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Chapter Text

Chapter one 

As you wish

“She was a romantic, sentimental child, with a preference for solitude, few friends, and a propensity to be moved to tears when the roses in the garden bloomed.”

— Isabel Allende, “The House of the Spirits” —

The day Jon Snow came into their lives, the sky was perfectly clear and blue, not a single cloud could be seen, a perfect contrast to his surname. It was early summer when Father came with him from the village nearby and, without consulting Mother’s opinion, he told the Stark family that Jon would help them with the farm. There was much landwork to be done, and Father and Robb could use some help, since Bran and Rickon were still too young to do much, and Sansa and Arya should help their mother with house chores. Catelyn only stated that the boy would not sleep on their roof, since she had two daughters to keep an eye on — at the time, if she could know the future, she would probably kick the boy out of her house. 

By then, Sansa was eleven years old, she was somewhere between childhood and adulthood, and she just thought Jon to be brooding and sullen, with his dark grey eyes always so stern and his lips almost permanently pressed in a thin line. She was already aware of her beauty, though, often stated by anyone who would lay eyes on her, and she wouldn’t mind if the new farm boy sometimes lingered his gaze on her figure. 

In the beginning, that would never happen, because Jon wouldn’t dare to prolong his looks on Eddard Stark’s daughter. To him, she was still some sort of child, for he was almost three years older than her, only a few months younger than Robb. Jon’s only purpose was to wake up before the sun rose, milk the cows, have breakfast in the room they made for him on the stables, and start the day. He had so much work to do that looking at beautiful girls was not on the top of his list. Not that he would mind if a pretty girl gave him some attention, which sometimes happened when he went to the village with Robb, but it was not something he wished for. 

As the days went by and turned into months, he became quite closer to Robb. Some sort of brotherhood feeling was forged between them. They would weed the surroundings, plant the seeds, take care of the animals, fix the constructions… Between work and duty, they became friends, even though their personalities were practically opposite to each other’s. While Robb was all expansive, chattering, and charismatic, Jon remained quiet, serious, and eerie. Yes, they shared plenty of laughs together, and they would talk a lot, but it wasn’t something common for Jon. 

Bran and Rickon also got close to him. Jon was always kind to the kids, teaching them how to approach the horses, how to handle the hens, how to climb the trees — something Robb did too, but the little boys loved to have another big brother to learn things from. Keeping some distance, even Arya was overcome by the feeling of fraternity that bonded the Stark children with Jon Snow. When Mother wasn’t around, Arya would try to convince Jon to teach her how to fish, how to use a bow, how to handle a sword or a dagger. Robb would never teach her something like that, but Jon seemed to have a soft spot for the young girl. 

However, Sansa would never get too close. Even when time passed and Jon proved his character to the family, including Mother, Sansa stayed out of his way. She was polite to him, as he was to her, but nothing more. Most of the time, she remained inside the house, sewing or cooking or cleaning. Sometimes, she would go to the river and wash the clothes, but she only did so when she knew Jon was not there. Something about him intrigued her, but she couldn’t explain what. 

Months turned into years, and Mr. Stark started to call Jon son. A smile would always arise at the corner of Jon’s lips at the sound of that word addressed to him, because he hadn’t known his father. His mother passed away a few months before the day his path crossed Ned’s in the village, and he hadn’t had any family beside his mother until then. By accepting Ned’s offer to work at the farm in exchange for food and a place to sleep, Jon couldn’t know that he would get so much more. 

With seasons coming and going, Jon learned how to coexist with other people, something he had never done before. Day after day, he learned how to trust, how to speak to them, how to open himself when he felt comfortable to do so. He would treat Robb with an unprecedented camaraderie for both of them; would give good examples to the little boys and receive their respect in return; would even dare to teach Arya skills that weren’t common between women (and for that Mrs. Stark would kill him if she found out, but Mr. Stark would turn a blind eye to that). 

Things were different with Sansa, though. Even Mrs. Stark treated him with some sort of familiarity, but not her daughter. Jon blamed Sansa’s beauty for such an arrogant behavior, since all men from the nearest farms to the most remote parts of the shire would make sure to acknowledge her of such a fact. 

It was, indeed, a fact. Calling Sansa beautiful was an understatement, in Jon's humble opinion. Even when they first met and she was not a maid yet, only a late child, he could see that. Her rich autumn auburn hair, her deep shiny blue eyes, her perfect skin — it was obvious that she would turn into an enchanting woman one day. He was not stupid to tell her so, though, and he would certainly not show it either. 

Even with time, he wouldn’t. He would keep his eyes away from her, no matter how hypnotic she might look, and concentrate on his tasks. On weekends, when Robb and he were allowed to go to the village, he would try and talk to other girls, even if he was not very good at that, and he would absolutely not compare any redhead with her. No. He would not think other ginger girls to look pale and graceless compared to Sansa, whose hair was as bright as the sun setting on the fall months. 

Sometimes, girls would steal kisses from him during dances, behind the church, or in a dark corner of the streets. At the time, he wouldn’t mind, he would just let them do so — he was a green boy and it felt good, afterall. Back home, however, he would lay his head down on his pillow and wonder how it would feel to have Sansa’s rosy lips on his, how her delicate hands would feel at his nape, if she would blush when the kiss ended. 

He wondered a lot about those things, but he certainly would never, ever let her know. It would be a mistake to nurture her pride even more. 

And it would be the death of him, too, for Mrs. Stark would for sure chase him off the farm. And he needed to keep his job there, he needed to keep being part of their family. 

“I want to ride a horse.” 

Sansa’s voice startled him. She never went to the stables when Robb or Mr. Stark weren’t there, and even when they were, she avoided that place as much as she could. 

Jon stopped right there, hands full of fen, and turned on his heels. She was at the stable’s door, hands clasped in front of her body, chin high in the air, and eyes so sharp that could level a blade. He let the fen drop on the ground and took two steps forward, watching her carefully. 

“So?” He asked without minding his sassy tone. 

“You must teach me, as you did with Arya.” 

“I didn’t-”

“Spare me.” She waved her hand in the air. “It’s been years since I’ve been observing her sneaking out of her bed before sunrise and meeting you under the willow tree.” 

The revelation was enough to make Jon’s eyes widen. It was an expression Sansa wasn’t familiar with seeing on him, for Jon would rarely show his emotions near her. It felt good, though, to know that she could catch him off guard. 

“Will you teach me or not?” 

“Does your mother know that you’re here?” 

“She doesn’t need to, as she didn’t when you taught Arya.” 

“It’s not like you, to hide things from your mother.” 

“How could you know what I am like?” 

At her question, Jon noticed that he let too much go out of his mouth. He bit the tip of his tongue, thinking himself to be an idiot. She didn’t need to know how he saw her. In fact, the less she knew about his thoughts, the better for him. 

However, it would be even more idiotic to leave her without an answer, so he said, “It’s not hard to read girls like you.” 

“How could you know anything about girls like me? You only know those-” She stopped herself before finishing the sentence, and Jon would never know what she intended to say. “Will you teach me how to ride a horse, Jon Snow?” 

He took a deep breath, his hands closed in fists. Even if he knew little about Sansa, one thing he was pretty aware — that she was stubborn and persistent and would not let go. 

“If you say please.” He teased her, fighting the urge to let a pretentious smile out. 

“Please”, she muttered through clenched teeth. 

“As you wish, then.” 

The next day, before sunrise, they met by the river, under the heart-tree, where Jon already waited for Sansa with the most tame mere from the farm. Ned Stark only owned three horses, and the mere was quite a vision with her luminescent hazel fur and the impeccable mane and tail that Jon used to brush at least three times a week. 

When Sansa came into sight, he had to find the urge to roll his eyes. 

“You’re wearing a dress? Really?” 

“What was I supposed to wear?” She took the sides of her skirts and stirred them.

“When I taught Arya, she used to sneak into Bran's room and grab a pair of pants.” 

“So you’re saying I should wear my brother’s pants?” Sansa’s eyes grew wider and, even in the dim light of dawn, Jon could see them clearly. 

“It would be easier. You’re aware you’ll have to put one leg on each side of the horse, right?” 

“Of course I am! I’m not stupid.” 

Watching as Sansa softly ran her palms along the fabric of her dress, Jon took the reins and brought the mere closer to her. 

“So, we’re doing this.” 

“Yes, we are.” She raised her chin up on that expression of authority that Jon wanted to vanish away with a simple touch of his fingers on her jawline. “How should we begin?” 

“Get closer. Rain is the most docile horse I’ve ever seen, but even she needs to bond with one that wants to ride her.” 

Sansa’s steps towards the mere were careful, almost hesitant, but Jon let her take her time. When Sansa finally approached Rain, Jon took a step back, so their personal space wouldn’t merge. He had never been this close to Sansa before, had never felt the strange sensation that pulled one’s body towards another. Jon watched as Sansa raised her hand and placed it next to Rain’s neck, her touch so slightly that the mere barely moved into her direction. 

“You can put some pressure on her.” He demonstrated it by putting his palm on Rain too, next to Sansa’s. Jon’s hand caressed a good extension of Rain’s fur, patting her mane too. “She needs to feel safe with you, as you need to feel safe with her.” 

It would be impossible for Jon to know at the time, but the way his voice softened near Rain made something with Sansa. She was still too young and innocent to name it back then, but she surely understood the sensation of her blood melting inside her veins. 

“You can feel the pulse of her heart right here”, Jon practically whispered, his eyes focused on where his hand was resting. 

“May I?” 

Right after Jon moved his hand to Rain’s back, Sansa replaced his with hers on the mere pulsing point. Wonderfulness immediately hit Sansa as she felt the proof of life on her bare hand. It wasn’t the first time she felt the heart of another creature beating, but still she would feel mesmerized every single time it happened. Her eyes perched with warm tears of joy, but she took a deep breath and obliged them to stay in place — she didn’t want to cry in front of Jon. 

What Sansa didn’t know about Jon was that he had always noticed how she reacted to moments like that. He remembered vividly the first spring they had at the farm after his arrival; how Sansa would, every single day, search for new buds and watch them eagerly. She would assist them with the same tenderness and dedication of a midwife with a pregnant woman, waiting for the buds to grow and flourish. And when they did, Sansa’s eyes would glow with tears and her smile would grow with pure happiness. The reason why he remembered this vividly was because he had never seen a person so happy with a flower blossoming. 

