Chapter Text
Sansa had been dreading this moment since the morning of the funerals.
She’d been dreading it in the back of her mind since before that, really, but it had been easier to push that worry away when everything else was so important. The funerals for the dead. Planning for the rebuilding of the damaged castle walls. The cleaning of the castle: all that blood and all those discarded bandages and all the mess that had gathered in every corner when everyone else was too occupied with the business of staying alive during the battle. There were the plans to evacuate the wounded to White Harbor and Riverrun and Pyke while the army marched on Kings Landing. There were arguments about how much of a garrison should remain in the north while the rest of them were marching south. There were only so many hours in the day, and so many of those hours were full of important things. Perhaps she was looking for reasons to avoid having a conversation she was dreading, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.
She was always busy, and Robb was the same. She saw her brother only in passing moments. He was often sequestered with Daenerys and her advisors, planning the march. He would come to them at meals, sometimes, and he would kiss Sansa on the side of the head the same way he always did, but she could not bring herself to speak the words when there was risk of being overheard. Except then days had passed after the battle, and there was no chance to speak with him alone. She saw Tyrion more than she saw Robb; Tyrion often relayed messages and plans from the war party as they passed each other in the hall. He was always kind and courteous, with a distance between them that Sansa appreciated. She saw Jaime still more often. He took frequent walks with her as his wound healed, relying on her arm to keep him steady. She bullied him into practicing his writing with his offhand in her solar as she worked on her embroidery, making new gifts for her family to replace what had been lost. And even when they weren’t alone, he was rarely far from Brienne, who was rarely far from Sansa. He had taken to sharing private midday meals with them in Sansa’s solar, and Brienne would blush furiously through every insinuation that she plainly thought Sansa didn’t pick up on. Sansa thought they were very annoying, but she was happy for them.
Arya was still teaching her how to defend herself—pointing out that a man could kill her easily, even if it wouldn’t be quite as disgusting as a wight. And Bran didn’t seem to like anything, really, but he seemed interested in their conversations at dinner, at least, so Sansa made sure to find time to talk with him. He still made her uncomfortable, but he was her brother, and she did love him.
And Jon. She didn’t get to spend as much time with Jon as she would have liked. It wasn’t like during the battle, where she could pull him into a room and kiss him and then hold him as he slept. They’d had precious little time to themselves. Someone was always looking for one of them, and there was always a risk that they would be discovered.
It made her think of Jaime and Cersei again, but the comparison didn’t make her skin too tight the way it used to. She still didn’t like to understand Cersei so well, especially not about something like this, but knowing Jaime and caring about Jaime helped. It helped her see what Cersei must have seen, and it helped her feel better about it. Understanding Cersei, even being like Cersei in some ways, didn’t mean she was like her in every way. Not everything they shared was a sign of rot within her. Not every lesson Cersei had imparted was one that Sansa needed to smother out of herself for fear of it bearing some poisonous fruit.
Sansa had already, of course, spoken about Jon to Jaime. Jaime was an easy person to talk to, because he talked so much, and because he had a way of setting her at ease in doing it. She never felt too worried that he would judge her. How could he? He’d made far worse choices for love.
She’d had a wish at first to talk to Brienne, but she had found that she was more afraid of what her other sworn sword would think about it. Not that Brienne would ever say anything, but she was such an honorable woman. She had fallen for Jaime despite his earlier choices, but she had hated him for them first. She had a way of looking at the world that was sturdy and comforting and sometimes seemed naïve to Sansa. It wasn’t always a bad thing, but it made Sansa nervous. She didn’t want to see disappointment in her sworn sword’s eyes. Her friend’s eyes. Disappointment. Confusion. Disgust. She didn’t want to see those things in Robb’s eyes, either, but at least with Robb…
Well, he had already disappointed Sansa more than once. She didn’t feel so guilty disappointing him in turn. Not like she would feel with Brienne, who had never done anything to hurt her.
