An imagined scenario for what might happen between Jon and Sansa after the reveal of his lineage in Season 8 of the show.  Please enjoy :)

Sansa abruptly rose from her seat. The wood scraped across the stone floor. Its noise ruptured the air and reverberated through the hall.

She strode to the hearth and froze in place before it, staring into the fire.

Neither Arya nor Bran moved and the room became nearly silent again, except for the soft crackle of the logs. Sansa thought the pops and snaps were the perfect accompaniment to her breaking heart.

"I should throw myself in," she thought as she watched the dancing flames.

From behind her back, she heard her sister's whisper. "Father lied. All those years Mother thought him untrue. He was, but just not in the way she believed," Arya marveled.

The pain in that voice brought Sansa back to her senses. She wasn't the only one hurting, but this realization was no comfort.

The bile rose in her throat. It burned. A tear trickled down her cheek and it felt like acid too. She wiped it away and turned back to her siblings.

Arya looked at Bran, and struggling to keep her voice steady asked, "Is Jon with her now?"

Sansa responded first, afraid to let Bran speak, lest he answer the bigger question in those words.

"I know where he is."

They nodded at Sansa and she took her leave.

She hurried across the courtyard. It was blessedly desolate thanks to the early hour. She passed the headless wolf statues, another painful reminder of the time that she wished she could repair and forget.

Sansa removed the torch from the wall beside the heavy door, noting that the other holder was empty – a good sign. The door creaked open and she stepped into the waiting blackness.

Inside the walls of Winterfell was usually warm, but not the crypts - never the crypts. They were one of the few rooms that did not benefit from the hot springs. It probably also helped that people had a sad, cold heart when they came to visit their dead.

The torch offered little light, but Sansa had been down here far too often in the last few years and could have navigated the stairs and corridors without it anyway.

Just as she suspected, she found Jon staring up at Lyanna's statue. She put her torch into a ring in the wall.

He didn't turn, though she knew he heard her. So she spoke to his back, "Everyone always said Arya is just like her. Now it makes sense why you were always so close with Arya."

Jon bowed his head. "Nothing makes sense anymore."

Sansa reached out and put her hand upon his shoulder. She felt his muscles flinch and tense. She spoke with the voice that she would use with a spooked horse. "It will."

"It won't. It can't." Jon quickly pulled away and stepped in front of her father's statue. He reached out and touched the stone.

Sansa noticed he had no gloves on. She thought his hands must be frigid and wanted to take them in her own. But she didn't. She remained as still and as silent as her Aunt's statue behind her.

"Sansa, I... I've..." Jon halted and heaved a sigh.

"I know what you did," she whispered.

Jon shook his head. He spoke to her father's statue. "I'm not talking about bending the knee."

She raised her voice, "I know."

He finally turned to face her. His expression was a confounded mix of dismay and relief. "How? Was it Tyrion?"

"I could see it in her eyes. The way she looks at you... Tyrion only confirmed it for me," she explained.

Then to her horror, Jon fell to his knees, leaned his forehead against her father's stone form and began to sob.

She rushed over to him. Jon turned and clutched at her skirts. He buried his face against her lap as his body shook with grief.

Sansa stroked his hair. "Shhhhh..." She soothed him the way she would Rickon when he woke from a nightmare in the nursery when they were young.

How she longed to be able to tell Jon it was just a bad dream and it would be all better in the morning.

But now they knew that the monsters from Nan's stories were all real, and the songs of justice, love and beauty were the lies.

Soon Jon was more collected, but he still clung to her. "Why didn't he tell me? What do I do now?"

His breath was hot against her thighs. He nuzzled his head against her hand, not unlike the way Ghost does when he wants more affection. She felt flush with emotion and wet from his tears.

Her voice shook, "He only wanted to protect you. You must understand that. After all, you're just like him. We'll figure it out together. I'll help you."

