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“Where will we go?” He says, looking back at her with a tenderness Sansa hasn’t seen in a long time. She mulls it over, wrapping his cloak tighter around herself. Once Sansa had wanted to go home, but she knew now it was a pointless dream. Their home was gone. At least she had Jon now—they had each other, and that was everything. “Somewhere warm. Far from here.” He nods, smiling so openly she can’t help but feel the pull of a smile on her own face. It felt strange, to smile again—as if it had been so long since she’d last done it, her muscles had forgotten how. Still, she felt warmer. She could get used to this. *** They boarded a ship at Eastwatch, planning to go ashore at Widow’s Watch for a different vessel that would take them to Essos. It was a modest ship, already cramped with the crew, so they had to share a cabin, along with a bed. It should’ve felt odd, but Sansa was glad not to be alone as they braved the gelid waters of the Bay of Seals and the Shivering Sea. Winter had come and brought a brisk current with it, stirring up storms almost every day of their journey, so they spent most of their time together, inside the cabin where they were safe from the cold sprays of water. “Jon?” She asks one night when they’re huddled together under the covers. “Yes?” He responds, looking into her eyes with a sleepy expression that pulled at her heartstrings. “Which one of the free cities do you want to go to?” His answer is quick and without hesitation. “Myr.” “Myr? Are you certain? Why?” “I heard they make the sweetest wine, which I know you’ll like. The finest silks and laces, too—you’ll look beautiful in them. And I bet there’ll be plenty of lemon trees, ripe and plentiful, just waiting to be made into cakes for you.” Sansa feels her eyes water at the promise in his words. Her mind paints a vivid picture of them, growing old together in a house with a beautiful garden, giggling children running all around them. She’s on the edge of sleep when she realizes, with a pang in her chest, the children couldn’t ever be theirs, and she shouldn’t wish such for a thing. He was her half-brother, after all. *** The trading galley they take on their way to Myr is much more spacious. They get a large cabin, with two beds on either side of it. Sansa tries not to feel disappointed, but she had grown used to sleeping next to Jon, his soft breathing and the rise and fall of his chest lulling her to a tranquil sleep, night after night. It was a long journey down the Narrow Sea to Myr, almost twice as long as the one they had so far, but it was not a dull one. Once they had passed the Fingers, most days the weather allowed them to go on deck, and Sansa and Jon would spend the daytime in the company of other travelers—all sorts of people, from all over the world, with stories they had never dreamed of. One time, an old man from Tyrosh, with bright, purple hair and long braided whiskers calls them husband and wife, and Sansa feels her heart beat furiously in her chest as Jon simply smiles and does nothing to dispel him. It hits her then, how everyone else aboard the ship likely thinks the same—how they have no idea who they are. To them they’re just Jon and Sansa, a young married couple traveling to the free cities. Suddenly Jon is looking at her with mirth, and she realizes with horror that she’s blushing. *** The ship makes its first stop at Pentos, and they spend the afternoon in awe of the sheer size of its port. She links her fingers through Jon’s as they walk, and they make their way through the never-ending stalls of sellers calling out to offer all kinds of goods. They try some of the food, rich in taste and smell, and so spicy it makes their eyes water. Later they laugh freely as they make their way back to board the galley. Several days later, it’s their turn to dock at Tyrosh, an imposing sight from the outside, with high walls made of fused black dragonstone, but bursting with color on the inside. Morosh says his goodbyes that day, and disappears into a crowd of people with hair just as vividly dyed as his own. *** The skies were clear and cloudless the day they arrived at Myr. Winter had yet to arrive to these parts—if it ever would, thought Sansa. They find an inn to stay, sharing a room and a bed again until they can find a more permanent place. Sleeping next to Jon makes her so content she can’t even pretend to be disappointed by their humble accommodations. When they go out, the streets bustle with life, from the stores selling artisans’ work, to the taverns, inns, and people. Myr has some of the most exceptional finished products they’ve ever seen—delicate lenses the maesters at Westeros use to read, glass panels tinted in all colors, ornate mirrors, intricately woven tapestries, lace so soft to touch it feels like water in your hands, richly detailed paintings…it was a feast to the eyes. “What do we do now?” She asks Jon, still filled with wonder. “I’ll find honest work to provide for us. Then we’ll find a house to live.” He offers, with an easy smile that creaks the corner of his eyes. “What kind of work do you want to do?” “Anything that pays is fine,” he shrugs. “I could teach sword fighting to some merchant prince’s sons or work at a forge with a smith.” “Will that make you happy?” She doesn’t want to think of Jon doing work that would make him miserable, all while she’s happier than she’s been in years. “I’m already happy, Sansa. I’m here with you.” He squeezes her hand in his, and in that moment, she wants to kiss him