On the night he wed Sansa, Jon felt like an invader in her chambers. He noticed her stiffen when he closed the door behind them and hastened to reassure her. "I'll sleep on the floor," he said, quickly. It would suit him well enough for one night, with some furs and a blanket.

Sansa turned, her expression softening. She crossed the room and hugged him tightly. "You are very kind," she said, pulling back to smile at him. "But I won't allow it. What would Daenerys say, if I send you back to her with a crick in your neck?" she asked. They were comfortable enough now to joke about how protective Daenerys could be. It was sometimes a flaw, but one that neither of them would wish to live without.

"But the floor looks so inviting," he joked, still offering Sansa a way out.

"Indeed," she said, playing along, "I've often thought so myself! And if my husband wishes to sleep there, I would join him." She tenderly smoothed her hands over the fine fur they'd dressed him in for the ceremony. "And then you will have to answer for the crick in my neck."

Jon mock shuddered at the thought. "We'll use the bed, I think."

Sansa laughed. There were no other false starts, once the tension was thus broken. They helped each other out of their finery and dressed for bed behind a screen. When they were under the warm furs, Sansa put her hand out, palm up, in the respectable distance between them. Gave him a look as she wiggled her fingers invitingly.

He took her hand. "If you're of a mind to speak of it," he started, "I would hear how you first fell for Daenerys." He had heard Daenerys' side of things, back when it had done little but pain him. But they were embarking on something new now, and he wanted to understand it. The love he was now part of, joined in a web of vows and promises.

She frowned, but didn't ask why he was prying. "When I first felt it, or when I first knew what I felt?"

"Are they so different?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "Very much. When you hear enough people say it's wrong, it becomes hard to admit, even to yourself." Her lip quirked. "Do you know, for the longest time I thought what I felt was just how it was, loving a sister more like myself?" her eyes sparkled with humor, though there must be hurt there too.

Jon recollected his own misunderstanding on that front. Wondering how often such things went unnoticed, trampled over by a world that cared little how women felt. It was sad to think that even the women themselves were taught not to notice their own feelings. But it comforted him, to know that he had not been the lone fool thinking such things. They had shared in his confusion, at least in part, believing themselves beloved sisters. Trying to force themselves to fit within the only love they were allowed without threat of punishment.

"Tell me when you first felt it," he said. Doubtlessly, the story of realizing would be more painful. He would hear that, but another time. This day was supposed to be a happy one.

"You'll laugh," she warned.

"I promise I won't," he said, even more curious now. What could be so funny about it?

She looked at him a long moment and apparently saw truth in him. "It was the during negotiations for Northern autonomy," she confessed.

He didn't laugh, but he had to suppress a smile that burned in his cheeks. "You really do like politics," he observed, wryly.

It was Sansa who laughed then, squeezing his hand. "I was drawn to her before that," she amended, "but that is when she had my heart, I think."

"Why then?"

"I saw that she understood me," Sansa said. "All that I hoped for and needed. And she gave that to me, as much as she could – delicately, so I would not feel indebted." As she finished speaking, happy tears came to her eyes, and a look of such naked love he felt his own chest ache with it.

Jon raised her hand to his lips, kissed it tenderly. "You will never be parted," he promised. "Not if I have a choice in it." It felt like the part of their vows that had been missing, now complete. He felt his heart warm at the thought of being part of them now, invited deeper into their hearts, to share not only their love for him but for each other too. To be able to shelter and protect them.

The fact remained that it was a strange. People did not write songs about such love, except perhaps to warn against it. Beyond that fact stood the truth that it was also good in a way he had not expected.

Sansa watched him, a thoughtful look on her face. "There is but one other person who has given me so much," she said.

"Who?" he asked. Perhaps Arya, who had become her closest advisor over the years. Or the woman before, who she had loved and lost.

She raised his hand and kissed it tenderly, returning his gesture. "I just married him," she said, warmth in her eyes.

Her words hit him like a shock; he was dumbstruck, and so warmed by her regard he felt he could go wandering in the snow outside and not feel it.

"Sansa—" he started. He felt keenly aware that they were lying in bed together, hands touching, on their wedding night. Before he could think better of it, his thumb traced a soft course over the tender skin of her palm.

