Work Text:
He had not meant to slam the door as hard as he had.
But the sight of the Tyrell girl between his sister’s legs was a shock to say the least.
Jon hurried down the corridor, his cheeks burning, desperately trying to maintain a posture of decorum, smiling at a servant walking past, knowing it looked forced and false.
It wasn’t that he had any moral qualms to what he had just witnessed. The foolish septons would say that a man lying with a man was sin, contrary to the Father’s plan, and he supposed the same would be said for a woman lying with a woman. Jon saw no sense in it. No worse than a man and a woman lying together outside of marriage. Perhaps preferable, since there’d be no chance of a bastard. Certainly he knew some of his brothers from the Night’s Watch insisted that they weren’t breaking their vows if they found warmth in the beds of the boy harlots in Mole’s Town. And certainly he’d heard the rumors of just what Queen Daenerys had given the Greyjoy Queen in exchange for the naval powers of the Iron Islands.
“A negotiation I’d have liked to see up close!” Tormund had bellowed when the news came to Winterfell.
But it’s different when it’s your sister.
“Jon!” He turned at Sansa’s voice, filled with panic and dread. She ran down the corridor to him, her hair still undone, her dress hastily thrown on, a heavy cloak hiding the undone laces.
“Jon, it’s not what it seemed. Please, Jon, you must understand.” Sansa grabbed a hold of his sleeve, and looked up to him, her chest heaving, her eyes misty with tears. “Jon, please--”
He gently took a hold of Sansa’s wrist and gave her a small smile. “I saw nothing, if you want me to have seen nothing.” Sansa let out a heavy sigh, the tension leaving her body. He cleared his throat. “But if you’d like someone to speak to about what I--didn’t see, I shall be in my chamber. If not, then--” He cleared his throat again. “Well, I saw nothing.” He turned and hurried to his chamber, cursing himself for a tongue-tied fool.
***********
Jon started when he heard the timid knock at his door. At once it felt as if he’s been waiting ten seconds and ten years for Sansa to arrive. And as she walked through the door, head held high and back straight, he realized that he had no idea what he wanted to say to her.
Sweet sister, I don’t care how you take your pleasures? Better you ravishing maidens than my wildling men? At least you’ve chosen a highborn maiden to debauch?
“You wanted to see me, Jon?” she said levelly. The only evidence that she’d been crying just moments before was her flushed cheeks. She hides her tears well. The thought made Jon’s chest ache.
“I did. I wanted to--to talk to you about Lady Margaery-”
“I won’t send her away. I won’t renounce her. If you think us perverse, I don’t care, Jon. She--” Sansa softened a bit, and Jon noticed the tears brimming again in her eyes. “She’s been my only joy in so long. So so long.”
Her words cut Jon to the core. Sansa had never told him details of her marriage to Ramsay, or her time at the Lannister court, but he had seen the effects on her. The way she froze when someone walked behind her. The way she flinched at an unwanted touch. Her aversion to hounds.
He walked towards her slowly. “I would never. I could never.”
Sansa appeared not to have heard him, pacing and pleading her case. “Lady Margaery is of an ancient and noble house, a house we desperately need to court as an ally. It won’t do to have her sent from our court, in disgrace, accuse her of something so foul, especially when her brother and her husband-” Sansa made an anxious path between the door and Jon, her skirts swishing about the rushes. “We’d be playing right into Cersei’s hands, don’t you see? This is the chaos and backstabbing she needs. I won’t see her alone anymore, but you can’t send her away, Jon, you must promise me that. Jon, you-”
“Sansa!” Jon laughed and opened his arms to his sister. “Sansa, Sansa, you don’t need to play the diplomat. I would never send the Lady Margaery away for-” He pulled her into his arms and felt her body relax slightly.
“But you don’t approve,” Sansa said, her voice small and muffled under his furs.
“I don’t have an opinion on it, truly. I don’t know much about- well-” He coughed and pulled away from Sansa, turning back to his writing desk, making a show of shuffling papers.
You know nothing, Jon Snow.
The voice came as clear as if she’d been standing in the room with him, her sky blue eyes playful and sardonic, her crooked mouth twisted in a teasing smirk.
Is this what you lords spend all your time thinking about in your castles? How this lady and that lady warms herself beneath the furs? And you say we’re the wildlings? Never met a man of the Free Folk care so much about a lady’s kiss.
Jon let out an unbidden laugh.
“You find this funny?”
Jon jumped from his daydream, found himself face to face with another auburn-haired girl, as different from Ygritte as one could be, but with the same spark of temper in her eye, the same irritation at Jon.
“I was thinking. Of a friend of mine. Well, she was more than a friend, really. Much more.”
