The Wolves In Winterfell

Chapter 3: Warm Bed In Winter

Sansa awoke the next morning in Jon's arms, not quite sure if she was still asleep, but feeling a deep sense of rest and ease that she had not known since she had been a little girl. Even then, she had been too immature and spiteful to really appreciate the feeling of being home, and happy. She wanted to enjoy the ambrosial joy of home and hearth.

And the smells of musk, oak and pine, and subtle traces of something else filling her nose.

She slowly opened her eyes, still half-asleep, and tilted her head upward, seeing Jon's scruffy face, mouth closed, deep in sleep, but not snoring. Just asleep, with both arms around her back in a loose, sleeping embrace.

He wants to protect me, even in his sleep.

Sansa buried her face back into his shoulder, and made her hold on his shoulders firmer, without squeezing, not wanting to wake him up. She tightened her legs around the leg they were wrapped around, and she pulled his sleeping body closer to hers, holding on to him tightly, wanting to stay here in this moment as long as she could. She dreaded the thought that now, and the events of yesterday's battle had all been a dream she was still in, and didn't want to wake up if it was.

She remembered Jon's scars, and what the traitors had done to him, and hugged him even harder. In a split second, she recognized the other odors that were mixed with the musky scents coming off of Jon; salty sweat and...blood?

As Sansa's face was still buried in Jon's shoulder, she looked up at him. She then looked at the scars in and around his heart. She lowered her head to the deepest scar, the one on his heart, and kissed it, before nuzzling him again.

No one will take you from me again.

Without entirely thinking, Sansa leaned her head down again, closed her eyes, and placed a longer, slower kiss on the scar. Then, his shoulder. Then, the side of his neck. She raised her head up, lifted her back somewhat, and looked at Jon. The small of her back was still in searing pain from Ramsay's assaults. But Jon was not Ramsay. She still wasn't even sure of herself, or Jon, or even what she knew of love. She didn't know what she felt, or even why. He was her father's son. And she knew from experience that there were no heroes anymore. There is one.

She gently kissed his lips, not wanting to wake him, and placed a long, warm, lingering kiss on his pale forehead, before once more nuzzling his shoulder and neck.

No one will take you from me again, Jon. No one.

Jon started to stir. She kept her face buried in his shoulder, pretending to be asleep, as he looked at her.

"San?" he whispered. She raised her head and gave him a sleepy-eyed smile. "Yes...?"

"Comfortable?"

"Enough to be asleep, until just now..." She laid her head back down on his shoulder. "I don't think I even remembered what it meant to sleep at home."

"At the Wall, we slept on these horrible cots made of wood with straw on them. We'd wake up thinking a giant stick was inside our backs, and at least one of our limbs had died."

Sansa chuckled somewhat, then she flinched. Jon's hand had moved to a still-tender bruise on her back, and she stung.

She rolled off of him. Without any words, in fear of embarrassment, she got off the bed and was out the door, before Jon could ask what the matter was.

Later that afternoon, Jon was standing at the castle gates of Winterfell, watching Melisandre ride away, a billowing red streak against the snow. He felt resolute, but listless; not entirely certain of what the future held for him. He was home, but was uncertain of what to do next. He didn't feel like a victor, a valiant hero to be sung about. He had the sensation of standing on loose snow rather than solid rock, and he knew an avalanche was quickly approaching.

A thought went into his mind that he had not remembered for months. Sansa was brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself "You know nothing, Jon Snow..."

Sansa approached him and stood next to him. He noticed her, but she was watching the Red Woman. She had been distant all morning, and he did not know why. He did not want her to be distant; to hide from him, or think she had to. He turned back, and looked for something to say. He had always found himself at a loss for words with her.

"...I'm having the Lord's Chamber prepared for you."

"You should take it."

He shook his head slightly. "I'm not a Stark."

Sansa just looked at him, almost pityingly. "You are to me."

"You're the lady of Winterfell," Jon sighed in his resolve. "You deserve it; we're standing here because of you." He looked at her. "The battle was lost until the Knights of the Vale rode in; they came because of you."

Sansa heard his words, but didn't entirely absorb them. She still felt like a traitor; a murderess. I'm not the victor. I hurt you deeper than the Night's Watch. But she simply nodded her head.

"You told me Lord Baelish sold you to the Boltons?"

"He did."

"And you trust him?" He looked at her.

"Only a fool would trust Littlefinger."

She brought herself to look him in the eye. "I should've told you about him, about the Knights of the Vale...I'm sorry."

Jon approached her before she was finished. He looked her in the eye, wanting to get through to her. "We need to trust each other." After a moment, Sansa nodded. Jon continued, "We can't fight a war amongst ourselves; we have...so many enemies now." He looked at her eyes, and she his, searching each other's faces. His eyes went from her eyes, to her deep red hair, to her lips, at once noticing again how lovely she was, and chastising himself for thinking he might want her. He reminded himself of duty before desire.

Sansa looked at Jon's lips, and just as she decided to commit, he bent her head down and placed a long, tender kiss on her forehead. She accepted the gesture, but was disappointed nonetheless.

Oh, Jon, please, just KISS me, while we're here like this.

As Jon turned to leave, Sansa tried to find something to say to keep him here, with her. "Jon." He turned. "A raven came from the citadel today. A white raven."

They both understood what that meant. "Winter is here..."she sighed. Jon just broke out in a big grin. Well, father always promised, didn't he?"