Sansa had never met anyone like Thor.
From the moment she first saw him—standing tall beside her uncle Benjen, his voice calm and commanding, his presence filling the hall like thunder—something inside her shifted.
Perhaps it was fate that he arrived on the same day the King himself was set to visit Winterfell, when the prince of the Seven Kingdoms was due.
And he looked more regal than any king or prince she could have imagined.
Everyone assumed he was a prince; if anyone had suggested otherwise before the truth was revealed, no one would have believed them.
He was everything a storybook knight should be and more. Stronger than any man she had ever seen, yet gentle in his words, never cruel.
When King's Landing had burned with fear and violence, it was Thor who protected her.
He fought for her when no one else dared. He shielded both her and Arya as the city fell apart. His courage was not born of pride or politics, but of something deeper—honor, heart.
She knew it. Thor had no reason to go so far for them: to attempt to save her father, to risk his life, to carry them out of King's Landing.
Yet again, he did the same, protecting them from the Lannister soldiers.
Every time Sansa closed her eyes, she saw him again—his red cape fluttering in the wind, his eyes glowing like lightning as he fought. He was no prince, and yet to her, he seemed more princely than Joffrey ever could be. Joffrey had promised songs and glory but delivered only pain. Thor, without promising anything, had given her safety and hope.
That image of Thor bringing down thunder to save her was imprinted on her heart.
Her admiration grew into something warmer, heavier—something she did not fully understand.
No!
She had always admired him—every maiden and wife from Winterfell to King's Landing likely did—but after everything, what she felt was more than mere admiration.
She thought of him as she slept, dreamed of him standing beside her as the hero of every tale she had once adored.
She was not alone in her thoughts. Everywhere they went, people spoke of Thor. Peasants whispered his name like a prayer. Even highborn ladies, with painted lips and fine silks, looked at him with the same longing that made Sansa's heart twist.
Sansa might be naive, but she was not stupid. Even she could see how girls swooned over him. Even the queen did, whenever they spoke of him.
She had seen the marks once—faint bruises along his neck, shaped like someone's teeth. Jealousy struck her for the first time. The thought of someone else touching him, someone older, someone beautiful and bold, filled her chest with an ache she could not shake.
Was she not good enough? Too young? Too naïve?
The questions gnawed at her until she could no longer sleep. The moonlight outside her window looked cold and lonely. Arya slept soundly nearby, but Sansa lay awake, clutching her blanket, her heart pounding with every thought of him.
Before she could stop herself, she rose. Her feet moved on their own. Down the narrow hallway of the inn, she walked until she stood before his door. Her hands trembled. She did not know what she was doing, only that she needed to see him—needed to be sure he would not slip away from her, not to another woman, not to anyone.
Her knuckles rapped softly against the door.
A moment later, it opened, revealing Thor. His hair was loose, his armor set aside, his eyes calm but curious. "Sansa?" he said, surprised. "It's late. What brings you here?"
She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat.
He blinked, waiting, but no words came. She was almost frozen, though she had come with reckless courage and no plan. She did not know what to do next.
Having nothing to say, she let her body speak for her.
Before he could respond, Sansa stepped forward. Her heart raced. She did not think—she simply acted.
She rose onto her toes and pressed her lips against his.
It was quick, desperate, trembling—like a confession and a plea all at once. For a moment, Thor froze, hands half-raised, startled by the suddenness of it.
And then, before he even realized it, he was kissing her back, hands already at her waist.
But then her eyes snapped open as he recalled the reality—how young she was. Only thirteen, far too young.
Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back.
"Sansa…" His tone was firm but not harsh. "You mustn't do that."
Her cheeks flushed with shame. Her eyes widened in panic. "Do you not like me?" she asked, voice shaking. "Do you think I'm… childish?"
Thor almost cited her age as the reason immediately, but he stopped himself. Doing so then would only complicate things.
He sighed, looking down at her tear-streaked face.
"It's not just that, Sansa. You are brave, kind, and far stronger than you know. It would take a fool not to fall head over heels for a lass so fine," Thor said, his hand brushing her snow-white cheek, wiping away the tears.
Hearing him, Sansa's heart quickened. Her blood rushed, her face warmed.
"But—" Thor interrupted gently, breaking her trance.
"There is an age for certain things in life. A woman's body needs care. At your age, you could be hurt," he said as gently as possible.
"I'm not a child!" she protested softly, tears stinging her eyes. "I've seen death, war, cruelty… I know what love is!"
He shook his head gently. "No. You know pain, yes. Love will come to you, but not like this. Fate has thrust much upon you, Sansa. Your mind has endured more than any girl should. But your body… that has been spared so far. Let us cherish that, my lady. At least until your body is ready to be given to a man."
'That came out so cringe…' Thor thought internally.
Her lips quivered. She understood that he meant she was too young. Indeed, she had not yet had her first blood. She was not yet a woman in the Westerosi sense.
"Don't worry. If you still wish for me when the time comes, I'll always wait for you, my lady," Thor said quietly—and he meant it.
He was no saint. He would not touch a minor; that was his line. But waiting for her to come of age—that was entirely right.
Sansa lowered her gaze, tears finally falling. "You saved me. You've always saved me. I just wanted to be someone worthy of you."
Thor's expression softened even more. He lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You already are, my lady. A maiden as fair as you… any man of sound mind would cherish it."
He pulled her into a gentle embrace, voice low. "You remind me of someone I once knew—a girl who believed the world could still be good. Hold on to that. Don't lose it trying to grow too fast," he added softly, though he had just improvised.
Sansa's sobs quieted against his chest. For a while, neither spoke. When she finally stepped back, her eyes were red, but her heart was lighter.
"Go rest," Thor said softly. "You have a kind heart, and one day, someone will see it as I do."
Sansa nodded faintly, turned, but before leaving, she spoke again.
"I don't need others to see it, Ser Thor. You… you are enough for me."
And then she was gone.
When the door closed, Thor stood in silence.
"Damn morality," he muttered.
...
A/N : Okay, while things like this happen quite a lot in Game Of Thrones, but our MC here have some Bottom lines which will not be crossed in his fic.
xxx
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