“We’re going to be wed,” she said to Jaime, who whistled out lowly and leaned back in his seat. It was just the two of them in Sansa’s solar. Tyrion had been there, too, but he’d left to attend a meeting with Daenerys. Brienne was helping with the rebuilding efforts outside. Both Jaime and Sansa had tried to persuade her to take a rest, but she wouldn’t. The men shoring up the walls needed her strength, and so that was what she would give them.
Technically, it was probably improper for Sansa and Jaime to be alone in her solar like this, but the war had done away with most of their capacity to care about such things. And besides, none of their friendship had been proper so far. Writing him letters. Stitching clothing for him. Befriending him at all despite the things he had done to her family. It hadn’t been proper for her to tear open his shirt and stitch his skin together, but she had done that, too, and she had done it to hundreds of men during the fighting. It was harder to care about it now. Who cared about propriety when the dead had been vanquished? Everyone was already joking about the number of bastards who would be born; Jon had petitioned Daenerys and Robb to see that they would be legitimized, arguing that the circumstances should not mean that the children would grow up saddled with a bastard’s name because their parents were fighting to save the world and looking for a little comfort while they did it.
“If you had said that to me only a year ago, I would have been mad with jealousy,” Jaime said, in the thoughtful voice he always used when he was about to make a very annoying joke. “Marrying your sibling.”
“He’s my cousin. Please don’t be like this.” Jaime laughed at her.
“Yes, your cousin. Of course. But he was your brother first.”
“I don’t know why I thought I could talk to you about it.”
“Because you know you have to talk to your true brother about it, and you thought I would make handy practice? Or perhaps because you know that I’m the only person who can’t judge you harshly for it.”
“Well,” she admitted quietly. “There is that.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think Robb will judge you too harshly either. He knows what it’s like to fall in love with someone he shouldn’t, same as me. He might have his doubts and his fears about you actually marrying the lad, because his first marriage was such a colossal mistake. But I don’t think he’ll be so disgusted as you think.”
Jaime had a unique talent for japing in one moment and then turning serious in the next, and it always managed to disarm her. It made his words land harder than they would have otherwise. That and his sympathetic gaze made her feel stronger, more ready to face it.
She was still nervous to speak to Robb, but she was glad for the confidence that Jaime’s support gave her. He was perhaps the worst possible example to use for normalcy, but he had not been disgusted or confused or wary. He had been so lately regretful of his former relationship with his sister. Surely, if he thought it was a mistake, he would show it in some way. For the length of their friendship, he hadn’t hesitated to be open with her, even when it was mocking and just a bit mean. And he liked her. She knew he did. If he truly thought that Robb was going to stand in the way, he would have told her. To prepare her, if nothing else.
It also helped to speak to him because of the reminder it gave her that she and Jon truly were nothing like he and Cersei. If they had never been revealed as cousins, she was sure that they never would have acted on their feelings. She never would have even admitted them. She would have carried her shame close, certain that she was the only one who felt what she felt. She would have withdrawn from Jon completely. She would have done her best to force herself to move on. Maybe she would have even been successful. That was the difference between the Starks and the Lannisters, and she knew that Jaime would laugh scornfully at her if she pointed it out, but she knew he would also have to admit that, all things considered, the Stark method was probably best.
The Stark method also meant that this conversation with Robb was important.
If he disapproves…
She couldn’t think beyond that, though. Not yet. Not until it was hopeless. The Night King was dead. The armies had survived. The upcoming war with Kings Landing was nothing in comparison. She had so much to be grateful and thankful for. She should not assume the worst.
Still, standing in front of Robb’s office, she found that she had to bolster up the courage to knock.
Jon was determined to do things the right way, not wanting his father’s legacy to echo here, with her, to bring her dishonor. She wanted the same. She wanted to be wed. She wanted to do things properly. But it was difficult when she missed him so much. It would be nice to sleep beside him every night. Robb and Daenerys always seemed so happy and well rested in the morning, and Jaime had grumbled more than once about missing Brienne’s presence by his side at night. Sansa still wasn’t used to the idea of a man in her bed being a good thing. It had only been terror before. But with Jon…she felt safe with Jon. She wanted him nearby always.
