said sternly, though there was a hint of jest in her tone. The direwolf followed his command and moved to sit beside his mistress, angling himself so he was still between Sansa and Daenerys. “I am sorry, Your Grace. I did not mean for Ghost to startle you.”


“King Jon’s direwolf, You Grace. I would have thought he would have mentioned him to you. They have been together since before Jon left Winterfell for the Night’s Watch,” Sansa said, keeping her grin from transforming into something of glee as the Dragon Queen looked afraid for the first time. “Ghost has been under Jon’s order to protect me since he left for Dragonstone and seeing me with a stranger worried him.” Ghost was still glaring at Daenerys, red eyes locked on her, tracking her every move.

“Right,” Daenerys straightened up and brushed off her dress as she composed herself. “If that is all there is to see, shall we make our way back to the Great Hall to break fast? Quite enough time has passed that I am sure almost everyone is awake.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Sansa said and turned, walking toward the Great Hall with Ghost on her heels.

“She told me about her husband, Khal Drogo,” Sansa said as she brushed her hair. She was sat at her dressing table while Jon undressed behind her. “Has she ever mentioned him to you?”

“Yes, she has. She told me he was poisoned. She had a witch bring him back and he lived but he was…nothing? He was breathing but not talking or responding to anything. So, she killed him, smothered him with a pillow,” Jon said. He dropped onto the bed and looked over at Sansa.

“That must have been awful for her,” Sansa looked down at her stomach. “And that is when she lost her son as well?”

“Aye. Her husband’s funeral pyre is how the dragons hatched. She stood in the fire with them all night long,” Jon confirmed. “Now come to bed. Daenerys has suffered, yes, but so have you and I. There is no reason to dwell on it tonight.”

“I know,” Sansa sighed. She stood and walked over to the bed, slipping out of her dressing gown. She was bare as she climbed into bed, leaning against the pillows. “It’s just when she told me about her husband, she sounded like she truly loved him. And I cannot imagine ever having to the same to you.”

“You won’t have to,” Jon smiled and laid down next to her. “I’m not going anywhere,” he pushed himself onto his elbows and kissed her softly, smirking when he felt Sansa gasp against his lips. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes please,” she whined, nodding quickly. “Your babe is making me wet at all hours of the day.” Jon grunted and sat up on his knees.

“Get on your hands and knees, my Queen,” Sansa was quick to comply, moving to kneel on the bed with her hands keeping her steady. Jon pushed two fingers into her without hesitation, crooking them just so to make Sansa cry out in pleasure. Jon continued to fuck her shallowly with his fingers, adding his thumb to her nub not long after.

“Oh Gods! Jon, please, I need to…I’m close, please fuck!” Sansa moaned, jerking her hips.

“Let go for me, sweetling,” Jon said softly, squeezing Sansa’s calf. “Come on, sweet girl.” Jon pressed his thumb down instead of rubbing and Sansa sobbed as she peaked, her whole body tensing. Her fingers tightened in the linens as she clenched around Jon’s fingers, coating them in her wet. Once she had finally come down, Jon carefully removed his fingers and sucked them into his mouth. “Delicious,” he whispered in her ear, relishing in the embarrassed giggle she let out.

Thankfully, with Jon back in Winterfell, Sansa has reason to avoid Littlefinger who had only grown worse the longer the king was away. However, she wasn’t always so lucky. That afternoon, Daenerys had insisted that she speak with Jon privately to discuss the coming war – though Sansa knew the queen’s true motives since Jon had been spending the majority of his time with her and their unborn babe – and thus she had no one to fend off Littlefinger when he came to her solar. Brienne reluctantly let him in, one hand on the pommel of her sword. She made sure to leave the door open behind him.

“Lord Baelish, what can I do for you?” Sansa asked, looking up from her ledgers. She was Lady of Winterfell, soon to be Queen in the North and she had to make sure her people were taken care of.

“I just wanted to speak to you, my Lady, we haven’t gotten a chance to since your brother returned with the Dragon Queen,” Littlefinger said. Sansa nodded, it was a wonderful moons’ turn without the man trying to breathe down her neck.

“I apologize for that, Lord Baelish, but with King Jon back home we have had much to do,” Sansa said, playing her part. “The king is with our guest, if you would like to speak now?”

“I would love to speak to you. Privately, that is,” Petyr said, glancing back at Brienne in the open doorway. Sansa nodded at her guard and she closed the door, though Ghost still lay on the floor in front of the fire, red eyes never leaving Petyr.

“What is it you wanted to talk about?” Sansa asked, dropping most formalities.

“Your babe,” Littlefinger sat at the table across from her. “You have still not declared who the father is and the lords are starting to talk.”

“Then they will talk. And I have told you and them, my child was fathered by a wolf,” Sansa placed a hand on her stomach protectively.

“Some of them are starting to believe that the child’s father is of the south,” Littlefinger said. Sansa couldn’t stop her snort.

“As if I would let the likes of any Southron man touch me ever again. A wolf, Petyr, that is who the father is and I will hear no more of it,” Sansa said, ending that topic of conversation.

“Of course, my Lady. I also wanted to speak about your brother – Jon that is,” Sansa noticed Littlefinger watching her carefully.

“What is it?” she asked tiredly.

“I have been paying close attention to him and the Dragon Queen. They seem quite close. I am sure she has feelings for him and almost certain he returns them,” Littlefinger said. Sansa sighed and finally looked up from her writing to the man across from her.

“Then I am sure they will be happy together, Petyr but that is of no concern to me. Jon will not bend the knee to the Dragon Queen,” Sansa knew exactly what her cousin thought of the queen and it was is no way close to what Petyr was describing. She knew what he was trying to do. “Perhaps their dalliance will convince the queen we do not need to bend the knee to begin with. Now I bid you good-bye, Lord Baelish, I have duties I need to attend to.”

“One last thing, my Lady,” Littlefinger smiled at her, the one that reminded her so much of a weasel. “You might want to speak with your brother the king. It would seem some of the lords are growing weary of him refusing yours and Arya’s hand in marriage.” Sansa fumed as Littlefinger left her solar, though she kept her appearance in check.

“Brienne?” Sansa called.

“Yes, my Lady?” Brienne asked, coming into the room. “What do you need?”

“Remind me to speak to the King this evening at supper.” Brienne nodded.

That night in the Great Hall, Jon and Sansa sat in their usual seats. Their bannermen filled in the tables in front of them, eating and drinking merrily. Sansa leaned in to speak to Jon as the queen had kept him busy until their arrival to eat.

“How many men have petitioned for me, Your Grace?” she asked, raising one eyebrow at home. He at least had the decency to look a little guilty.

“At least ten,” he said, tugging at his collar. “I have told them all under no circumstances would I even have the authority to choose a husband for you. That it is your choice and yours alone.”

“Then why have none of them asked me for my hand?” she asked, fighting back a smile.

“Well,” Jon pursed his lips, not meeting Sansa’s eyes. “I may have also told them that any man who wants the chance to ask for your hand must beat me in the training yard.”

“Now that’s just cruel, my King,” Sansa couldn’t help the grin that lit up her face. Despite all the shit they were going through with a tyrant queen and an army of the dead, Jon still found ways to make her smile. “Everyone knows you’re the best swordsman in the North, and perhaps even all of Westeros.”

“I have to be sure that any man who marries you must be capable of protecting you as well as I can,” Jon said, mouth forming a small smile.

“And if no man can best you?” Sansa whispered.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep you for myself,” Sansa didn’t miss the way that his eyes flickered down to her lips.

“Oi, you two better tone it down,” Arya hissed from Sansa’s side, jabbing her finger into her sister’s ribs. Sansa threw a look at Arya over her shoulder but headed her advice and sat up so she and Jon were not so close.

“And Arya? Does any man who wishes to propose marriage to her have to best you as well?” Sansa asked, giggling when Jon snorted.

“No, they have to best Arya,” he said, looking over at the girl he still considered his sister. She was deadly and they both knew it, but underneath she was still the wild girl who wanted to play in the mud with her brothers and take sword lessons with Ser Rodrick, though she was far better than the late knight ever was.

“That sounds fair,” Sansa smiled, knowing Arya would never be beaten – not unless she wanted to.

“Jon?” Daenerys spoke from the king’s other side. He took a deep and turned from Sansa after squeezing her hand subtly. Sansa giggled and looked over to Bran on Arya’s other side.

“Tell me, brother, where is Lady Meera tonight?” she asked, laughing internally at the way Bran’s cheeks colored.

“She wasn’t feeling well so she could not make it,” Bran said, not meeting Sansa’s eyes.

“Then now is the perfect time to discuss when you will be asking her if she would like to marry you,” Sansa said, sitting up straight and looking every part the Lady she was, stifling a giggle when Bran choked on the ale he had just taken a drink of. Arya burst out cackling as she watched her brother cough, knuckles turned white on the mug. “Well then?” Sansa asked once Bran had control of his breathing back.

“I am not planning to ask for Meera’s hand. She deserves more than I can give her,” Bran said, gesturing to his legs. Sansa rolled her eyes.

“Oh please, Bran. That girl loves you. She wouldn’t have stuck around for so long if she didn’t and she obviously doesn’t care what condition you are in,” Sansa said earnestly. While she did love to tease her little brother, she knew what he said came from a place of honesty and she understood where he came from. When and she Jon first began their affair, she had many insecurities about the way her body had been used, after all, what man would a woman twice wedded and with no maidenhead to speak of? But Jon had shown her that none of that mattered to him, that he loved her and she was sure Meera would feel the same toward Bran.

“Sansa, I really don’t think I would make a suitable husband,” he blushed even more, refusing to look at either of his sisters.

“Gods,” Arya shook her head in disbelief, turning to look at Sansa. “He doesn’t think he will be able to please her in their marital bed.” Bran spluttered and glared at Arya while Sansa just smiled at her brother. He was growing into a wonderful young man.

“Bran, if Meera truly loves you as I believe she does, she will not care. And besides, there are other ways to please a woman in bed.” Arya laughed raucously, throwing her head back as Bran just covered his face and groaned.

“My Queen?” Tyrion said as they walked back to their guest chambers. “Could we have a word? In private?”

“Of course,” Daenerys nodded, not thinking anything of her Hand wanting to talk. Once they were in her room, Tyrion sat at the table after pouring himself a glass of wine. “What did you wish to speak about?”

“Your affections for Jon Snow, Your Grace,” Tyrion said hesitantly. Daenerys froze where she stood.

“And why do we need to speak on that subject?” she seethed, shooting Tyrion a sharp glare. “Is it impairing my ability to rule?”

“Not at all, but I fear what the heartbreak might do to you,” Tyrion admitted.

“And how do you know my heart will be broken?” Daenerys asked, turning to look at him. “How do you know that he does not feel the way I feel for him?”

“I’ve been watching him, Your Grace, in the time we have spent with him, and I believe him to have a lover,” Tyrion said. He couldn’t and wouldn’t tell her exactly who the king’s lover was, but he would do whatever he could to protect his queen.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Like I said, I’ve been watching him and the way he acts around you compared to other women is quite…different. He was begging to go home the day he arrived and when you granted him permission he was ecstatic. He was impatient and rude on the journey and turned what should have taken seven or eight days by hours to five days. I just don’t want to see you hurt, my Queen,” Tyrion said before taking a large gulp of his wine.

“And do you know who this lover is?” Daenerys snapped, nostrils flaring.

“Alas, Your Grace, that is the one thing I could not pin down,” Tyrion lied, smiling tightly at her.

“Then I shan’t believe it. Until you can give me solid proof, I shall act under the notion that Jon has no romantic ties.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Tyrion said, setting his empty cup down. Goodnight, Daenerys, sleep well.”

“What were you, Arya, and Bran discussing over supper?” Jon asked once they had retired to their chambers for night. Thankfully, Sansa took the Lord’s Chambers and as King, Jon got the next best which happened to be Lady Catelyn’s old chambers and both rooms shared a solar so they were able to share a bed with no one being any the wiser.

“Bran is afraid to ask Meera for her hand because he is unsure of whether he can fuck her,” Sansa said brazenly. Jon choked out a laugh and moved to stand behind Sansa, unlacing her dress.

“What did you tell him?” Jon kissed her shoulder as he pushed the dress away to expose Sansa’s pale skin.