“It’s good, huh? To feel another being’s heart.” His voice came with the same soft tone that made her blood melt moments before. 

“You do it with every animal in the farm?” 

“Most of them. I don’t quite like the pig.” 

Sansa yielded him an almost imperceptible smile, and so did Jon. They locked eyes for just an instant, enough for Sansa to feel her face warming up. She dodged his gaze, focusing on Rain again. 

“Can I mount her now?” 

“Have you ever done this before?” 

“With Father, when I was a child. He would put me in front of him, both my legs turned to the same side, and we would stroll through the farm together.” 

“So it will be the first time you do it by yourself?” 

Instead of saying it, Sansa only nodded. Jon had to suppress a sigh, already imagining it would be hard to teach something like that to Sansa. 

“Alright. I think Rain likes you, so it’s a good starter. Put your left foot here on the stirrup and throw your right leg across Rain’s loin. Can you do this alone?” 

“Seems easy.” Sansa shrugged lightly, but Jon could tell she was nervous by the faint tremor on the tips of her fingers. 

“Here, hold on the horn for support.”

Sansa did as he told her. She wrapped her left hand on the horn and placed her foot on the stirrup, but was indecisive about what to do with her right hand. For a moment, Sansa just stayed there, trying to find her balance while her right hand desperately pressed the saddle’s seat. She was about to give up on climbing Rain when she felt Jon’s palm on her lower back, sustaining her body. 

“Take your hands off me!” She hissed without giving it much thought, even though she knew his help was needed. 

“If you fall and get hurt, we’ll be in trouble, especially me.” Jon moved his hand to her waist, the other one holding the rein. “Hold the horn with both your hands before pulling up.” 

She did as he commanded, holding firmly on the horn and propelling her body upwards when she felt her foot well supported on the stirrup. Jon’s hand never let go of her waist, though, and she tried not to give much thought about it. Only when Sansa was properly sat on the seat did Jon move his hand away, and she felt strangely cold. 

“How do you feel up there?” 

“Scared.” Sansa admitted instantly. Since her childhood, she wasn’t very fond of highs. She would never climb trees like her siblings, would never scale the roof to see the stars at night. 

“Why?” 

She hesitated just for a moment, unsure about what Jon would think of her, but she confessed, “I’m- I’m afraid of highs.” 

“Oh”, Jon exhaled and his brow turned into a furrow. “Rain is not exactly a tall horse, you know? Just take a deep breath and focus on her breathing too. Once you match each other’s breathing, it will be easier for you both.” 

Eyes closed and legs pressed against Rain’s side, Sansa tried to inhale slowly, feeling the air coming in, filling her lungs with freshness and courage. As she breathed out, she imagined the movement was enough to expel her fears, her insecurities, and the cowardice threatening to arise. The cool dawn breeze tangled with her hair, making some threads that came out of her braid tickle her cheeks. 

When she opened her eyes, a handful of breaths later, she met Jon’s gaze. The pale light of dawn was starting to fade, opening the way to the first sunrays. A soft shade of golden light started to shine, touching everything around. The surface of the river, the trees nearby, the early autumn leaves, Jon’s eyes, Jon’s hair, Jon’s face. From her place on the top of Rain’s back, Sansa could look at him freely in a way she had never done before. In the early golden morning, she realized, for the very first time, how handsome Jon was. 

“You want to hold the reins or you want me to take the lead?” 

Suddenly, Sansa became aware of her heartbeats increasing. The combination of elements around her began to make her dizzy — the grace of the daybreak, the realization about Jon’s beauty, being on the top of a horse —, it all led Sansa to an initial state of vertigo. Hands trembling, she grabbed the horn with much more strength than necessary and tried not to look to the ground below. 

“Sansa?” Jon’s voice came in a whisper, the same sort of low voice he used when talking about Rain’s pulse earlier. It was the first time he had said her name in days. 

“Yes?” She asked apprehensively, for she hadn’t paid attention to what he was saying before. 

“How d’you want to do it?” He offered her the reins, which was enough for Sansa to finally understand the topic of the conversation. 

“Can you do it?” 

“Aye, of course.” 

Jon kept his right hand firm around the reins as he patiently encouraged Rain to move. The first pace she took made Sansa gasp loudly, and Jon couldn’t help but let out a short, sharp laugh. She wanted to kick him for that, but Jon was walking in front of them, his back turned to her, and it would be impossible to reach him. So, Sansa remained still in her place, keeping her eyes on the horizon as Rain walked on the uneven ground. It made Sansa feel insecure, but Jon seemed to know what he was doing. 

“You alright?” He asked her after they moved a few meters. 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Want to hold the reins?”

She pursed her lips together, thinking for a moment before denying it, “No, I don’t feel safe for this.” 

Jon’s shoulders moved up and down as he took a deep breath. She watched the action attentively, for she had been keeping a close look on him since they started pacing. 

“Right, but you’ll have to do it one day if you really want to ride the horse. For now, it seems that I’m taking you on a stroll.” 

Sansa’s lips turned into a pout as she argued, “I’m not a child, you know? You can stop with that condescending tone of yours.” 

“I’m not being condescendent with you.” He looked at her from his shoulder. “I’m just making a statement.” 

“Then stop making statements!” As she hissed, Rain stopped abruptly and neighed. Sansa’s body was thrown forward, but, before she could be scared of something, one of Jon’s hands was already holding her forearm. 

“Calm down. If you start to get heated up, Rain will get stressed.” He took a look at her legs, eyeing her exposed shin for a moment longer than it would be proper. “Relax your legs, you pressing her made her stop.” 

Not without rolling her eyes, Sansa did as he said. They paced in silence for long minutes, always skirting the riverbank. Sansa knew that, if she looked behind, she would spot her house getting smaller and smaller. In the horizon, the sun was rising gradually, its rays of light caressing God’s creation gently and delicately. Birds were singing nonstop, enchanting Sansa with their daily symphony. She was enjoying it quite much, no matter if it were a ride or a stroll — it was a good way to start the day. 

“We should go back”, stated Jon at a certain point. “They will start to get up soon.” 

“Alright.” 

The way back to the heart-tree seemed much faster, which Sansa found rather displeasing. In her core, she wanted to keep following the river as she observed the landscape around her (as she watched Jon move his head every time he spotted a new bird singing). Once they were under the heart-tree leaves, Jon instructed Sansa how to properly dismount Rain, but he still propped Sansa as she did so. 

“Well”, she started while adjusting her skirt, “thank you for teaching me.” 

“I haven’t taught you much.” 

“And that’s why we’ll do it again and again until I’m able to ride on my own.” She gave him one of her sweet smiles. “Have a good day, Jon Snow.” 

Honestly, Jon thought that Sansa wouldn’t show up on the next day, but she did. And she did the day after that, and the day after that, and the days after too. She took a whole week to hold the reins, another one to go from a slow pace to a trot, and, by the end of two months, she was already galloping — all of this wearing a dress.

Chapter Text

Chapter two - Scents and senses

“It was very pleasant to savor its aroma, for smells have the power to evoke the past, bringing back sounds and even other smells that have no match in the present.”

— Laura Esquivel, “Like water for chocolate” —

The day Jon turned seventeen, they had a nice family gathering inside the house. It was a cool winter evening, two weeks after Christmas, the seventh day of a new year. Catelyn baked a delicious kidney pie with beans and onions, and not a single crumb remained on the dish. After dinner, they sat together in front of the burning hearth and remembered stories they shared with Jon. It was the Stark way to celebrate a nameday — cook the person’s favorite meal and tell good stories involving them in the past year. 

They were all just laughing about Robb’s story, in which Jon had to climb the roof to rescue one of the goats and it tried to headbutt him nonstop. 

“Oh, I have one!” Arya raised her hand to catch everyone’s attention. “Do you remember that time we were playing hide-and-seek and Jon had the brilliant idea to hide on the hennery, but the rooster started to peck his ears?” 

“I remember this!” Rickon joined Arya in the telling. “He tried to grab the rooster by the neck, but it kept scratching him with its nails.” 

“Aye, that rooster had never treated me so badly.” Jon chuckled as he remembered that day. 

“And then I found him because the rooster was making a huge scandal.” Arya finished the story. “You were covered in feathers and, I must say it, a bit of hen shi-”

“Arya”, Catelyn interrupted with her imperious motherly tone. “Don’t say that word.” 

“Sorry, Mother.” 

After smiling kindly to Arya, Catelyn told them, “Well, my favorite story with Jon this past year was the day we planted that apple tree together, when spring was already in its apex. You found that sapling on the market and, thanks to you, we’ll grow apples for a long time.” 

Jon and Catelyn shared an affectionate smile. Even though she wouldn’t call him son, she treated him like a member of her family. She would mend his clothes, cut his hair, and take care of him when he was sick. On cold nights, she would invite him to sleep in the boys room, putting Rickon in the same bed as Bran so none of them stayed on the floor. There was a time she even tried to convince Jon to build another room in the house for him to stay, but he denied saying that he was already used to his place next to the stables — it was good enough for him, it really was, and it would be safer too, for he wouldn’t be in danger of running too much into Sansa’s direction. 

“I have one, too”, Sansa practically murmured, her eyes avoiding his. 

“You?” Arya’s eyes grew wide in surprise. “You never tell stories on Jon’s birthday, you just add information to ours.” 

“Well, I happen to have one this time.” Sansa shrugged her shoulders and stared at the fire a moment before she started her story. “I remember one of the first weeks of spring, the lemon tree was already laden-”

“Of course yours involves the lemon tree”, Arya interrupted with a grunt. 

“Arya.” It was Father’s time to reprimand her. “Let your sister tell her story.” 

After receiving a forced apologetic look from Arya, Sansa continued, “Well, the lemon tree was already laden, but lemons were not the only thing growing there. Bran spotted a bird’s nest on one of the higher branches, and it was too fragile for him to climb. So he told Jon about the nest and Jon put Bran on his shoulders for Bran to see the eggs.” 

“I remember that!” Bran’s expression was filled with the endearment of the memory. “Jon brought me there every day until the eggs broke and the baby birds came out. Even after that, we still watched them. Gods, the Mother Bird sometimes got really angry at us.” 

“Ye, she did”, agreed Jon with a kind beam on his face. “I don’t blame her, though. Lots of nests were being attacked by that brown owl that lived on the roof.” 

