DAGGERS TO THE HEART Part 1 - GAME OF THRONES

Sansa IV

Sansa was warm, correction, she was very warm; strong arms engulfed her, making her feel secure and at peace. She never wanted this feeling to end, she wanted to stay in this extremely warm embrace, but as she became more and more awake to the world, she realised she was too warm and the body next to her was hotter than she'd ever known anyone to be. Not only that, but she wanted to make water. Sansa opened her eyes to see a sleeping Jon, well the chest of a sleeping Jon, she was so wrapped up in him, she couldn't lift her head. Admittedly, if it wasn't for the fact she needed to make water and was too hot, she wouldn't have moved. Carefully she managed to slightly disentangle herself and move before his arms were around her again, clearly not wanting to let go. However at least she could free herself enough to stick an arm out of the furs to cool down.

Once she'd managed to free herself enough, it allowed her to look at Jon, to really look at him without feeling self-conscious. As much as Jon had the Stark look, and people claimed he looked like her father, there was very little resemblance at all. Of course he had the Stark colouring and his hair was curly, like many of the Starks, he had the long face too, but that was where his likeness stopped. The shape of his eyes, head, nose and lips were wrong. His features were as handsome as could be; delicate, almost pretty like a girl, although she knew he would one day grow to look very masculine. His dark eyelashes fanned his cheeks and his forehead crinkled, as if he were worrying, even in his sleep. There were no battle scars, and no proper beard. She hadn't been japing when she said she looked forward to it growing properly instead of the boyish bumfluff he was sporting at the moment.

A twinge of guilt ran through her. She'd claimed Daenerys had used him, not seeing how it was possible that Daenerys had seen something she hadn't, his beauty, although his kindness, strength, bravery and stupidity at wanting to be the hero were always on display. That was the moment Sansa realised he was genuinely the prince she had always dreamed of when she was a little girl. Not Joffrey or Ser Loras, he had been hidden in plain sight, and he was her husband.

Stop being a stupid little girl, she suddenly wanted to kick herself for wanting everything to work out fine. Just because he has his arms around you, doesn't mean it is you he wants. Deep down she knew he loved another, and in the pit of her stomach, it hurt. Sansa knew she could not allow her feelings to surpass that of the familial relationship with Jon, not until they'd dealt with the dead. They'd already gone through it once and not survived. If she loved him in any other way than what she was accustomed to, and if he was to fall during battle again and she somehow survived, she wasn't sure how she could cope with the loss. Instead, Sansa decided to close her heart and become the icy Lady of Winterfell, until the long night passed. Of course, that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the comfort of being snuggled up to him in the morning, it would be quite nice when the weather turned cold.

This brought Sansa on to another thought, Jon was very warm. She'd never noticed it before, but maybe that was because she'd never been so close with so few layers of clothing between them. Heat absolutely radiated from his body, unlike anyone else she'd ever met. Instantly, Sansa knew it was his dragon blood singing in the cold of the north. Whether Sansa could love him as a wife or not, she was blessed with her own little fire burning under the furs, more than any other woman.

Body heat wasn't the only fire of his that was burning, she could feel his morning hardness, such was their close proximity. It didn't embarrass her like she expected, very little did these days. After the things Ramsay had done to her body, there was nothing that could shame her. However, she knew Jon might not feel that way. Sansa managed to wriggle free of his grip and gingerly made her way to the privy to make water and clean her teeth and wash her face.

Upon returning to the bedchamber, Jon was waking up, stretching and yawning. "Did I wake you up?" Sansa asked.

"I don't know." Jon's voice was hoarse and groggy. "You weren't here when I started to come round."