Fic: Of Things Past (Jon/Sansa, Catelyn/Ned) PG
Title: Of Things Past
Pairing: Jon/Sansa, Catelyn/Ned (in passing)
Fandom: ASoIaF
Rating: PG
Notes: Kind of a combination of 2 different kinkmeme prompts, one in which Catelyn survives the RW and is not okay with Jon and Sansa getting married, and another where Catelyn and Jon move past their issues after Jon and Sansa's child is born; spoilers for everything basicallly, R+L=J, AU and such.
Disclaimer: Not even the littlest bit mine.
Things will never be easy between them.
Catelyn Stark has accepted this, and she thinks Jon Snow has as well. Never mind that in the end, he was not Ned's bastard but Lyanna's and Rhaegar Targaryen's. Never mind that her son, before he died, made Jon Snow a Stark and gave him Winterfell. Never mind that Jon Snow is going to marry her daughter.
There is too much for either of them to forgive, too much to move past, and so neither try. Catelyn keeps her voice even, her tone light when she must speak to him, but she does not speak to him often. And Jon no longer shoots her those baleful glances, but she is sure that he goes out of his way to avoid her. But for the sake of Winterfell-and for Sansa- they are civil.
Still, she can't fool her eldest daughter, not anymore. King's Landing and the Vale have changed Sansa in ways that break Catelyn's heart if she thinks too much on them. Sansa only mentions it once, as they sit in Catelyn's solar, sewing. The fire has burned low, and both should've retired by now, but Catelyn feels as though they're both waiting for the other to speak. Sansa has been back at Winterfell for nearly a year now, and while they have spoken of so much- Catelyn's escape from the Freys, Littlefinger, Sansa's long journey back from the Vale with Jon's ragged army- they have not spoken of the wedding that is to take place.
When Catelyn first learned of the idea, even she had to admit it was not without merits. Wedding Sansa to Jon would make Sansa the Lady of Winterfell, would keep her safe from all who would try to claim her. It would keep her here, in the North, where she belonged and so desperately wanted to be.
And yet so much about the arrangement had not sit well with Catelyn. After all Sansa had been through, Catelyn wanted more for her than marriage for duty's sake. She wanted her daughter to be cherished and loved as well as safe. And while she had to admit that Jon Snow is a good man- he rescued her daughter and is using the queen's gold to repair Winterfell, after all-, he and Sansa barely speak to one another as far as she can tell. She wonders how her sweet, soft girl, who had once dreamed of marrying a knight or a prince must feel about being given to a bastard she once called a brother.
Sansa does not look up from her embroidery when she softly says, "I had thought things between you and Jon would not...be as difficult. Now that you know that Father did not dishonor you."
Catelyn sighs. She can find no words to explain to Sansa that while no, Jon is no longer the breathing reminder of Ned's infidelity, looking at him still hurts. That while Ned may not have been unfaithful, he had lied nonetheless, lied in such a way that had damaged all three of them, perhaps irreparably.
Strangely, it almost wounds her more; For all the years, all the love that had grown between them, there was still one secret he could not trust her with.
And while she does not begrudge Jon his life, whenever she see him striding through the halls, talking with his steward, making plans for the future of Winterfell, some part of her aches for Robb and all that should have been his.
So in the end, she simply says, "I think Jon Snow is a fine man, Sansa."
Her daughter's eyes, as blue as her own and nearly as old, meet hers. "Stark. He is Jon Stark now."
Catelyn inclines her head. "Indeed he is. And I am sure he'll make a good husband." She is surprised to find she means that. He may not love Sansa the way Catelyn had hoped- he may not even be capable of it, considering what they had once been to one another- but she has no doubt he will protect her and treat her with kindness. Respect, even.
An expression crosses Sansa's face that Catelyn cannot read. "He will," she says, and whatever had flickered across her face is gone. She rises from her chair and crosses to Catelyn before bending and kissing her brow, as though Catelyn were the child and Sansa the mother.
Tears prick Catelyn's eyes as she closes them and reaches up to cup her daughter's face. I still have her, she tells herself. Ned, Robb, Arya, Bran and Rickon may be gone, but this sweet girl is still here with me. And it will be enough. It will have to be.
***
The wedding grows nearer. Catelyn would have seen them wed as soon as the idea had been hatched- the sooner Sansa's future is secured, the better- but Daenerys Targaryen had insisted on attending, and that had slowed proceedings down quite a bit. Her last raven said she would be here in less than two moons, but Catelyn knows how slow a royal retinue can move and has her doubts.
Neither the bride nor the groom seem particularly vexed by the delay, and Catelyn watches them sit next to each other at meals, trading pleasantries, and reminds herself that if she and Ned could build a marriage out of wreckage, perhaps Jon and Sansa can do the same. Affection and respect, Catelyn thinks as her daughter breezes past the Lord of Winterfell in the courtyard one morning, not affording him even a second glance. They can at least have that.
