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She’s just 12 when she first visits the Wall.
Her Father takes her, and Robb, and Theon, takes them to tour the great structure. Sansa has never been a huge fan of the North, she dreams of southern courts and the lands of the Reach, not ice and snow and crows at Castle Black, and yet even she can admit that the Wall is amazing.
She can begrudgingly admit it is more than that, it is phenomenal.
They meet men of the Night’s Watch, her Father talks about supplies and reinforcements and Sansa spends most of her time looking at the great wall and onward, beyond.
She has never felt much connection to the North, at least outside of Winterfell, and yet for some reason as she looks Beyond the Wall, out to the Haunted Forest and the land of the Wildlings … she feels something stir…
As though something is out there, something important, something she doesn’t quite understand.
Something waiting for her.
When they return home, she still wishes to go South, to Kings Landing or Highgarden, and yet she dwells more and more at that feeling she had as she stood atop the Wall, the feeling that her destiny lay not below the border of the Neck, but lay past Castle Black and beyond.
She doesn’t realise that someone else felt something stir that day, a boy just a few years older, fletching arrows at a camp, surrounded by his men, a giant wolf at his side and crow on his shoulder, he felt something stir, felt something deep in his bones.
Felt her.
She visits again when she is just shy of 14.
Her Father goes to visit again and doesn’t intend to take her, just Robb, Bran and Theon, and yet she finds herself asking. Her Father ruffles her hair and agrees, and Arya worms her way in as well. Arya seems shocked Sansa is interested, and it is something the two bond over.
She’s never been one to show interest in the North, but ever since her first visit to the Wall she can’t stop thinking about it.
Sansa still dreams of the South and yet as soon as her Father announced he was visiting the Wall she felt something stir in her belly, a sense of urgency.
For almost two years she has dwelled on what she felt when she looked out into the cold abyss beyond the Wall, she has thought of it almost constantly.
That there is something there, something crucial, something linked to her.
And she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get to see it again.
They arrive at the Wall on her 15th nameday, and she hurries through greeting Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon, before dashing to look out across the Wall, and there it is again.
Only this time it feels more urgent somehow.
She doesn’t even know what it is, but that pull, it feels stronger than before.
What is this? This pull? Is it for these lands? Lands she doesn’t even know? Or is it something else?
“Sansa, come on, for supper” Theon calls and she nods, but doesn’t move, just keeps looking beyond, hoping to understand why, why she feels this way.
Why does she feel as though something beyond the Wall is connected to her? In a way nothing has ever felt as such before…why does she feel like this?
“Sansa?” She turns then, and yet feels a tug as she does, it is hard to ignore.
And again, the man now feels a tug, feels something pull him towards the Wall, something powerful. His faithful crow scouts out to the Haunted Forest, and when he wargs in he gets just a glance … a flash of red hair, blue eyes, and he knows then that the pull he feels?
Its her.
The next year she has just had her 16th nameday and Father offers her a place on trip but expresses his doubts this time.
“I like that you’re feeling closer to the North Sansa, but the King arrives soon” He winces at that and Sansa knows why, knows the tension that is between her Mother and Father at the moment, with the King riding to take her Father away, “Don’t you want to help your Mother to prepare to greet them?”
“I want to see the Wall again Father” She offers, but he furrows his brow a little.
“Okay” He agrees, “But this might be the last time, you know the King wants to marry you to the Prince”
It’s her turn to furrow her brow then. Once upon a time she’d wished for nothing more than to marry Prince Joffrey, but now? Ever since her first visit to the Wall? She has found herself put off the idea, and she doesn’t even know why.
Since her last visit to the Wall she has found her desire to go South lessen and lessen. A dream she’s had since she was 9, to see Knights in painted armour and candles burning in the windows of the Capitol … they fade.
She thinks of Beyond the Wall now, of the twisted trees of the haunted forest, of the deep snow drifts, of the icy hills and unmatched beauty of the rolling snow covered mountains. She had once felt little connection to the North, but now?
