AN: This is an AU wherein the Manderlys were not able to retrieve Rickon and Bran remained beyond the Wall to become a greenseer.
At first, Sansa is relieved that they are to be married. If she has to marry anyone, it might as well be Jon. He is not cruel like Joffrey, not ruthlessly cunning like Tyrion, and not ambitious like Littlefinger. Instead he is simple, calm, and an excellent leader, not because he wants to be but because he is forced to be one. In many ways, he is like her.
The first few weeks of their marriage are a challenge. Jon is courteous, gallant, and attentive, just like the knights in the songs she used to love as a child. He even looks the part, with his comely face, muscular build, and brooding grey eyes – the same eyes their father used to have. When Sansa looks at him, she feels safe. But beneath his gentle smiles and soft words, there is a part of Jon she cannot reach, and no matter how hard she tries, that part remains hidden to her.
She thinks that perhaps it's because he still views her as a sister, that even though he has been declared a Targaryen, no longer a bastard like the version of herself a long time ago, he still thinks their union wrong. So she does all she can to make him forget that he was once a Stark. She doesn't mention their father or any of their dead siblings, but still, it isn't enough. There is a world of distance between them and it will take more than Sansa's efforts to bridge that gap.
But everything changes the day Arya comes back to Westeros, looking defiant, strong, and very much alive. Though shocking, their reunion is a joyous one, and for the first time in her life, she sees Jon cry as he clings to their long lost sister for dear life. Looking at them, Sansa thinks that maybe this time, they could finally heal and learn how to live again. Maybe with Arya back in their lives, things would finally be better.
She is wrong.
Jon tells her that he was never their brother, that he is a Targaryen now, an unwanted product of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, but Arya just glares at him, shakes her head, and says in that callous way of hers, "Don't be stupid. Dragon or not, you're still my brother, and I'll kill any man who says otherwise."
Jon smiles at that, a smile that reaches his eyes and makes him younger by years, and for a moment, Sansa wishes she had said the same thing to him when he first told her the news about his real parents. Perhaps he would have smiled at her the way he is smiling at Arya now. She would have loved that, she thinks.
Sansa could tell that Arya is confused about how things stand now at Winterfell, so she resolves that she would be the one to explain things to her, but before she can approach her sister, Jon beats her to it. He tells Arya, in his usual placid way that for some reason makes Sansa uneasy now, that his marriage to her was necessary to secure the North, to avoid more bloodshed, and to restore peace to the Seven Kingdoms.
Arya frowns at him, but does not say anything about how wrong the whole thing is, that even though they are no longer officially siblings, such a marriage should not have been made possible. Instead she takes Jon's hand in hers, looks him straight in the eye, and asks him, "Do you love Sansa?"
"Yes, of course," Jon answers her at once, and from her hiding place, a silly little smile makes its way, unbidden, to Sansa's face, but then Jon continues, "But not in the way you think" and suddenly Sansa is brought back to the present, her mind and heart crashing like waves against a jagged cliff, and it takes her a moment to realize that the foreign feeling within her has a name. It is disappointment, and it tastes bitter.
She retreats to her room, the words "But not in the way you think" echoing over and over again in her mind.
They spend all their days together, her sister and her husband. They go riding for long hours at a time, and when they come back to join Sansa for supper, their clothes are muddy, their faces shining with sweat, and every once in a while, they would break into peals of laughter and send secret smiles to one another.
Sansa, who is beginning to get the feeling that she is being unconsciously excluded from something, would ask them, "What's so funny?" but when Jon and Arya would try to explain things to her, she doesn't get it. This makes her upset, but she does not say anything.