“That there are other ways to please a woman. And that Meera loves him no matter what. I think between myself and Arya, we can convince him that is a good thing for the both of them,” Sansa helped pull her gown off, leaving her in her cotton shift, small clothes, and stockings, her boots already discarded by the door. “But perhaps you could speak to him about it? He might find more comfort in talking to a man, especially his brother.” Jon smiled and nodded.

“Of course, sweetling. I’ll speak to him on the morrow,” Jon said. He got undressed himself down to his smallclothes and climbed in bed, helping Sansa down next to him. She tucked herself into his side immediately and rested her head on his chest and stomach pressed to his side. Jon smiled and laid his hand on Sansa’s belly. “I can’t believe I got a babe in you.”

“I can,” Sansa said, laughing lightly. “We coupled every day at least once, sometimes twice, and you spilled in me almost every single time. I am glad for it. I have always wanted a husband who loves me and gives me children. And I found that in you.”

“I never thought I would have children. After I joined the Watch, I knew it would never happen. Some days I would still think about it though. I once decided I would name my son Robb,” Jon said. “But I never even dreamed that that was a real possibility.”

“If it’s a boy, would you want to name him Robb?” Sansa asked, looking up at Jon. He nodded slowly.

“I think so, yes. But what if it is a girl?”

“If she gets my coloring, then Catelyn, if she gets yours, Lyanna,” Sansa said easily. “Both our mothers died doing their best to protect their children. I think we should honor that.”

“I love them both,” Jon pressed a kiss to Sansa’s head. “Now get to sleep, my love. You and the babe need your rest.” Sansa nodded and closed her eyes, easily drifting off to sleep with Jon’s arms wrapped protectively around her.

Chapter Text

After Daenerys and Jon flew north of the Wall so he could show her the Others, they planned to ride north for war only a sennight after their return. The Night King needed to be dealt with as soon as possible and neither wanted to waste time. Jon had been spending every second he could spare with Sansa, much to the dismay of Littlefinger and Daenerys, who were both doing their best to pull the two away from each other.

“Jon!” Daenerys called from behind Jon and Sansa. The couple were walking above the training yards, watching as Arya and Brienne oversaw and led the new soldiers, mostly other women. Jon sighed and sent Sansa an apologetic look before they both turned around.

“Yes, Your Grace?” he asked, smiling politely, Sansa doing the same.

“I wish to discuss battle strategies for the upcoming war,” she said. “The Army of the Dead will not be like any other battle either of us have fought and we need as much preparation as we can get.” While Sansa knew Daenerys was just saying this to get Jon away from Sansa and close, she knew it was also true. The White Walkers and Wights would be unlike any other enemy.

“We should,” Jon agreed. “But we need to speak with a small council. Tyrion would be good to have, along with some of the Northern Lords.” Sansa watched as Daenerys masked the disappointment.

“Of course,” she nodded. “I’ll send for Tyrion to join us in the-” she was interrupted by the blowing of the horn from the southern gate that indicated an arrival. Sansa frowned and looked at Jon.

“We weren’t expecting anyone, were we?” Sansa asked. At Jon’s confused expression, she took off along the elevated pathway, Jon and Daenerys not far behind. Before Sansa could descend the stairs, Jon caught up with her and wrapped an arm around her waist, under her cloak.

“I know we need to see our guest, but it won’t do to have the Lady of Winterfell break her neck on the way there,” Jon said, smiling softly at her. Sansa blushed slightly as Daenerys watched the interaction from behind. Once they made it to the gate, the guards slowly opened it and to everyone’s surprise, as many of the servants and soldiers, along with Arya and Brienne, Jaime Lannister walked into Winterfell with his large, black horse. Sansa stared at him for a long moment before coming to her senses and stepping forward, giving him her perfected polite and courteous face.

“Ser Jaime, we were not expecting you…ever, really. Is there something we can help you with?” she asked, looking up at the man. He still wore his gold-plated Lannister armor and his sword, Widow’s Wail. Jaime looked around at everyone in the courtyard, eyes stopping on Daenerys for a moment. He watched as the Dragon Queen’s eyes lit up in anger at the sight of him.

“Yes, my Lady,” he nodded and looked to Sansa and Jon. Jon was standing to Sansa’s side, hand on the pommel of his sword, watching Jaime closely. The King stared him down, eyes flitting between him and his sister. He looked ready for a fight if Jaime made one wrong move. And then Jaime noticed Sansa Stark’s stomach and it all made sense. He moved a little closer to Sansa, ignoring everyone else, Jon included, and unsheathed his sword, laying it on the ground in front of her as he knelt. “Lady Sansa, I am yours. I will shield your back, keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new.” Sansa gasped quietly and glanced over at Brienne, as she knew her current sworn shield knew Jaime. Her guard nodded.

“I vow you will always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table. I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new,” Sansa said calmly. “Arise.” Jaime took his sword in hand and stood, sheathing it once more.

“Thank you, Lady Sansa,” he said, bowing his head to her. “I know you wish to speak with me about the circumstances that caused me to come and pledge myself-”

“Fucking right we do,” Jon muttered and stepped in front of the Kingslayer. Though Jaime was almost a head taller than him, Jon didn’t falter. “I don’t care what oaths you have made, if you ever do anything to hurt Sansa or put her in harm’s way, I will personally beat you bloody before cutting off your pretty head, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Jaime nodded, smirking just a bit. Jon moved back to Sansa’s side. Sansa grabbed his arm and shot him disapproving look before facing Jaime.

“If you’ll accompany myself, King Jon, and Brienne of Tarth, we can speak of this in my solar,” she said politely and led the Kingslayer to the Great Keep with Jon beside her and Brienne following behind Jaime. Jaime noticed the Dragon Queen seething as they marched past her and for a moment, Jaime could see the eyes of her father.

“Alright, Ser Jaime,” Sansa spoke once they had made it to her solar, which Jaime easily realized what the Lord’s and Lady’s shared solar. “Why are you here?” She sat down at the table and watched him with narrowed eyes.

“My Lady, I once swore a vow to your mother,” Jaime started and he heard Brienne’s breath hitch from her spot behind him. “After your brother captured me, after he turned down trading me for yourself and your sister, she released me on my vow to find the two of you and return you to her. I failed her. I suppose I could just say it was because she was already dead, or that by the time I returned to King’s Landing, both of you were long gone. But I failed my vow to your mother and someone reminded me of what it means to be honorable and good. I have come here because I want to set things right. I know you can probably never forgive me for what I have done to you and your family, and I don’t ask that you do, only that you let me redeem myself.” Sansa sat silently for a moment as she thought over what he said, folding her hands over her stomach. Jon stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder and the other still on his sword.

“I’ll have chambers prepared for you at once,” Sansa finally said. “Are you still a good sword fighter with only one hand? If so then you will join Arya and Brienne in the training yard. We have many men and women that need to be prepared to fight and only in a week’s time so I ask you use the best of your abilities.”

“I’m sorry? A week’s time?” Jaime asked, confused. “Who will we will be fighting?”

“The Army of the Dead, Ser Jaime,” Sansa said. “They are almost upon the wall and if they get past it, we are all doomed.”

“Right, of course. How does one fight the Army of the Dead?” Jaime asked, a mocking tone slipping through. Sansa looked at him sharply.

“With dragon glass, Ser Jaime. And if find the idea of an army of more than one hundred thousand ripping apart the entirety of Westeros so funny, than I encourage you to be on the front lines and see for yourself,” Sansa said. It was clear she had no time for his biting remarks or wit.

“I apologize, my Lady. I just figured you would mean to march on Cersei,” he suggested. Sansa snorted.

“I do not care about your sister right now. She is nothing compared to the threat of the Night King. And I don’t care for the Iron Throne one bit. Daenerys may march on the Queen once this war is over but I will have no part in it. The North is independent and until Cersei threatens that, then I have no concern for what she is doing,” Sansa folded her hands over her stomach with an air of finality. “Now, Ser Jaime, unless there is anything else you wish to speak of, I will have Brienne escort you to the Great Hall, as well as tell one of the maids to prepare a guest’s chamber.”

“That is all, my Lady,” Jaime stood and turned to face Brienne, walking out of the solar with her.

“Why would you let that man into our home?” Jon shouted, glaring at Sansa from across the table once the door was shut.

“I thought the same thing I thought when I let Littlefinger remain here: it is better to have potential enemies close where I can keep my eye on them. And besides, in a week he will be on the battlefield alongside Brienne,” Sansa said. “And I also do not disbelieve Jaime’s motives either…I do not think he was telling the whole truth but I do not think he was lying either. I have become very good at telling when people are lying to me, Jon.” Jon sighed and looked over at her.

“He is our enemy’s brother and lover, and you invited him into our home,” Jon moved to kneel in front of Sansa. “I am just worried for you, sweetling.” Sansa smiled and cupped Jon’s face.

“I know, my love, but I am woman grown and I can handle him. Now, we have some alone time, why don’t we make use of it,” she asked teasingly. Jon’s breath hitched and he nodded.

“Gods, yes,” he muttered and stood, kissing Sansa passionately. “What do you want, sweet girl?”

“Want you in my mouth,” she said, looking up at him. “It’s been a while and I want to taste you, my King.”

“Of course,” Jon said, voice shaking slightly. This was not something they did often and so whenever Sansa chose to do this for him, he never lasted long. Sansa giggled and moved off her seat carefully, Jon holding her by her arms as she slid to her knees in front of him. She bit her lip as she unlaced his breeches, pulling them apart. “Sansa, darling, hurry up.”

“Yes, my King,” Sansa nodded and pulled down his breeches and smallclothes just enough to pull his hardened cock out. She used her hand to stroke him a few times, reveling in the groans she pulled from Jon, before taking just the head in her mouth. She licked the slit, lapping up the pearlescent liquid.

“More, Sansa, take more,” Jon grunted, threading one hand in her hair. Sansa complied, taking more of him in her mouth, hands moving to his hips to steady herself as she began to bob her head, tongue moving along the underside of his cock. She felt herself grow wet in her smallclothes, the satisfaction of pleasing her soon-to-be husband making her hot. “That’s it, sweet girl.” Sansa moaned softly around him and closed her eyes. She let herself get lost in the momentum of moving her head up and down the length of him, speeding up and slowing down and using her tongue exactly where it drove Jon wild. When she could tell Jon was close, she pulled off completely and looked up at him, lips swollen and red and slick with her spit.

“I want you to spend in my mouth, my King, I want to taste you and swallow you down,” Sansa begged, giving Jon her best pout. Though she knew Jon would never say it to her, she could tell he liked when she acted like this, like she was there just to please him, to please her king.

“If you want it, then get your pretty mouth back on my cock and you can have it,” he said, using the grip he had on her hair to pull her into him. Sansa gasped and fell into him, her mouth missing causing his cock to graze her cheek, leaving a trail of shiny fluid behind. Her cheeks reddened as she shifted back to take him between her lips again. She only had to bob her head a few times before Jon shouted and released into her mouth. Sansa massaged the base of his cock with her hand as she waited for Jon to spill entirely into her mouth before pulling off, making a show of swallowing.

“Thank you, my King,” she said quietly, looking up at him earnestly. Jon chuckled and took both her arms to help her stand up. Once she was on her feet, he tucked himself back into his breeched and laced them so he was presentable.

“You’re welcome, sweetling, but I know my Queen and I know that your smallclothes are sopping underneath your gown right now,” Jon said, smirking as he pushed Sansa back against the table, forcing her to plant one hand on the wood to keep herself upright. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes, Jon, I am,” Sansa nodded desperately. “Please, my King, please touch me.” Jon kissed her roughly, humming at the taste of his own seed on her tongue. He gathered up the front of her gown and shift, pushing his hand under them and into her smallclothes. He knew that after having to wait so long to be touched, Sansa would peak quickly so he wasted no times in filling her with two fingers, thumb on her nub. “Oh, gods!” she cried out as he fucked her rapidly, rubbing her at the same time. She grabbed onto his shoulder with her free hand, nails digging into his shoulder through his doublet and tunic.

“That’s it, sweetling,” Jon cooed, “that’s my good girl. Gonna peak? Gonna tighten around my fingers and make a mess in your smallclothes?” Sansa gasped and nodded again. Her cunt was tight and warm, even around only two of his fingers. “Come on, Sansa, peak for me,” Sansa cried out, voice cracking as she did so, muscles clenching around Jon as she rode out her high, hips moving against him as he continued to fuck her.

