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If someone had told Sansa years ago that she would one day love the roguish north more than the soft south, she would have laughed as politely as a Lady ought to when faced with teasing. For that was what her younger self would have thought of such a ridiculous notion.
But now, Sansa belonged in Winterfell, belonged to the North, to the snows and the winter winds. She loved it all.
Because winter was when Jon came home.
And come spring, he was gone again, taking her heart, her soul, all but her physical body, with him and leaving her to wish away the seasons until he returned.
She was grateful the seasons had changed since the Night King had been defeated for she didn’t think she would last years without seeing him. She could hardly stand the months between them as it was.
The first time he came home, she had told him he was pardoned and could stay. But Jon had insisted there was too much work to be done in the far north and for once, he would do the duty that had been tasked of him.
For two years she let the subject drop, simply welcoming him back into her home and though he would never, and could never, know, he opened her heart again each time he came back.
This time would be the fourth year since he had been banished and Sansa stood overlooking her kingdom from her ramparts. Sometimes, she thinks of when Jon kissed her temple in this spot, how safe and happy and loved she felt. Sometimes, the wind gives her a poor imitation of an affectionate kiss with the cool air caressing her cheeks. But she never minded much, for the colder the winds grew, the nearer winter came.
This time, she would have to convince him to stay for good, she knew.
The survival of their house depended on it.
***
As always, they took supper in her solar the first night he arrived.
It allowed them to speak openly about their lives without prying eyes trying to twist their words and without anyone else begging for her attentions.
They spoke of their kingdoms, even though Jon still refused to be called King, even beyond the wall. They would exchange updates on Arya, what letters she had sent and share their ideas of what these places their sister visited must look like.
Sansa never mentions what happened in Kings Landing all those years ago. Never mentions the reason Jon was sent away in the first place.
Daenerys had caused her enough pain in life, she wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of letting her death continue to haunt her too.
But something always reminded her, made her think about that look Jon had shared with the Dragon Queen that night when they were all celebrating their victory. Even now, it makes her heart clamp shut and her eyes water, for she would know that look better than anything, she would see it in her own reflection if she could.
It made her think of how nobody would ever marry her for love, but she would need to marry all the same if her house were to continue, if everything she had bleed and fought for were to even mean anything.
Which is why she knew she had to convince Jon to stay. For no other man could be trusted with her heart, her body, her kingdom.
“The Lords keep parading their sons in front of me,” she sighed eventually, leaning back in her chair and feigning interest in the contents of her cup.
“None catch your eye?” Jon asked, his own eyes downcast. Sansa shrugged.
“Oh, plenty are handsome enough,” she conceded. “But I need someone I can trust. Someone who will not try to rule me. But they all want Winterfell really, not me.”
“They’re stupid then,” Jon murmured, finally looking up at her with a half-smile, his eyes glittering in the candlelight.
A long time ago, Sansa would have thought it to be the look of love, but she knew better now.
Still, she returned the smile all the same.
“Have you found yourself a wildling girl?” she asked, hoping she sounded casual.
He stared at her for a long moment, eyes never leaving hers until she was forced to accept defeat and lower her gaze with a hard swallow.
“Not been looking,” he said eventually, and Sansa forced herself not to smile, not to exhale with sweet relief in the knowledge he was not in love with another again.
“Will you stay all winter?”
Every year she asked the same question.
Every year he gave the same answer.
“As long as you’ll have me.”
And every year she longed to say, that she would have him forever.
***
“You could stay,” she whispered against the wind, his footsteps unable to be hidden as he approached her in the Godswood.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Why her? Why did you leave for her but you won’t stay for me?
“It is too hard.”
She turned her head slightly to look at him. His gaze was on the ground, that frown between his eyes, the one that told her he was carrying all the troubles on his shoulders but was unable to speak about them.
She looked away again, unable to face talking about the memories that surely haunted him to this day.
“If I stayed, I would have to see you with your Lord husband and children and know that it could have been me, it should have been me. Except I put you in danger, our people and our home and our family in danger because I couldn’t predict what she would do.”
“Jon…” She wanted to stop him before he broke what was left of her heart. She wanted to encourage him to continue so she could know if his own was as broken as hers.
“I thought I was doing the right thing, I thought I could appease her.” He chuckled mirthlessly, casting a sour look across the horizon as though expecting the Dragon Queen to appear again. “I was wrong. I should have listened to you, I should have talked to you so we could form a better plan.”
“I know why you did it your way.”
She did, truly although it didn’t make it hurt any less. The words bubble up before she could stop them.
“Can you forgive me yet?”
Jon sighed, his feet crunching in the snow once, twice, three times before he was at her side, his hand carefully taking her own. Even though both were gloved, she could feel the warmth of his touch all the same.
“There is nothing to forgive.”
***
“You were wrong, by the way.”
Jon laughed, tearing his eyes away from the dancing couples on the floor of Winterfell’s great hall.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” he agreed, the ale making him far more care-free and happy. Sansa could even manage her own, despite the nerves settling in her stomach.
“About having to watch me marry and have children with a Lord husband.”
The grin fell from Jon’s lips instantly and he clenched his eyes shut, turning his head away from her.
“I was wrong to say that.”
“Only if you lied.”
“I would never lie to you Sansa.”
“Stay,” she pleaded, reaching to clasp his hand. His lips parted and she reached her other hand across to grab his arm. “Stay with me Jon. Be my husband and the father of my children.”
“I will take no wife, father no children.”
“A sentence from a southern monarch,” Sansa countered. “To keep a foreign mercenary happy.” She squeezed his hand. “The Wall is in my kingdom. And as such, I pardon you.”
“You don’t want me Sansa,” he sighed. “A kinslayer, a queenslayer, a traitor.”
“You’re Jon,” she implored. “And that is all that matters to me.”
The noise of the hall faded away, all she could hear was Jon’s soft breathes as he watched her, watched her face for the trace of a lie but she held him steady, knowing he would find none.
“Stay with me,” she pleaded. “I trust you, only you.”
His hand squeezed hers ever so slightly and she knew he was agreeing.
***
They wed in the Godswood, on the day winter began to turn, the shortest day.
And for the first time in years, Sansa thought that perhaps she could love spring again after all.