Now it thrums in her veins, and she feels a constant pull to go further North (he feels a constant pull to go South which is more confusing to him than her desperate desire to go North, but of course she doesn’t know that).
And so, when her Father buckles up, this time with just Robb and the guards, she follows, a thrill in her belly as they ride North.
To the true North, where she is so sure something important lays.
When she arrives she is forced to sit through a dinner before she can escape to gaze out beyond, and she feels more and more het up as she sits and eats. She is even jiggling her knee by the end.
“Sansa are you alright?” Robb asks, she nods, for she is fine, just restless.
It’s not something she’s been before, and yet as soon as the dinner ends, she practically runs for the door, and then she is on the Wall again, looking out below. Normally she would never be so discourteous, so unladylike, but she can’t help it.
And she actually sighs in relief once she reaches the top of the Wall.
It feels as though looking out Beyond the Wall… it feels like home.
“What is out there?” She whispers to herself; she doesn’t realise that the wind picks up her whispers, dances them along the breeze, “Where are you?”
And below, a man in the Haunted Forest, with his direwolf dutiful by his side hears those words and snatches a glance at her with his own eyes this time.
Kissed by fire, ice blue eyes, beauty personified.
“I’m here” He whispers back, and he see’s her step back and knows she heard.
The next day is the first time he climbs the Wall.
The next day after the whispers she heard (that shook her to her core and yet made so much sense somehow), a snowstorm traps them at the Wall for a few more days.
She pretends to be annoyed but she is giddy to stay a little longer, to stay closer to the pull.
Especially after seeing him.
She only caught a glance, of black hair, a white wolf, grey eyes, and a scar across his cheek, but the glance was enough.
‘I’m here’ He said, and just those two words had resonated with her more than any other she has heard. It elicited something she doesn’t understand, a deep feeling of need.
If anything, the pull has grown worse.
That night when she goes to bed, she thinks of him, of the man who stood in the Haunted Forest, the man who spoke to her, who she felt, felt deeply.
She doesn’t expect him to arrive in her room two nights later.
And yet he does.
She almost screams when the door opens and in he steps, snow in his hair, dark circles under his eyes and yet he is the most handsome man she has ever seen. Up close he is perfect.
Perfect.
“I…” She can’t even talk. She doesn’t know him, not even his name and yet the pull she has felt for years, it is the harshest it has ever been, it screams at her to run to this man, this stranger, to run into his embrace. It is so strong she feels it may crush her.
And when she gives in, and runs to him, when he meets her and pulls her close, she feels the sweetest relief she has ever felt.
It is like coming home, like a completion of destiny and a smack of fate all in one. Every cliché, every song she has heard about dreams and love and everything feels as though it has led to this moment. Everything feels like it has led to this moment. It is ridiculous, nonsensical, and yet it feels right, his embrace feels right.
He pulls her into his embrace, and she clutches him so close it almost hurts, and yet it feels like the greatest pleasure she has ever felt. She belongs in his arms.
“Who are you?” She speaks into his neck, refusing to let go, holding so tightly, so tightly. She doesn’t ever want to let go.
It’s strange, to ask this man who he is whilst clutched in the embrace of his arms, but it doesn’t feel strange. The fact it feels right might just be the strangest thing of all.
“Yours” He promises back, and she nods, she doesn’t even know his name, but he is hers, and she is his, from now, until the end of their days.
She doesn’t know him, not his name, not his personality, nothing, but she knows he is the one.
“What is this?” She asks and manages to pull back just enough to look at him. He is so handsome, rugged, and manly, nothing like the Knights of the South who pale in comparison now. He is strong and sure, and perfect.
“I don’t know” Honest too, which she likes, Stark’s value honesty. “But I know that being near you has been something I’ve craved for years without even knowing” She nods, she knows it now too.
Now she is here, in his arms, she knows this was what the pull was dragging her towards, this was what she felt year after year whilst stood on the Wall, this was what destiny was driving her towards.
It was driving her to the embrace of a Wildling.