After Jon pulled his fingers from her and her smallclothes, he sucked his fingers clean, watching Sansa’s eyes widen slightly. He chuckled and kissed her, moaning as the taste of her wet and his seed mingling and mixing on his tongue.

“We taste good together,” he mumbled against her lips. Sansa blushed bright red but nodded all the same.

“We have to go down…supper will be served by now,” she said, looking up at Jon. “I need to change my smallclothes.”

“No,” Jon said sternly. “I want you to go down there, in front of our bannermen and Daenerys and Jaime with your wet staining and ruining your pretty little underthings. And then later, when we come back up here, I’m going to eat your pretty little cunt and then fuck you until you scream and everyone knows exactly who put this babe in your belly.” Sansa whimpered softly and leaned into him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Yes, my King,” she whispered. Jon kissed her and ran his fingers through her hair to fix it and make it look less mussed up. She smiled in thanks and then hooked her arm through his. “Would you be so kind as to escort me to the Great Hall, my King?”

“I would delight in it,” Jon said and opened the door, walking with Sansa down and across the courtyard. Most of the lords were already eating at the tables so the pair made their way up to the dais quickly. They sat down and were immediately served. Sansa noticed Daenerys’s eyes on them, as well as Jaime’s and Tyrion’s. She knew that she and Jon were getting a bit reckless with their couplings but at this point, she couldn’t bring herself to care. They would be telling their people after Jon returned and the Night King was no long an issue. She was certain most of them had guessed of their affair already, between how Jon acted around her and the time they spent alone.

“Jon, we didn’t really get to discuss any battle strategies before,” Daenerys said, sitting in her usual seat on Jon’s other side.

“No, I’m sorry for that but Sansa and I had to discuss what to do with the Kingslayer,” Jon said, digging into his food.

“Right, the man that tried to murder me in Highgarden,” Daenerys spat. “You’re letting him stay?”

“He swore an oath to Sansa, she’s the one that gets to decide that and for now she’s saying yes,” Jon said, looking over at her. “And besides, Sansa is the Lady of Winterfell, she decides who stays here.”

“And you’re the king,” Daenerys said, eyes lit with anger.

“Of the North. Not of Winterfell,” Jon shrugged. “This is her home and keep. She decides who comes and goes and if she says Jaime Lannister can come, then he will be here as long as she wishes him to.” Daenerys seethed and glared at Jon as Bran cleared his throat down the table. None of their men around the room heard, but everyone at the dais and a few in front heard him and turned to look. He was sat at the end with Meera next to him, beaming wider than Jon had ever seen.

“I have an announcement,” Bran said. Sansa grabbed Jon’s arm, squeezing as she watched Bran expectantly. “I have asked Meera to be my wife and she agreed.” Sansa squealed and covered her mouth with both hands while Arya just smiled at her brother.

“Congratulations,” Jon said, grinning at the two of them. Bran looked happier than he had since he was pushed off the tower all those years ago. “You two will be very happy together.”

“Thank you, Jon. Lady Sansa, I know it might be a lot to ask but we wanted to have the wedding before Jon left,” Meera said, looking over at Sansa.

“Of course! I’ll start working on it right away,” she nodded. All she wanted since she returned to Winterfell was to live a long and happy life with her family and that was exactly what she was getting.

“We don’t want anything special,” Bran said, looking at his sister. “We just want our family with us when we exchange our vows in the Godswood.” Sansa pouted a bit.

“Just a small feast after? We don’t have to invite anyone that isn’t already at the castle,” she bargained and she could Bran had already given in when he rolled his eyes.


“I would hug you both right now if it wasn’t so hard to get up,” Sansa said, smiling at the two of them. “We’ll make the official announcement tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Lady Sansa,” Meera said, holding Bran’s hand in her lap.

“You’re welcome, Meera, it’s no trouble at all. It’ll be good for me to focus on something that isn’t the coming war,” Sansa said as Jon tugged her arm lightly.

“You need to eat, my Lady, before it gets cold. You and the babe need it,” he said, gesturing toward her barely eaten food. Sansa giggled and picked up her fork again.

“You’re right, I’m sorry, my King,” she teased, taking a small bite. “Could you forgive me?”

“I suppose so,” Jon said, looking her up and down. Arya reached behind Sansa and flicked him in the ear.

“What have I told you two about being so obvious?” She hissed, though there was a hint of smile on her lips.

“Aye, I know,” Jon muttered, turning so he was facing forward again, instead of toward Sansa. Sansa looked around the room as Daenerys began speaking with Jon again, and she noticed Littlefinger watching her curiously. She suspected he was putting together the pieces of who the father of her babe was, but she didn’t think he knew for sure yet and as long as he didn’t learn the truth before Jon returned, it wouldn’t matter.

Chapter Text

Sansa was lounging on their bed, bare, as Jon replied to a few ravens at the table.

“Jon, you leave at dawn, come to bed,” Sansa said, looking over at him. Her hair shined in the candlelight and her skin glowed. “Your Queen needs you.”

“I’ve just a few more and then I will,” Jon groaned, glancing at her. She was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, that he would ever see. Her belly was full of his babe, teats full of milk, and cunt inviting him in. “I swear it.”

“Fine, Jon Snow," Sansa pouted. “I’ll just have to do it myself.” She reached between her legs and brushed her fingers over the red curls there. Jon’s own fingers clenched around the quill he was writing with, eyes locked on to the movement at her thighs. He watched as she spread her legs more, moving one back so he could just barely see the pink of her cunt. Jon couldn’t take it any longer, couldn’t deny himself or her and pushed back from the table. He stood and stalked over to the bed, ignoring her smug smirk as he pushed her onto her back and climbed on top of her.

“You’re a minx,” he grunted, pulling his tunic over his head. “I’m trying to be a good king, do my duty to my people and you-”

“What about your duty to your lady wife?” Sansa asked, looking up at Jon. “Your lady who giving you an heir?”

“And what is my duty to my lady wife?” he placed both hands on her extended belly, hard cock pressed to the underside of it.

“To pleasure me,” Sansa bit her lip. “As your queen, I demand that you spend the rest of the night giving me a proper farewell.”

“Move back, lay against the pillows,” he ordered, laying on the bed between her legs. She did as she was told and moved her arse back, letting Jon’s hands on her hips guide her. Once she settled comfortably, she laid her hands on her stomach and nodded at Jon. He took the cue and wrapped his arms around her legs and pulled them onto his shoulders before kissing her navel, trailing kisses down to the apex of her thighs where he used two fingers to spread her lips, licking up her wet. Sansa immediately groaned, thighs twitching in Jon’s grip. He continued to lap at her cunt, switching between fucking her slowly with his tongue and suckling at her pearl.

“Oh fuck,” Sansa gasped at one particularly deep thrust of his tongue inside her, back arching against the bed. Jon knew just what to do to make her scream his name and peak as soon as possible but he also knew just what to do to tease her and draw it out, and it seemed he was going with the latter. He moved unhurriedly against her, dragging his tongue up her cunt and licking inside her. He closed his eyes once he felt her tensing up around him and he buried himself in her, inhaling her scent as he fucked her slowly, his nose bumping against the sensitive nub at the top of her cunt. Jon could no longer breathe, his entire face between her legs, but he would happily spend his last moments supping at her cunt. Fortunately, Sansa’s peak came before then and she cried out into the empty air of the room, hips spasming in Jon’s hold. Jon pulled away once she settled and he smirked, sitting up. She lay limp against the bed, chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing.

“Was that the duty my queen required?” Jon asked, hands moving over her thighs slowly.

“Part of it,” Sansa panted, looking up at Jon with her wide eyes and swollen lips. She looked positively fucked and it only served to further his need for her.

“And what is the other part, my Queen?” he asked, already unlacing his breeches to shuck them off and drop them on the floor.

“As lovely as your mouth was, I require your cock as well,” Sansa said, turning on her side. With her stomach growing bigger and bigger, it hurt to lay on her back for too long. Jon nodded and, once bare, moved to lay behind her.

“Whatever my queen wants,” he whispered in her ear. Sansa giggled as Jon lifted her leg up, using his own to prop it up in order to sink his cock in her. He groaned as he did so. “Fuck, sweetling. Love being in your cunt. So warm around me, so wet. I make you so wet, don’t I? Ruin your pretty little smallclothes.”

“Uh, yes! Yes, Jon, yes you do!” Sansa said, clutching a pillow to her chest. “My King, please!” Jon moved so his chest was pressed to her back. One arm was keeping him up and the other he moved to rub her between her legs as he fucked her. He kept his pace slower than normal, wanting to remember this for the time he was away and wanted Sansa to remember something loving and caring instead of just rough.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he cooed, holding her close. “Such a good queen, making sure your king feels good, taking my cock so well.” He kissed along her neck, biting down along the juncture where her neck and shoulder met to leave a mark. She wore high necked dresses anyway, and he wanted to leave his claim on her. Perhaps it was primal but he did have the blood of a wolf, after all.

“Jon, p-please,” Sansa cried, dropping her head forward onto the pillow. She had to come to love how it felt to couple in this position, maybe even more so than on her back, as Jon had easier access to fuck and rub her and it always made her peak come quick. “I’m close!”

“I know, sweetling, I want you to,” Jon said, pulling her hips back to meet his. “I’m gonna make you peak twice.” Sansa let out a loud moan as she tightened around him. Jon grunted but kept his hips and fingers moving, wanting to draw it out as long as he could. Sansa’s moans turned to whimpers turned to light gasps as she struggled slightly to get away from the overstimulation but Jon resisted, keeping her in place. He sped up even, fucking her faster and working his fingers harder against her. Sansa cried out, minutely moving her hips back against Jon’s cock while still trying to rut forward against his fingers.

“J-Jon!” she called out, voice muffled. Only minutes after her first peak, she was cresting again, sobbing loudly as Jon finally spent inside her, filling her with his seed once more. After he pulled out, he helped her lay on her back, leaning down to kiss her.

“How are you feeling, my Queen?” Jon asked, one hand cupping her face.

“Good,” Sansa mumbled. “Sated.” Jon chuckled and kissed her head.

“Get some rest, my Queen.” Sansa nodded slowly and drifted off not long after, head lolling on Jon’s chest.



In the weeks following Jon’s departure with the Dragon Queen and their combined army, Sansa grew weary. Gilly assured her it was normal in the last bit of pregnancy but Sansa was Queen Regent in the North with Jon gone and she couldn’t do that if she was stuck in bed all day. Not to mention with almost everyone gone from Winterfell, Littlefinger took every opportunity he could to get Sansa alone, though Arya, acting as her guard, was not making it easy for him. He had cornered her in the crypts one day and tried and failed once more to discuss the father of her babe. He found her in the Godswood one afternoon and brought up the topic of her marriage. And finally, he had just found her in her solar while Arya was accompanying Bran and Meera into Wintertown in her stead.

“Lady Sansa, I was hoping to speak with you,” Petyr said as he entered her solar, sitting across from her at the table. She was trying to look through the inventory of their food stores Sam had written up but with Littlefinger bothering her, she was likely to get nothing done.

“Yes, Lord Baelish?” she smiled politely up at him. “What did you wish to speak about?”

“Your brother, Bran that is, and sister have declined any rights to Winterfell. That leaves you and the King. The King will need to marry, have an heir, and you will as well, as Lady of Winterfell,” Petyr said.

“If Jon wishes to marry then he will, it is naught my concern. And I have no need to marry, Lord Baelish, my heir is currently growing in my stomach,” Sansa said tiredly. She had had this conversation so many times with him that it made her want to pull her own hair out but she knew how to play him, play his game.

“Do you truly believe the Northern lords will allow your bastard child to be heir to Winterfell?” Littlefinger asked. “That they will be loyal to a child whose father is unknown?”

“My child is not nor will ever be a bastard. My child is a Stark and the Northern lords will happily support them because unlike the Southroners, the North remembers and the North is loyal to House Stark,” Sansa said bitingly. “They are loyal to Jon and he is a bastard and his mother is unknown.”

“Are they loyal to King Jon?” Petyr questioned. “They did want to give you the crown, my Lady.”