Later that same afternoon, she finds herself wandering the halls of the keep, venturing further into the places the Dragon Queen's gold has not yet touched. Every bit of blackened stone breaks her heart, and the halls seems haunted with ghosts and memories. She is lost in these when she suddenly hears the heavy breaths, the unmistakable sound of lips on lips.
Catelyn rolls her eyes. Really, Sansa must have a talk with her ladies about-
But when she rounds the corner, it is not one of Sansa's handmaidens pressed into a shadowy corner, and it is not one of Jon Snow's men holding her there. It is Sansa and Jon themselves, and for a moment, Catelyn's heart stops. Not only because she was unprepared to come across her daughter in such a state, but because it is like staring into the past. Gods, that could be Ned. That could be me, she thinks.
Silently, Catelyn steps back, hiding herself behind the wall. She knows she should leave, and yet she cannot take her eyes from the sight. A match made for duty, she'd thought. For alliances and Sansa's safety. But the way Jon Snow kisses her daughter- and the way Sansa clings to him in return- can leave no doubt.
Her hand flies to her mouth almost on its own volition. They are in love. How had she never seen it?
Jon and Sansa part, foreheads together, and even from this distance, Catelyn can hear the harsh sawing of their breath, can see the pink in Sansa's cheeks. Can hear Sansa when she fervently says, "I wish the wedding were sooner."
Jon makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a chuckle before kissing Sansa's brow. "As do I."
Catelyn's own cheeks are flaming now, and really, she should leave. But she cannot stop watching them. Sansa is smiling, her head tipped back against the wall. Jon's thumbs move along her jaw, and they are...happy. Content.
Sansa plays with the laces of his jerkin, an easy and intimate gesture, and Catelyn wonders when this started. At the Vale? On the long road to Winterfell?
"We do not have to wait," Sansa says, her voice nearly unrecognizable as she winds his laces around her fingers, and Jon leans down, kisses her again. He cups her face so tenderly, as though he thinks she's made of glass. Sansa leans into the kiss, her hands going from his chest to his shoulders, fingers digging into the leather.
"We will wait, though," Jon sighs when he lifts his face from hers. Sansa makes a small, disappointed sound, and Jon's fingers flex on her cheeks. "Two moons, perhaps less." His hands move into Sansa's hair, lifting it from her neck. "And on our wedding night...,
He lowers his head and Catelyn cannot hear what he murmurs in Sansa's ear. From the dreamy expression on her daughter's face, the way her lips part slightly, Catelyn thinks that is for the best. She also thinks it would be best if she turns away now and she does so as quietly as she can.
She does not see them again until dinner, and as they sit at the table next to each other, there is no sign of the...the heat she saw earlier. Everything is as it has been, and Jon and Sansa seem distant if polite strangers. But tonight, when Jon leaves the hall, Catelyn sees the way her daughter's eyes follow him.
***
They are wed in the godswood. Snow falls throughout the ceremony, collecting on Sansa's veil and Jon's black hair. Catelyn knows that the smallfolk say snow during a wedding foretells a cold marriage, but looking at the bride and groom, she does not think that will be the case for them. Now that she knows to look for it, Catelyn can see that Sansa's cheeks are red from more than cold, and Jon's eyes seem hot enough to melt the snow not just from his bride's hair, but the entire godswood. Again, she wonders how she had missed this, how they have managed to hide it the way they have. And why.
Catelyn can only stay at the feast for so long. Weddings can never be joyful occasions for her, no matter how full her heart feels for Sansa. But despite the queen's presence, it's a small affair, and Jon has forbidden any music from being played. Catelyn would like to thank him for that.
Instead, she waits until the last course is being served before walking up to the dais and touching her daughter on the shoulder. Sansa allows her mother to lead her from the hall and into Catelyn's chambers. Gesturing toward the chair by the fire, Catelyn says, "Sit."
Sansa does so, and Catelyn goes to stand behind her. She begins to take down Sansa's intricate braids, her fingers sliding through the copper strands, so like her own. They do not speak of the bedding to come or why Catelyn will not participate. There are so many reasons, not the least of which is that she does not wish to make Jon uncomfortable, not on this night of all nights. Besides, beddings are light, joyous things, and it's hard for Catelyn to feel light or joy anymore.
But she can do this. She can unwind Sansa's braids, brush her hair until it is a shining auburn river, and do her part to make the bride beautiful for her husband.
They sit in silence for a very long time, Catelyn brushing, Sansa leaning back into her touch. For a moment, Catelyn can imagine that it is years ago, and that Sansa is still that little girl who loved pretty songs and lemon cakes.
Finally, Catelyn puts her hands on Sansa's shoulders, leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of her bright head. "I hope you'll be happy, my love."
Sansa reaches up with one hand, tangling her fingers with Catelyn's. "I will be."
When Sansa rises from her seat, her color is high and her eyes are shining. She is so beautiful that Catelyn feels her breath catch in her throat, and an emotion she cannot name squeezes her chest. After everything that has happened, that her daughter can still look hopeful...it is almost more than Catelyn can bear.
