Chapter Text
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One. Prologue.
“Don’t be nervous. Remember that you are a daughter of Winterfell and he’s the one who is lucky to be marrying you,” Catelyn tells her daughter as she tucks a wayward strand from Sansa’s braid back behind her ear. “Don’t be nervous,” she then repeats and Sansa has to wonder if Catelyn is saying that for her or herself.
“I’m not,” is Sansa’s immediate response complete with head shake, but she swallows in an attempt to get down the tuft of cotton that has decided to form and lodge itself at the base of her throat.
She leans closer to the window of the carriage to see how close they are, but she sees nothing except the passing large hills and white snow on the ground. She has never been this far North before, but now, this is going to be her home. Hers and her husband’s. Sansa wants to make sure that she doesn’t miss a thing during her first look at it. She will only get one first time of seeing it.
She wonders what her soon-to-be husband thinks of this land that is now to be theirs. Her brother, Robb, had spoken as highly as he can of another person; Jon Snow, a loyal general to him in the war and they supposedly had grown as close as brothers during their long time together in battle. After the war and the North had won their independence from the lower six Kingdoms of Westeros, Robb – as King in the North – had gifted Jon as both a thank-you and reward with the keep and village of Queenscrown in the Gift – the northern most village before the Wall.
Robb had also thought that a sure way to keep the North forged together for years to come would be through various marriages. Rickon – though not even eight – and Lyanna Mormont of House Mormont of Bear Island had a marriage contract brokered between the houses and when they are both of age, they will marry. Robb also arranged the marriage between Bran and Meera Reed of House Reed of Greywater Watch and lastly, his oldest sister, Sansa is to marry his dear friend, Jon Snow – new Lord of Queenscrown of the Gift.
The night before, as Sansa oversaw the packing of her trunks – her chamber at Winterfell being emptied of her possessions to take to her new home with her – she had asked her brother to describe her soon-to-be husband because Robb hadn’t even supplied a sketch of the man.
“Well, he’s… pretty,” Robb decided after a moment’s contemplation.
“Pretty?” Sansa’s eyebrows both raised at that.
In all her life, imagining herself marrying a noble Lord or even a King, she had never once envisioned her husband as being pretty. Devilishly handsome, yes, but not pretty. Pretty is the way one describes a young maiden or a field of wildflowers. Not a man. Not a war hero.
Robb had just grinned though; almost laughing and these days, Robb is so slow to smile or laugh, Sansa immediately took note of it and she nearly smiled, too, from the rare sight.
“The others and I would tease him mercilessly. You’ll be happy with his looks. I promise, Sansa.”
And a younger Sansa, before the stupid war and losing both her father and sister to it, the looks of her husband, she knew, would be the most important thing to her. To a younger Sansa, a pretty husband would be all that mattered in this life.
But she’s not the girl she used to be and though she asked, she knew that the looks of her husband mattered little to her. All she cared about was if he would be kind. The war had brought out the worst side of so many men and a weathered soldier who had been through and survived the war would certainly be changed. Since the war – though the North had won their freedom – they had still lost so much and it had affected everyone. Sansa hopes that she isn’t being forced upon a man who will spend his days, ignoring or mistreating her.
She tells herself though that Robb wouldn’t do that to her. He would never have her marry someone who would be cruel to her. She hopes not, at least.
The carriage begins to slow and Sansa looks away from the window to look to her mother.
“We’re not here yet, are we?” Sansa asks with a slight frown. She hasn’t seen a village or a keep yet and though she knows both are comparably smaller than Winterfell, she had still expected to see something.
“Robb said we wouldn’t reach Queenscrown until much closer to sunset,” Catelyn says and then pushes the door to the carriage open, a gust of strong winter wind rushing in. Sansa shivers and shrinks herself into her thick fur lined cloak. She had made it herself and she has made one for her husband as well, it tucked into one of her trunks and even if he never wishes to wear it, she hopes that he will accept it.
Hearing a gallop of a horse approaching, Sansa peers over her mother’s shoulder to see that it is Robb.
“Either of you need a relieve?” Robb asks his mother and sister. “Some of the men saw a wild boar running across our path into the woods. We would like to go on a quick hunt to bring it to Queenscrown with us. We can have ourselves a proper feast tonight.”
“No, no, dear. You take your time. Your sister and I will just sit here and freeze,” Catelyn says with a frown.