She doesn’t know why, neither does he, but that doesn’t negate that it is.
The fact the situation makes no sense doesn’t change it. There may be no logic in the situation, but that doesn’t change how she feels, and as she looks into his eyes, she knows it won’t change how he feels either.
“What is your name?” She asks.
“Jon” He responds, “Yours?”
“Sansa” He nods then, and looks over her, a pretty blush colours her cheeks. She knows he’s perfect, what will he think of her?
“You are beautiful” His words are pretty, she is used to pretty words, but his next are better, “Kissed by fire, perfect, you are the best thing I’ve ever seen, you are powerful, I can tell” Those words are inelegant and yet she likes them the most. “Truly Sansa” His voice is handsome too, all rough and northern, it thrums in her blood. He calls her powerful, she’s never been called that before, she likes it far more than being called pretty.
“I…” She is nervous now, she is meant to be a Lady, not fraternising with a wildling in her quarters, her Father would erupt! And yet how can this be wrong when something has been pushing them together for years? It can’t be, she decides, it can’t be.
“I don’t even know you” She whispers now, and she realises she hasn’t stepped out of his embrace, her arms are still wound around his neck, his hands hold her waist.
“I know” He looks down at her and tilts his head down, to rest his forehead against hers, his eyes sliding shut, it is the most intimate thing she has ever done, and she knows then.
This will be her life.
A life with Jon, a man she doesn’t even know. But, what she does know is that she can never be parted from him, not from now, not ever. She won’t be.
“But that doesn’t matter” She nods against him, he’s right, it doesn’t matter, not when being with him feels like this, like perfection, like the culmination of everything important. “What matters is you and me” His words make her shiver, he is right.
“Me and you” He repeats, “That is all that matters” She nods again, and then she knows what is coming next before it does, and if anything, she leans in.
As he kisses her she whimpers into his mouth. The kiss feels like fireworks, like home, like beauty and love and everything important. Her mind races as his lips come to hers, as he gently, so gently nips her bottom lip, as he slides his tongue into her mouth, grips her waist and she clutches at him, one hand tangling in his hair.
“Jon” She gasps as he breaks the kiss for just a second before pulling her back in. She’s had one or two pecks before, from Cley Cerywn who’d blushed bright red after and ran off, and Domeric Bolton who’d been very handsome but very boring. They are nothing like this.
Jon’s lips on hers stoke a fire in her she didn’t know she had, the flames threaten to consume her and yet she wants them to. As he kisses her firm, his hands gripping her waist, and her hands thread themselves in his hair, fingers curling to clutch him, she feels like she is burning.
And into the flames she willingly goes.
A little whine leaves her lips when he breaks the kiss, but then his lips are at her neck, her throat and her whine turns to a whimper, she doesn’t even pause to think that this is improper, that they might get caught, that her Father would be in his rights to execute Jon if he found them now. She doesn’t think, she only pulls Jon closer, and drowns in his attentions.
“Fuck” He growls as he nips at her neck and she feels a shudder run through her. She feels a warmth between her legs, and she moans as Jon’s lips meet hers again.
She gasps into the kiss, as he slides his tongue into her mouth, and when she tentatively flicks her tongue against his, his resounding groan encourages her. She’s never done anything like this before, she’s supposed to be married to do these kinds of things and even then, the ladies she’s spoken to speak of duty they don’t speak of pleasure.
But pleasure is all she can feel as Jon’s hands find her breasts.
“I…” She does pause as he grips her there, and he immediately breaks the embrace, pauses and she is thankful, he listens. She remembers when Harrion Karstark had tried to kiss her and she had shoved him, but he hadn’t quite listened (well until Robb saw and punched Harrion so hard the Karstark boy broke his nose and hadn’t been back to Winterfell since).
Jon seems to respect her, which is the opposite she has heard of the wildlings. Aren’t they meant to be savages? Brutes? She can see he has a glimmer of that in him, in breaking into her room, in the scars he wears proudly, in the slight hint in his gaze, and yet with her he is respectful, that she likes.