They embrace, and she can feel the slight tremor running through Sansa. She thinks back on that kiss she witnessed in the hallway, of the warmth in Jon's gaze. Catelyn had been to so many weddings, and most of the brides had gone to their marriage beds shaking with fear and apprehension. Sansa is going shivering with anticipation and desire, and it is more than Catelyn had dared hope for her.
Later that night, long after Jon and Sansa have been put to bed, Catelyn overhears two of Sansa's maids giggling about the bedding. "Brigid said they were kissing before the door even closed," one of them whispers, scandalized, and the other titters before saying, "There'll be a babe before this time next year, you mark my words."
Gods willing, Catelyn finds herself thinking.
She goes to her own bed thinking of Ned, remembering how solemn his face had been, how gentle his hands that first night, and her heart aches, both for what she has lost and for what Sansa has found.
***
Jon and Sansa break their fast early the next morning with the rest of the castle, but there are dark shadows under their eyes. Sansa cannot seem to keep a soft smile off her face, and Catelyn notes the way Jon's hand hovers at the back of his wife's chair.
By the afternoon, both have disappeared, and everyone maintains a tactful silence about their absence at dinner.
In the end, Sansa's maid is right; barely three moons after the wedding, Sansa's waist begins to thicken, and Catelyn realizes that she is to be a grandmother. The news is met with celebration in Winterfell, perhaps even more so than when Jon and Sansa wed. Catelyn watches her daughter's belly grow and thinks of how she used to fear the specter of Jon Snow's children, the threat they might pose to her grandchildren. But now his child will be her grandchild, and she finds she cannot feel any dismay at the prospect.
As it gets closer to time for the child to be born, Sansa seeks out her mother's company more often than not, bombarding Catelyn with questions. Does she think the babe will be a boy or a girl? Does Sansa seem to be carrying high or low? How long does it take a babe to be born? Does it hurt as much as it appears to?
Catelyn answers them all- she is not sure, the babe seems low to her, it depends on the mother and on the child, and yes, there is pain, but oh, it is worth it-, and finally, as they sit by the fire one evening, she asks one of her own.
"Why did you not tell me?"
When Sansa only looks at her, confused, Catelyn says, "That you loved Jon. That he loved you. Before you wed."
Sansa rubs her stomach unconsciously. "Jon was afraid it would upset you. And...," her gaze grows distant "And it was ours. Something only for us. We simply...wanted to keep it that way. For awhile, at least."
Then her cheeks grow pink as she folds her hands on top of her belly. "Of course, I don't believe it's a secret anymore."
Catelyn laughs. It sounds harsh and unused, but it's still a laugh. "No, I do not believe it is."
Jon comes into the solar soon after that, and Catelyn leaves him alone with his wife. But this time, as she departs, she says goodnight to him as well as to Sansa.
***
They name the babe Robb. He is a tiny thing with soft black curls and bright blue eyes, and the first time Catelyn holds him, she feels something within her break.
But it is a sweet break, like the spring thaw, and Catelyn rocks him and sings to him and begins to think that perhaps joy is not lost to her after all.
Several months after Robb's birth, Catelyn goes to the nursery to see Sansa, only to find Jon standing in the middle of the room, Robb cradled in his arms.
When he turns to face her in the doorway, Catelyn's heart thumps painfully against her ribs. He could so easily be another man with another dark-haired child in his arms. Even the wary expression in his eyes is the same.
But this is a different man. A different child.
Catelyn makes herself walk into the room. Sansa is stretched across a low sofa, asleep, and Jon casts a quick glance at her. "She needs to get more rest," he says, his voice quiet. "I've offered to hire nurses, a whole army of them if she likes." There is defensiveness in his tone, and his eyes do not meet hers. Crossing the room, Catelyn picks up the fur at the end of the sofa and spreads it over Sansa.
"I wouldn't let Ned get nurses, either. I wanted to be the only arms my children knew."
The words hang between them, almost tangible things. Jon had had a nurse, of course. Catelyn had never wanted him to know her arms.
She smoothes Sansa's hair away from her face, more to cover her awkwardness than anything else. From behind her, she hears Robb begin to fuss, and before she can think, Catelyn is moving to Jon's side, reaching out to touch her grandson.
As she makes soothing sounds, running her finger between his inky brows, the child sighs and settles back into his father's arms.
"That's quite a trick," Jon says, and Catelyn smiles.
"I learned that with Arya. She was the fussiest babe that ever lived, I sometimes thought."
"I remember," Jon says quietly, and Catelyn has a sudden memory of Jon as a boy, making faces at Arya as she lay on a rug by the fire, giggling at every expression.
She can feel all the years between them, all the wrongs, and all the things they could say to one another. All the things they should say.
Robb yawns then, his blue eyes opening. When he blinks at Jon and Catelyn, they both chuckle. She glances at Jon, and his face is lit with love and so, so familiar.
"He's so beautiful," Jon says, awe in his voice. "He looks like Sansa."
Catelyn looks from him to her grandson, then to her daughter, sleeping peacefully just a few feet away. "No," she says, and she lays her hand on Jon's arm. "He looks like Ned. He looks like you."