Jon looked towards the fireplace, considering the flames. “Beyond the wall, the wildlings call folk with hair like yours ‘kissed by fire’. They’re considered lucky, favored by the gods.
“When I was still a brother of the Night’s Watch, I had to infiltrate the wildlings, eat with them, fight with them, learn their secrets and betray them. And to prove I was dedicated to the cause, I had to break my vows. I killed my brother Qhorin Halfhand, and I bedded down with a wildling girl.
“The first night, I had no choice, really. I had to play my part. But the second night, and the third, and the tenth-
“I broke my vows with my body, but that was nothing to breaking my vows with my heart. I felt guilt, I did, but I could never find it in myself to regret loving Ygritte.”
Jon looked up from the fireplace and saw Sansa looking at him, her face somehow puzzled and understanding at once. He ran a hand through his hair, and laughed sheepishly.
“I don’t know why I told you all that. Perhaps to say, I- I know loves comes unbidden. I know we don’t choose where our hearts lie. And that- well, what right have I to judge you?”
Sansa crossed the room and cupped Jon’s face in her hand, standing on her toes and laying a kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you, my sweet brother.”
*******************
Jon saw the Tyrell girl before she saw him. She slid down the snow-swept courtyard of Winterfell with a grace that stopped just short of haughtiness, her head held high and proud, as if she were still the beautiful queen from the second wealthiest House in Westoros, and not the disgraced survivor of a slaughtered family.
When she spotted Jon, she wavered for a fraction of a second, fear streaking across her face before her placid, lovely smile appeared, and she sank into a slight curtsey.
“Lord Commander”, she said, her lilting voice bordering on flirtatious. Jon felt himself flush despite himself.
Gods, Sansa never stood a chance, did she? Jon chuckled to himself.
“I’m Lord Commander no longer, Your Grace, only Ser Jon.”
“And I am no longer Queen. Only Lady Margaery.”
Jon chuckled. “Titles change so quickly these days, I feel I must check in with the maesters every morning to make sure I’m still who I thought I was. The only thing certain is that-”
“WInter is coming, I assume?”
Jon gave a deep laugh, and offered his arm to Margaery, who lay her hand in the crook of his elbow as the pair began a leisurely stroll.
“You pick up our words quickly, Lady Margaery. I take it you’re not too miserable here with us, then?”
“I admit, the climate is less forgiving than I’m used to. Roses don’t do well in the snow.”
“The blue roses bloom through the harshest winter nights, my lady, they’re hardier than they seem”
Margaery gave a pretty blush. “I do find ways to keep myself warm. Your sister so graciously gave me her Lady mother’s old chambers. She was a Southerner as well, I believe.”
Jon grimaced. “She also had the bite of the North about her, make no mistake. Southern women either perish quickly or learn to adapt to the ice of this place. But when you love a Northerner, I’m sure it comes second nature.”
Margaery looked everywhere but at Jon. “Perhaps I shall know what that’s like one day. At the moment, however-”
“No need to coquette, my Lady,” Jon said, his tone warm against the frigid air. “It’s not as if it’s a great secret between us anymore.”
Margaery stopped in her tracks, her blush now deep and scarlet,. Jon could feel the heat rise on her skin even through her layers.
“Forgive my bluntness. The cold dulls our courtesies. I only wished to say-” Again, he cursed himself for a tongue-tied idiot. “To say that Sansa’s happiness is my dearest deepest wish. And if you make her happy, then I shall consider you a friend. You love my sister, don’t you, my Lady?”
“I do.” She looked Jon straight in his eyes, her voice unwavering and direct. “With all my heart, I do.” She glanced away, for once looking less the lady, and more the girl she still truly was. “I didn’t know it could feel like this. I spoke of love, and I played at it for a crown, always thinking how I could make this king or that king love me and what he could give me in exchange. But Sansa is enough. When I’m with her, the only thing I need is to keep being with her.”
Margaery looked up, her gracious expression back on, her momentary lapse forgotten. “Forgive me for my candor, Ser Jon. You’re right, the North does seem to erode certain social graces.”
Jon took Margaery’s arm once again and the two turned back for the castle. “Nothing to forgive, my Lady. I’ve enjoyed our time together. Please, let’s make a habit of it.”
Margaery smiled her winning smile. “It would be my honor.”
As they made to go their separate ways, Jon kissed Margaery’s hand. “Send my sister my best regards. And remember what I said.”
She smiled that gracious smile and turned towards Sansa’s chambers, her skirts swirling as she made her way down the hall.
Jon couldn’t help but smirk as he watched her go. Sansa never did stand a chance.
But then, why would she want to?