“Good one, Sansa.” Bran gently smiled at her. “I like this memory.” 

“Me too”, Jon’s voice came in a whisper, a tone Sansa was already getting used to. 

Truth be told, the memory she wished she could share was another one. 

It was one of the last cozy mornings of autumn, right before the beginning of the rainy days. She was at the margin of the river, washing a bunch of clothes. Amongst her and Mother’s dresses, there were two cotton shirts that belonged to Jon. With her feet under the water and her dress up to her knees, Sansa was diligently scrubbing the clothes with homemade soap they bought from the Pooles. 

Almost all of the items were soaking in water, except for Jon’s shirts. Before doing the same with them, Sansa took the fabric cautiously in her hands and brought it closer to her nose. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes in the process, enjoying the scent that came from the collar of the shirt. She smelled sweat, fen, and something woody. It was good and warm and made her belly twist in a sweet agony. Bringing the other shirt near her nose, Sansa tried to distinguish if there was more, but she only found the same reassuring hint of Jon’s sweat. 

The sound of a branch breaking startled her, which made Sansa drop Jon’s shirts instantly on the water, merging them until they were totally weathered. She gave a slight glare over her shoulder, enough to spot Jon himself walking into her direction. Waiting for him to come closer, she brushed harshly the soap against the fabric, trying to clean not only the shirts, but also the memory of Jon’s scent in her mind. 

“Hi”, he greeted her with that rusky voice of his. 

“Hi.” 

For they had been sharing lots and lots of dawns recently, Sansa no more felt the need to be tough on him. Before, she would act as his mere presence seemed like an inconvenience, but now she tried to be at least friendly — but in a careful sort of way, because she didn’t want him to notice how he intrigued her. 

“So, you wash my clothes now?” 

“Only when Mother asks me to.” 

That was a lie. Mother hadn’t said a single thing about Sansa washing Jon’s clothes. It was all her, but she couldn’t explain her motivations at the time, motivations she hadn’t even sorted out yet. 

“Who should I thank, then?” His words held a hint of a smile, she could tell. 

“Me, of course, for trying to make you smell like anything but horse fur.” 

He let out a harsh laugh and sat on the ground, keeping an arm’s length away. Sansa gave him a quick look, enough for her to notice his right hand closed carefully. 

“How d’you know how I smell?” 

Sansa felt her cheeks warmer as she realized the curse of the conversation. She hid her face behind her loose hair and answered, “It’s not hard to guess.” 

They fell into a comfortable silence, at least as comfortable as it could be when it came to them. Sansa still felt odd in Jon’s presence, especially because that was the first time he approached her while she was washing clothes. She wanted to ask him what he was doing there, if he needed something, but Jon’s eyes kept following the river’s course, ever so calm that morning. 

“I have something for you”, he finally spoke. 

Sansa raised her head and their gaze finally met. “Really?” 

Jon simply extended his arm and opened the hand he was keeping closed, revealing five wild raspberries. 

“Oh, Heavens!” Sansa quickly washed the soap off of her hands to grab the raspberries. She tried not to think much about the way Jon’s fingers felt warm against her cold ones. “I thought we wouldn't have more of them until spring.” 

“Ye, I thought the same. But a hen was missing, I started to look out for it and found it nested in the bush. There were probably more raspberries, but I think the hen got most of them.” 

Sansa patiently ate them, one by one, appreciating its rich flavour. She was hoping for a very large harvest next spring, so she could make raspberry jam and pies for everybody. 

“So, I owe this to you or to the lost hen?” She turned to him, meeting his gaze. 

It surprised Sansa that Jon blinked twice and stuttered with the words when he said, “T- to me, of course. If it weren’t for me, the hen would have it all.” 

For the first time, Sansa noticed a hint of a blush on Jon’s face, a hard task beneath his tanned skin. She thought it to be sweet, because she had never seen a man of his age blushing — not that she had anyone else to compare Jon with besides Robb, and to make Robb blush was an impossible task. 

“Also, lunch is almost ready. Your mother asked me to tell you.” 

“Right, just let me finish with your shirts.” 

He waited by her side, completely silent, as Sansa scrubbed his clothes. She merged them inside the water, cleaning them from the soap, and twisted the fabric until it was not soaking anymore. Sansa tugged all the clean clothes inside her basket and took her feet out of the water, putting on her sandals once she was standing. 

“I take this.” Jon quickly picked the basket up, carrying it with both his hands. 

Imbued with unprecedented courage and confidence, Sansa closed the distance between them and raised to the tip of her toes until she could leave a sweet kiss to Jon’s face. Swiftly, her lips touched his skin, remaining there for just a brief moment, enough for Sansa to feel the warmth that came from him. 

“Thank you, Jon.” 

Eyes wide and face truly flushed, Jon managed to say, “Anytime, Sansa.” 

But of course she couldn’t share this with her family. She surely could omit most of it and simply said that, once, Jon brought her wild raspberries. It would be enough, but it would also be so incomplete that it felt odd to say anything about that day. 

Back then, when she kissed Jon’s cheek, it didn’t seem like a big deal. Sansa had only kissed men from her family on the cheek — Father, Robb, Bran, and Rickon —, and, since all of their siblings considered Jon a brother, he was family, right? 

But now, reliving the memory of that day and taking a close look at every single time she remembered it, Sansa felt… strange. She couldn’t name any of her feelings near Jon, she just knew they all seemed really strange. And intriguing, of course. Kissing Jon’s cheek was definitely both strange and intriguing, making her flutter at the mere memory of it. 

(He was family, though. She shouldn’t feel like that about him.) 

“My turn.” Father called everyone’s attention with his deep voice. “I’ve never told you the entire story of how I decided to bring Jon with me the day I found him alone in the village. I know it didn’t happen the past year, but it’s time for you to know it.” 

They all turned into Father’s direction, even Mother seemed aware of what he was talking about. Sansa spotted Jon’s brow furrowed, an expression he had almost vanished from his face by now, but that would hardly ever come back. 

“I saw him on the market, wandering alone with his bundle of clothes. Even though he seemed like an abandoned kid, it was clear to me he was a clever boy. And honest, too. An old lady was buying meat from the butcher and, in a moment of distraction, she let one of her coins fall out of her hands. She didn’t see it, but Jon did. He caught the coin from the ground and approached the woman with such a humble expression! She thanked him multiple times and even tried to give him the coin as a reward for his honesty, but he didn’t take it.” 

“It wasn’t mine to take”, Jon muttered in a low voice. 

“I know, and only a truly honest person wouldn’t accept it. That’s why I came to you when I saw you sitting on the church’s stairs. I have lived here my entire life, I know every single person in that village, I can spot a strange face in a heartbeat. And I was indeed in need of help with the farm, you seemed like a good boy.” Father shared a look of understanding with Mother. She stood up, disappeared into their room, and came back with a small leather bag, then handed it to Father. “Jon, from the very start, I told you I couldn’t offer much, and you accepted my offer without giving much thought. However, it’s been a while since I started to gather this.” He extended the leather bag and gave it to Jon. “I’m not rewarding you for your honesty, nor paying you decently for all the work you did here on the farm.” 

“I don’t understand.” Jon’s furrowed brows deepened, eyes turning from the content of the bag to Father’s glare. “Why are you giving me this now?” 

“Because, one day, you’ll want to get married and have kids. One day, you’ll want to build a family of your own. If you wish to do it elsewhere, Cat and I will understand. But if you decide to stay here with us, we’ll build a cabin for you and your wife, just as we’ll soon start doing for Robb once spring comes. Either way, money will be needed. It’s not a reward, it’s barely a payment. Jon, it’s a gift from a father to his son, so you know that the choice is yours.” 

Sansa watched their faces carefully. Father’s expression held an open gaze, one Sansa rarely saw on him. Mother seemed touched by Father’s gesture, even though she knew about her intentions. Arya’s eyes were glassy with tears, as were Bran’s. Rickon seemed rather confused by everything, maybe because he was still too young to understand what it meant to build a family. Robb was giving one of his proud smiles while looking at Jon. 

Jon… God, Sansa doubted she would ever forget the look on his face. He was mesmerized, certainly, for his eyes were gleaming in a way she had never seen before. And he was feeling that way not because of the coins inside the leather bag, but because of Father’s words. Father had never said much about his plans for Jon’s future. In fact, that topic was unprecedented for their family. Sansa watched as Jon ran his free hand through his dark curls, then he took a deep breath — a gesture Sansa knew, by now, that meant he was putting his feelings into place —, and raised to his feet. Father did the same and, once they were facing each other, they shared a caring hug. 

“You’re one of us, never forget that.” Father reassured with a pat on Jon’s back. 

“I won’t, sir. Thank you.” 

One by one, the Starks joined them in the hug. Catelyn did it first, placing her arms around Ned’s and Jon’s backs. Then, Robb found his place between Mother and Jon. He was followed by Arya, who had her shoulders embraced by Father. Rickon put himself in the middle of them all, whilst Bran hugged Jon’s side. 

Sansa was the last one. She didn’t know how to do it, where to put herself. Hesitantly, she approached her family and watched as all of them kept their eyes shut. The moment she knew what to do was when Jon opened his eyelids just for a second, and then their eyes met. Sansa came closer and stayed behind Bran, extending her arms until she could reach Jon and Arya. She was not so distant that she couldn’t touch Jon, but not so close that she would get too near him. To her contentment, she was just in the right place for her to rest her head on Jon’s shoulder as he kept her and Bran under his arm. Taking a deep breath, she distinguished a new smell coming from him — the surprisingly sunny scent of snow. 

That night, Sansa had a hard time trying to sleep. After she came to bed, she remembered that she had knitted a new scarf for Jon. It wasn’t common for their family to share presents, only when one of them really needed something. Sansa had noticed that Jon’s scarf was worn, and he was obviously in need of a new one. However, after Father gave Jon such an uncommon gift, it seemed like nothing could be better. It didn’t keep Robb from getting him a dagger he made during his time as a blacksmith apprentice, though, nor kept Arya from giving Jon a pomegranate (Jon couldn’t have known, but Arya watched the Poole’s pomegranate tree for a long time until the fruits were good and asked them for one, which coincidentally happened in the week of Jon’s birthday). 

Now, Sansa regretted not giving Jon the new scarf. How could she do it now? Should she wait for an opportunity? Or should she create an opportunity by just giving him the scarf? 