“I’ve never…” She stumbles and curses to herself, she knows wildling women are meant to be equal with the men, they fight and do as they please, will he think less of her for not being like that? She hopes not, she hopes he won’t take her shyness as weakness.
“Good” He responds and her cheeks are on fire as he steps closer and pulls her back into his arms, “You’re mine” There’s a hint of possessiveness in his tone, and there she can see the wildness, she likes it more than she cares to admit.
“I am” She confirms without hesitation because it’s true, she doesn’t know how or why, but it is. “And you’re mine?” She never thought she’d say those words! And yet his nod sends a thrill through her.
“Always” And then he’s kissing her again and any worries about her inexperience wash away, Jon has reassured her. They belong to one another; she shouldn’t be worried.
When his hands find her breasts this time she doesn’t flinch, she just pushes into him as he runs his thumbs over her nipples, she is in only her nightshift and so they stiffen under his tough and she lets out a wanton little whimper.
“Gods” He groans as he leans down, kissing along her neck, his beard scraping against her skin. He kisses down, and then he is reaching for her shift, pushing it down, past her shoulders, past her breasts and then she is bare before him.
She feels a little nervous again but the way he looks at her … it chases any nerves away.
He looks at her like she is beauty reborn, a goddess sent to Westeros. He looks upon her with such desire and lust that she doesn’t even think to try and cover up. “You too” She manages to whisper and then he nods, and soon he is bare too, and her mouth dry’s.
She has never seen anything so wonderful.
He is masculine, powerful, and perfect. He looks carved from marble by the most talented of sculptors, and it is her who reaches for him next.
They meet in a kiss again, and his bare skin against hers has her shiver. He backs her up to the bed then, holding her close. She knows they are far North, but she feels no cold, only fire in her belly, licking at her veins, consuming her. As she falls to the bed and Jon comes down on top of her she feels they are both on fire.
She wants to be consumed by it, and as Jon’s fingers trace down her breasts, then her stomach, then her hip, and then finally finds the little nub of pleasure she hadn’t even known she had, she feels as though the fire has taken over.
A strangled cry leaves her lips as he rubs her there, back, and forth, and she feels a wetness between her legs. His mouth is not idle as his fingers work, they are at her breasts, kissing and licking her nipples, even scraping them with her teeth. She squirms and writhes beneath him, and she can hear him groan as he pushes a finger inside of her.
It feels tight but soon he is working back and forth, and a second finger joins the first. His thumb still flicks back and forth over her nub, and soon she is panting, and a stream of words leave her mouth without them meaning too.
“Please Jon” She whines, as he thrusts his fingers in and out of her, and she feels something build, something powerful that she can’t control, it’s Jon who controls it, controls the pleasure she feels coming for her, and yet she trusts him completely to control it over her. “Please” She is panting now, and then she feels that pleasure.
It is nirvana.
It washes over her in a wave so big she was sure if such a wave came from the Narrow Sea it would sweep Westeros away. A cry leaves her lips that Jon silences with a harsh kiss, and she is moaning into his mouth as she writhes into his hand. She has never felt anything like this, and yet she wants nothing more than to feel it again.
“I…” She can’t even speak to which Jon laughs but it is not unkind, and she finds herself giggling as well, “I’ve never felt anything like that” She says, and he nods against her, and then his grin turns cheeky.
“It gets better” His words are a promise she believes instantly, and then he leaves her, to dip down, and makes true on such a promise.
He settles between his legs, and she has no idea what he intends to do.
But then his mouth is on her, and she near screams.
She realises his fingers never left her, and soon he is thrusting them in and out of her again, only this time his tongue is on her little nub, and she didn’t know she could feel a greater pleasure, and yet as he swipes over her nub with his tongue she realises she was wrong.
“Oh god” She moans, writhing onto his tongue now. Her chest and cheeks are flushed a deep red, clashing with her auburn hair. She should feel embarrassed, but as Jon devours her she doesn’t feel an ounce of shame.
