You shall take no wife…

Jon dismounted in the yard of Castle Black after a month North of the Wall, helping Tormund and the wildlings reestablish camps. He body ached from the cold, but the cold was home and felt like the appropriate repayment for the man who slayed the Dragon Queen. His brothers had taken to calling him the Queenslayer. At first he'd thought it was in mockery, but he'd since recognized the awe in their eyes.

While the Unsullied and Dothraki might have demanded justice for their slain queen, his own people didn't condemn him for the actions he'd taken.

"Queenslayer." Peg, a man with a wide, flat nose and more brawn than brain called to him. "You've got a visitor."

A visitor. Jon frowned at this. He couldn't imagine who would come to visit him. Arya had gone to sail off the edge of the known world and the rest of the world had sent him to its edge in the hopes that time would simply forget the trueborn son of Rhagar Targaryan and slayer of Daenerys Targaryan, mother of dragons.

He passed off the reigns to Peg.

"Where?"

"Your chambers," Peg said.

Jon frowned at this but wordlessly went to investigate.

He entered his long neglected chambers and found a hooded figure kneeling at his hearth, building a fire.

Upon hearing his entrance, the figure rose and turned to face him, lowering her hood.

"Sansa." He said, forgetting himself momentarily. Quickly he dropped to one knee in respect. "Your grace."

"Don't be a fool, Jon." Sansa said, "There's no need for that."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Jon's expression split into a wide smile and he threw his arms around her. He held her tight until the cold that had long infused with his bones began to thaw.

"Long live the Queen in the North." He murmured and then kissed her forehead.

"I'm not officially here, Jon." She said softly.

He frowned at that. "Why did you come?"

"Tyrion… he sent me a raven." She said. "Jon… I have to ask. Why did you kill Daenerys?"

Jon shook his head, not wanting to be reminded of the sin that had sent him to his exile.

"Jon, please…"

He swallowed hard. "She wouldn't see reason. She would have killed anyone who opposed her."

"Anyone…" Sansa said studying his face. "Or me?"

Jon looked away, uncomfortable under her gaze.

"Would you ever have bent the knee?"

"You know the answer." Sansa said, her tone even and unreadable.

"Love is the death of duty."

"Jon… why did you kill her?" Sansa pressed.

"You know the answer." He said, meeting her gaze.

She gave him a wavering smile and took his hand in her own.

"I do."

She spent that night in his arms and every night after for a fortnight, before duty called her back to Winterfell. His brothers said nothing and his Lord Commander turned a blind eye. It seemed as though they considered it the least they could do for the condemned savior of Westeros.

But what is honor compared to a woman's love?

Some shameless Jonsa fluff.

Please review!