It seemed like a big problem for Sansa, so she silently sneaked out of her bed and wrapped her shawl around herself, to prevent her from the cold winter air. Arya was sleeping like a baby and wouldn’t hear the creaking door, making it easier for Sansa to leave the room.

The fire was still burning on the hearth, so Sansa took a seat near it and watched the flames dancing. From there, she could hear some snorings coming from the other bedrooms, and she was sure Father and Robb owned the snores. After a quick laugh, Sansa yawned and rested her head on the chair’s back. With her arms hugging her legs, she felt so warm and cozy that sleep approached her stealthily. Sansa was almost reaching an unconscious state of mind when she heard a door opening and someone walking. 

Eyes barely opened, she distinguished Jon’s figure, and she had the impression that he was looking at her. 

“Why are you here?” He whispered as she came closer to her. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” 

“You seem quite sleepy now.” 

The light of the fire wasn’t intense, but it was enough for Sansa to see a shadow of a smile on Jon’s lips. She smiled too, probably too dozy for him to notice. 

“Go to bed, Sansa.” 

“I have something for you.” 

Sansa stretched her arms over her head and yawned again, but soon she was on her feet. 

“Wait here”, she instructed as she entered the girls room for just a moment. Then, she came with the package carefully wrapped and gave it to Jon. “I hope you like it.” 

Eagerly, Sansa watched as Jon kept his hands holding the package. It was wrapped in a flannel cloth and a ribbon was tied at the top. Jon lifted his gaze for a brief moment, finding hers, and Sansa nodded in encouragement. With an unsteady gesture that reminded Sansa of a baby bird testing its wings, Jon grabbed the end of the rope and untied it, then he pulled away the flannel, revealing his gift. 

“What’s it in here?” He asked without really expecting an answer, laying the rope and the flannel on the arm of the chair Sansa was seated before. As soon as he took the scarf on his hands and unrolled it, the most tender expression came from his face, his mouth slightly parted as he whispered, “Sansa, it’s- You didn’t need to-“ 

“I wanted to”, she interrupted him unceremoniously. “I noticed that your scarf is getting too worn out, there are lots of holes in it, you know.” 

“Ye, suppose there are.” 

“You must try it.” She took the ends of the scarf and, without waiting for any reaction from him, tucked it around Jon’s neck, adjusting it perfectly to his figure. “There you are. You look good.” 

A glint of an unknown emotion crossed Jon’s face, and Sansa didn’t recognize what it was — she was, afterall, still getting acquainted with her own emotions, still getting to know herself before she could know anyone else. It reminded her of how she felt whenever she would spot wild geese and look at them with profound wonder, though. 

“The colour matches your eyes.” Sansa’s words came in a blurt, and she had to fight the urge to hide her mouth with her hands. 

“Was it on purpose?” 

“No, not really.” She tried to think of something else to say, something that wouldn’t compromise her. Instead of doing so, she added, “I just thought the colour to be beautiful.” 

Even to the fourteenth year old Sansa, it was clear that Jon’s breath got stuck in his chest. She took a deep look into those exquisite eyes of his that now she was becoming so acquainted with. Before they started to meet every morning for her riding lessons, Sansa would simply say that Jon’s eyes were gray if someone asked her. Now, though, Sansa was able to distinguish the exact shade they held. It was not only a dark gray pair of eyes, because she knew that, once the first lights of the morning hit Jon’s face, his greyish eyes would turn from a somber expression to a bright gleam. It would amaze her instantly, how the sun could dive deep into Jon and bring the light out of him. Then, gray wouldn’t be just gray — it would be like the feathers from the back of a gray kingbird, smooth and modest, but still lovely. 

“Jon?” 

He swallowed audibly before speaking, “Yes?” 

“We are family, aren’t we?” 

“Aye, Sansa, we are.” 

She was clasping her hands together on her front, for that was the only way to prevent her fingers from fidgeting. Truth be told, she needed to hear this from his mouth so she wouldn’t be ashamed of her next move. She closed the distance between them and, again on the tip of her toes, placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. 

Once back on her place, Sansa looked into Jon’s eyes and found them grayer than before, as if the darkness around them had merged with his irises. Watching him so attentively, Sansa felt like she was diving into his gaze, searching for answers that couldn’t be found in the surface of his eyes. 

Jon cleared his throat and muttered, “I’m already feeling warmed up.” 

Just then Sansa realized that she had been staring at him for far too long. She took a step behind as he folded the scarf, holding it tightly. 

“Thank you, Sansa. Time to go back to bed.” 

She smiled at him and, remembering the day he brought her the raspberries, breathed a sweet, “Anytime, Jon.” 

Fortunately, snow was coming easily that year. It wasn’t a problem for men, horses, and wagons to travel the roads, and the flow of people between the farms and the village was not compromised. 

Catelyn gently asked Jon to go to the village’s market that morning. She was in need of ham and salt, and a bit of sugar wouldn’t be unwelcomed. It didn’t bother him that she asked him for this favour, since he had some business to do at the village — a few days back, Ned had lectured him about the importance of learning a trade, just as Robb was doing with the blacksmith, and Jon intended to follow his advice. 

Jon was already adjusting his cloak around his shoulders when Arya asked Mother, “Can I go too? I’m tired of staying indoors.” 

Catelyn shared a look with Jon and, after he nodded his head in agreement, she gave her answer, “You may go, but behave yourself. Don’t start to wander around the market, stay near Jon.” 

“Yes, mama.” 

“Here, you two, have some water first.” 

Both Jon and Arya drank from the clay cups Catelyn offered them. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and fixed his scarf — the scarf Sansa made for him, which smelled like summer even in winter. Without realizing it, he searched for her. Sansa was sitting at the kitchen table, her hands occupied with embroidery work. 

“Mother?” Her voice came low and Catelyn approached her. She spoke even lower, but Jon managed to distinguish the words. “May I go too? I need wool.” 

Jon tried not to give away his curiosity for Catelyn’s answer. He watched as her eyebrows deepened for a moment, her gaze firm on her eldest daughter. 

“Please?” Sansa tried again, looking so sheepishly that Jon had to fight the need to laugh. 

“Jon.” Catelyn turned to him. “Will you take care of her?” 

“I promise, ma’m.” 

Turning back to Sansa, Catelyn brushed her arm. “Then go, sweetling. Buy me a dark green hank, right?” 

It didn’t go unnoticed to Jon the rosy aspect on Sansa’s face after her mother’s permission. She was beaming from ear to ear when they went outside to get on the wagon. Jon patted Blackpearl’s neck and, as Arya took her place on the back of the wagon, he watched as Sansa approached its side to get to the front seat. 

He quickly reached out for her as he noticed it was too high for Sansa. “Let me help you.” 

Jon was careful enough to hold Sansa’s waist without putting too much pressure, for he had known her well enough now to notice when she feels some sort of discomfort whenever she’s touched. Lifting her easily, he offered her an almost imperceptible smile once she was well adjusted. Only when Jon occupied the seat next to her did Sansa smile in return. 

Holding the reins, Jon stirred them for Blackpearl to get moving. They enjoyed some silence together, the only sounds being the wheels squeaking and the winds of winter howling lightly. 

“You never ask to come with us.” Arya propped her forearms at the seat’s back, her head between Jon’s and Sansa’s. 

“So you’re the only one that gets the right to feel bored indoors?” 

“I don’t like to be indoors, but you do. You like to cook, to knit, to embroider, you even like to clean the house. I don’t.” 

“One has to do the chores, whether one likes it or not.” 

Jon glanced at Sansa, noticing her gloved hands fiddling with a loose thread of her dress. Before Arya started talking, Sansa was taking their surroundings, observing the landscape, just as Jon. 

“We all need a refreshment from clenched walls sometimes, or they start to look like a prison.” He stated, eyes fixed on the road. 

“Especially during winter”, added Sansa. 

“Aye.” 

“You guys have been agreeing with each other too much for my taste.” Arya poked Jon’s nape and muttered, “You used to be funnier when you agreed more with me.” 

“I think the three of us can just agree on the same things.” He took a good look around, eyeing Sansa’s attempt to hide a smile by biting her inner cheeks. “For example, the view is beautiful.” 

Ayra said, “Aye, it truly is”, at the same time as Sansa murmured, “I miss the sun.”

Jon could practically hear Arya’s eyes rolling, but he patiently nudged Sansa’s shoulder with his and explained, “See, Sansa, for this game to work you’ll need to give in a bit. I said that the view is beautiful, not that I don’t miss the sun. Don’t you agree with me?” 

Now it was Sansa the one to roll her eyes. “You and your condescending tone. Yes, Jon, I think I must agree with you about the view.” 

“So now the three of us agree on something. Easy, huh?” 

“Sounds like”, said the girls in unison, and the trio laughed at the realization that they had agreed on another thing. 

They fell into a comfortable silence again, and the wind howled louder. Jon felt Sansa’s hair tickling his face, but didn’t do a thing to stop it from happening. If she noticed it, she didn’t do anything either. It was cold, certainly, so Sansa rested her side against Jon’s, and he let her. After Arya went back to her sitting position, Jon even leaned into Sansa’s direction just a bit, for she would know that it was alright. 

It didn’t matter the dimensions of the world outside. It didn’t matter that they were far from being trapped inside four walls. It didn’t matter that the blowing wind could come and go freely, mixing up natures’ scents to the point of it being hard to distinguish one from the other. Jon could still identify Sansa’s fragrance easily, so easily that it should concern him. It didn’t, though. If so, his ability to notice her scent amongst every other one made him list its characteristics in his mind. She smelled like flowers, like fresh water, like the interior of a cottonwood tree — and all of it made him feel like the earth after the rain. 

Since she gave him the scarf, Jon would tuck his nose into the wool every now and then just to smell the comforting scent that lingered on it. He would take deep and slow breaths, and hold the air inside his lungs for as long as he could, as if by doing this her scent would make a home out of his insides. 

(It was stupid, he knew it, but that Sansa smelled heavenly good was a statement as much as she was beautiful, so he ignored the voice in the depths of his mind that screamed at him for being such a fool.) 

They arrived at the village after a safe journey at a slower pace, since the roads were wet and slippery due to the snow. Jon helped Sansa get off of the wagon, again holding her by the waist, but now she placed her hands on his shoulders. He got her so easily, practically swinging her before her feet found the ground, that Sansa let out a small giggle. 

“Thank you.” She batted her lashes once.

