(Hi all. This just started as a Jon/Sansa babble to get the creative juices going. Let me know if you like and maybe, in the near future, I'll expand the story:))

Jon kept his legs firm to his white steed's side, his feet locked in the stirrups, and the reins gently tethered around his hands as his body went through the motions of riding but, his mind was somewhere else entirely as they rode through the frozen tundra on their way to King's Landing…

First, to a winter's night when Jon was four year-old and he had tip- toed into the upper tower nursery. He remembered how his father-or the man he had believed to be his father- had come into the room with a gentle smile and lifted him up so he could see into the wooden crib.

That was the first time he saw her…

Sansa.

The baby smiled and cooed at him, wrapping her tiny hand around his finger.

Jon could still feel the softness of her skin as a baby...it was the same softness that he felt against his lips when he had kissed her forehead just a few weeks before.

Jon's thoughts then strayed to how the happy baby who had toddled after him and Robb transformed into the smart, sassy young girl, who was quick to temper and full of opinions.

He remembered how the way she looked at him changed when, at six years of age, she learned that he was her father's bastard.

Catlin Stark had told her—she had told all the children.

Originally, it wasn't out of any sort of malice, but to explain why Jon couldn't sit with them at formal feasts, or in the main carriage when they traveled or stand with them when they received formal visits and tributes from the other Northern families.

But, out of all the children, the only person Jon's heritage suddenly mattered to was Sansa.

From then on, she never spoke to him, only about him…

Or that could have just been his imagination.

The truth was that once they both hit certain ages, there were society standards and training they were both forced to undertake to prepare them for the lives they were supposed to lead—training that kept them separated for hours a day.

But, even then there were moments between them.

Instantly, he remembered the handful of times that she had smiled in his direction-genuinely smiled.

It was usually when he won a sparring match against Robb or said something funny in the evening at the family table.

It was usually just a small smirk or a corner smile, and she probably didn't realize anyone had seen it because it was so quick or wondered if it ever mattered, but he had seen it and it mattered to him more than she realized.

So, when Sansa had asked him to forgive her almost a half a decade later in front of the fire in his quarters at the Wall, he immediately told her there was nothing to forgive…

And there wasn't.

Not when she her eyes were focused softly on him in that moment and a smile like the one that used to cross her lips as a young girl appeared as she looked down into the mug of ale in her hands and she showed him the kindness and vulnerability that he knew always existed inside of her.

But, it wasn't just the smiles or the looks she gave him.

Then, Jon remembered the first time he touched her and when it was more than just a simple touch for him-when it had sparked something inside of him that he never knew existed…

She was thirteen and he was seventeen, not but six months before she was to leave for King's landing.

She was riding through the south keep entrance with Arya in the saddle in front of her.

Sansa was spirited and was showing off as usual in the saddle and didn't see where Arya had turned the reins until it was too late.

As a result, Sansa was thrown from the horse and landed hard on the ground in the courtyard, lucky that the horse didn't trample her.

Jon heard the commotion and immediately rushed out from where he had been having his blades smithed.

When he saw her lying motionless on the ground, his heart stopped.

It wasn't until he fell to his knees at her side and rolled her over—the motion causing her airway to open and Sansa to let out a strangled cough—that it began beating again.

When her eyes focused on him, he could tell she had taken a knock to the head and her thoughts were a little foggy, but she looked almost relieved to see him kneeling over her, her eyes watering.

"Jon?" she whispered, seemingly also surprised that he would come to her aide.

But, how could she think that? When he had been watching over her secretly her entire life.

"We should get you inside so the Maester can look at you…" Jon said quickly, as he took hold of her around the waist then grabbed her right hand to lift her arm securely around his neck.

But, when their skin touched, it was so electric that it stopped him in his tracks.

His eyes were immediately drawn to Sansa's where he found himself engulfed in a sea of blue and he noticed that she, too, was enthralled and looking directly at him—something she hadn't done in many years—the expression on her face as if she was seeing him for the first time.