Her wanting was what gave her the courage to knock on the door to Robb’s office at last, and when he called for her to enter, she took in a sharp breath and opened the door. She wanted. She would not stop wanting, and she had a chance to have. Jon wanted her too. Arya didn’t hate them for it. Bran didn’t hate them either. It was only Robb who stood in the way, and she would never know how much of an obstacle he would be unless she spoke to him.
“Sansa,” he said happily when she entered. He always sounded so glad to see her, especially since the fall of the Night King. His relief made him boyish again, more like the Robb she remembered from before they left Winterfell. Less haunted and hollow than the man who had returned from Riverrun before the war.
She had been wary about Robb when he fell for Daenerys after promising that he would not make the same mistakes again, but she couldn’t deny that Daenerys was good for him. Even putting aside that she had helped everyone, the dragon queen had helped him. He had seemed more whole since he had married her, as if Daenerys had filled a void that Sansa had not realized had been in her brother until it was gone and Robb was Robb again. As she saw him smiling at her from behind his desk, getting to his feet to greet her, she tried to remember that. He was still her brother. He was a good man. He might judge her. He might be uncomfortable with this new direction for she and Jon. But he would understand that it wasn’t always a choice, and he would want her and Jon to be happy.
Please let him understand.
“I need to speak with you,” she said.
“Of course,” Robb said, and his forehead creased with nervousness, picking up on her own. She sat down at the table across from him. He sat as well, watching her carefully.
“I don’t know how to start,” she admitted, and he smiled a little.
“Start wherever you’re most comfortable,” he said, and she nodded.
“I suppose…I want you to know that this is not something new. Not on my part. It’s been happening since before I knew you were alive. And I…” She hated herself for the way her voice shook, but she couldn’t help it. She felt like a child again. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t want it to happen. I still don’t quite understand it, but…” She took a deep breath, and Robb was still looking at her with an encouraging, worried smile, and all she could think was that he was going to stop, soon. “I’m in love with Jon,” she said.
She knew how that must sound coming from her. It must first of all sound impossible, but more than that it must sound absurd. As a girl she claimed to be in love with so many people. Waymar Royce. Joffrey. Anyone handsome enough to make her heart race faster. Anyone who could make her feel like she was in a song or one of Old Nan’s stories. When she met Robb’s eyes, she could see that he was confused. Like he was sure he must have heard wrong.
“What?” he finally asked, and she sighed, and she clenched her hands in her lap. She had been adamant to Jon that she wanted to do this alone, because she thought Robb would be less angry if only one of them spoke to him about it, and because she knew that of the two of them she was vastly more likely to be able to get the right words out. But apparently she had overestimated herself, because she froze and stared at him for far too long before she finally spoke.
“I am,” she whispered. “I’m in love with Jon. I know how it sounds.”
“I’m not sure you do,” Robb argued with a crooked grin.
“I do. Believe me. I’ve agonized over it for moons, Robb.” He was looking more serious now that he realized that this wasn’t a prank or him somehow misunderstanding what she was saying. “I thought…at first I thought that it was just…no one had been kind to me in so long. Just Brienne, and Theon, I suppose, and Podrick. But Jon…Jon promised to do anything for me. He promised to help me. He was fighting for me. I thought maybe that was all it was. That it was getting mixed up in my mind. That first day at Castle Black…he gave me his cloak, and he fed me stew, and he kept me safe. I hadn’t felt safe with anyone in so long. He was so kind. And I thought, after that, whenever I started to feel…I thought that it was just because I had been broken, and everyone else had been so unkind, but not Jon. Jon was always…kind.”
You’re saying kind too much, she thought, but what better word was there? Wondrous. Beautiful. Everything. She couldn’t say those things to Robb. He would never understand. She was lucky he was even listening to this much.
“He always was,” Robb pointed out. “And you never…”
“No,” Sansa admitted. “I was too stupid to see it then. And the more time we spent together…I thought, then, that maybe it was Cersei. Maybe Cersei broke me. I did everything to hide it. I couldn’t let him know, or anyone know, because it meant that I was just like Cersei. I was broken, and there was no other explanation.”
“Sansa,” Robb said, pity and empathy and understanding in his tone.
“I was with her for so long,” Sansa said. “It would only make sense.”