“Yes, and I refused and they elected Jon. Who I support. So even if my bannermen did not wish Jon to be king but me queen, they would still support him through me. I am loyal to Jon, Lord Baelish, just as my people are,” Sansa said, making sure her tone conveyed the end of the conversation.

“Of course, Lady Sansa. But if what I hear is true, King Jon has fallen for the Dragon Queen and plans on bending the knee after the war is won and pledging himself to fight for her. Assuming he lives through all of that, he will marry her and become King Consort,” Sansa could feel his eyes on her.

“Even if he is in love with the queen and chooses to ride south with her, he will not give her the North. He knows what it means to me and my siblings and he would not discard it so easily. If he does want to marry the queen, I am sure they will use it as alliance of sorts. The North will keep its independence and the marriage will broker peace between the two kingdoms,” Sansa said, looking up at Littlefinger, giving him her practiced smile. “If that is all, I have duties to attend to.”

“Of course, Lady Sansa, I bid you farewell,” Sansa watched Littlefinger as he stood and strode from her solar, letting out a sigh once the door was shut. She placed a hand on her stomach and rubbed over the area gently.

“If I get my way, you will never have to meet that man. He will be long dead,” she told her bump. She wasn’t sure if the babe could hear her or not, but it felt good to say it out loud, it felt concrete. It felt real.



“Most of the wights have been destroyed, but they make new ones of the men they kill,” Brienne reported to Jon in the command tent. Tyrion had convinced both Jon and Daenerys to stay out of most of the fighting, only riding in on the dragons when it was necessary, much to Jon’s reluctance. He had argued tirelessly, along with Daenerys. Neither believed they had any right to sit back and send their men to their deaths but Tyrion had won with the point that all would be lost if they both perished. Thankfully, as the Night King had yet to show himself, Jon was managing with staying back but he insisted that he be the one to face him when the time came.

“I figured as much,” Jon nodded. “How many have we lost, would you say?”

“I would guess around three thousand, Your Grace,” Brienne said. Jon sighed. “Your Grace, we have also received a raven from Winterfell.” At the news, Jon’s head snapped up.

“What does it say?” he asked. Brienne handed him the still sealed scroll, allowing him to read it himself. It was from Sam. Sansa had begun to have pre-labor pains, as Gilly called them. He explained in the note that meant that while the babe was not quite ready to come, it would only be a matter of weeks before they arrived. “Thank you, Brienne, you are dismissed.” She nodded and exited the tent, leaving Jon alone, but only for a moment, as Daenerys walked in only a few breaths after Brienne walked out.

“Is that from your cousin?” she asked when she saw the roll of paper in Jon’s hand. He nodded mutedly, glancing down at the table that held the roughly drawn battle map. “Is everything alright?”

“Aye, it’s just an update. She will birth the babe within a moon’s turn, Sam says. I’m just worried for her is all,” Jon said, tucking the parchment into the inside breast pocket of his cloak. “Did you need something, Your Grace?”

“No,” Daenerys shook her head, eyes trained on where he had stored the note, thinking of what Tyrion had told her soon after they arrived at Winterfell. “No, no I don’t.”



“Arya,” Sansa said suddenly, reaching out to grab hold of the wall to steady herself, other hand holding her stomach. “Arya, I think it’s time.”

“What?” Arya moved to Sansa’s side immediately and began helping her to her chambers. “The babe is coming?”

“I think so,” Sansa nodded as she waddled along. “There was a sharp pain and then wet, like Gilly told me there would be. Once I’m in bed, go fetch her and Sam both.”

"Your Grace!” one of the foot soldiers ran into the command tent, panting despite the cold weather. “The Night King, sir, he’s been spotted.”

“Where?” Jon demanded, striding out of the tent and over to where Rhaegal was grazing.

“Directly north, Your Grace, on his horse on a cliff overlooking the battle,” the soldier said. Jon climbed on the back of his dragon and nodded at the soldier.

“Hopefully by the time I return, the war will be over. Inform Lord Tyrion of where I’ve gone,” Jon said and once the soldier nodded, acknowledging his command, Rhaegal took off.

“You’re doing really well,” Gilly nodded, holding Sansa’s hand tightly. Arya sat on the other side of Sansa, stroking her hair back from her head. She had changed into nothing but her dressing robe and braided her hair back quickly before Sam and Gilly had arrived.

“Sam, how much longer?” Sansa gasped, hunching over and squeezing Gilly’s hand.

“Not long now,” Gilly answered instead. “Your body will let you know when you need to push.” Sansa nodded quickly and looked over to Arya.

“I hope she looks like you. I hope she looks like Jon.”

“There Rhaegal!” Jon urged his dragon down to where the Night King waited. This was it, Jon knew, the final battle. He had to defeat the Night King, if not for the entire seven kingdoms then for Sansa and their babe. He slid of Rhaegal’s back as the dragon landed and faced the Night King, drawing Longclaw. He took a deep breath and watched as the Night King dismounted his horse, drawing his own sword. “For Sansa,” Jon muttered, and raised Longclaw.

“I need to push!” Sansa screamed, tears streaming down her face. Gilly nodded quickly.

“Then push,” Gilly said encouragingly. Sansa screamed again as she did so, eyes clenched shut and sweat dripping down her face. “You’re doing amazing!”

“I can see the head, Lady Sansa, keep pushing!”

Their swords clashed in midair, Jon grunting at the force and holding his position. He glared at the Night King and shoved him back, causing the undead man to stumble. Jon swung at him, the Night King parrying the attack easily. Jon moved in again, slashing horizontally. The tip of his sword just barely caught the Night King’s abdomen, which caused him to release a loud roar before knocking Jon’s sword away and advancing toward him.

“I don’t think I can do this, Arya, please!” Sansa sobbed, Gilly and Arya both supporting her and holding her upright. “I can’t, I can’t do this, please make it stop!” Arya leaned in and kissed Sansa’s head.

“You can. You are the strongest woman I know. You are Sansa Stark of Winterfell and you can do this,” Arya said. “Do this for you, do this for your babe, do this for Jon.”

Jon was knocked off his feet, skidding backwards, Longclaw sliding the other way. His vision was hazy from the blow to his head, and he could barely make out the Night King approaching him. He pushed himself to his hands and knees and thought of Sansa, of Arya, of Bran, of Winterfell and his people. As the Night King closed in, he launched himself at him, landing a fist on his jaw, giving Jon the moment he needed to scramble over and grab his sword. He stood up straight and faced the Night King.

“She’s almost out, Lady Sansa, just a few more pushes and she will be out!”

Jon strode toward the Night King quickly and used the butt of his sword to bash his face in, then punched him with the opposite hand. He continued his assault, pushing the Night King back to the edge of the cliff. As the Night King moved to try to counter an attack, Jon knocked the sword of ice out of his hand and off the cliff. Both watched as it fell out of sight.

“One more final push, Lady Sansa!”


Jon swung Longclaw at the Night King, the impact forcing him to his knees. Jon stood over him, sword raised and poised directly over his chest.

Sansa screamed as she pushed for the last time, the shrill wail of her babe overtaking her voice, echoing around the small room.

Jon gave an almighty yell as he shoved Longclaw through the Night King’s chest, the body shattering in a million fragments of ice instantly, along with the sound of thousands of skeletons falling apart on the ground below him.

“Lady Sansa…meet your daughter.”


Chapter Text

“You got your wish,” Arya said as she watched Sansa nurse the babe. “She looks just like Jon.” Bran nodded where he was sat.

“What shall you name her?” he asked. He was already fond of his only hours old niece.

“Lyanna, for her grandmother,” Sansa said, stroking the side of her face. “Jon and I already agreed. If she looked like me, then Catelyn, if she looked like Jon, then Lyanna.”

“It’s a wonderful choice,” Arya smiled. Her real smile, Sansa noted when she looked at her sister, not the sinister one she gave guards or maids. “I’m sure Jon cannot wait to meet her.”

“I cannot wait for him to meet her as well,” Sansa said, glancing down at the babe to make sure she was still feeding. “Hopefully they will be able to return so-” She was cut off as Sam threw the door open, startling the three of them.

“Sorry for the interruption, my Lady,” Sam panted. “But I had to get this to you right away. It’s from Lord Tyrion.” He held the scroll out to Bran who opened it and began reading aloud.

“The Night King is dead,” he looked up at Sansa, unfurling it and holding it up so she could see. “The War of Dawn is won.” Sansa let out a relieved sob, covering her mouth with her free hand.

“So, they’ll be coming home soon?” she asked weakly. Sam shook his head.

“They’ll be staying a few more weeks. Lord Varys sent one as well, explaining that they would be staying to round up all their bodies to burn them before coming home,” Sam said, holding up another scroll. “Lady Sansa should I write to King Jon about the birth?”

“No, Sam, I think I would like for her to be a surprise for when he returns home,” Sansa said, looking down at her babe. “Yes, a wonderful surprise.”

Jon was anxious to return to Winterfell. The Night King, White Walkers, and all the wights had been gone for about a moon now but they had yet to finish cleaning up. They had successfully burned all the bodies of the men who had yet to turn but they had thousands and thousands of bones that were littered everywhere. They had started burning them all but there weren’t finished yet and Jon refused to leave until he was sure there was nothing remaining of the dead.

“How close are we to finishing?” he asked Gendry, a boy Davos had found in King’s Landing to bring North to help in the war.

“Only another day or two’s work and it should all be gone,” Gendry said, looking at the large bonfire where all the fragments of wights were going.

“Great. I’ll be right back, have to piss,” Jon said and walked into the trees a bit. After he relieved himself, he heard a noise coming from some bushes a bit away and carefully pulled out the dragon glass dagger he still kept on him. He approached the rustling slowly only to let jump when a wolf pup jumped out at him, yipping happily. Jon sighed in relief and slid the dagger back on his belt and knelt down, holding his hand out to the pup. To his surprise, he realized that it was no regular wolf pup though, but a direwolf. “Where’s your mother?” As if the pup could understand, they turned and darted back the way they came. Jon followed quickly, racing to keep up until he almost stumbled on the corpse of what Jon assumed was the pup’s mother. Along with her were two dead pups, and two live ones curled up around each other. Jon knelt in the snow and held his hand out to the pups. “Ghost!” he called into the open air, knowing his own direwolf would hear him. Only a few moments later, the large white direwolf bounded to him, immediately taking interest in the pups and the pups in him. “Ghost, bring these three to the camp,” he ordered before going back the way he came. He grabbed Gendry and another soldier, and together the three carried the dead mother and pups back to the bonfire where their bodies could be burned.

“Were there any others?” Gendry asked. “Pups, I mean.”

“Yes, I had Ghost bring them back. He’s probably taken them to my tent,” Jon said. “I should go check on them.”

“What are you going to do with them?”

“There’s three Stark’s in Winterfell that could use a direwolf.”

Unfortunately, Sansa couldn’t have Littlefinger killed before her babe was born, but she, Bran, and Arya were working on the case to bring him down every free moment they had. None of them wanted the man around the newest Stark any longer than he had already been but until they had enough evidence, they would have to put up with him.

“My Lady,” Littlefinger said as he began walking along beside her. She was making her way to the kitchen to make sure they would have enough for supper that night. Since the Night King was defeated, several lords had been showing up every sennight or so, Jon sending them back early.

“How can I help you, Lord Baelish?” Sansa asked.

“It concerns your babe,” he said and she rolled her eyes. She knew what he was doing, she knew the Lords had started guessing the father of her babe since they returned as the likeness to him was undeniable and her name did nothing to soothe the rumors, only feed them. “Your bannermen are talking. Most seem to believe that your babe was fathered by the king.”

“That is what bannermen do, Lord Baelish, they talk,” Sansa said, looking over at the man. “I cannot stop them and I will make no attempt to.”

“They might not be too receptive to your child being heir of Winterfell if they believe it to be your bastard half-brother’s.”

“They are loyal to the Starks, and my child is a Stark.”

“Perhaps. You might be more successful if you told them the father of the babe was an ally,” Sansa froze where she stood and turned to look at Petyr.

“Are you insinuating that I should lie to my people by telling them you are the father of my child? My very Northern child named for my aunt on my father’s side?” Sansa asked icily. “They might question the father of my babe, but they would never accept you in that role. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lord Baelish, I have duties to attend to before my daughter wakes.”