On days like these, when snow wasn’t falling thickly, it was common for families to catch the opportunity to go to the market, so it was a bit crowded. Jon grabbed Arya’s hand, fearing that she would dodge him and Sansa and sneak away. 

“I’m not a kid, you know.” Arya complained with a scowl. 

“You are to me.” 

“I’m thirteen.” 

“So?” Jon glared at her as if she was telling him that the snow is white. 

“You should hold Sansa’s hand too, then. She is not much older. Also, I must remind you Mother specifically asked you to take care of her.” 

“Oh, shut up”, mumbled Sansa before Jon could articulate an answer. 

“I’m just saying the facts.” 

Jon thought for a moment about Catelyn’s instructions. She had, indeed, asked him to take care of Sansa, while she just told Arya to behave. Jon even recalled his answer to Catelyn, promising her that he would do as she said. 

He took a deep, long breath and glanced at Sansa. Now, it was her brow that had turned into a scowl, but he noticed a hint of a blush on her cheeks (from the cold, probably). Jon pondered about holding Sansa’s hand, as he was doing with Arya, but it seemed odd. Then, he thought about embracing her shoulders, but this too felt out of place. He was just giving up on doing something like that when a man passed through her and accidentally bumped into her arm. Sansa jumped immediately, scared like a doe, and grabbed Jon’s arm as if it was a lifeline. That was the exact answer Jon needed, for he just lifted his forearm to make it seem that Sansa and he were with their arms tangled. 

Jon tugged his bicep closer to his side, keeping Sansa’s hand clasped in the crook of his elbow, and listed, “So, we have a few things to do. Buy some provisions and wool, go to the blacksmith atelier, and Ned asked me to stop by the mail. All of this and still be back home at lunch time.” 

They got the ham and some salt and sugar easily, greeting a few people they knew. Then, Jon headed them to the tent where sewing supplies were sold. The moment Sansa’s eyes spotted the large table containing the wools, they shined so brightly that it would be enough to brighten an entire room. Jon’s lips twitched into a quick smile, which he vanished away even quicker. 

“Can I see the wood artefacts while she chooses her wool?” Arya asked Jon as soon as Sansa got distracted by the hanks. 

The wood craftsman tent was the next one, both so close Jon could watch for the girls at the same time. 

“Aye, you can.” 

Arya hugged him tightly, her head pressed against his sternum. “You’re the best brother in the world, you know?” 

Jon kissed the top of her head, hair as dark as his own. “And you’re the best sister ever.” 

It was clear to everyone that observed the Stark girls for a brief moment that they were completely different from each other, and yet Jon could spot some similarities between them. For example, they were both fierce and determined when it came from their interests. They held the strong expression of the Starks, no matter the colour of their eyes, for Sansa had taken the Tully of her mother’s side of the family. Also, adoration was seen in their faces whenever they were doing or watching something they loved. 

Jon knew this because coexisting with them was becoming even more common. Arya has been near him practically from the beginning, since she needed not much to start following him around the farm. As soon as Catelyn knew she was a trustworthy boy, she stopped minding his and Arya’s interactions. Him teaching Arya everything she wanted to learn was a natural thing to do, she was great at showing her points of view about how it was important for a girl to develop some abilities with daggers, bows, and horses too. 

Sansa was different in showing their similarities, for she could seem fragile for an inattentive eye, but having the opportunity to know her better was showing Jon that her delicate manners were not a sign of weakness. She could be as firm and stubborn as Arya (and Robb, and Bran, and Rickon too) when she wanted something, and their riding lessons had been teaching Jon so much about Sansa’s temper that, for the first time since he moved to the farm, she didn’t seem like a stranger to him. 

They had been bonding for almost five months now, and Jon often thinks about how Sansa was as good as hiding behind her mask of courtesy as he is with his brooding armour. Contrary to them, Arya would show herself easily to the world, and that’s when their similarities ended. While Arya could be read as an open book, Sansa was like a river — sometimes the surface wouldn’t reflect its depths. 

Standing in a strategic point where he could watch both of the girls at the same time, Jon’s glare lingered on the way Sansa took her gloves off so she could touch each wool she was interested in and sense its texture. Her fingers traveled across the linens, tightening the threads slightly between her index and her thumb. 

“Beautiful girl, huh?” A young man, seeming the same age as Jon, stopped near him. He had dark hair and pale-ice blue eyes, and smelled like fish. Jon recognized him from the fishmonger tent. 

“She’s my sister”, he said in a hush, even though he didn’t see her as so nor feel like a brother to her. “Stop staring.” 

“Oh, no, she’s not. She’s the daughter of Ned Stark. And you are…” He stared at Jon from his head to his toes, a cocky smile on the corner of his lips. “I don’t know what I should call you. A farm boy? A servant?” He leaned into Jon’s direction and took a sniff. “Based on your smell, a stable boy.” 

Jon’s hand instantly fled to the dagger he carried on his side, but he didn’t take it off. 

The man’s eyes watched his move carefully, and then he said, “There’s no need for this, boy. She’s not your sister, she’s a beautiful young girl who is almost fifteen. And, as soon as she is, marriage proposals will start to rain at Ned Stark’s door.” 

Teeth clenched, Jon felt his blood running hot in his veins. His fingers tightened around the dagger’s handle, and then he comprehended the hesitant look on Catelyn’s face when Sansa asked for permission to go to the village. 

Jon, will you take care of her? 

“I bet a handful of pretty words whispered in her ear is all it would take for her to fall in love.” 

That’s it, thought Jon, I’m beating him up right her-

“Is everything alright?” Sansa appeared suddenly, her hand touching the one he held around the dagger’s fist. 

“Sansa Stark.” The man had the audacity to smile at her. “What a pleasure to see you again.” 

Jon watched as she eyed him the same way he had done with Jon himself — head to toe, than to head again. 

“I don’t think I can say the same, Theon Greyjoy.” 

Her answer caught both men unprevented, and Jon had to hold a surprised laugh. Theon Greyjoy’s expression changed instantly, from false delight to wounded pride. 

She entwined her arm with Jon’s again and, turning to him, said with an unbalanced voice, “Shall we go? We still have much to do.” 

He covered her hand with his and acquiesced with a blink of his eyes. 

“Bye, Theon.” Sansa didn’t even have to use a sharp tone for Theon to flinch when they passed by him, which made Jon smile just a little. 

Jon’s talk with the blacksmith went better than he had imagined. Davos Seaworth was an old man, his skin filled with sunmarks for the time he spent as a member of a crew when he was young. When he got married, the need to stay on dry land to take care of his wife and children spoke louder than his love for the sea. 

He was glad with Jon’s interest in learning a craft, for he had a good eye for talented young men. Davos needed a few minutes of conversation and a short look at Jon’s hands to say, “You’ll be a good apprentice.”

They agreed on Jon coming to the village three times a week, on afternoons, when there was less work to do at the farm. After a firm shakehand, their agreement was sealed.

At the mail, they waited in a small line for their turn. Jon spotted Ros, the mailman’s daughter, sorting and searching for letters all by herself. A couple of years older than him, Ros was the first girl to ever greet his lips with a kiss — a memory Jon kept with kindness and nothing more, but an unpleasant memory as he had Arya and Sansa by his side. 

“Jon Snow!” Ros smiled at him when it was their turn. “Mr. Stark sent you?” 

“Aye. Is there any letter for him?” 

“Let me see.” 

Ros’s fingers were fast with the envelopes, as were her reading the names on them. She was biting her lower lip, and Jon couldn’t say if she was doing this on purpose or not. What he did know was that Sansa’s grip felt heavier on his arm and, by noticing this, he glanced at her just to see her eyes filled with an intense feeling he couldn’t name. 

“Oh, here.” Ros extended the envelope to him and held it for a moment longer than necessary when Jon grabbed it. She eyed the girls by his side and raised an eyebrow. “You’re a chaperone today.” 

Jon alternated his look between Sansa and Arya, the first remained her eyes still and the second seemed rather aware of the tension between Ros and him. 

“Aye.” 

Ros wrapped a strand of her hair around her finger. “It’s been a while since the last time you stopped by.” 

“Robb’s in charge of the letters.” 

“Yes, I see.”

More than once, Robb had told Jon he was a fool when it came to girls. On the summer festival Ros first kissed him, it was Robb the one to point out her interest in Jon. If it weren’t for his brother, Jon would never have made a move. Ros was absolutely beautiful, with her red hair and smooth skin and warm brown eyes, but all Jon had ever done with her was kissing. He wasn’t interested in more, even though she had given hints of wanting so (more than once, he remembered). 

“Will you be here at the spring festival?” She asked, still playing with her hair. 

“Ye, Sansa loves it.” He turned his head to Sansa, only to find her pressing her lips in a way he knew she was bothered by something. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners?” Ros placed her hands on her chest. “I haven’t greeted the girls. It’s been a really long time since I last saw you both.”

“Not so long”, Arya spoke. “We were here on winter festival, but you were too occupied with your tong-” 

As quick as he could, Jon covered Arya’s mouth with his hand and whispered, “Remember what your mother told you.” 

Behave yourself, Catelyn’s voice echoed in his mind. 

“You really have sibling dynamics.” Ros tried to ease the tension and asked Sansa, “He’s a good brother, isn’t he?” 

Sansa clicked her tongue and answered in the exact same tone she had talked to Theon. “Arya thinks he is the best brother in the world.”

“He is”, emphasized Arya, now free from Jon’s grip. 

“Jon”, Sansa called him. “I am hungry.” 

“I spotted some lemon cakes on the market. Do you want to have one?” 

“No. I want to go back home, it’s almost lunch time.” 

Her coldness told everything Jon needed to know about how uncomfortable she felt. Jon deduced that Ros talking about them being siblings bothered Sansa, for she had never spoken of them on those terms. He recalled her asking them if he were family on his birthday, nothing more. They could be family without being brother and sister, he concluded. Maybe thinking of him as a brother was as odd to her as it was for him to refer to her as a sister. 

“You’re right, let’s go.” 

They exchanged their goodbyes with Ros, but Sansa didn’t say a word — not then, not during their path to the wagon, not so soon. 

At night, after they had dinner, Ned Stark informed his family about the content of the letter. His good friend Robert Baratheon was coming back to the village and would stay there for an indeterminate period of time with his family, which included a wife, two sons, and a daughter. He would arrive in the beginning of spring and wished to gather with the Starks so wives and children could get acquainted with. 