Her fingers curled at the contact and he heard her soft gasp, saw her eyes widen. She swallowed hard and gently moved her hand away. Before he could form a reply, she turned over and snuggled deeper under the covers. "Goodnight, Jon."

Her body was stiff, belying her feigned sleep.

"Goodnight," he said, a thunderstorm raging in his heart. After a while, he called Ghost up from the floor. The direwolf came, settling down at their feet, a big, warm chaperone. One eager for petting too, it seemed. Ghost nuzzled against Jon's leg invitingly and he reached down, stroked the silky soft fur.

Jon had left Ghost here on permanent assignment to watch over Sansa. If anything happened, Jon would know about it through their connection faster than any raven could fly. And, if they pushed it, he and Rhaegal could be here in a matter of hours. At the time he had decided this, he believed it to be a practical choice.

There were, indeed, many practical reasons for it.

Now it seemed something else. Leaving part of his soul here, to watch over Sansa. Not just for an alert, should danger come, but knowing that when he dreamed he'd share some of Ghost's thoughts, know something of her days. Her comfort rubbing Ghost's tummy by the fire. The way she sang to the direwolf sometimes, when they were alone.

There is but one other person who has given me so much.

Jon had been so focused on the love he and Sansa now had in common, it had escaped him how he and Daenerys too might be mirrors of each other.

xXx

"First one royal wife," Arya said the next morning, walking beside him to the training ground, "now two. You might have an army of them soon. Though, gods know how you'll afford to outfit them all. Miles of silk and shiploads of jewels…"

Her words plucked Jon right out of his dour thoughts. As they were doubtlessly intended to.

It seemed wrong to ruffle a grown woman's hair like she was a child, but this called for a suitably juvenile response. He nudged her shoulder with his own, just roughly enough. She elbowed him back, hard, and smiled.

"Touched a sore spot, did I?" she asked, wit and something deeper in her eyes. She wanted to know how he fared, and this was how she said it.

He laughed. Now that she was grown, and certain in herself, it was possible to talk to her in an easy way that pleased them both. It was the bond they shared as children, made deeper by time. Emotions filtered through humor and casual irreverence, but no less real because of it. It made it easier to shut aside his sorrow at the evidence of her suffering. Sorrow that it would only pain her to see. Jon kept on with the humor, enjoying it. "Gendry would marry you whenever you wish, you know," he jibed back. "And many more besides. Then you might begin your own collection."

"Gods, no! One man is just about worth the bother. Two or more…" she made a sour face. "I think not."

The exchange plucked him out of his worries, but did not succeed in keeping them from his mind. At the risk of ruining their good humor, he asked: "How did you know when you loved him?" He felt embarrassed of the question as soon as it was out of his mouth, but he was too eager for insight to truly regret it.

Her eyebrows shot up, but she was game enough. "Well, first I wanted to be family with him," she said. "Then, when we met again, I wanted him too." She said it casually, unashamed. Jon was happy for her, at the way passion didn't seem to bother her. He had many regrets, for the years he stayed at the Wall while she suffered torments alone in the world. He would carry those to his grave. But he could see no evidence of the things he saw in Sansa and Daenerys' eyes sometimes. The rape they had suffered at men's hands. It didn't relieve him from the responsibility he felt for the horrors Arya had known, but it was something to be grateful for. She shrugged. "It's really not that complicated, Jon."

"It is for some," he said. He was her opposite in that way, needing to brood endlessly over his feelings to understand them. Sometimes he envied Arya the way she could just get on with it.

She rolled her eyes. Jon thought the conversation done, but when they came to the training ground, she gave him her own moment of sincerity. "If you ever tire of your excess of wives," she said, "you can always come visit us."

It lightened his heart considerably to hear that. "Thank you," he said. The fact that the offer existed was enough to calm his mind. "I'll remember that."

"All right," she said, taking up a defensive stance. "Let's see if you still have that hole in your guard, eh, big brother?"

"A hole only you could possibly sneak through," he grumbled, and they launched into it, a wordless communication, grounded in deep trust. It made the world and its worries fall away for a time.

xXx

The first night they were all together at King's Landing, Daenerys drew them to bed. She snuggled between them, nesting their arms and legs around her as if it was the most natural thing. And, indeed, it did feel right, the unease of his wedding night with Sansa banished. That was one of the things he loved about Daenerys. The sheer force of her personality. She could charge forward into the unknown, making the impossible seem possible.