Then Jon looked up at her face and Sansa offered him a small smile. She could see some tears left in his eyelashes. They glimmered in the torchlight.

Sansa pulled off her gloves as Jon got his feet beneath him again. She reached out and wiped a tear from his cheek before it disappeared into his beard. Jon caught her fingers before she could remove them from his face. She was shocked at how warm his hand was on top of her own.

Not the ice she had expected.

Then Jon brought his other hand to her cheek. He looked at her lips and said, "I've been so stupid. All this time and I didn't see..."

Sansa wrenched away from him. She walked to the other side of her father's statue, closer to the exit of the crypt. "It's not your fault."

"It is my fault. I chose to bend the knee. I chose to..." He didn't complete the sentence and she didn't want to hear it anyway.

Instead he said, "It was wrong." and then he punched the wall.

Sansa winced as his knuckles crunched into the stone. She pulled a clean handkerchief from her sleeve and stepped forward examine the damage.

Jon tried to hide his bloodied fist behind his back. It reminded her of the way he tried to conceal the gash over his heart. But she had seen it. She made him reveal it when they shared some of the terrible things they had suffered before they found each other.

Sansa held out her hand to him and clucked her tongue. He lowered his eyes and placed his fingers into hers. She spoke as she dabbed at the split skin.

"You didn't know. You only did what you thought you needed to do. You are an honorable man Jon."

He winced. Sansa wasn't sure if it was because of her words or the wound that she pressed against. She removed the cloth and blew lightly against his knuckles. When Jon sighed she began to speak again.

"You have always wanted to do what is right and just. Some people like to use the good in others as a weapon against them. They want to twist anything that is pure within us to their advantage."

Sansa wrapped the cloth around his hand and tied it off. Then she walked back toward Lyanna's statue. She stared at the beautiful and sad face as she continued to talk.

"I was a dreamer and they tried to use my dreams against me. But I survived because they focused on the wrong dream. Cersei and Littlefinger thought I wanted the throne and all the power and pretty things that position would bring. It took me a long time to not be ashamed of myself, to believe again that there is nothing wrong with dreaming. Because all that I ever really wanted was..."

"Love?" Jon asked from behind her.

"Yes love," she whispered.

Sansa couldn't bear to look at him while she asked, "Do you love her Jon?

She bit her lip and listened as he cleared his throat before he spoke.

"I thought perhaps I did, but..."

Sansa remembered when Jon told her that Father believed everything a man said before the word but was bullshit. She smiled to herself and then she turned towards him with an arched brow. "But?"

Jon looked her in the eye. "But when I compare it with..."

He averted his eyes and seemed unsure about saying anything more.

There was a lump in her throat. She tried to swallow it down. "When you compare it with what you felt with your wildling woman? Ygritte?"

"No," he answered firmly.

She probed deeper. "Tell me."

Jon stepped further from her Father's statue and closer to her. He licked his lips. "When I compare it to what I feel for you..."

He paused again. Sansa stepped closer to him. "And what do you feel for me Jon?"

Jon whispered so low she barely heard him. "I thought it was wrong Sansa, so I didn't dare dwell on it."

He rubbed his hands across his face and then looked at Sansa again. She nodded her encouragement and so Jon continued. "When you found me at the wall, I felt like I was..."

Sansa volunteered the word, "Frozen?"

Then Jon gave her a small, sad smile. "Aye. I felt nothing. I had no direction. My limbs moved but my heart didn't lead them anywhere. I was as good as a Wight – risen from the dead but not truly alive."

She reached out and took his hands in hers again, and gave them a little squeeze, careful not to touch his knuckles. "I felt the same while I was the Lannisters' hostage and then trapped in the Vale and then tortured by Ramsay. I turned off my feelings and stopped hoping for anything more out of life. I didn't dare dream again until you held me in your arms at Castle Black and then I knew..."

Sansa hesitated and looked down. Jon put his fingers beneath her chin and brought her eyes back to his.