Head laid on her pillow, the room dark and smelling like candle wax, Sansa remained awake. She thought about the bag of coins Father gave to Jon, about him saying that, one day, Jon would want to build a family of his own. She thought about Ros and the way she kept staring at Jon. 

A single tear slid down Sansa’s face.

Chapter Text

Chapter three

Appearance and semblance

“Those born to wealth, and who have the means of gratifying every wish, know not what is the real happiness of life, just as those who have been tossed on the stormy waters of the ocean on a few frail planks can alone realize the blessings of fair weather.”

― Alexandre Dumas, "The Count of Monte Cristo" ― 

“Is it alright if we bring Jon?” Sansa heard Mother ask Father. 

After the Baratheons were settled in their village house, Robert and his wife Cersei invited the Starks for a meal together. 

“Surely, my dear. Jon is one of us.” 

“I worry about Robert’s wife. She is from an upper class, what if she mistreats him?” 

“Then we won’t come back there, no matter how long I’ve known Robert. If one of us, anyone, is treated poorly by one of them, then my friendship with Robert will be done.” 

“Are you sure about this?” 

“Aye. Nothing matters more to me than you and our children.” 

Even though Father and Mother agreed on bringing Jon, Sansa overheard Jon and Father talking about the matter on the morning of the day the meeting was settled. 

“I don’t think I should go.” 

Jon and Father were sited outside, sharing a wooden bench. The weather was not so cold anymore due to the beginning of spring, but they still wore cloaks around their shoulders. Sansa was inside the house, near the window, and she remained quiet as a ghost. 

“Why?” Father asked carefully. 

“I’m not a Stark.” His voice was firm, but Sansa could sense his apprehension. 

“Not by blood, no. But you’re one of us, you know that.” 

“Aye, I know, but people… Some see me as I was inferior to you, to Robb.” 

“Those people be damned, for all I care.” 

Sansa covered her mouth with her hands to suppress a gasp. She had never heard Father saying something like that before. 

“You’re my son, Jon, and it would be a great pleasure to introduce you to my childhood friend.” 

“Father, I-” Jon stopped suddenly, and Sansa noticed that she was hearing him direct that word to Father for the first time. Maybe it was something he only did when they were alone, she considered. “I’m not like them. Like Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon and Sansa. They’re- People like them, actually like them, whenever they go. But me…” 

“People like you too, and you’re much more like them than you think. Much more like us.” Father breathed in, and Sansa heard him move. “D’you know the first thing Davos told me when I went to the village after you started working with him?” Sansa imagined Jon shaking his head. “He said you and Robb have the exact same focused expression.” 

“But we don’t look alike.” 

“It’s not about appearance, it’s about semblance.” A moment of silence followed before Father added, “For example, Sansa is the one whose appearance differs more from yours, but I see some similarities between you two.”

“Really, sir? Sansa and I?” 

“Aye, Jon. You’re both petty when things don’t go as you expect, and you guys have the tendency to pout when this happens.” 

“Grown men don’t pout.” 

“You’re pouting right now.” 

They shared a laugh, and Sansa smiled at the sound. The moment her name was mentioned, her heart started to pound hard against her chest. Knowing that Father and Jon were talking about her was sort of exciting (it shouldn’t, though, for she wouldn’t feel like that if it were Father and Robb). 

“So, Sansa and I only share bad traits?” 

“No, no, of course not. There are good traits too.” 

“Like what?” 

Jon’s curiosity made Sansa’s face burn in anticipation. 

“Your sense of duty. The others have it too, but you and Sansa… It’s different. Intriguing, I’d say.” Father scoffed and it was easy for Sansa to imagine him closing his eyes and shaking his head from one side to the other. “I’m pretty sure you both would rather die in a sacrificial altar than let thousands perish.” 

“Is it good?” 

“Depends. Sacrifice yourself to please others? No, it’s not good. But doing it for duty, for honour, for love? It’s the highest sort of sacrifice.” 

Father’s words run deep into Sansa’s core. She closed her eyes, feeling them prickling with warm tears, and gathered both her hands above her heart. Yes, she could agree with him on that. And knowing that she and Jon were alike? Oh, it was sweet, so sweet! 

“Don’t forget this, uh?” Sansa heard Father’s hand tapping Jon’s back. 

“I won’t, Father.” 

Nor will I, she promised in silence. 

The stories Ned Stark told about Robert Baratheon for his children made them picture him as a funny, hearty, and trustworthy man. He was just a young man when he left the village searching for better life conditions, because his father had died and left nothing to him — his scarce money was used to pay the debts he had piled on the tavern. 

Sansa’s first impression of Robert Baratheon crashed the image she had of him. Robert spoke loud, was much over a healthy weight average, and cultivated a vast and clearly poorly maintained beard and hair. He kissed Mother fully on her cheek, an audible kiss, and Sansa felt her stomach writhing in disgust. She wasn’t sure she would be able to mask her repulse if he did the same to her; fortunately, she didn’t have to find out, since Robert simply patted her cheeks with his large, bear-sized hands. 

However, her first impression of his son was completely different. Joffrey Baratheon seemed like a prince from the Golden Ages, with his bright blond hair, his leafy-green eyes, and a perfectly aligned smile (a rarity that should be valued). He greeted her with flawless courtesy, kissing the back of her hand and telling her how pretty her name sounded. 

Sansa was floating. She had carefully chosen her best dress for the occasion, because she couldn’t bear to think of not being properly dressed in front of highborn people. Father explained to them that Cersei Baratheon came from a rich family, and it was truly a miracle that Robert got the chance to marry such a woman. When Sansa saw her, she was mesmerized by Cersei’s hair, the longest golden hair she had ever seen. The woman greeted them with cordiality, offering refined smiles and compliments. 

Besides Joffrey, Cersei had other two children. Myrcella was a beautiful girl, just a year younger than Sansa, and she smelled like rose water. Tommen was a boy the same age as Bran, but, different from Sansa’s brother, he still had chubby cheeks. They were very pleasant and became quickly acquainted with the Starks, except for Arya and Jon. 

(Not that Sansa was paying much attention to Arya and Jon, though. She was too enchanted by the golden family to notice their discomfort.) 

The Baratheons have rented a great house, with a room for each kid, a living room, a bright clear dinner room, and a spare room where they placed some books, musical instruments, and Myrcella’s drawing artefacts. Sansa couldn’t wait for the opportunity to hear them play the harp or the fiddle, for she was the only one in her family that could play a musical instrument — her flute was a simple one, and she only managed to play five entire songs, but still. 

“How old are you, honey?” Cersei Lannister asked Sansa during supper. 

“I’m fourteen, my lady. I’ll be fifteen in three months.” 

“You’re a summer child, then?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

Cersei turned to Catelyn and pointed, “That must have been a pleasure, to give birth during summer. The cold does no good to my nerves.” 

“All my children were born in different seasons, my lady. The day each one of them arrived in this world was very special.” 

“Almost a maid, huh?” Commented Robert, finishing his third wine cup. “Ned, my friend, you’ll have plenty of options to choose who to marry her with. She’s stunning, just like her mother.” 

“We’re not in a hurry.” Ned’s brow was a bit furrowed. “When Catelyn and I got married, she was eighteen.” 

Sansa tugged the skirts of her dress between her fingers. That topic hadn’t been recently discussed between them, and she honestly knew very little about her parents’ plans for her. Honestly, it wasn’t in her interest to get married so soon, to leave their home and have one of her own. Yes, she dreamed of that, she wished for a handsome husband and lots of children to get distracted with, but she also wanted to wait until she felt ready — until she was truly in love. 

“I think it’s a wise decision”, Cersei agreed. “I too don’t intend on letting my children marry too soon.” 

Sansa glanced at Joffrey’s direction. He held a smile she couldn’t quite read, and then took a sip of his wine. There was a clear difference between their families; Mother and Father wouldn’t let their children drink, but the Baratheons would — even Myrcella and Tommen were allowed to have a cup. 

“So, Ned, tell me more about those years of your lives”, demanded Robert in a loud voice that scratched Sansa’s ears. 

“I don’t think there’s much to tell.” 

“Oh, you’ve never been a talker, have you? No, you’ve always let me lead conversations, for I have honeyed lips. I wouldn’t have gotten Cersei if it weren’t for this.” 

At the time, Sansa thought Robert’s words sounded romantic. She was still in need of experience to know that men treat women like they’re easily fooled creatures, like they didn't have a mind of their own. She dreamed of a young man who would say sweet words to her, too; a young man whose words would make her heart flutter and her breath catch (just like it almost happened when Joffrey and her met). 

“How did Ned conquer you, Catelyn?” Cersei again turned the subject of the conversation to her guests, which Sansa thought to be very attentive of her in wanting to know them better. 

“Ned didn’t conquer me. I must say we build our love daily, stone by stone.” 

“It’s a very practical view of love.” 

“I think myself to be a very practical woman.” 

The two women shared a placated smile, being closely observed by Sansa. She thought it was good that Lady Baratheon and Mother seemed to like each other. 

A good sign, thought Sansa. 

They moved to the drawing room after dessert, where Myrcella started to play the harp graciously. She could play it and sing at the same time, and the song was one Sansa hadn’t heard before. Her voice was melodic and delicate while she sang about the misunderstanding between a carnation and a rose and the paths that lead to them falling in love. 

(The carnation got hurt and the rose, de-petaled. Then, the carnation fell profoundly sick and the rose cried for days, thinking she had lost her lover.) 

“Can you sing, Sansa?” Myrcella asked her after finishing her song. 

“Oh, not like you.” 

“Please, sing with me!” 

“I don’t think I should.” Sansa twisted the fabric of her dress again. 

“I insist.” 

Sansa felt as if her skin was on fire. She had never sung to anyone besides her family and, even though she knew her voice could sound beautiful, she was not nearly as good a singer as Myrcella. She looked around, searching for Mother’s eyes, and received a quick nod, encouraging her to do so. From her peripheral vision, she could spot the boys near the window at her left and Arya seated in a chair on her right. She felt ridiculously self conscious. 

“It will be a pleasure”, she finally conceded.

“Wonderful! Do you know The Ballad of the Lion and the Lamb?” 

It was a christian chanting, which Sansa had heard before in the church. She remembered the verses, but she was aware its tone unmatched her vocal timbre. 

