It was a cold winter night. The stars were out shining bright even as the cruel wind howled.

Sansa sat in her room. She watched the wind blow the trees outside. She stared intently as one such tree bent and bent and bent under the pressure of the strong winds. She found herself wanting it to snap. She wanted it to break and tumble to the ground. It seemed all her frustration and tension she had directed on to this one tree, and if only it could tumble to the ground perhaps she could find some relief.

A knock on the door startled her. She turned away from the window. She was only dressed in her thin night clothes, and her long braid had been taken out to reveal wild and wavy red hair. Sansa moved toward the door and opened it.

Jon's brow furrowed, "I thought we might talk."

Sansa was caught off-guard by this nighttime intrusion. She hadn't a clue what they had to discuss that couldn't wait for the day. But she let him in and shut the door behind him. She sat on her bed and draped her thick fur blankets around her.

Jon cautiously took a seat at her desk. He was also not dressed. He wore his night clothes with on over. He cleared his throat as he looked down at the ground. Sansa stared intently at him with a growing confusion. His nervousness unsettled her. This was not the Jon she had come to know. This was not the Jon who raised his voice at her and argued with her and wouldn't listen to her.

She had grown used to their banter. The way she could send a splitting insult his way; the way she could honestly critique his decisions and actions. She had not had such freedom in all her life. She had not met a man who would let her speak her mind anywhere in the capital or even the North. Jon had not been exactly thrilled with all of her interjections and questions and accusations. There had been one or two times she might have overstepped when all the lords and ladies were gathered before their King in the North Jon Snow and his own sister doubted him or poked holes in his decisions. She knew that causing unrest would be detrimental to their reign.

Jon finally looked up and his eyes met hers. She saw so much pain in him. There was regret and uncertainty and doubt and loss and pain. She wondered if her eyes reflected the same things. Perhaps his were just mirroring her own.

"I... I have always thought I wasn't a proud man. I've seen pride kill a man and endanger many others. I don't want to be a proud man or king," he paused, catching her eye again. "But I have been proud. I haven't listened to you, and-"

"Jon, you aren't proud-" Sansa frowned.

"But I am. And it's kept me awake tonight. Knowing that I never really apologized. The Battle for Winterfell was your victory. I should've listened to you. I was dismissive, and part of that..." he sighed, "Part of that is because I still don't want to be..."

"King?" She nodded. She knew that Jon never wanted a throne.

"Alive," he spoke barely above a whisper. It was a quiet confession, something he hadn't really told anyone before.

"Jon?" Sansa gasped. Her body tensed.

He sighed again, scrambling for the words to explain, "I died, Sansa. More than that I was murdered. I fought for what I thought was right. I tried to do the right thing, to help people, to prepare for the coming war. And I got stabbed in the heart by a boy."

"But you were brought back for a reason, Jon. Ser Davos-" she insisted.

"I lost. How can I fight more when I've already lost?" his eyes found the ground.

"Jon..." she shook her head violently.

"I told you before: I'm tired. I feel... drained. But you-you wanted to fight. You asked me to fight. And I couldn't walk away from you. So here I sit King in the North, and I never wanted it. I did it all for you. When you undermine me, well..." he raised his voice, animated.

She narrowed her eyes.

"It makes me wonder why I'm here," he breathed out. Another confession. "But it's not your fault."

Her look softened, "Jon..." She had thought to say Jon, you're here because I need you. I couldn't survive without you. Please don't feel this way. She wanted to console him. She wanted to be gentle and kind and show him compassion. But she stopped herself. She thought a moment and then her eyes narrowed again. Perhaps he didn't need tears and soft words.

She threw off the furs and stood before him confidently, "Jon Snow. You're not a boy anymore. Stop sulking around like the bastard of Winterfell. So you lost. You were stabbed in the heart by a little boy. You were also brought back to life by a priestess who believes in you. The wildlings believe in you. They trust in you. They fought and died for you. The North believes in you. They fight for you. They hailed you King in the North. All these people believe in you. Believe you are fighting for what is right. You act like a rotten loser. You lost, yes. But look at what all you have won."

Her words had cut him, deep. There was a fire brimming behind his eyes. He stood up to face her, "Aye, this may be true but you have no idea what it's like to die and come back."

She met his gaze, "And you have no idea what it's like to be raped."

His mouth closed. A shock washed over his face. He knew, of course, but she had never been so straightforward with him.

Sansa noticed a flash of pain in his eyes, and she knew she hurt him with these words. It hurt him to know he couldn't protect her. It hurt him that she had been hurt. She softened and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Jon, a terrible thing happened. I know it must be hard. And if you want to talk about it, we can. But you are still alive. You have to live. You have to want to be alive. You can't keep clinging onto your death. You must move forward. And yes, you must fight. Because you're Jon Snow, and you're a fighter."

He looked down, "We've lost so much."

"But I need you to help me fight for what we have," she stared him down, catching his brown eyes.

He nodded slowly and gave her a hug.