As they cuddled, she gave them each a chaste kiss. Jon couldn't help smiling at her. She looked as happy as a cat in cream.

Sansa's love for her was clear too. There was a soft, dreamy look about her, as if all her troubles were lifted. Sansa tried so hard to be strong for everyone. To give and support. With Daenerys, he saw that she could take. Caught in the rapturous wake of her love. Also evident as was Sansa's discomfort; she kept casting quick glances at him, like a thief caught in the act. It hurt him to see, while sharing in their joy, he found, did not hurt at all.

He reached out, clasped Sansa's hand where it lay at Daenerys' hip, gave her a smile.

She smiled back, then nestled her head in the crook of her lover's shoulder and mouthed, just between the two of them, thank you.

It struck a chord deep inside him. Somehow, despite the initial pain, he had lost nothing. Daenerys was true to her word, her love somehow miraculously doubled rather than cut in half. Before he could think better of it, he leaned down, cupped Sansa's cheek and pressed a tender kiss to her brow.

Their wedding night came back to his mind as he settled back. Raising questions about his part in this that he continued to struggle to answer.

Arya had said first she wanted to be family with Gendry, and then she wanted him.

Jon had wanted to be family with Sansa as long as he could remember.

He used to fantasize, as a boy, about saving Sansa from danger. She was such a perfect little lady, ideally suited to the role. He would fight off a bear or a band of knaves, and then carry her home to be welcomed by everyone. Father would give him a look of pride. Lady Stark would embrace him, tears shining in her eyes. He would be finally accepted, finally home.

When the time came that she truly needed to be saved from a monster, he remembered those hopes. His child's mind had not understood what knaves really were. Nor want it meant for a girl to be caught by one of them. He felt guilt at his prior fantasies. But that did not quiet the satisfaction it gave him to be suddenly everything to her, her protector and champion. The way a single glance from her in the morning could wipe away the dark fog of dreams where he was forever lost in the cold darkness.

Her smile, her embrace, began to feel like home then. The home he fought for, terrified of how badly the odds were stacked against them. Jon prodded at these feelings, trying to determine if desire had come into it without him noticing. Was the sudden shock of feeling on their wedding night an accident of circumstance or something more long-standing?

It was daunting, and his mind backed away from it. This, right now, was enough. The happiness he felt, holding Daenerys in his arms, his hand clasped with Sansa's, was not like anything he had pictured, neither as a child nor as a man. It followed no sanctioned pattern. They had to trace its contours themselves, fumbling along the way, trusting in each other to be kind. When bards sang songs of Aegon VI and his two queens, they would get everything wrong. But he fell asleep marveling that he had found, in these strangest of circumstances, the acceptance and home he had longed for.

xXx

The months that followed were a wonder of planning. Daenerys managed her husband and wife as well as she balanced the seven kingdoms. Sharing of herself freely, though separately, sleeping between them during Sansa's visits.

Jon found that time spent together with them was much the same as always. They talked just as easily with him, their casual touches were no more and no less. Apart from a chaste kiss on the lips here and there. Their love was merely no longer something they all hid from, but part of a natural whole, commingling with his love for them both.

As their comfort in each other deepened, their sleeping arrangements shifted. Sometimes he would awake to find them cuddled around him. At other times Sansa would be between him and Daenerys, their dear wolf queen, sheltered by her dragons. It felt so natural, shifting melodies in a fixed scale of three notes. It was not at all like the cacophony he had once feared.

His sole discomfort was his new awareness of Sansa, which grew after their wedding night. He watched her blossom under Daenerys' love. It had always seemed to him that Sansa wore her beauty, and whatever interest it might attract, like an article of clothing. Outside herself, only there because it had to be worn. A lady must be beautiful, among all the other things she had to be. But, just beneath the surface, there was a strong message: keep away. Don't touch me.

There were men who enjoyed trespassing on women, and men who were too stupid to notice. Jon was neither. And that made it easy to never overstep. To pretend he had never even wished to overstep at all.

But now it was if she had found a home in her own body. Though they were not obvious about it in front of him, he could sense the shape of it, knowing them both as he did. Daenerys showed Sansa how to glory in her own sensuality, to feel powerful and joyful in it. He had always been enthralled by the way Daenerys took pleasure, so unafraid. Embracing the world. Embracing him with all that she was.