“Are we ready to depart?” Daenerys asked as they sat around the command tent. There were very few of them left, Jon sending the rest back to Winterfell. Only himself, the queen, Tyrion, Varys, Brienne, Jaime, Grey-Worm, and Gendry remained at the battleground.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Gendry nodded. “They’re all gone. Every single fucking wight is burned to ash.”

“Hear, hear,” Tyrion raised his glass before downing it. The group laughed, though it was tired and muted. They had all seen so much carnage and they were ready to get away from this place.

“We can leave at first light,” Jon said. “Get some rest. We’ll need it to make it to Winterfell.” They all bid their goodnights as they left the tent bar Daenerys. She stayed in her seat, watching Jon.

“The war is over,” she said. “You have no more enemies to fight. What will you do now?”

“Go home. See my family again and thank the gods that I was able to protect them,” Jon said, looking down at his lap.

“Will you tell your people of your true name when we return to Winterfell?”

“Aye,” Jon nodded. “They deserve to know. They chose me because I was Ned Stark’s bastard son, even with Sansa there as his trueborn daughter. I’m not so sure they’ll be as welcoming to a Targaryen prince.”

“Jon, I don’t know much of the North from the little time I have spent here but one thing I do know is that they are loyal. They chose you as king because they believed you to be a good man and a good leader and you have done nothing but prove them right on the battlefield. You killed the Night King, Jon, with nothing but your skills and your sword,” Daenerys said, watching him. “They are loyal to you and even with Targaryen blood, they will continue to see the wolf in you.” Jon smiled gratefully at her.

“Thank you, Daenerys,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome Jon. Goodnight,” she stood and left the tent. Jon sighed and waited a long moment before making his way to his own tent. Ghost was already inside, the three pups curled against his stomach. Jon smiled and scratched his direwolf’s head before collapsing onto his cot and falling asleep.

“My Lady!” one of Sansa’s maids rushed into her chamber. “I apologize for rushing in here like this but – the King has returned!” Sansa stood immediately.

“Go find my sister and brother and bring them to the gate, whichever King Jon is arriving at. I’ll be there shortly,” the maid nodded and hurried out. Sansa took a deep breath and moved over to the cradle where Lyanna slept peacefully. Sansa smiled and lifted her out. She grabbed a warm, fur wrap and bundled Lyanna in it before slipping on her own cloak. She held Lyanna to her chest and made her way down the steps and outside to the North gate where maids, soldiers, and lords alike were gathering. Arya and Bran were already waiting in the middle and she joined them, keeping Lyanna close and as safe from the cold as could be. Sansa watched as the gate opened slowly. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face as Jon rode in first on his mount, a loud cheer roaring from everyone gathered as they watched their king return victorious. Jon slid off the horse and walked over to Sansa, stopping in front of her.

“Is that-?” he asked, eyes locked on the bundle of fur. Sansa smiled and nodded, lowering Lyanna so Jon could see her.

“Meet your daughter,” she whispered so quiet not even Arya could hear. “Lyanna Stark.”

“She’s perfect,” he leaned down and kissed her head before pulling Sansa into a hug. “Thank you, for her.” He kissed her head again before pulling away to hug Arya and Bran tightly. Sansa brought Lyanna up against her chest again to stave away the cold as Daenerys approached slowly.

“This is your babe?” she asked softly. Sansa nodded and turned so Daenerys could see her face. “She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. Her name is Lyanna.”

“Lyanna…that’s Jon’s mother, correct? Your aunt?” Daenerys asked, peering up at Sansa.

“Yes,” Sansa nodded. “I considered naming her Catelyn, after my own mother, but she got the Stark coloring instead of the Tully so I thought it more appropriate.” Daenerys nodded and watched her babe wistfully, Sansa thought, bittersweet, perhaps. “I’m afraid I must ask your leave, Your Grace, I need to get Lyanna inside.”

“Of course, Lady Stark, please,” Daenerys nodded, one hand briefly passing over stomach. “I’ll see you at supper for a victory feast, I’m sure.”

“You will,” Sansa said. Despite the annoyances the queen had caused, Sansa could not imagine what she had been through, losing her husband and child so close together. She smiled softly at Daenerys before making her way back to the keep and upstairs to her chambers. She laid Lyanna in her cradle after taking the furs off her and sat down on the bed, watching her until she drifted off to sleep, waking later in the day to Jon’s voice.

“Hello, little one. I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you before now but I was busy making sure you and your mother would be safe,” he said. Sansa opened her eyes to see Jon still dressed the thicker furs and cloaks for the weather north of the Wall, holding Lyanna in his arms. She smiled and sat up, yawning.

“She looks like you,” Sansa said. Jon beamed with pride, eyes not moving from his daughter’s face for a moment. “We won’t be able to keep it a secret much longer, my love. It’s very obvious she looks like you and no matter how many times I say she just got the Stark coloring, our bannermen are growing more and more suspicious.”

“I know. I will tell them after we break fast. Let us all have one night of peace,” he chuckled and sat down on the bed next to Sansa. “How shall we tell them?”

“We must inform them of your Targaryen blood first. We shall tell them that we found out before the war but because we did not know the fate of what would happen, we chose to wait and see if you survived. It will sound more believable since we are telling them so soon after you’ve returned. Then you will assure them that it does not change how you feel about the North or its people and that you renounce any claim for the Iron Throne,” Sansa took Lyanna from him as the babe began fussing and easily unlaced her gown and shift, as she began wearing ones that laced in the front, and let Lyanna latch on to nurse.

“And then I shall tell them that Lyanna is my heir and you and I shall be wed in less than a sennight,” Jon said, watching Lyanna suckle at her mother’s teat. “And we will be. I want to be able to call you my wife and my queen as soon as possible.”

“I’m not sure if we should. They will already be reeling from the knowledge that you are truly are a Targaryen…”

“But if I marry you, I will take the Stark name,” Jon said. “And there will be no need for worry of my allegiances.” Sansa smiled and pulled him into a kiss.

“You’re getting smarter every day when it comes to the politics of court,” she said.

“It’s because I’m learning from the best,” Jon leaned in to kiss her again as her cheeks pinked. “Now, as much as I wish to stay here with you and our babe, after you left Arya spotted Gendry and tried to duel him on the spot.”

“Gendry,” Sansa thought for a moment. “That boy she met in the…Riverlands?”

“I think so. I didn’t catch much of what she said because of how fast she was speaking but she seems very angry but very happy he’s alright,” Jon said. “I have to make sure she doesn’t skewer him. And then I must greet everyone and make sure they’re all right and thank them for fighting. All the kingly things I must do.”

“Yes, you do. I’ll join you once she’s finished,” Sansa kissed his cheek. “But change before you go anywhere. Your clothes are dirty.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

Jon cleared his throat and stood, looking over all the lords. They had asked they remain after the meal so they could make a few announcements. Once the hall had gone silent, Jon looked down at Sansa who nodded encouragingly and smiled.

“I have something to tell you all, something I’ve only found out recently,” Jon started, “I was raised as Eddard Stark’s bastard. I have lived my entire life thinking I was Eddard Stark’s bastard. But that isn’t necessarily true. I am not Eddard Stark’s bastard, I am not his son. I am the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.” At once there was an uproar, many of the men standing and shouting. Some called for Jon to abdicate, some called for his head. Sansa stood next to him and glared across the room until they all fell quiet once more.

“Thank you. As King Jon said, he only found out recently, when he left for Dragonstone to persuade the Dragon Queen to help us in the fight against the Others,” Sansa glanced around the room. She saw Daenerys watching them with narrowed and calculating eyes, along with Tyrion and Varys. Littlefinger looked positively gleeful, while Bran, Meera, Arya, and her closest allies observed the reaction of the lords. “Only a select few knew of this information, myself included. We chose not to tell you because we needed to be focused. The dead were coming and they were first priority. We settled to tell you if Jon returned from the battle alive. Now we have.”

“I did not mean to deceive any of you,” Jon said sincerely. “I did not hide this information from you in hopes to trick you. I did it for the good of the North. If we had been worried of claim to anything, we would not have been able to focus on the Night King and his army. Targaryen blood runs through my veins, aye, but I am still a wolf. I was raised in the North and I will die in the North like every one of you. I, Jaehaerys Targaryen, relinquish any claim I have to the Iron Throne.” Lyanna Mormont stepped to the front of the crowd, looking up at Jon and Sansa.

“And how can we be sure of your loyalty to the North?” she asked haughtily, in the way she usually spoke.

“That, actually, Lady Mormont, brings us to our next announcement,” Sansa said, smiling softly down at the girl. She had a soft spot, she had to admit, as Lady Lyanna reminded her so much of Arya before they left for King’s Landing all those years ago. “As you all are well aware, I have recently given birth to a child. I told you all she was fathered by a wolf. I was not lying. Our good King Jon fathered my babe,” again, the men began shouting and yelling, though this time they were a bit more positive. Sansa waited for them to calm, taking the chance to look around. Daenerys was absolutely fuming, eyes burning with fire and knuckles clenched around the table. Tyrion and Varys did not look surprised at all, and Littlefinger – Littlefinger was staring at her. His gaze was unblinking and intimidating, though she stood tall, turning back to face her bannermen.

“Does that make your child a bastard, Lady Stark?” Lyanna asked. Sansa almost laughed, the little lady had no care for manners in the places they did not mean anything.

“No, it does not,” Sansa said. “Jon and I will be wed within a fortnight, I will be Queen, and our child heir to the Northern throne. We knew that we could not marry until you knew the truth of our relationship, that we are not siblings as we have long thought, but cousins instead. That, my Lords and Lady’s, is how you know what King Jon says is true. We shall remain in Winterfell for the rest of our days, raising our children and ruling the North the best we can.”

“Come on,” he urged Sansa. Arya followed behind, walking alongside Bran as Meera pushed him.

“Where are we going?” Sansa asked, whining a little. “Lyanna will need a feed soon.”

“I know, sweetling, this won’t take long, I promise,” Jon said and pulled her down the path to the Hunter’s Gate, stopping outside the kennels.

“Why are we here, Jon?” Sansa asked again.

“I found something after the war was over but before we came home and I just haven’t had the chance to show you between consoling all the lords and Lyanna and Daenerys,” Jon looked over at them. “Their mother was already dead.” Sansa frowned and moved forward to look inside as there was a high-pitched yip and a direwolf pup jumped out, tugging at the hem of Sansa’s gown with its teeth.

“Direwolves?” Arya gasped as the other two walked out, Ghost following behind them.

“Aye, three of them. One for each of you,” Jon said. All three were a beautiful gray color that practically gleamed in the sunlight. One of the quieter pups lumbered over to Bran and jumped up, putting his front paws on Bran’s knees. Bran smiled and pet his head gently.

“Hello,” he said softly. The pup immediately jumped all the way into Bran’s lap and curled up, resting his head on his paws.

“I think that one’s yours Bran,” Jon said, smiling. The one that came out first had taken to running around Ghost, nipping at his tail or legs every so often, while the final pup trotted over to Sansa and sniffed her dress. Sansa squatted down and pet her head gently. Her coat was the lightest of the litter, looking almost white at times.

“You’re so beautiful,” Sansa whispered, stroking her slowly. Jon watched her, kneeling down to kiss her head.

“I guess that means this one is yours, Arya,” Jon finally said, gesturing the pup that was still running around.

“Oh, no I don’t think she is,” Arya said. “Nymeria is still alive, she’s still mine even if she’s not here. But there is another Stark that could do with a direwolf. And I think this one is perfect.”

“Lyanna?” Sansa asked, looking at her sister. “Do you think she’ll be alright around a babe?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Bran said. Sansa nodded and stood, waving one of the servant girls passing by over. She instructed to send for Lyanna’s nurse to bring her down to the kennels.

“Has Littlefinger approached you at all since our announcement yesterday?” Jon asked as they waited.

“No, he hasn’t. I have seen him watching me, but he hasn’t come any closer than a room’s length away,” Sansa said, petting her direwolf’s head gently.

“Good. Let me know if he does,” Jon kissed Sansa’s head. “Do you have a name for her?”

“Yes,” Sansa nodded, grinning. “Snow.” She heard Jon’s breath hitch and he cupped Sansa’s face, turning her toward him, and kissed her, perhaps a bit too passionately for being out in the open, but Sansa leaned into him nonetheless. Jon only pulled away when Lyanna’s nurse cleared her throat, babe wrapped up in her arms. Sansa stood and took Lyanna gently, handing her to Jon. “Just kneel and let the pup approach you.”