She does not say anything when Arya barges in on Jon in the middle of a meeting and drags him away, muttering something about hunting wolves and new swords. She does not say anything when Jon comes to their bed late at night, too exhausted to do anything but sleep, claiming that he had been in Arya's room, telling her stories and helping her cope with nightmares her sister never saw fit to tell Sansa. She does not say anything when she sees Jon chasing Arya around the courtyard in a manner that does not befit a lord, and when he eventually catches her by the waist and spins her around in a way that she has seen him do when they were children, she ignores the tiny pang in her chest and reminds herself that before the war, Jon and Arya had been inseparable. They had always preferred each other's company to the rest of their siblings, so it is only natural that they would seek each other out like this.
She tells herself she is acting silly, but as each day passes, she feels Jon drifting further and further away from her, and there is nothing she can do about it.
One day she finds them in the godswood, practicing swordplay, of all things. She is shocked at first, to see her sister parrying blow after blow and moving with a fluidity and confidence that is so at odds with the way she usually composes herself when confined in a dress, and for the first time in her life, Sansa is struck by how much Arya has changed.
She does not notice it at first, preoccupied as she is with aiding her husband in matters concerning the North and driven by the joy of discovering that one of her remaining siblings is alive, but now she wonders what happened to her. What happened to the girl who once terrorized septas and threw blood oranges at her? She suspects Jon alone knows the answer to that.
All of them bear the marks of war, one way or another, but she could see that Arya wears hers proudly, like it is a badge and not the result of tragedy. Something has happened to her sister, something awful enough to give her nightmares every night, but despite it all she carries herself well. There is strength in everything that she does, and in her eyes Sansa sees the same determination she often finds in herself.
Sansa looks at her sister, fighting and dancing to a tune only she knows, and thinks, "How beautiful." Arya is so beautiful. And when she looks at Jon, she sees the exact moment he realizes it too.
It takes her days to finish the embroidered handkerchief she gives Jon as a present for his name day. It is white, made of the finest silk, and has the symbol of a direwolf on one side and a dragon on the other. Jon kisses her on the cheek, thanks her kindly for her thoughtfulness, and tells her that he likes it, and that is enough to cause Sansa's heart to swell.
Next to her, Arya blushes and decides at the last moment not to give Jon his present. But her husband would have none of it, and after enough prodding, Arya finally gives in and chucks something at his head.
Jon makes a grab for it, and when he sees what it is, a huge smile spreads on his face. At once Sansa sees why Arya is reluctant to hand it over. It is a similar handkerchief, made of a lesser material than the one Sansa gave him, and there is nothing on it - no patterns, no symbols - except the words "Stick them with the pointy end" crookedly stitched into the fabric. It is an ugly piece of cloth, Sansa has to admit, and she cannot, for the life of her, understand what the words mean, but Jon looks at it like it is the most precious thing in the world, and maybe to him, it is.
"Do you like it?" Arya asks, almost shyly. "It was stupid of me; I didn't know Sansa was going to make the same thing. If I had known, I would have given you a better present, maybe a nicely carved bow or one of those customized daggers –"
Jon interrupts Arya, reaches for her hands, hands that are rough and calloused and now marked with blisters and tiny, pinprick needle wounds, and kisses them almost reverently. "I love it, little sister," he whispers to her, and there is such tenderness in his gaze and the way he holds her that Sansa is forced to look away.
She blinks back tears and tries not to let it bother her when she sees Jon clutching Arya's ugly handkerchief the following day.
Sansa wakes up and is not surprised to find herself alone in the dining hall. She is used to her sister's erratic eating habits, and now that Jon has left for King's Landing at the summons of his aunt, Daenerys Targaryen, she often finds herself breaking her fast with no one to accompany her. It is lonely, and though Arya is pleasant enough company on a good day, she misses Jon.
"Oh," she remarks when she sees the hot meal in front of her. "This is Jon's favorite."
"Yes, my lady. We were instructed by Lady Arya to have this prepared in time for Lord Targaryen's arrival," the serving girl answers her.
"Arrival? My husband is back? Why was I not immediately informed?" Sansa's face flushes red as she unsuccessfully tries to hide her surprise. She feels like a fool for even asking. But she does not understand. How would Arya have known about Jon's arrival unless he... Oh. Perhaps she is a fool.