"What did you know? Please tell me Sansa. I've spent too much time being ignorant and I can't stand it anymore. I can't stomach anymore secrets, especially between us."

Jon dropped his hand from her chin and brought it to her waist. Sansa stammered, "I... I felt... I felt a fire within me reignite."

Then she chuckled. "I didn't know it was because you were a dragon."

Jon grimaced and dropped his hands from her body, making Sansa regret her words.

He turned from her. "I'm not a dragon and I'm not a wolf. I'm nothing!"

Sansa gripped his arm and forced him to turn toward her. "No! You're wrong Jon. You've been everything to me! And now you are everything for everyone – the heir to the Iron Throne and the Prince That Was Promised!"

"I don't deserve it!" Jon insisted and tried to pull away from her.

She grabbed his other arm to hold him in place and make him listen. "You do deserve it! You would be a good ruler because you don't want it. Those that crave it are the ones that don't deserve it!"

Jon gripped her arms now too and shook her slightly. "I'm not speaking of the damn Iron Throne Sansa!"

Sansa furrowed her brow. "Then what?"

She watched Jon's eyes. She had seen them bright and feral on the day of the Battle of the Bastards. Right now, they were so dark and soft. They reminded her of the time they were on the battlements, when he kissed her forehead. Then and now, Jon seemed to be trying to look within her very soul.

He said, "I'm talking about your admiration and dare I ask it... your love."

Jon leaned his forehead against hers. "When I look into my heart that is what I want more than anything in this life. So I know I don't deserve it."

Sansa sighed, "Oh Jon, you know nothing. You already have my admiration and my love."

He pulled her closer against him. "I don't want the love of a sister Sansa."

"I'm not offering the love of one," she breathed out, as her pulse raced and her chest heaved.

And then Jon pressed his lips to hers.

Sansa had never felt a kiss like this before. It filled her heart with warmth and her head with light. It made her believe again in the songs she loved when she was younger. She thought she might swoon as her legs grew weak, so she pressed further against him.

Jon took this as a sign. He deepened their kiss, exploring her with his tongue. One arm wound around her back, the other fisted her braid. He let out a little moan.

A tingling heat began to grow in the cleft between Sansa's thighs. She knew this sensation to be what others had spoken of, but she herself had never experienced - desire. Sansa loved Jon and now she wanted him in a way she had never wanted any other man.

Relief flooded her at this realization. Before this moment, she wasn't sure if Ramsay had broken that part of her. Sansa wanted to be able to give everything to Jon and she was happy that this would be a gift she could take pleasure in delivering. It would be even more wonderful than when she had given him the Stark cloak she had sewn him. Tears slipped from her closed eyes.

Jon stopped kissing her when the saltiness reached their mouths. "Sansa, my love, I'm sorry. Have I hurt you?" he panted.

She shook her head. "No, not at all. I'm just happy that I've been lucky enough to be kissed by fire." She smiled at him.

Jon smiled back and fingered her hair. "Aye?"

She laughed. "I mean you Jon. You are my fire."

Jon blushed. "I am yours and you are mine. From this day till the end of my days," he said before he kissed her again.

Sansa wrinkled her nose. "I would rather say my vows in our Godswood in front of the weirwood."

He rubbed his nose against hers. "I'll say whatever you want, wherever you want, as long as I can call you my wife."

She rubbed her hand against his beard and kissed him again. "You can, and you will. Soon," she promised.

Jon nodded. "Cousins and spouses, like our Stark grandparents."

"But first we must go tell Arya, Bran and Sam," Sansa decided.

"Aye," he agreed.

Sansa sighed, "We will need their advice for moving forward. Your Aunt will be angry. She does not seem like the type of woman who enjoys not getting what she wants. And it is quite evident that she wants the realm and you."

Jon looked at the statue of his mother. "Are we just repeating history? The Targaryen heir falling in love with a Stark girl is what started all of this..."