She had felt it, too.

The moment seemed to pass between them in slow motion before Jon finally snapped out of it and lifted her gently into his arms.

"Steady, Love...I've got you..." he whispered as he folded her close to his chest and carried her through the large wooden doors into the great hall, certain he felt her head snuggle into his shoulder…

That is, until her mother rushed out from one of the main corridors and had asked Robb to immediately eradicate her daughter from 'that bastard's arms'.

It was in that moment, though, that he first felt something else for Sansa Stark—the desire to protect her, to love her and cherish her so that no one would ever do her wrong.

There was something about having her in his arms and the threat of having her pulled away from him that awakened something in Jon in that moment.

Something that he carried with him ever since.

To the wall...

Into the battles he faced...

To that cave with Ygritte...

To the moment he wanted to kill Ramsey Bolton for even laying a finger on Sansa...

"No." Sansa had told Robb surely and adamantly in a weak voice when her older brother had reached for her that day, "I'm safe with Jon."

A smile of satisfaction came even now to Jon's face when he remembered the look on Catlin Stark's at her daughter's words and the way the young girl's arms tightened around his neck as he carried Sansa past the gawking servants up to her rooms.

Of course, the next day, they went back to their separate lives—Sansa barely saying anything to him.

And months later, he was wearing the black of the Knights Watch and Sansa was hundreds of miles away being groomed to be the queen she always wanted to be…

Something Jon knew he could never give her as a bastard.

Until now.

Until he was declared King of the North by all the loyal houses.

And, now that that has happened, they have been reunited and have spent the last three weeks together, he would give anything to have Sansa Stark standing at his side, not just his confidant or his advisor or as the last surviving link to his family, but as his wife.

There was nothing stopping them anymore—no laws or codes of honor.

Jon now knew his true heritage and that only destiny now ruled over himself and Sansa, not the ghost of morality.

He had made his decision.

The North was his home, not Kings Landing.

He wanted to sit in Ned Stark's chair, not the Iron Throne.

Jon wanted a quiet life full of love, happiness, loyalty and responsibility.

He wanted to be the King of the North, not the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

So he had signed over his claim to Daenerys when she had conquered Westeros and out of gratitude, she had offered him her hand.

Sansa thought he was crazy for giving up his claim, but was resigned to the idea of him marrying his aunt.

"Targaryens belong with Targaryens…" was all she said on the matter, "Dragons can only survive with other dragons."

"And what if a dragon ever wanted to be with another creature?" Jon had suddenly found himself asking.

Sansa's eyes suddenly drew up to his in that moment and she wrapped her furs around her tighter, her gaze growing soft before she replied in a soft whisper "There are too many 'if's in that sentence, Jon."

"Actually," Jon replied, stepping forward, "There is only one 'if' in that sentence."

Sansa straightened and visibly swallowed, growing nervous at his proximity as their faces came dangerously close to one another in the torch light, "And what is this other creature that the dragon is so fond of?"

Jon smirked, "A wolf…"

Then his face softened as he brought a hand up to stroke her cheek, "The most beautiful, wild wolf that the dragon has ever seen…"

"Jon…" Sansa whispered, deflecting

"Most dragons are territorial," Jon said, ignoring her words as he continued, "And they are greedy and will destroy each other with fire in the blink of an eye. They don't provide each other with warm or security or family-wolves, however…wolves do that for each other and for other animals, too. There is a no other animal in the world that is as accepting, loyal or as kind and loving as a wolf can be…"

"So the dragon wants to be loved?" Sansa whispered, narrowing her eyes, "I've never heard of a dragon wanting to be loved…"

"Well, this one does…" Jon replied, lowering his hand to Sansa's jaw line as his eyes moved down to linger on her lips as his fingers traced delicately along her chin.

There was a long silence between them before Jon lowered his face to hers and whispered against her lips, "Could you love a dragon, My Lady?"

Suddenly, Sansa's eyes turned dark and she immediately raised a hand to his chest and pushed him back.