“Aye,” Jon nodded and slowly knelt, holding Lyanna in his lap. At once, the final pup began making her way over. She sniffed Lyanna’s hand and yipped happily, bounding around Jon and Lyanna.

“I think we know who’s direwolf this is then,” Sansa said, smiling down at her daughter and her new companion.

Chapter Text

The morning of their wedding, Sansa woke half on top of Jon, both still naked from the night before. She grinned and kissed the scar over his heart, looking up at him. He slowly roused, blinking the sleep away before looking down at her.

“Morning, sweet girl,” he whispered.

“Morning, my King,” Sansa said. She moved up and kissed him on the lips, her breasts pressing against him just so.

“Morning, my Queen,” Jon whispered against her lips. Sansa giggled and pulled away. “By the end of the day, you shall be my wife.”

“I know. I can’t wait,” Sansa turned and sat up, the furs falling to her waist. Her hair fell down her back, moving like water along her skin. Jon reached out and tangled the ends around his fingers, pulling lightly. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Admiring my beautiful queen,” Jon said, pushing himself up as well. He moved to sit behind her, stretching his legs out on either side of her body. “I love your hair.”

“I know you do, my King,” Sansa smiled and turned her head to face him. “You touch it every time we are alone together. And even sometimes when we are not.” Jon laughed softly and kissed her again, arm wrapping around her waist from behind to swing her onto his lap. Sansa squealed at the sudden movement and clung to Jon, hair falling over his shoulder. He grinned and kissed along her neck to the space just behind her ear and inhaled deeply.

“How do you always smell divine?” he murmured, tightening his grip on her.

“It’s just one of my many talents, my King. Now come, we must get up. We have many things to get done,” Sansa slid off his lap and out of bed, walking over to sit at her dressing table. Jon watched as she brushed her hair and then did a simple braid until a few handmaidens could do a more complex design later for the wedding. Jon nodded and got out of bed, padding over to the cradle. Lyanna was starting to wake, probably from the sound of her mother’s voice. Jon slid on his smallclothes and then lifted Lyanna from her bed.

“Hello, little one,” Jon whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Lyanna’s head. “Are you hungry? Do you need your mama’s teat?” Sansa scoffed as she held her arms out for their daughter, taking her gingerly.

“You slept so well,” Sansa cooed to Lyanna, urging her to wake a bit more so she could feed. “Only woke mama up one time, such a good girl.” She guided Lyanna to her nipple and soon her babe was latched on, suckling happily. As Sansa fed their daughter, Jon dressed in his normal wear, his wedding attire waiting in his unused chambers. He walked over to Sansa and kissed her gently.

“I’ll see you in the Godswood, my love,” he whispered. Sansa nodded and kissed his cheek.

“The Godswood.”

“To the King and Queen of the North!” one of the lords shouted, words slurring together from the countless glasses of ale consumed.

“To the King and Queen of the North!” the rest chorused back. Sansa giggled from where she sat at the dais, just her and Jon there tonight. Jon leaned in and touched his forehead to Sansa’s grinning widely.

“You always wanted to be Queen,” he said so only she could hear.

“I did. Thought I would marry some golden Southron prince. I got a dark, broody North king instead,” Sansa giggled and kissed his cheek. “I’m very glad for the way things turned out.”

“I am too. I’ve always thought you were beautiful, even as children. And when Joffrey showed up…I would have strangled him right there if I could,” Jon admitted, cheeks reddening a bit as Sansa laughed.

“Jon Stark, my savior, strangles all the men he doesn’t deem worthy,” Sansa said, kissing his cheek again.

“Jon Stark,” he muttered, looking down at his lap. “All my life, that’s all I wanted. To be a Stark, to make father proud.”

“He is, you know? Or he would be. Proud of you, I mean,” Sansa said. “You’re a good man, an amazing king.”

“And I just married one of his only two daughters, who also happened to be raised as my sister,” Jon said, rolling his eyes a bit.

“Do you remember what I told you the day we admitted our feelings to one another? About what father told me? It was in King’s Landing, only a few days before his execution. He told me that my betrothal to Joffrey was a mistake and that one day, when I was old enough, he would find me someone brave, gentle, and strong,” Sansa smiled softly, melancholy dancing across her face as she thought back to the day. “And maybe he didn’t do it directly or on purpose but I got that in the end, I have you. And you are Jon, you are brave and gentle and strong and so much more. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetling,” Jon said, smiling back at her. “As long as you and Lyanna are safe and happy, so am I. Now I believe that this evening has gone on long enough and I intend to bed you as my wife for the first time very soon and I would rather it be in our bed instead of on this table.” Sansa giggled and kissed his cheek.

“I’ll head up now, wait a few moments and then follow me up,” she whispered and stood. She said something to Arya quietly before walking out of the side door as inconspicuously as possible. Arya moved over to sit next to Jon.

“I’ll create a distraction for you to leave without being noticed so when it happens, get out,” she said, taking a sip of her wine.

“Thank you, Arya,” Jon said.

“It’s mostly for Sansa. She doesn’t want any kind of bedding ceremony to happen, not after what happened to her,” Arya explained. “She asked me to make sure it didn’t happen the day after she confirmed you two to wed.”

“Aye, I don’t either,” Jon nodded. “I appreciate it very much, Arya.”

“You’re welcome,” Arya smirked and stood. “Hey! Wildling!” she suddenly yelled, glaring at Tormund. “I’ve heard whispers that you think you could beat me in a fight! Want to find out?” she climbed over the table and stomped over to Tormund and Jon took his cue, fleeing from the hall while everyone’s attention was elsewhere; everyone’s except Littlefinger, Jon couldn’t help but notice as he exited from the same door Sansa did. Littlefinger watched him as he left, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Jon ignored him for the time being – he had a wife to see to. He hurried over to the Great Keep and upstairs to his and Sansa’s chambers, barring the door behind him. He turned to see his beautiful wife, his Sansa, bare as her name day, sitting in front of the fire on the pelts from their bed, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

“Sansa…you look beautiful,” Jon said, walking over and collapsing next to her. She giggled and set her brush down walking over to him on her knees to straddle his lap. Jon was still completely dressed and the contrast between her naked skin and all his furs and leathers drove her a bit mad.

“Thank you, my King,” Sansa said, sitting up straight so her chest was on display, her hair falling to the sides to frame her breasts. “It is my duty to please my king on our wedding night.”

“You’re doing a wonderful job already,” Jon muttered. He leaned forward and attached his mouth to the flesh of one of her teats, sucking and biting the sensitive skin. Sansa gasped at the feeling, back arching ever so slightly under Jon’s hands. “Undress me.”

“Yes, my King,” Sansa whispered, hands moving to his waist to unbuckle his doublet. Jon kept his mouth on some part of her at all times, no matter how she moved to peel off his clothes. Once he was finally naked, he grabbed Sansa’s waist and flipped them so she was on her back underneath him. Sansa gasped, hands gripping Jon’s shoulder’s impossibly tight.

“I am going to make you fall apart,” Jon muttered. “Make you cry and scream and whimper for me.” Sansa shuddered at his words, nails digging into his skin.

“Yes, my King, please. I’ll take whatever you give me and give it right back in return,” Sansa said, spreading her legs best she could.

“I know you will, my Queen. The only thing I want to give you is pleasure,” Jon kissed her then, moving their lips together slowly. He trailed down from her lips to her jaw, down her neck and between her breasts, down her stomach and finally stopped at her pelvis, kissing the bright red curls that awaited him. “Do you want my mouth, my Queen?”

“Gods yes,” Sansa moaned, letting her head fall back on the floor. The heat from the fire rolled over her, adding to the heat coming from her core that only intensified with every swipe of Jon’s tongue over her. “Please, Jon, oh please, I’m close!” Jon complied and moved closer, burying his face in her cunt, thumb coming up to rub her pearl. Sansa cried out his name as she peaked, back arching off the stone floor which only served to push herself further into Jon’s mouth and tongue. Sansa started to twitch with oversensitivity as she came down and reached down, pulling Jon away from her by his hair.

“Was that good, my Queen?” he asked, smiling smugly down at her. Sansa nodded and tugged him up to kiss him, humming at the taste of herself on his lips.

“You know it was. But now I want to taste you,” Sansa said. Jon’s mouth suddenly felt dry and he moved to kneel in front of her, allowing her to roll onto her stomach. She looked up at Jon through her eyelashes and giggled, taking his cock into her hand. “You seem…nervous, my King.”

“Not nervous, just ready,” he groaned as she took the head into her mouth, immediately bobbing up and down on his cock. She moaned around him, her hand drifting lower to brush his bollocks. Jon yelped at the touch, hips bucking forward. Sansa gagged at the unexpected intrusion and pulled off, looking up at him. “I’m sorry Sansa, I didn’t mean-”

“Do it again,” Sansa said defiantly, taking him back between her lips, pointedly holding her head still. Jon waited a moment to make sure she was serious before gently pushing his hips into her mouth. Sansa urged him on with her eyes, letting her mouth relax more around him. Jon kept his pace quite slow until Sansa, very impatiently, grabbed Jon’s hand and placed it on the back of her head. Jon finally took initiative and thrust faster, grunting quietly as he watched her. His fingers tangled in her hair and be began moving her head in time with his hips, the two meeting in the middle.

“Fuck,” he gasped, yanking Sansa off after she ran her tongue along the underside of his cock as he pulled out. “I need to get inside you, now.” Sansa nodded quickly, rolling onto her back again. Jon moved to hover over her, one hand sliding under her thigh to yank it over his hip.

“Oh fuck, please Jon,” Sansa whimpered as she felt Jon’s hard length press against her.

“You’re soaked, my Queen,” Jon said, reaching down to take himself in his hand. He rubbed his head over her entrance, coating it in her wet.

“For you, Jon,” Sansa gasped as Jon pushed all the way in, filling her completely. She pressed her body to his, one hand gripping his hair and the other cupping his arse. Jon groaned and fucked her quickly, both already close. “Please, please Jon, touch me!”

“Where?” Jon asked, voice gruff and strained. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

“My cunt,” Sansa whimpered. Jon moaned and stuck his hand between their bodies, rubbing at her furiously until she wailed, tightening around his cock like a vice which caused Jon to spill inside her. Sansa laid back against the furs panting as Jon carefully pulled out.

“How does it feel to be a proper queen now?” Jon asked, laying on his side next to her, the fire casting shadows over Sansa’s face.

“I’m only a proper queen because my husband bedded me?” she asked, giggling softly.

“No, but being married and bedded by the king does,” Jon said before kissing her, fingers trailing over her side.

“It feels…right,” Sansa said. “Like I’m finally where I belong.”

Chapter Text

Lyanna had been quite the handful since she was born, especially since Sansa refused to get a wet-nurse – hers would be the only teats her daughter, and any future children, fed from. With Jon’s return, some responsibility could be shared for their babe but Sansa was still her mother so she could never be too bothered when Lyanna’s nurse fetched her for a feed. As queen, she had to be away from her daughter like she was now. She was sitting in the Great Hall with her two siblings, listening to complaints from the smallfolk. Though neither claimed the title of Lord or Lady of Winterfell, they helped with the daily tasks as they knew she was busy being a queen and a mother. They were in between complaints when a maid found her and informed her Lyanna was hungry. Sansa stood and excused herself, heading back to her solar where Lyanna and her nurse were waiting, Brienne following. Once she arrived, the nurse left to see to her other duties as was the custom when Sansa or Jon was with their babe and Brienne stood guard outside the door. She sat down in front of the fire and laid Lyanna on her legs as she unlaced her dress and shift. Once her breast was free, she lifted Lyanna and helped her latch on before leaning back to wait it out, stroking a finger through her babe’s dark curls.

“Your Grace?” Brienne’s voice sounded through the door. “Queen Daenerys is here to see you.” Sansa sighed.

“Let her in,” she said, not taking her eyes off Lyanna. She refused to cover her daughter for the sake of decency. Daenerys was once to have a babe, she knew what a mother did, anyhow. The door opened and the Dragon Queen walked in, taking a seat in the chair next to Sansa’s.