She said yes, though, and Myrcella began to play the ballad on the harp. Soon, their voices joined in the duet. Despite feeling hesitant, Sansa did her best, reminding herself of the importance of breathing in the right moments and pushing her chin back when she needed to reach a higher note. 

In the end, both families seemed pleased with their duet. 

(Except for Arya and Jon, whose grunted expression remained the entire time. Jon was more subtle in his displeasement, but Arya practically scoffed when the duet was over.) 

Afterwards, the ladies and the children moved to the garden, while Ned and Robert remained inside, having another drink and chatting about whatever men chat. Sansa was not particularly interested in anything they had to say to each other. Her attention was driven to Joffrey and Myrcella and their bright smiles and gentle compliments. They were walking through the garden while their mothers talked near the fountain. Even though the garden wasn’t huge, it was beautiful and enchanting, starting to be touched by the spring. 

“You have a beautiful voice”, said Joffrey with his eyes piercing hers.

“Yes, you do! You should come here sometimes for us to sing together. Since I don’t have a sister, it would be wonderful to have your company.” 

I have a sister, but she never sings with me, thought Sansa sorrowfully. 

“Sure, I will ask Mother and Father to bring me here.” 

Intertwining her arm with Sansa’s, Myrcella giggled happily, closed the distance between their heads and whispered, “And I think my brother is becoming fond of you.” 

Glancing over her shoulder, Sansa saw Joffrey just a couple of steps behind them. He had a confident smile on his face, and his eyes seemed even more green in the daylight. 

Turning to Myrcella again, she said, “You’re too gentle, he’s just being polite.” 

“If he were just being polite, by now he would be talking to the boys over there, not following us in silence. Joffrey is a talkative boy and he likes a good public to hear him talk, but now he’s just quiet.” 

For the first time since they went out to the garden, Sansa looked around the spot at the other boys. Robb and Jon were gathered near the entrance of the house, speaking with each other, while Bran and Rickon were playing with Tommen. From where she was, Sansa couldn’t see Arya, but she supposed her sister was too bothered by the Baratheons to want to be near them. 

Myrcella invited Sansa to have a sit on a stone bench in the shadow of a willow tree, just like the one they had at the farm. Sansa mentioned that and Myrcella immediately showed her interest in life at the field, so Sansa answered all her questions. 

“How do you bathe?” Myrcella’s voice acquired a hint of shyness. 

“We have a bathe room outside our house. It has a wooden tub, not too large, and we fill it with water. My brothers like to bathe at the river, and I used to do that as a child, but not anymore.” 

“It seems that you have a lot of fun on the farm.” 

“Yes, it can be funny.” 

Sansa liked her life at the farm, she did. But sometimes she wondered about more. About a house in the village, about fine tapestries and food, about porcelains and golden jewelry. 

“Milady”, Joffrey spoke near them, and Sansa had to make some effort to realize he was talking to her. He held a wild rose and offered it to her. “It doesn’t match your beauty, of course, but I hope you accept my offering.” 

The view of the wild rose and Joffrey’s smile got Sansa’s heart racing faster than she expected. She caught the rose and let it to her nose, inspiring its fragrance with eyes closed. Then, she smiled sweetly and whispered a “thank you” with such warmth that she barely recognized her voice. 

It was the first time a boy brought her a flower. 

It was impossible not to notice the changes in Robert’s behavior. He was drinking more, eating more, talking more. Everything about him seemed exaggerated. Ned knew that marrying Cersei, a former Lannister, was the turning point in Robert’s life. Although, not only his wealth had changed, but also his core. Robert used to be a man of the field, just like Ned, born for hard work and sword training. 

“What brings you here?” Ned finally asked. 

“Ah, Ned, I was tired of the life at the Heart. You know I’m a small village sort of man.” 

“Aye, I do. But what did you say to your wife to convince her?” 

Robert breathed in deeply and loudly. He took another cup of wine, even though he was already on his cups. 

“Things are getting complicated between the shires again. I sense a new quarrel being born. So, I told Cersei it was safer for us, for our children.” 

Ned scratched the back of his neck, remembering the last quarrel they faced. Robert and him were barely grown men, both at the age of seventeen. They had to wield swords and spears for a leader that didn’t even care about them. The Warden of the Shire couldn’t care less about the rural people. 

To be honest, Ned had always prayed to the Old Gods for his children to be safe from conflicts. He hoped they wouldn’t have to face what he did. Even so, he taught his sons everything they needed to know about swords, daggers, bows, and spears. He even taught them how to fight fist to fist, how to defend themselves and others, how to be a protector — as his father did with him and his brothers, but all of them died on the battlefield. 

“My son is useless with a sword”, complained Robert. “Cersei spoils the kids, I have no say in their lives.” 

“You’re their father.” 

“I am a man without his own money.” Once more, Robert filled his cup with wine. “I’m a prisoner.” 

Never, in his entire life, had Ned seen Robert so vulnerable. He observed his friend, a huge man in all the ways possible, and yet he looked so small that Ned remembered their childhood together. 

“I left the village because I needed a better life. We lost everything in that war, and I wasn’t so sure I could make a life for myself in the field, not like you were. So I went to the Heart of the Shire and I met Cersei. She wasn’t a maid when we met. She needed a fool to marry her, I needed the money the Lannisters were offering as her dowry. You know the rest.” 

Ned murmured an agreement and said, “Well, if you ever want to come to the farm and work the land, you’re welcome.” 

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Robert laughed and hit his own belly. “It’ll get on the way.” 

A laugh was too much for Ned, but he conceded a smile for his friend. 

“Well, I know you said you don’t intend on marrying your girl so soon, but, if you ever want to bind our families together, I have a son. He can’t use a sword, but he has good aim. He’s well educated, can read and write perfectly, and has a refined taste. He got everything from his mother’s side.” 

Ned just nodded his head. He wasn’t willing to talk about the idea of marrying Sansa to Joffrey. Yes, they hadn’t had much time to get along, but Ned was capable of identifying a dubious man when he saw one. Joffrey was certainly dubious, with his courtesy and his mischievous looks. 

“So, tell me about the boy. Jon. He looks so much like you. Are you sure he’s not yours?” 

“Aye, I am.” Ned thought for a moment about the conversation he had with Jon in the morning. “He’s more like us than I could expect.” 

“Seems that he was lucky to find you.” 

For a brief instant, Ned reminisced the day he found Jon, almost four years ago. A few shared memories crossed his mind. Him and Jon on the field, working the weeds and planting new seeds. The way Jon would take good care of the horses, the two cows and the three goats. How he would never treat an animal’s life as it meant less than any human’s one. How kind Jon was with them, how he would look out for Arya, Bran, and Rickon. How Robb would smile freely near him, as if he has found a lost twin. How even Sansa would get close when she felt comfortable, and how Jon was respectful to her. 

Ned smiled fondly. “I think I was the lucky one.” 

“Ned, are you awake?” 

Cat’s voice echoed in the room. It was late in the night, only one candle was still burning in the lamp. 

“Aye, I am.” He caressed her hair, bringing her closer to his chest. 

“I don’t know how to say this to you, but I must say… I worry about the influence the Baratheons can have on Sansa.” 

His wife’s words materialized a thought that had crossed his mind for an almost imperceptible instant in the drawing room, while Sansa sang along with Myrcella. Aye, the duet was beautiful, but what were the implications of a possible friendship between the girls? 

“I don’t like Cersei”, Cat stated firmly. 

“Me neither.” 

She let out a shaky breath. “Good. Then you won’t let them ruin her, right? Sansa is too precious.” 

“Aye, she is. We will keep on taking care of her, but we need to trust the way we’re raising our children. We need to trust Sansa with her own interests.” 

“I know, Ned, but-”

Catelyn interrupted herself and shifted on the mattress, searching for Ned’s gaze. The scarce light of the room was not enough for them to see every hint of each other’s expression, but it would suffice. 

“They mentioned marriage. They have a son.” 

“My dear Cat”, Ned took a strand of her hair between his fingers, “don’t worry about it. Yes, Robert is a good friend of mine, but his son is nothing like the man I have pictured for Sansa.” 

“So, you have pictured a man.” 

“The character of the man, ye, but not the man himself.” He brought Cat’s hand to his lips and kissed each one of her fingers. “Don’t let those worries root in your mind. Let’s rest. Spring is here and we’ll have much work to do as soon as the snow is completely gone. Besides, the marriage we do need to think about is Robb’s.” 

Catelyn’s eyebrows contorted just a bit. “Ned…” 

“I promise I’ll talk to Sansa about it, but not yet.” He hugged her so she would rest her head on his chest again. “After her birthday. I promise.” 

Almost a week had passed since the visit to the Baratheons, and yet Jon felt like it had just happened. He was still bothered by all the events of that day. The way Cersei Baratheon and her son Joffrey looked at him was not something he could easily forget. They had barely spared a decent glance at Jon, making him feel like he was invisible. 

He tried to convince himself that the reason he was training with his sword was the warning Ned gave him, Robb, and Catelyn. With a stern voice, Ned informed them about the news Robert Baratheon brought from the Heart — that things between the leaders of the shires were heated up. The girls and the kids needn’t have to know, though, for it would only make them feel apprehensive. 

“We must be prepared”, said Ned at the end of his announcement. 

So, Jon was preparing himself. His sword was a good weapon, and Ned had taught him a lot about how to hold it, how to place his feet, and how to move. However, something ignited inside Jon whenever he would hold the sword, like an ancient feeling could guide his moves. 

That day, though, he was still angry, and he knew anger was a dangerous feeling for a man holding a sword (or any other sort of weapon). 

He was angry not only because he felt invisible by two Baratheons, but specially because Sansa was too visible. Their attention was all over her, her beauty, and her talents. He didn’t like the way Robert approached the subject of her being almost at the age to marry, nor the way Cersei spoke about her, nor even how Joffrey looked at her. The bastard even had the audacity to give her a flower!

(The younger ones were not bad, though, for Myrcella seemed like a gentle girl and Tommen got along with Brand and Rickon — the boy even asked Jon and Robb about what is needed to be a blacksmith apprentice.)

Truth be told, his anger only grew heavier and harder every time he would remember that day. The only good thing about it was the conversation with Ned. 

Sacrifice yourself to please others? No, it’s not good. But doing it for duty, for honour, for love? It’s the highest sort of sacrifice.