"I've been forced to love too many monsters…" she said sternly, then turned out of his grasp and left the room, "I can't love a dragon."

Her words had stung him.

But, Jon knew Sansa Stark better than she probably knew herself.

She cared for him and trusted him, but she had been hurt by love and had a hard time welcoming his advances.

No matter what her heart seemed to want, her head said no.

Jon was Jon...but, Jon may also be the enemy.

Ergo, the walls went up.

She had been lied to before by rulers who only wanted her for her bloodline, who had abused her body instead of cherishing it.

Jon remembered speaking to his father once about his marriage plans for Sansa.

And thought of how hesitant Ned had seemed.

He knew that his daughter had to marry one day.

Heritage, status and society demanded it be done.

Still, Ned Stark, like all fathers, wasn't sure he would ever find someone good enough for his daughter. But, he smiled kindly at Jon as he mentioned her marrying someone brave, gentle and strong...his eyes almost betraying that he seemed to know the future.

That Jon and Sansa may one day end up together.

As the guard called out for a break and the horse beneath his legs came to a halt, breaking him from his memories, Jon couldn't help but wonder what his father would think about what had been transpiring between himself and Sansa.

When she had taken his hand across the table at the Wall to plead for him to save their home...

The way she looked at him when he accepted the cloak she had made for him with the Stark insignia…

When she ran into his arms that day they had laid eyes on each other for the first time in five years...

He had been gentle in his touch.

And the way she had smiled up at him when he was named King of the North, seemingly proud to be sitting at his side…

The way she looked at him as he beat Ramsey Bolton senseless in the mud of Winterfell…

Surely, he had been brave enough.

How she had cried when she told him that if they lost the battle against the Boltons, she was never going back to her husband and he tried to reassure her, though the sight of her in tears made him want to crumble…

He had shown her his strength.

But, that was all before they knew that they were not brother and sister…

Before they knew the real story of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark...

Even before Sam had told them about how their love was written in the stars…House Stark and House Targaryen…

Before Jon knew what Ramsey Bolton really did to Sansa…

Before Sansa knew the story of himself and Ygritte and she couldn't help but wonder if his love for her was just because she resembled his first true love…

Before he confessed his love for her in so many words and she walked away…

Before he agreed to marry Daenerys Targaryen and she said nothing.

Jon can still see her beautiful face staring at him in this mind as they faced each other in the throne room.

Say Something! he wants to yell at her, but can't bring himself to.

He wants to love her, not scare her.

He wants to be gentle with her, but at the same time he wants to rip all her clothes off of her body and worship it like a sacred alter.

Why didn't she say anything? Does she think that she doesn't deserve happiness after all she has suffered—after all we have both suffered?

Is she afraid of our destiny? A dragon and a wolf together on a path..."

Suddenly, Jon gasps and his guard immediately comes to his side.

"My Lord?" he asks looking up to where Jon is still mounted on his horse, the only one who has not come down to take a rest.

"I can't believe I didn't see it before…" Jon said softly, a small smile crossing his face as he pulled the reigns back on his horse and it neighed in compliance and turned, "A dragon..."

"Uh…My Lord-" The guard started, but Jon ignored him and spoke his own words

"Tell Queen Daenerys that I am her loyal servant from this day until my last day, but I cannot be her husband. My heart belongs to another."

"Jon!" Lord Manderly now stepped forward, outraged, "What do you think you're doing?!"

"I'm going home!" Jon called out as he kicked his horse hard and took off back down the snow covered trail, causing men and beast to scatter.

# # # # # # # #

"He's a dragon now…" Sansa whispered as she closed her eyes and let her fingers lovingly stroke the embroidered leather sword strap she had made for Jon and now lay hanging cross ways on his wardrobe door, "He's always been a dragon and I never knew him at all..."