so much it hurts. She wants to kiss him on the lips, but she settles for his cheek instead. While no one here knew who they were, what they were to each other, Sansa doubted Jon would forget. *** Sansa decides to find work too, not knowing what else to do with herself now that she was no longer a highborn lady. She works as a seamstress, making beautiful dresses her younger self would have swooned over. It takes them months, but they’re able to find a house they can afford. It’s still small, but it has a garden, and Sansa’s memory of her dream on their way south is back to dangle the impossible in front of her. Jon had settled well into his job, instructing a magister’s sons into swordsmanship. He always had a smile on his face when he arrived home, and a new story to tell about the children’s antics. They would both laugh about it, and sometimes Sansa thought she could glance a hint of wistfulness in his eyes, as if they yearned for the same things. *** She was making clothes for a newborn babe, whose mother was a rich merchant’s daughter. Sansa measured and cut the fabric, bringing the pieces to life as she worked needle into thread. She liked what she did, truly, but that day something shifted within her. Later that night, Jon and her were having supper when she suddenly blurted out, “Do you want to have children?” He tensed, almost spitting out his wine. “What?” “Do you want to have children?” She repeated. “I…yes, I do.” He responded. It was the response she wanted, yet Sansa felt fear spread through her. “So, will you look for a wife, then?” Jon held her gaze. “I’m not leaving you,” he said. “Never.” He had promised as much, back when they were still at the Wall, in what felt like a lifetime ago. Suddenly, his face broke into a frown. “Are you—do you want to get married?” “Yes.” “Oh.” He looked down, disappointment so evident in his face Sansa wanted to reach out to him. She grabbed his hand, making him look up at her again. It was now or never. “I love you,” she said, and a giant weight seemed to lift off her shoulders at the same time as a tremor settled in her heart. It took him a moment to take it in, his breath catching and pupils widening when he finally understood her meaning. “Sansa,” he breathed, “what are you—we can’t—” “We’re not brother and sister here. Not even half,” she argues. “We haven’t been for a while.” He looks at her then, from her eyes to her lips and back up again, and a stunted breath leaves his lips. Before she can get any closer, he’s up and rushing out of the room. *** She should have known this would happen; that her stupid dreaming would lead her astray again. Jon was avoiding her, and Sansa could barely sleep at night thinking on what she had done—she risked everything, and she lost. All for a silly fantasy. When would she learn? Life is not a song, you stupid girl. Jon is not your prince, and you are not his lady. Somehow she had fooled herself into thinking he could love her back, as she loved him. The very notion seemed ridiculous now—Jon never would; even here, half a world away, he would keep his honor and try to preserve hers. Even if she didn’t care about it one bit. He would do what’s right, and she would forever be tainted in his eyes. Sansa had suffered crueler fates. Still, she could not stop the ache in her heart. He doesn’t love me like that. Perhaps he doesn’t love me at all anymore, not even as his family. The thought made her choke, and before she knew it, tears were streaming down her face and into her pillow. A knock sounded off her door, making her startle and wipe at her face quickly. Jon. He opened the door slowly, peeking inside and waiting for her approval before he strode in. He sat next to her in bed, looking up at her with kindness. Somehow, that made it worse. The last thing she wanted was his pity. “Sansa,” he said, before reaching out to gently wipe at her cheeks with his thumbs. “Did I ever tell you how I felt after the red woman brought me back to life?” She shook her head. They had spoken of all sorts of things during their time together, from the hardships they’d suffered to the happiness they’d found, but his resurrection had always been glossed over. “I felt empty. Like I part of me was still dead, and no one could bring it back to life.” Her face was already devoid of any tears, but he kept his hands on either side of her face. “Then you strolled in.” He smiled. “It’s like you carried this light with you, and suddenly every color was bright again. I could breathe, I could eat, I could smile. Do you know how I long I spent without smiling before you came along?” Sansa shivered. He continued, “It felt like years. I couldn’t say.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “What I’m trying to say is…you saved my life. When I’m with you, I feel whole. I feel alive. Do you understand?” She nodded, not trusting herself to speak now that her heart felt like it was about to come flying out of her throat. “I love you,” said Jon in the softest voice before bringing his lips to hers. *** Sansa laid next to her husband, resting her head on his chest as his hand caressed her baby bump. “Jon, should we give them myrish names?” “No,” he said with confidence, “Westerosi names will make them stand out.” She smiled. “I like Arya for a girl. Robb for a boy. What do you think?” “I think we’ll need a whole brood. I want little Eddards, and Aryas, and Robbs, and Brandons, and Rickons. All running around the garden and playing in the grass. How does that sound?” He asks her, laying a kiss on her forehead. “Perfect.”