She feels worshipped.
Her hands find his hair, her fingers digging into his curls as he laps at her, again and again, his fingers in and out. The pleasure builds again, higher and higher, and she knows it will be more powerful than before, this time it will bring a wave that would not just sweep away Westeros, but the entire world with it.
“I’m…I’m” She stumbles over her words, her head thrashing from side to side now, as Jon continues, licking, thrusting his fingers, and then he scrapes his teeth over her nub and the pleasure comes.
She has to bite her lip hard to stop her scream, and then Jon’s lips are on hers to swallow it. She screams into his kiss, as she tastes herself on him. It is as wanton as it comes and yet she feels no shame, only pleasure. She trembles in his arms, and he holds her tight, holding her as she rides a wave of such pleasure she didn’t know was possible.
“You are phenomenal” He whispers to her as she clutches him, and she feels it, in that moment she feels amazing, wonderful, everything.
And Jon has made her feel like that.
“Are you ready?” He asks, and she knows what comes next, she doesn’t hesitate, not for a second.
“I am” She wants this, she wants him to take her, for them to be as close as two people can be. They already declared they belong to one another, now they will prove it.
And with those words, Jon nods, for he knows she is ready, that she wants this.
When he slides into her, she feels a sharp sting, followed by a deep sense of satisfaction. Her arms circle his neck, and he holds her close by her waist. Their bodies are pressed together, skin to skin, heart to heart, soul to soul.
It is where they belong.
“Oh” A little gasp leaves her lips as he gently so gently begins to thrust in and out of her. He doesn’t go too deep, and it does feel uncomfortable, but soon the pain is chased away, and pleasure invades her senses as he begins to go deeper, and his hand moved between their bodies to rub against that nub again.
“Yes” She urges, and at that he pinches her nub, and she lets out a whine. In and out he goes, and she feels the pleasure build as it did before, only this time it feels deeper, like he is pulling it out of her, dragging it. She feels it build and build, but it is much deeper, this comes from within her, and when it explodes it is beyond anything.
It consumes her, and she only muffles a scream because Jon’s lips on hers, to stop her waking all of Castle Black. She feels like her scream of pleasure could be heard in the Lands of Winter and as far to Dorne if Jon didn’t kiss her hard, to stop her waking the world.
“Jon” She whines into his mouth and his groan is perfection as he picks up his pace, chasing his own pleasure now. Sansa holds him close and finds herself urging him.
“Please Jon” She begs now, not for her own release but for him to find his with her.
When he does, she feels so full, and she feels his seed inside of her, it is an odd sensation, but a welcome one. He is hers and she is his, and now it is confirmed…though not fully she supposes.
“We’re not married” She comments as Jon rolls off her, but he doesn’t leave, instead he pulls her close and she settles into his embrace with a little smile. The ladies at Winterfell had warned her that her first coupling would be unpleasant, yet she has never felt anything better in her life.
“We are to my people” He speaks and she grins at that, he catches her smile and laughs, before leaning in to place a kiss on her forehead, “But we can say the words before the gods if you wish”
“Yes, I do” She says, and he nods again. That makes her happy, that he listens to her, takes her opinion. She had always been taught that her role as a woman is to submit, and yet with Jon? It feels as though he wants her to speak her opinion, not be a voiceless little dove.
“What do we do now?” She asks, because she truly doesn’t know.
“We sleep” He leans down then, to capture her lips with his, “And then whatever you want Sansa, whatever you want”
“I just want you” Is her instant reply, for it is true.
“You have me” It is a promise, one she knows he will keep, one she knows is true.
With those words she falls asleep in his embrace, as he strokes her hair and holds her close, as she drifts away and he soon follows, holding his Lady in his arms.
…
The gods watch overhead and smile, destiny is important but fate? Fate determines the future. The gods smile as Sansa Stark and Jon Targaryen fall asleep, bound now, as they will be forever, as the future of Westeros depends on it, as does the future of all.