Sansa shook her head."You are nothing like Rhaegar. You are of the North. And I am nothing like Lyanna."

"I think you're more like the blue winter rose than anyone that's ever been," Jon decided.

She pushed against his chest, trying to move away from him. "I'm not. That has always been Arya..."

He locked his arms behind her back, refusing to let her escape "You're wrong Sansa Stark. You don't know how beautiful and resilient you are. Just like the frosty blooms. Plus your scent..."

Jon dipped his head to run his nose along her neck up into her hair, inhaling her. "It's unlike anything I've known. You fill me with a sweetness that's truly rare."

"That is ridiculous Jon." She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile.

He smiled back. "It is not! You know I'm part wolf. So I think I know when a scent attracts me. And I've always been a moody bastard, but you make me happy. You make me laugh. I need that. I need you," he confessed.

"You are moody," she agreed with a giggle.

Then Sansa grew more serious as she confessed, "I want to make you happy Jon. I want to marry you and give you babes enough to fill the halls of Winterfell. Let Daenerys have that blasted hideous throne and the realm. I'm glad that you bent the knee to her, because now you can be the warden of the North and my Lord instead. Father promised me long ago that he would make me a match with a high lord who was brave and gentle and strong. And I believe he has."

They both looked at Ned's statue.

"You've just described my greatest secret and lifelong wish. I'll always strive to fulfill his promise and be worthy of you. But before we can fill these halls with new life, Sansa... you know that I must go and defeat the ancient dead. It's the only way I can make sense of why I was resurrected. I've known what it's like on the other side, what it is to move about your days with no life or future to speak of. I'll save you and those I love from that same fate, if I can. Or I'll well and truly die this time trying to."

Sansa was unable to speak. The terror of what he must face was too great for her to put words to. She nodded and the tears slid from her eyes once more.

Jon kissed them from her cheeks. "We must marry today, or tonight at the latest. I'm sorry there won't be any time for pretty clothes or a feast," he apologized and then explained, "But I want to be able to face the Night King, having known at least one night in your arms."

She put her hand over his heart and shook her head. "I don't care about pretty clothes or feasts. They are nothing compared to the beauty of knowing that I am truly loved by my betrothed. Besides we can't spare the cloth or food anyway. My only request is that we keep your lineage and our marriage a secret from her. I can't send you off to battle thinking she might turn around and betray you over jealousy or spite. She needs to be completely on your side."

Jon dropped his arms from Sansa. "I... I don't know that I can do that. You know that I do not like to play false. The things I was forced to do to infiltrate the Wildings still haunt me. What if she wants to..."

He swallowed and Sansa watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat. "What if she wants to take me to her bed again? I have no desire to violate my vows to you and betray our marriage. What excuse will I be able to give her to say no? What kind of man would I be if I do this? Not the type of man you could love. It would make me no better than Littlefinger!"

Sansa put both of her hands to his cheeks. "You would be the alive type of man! I pray to the old gods, and the new, that it will not come to that point. Dare I hope that while you fight against thousands of rotting corpses, the Dragon Queen will be too preoccupied to try and seduce you? But her mind and her passions are far too vengeful, too wild. So we must be prepared for the possibility. Therefore, if you must, I would understand. And I would think no less of you!"

"You would! How could you not?" Jon insisted.

"I had to allow Ramsay into my bed. Do you think any less of me?" she asked.

Jon grimaced and narrowed his eyes. "That's different Sansa. You had no choice. You just did what you needed to do so you could survive."

Sansa's lip quivered. "That is precisely why it is not different. You need to survive Jon because I need you to come back to me. If Daenerys finds out, she'll... Promise me you'll protect yourself!"

Jon shifted his eyes between Ned and Lyanna's statues. Hearing Sansa echo the words those siblings had shared, the same ones Bran had told him just a couple hours ago, made Jon shiver.

"Promise me Jon!" Sansa repeated.

He nodded. "I promise."