"I accept your apology," she said.

He chuckled in her ear. The sound made her smile as they pulled apart.

She hadn't known Jon much when they were children. He was the outsider. Her mother never liked him, and Sansa wanted to be just like her mother. When she had realized what Jon's presence meant-that her father had been with another woman, not her mother, it shattered her view of her parents' romance. She nearly despised Jon Snow for what he represented. But nonetheless, she knew he was family. Distant family, but family. When her family grew scarce, she found all she had was the bastard she had wanted nothing to do with. Seeing him at Castle Black had been strange because he was both entirely foreign and familiar. He had grown into a man that barely resembled the bastard boy she had barely known. She had been so broken and used that it didn't matter what had happened in the past between them, Jon felt like home to her.

She had been enjoying getting to know him for really the first time over the past few months. He was more confident than he used to be, much more so in fact. There were subtle things he did, little gestures and phrases and smiles that reminded her of father. She mused sometimes that of all her brothers he might actually be the most like father in the end. She had been struck by the pain in his eyes; she could tell he had lost so much as she had and that he had seen terrible things. But this was the first time she fully understood that pain. The first time he had truly opened up about it with her.

She found herself wanting to do the same.

Sansa moved back to her bed and covered herself up in the furs. She gestured for Jon to sit beside her. He hesitated, looking at the chair by the desk. But when Sansa offered him a fur blanket, he sat beside her.

"You know, I tried once," she said looking down at her arm.

He frowned, "Tried what?"

She turned her arm over and stroked a scar along her wrist, "To not be alive."

Jon reached for her arm. He softly touched the scar.

"I'm glad Ramsay caught me. Even though he punished me. Because now I'm here, and he's in the bellies of his precious hounds," she met Jon's eyes. "You're not allowed to leave me."

And they both understood what she really meant.

Jon nodded, "I would never."

"Good."

"Sansa, I'm-"

"Don't say sorry. You didn't do anything."

Jon looked down. He let her arm go. They sat in quiet silence for a minute.

"Have you ever been in love?" Sansa asked quietly. "I used to dream about it all the time. I wanted what mother and father had. I thought it would be so easy to have."

He smirked, "Aye. I have."

That wasn't the answer Sansa was expecting. She grinned and turned to him, "With who? I want to hear all about this mystery girl. This must have been before you took the black, right? Did I know her?"

Jon laughed, "It was after. She was a wildling. Ygritte."

Sansa smiled at the way Jon's eyes lit up. She hadn't seem him look actually happy in a while, "What was she like? How did you meet?"

He laughed, "One question at a time. I was beyond the wall on a mission. When we found her, I was supposed to kill her. But I couldn't do it. I kept her prisoner until her people jumped me. That's when I met Tormund and Mance. She vouched for me with them. And for a while, I was part of the freefolk as a spy sort of for the Night's Watch and she was... my woman."

"What was she like?"

"Well, she had fiery red hair and a quick wit. She was beautiful and wild, and an excellent shot. She could wield a bow and arrow better than anyone else in Mance's whole army. In fact when I had to escape the freefolk and go back to Castle Black she shot me with four arrows. Each one perfectly placed to not kill me. She was outspoken and stubborn. She loved to tease me. And she made me laugh."

Sansa gasped, "Jon snow laughing?"

He laughed, "She used to tell me "you know nothin' Jon Snow." all the time."

Sansa smiled, "I wish I could have met her."

Jon was lost in thought. "We shared a night in a cave. It was... perfect. And sometimes I still wish I could go back."

"What happened to her?" Sansa was scared to ask. She didn't want Jon's smile to go away. And yet it did.

"When Mance's army invaded Castle Black, she found me. She had readied her bow and arrow at me. But I didn't care. I was just happy to see her again. I would've died happy right then and there if she wanted me to. But she was shot in the back," Jon choked on the last part a little bit.

Sansa reached for his hand.

"I held her in my arms as she passed and I promised her we would go back to the cave. And then I built her a pyre north of the wall."

"I'm sorry you lost her."

"There was this thing Maester Aemon used to say. 'What is honor compared to a woman's love?"' Jon frowned. "I chose honor. And she died. And I died. What if I had chosen love?"

"You'd both probably still be dead, except you might not have come back," Sansa frowned. She did not want him to keep questioning himself. She didn't want him to feel guilt or more pain, and she definitely didn't want him to wish he was dead.

"I might prefer that alternative," Jon shrugged.

"Well I don't," Sansa squeezed his hand. "You promised."

"I'm here now, Sansa. I'll stay here," he met her gaze seriously.

She nodded. She believed he wouldn't lie to her. He was perhaps the only one she believed wouldn't. She trusted no one, and yet she was beginning to place a lot of trust in him. She hoped it would not be a fatal mistake, and somehow she knew it wouldn't be. Jon could never hurt her. She didn't know him terribly well although she was starting to, but she did know that much.

"For duty or for love?" she mused with a smile.

He gave a small smile, "For both maybe."