Sansa purses her lips together, turning her head away so neither can see her having to bite back a smile. Robb Stark might be the King in the North, but Catelyn Stark certainly doesn’t let the title intimidate her from continuing on being his mother.
“Would you and Sansa like to continue on?” Robb suggests.
Robb Stark’s reputation as a fierce general in the war against the Southern Kingdoms precedes him. He has faced armies of thousands of men, but none of those opposing armies had Catelyn Stark on their side.
Catelyn gives her son an overly-sweet smile. “Please, dear.”
She pulls herself back into the carriage and closes the door once more. They can hear Robb riding off, shouting orders to various men and within a few more minutes, the carriage lurches forward and they are on their way once more.
Sansa looks back out the window though there is nothing to see except more snow. “Mother?”
“Yes, dear?” Catelyn looks to her, giving her attention to her immediately.
Sansa purses her lips together, wetting them, before releasing a soft breath. “What if he doesn’t… what if I have been pushed onto Jon Snow and the last thing he wants is a wife? What will I do then?”
Catelyn does not answer right away and Sansa finds herself relieved at that. Though she loves her mother for always assuring her, Sansa also does not want Catelyn to assure her because she thinks it’s what Sansa wants. Right now, Sansa wants the truth. She is eighteen now and she is to be a wife. She can handle whatever truth her mother thinks she should hear.
“Whether Jon Snow wants a wife or not doesn’t matter,” Catelyn begins. “It’s what he needs.”
Sansa’s brow furrows a bit as she looks at Catelyn beside her. “And Jon Snow… needs me?”
“He may not know it yet, I’m sure, but yes, he needs you. The last I heard of the Queenscrown Keep, it has been neglected for far too long and no one is more capable of making that into a home than you are and that is what the people and the Lord of the Gift need. They need a Lady who can give that place life again.”
Sansa thinks that over for a moment, allowing her mother’s words to roll around in her mind before settling.
Her mother has been teaching her for this role since Sansa was a girl of three; how to be a Lady and run a Keep of her own. Since Sansa was old enough to walk, she was shadowing her mother as Catelyn went through her tasks of being Lady of Winterfell. Sansa knows the day-to-day jobs as well as the more important ones of being the Lord’s wife when other Houses come for visits.
That’s not what has Sansa worried, but what she is worried about, she doesn’t know how to express to her mother. She knows how to be a Lady. She doesn’t know how to be a wife. Yes, she knows what is expected of her – both on her wedding night and after. Jon will take her maidenhead and then, if it is the will of the old and new Gods, Sansa will give him strong sons and daughters. But beyond what is to happen in her bed chambers with this man, Sansa has no idea what else to do for him.
She wonders if he has any idea of how to be a husband. Robb hadn’t mentioned a previous wife of Jon Snow’s, but the war had taken so many of their people in the North. Maybe Jon’s first wife had been one of them. But surely, if Jon had been married before, Robb would have mentioned it.
“Your mind is racing a mile a minute,” Catelyn notes.
“It is,” Sansa agrees, knowing that it’s not something she can deny. “I’m just nervous of meeting him. What if I’m not at all what he has imagined for a wife?”
Catelyn frowns at her for that. “One of the most beautiful young women in the North from one of the most noble Houses is not what he imagined?” She asks and Sansa feels her cheeks grow warm though it’s hardly the first time someone has said such a thing about her. “Humph. I will say it again, Sansa. Jon Snow is the lucky one to be marrying you and don’t let me hear another word of you forgetting it.”
Sansa manages to give her mother a small smile and nod. “I won’t forget it,” she promises.
Catelyn smiles as well, placing a hand over Sansa’s before turning her head to look at the passing landscape through her own window.
Sansa looks out her own window and tries to remind herself to keep breathing, but as the hills slowly begin to grow, the nervous tightening in her stomach worsens until it’s almost unbearable. They’re getting closer. She can feel it. The carriage rolls on, the road dipping up and down – doing nothing to help her stomach – and the hills continuing to steadily grow into mountains; mountains that are now going to be her home.
She, for the countless time, tries to envision her soon-to-be husband, waiting for her arrival in Queenscrown. Besides being told that he’s pretty – whatever that means in male speak – Robb has also told her that Jon Snow has black, curly hair and a black beard to match. His face remains still such a blank slate to her, all Sansa has in her mind is a head with no eyes, nose or mouth; just a head of black hair.
She knows she won’t have to wait much longer though until she finally sees him. They’re almost there.
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