“Sorry for disturbing you,” Daenerys said, glancing down at Lyanna. “I wished to speak about your continuing insistence that the North be independent, along with the Vale and the Riverlands.”

“Actually, Your Grace, the Vale and the Riverlands do not need to remain under the North’s rule. If they wish to bend the knee and swear fealty to you, then they can. But I want the North to be independent, yes,” Sansa explained, looking down whe Lyanna began to fuss. She pulled her away and laid her on her lap once more to lace her shift and dress back up before lifting Lyanna over her shoulder and patting her back.

“And I am sure they will wish to stay with the North,” Daenerys muttered. “Lady Sansa, I am the rightful Queen to the Seven Kingdoms-”

“By what right?” Sansa interrupted. “The Targaryen reign ended when Robert Baratheon took the throne. Just because you lived does not mean you are the rightful queen.” Sansa lowered Lyanna to rest in her arms, rocking her slowly.

“So, you would have Cersei Lannister on the throne? A tyrant who has killed thousands just because they got in the way of her throne?”

“And isn’t that what you’ve done?” Sansa said, icy eyes staring Daenerys down. “You’ve told anyone you’ve come across that they must bend the knee or die and then you burn them alive when they don’t want to swear fealty to a conqueror.”

“I am not a conqueror, I am a queen,” Daenerys huffed. “I am the Breaker of the Chains, the-”

“There are no slaves in Westeros, Your Grace. Only men who want a just ruler,” Sansa said.

“Except the North,” Daenerys said, working to keep her tone calm and diplomatic.

“The North has just rulers who care for their people,” Sansa said, checking on Lyanna to make sure she was still asleep. “The North has always functioned better under its own king and queen.”

“Torrhen Stark bent the knee to the Targaryen’s-”

“Because he was being threatened with dragon fire, Your Grace. Despite being at war, when my brother Robb was crowned king, the North was more prosperous, motivated, and united then it had been in years. The North will not bend the knee, Daenerys Targaryen.”

“You will risk your people’s lives? Their homes, their livelihoods because you refuse to bend the knee?” Daenerys asked, eyes flashing with anger.

“This is why the North functions better under northern rule, Your Grace. Southron kings and queens do not understand us. The North remembers, Your Grace, and the North is loyal to the Starks.”

“And what does the North remember, Lady Sansa?” Daenerys’s nostrils flared and her knuckles turned white where she gripped the chair.

“That your father roasted my uncle and grandfather alive. That you held King Jon prisoner on Dragonstone for over a moon. That you refused to help the people you claim to care for until they were a direct threat to you. Your people call you kind and good and just but all I see is an exiled girl playing at being queen with no knowledge of how to. A girl who kills those who oppose and disagree with her. A girl who is using her dragons to inspire loyalty through fear. That is the queen Westeros already has, they don’t need another and they don’t want one.”

“And you believe yourself to be a better queen than I?” Daenerys seethed.

“I do not know if one of us is a better queen than the other, Your Grace. But I know that I care for my people, I know that I am doing all I can to keep them healthy and safe. From what I have experienced and observed of you, you do not do either of those things,” Sansa said and stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lyanna needs to go down. I’m sure you can see yourself out.”

“Lady Sansa-” Daenerys started angrily, standing as well.

“I am a queen,” Sansa said sharply. “And you are in my keep on my land. I suggest you start addressing me as such.” With that, Sansa walked into her chamber, leaving Daenerys alone in the solar, the fire slowly dying.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Daenerys asked. She and Tyrion were sitting in her chambers, sharing a drink after their mid-day meal. “You knew that Jon’s lover was Sansa and that she was carrying his babe.”

“I did, Your Grace. I figured it out rather early on, but it was not my secret to tell,” Tyrion sighed. “Varys did as well, and I think Littlefinger was beginning to truly suspect but otherwise, no one knew. Do not think you were played a fool. They hid their relationship well.”

“Why did you not tell me though?” Daenerys said, looking at him with wide eyes.

“To be honest, Your Grace, I was scared you would react badly and without thought. I couldn’t risk it. Your temper has gotten the better of you multiple times,” Tyrion said. He needed to be honest with his queen if she was to rule the seven – six kingdoms. Maybe even four, if the Vale and the Riverlands kept their pledge to the North.

“It has, hasn’t it,” Daenerys said regretfully. “I never wished it to. I want to be a good queen, Tyrion, I want to be as loved as Sansa is. You’ve seen the way she’s treated here. I don’t want to scare my people into loving me.”

“Lord Baelish, you have been brought before us today to pay for your crimes of murder and treason,” Sansa said. She stood in front of the wood block with Jon, Arya, and Bran. The lords surrounded them while one held Petyr Baelish on his knees. “For your crimes, you shall lose your head.”

“Sansa please,” Petyr rasped, staring at her. “Please, I love you, I’ve loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

“And you betrayed me by selling me to the Bolton’s,” Sansa said coldly before nodding at Jon. Jon unsheathed Longclaw and moved to stand beside the wooden block. The guard pushed Littlefinger down so his bent over, head forced onto the block. Jon locked eyes with Sansa, noticed the hidden joy in her eyes, and raised his sword, bringing it down in one fell stroke.

“Jon, I was hoping to find you,” Daenerys said as she approached Jon. He was helping rebuild one of the many destroyed building from Theon’s ransack and Ramsay’s mistreatment when he heard the Dragon Queen and turned to face her.

“Of course, Your Grace. I’ll be back Gendry,” Jon said, wiping his hands on his breeches as he and Daenerys walked along the path. “Did you need to speak with me about something?”

“Yes, I did. Cersei is always a threat, and she needs to be taken down. I am the rightful queen to the Iron Throne and she is standing in my way,” Daenerys explained, looking over at Jon. “I need to know if the North will be joining me in this war.”

“I am not sure,” Jon said, sighing. “I will have to speak to my Lords and my Lady Wife, we must discuss what we should do.”

“Of course. If it could be sooner, that would be better. Who knows what Cersei is doing,” Daenerys said. “May I ask you a…personal question?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Did you ever have feelings for me?” Jon stopped and looked over at Daenerys warily. He stayed silent for a moment.

“No, I did not. I’ve been in love with Sansa since before we left Castle Black, before we took back Winterfell,” Jon said. “I am sorry if I led you on. That was never my intention.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t. You are far too honorable,” Daenerys smiled sadly “Sansa has made it very clear that the North will continue to pursue its independence, even if that means war.”

“Yes. The North, Winterfell, is our home. It has been taken too many times. We do not wish to go to war but if you try to force our hand, we will,” Jon said.

“I understand. Which is why I am proposing an alliance,” Daenerys looked over at him from the corner of her eye.

“An alliance?” Jon frowned. “What would be in this alliance?”

“You will be my heir. You are the only other Targaryen left and if something happens to me, there needs to be someone to take over,” Daenerys said. “Until your second child reaches their eighteenth name-day. Then they will take over as my heir. I know you wish Lyanna to one day rule the North.”

“We do, yes. We will need to speak with Sansa about this as well. But I think she will agree. She does not wish to go to war and I am the only way to continue the Targaryen line.”

“Wonderful. Then let’s go speak to her. No offense meant, but I wish to leave Winterfell as soon as possible,” Daenerys said, chuckling softly.

“None taken,” Jon grinned back. “She should be in our solar with Lyanna.” He led Daenerys down to the Great Keep and inside, up to the door to his and Sansa’s solar. He nodded at Brienne before opening the door. Sansa was sat at the table, looking over some ledgers as Lyanna rested in her lap. Snow and Lyanna’s direwolf rested on the floor in front of the fire.

“My Queen?” Jon said as they walked in. Sansa looked up and glanced between the pair.

“Yes?” she asked, setting her quill down.

“I have recognized that the North will do anything to keep its independence,” Daenerys said, Sansa immediately turning her head to the other woman. “Because of that, I wish to negotiate an alliance.”

“I would be glad to. Please, Your Grace, have a seat,” Sansa gestured to the chair across the table. Daenerys nodded and sat down, folding her hands in her lap.

“As I have mentioned to Jon, I need an heir and I am barren and to be honest…I am not sure I would want another child if I cannot have my Rhaego. I wish Jon to be my heir, he is my only family left.”

“I understand. What happens if Jon never needs to take over? If you live out your life and pass from natural causes? If the same happens with Jon, there might not be much time between the two events,” Sansa asked.

“I have thought of that. Jon and I are around the same age. If neither of us are killed before life runs its course, it is logical think we will die around the same time. That is why I wish to name your second child my heir, once their reach their eighteenth name-day,” Daenerys said, keeping her eyes on Sansa, watching her intake of breath and watching as she relaxed as Jon moved to stand behind her, a hand on her shoulder. Sometimes Daenerys is not sure how she thought Jon to be in love with her, seeing how he acts around Sansa.

“I think that is more than fair, Your Grace,” Sansa nodded. “But I must ask, would you not rather have a child with the Targaryen looks?”

“I would, but there is no guarantee that you will produce a child with such traits, with Jon looking like he does. The Stark and Tully genes are strong. The Targaryen’s were only able to keep the look pure because of the inbreeding,” Daenerys said a bit sadly.

“An amendment to it then. If I bear a child that is a Targaryen in time, they can be your heir instead of my second. Would that be agreeable?” Sansa asked, rubbing her hand over Lyanna’s stomach as the babe began fussing.

“I think that is very agreeable. Is there anything else?”

“I wish that, whichever child ends up your heir, they be raised here in Winterfell. They may travel to King’s Landing to learn to rule, but much of their time is to be at home,” Sansa said, setting her terms. She would not lose any of her children to the South until they were properly ready, not like her mother lost her and Arya and their father.

“I understand. I also wish to have several northern lords and ladies marry into the south.”

“I cannot guarantee that but I swear I will do my best to convince several,” Sansa nodded.

“Thank you. I also wish for your help in the war against Cersei. I will not need your entire army, of course, but a large host would suffice,” Daenerys said, looking at Sansa, eyes narrowed slightly. “Along with your word that should a threat ever come against Westeros, you will offer aid.”

“You will have our aid. Cersei is a threat to us as well, and she needs to be removed,” Sansa said before pausing. “Your Grace?”


“Kill her.”

Chapter Text

15 years later
“It’s time to wake, my Queen,” Jon muttered, pressing soft kisses to Sansa’s shoulder blade. “We have duties to attend to. You mentioned visiting Wintertown.” Sansa rolled onto her back and groaned, hands holding her swollen stomach.

“Or we could stay in bed and you could service me the way I love so much,” Sansa said, smirking up at Jon. “Spend your time pleasuring your Lady Wife.”

“As much as I wish I could, we not only have our duties we also have several children that will come in here if we do not break fast with them,” Jon said. He brushed Sansa’s hair from her face, leaning down to kiss her. “Need help getting up?”

No thank you, love, I can manage,” Sansa smiled and pushed herself up into a sitting position. “I will need your help to dress.”

“Of course, sweetling,” Jon nodded, sliding from the bed. He dressed quickly, pulling on a simpler pair of breeches, tunic, and doublet. He laced his boots tight as Sansa moved around the room, collected her shift and dress. Jon helped her into each layer, buttoning and lacing where needed. “Ready to go?”

“Yes please, the babe is starving, and so am I,” Sansa said, hooking her arm through Jon’s as they walked down and across the courtyard to the Great Hall. Their children were already seated and eating, chattering loudly amongst each other until young Robb spotted their parents.

“Mother! Father!” he shouted, climbing down from his chair. He ran to meet Jon and Sana, hugging Jon tightly as he was lifted in the air to settle on his father’s hip.

“Did you sleep well?” Jon asked, kissing Robb’s cheek.


“Are you excited for your lessons? You’ll be starting your sword training with Brienne,” Jon said, walking up to the dais, sitting in his seat with Robb on his lap.

“Yes! She says we start with practice swords first,” Robb said excitedly. “And that I will spar with Rhaella!”

“You will be,” Jon said. “I am sure you will make a wonderful swordsman. Maybe one day you will beat Brienne or Aunt Arya.” Robb giggled and shook his head.

“Go finish your meal,” Sansa said from her place beside Jon. “Or there will be no training at all.” Robb gasped and nodded, running back to his spot between Catelyn and Rhaella. Sansa and Jon watched their children for a moment before their own food was served.