Then she reached inside and took hold of the shirt sleeve of one of his tunics and slowly brought it to her face, closing her eyes as she breathed in his familiar scent that brought back a thousand memories from her childhood and feelings she felt earlier than anyone ever would have suspected-feelings that she kept hidden behind a mask of disdain lest anyone see.

Jon...

She had let power and the ideal of Joffrey drive her away from him once and without his protection she had been lied to, manipulated and abused.

How foolish she had been.

The first time she had felt something other than brotherly affection for him was when he rescued her at the Mikelmus Feast.

She was eleven and she and Joffrey had just met that year, and after what seemed like a meaningful conversation that evening and lots of flirting, he snubbed her and asked another northern girl to dance just for the sake of making her jealous, walking away and leaving her alone with what felt like everyone in the great hall watching her.

That is, until Jon appeared at her side.

Without saying a word, he held out his hand to her and offered a dance without speaking a word to her.

When their hands touched that first time, it was electric.

In that moment, in the way he held her and looked at her and protected her and guided her around the floor to save her from ridicule, and in every moment since...those moments over the last few weeks when she felt her feelings slowly awaken again for him...Jon had been everything her father had once promised her she would have in a husband.

He was brave and gentle and strong.

But, he was a dragon. He was not a wolf.

He belonged with Daenerys.

And, while that pained her more than she could say, Sansa just wanted Jon to be happy.

Suddenly, she heard a commotion outside the window and quickly pulled her face back and released her hold on the shirt.

When she rushed to forward to look out on the courtyard, she saw the Knights of the Vale open the gate to let a dark figure on a white horse through.

Sansa gasped and a small smile crossed her face.

Then, before she knew what was happening, her feet carried her through the door and down the stone steps of the south tower to the great hall.

She hastily made her way through the crowd of servants and passed the attendants, who bowed in her presence, as she rushed from the castle and out into the yard of the keep.

Jon had just dismounted and rounded the front of his horse, handing the reins to a stable boy, when Sansa came to a stop just yards in front of him with her white dress flowing behind her in the wind and her cheeks flushed from running.

They locked eyes for a moment—a moment that almost seemed an eternity.

Say something…she thought to herself

# # # # # #

Say something…Jon thought to himself as he stared at Sansa now before him

But, for the first time, he wasn't talking to her.

He was talking to himself.

Jon licked his lips as he took a few steps forward, swallowed and then said in a gentle voice, his eyes softening as he looked her up and down, "I was wrong. What I said before about being a dragon…I was wrong."

A look of sweet empathy suddenly crossed Sansa's face and Jon knew he had struck gold.

"But, I was right when I said that I belonged with you and when I asked you to love me. I may have been born a dragon, but I was raised by wolves—by the best wolf, your father Eddard Stark. He taught me how to be a wolf and a dragon. I think he did this because, one day, he knew I'd probably be given a choice, if I was lucky, and he wanted me to make the right one...and I know I have."

"Jon…" Sansa whispered, a tear now streaking down her face

"I love you," Jon interjected, his voice trembling and his face on the verge of crumbling, "I have loved you from the moment you took your first breath—from the moment I first saw you in that crib in the tower—and every moment after that. I've loved you in so many different ways and for so many different reasons. First, as my sister, then as more. Through it all, you were always my family, Sansa, and you still are. And…I don't want to lose you. Not ever again. I want to be your husband, if you'll have me. I am a dragon no longer. I choose you, Sansa Stark. I choose to be a wolf—Jon Stark of Winterfell, not Eamonn Targaryen-"

Suddenly, Sansa rushed forward and leaped into his arms before he could finish, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck as she pulled herself up to his face and kissed him with a fierce passion.

It was then that the gathering crowd—soldiers, servants, and northern families—broke out into cheers and applause.

But, Sansa paid them no mind as she continued to kiss Jon in front of the Gods and everyone.

When she finally pulled back from him, breathing hard as she gazed into his eyes for a long moment, she whispered as she rested her forehead against his, "You were always a Stark to me...I was just waiting for you to want it. I was just waiting for you to say something."