Watching that light catch in Sansa's eyes was like witnessing a miracle, a goddess of love bestowing a kiss upon Sansa's brow, bringing her to life. To warmth. She had been wandering in the cold for so long. Daenerys brought her spring.

The beauty of it made his breath catch. He wondered if it was possible to be in love with two people and their love for each other too.

Jon began to understand something of what had held Sansa and Daenerys back from admitting their own feelings, to themselves, each other, or him. It was all so damned complicated. Just as they had found a good rhythm together, a new way to love and be that had seemed impossible, he started wanting even more impossible things.

xXX

That state of affairs, joy and uncertainty, lasted a few weeks longer. As he tried to imagine how he would even begin to approach this with them. Before he could, his feelings betrayed him. He awoke one morning to find himself sleepily kissing Sansa's neck. She was arching back into him, drawing his hand to her breast. The fog cleared from his mind and he looked up, saw Daenerys regarding them with an interested expression. It hit him like a shock of cold water and he fled, pulling on clothes in a rush.

The queensguard found him a formidable enemy in the practice yard that day, as he fought out all the confusion and worry in his heart.

The simple fact that remained, after every muscle was sore, was that they knew now. There was no avoiding it. He wouldn't lie to them and he couldn't honestly say he hadn't known it was her this morning. He had merely, in the sweetness of sleep, neglected to remember why that was inappropriate.

It could not be so wrong, to expect the same understanding for himself that he had once given them, at the beginning of this. Nonetheless, he feared what this would mean. Was it a betrayal of Daenerys? Or an offense to Sansa who, despite marrying him, had never expressed any interest in lying with a man again?

It sickened him to think she might never again feel at ease sleeping in the same bed with him and Daenerys. The time they shared together had become precious to him. If only he could erase this morning, have everything safe and right once more.

They had only just charted a safe path through this unmapped territory. He didn't want to throw it away, start again.

He walked into their bedchambers with a heavy heart that night. They were both there, sitting out on the terrace. It seemed fitting to start with Sansa.

"I'm sorry," he said, "for—" he tried to find the words, "imposing on you."

"Please, don't be," Sansa said, nothing but welcome in her eyes. "I enjoyed it." A blush colored her cheeks. "Very much."

Jon looked quickly to Daenerys, to gauge her reaction.

"I enjoyed it as well," she said, firmly. "I love you both. It would bring me joy to see you happy together." There was a smoldering interest in her eyes that he felt on his skin, as if she was touching him. "Perhaps, even, to watch you bring each other joy."

The thought of touching Sansa like that, with Daenerys' keen attention on them both, sent a rush of heat over him such that he felt feverish with it. Jon sank down in a chair across from them, the ground having once again fallen away from under his feet. He was stunned. It was if he had plotted how to pick a lock and suddenly found the door thrown open wide before him. "Do you two enjoy tormenting me," he muttered, overwhelmed.

Daenerys chuckled; Sansa shot her a sharp look. "Of course not," she said, kindly.

He realized what a silly thing it was to say, tried to correct it. "I am glad," he said, looking between them. "That you – that is, I'd worried…" For so many agonizing weeks! Thinking he would ruin everything. And it could have been this easy the whole time. He swallowed, shook his head. "But what does this mean?" he asked. "How do we do this?" What were the rules now? They traveled so far beyond the bounds of anything he understood.

"We love each other," Daenerys said, a smile at her lips. "We thank any gods we still believe in, for being so blessed. And we do what feels right."

"As long as it feels right to everyone," Sansa added.

"What would you like of us?" Daenerys asked, the gleam in her eyes. It never ceased to amaze him, the way she made the world bend before them, even as they rushed into the unknown.

His muscles were sore from the long day practicing, his heart was overwhelmed with relief and sweet confusion. "Honestly?" he asked, scrubbing a hand over his face. "For now, I just want to hold you both," he said, "and sleep."

They exchanged a glance and came upon him, gentle hands leading him to the bed. They stripped him down and held him close, each pressing a kiss as firm as a promise to his lips. Their love was his only certainty, their reassurances his only guide in this new, fantastical realm. He slept between them that night, their warmth and breath, their hands entwined across him, their legs tangled together, like an anchor in the wide, wide sea.

-end-