Chapter Text
Of all the places Sansa had thought she’d end at, here had never crossed her mind.
Even when she’d yearned to be a queen, when she wished to marry a king, she’d never thought she’d be the Queen in the North, or that she’d marry Jon.
Things had been beyond insane after they took Winterfell back from the Boltons. Daenerys Targaryen had reached Westeros and had demanded Jon to come to her.
He’d fortunately decided against it, since the army of the Night King was almost knocking on their door.
The battle had been hard, despite the help they’d gathered. So many had lost their lives, and right after that, Sam came with the information that changed their lives: Jon wasn’t Ned’s son. He was the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, the legitimate heir to the Iron Throne.
It took every ounce of diplomacy from Sansa and Tyrion to settle the situation without battle. Daenerys had taken King’s Landing and killed Cersei, and she wasn’t happy with this new threat to her crown.
Jon had tried his best to assure her he had no desire to be the King of the Seven Realms, and -eventually -she decided to believe him.
She accepted the independence of the North as long as he relinquished his hold on the throne. Jon did it gladly.
This should’ve been their last problem, but then the North found out about Jon’s real heritage.
He wasn’t Ned Stark’s son anymore and they didn’t trust a Targaryen; they wanted him out of the North.
Sansa interceded in his favor, and reminded them all that Jon had saved the North time and time again, fighting with all he had. He was their king and he’d deserved their trust.
It was still not enough, and Sansa had been worried about where this would go.
She’d never imagined it would end like this.
The lords demanded a marriage. A union to guarantee that a Stark would be in the throne of the North. It took Sansa too long to understand that she was to be the bride.
She’d protested and so had Jon, but the more they refused to, the more the lords insisted. Eventually they had no choice, the peace in the North depended on their union.
“I’m so sorry, Sansa.” Jon told her the night before their wedding. “I feel like I failed you. I said I’d protect you, and here you are.”
“Jon…” She sighed heavily. “If you think that this isn’t protecting me, you’ve learned nothing. This is the best I could hope for. They wouldn’t allow me to be unmarried forever; between all the choices, you’re the kindest.”
That didn’t seem to make Jon feel better, but Sansa had learned that very little made Jon feel good. She didn’t even try it anymore.
They were married with very little fanfare, and they were both thankful for it. The North at least seemed happy to see them married, so there was this.
When it came the time for the bedding, Jon had refused to let Sansa be carried away and pawed at. He walked her to their chambers, and left so her maid could help her undress.
Sansa didn’t know what to expect. She knew Jon would be kind to her and he’d do his best to not hurt her, but she was still scared. When she closed her eyes and thought about the marriage bed, the only reference she had was Ramsay.
Jon came back eventually, looking uncomfortable.
However they both knew their duty, so Jon blew out the candles and guided her to the bed. Sansa was thankful for the darkness, so Jon wouldn’t see the scars on her body or how scared she was.
She hadn’t known what to expect, but she was right about the kindness. Then Jon showed her patience and tenderness. Bit by bit, his kisses started warming up her blood, making her skin sensitive.
Sansa hadn’t expected to enjoy the touch of his calloused hands or the feel of his skin under her hands.
She’d thought she’d feel pain, but it never came. It was a strange sensation, being filled by him there in the dark. It was intense and breathtaking, and Sansa realised she’d never see Jon the same way again.
She didn’t think she’d see herself the same as well.
It was pure madness, like swimming in honey and learning how to breathe again. The sensations on her body threatened to drive her mad; to take her down and build her up again.
It was like Sansa imagined flying would feel like.
Until the next morning when she woke up and Jon wasn’t on their bed.
It didn’t take her long to realise he was avoiding her, probably feeling guilty, disgusted about what they’d done, since he saw her as a sister.
Sansa hadn’t even remembered that the night before.
It was clear that this marriage wasn’t what Jon wanted, so she’d learn to keep her distance.