The words were encircling his mind, making a home in his insides. Besides his mother, Ned Stark was the person that would teach Jon the best lessons he could dare to think. Ned always knew what to say and how to speak, and Jon was pretty sure Ned could placate wars with his enlightenments. 

Still, Jon was angry. At the stables, he hit a stuffed straw bag repeatedly, as if with each strike he could make his anger disappear. 

“I can’t stand it anymore!” Arya came in suddenly, her eyes as pierced as Jon’s probably were, and he didn’t stop his sword as she said, “Sansa is playing that flute nonstop since we came back from the Baratheons on Sunday!” 

Aye, Jon had noticed. She would practice with her flute whenever free time was available. After meals, between chores, after the sunset… She was really putting a lot of effort into her music. Not that Jon minded her playing, not at all. However, the reasons for it did bother him. She was playing because she wanted to go back to the Baratheons, to Myrcella, under Joffrey’s admiring glances. 

“At least one of us had a good time”, he mumbled, trying not to sound so bitter, but he knew he had failed. 

“Honestly, what does she see in them? They’re just a bunch of show offs.”

Jon didn’t answer, only hit the stuffed bag harder. 

“If it had blood, it would be soaking the ground.” Arya threw herself onto a pile of hay. 

“So, you’re running away from Sansa’s flute?” 

“Ye, but also from the needles. Mother wanted help to mend some clothes, but of course she won’t ask Sansa while she’s with the flute.” 

“Sansa does a lot for us, you know.” 

“What have I told you about you being funnier when you agreed more with me?” Arya huffed dramatically. 

Jon stopped for a while, his breath panting and his brow full of sweat. He put the sword on its scabbard and sat next to Arya. 

“I’m just… acknowledging her hard work.” 

“She’s not working hard enough, if she has that amount of time to play that stupid flute.” 

Jon’s laughter came out sounding like a bark. One thing he liked about Arya was her sharp tongue, something they had in common. She was quick and witty, and she didn’t mind what others thought of her. Perhaps he could have a page of her book and not give much attention to what people thought of him, he wondered. 

“I hated them.” Arya’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling, her hands clasped over her belly. 

“Ye, me too.” 

“I hate that their presence highlighted the difference between Sansa and me. I hate how inappropriate they made me feel.” 

“I really get you.” Jon laid on his back, mirroring Arya. 

“No you don’t. People don’t compare you to her.” 

Still angry and moved by a sort of anguish he hadn’t experienced in a while, Jon spilled, “You’re right about that, but I know how it feels to be so different from the others, I know how mean people can make you feel inappropriate and insecure about things you can’t change.” 

Arya’s silence was all he needed to know that his temper got the best of him. Jon shut his eyes and tried to calm down, breathing in and out slowly, trying to send away the orphan that still existed in the deepest and darkest corners of his being. 

“I’m sorry.” Arya got closer to him and nudged his shoulder with hers. “I know you get it better than anyone, I’m just so angry it feels like fire is catching inside me.” 

“I get it too.” His breath came out in a loud exhale. 

They stayed there, laid on the hay, eyes traveling through the ceiling, thoughts roving around, trying to put out the fire. In the distance, the sound of Sansa’s flute could be heard. 

After the snow completely melted and the sun became a constant presence, Sansa asked Jon for them to restart the riding lessons. She still held her chin high when she said the words, but the please came out naturally. So, Jon said yes without giving much thought. 

Spring days were really a blessing — something she had said when he agreed with her. However, the reasons Jon thought the same were different than the ones that moved Sansa. To him, spring was good because there was more work to do outside, because they needn’t be confined, because he could go back to his room in the stables. He preferred that way, for he was already used to it. 

Also, the next day they would start building Robb’s cabin, where he would live after his marriage to Jeyne Westerling. It was a reason for great joy for the Starks, since Jeyne was a good maid from the village, and it was a surprise when she agreed on living in the farm. 

It was still chilly, though, and he noticed Sansa’s trembling shoulders before she approached Rain on that dawn. 

“Here.” He took off his coat and, without waiting for her to say anything, put it around her body. 

“I don’t need it.” 

“Yes, you do. You’re visibly cold.” 

She hesitantly dressed his coat, her eyes averting his. “What about you?”

“It doesn’t bother me.” 

Yes, he was cold, but there was no way in the world he would let Sansa freeze. Besides, he still had his scarf around his neck, and it should be enough for now. 

“Careful.” He was observing her taking the reins, holding the horn, putting her foot on the stirrup. 

She was atop Rain in a blink of an eye. 

“I already know how to do it.” 

“I know you do.” He couldn’t stop a proud smile from escaping his lips. 

Sansa patted Rain’s side with her ankles and the mere started walking slowly, followed by Jon on her side. 

“You should’ve brought Blackpearl or Spirit. We could ride together, you know?” 

“I didn’t think you’d want that.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

Looking up, Jon found Sansa gazing at him. Her eyebrows were frowning in an intrigued expression he was already familiar with, and her lips were pursed just a little. The sky above her was already showing the first light of the morning to come, seeming like Sansa was being framed by the infinity of the firmament. 

“You never said anything about riding together before.” 

“Well, I’m saying it now.” She adjusted herself in the saddle. “I think it has enough space for the both of us.” 

“What?” Jon gasped in surprise, perplexed by the implications of her suggestion. 

He couldn’t quite distinguish her facial expression when she muttered, “You can come up here, if you want.”  

I can’t, he thought, feeling his tongue clasped inside his mouth. It would be so inappropriate that Jon doubted he would be able to look at Sansa for days. Honestly, after the two times she had kissed his cheek, Jon took weeks to look at Sansa without feeling his stomach burning from the inside out, he couldn’t imagine what it would do to him to have her back against his chest. 

“I think it would be too much weight for Rain”, he finally managed to say. 

“Oh, right, you’re right.” 

The way she sounded disappointed shouldn’t have stuck in Jon’s mind, but it did. Even though they remained silent for a really long time, her voice kept wandering and wandering around his thoughts, her pouty lips printed on his mind. 

Jon tried to keep his eyes on the path in front of them. He had noticed that the grass had grown too high now that the snow had gone, and he and the boys would have to prune it. 

“You’re quiet.” Her voice was low, as if she didn’t want to disturb the silence. 

“I’m always quiet.” 

“Only around me.” 

That’s because I can’t take the risk of saying something stupid. 

“You’re always talking to the boys and Arya, but not to me. We’ve grown quite close lately, but you still won’t talk to me.” Sansa insisted, her hands firm around the reins. “Why?”

“I suppose we don’t have much in common.” He shrugged, hoping that she would accept his answer and let silence come again. 

“It’s not true!” She hissed and Rain started to walk faster, but Sansa quickly managed to control the mere. 

“Prove me wrong, then.” Jon placed his hand on Rain’s neck, keeping close to them. 

“We both like horses.” 

“So we should talk about horses? That’s pretty much everything we’ve talked about since you came for me.” 

Sansa took her left foot out of the stirrup and poked Jon’s arm with her boot. “Now is the time for you to keep quiet, I’m pointing out our similarities.” 

“Aye.” Jon rolled his eyes, but he was smiling uncontrollably. 

“We both have kidney pies for our birthdays. And don’t you think it’s a nice coincidence that the two of us were born on the seventh day of a month? I think it’s a sign that we’re more alike than we imagine. Although”, she made a brief pause. “You’re a winter child, I’m a summer child. Maybe it’s a sign that we can learn from our differences.” 

“You think so?” He looked over his shoulder, and now the mild morning light was already making it possible for him to see her whole face. She was smiling and her eyes were sparkling a little. 

“I said maybe, I cannot be sure unless you really get to talk to me.” 

“Alright, alright.” Jon held his breath for a second. “What do you want to talk about, then? Kidney pies?” 

“Oh, you think you’re so funny, Jon Snow.” 

“It’s not that I think I am funny, I can be funny when I want to.”

The sound of Sansa’s laugh caught him off guard. It was light and warm, and suddenly he forgot he wasn’t wearing a coat. 

“So”, she prolonged the word. “Spring festival is due in two weeks. Are you going?” 

“We always go to the seasonal festivals.” 

“Yes, but…” Her hesitation made him look at her again, just to find Sansa’s eyes dropped to her hands. “Are you taking that girl Ros? She seemed interested in you.” 

At the mention of Ros, the cozy feeling that involved him when Sansa laughed just vanished away. He turned his head again, eyes focused on the horizon, bothered by the subject. 

“What d’you know about being interested in anyone?” He mumbled instead of answering her question. 

“I know enough. So, you’re taking her?” 

His fingers fidgeted, opening and closing anxiously. “Why d’you want to know? 

“You’re family.” She stated like this was enough of an explanation. 

“So?” Jon’s sassy tone was back, and he wanted to run away from that conversation. 

“It seems like something family members should know about one another. You know you can tell me if you like her, right?” 

“I don’t like her.” The words came out hushed, and he didn’t know if he sounded believable. By the way Sansa scoffed, probably not. “I don’t!” 

“Well, she likes you, then.” 

“I doubt that.” 

Sansa pulled the reins, making Rain stop. Jon did the same, but it took an eternity for him to turn on his heels and face her. At the top of the mere, she looked so distant from him that it made his heart ache just a bit. It wasn’t the kind of conversation that should happen while one of the people involved weren’t leveled with the other, but it was still happening. 

“Why would you doubt that, Jon?” 

Not then, not ever would Jon be able to explain why it was that made his answer come out so honestly. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, so tender and worried. Maybe it was how she pronounced his name with such affection and care. Or, worse — maybe it was his need for comfort, which he would much rather like to find on her.

“She’s too beautiful for me and way above my position. She is well educated, she has a father and a mother, her hands never had to hold a heavy tool. She can have anyone she wants. Why would she like me?”

It was clear that his answer shocked Sansa. She was staring at him with her eyes wild and her lips parted. Her hands seemed as restless as his, and he could tell by the way her chest moved that her breath was partially catched inside her lungs. 

However, the rawness of his answer didn’t stop Sansa, and Jon felt truly astonished when she stared at him fiercely and said, “You’re honourable, and attentive, and kind. Any girl would be lucky to have you.” 

Jon hadn’t much time to understand what she was saying, for Sansa turned Rain the way around and set her to a gallop. 

Mesmerized by her words, Jon watched as Sansa got further and further away, her bright auburn hair being kissed by the sunrise.