"Lord Targaryen did not wish to disturb you while you were sleeping, my lady," the serving girl explains to her, her words kind, and there is something about the way she looks at her, something that looks suspiciously like pity, that makes Sansa want to lash out.
"And where is he now?" She struggles to maintain her control, to keep her voice even and unaffected, and the only thing that stops her from completely breaking down is the thought of a mere serving girl bearing witness to her shame.
"He is outside with the Lady Arya, my lady," the young girl admits almost reluctantly.
Sansa leaves her meal untouched and walks briskly down the hallways, all the while telling herself, "You are made of steel. Not porcelain, not ivory, but steel." She says it over and over again until she believes it, and by the time she spots the familiar forms of Jon and Arya curled up against the trunk of an old weirwood tree, she feels like herself again.
From afar, they look like mirror images of each other. Arya has her eyes closed, her head resting on Jon's shoulder and her hands wrapped around his arm, and Sansa arrives just in time to see her own husband - the same husband who is gentle and polite in all the ways that matter but is shy and ungenerous when it comes to his touches - kiss her sister's forehead with a trembling passion that she thought Jon incapable of ever giving. Unaware of Sansa's presence, he strokes Arya's hair with one hand while the other rests languidly on her waist, and to anyone who looks at them, they appear innocent enough, like the brother and sister they claim to be, but the longer Sansa looks at him, the more convinced she becomes. There is nothing brotherly about the way Jon looks at her sister. Nothing brotherly at all.
Jon is in a good mood, she can tell, so she takes advantage of the opportunity and goes right ahead and tells him about the match. She watches the color drain from his face, then a split second later, he turns red, and when Jon reaches for the wine cup he usually leaves untouched, she is astonished to see his hand shaking.
"No. That is a terrible idea, Sansa," he objects at once. "Arya would not be happy in Dorne. She barely knows Edric Dayne."
"That isn't true," Sansa replies calmly. "On the contrary, she is quite acquainted with him. She said they knew each other, back when they still traveled with the Brotherhood Without Banners."
"Are you referring to the group who kidnapped Arya and planned on ransoming her to Robb? Yes, I'm sure she would be delighted at the chance to relive those moments with Edric Dayne."
"Don't be silly, Jon. You know as well as I do that you're the only one Arya listens to. If you ask this of her, she would not object."
Jon shakes his head at her. "What I don't understand," he begins, "is why you want her to leave in the first place. We haven't seen her in years, Sansa, but now that she's finally home you want to banish her to the farthest parts of the Seven Kingdoms?"
"Winterfell will always be her home, you know that, but Arya cannot stay here forever. Eventually she will have to marry and find her own family –"
Jon cuts her off with one look, just one look, and quietly leaves the room. And just like that, the argument is over. Sansa wants to go after him, to scream at him and make him understand, but there is no reasoning with Jon, not when Arya is concerned. Sansa may have mastered playing the game of thrones, but she cannot master Jon's feelings. And though she loves Arya with all her heart, she has grown to love Jon more. It scares her.
And what she wants, more than anything else in this world, is to have a family with him. She wants pretty, red-haired girls named Cat and long-faced little boys named Brandon and Eddard and Robb. But how can she do that, how can she bear his children and give him heirs, when he won't stop looking at their sister?
Sansa is not a jealous person by nature, but these days she finds herself slowly being driven to the brink of insanity. She sees treason and betrayal in every shadow and every smile her sister shares with Jon, and though it is deplorable and pitiable, it is what her life has become now, and she cannot bring herself to stop.
One time Jon falls off his horse during a reckless ride with Arya, and Sansa is there for him, the way she always is, and though she is the one who changes his bandages and nurses him back to health, it is Arya's name he calls out in a feverish whisper.