“We must tell Rhaella she is to leave for King’s Landing after the babe is born,” Jon said quietly. Sansa sighed.

“I know. I just wish she didn’t have to go,” Sansa rubbed a hand over her stomach. “But she will be queen one day. She must know how to rule.”

“She already knows so much. One day, she will make a great queen and with Lyanna ruling the North, Westeros will see an age of peace like never before,” Jon took Sansa’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Do you think Catelyn feels cheated out of being queen?” Sansa asked, glancing at her second child.

“No,” Jon said decidedly. “She was never meant to rule, and she knows that. She may have the Tully looks but she is Arya through and through.” Sansa laughed and nodded.

“Very much so,” Sansa agreed. “Ned has spoken of becoming a squire.”

“Yes, he has mentioned it to me as well,” Jon sighed. “Brienne might take him on, or perhaps Podrick.”

“Either would be an excellent choice, though Brienne may decline due to her age. She’s not doing much more than training.”

“We will suggest Podrick then. I shall speak to him on the morrow,” Jon settled. “Now eat, we should leave for Wintertown as soon as possible.”

“Of course, my King,” Sansa said, smiling. They both ate quickly and bid their children goodbye. They met the few guards escorting them at the main gate. Jon helped Sansa into the back of the cart and then joined her, reaching over to lay his hand on her bump. “Only three more moons,” she whispered.

“I can’t wait,” Jon kissed Sansa softly as the guard urged the horses forward, the cart moving clumsily along the road. They arrived in Wintertown a short while later, many of the smallfolk already gathered to greet their king and queen.

Jon and Sansa spent most of their day in Wintertown, meeting with the people and discussing the issues and problems and doing their best to provide a solution. They also met with several families inside their homes. Jon working to peel root vegetables or repair small items while Sansa helped embroider and sew. They ended the day with the orphaned children. Sansa brought them meat pies and lemon cakes and Jon presented them with new clothes and shoes. After hugging the children goodbye, Jon and Sansa began their journey back to Winterfell.

“You’re an amazing queen,” Jon said, looking over at Sansa. “I am always blown away when I see you like that, see just how good a ruler you are. You were made for this, born for this.”

“Thank you, my love,” Sansa grinned. “When I was a child in King’s Landing with Cersei, I saw how she treated her people and how they felt about her and I promised myself that when I became queen, I would make my people love me. I would be the kind and just ruler they deserved.”

“You’ve kept your promise,” Jon said, taking her hands in his. “You’re a much better queen than I am king.”

“You’ve gotten much better,” Sansa laughed. “I’ll admit you were lost the first few years but you figured it out. We both did. Together.” Jon chuckled and nodded.

“It’s thanks to you. If I had been on my own, we would have been fucked,” Jon said. “I had no clue what to do.”

“Now you do. You are an amazing king and an even better father,” Sansa kissed his cheek. “I count myself lucky every day I wake up next to you.”

“Getting sappy on me?” Jon smiled brightly and rested their foreheads together. “Think we’ll have any more after this one?”

“With the way you like to bend me over in our chambers?” Sansa teased quietly. “I should think so. And you know that I will happily carry however many children you put in me.” Jon kissed her just as they rode into Winterfell. Jon helped her out of the cart once they separated.

“Ma!” Jaehaerys called from the walkway where he was holding his nurses’ hand. Sansa turned to face her youngest and smiled brightly at the sight of his silver hair. She made her way over to the stairs where he met her, clinging to her tightly. Jaehaerys was very much a mother’s boy, attached to her leg whenever possible.

“Hello my little dragon!” Sansa leant down to hug him tightly. “I’ve missed you today.”

“I miss too!” Jaehaerys beamed up at her. Sansa stood up straight, lifting him up to settle on her hip.

“Did you have a fun day?” she asked, walking up the steps to the walkway.

“Yes! Cat play with me!” Jaehaerys squealed, lisping his words.

“Oh, did she? What did you two play?” She stopped and leant against one of the columns, looking down at the courtyard where Jon had been corralled into sword practice with Lyanna, Catelyn, and Robb, Rhaella watching with a bow in her hands.

“Dragons!” Jaehaerys squealed. Sansa giggled and kissed his cheek.

“I love you, my little dragon.”

“Love too, Ma!” Sansa kissed his cheek again and cuddled her littlest boy close.

“Catelyn disarmed Lyanna in practice today,” Jon said proudly as he watched Sansa undress. She was due to have their babe any time now and they were both waiting anxiously. “Arya made sure she didn’t get too arrogant about it but she’s still very pleased with herself.”

“She should be. Besting Lyanna on the training field is no easy feat. She gets her talents from you, and you are the best swordsman in the North,” Sansa smiled back at him. Once she was bare save her smallclothes she climbed into bed, settling on her side so she was facing Jon. “Ned baked me a perfect lemon cake today. He’s been trying to get it right since I quickened but he only just succeeded. You should have seen his face when I told him it was perfect.” Jon chuckled and kissed her head.

“He’s so much like you, you know?” Jon said, laying his arm over Sansa’s waist. “Wants to be just like his mother.”

“Good, I want at least one child to take after me. So far, they all want to fight and play in the mud except Ned,” Sansa said fondly.

“Jay takes after you. Or rather, he never wants to leave your side.”

“Yes, my little dragon,” Sansa sighed happily. “I bet he crawls in here with the sun. I did not get to see him much today and he will have missed me.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Jon kissed her softly. “Which means we should do this tonight as we will be interrupted when we wake.” He kissed down her jawline, to her neck, biting at her sensitive skin. “Tell me what you want, my Queen.”

“I want your cock,” Sansa gasped, tangling her fingers in Jon’s hair. “Please, my King, please fuck me.” Jon moved back up and kissed her roughly, fingers pressing into her hip hard enough to leave bruises.

“Your side? Or your knees?” Jon asked breathlessly, already forcing his hand between her legs to rub at her.

“Neither,” Sansa said. “Both hurt too much now.” She pushed Jon away and sat up, throwing on of her pillows on the floor right next to the bed. “Help me down?” Jon nodded and took Sansa’s hands, helping her off the bed and onto the floor, her knees cushioned by the pillow. She rested her arms and head against the bed, Jon moving to kneel behind her.

“Want me to take you like a common whore?” Jon whispered in her ear, pushing her smallclothes down enough to get to her cunt. “From behind on the floor?”

“Yes, my King!” Sansa panted, moving one hand down to hold her belly. “Please take me.”

“As you wish, my Queen,” Jon said and slid into her, closing his eyes as she whined. He began fucking her quickly, knowing she would reach her peak soon with how sensitive their babe made her. Sansa keened and arched her back as Jon moved in and out roughly, dragging along her walls in a way that made her legs weak.

“Jon, oh Gods,” Sansa moaned loudly, clenching her eyes shut. “Please, Jon, my King, please!”

“No, sweetling, you’re going to peak untouched. I know you can, you have for me before,” Jon kissed the back of her neck, groaning at the taste of her sweat.

“I can’t, Jon, please touch me!” Sansa begged.

“I told you no.” Sansa gasped and sobbed, taking matters into her hands, literally. She moved her hand that held her belly down to her thighs and in between to rub at herself but before she could lay a finger on her pearl, Jon slapped her backside hard, hard enough to leave a bright pink mark. Sansa cried out at the sharp pain and from her peak, brought on by the smack of his hand. Jon spent inside her as her cunt tightening around him and held her up when she went slack after her high. “That’s my sweet girl,” Jon whispered, pressing kisses to Sansa’s hairline. She smiled weakly up at him.

“Time to sleep now,” she muttered, curling into Jon’s side. Jon laughed lightly and helped her back up on the mattress to lay down.

“Yes, my Queen, time to sleep now.”

“Jon?” Sansa called from the bed. “You can come in now.” She cradled their newest babe in her arms, cooing over him softly. “Hello, little one,” she whispered, stroking a finger down his soft cheek. Jon slowly pushed the door open and walked in. His hair was pulled back hastily, strands falling out around his face and his face was a little red.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Another boy,” Sansa smiled. “Our little Rickon.” Jon’s breath caught in his throat.

“Rickon?” he moved closer and sat down on the bed next to Sansa, pulling back the blanket enough to see his babe’s face. “Our little Rickon.”

“Think Jay is going to be jealous?” Sansa asked, not taking her eyes from Rickon’s face.

“Oh definitely. He loves you more than anyone else and you’re going to have to give Rickon a lot of attention. But he’ll understand eventually.” Sansa nodded and kissed Jon gently.

“Seven now,” she muttered. “Seven children. How did we end up with seven children?”

“I think you know how,” Jon smirked and kissed Sansa’s jaw. “Probably going to put an eighth on you. Maybe even a ninth and tenth.”

“Don’t you start,” Sansa groaned. “The Gods will decide how many children I have. Perhaps Rickon will be our last.” She kissed between his brows, smiling as he fussed. “I need to nurse him.” Jon took Rickon carefully, cradling the infant in his arms as Sansa unlaced the front of her thin shift. Once her chest was exposed, Jon handed Rickon back to her and watched as Sansa coaxed Rickon to latch onto her nipple. She gasped quietly when he finally did, eyes softening as he began drinking.

“You look beautiful,” Jon whispered. Sansa scoffed and shook her head. Jon smiled small and looked at Sansa. She had aged gracefully. Her hair was just as bright as it was the day she came to him at Castle Black, though she had faint streaks of grey in places. Her face was beginning to show faint lines around her mouth and eyes but her skin was as smooth and pale as ever. A goddess, Jon thought, was the only way to properly describe her beauty and mind. “You always look beautiful, especially when you’re holding our newborn babe in your arms, feeding him.”

“Well so are you,” Sansa countered. “Like the grey. Makes you look…wise.” She referred the grey that came in at his temples and dotted his beard. “And your mouth has only gotten better with age.” Jon rolled his eyes and kissed her quiet. She allowed him to kiss her for a moment before pushing him away. “Once I’m done with him, go fetch the other children so they can meet him.” Jon nodded and stayed where he was until Sansa was laying Rickon on her lap, lacing her shift. He then stood and left the room, heading to Lyanna’s room where all their children waited. He opened the door and chuckled, seeing them all huddled on the bed together.

“Are you all ready to meet your new little brother?” he asked, grinning as they squealed and ran past him to his and Sansa’s chambers. By the time he returned, Robb and Jaehaerys had cuddled into either of Sansa’s sides. Ned was on the other side of Robb and Rhaella next to Jaehaerys. Catelyn and Lyanna next to Sansa’s legs. Sansa held Rickon up to her chest, facing away from her so the children could see him.

“What’s his name, mother?” Catelyn asked, biting her lip.

“Loves, I would like you to meet your little brother, Rickon.”

“Like Uncle Rickon?” Lyanna asked, glancing up at Sansa. She and Jon had told all their children of their would-be uncles and grand-parents, taken them to the crypt and to the Godswood to pray in remembrance.

“Yes, sweet girl,” Jon said softly, tone a bit melancholic. “Just like Uncle Rickon.”

“He’s so tiny,” Rhaella exclaimed. “Was Jay this small when he was born?”

“Just about,” Sansa nodded, rubbing Rickon’s belly gently. “You were this small too. Even smaller, if I remember right.” Rhaella gasped.

“Was not!”

“You were too!” Lyanna said. “I remember when you were born, you were as small as my doll!”

“Mother is that true?” Rhaella asked, looking to Sansa. Sansa just smiled and nodded. Jon sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Catelyn into his lap.

“You were all very small when you were born,” he said. “Some smaller, some bigger, but you were all perfect and we love you all so much.” Lyanna groaned and fell back on the bed.

“You get so…gross sometimes,” she complained.

“I can’t help it. When I was your age I never thought that I would get this, all of you, your mother,” Jon said, looking at each of them. “You’re a blessing to me, each and every day. All of you.”

“We love you father!” Robb squealed and climbed over Sansa’s legs and into Jon’s arms. He squeezed him tightly.

“And I love all of you. I always have and I always will, until my last day and well beyond that,” Jon said, kissing Robb’s head. He looked across at Sansa and smiled. “I cannot wait to watch all of you grow into the wonderful queens and knights and lords that are all meant to be. To see you be great.”

“We will father,” Lyanna said, “we’ll make you proud. You and mother.”

“I know you will. I have no doubt about it,” Jon said, meeting Sansa’s eyes as they both smiled.