“No, Sansa. You’re nothing like her.”
“You didn’t know her,” Sansa pointed out. She couldn’t help but smile. She was glad at least that his instinct was still to try and make her feel better, and not to flinch away from her like she had been half convinced he would. “I am like her, in some ways. Not in all ways, but…I thought maybe it was just…too many ways.” Gods, she sounded like an idiot. She had been so sure that she could do this.
“I don’t need to know Cersei to know you. I know what my soldiers have said about you during the long night. I know that you held them all together, and that when the dead were coming over the walls, you and Missandei lead the prayers instead of escaping through the crypts. I don’t think Cersei would have done that.”
Sansa nodded. She stood up. She paced to the window and looked outside, because it was easier to look out at the snow and remember that she was still safe in Winterfell. She closed her eyes.
“It wasn’t Cersei, anyway,” she said. “I don’t think that anymore. And then Jon was our cousin.” She sighed and turned to face him, and she saw that Robb had turned to watch her. It was impossible to read his expression. “And suddenly it…I could think about it. I couldn’t talk about it, but I didn’t feel so much like…I was never very close to him before. I wasn’t really a true sister to him, and he wasn’t a true brother. It was more like having feelings for Theon than it was like having feelings for you. I told myself all those things. Over and over again, I tried to make it make sense to myself. Tried to stop hating myself for it. Because it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because Jon would never think of me that way. He was Jon.”
“Sansa,” Robb said, alarmed, sitting up straighter.
“He’s asked me to marry him,” Sansa said. She kept her posture straight, and she kept her gaze steady. This was so important. This was the most vital part. Please, she wanted to say. Please understand. “I love him, and he loves me. I would have kept it to myself forever, and he would have done the same. But Arya guessed how I felt. She…she knew that I was lying about thinking of him as a brother, still, and I had to tell her. I couldn’t let her believe that I hated him. And I don’t know how she managed to get it out of Jon, but she did. When the dead were on their way, she told Jon to talk to me. I know how it sounds. I know how it must look to you, but there hasn’t been anything…we haven’t done anything about it. And we won’t. If you think it’s too abhorrent, if you tell me now that you can’t support it…we won’t.” Her gut sank at the thought, but it was true. They’d talked about that, too. It was more important for them to be united as a family. As much as it would hurt to turn him aside, it was the only option.
“I can’t lie and say that I’m comfortable with it,” Robb admitted quietly. “But you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said. “I wouldn’t lie about this.”
“I almost wish you were.”
“I know.”
“And Arya…supports this?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far, but she’s…different, from how she was. She sees things differently. She didn’t think there was any sense in us torturing ourselves when we felt the same way.”
Robb nodded. He was staring at her so intently. She let him. She didn’t know what he could possibly see just from looking at her, but if he saw anything, she hoped it would be her love. She hoped he would be able to see it.
“I assume Bran knows, too.”
“He does.”
“And he supports it?”
“As much as he can support anything.”
“Right,” Robb sighed. “So it comes down to me.”
“It does,” Sansa said. Robb frowned, and he stared down at the desk. She could not tell what he was going to say. It could be anything. She would understand anything.
“And you want to marry him?” Robb asked. “Even knowing what people will say?”
“Yes,” she answered. She had thought of that, of course. She had found that she didn’t care. There was an echo of it, of shame and of wanting to please everyone. But it wasn’t nearly as strong as her love.
“Let me talk to Daenerys,” Robb said. “To see how best to present it to the northern lords. She might have some ideas. But if it’s what you want, Sansa, of course I’ll support it.”
Sansa sagged with relief, and Robb smiled. He still looked uncomfortable, and she couldn’t blame him for that. He wasn’t angry, and he hadn’t reacted with disgust. He was quizzical at worst. The boy he used to be would have been furious, she knew. He would have refused to even talk about it. But the man he had become understood better that the heart didn’t always follow the rules.
“Thank you, Robb,” she said. Robb got to his feet, and he held his arms out, and she went to him. She hugged him gratefully. Her big brother. It was the first time in days that the thought of him wasn’t frightening to her at all.