Sansa wonders if this is what Cersei Lannister must have felt like, to be married to a man whose heart belongs to another, who never even once tried to love her, and to hate him so much that she is willing to kill him for it. But they are different, Cersei and her. Sansa could never hate Jon. And in a way, she thinks Cersei Lannister is luckier than her. At least Robert Baratheon was in love with a ghost. But Jon Targaryen, her husband, is in love with a living one, one that will continue to haunt them for as long as they both shall live.
It is Jon who finally approaches her one night. He looks sad, which can only mean that Arya is sad, and asks her what is wrong. Things have been different between her and Arya lately, he notices, and he is worried for them both. But what he doesn't say, what he can't bear for Sansa to hear, is that he is worried for Arya more.
Sansa knows it. She wishes she could take back that knowledge, wishes that things could be different, but she can't make it easier for both of them. She can't bear to look Arya in the eye and return her sincere smiles because all she can think about when she sees her sister is, "This is the girl that Jon almost died for. This is the girl he loved so much that he was willing to forsake his vows to the Night's Watch, to free Mance Rayder in the hopes of rescuing her, and to fight Ramsay Snow to the death so he could avenge her. He loved her so much that he would rather lose his position as Lord Commander than try not to find her."
Sometimes Sansa wants to ask her sister what it feels like, to be the recipient of a love like that, but these days it hurts too much to even look at her.
Jon is still staring at her, still waiting for an answer, an explanation, or perhaps a reassurance that things will be fine, but Sansa is sick of lying and pretending. So she meets his gaze, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, and asks him, "Are you sleeping with her?"
It is not what Jon expects her to say at all. "Sansa... What are you talking about?"
"I beg you, Jon. As your wife, as someone who was once your sister, please, if you love me true, tell me the truth," she says, her voice breaking like glass, like ice shattering over a running river.
Can't you see? She wants to shout at him. Can't you see that I am just as much a wolf as you and Arya, that I am just as strong as our wild sister, that I am no longer a bird trapped in a gilded cage? Can't you see how fiercely I've been loving you? But she knows Jon would never understand.
The silence stretches for so long that Sansa is beginning to wonder if this is what they are now, creatures bound by duty and reduced to silence, but then he whispers, "No" in a voice so filled with pain and heartbreak she immediately feels like a fool for thinking that she is the only one here who is hurting.
His honesty is like a slap to her face, and though she admires him for it, she wants to clap her hands to her ears and stop him from talking, but she has no choice but to listen as he breaks down in front of her and says, "You know Arya and I would never dishonor you like that, but there are times when I … Oh gods, I know that it is wrong, but every time I look at her I cannot help but want her. I... Sansa, I love her."
Sansa chokes on a sob and wraps an arm around her waist, feeling as though Jon had stabbed her with a knife. "Will it always be her?" she asks him even though she already knows the answer.
"Yes."
Sansa collapses to the floor and finally allows herself to break apart. She has nothing else to say to him. There are no words left. Her armor is broken, her wings torn. She is Sansa Stark, daughter of the North, but she is Lady of Winterfell in title only. The knowledge hurts.
All she wants is for things to go back to the way it was, for Jon to come back to her, but how can that happen when he was never really hers in the first place?
She is Sansa Stark, and winter has come for her.
AN: I was supposed to be working on another Arya/Aegon story but I got distracted by this XD And while Arya/Aegon will always be my OTP, sometimes it's nice to write something else for a change, you know?
I know Jon/Arya is not a very popular ship, which is strange given the fact that we're talking about a fandom where Cersei/Jaime is canon, but I can't deny that there's something very appealing about them. I don't know. Maybe I've been re-watching too many episodes of The Borgias (Cesare/Lucrezia, anyone? Lol).
Also, let it be known that I have nothing against Sansa. I love her as a character and I wish her all the lemon cakes in the world. It's just that... sometimes I have this tendency of writing one-shots with unrequited love as the main theme (take "Tomorrow Will Be Kinder", for instance) and in this case, Sansa got the short straw.
Okay, I should probably stop talking now.