Chapter Text
“Do I have to go?”
Lady Catelyn sighed at her daughter. “Yes, my sweet. You’ll be married next year, don’t you think you two should get to know each other?”
“We already know each other, Mother.” She knew that wasn’t what her mother meant, but Sansa still had to try, no matter how futile.
“Seeing each other a few times a year for a day doesn’t really count as ‘knowing each other,’ does it? Besides, I’m fairly certain Robb and Arya spend more time with Prince Jon than you do during those visits. We’ll just be a phone call away if you need us, love.” Catelyn had a thought and suddenly stopped brushing her daughter’s hair. She looked at Sansa through the vanity mirror. “You want this, right Sansa? If you don’t, darling, tell me now. You have a choice in this.”
It was Sansa’s turn to sigh. She knew she had a choice. Her parents made sure to ask for her thoughts and opinions of this when she was fifteen. And again when she was eighteen. She and Jon have been betrothed for as long as she could remember. At fifteen, she idolized the idea of one day becoming a princess of the realm. Of marrying the Prince and taking on the title and responsibilities as Duchess to Dragonstone. Of one day being the Queen of King’s Landing. At eighteen though, she no longer wanted pretty titles. She just wanted happiness.
But then Sansa looked at her older brother, who had fallen in love with someone who was not a candidate as future Lady of Winterfell. A woman who he almost left his claim and titles for, which he didn't thanks to Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn's intervention. Robb could marry who he wished, of course, but he must keep to his responsibilities.
And then Sansa looked at her younger sister, who already had eyes for Lord Baratheon's boy. His illegitimate boy. She knew her younger sister to be willful though, and Sansa couldn't fault her for wanting to find love and happiness. Besides, the second daughter didn’t have the same expectations as the first, after all.
And so Sansa knew what she had to do. Family, Duty, Honor. She lived by her mother’s House words. She had always put her family’s happiness before anything else and she’ll be damned if she didn't do everything she could to ensure her siblings' happiness and her family's prosperity. So she would do her duty as the daughter of the Earl of Winterfell. Sansa could only hope that in doing so, she would bring honor to her family, current and future.
“I want this, Mother.” Sansa turned around to look at her mother now. “I know I have the choice, and I love you and Father for giving me one. I’m just… nervous is all. It’ll be the first Christmas that I’m not home for. And this is my duty. I want to do it well.” A small smile formed on her face. “Besides, King Rhaegar already made that unofficial announcement of our engagement three years ago, remember?” Her mother answered with a small grin and a shake of her head.
Oh Catelyn remembered alright. The entire Targaryen Royal family had visited for Sansa’s twenty-first nameday. And the King had gotten into his cups so much that he made a toast, declaring that out of all the other noble families who wanted their daughters to marry his son, Sansa was always his first and only choice. Said he found a dove in the midst of partridges. Sansa was the perfect bride-to-be for his eldest son and that he was glad of their engagement.
Sansa remembered that night all too well. And she remembered Prince Jon’s very red face. The Prince looked none too happy at his father’s declaration. That moment was the first and only time she ever felt any doubt for their union. But, oh, he was still very kind to her. He was polite to her, gave her the perfunctory dance, and got along well with her family. So she took that as a good sign and accepted to the engagement. She resigned to herself that this marriage, at the least, will be a kind one.
Catelyn cleared her throat. “Alright then, love. But if you’re sure you want this marriage, then you must accept the King and Queen’s invitation for the holidays. You should get to know your future family better. After you turn twenty-five next year, you’ll have to really start planning your wedding and eventual move to the Red Keep.” Sansa turned back around and her mother continued brushing her hair and said softly, “I know you’re worried about this marriage. But you know, your father and I didn’t love each other at first either. We were almost strangers actually, not like how you and Jon grew up knowing each other. But we built our love over time. Stone by stone.”
Sansa nodded at her mother’s words of encouragement. “Stone by stone,” she repeated.