"I'm not wearing a dress," Arya said.
"It is enough that you attend," Sansa answered, meeting her eyes in the mirror as she placed the brush down on her vanity. "Is it very strange to you?"
Arya was silent for a moment. She never spoke without considering her words first anymore. And she stood so stiffly, always at the ready. Sometimes, Sansa feared there was nothing left of the rash, wild girl Arya had been. But then Sansa was no longer a girl who dreamed of handsome knights from the songs either. Those children were lost to them just as Bran was, no matter that they had all made it back within the walls of Winterfell.
"I imagine I'll become accustomed to it quicker than you will." Her voice was devoid of emotion, but then she came behind Sansa's chair and rested a comforting hand on Sansa's shoulder.
"It will be strange," she agreed, taking her hand between hers. Her fingers brushed across the callouses and scars absently. "But I knew that whatever has happened, I would be required to marry again. Jon is... Jon," she smiled at the memory. "We were not close as you were. It makes it easier to see him now as a man, and he will be the first man I wed with no fear. That is something."
A moon's turn later, sitting beside her lord husband at their wedding feast, the words continued to prove true. They were each nervous, exchanging shy smiles, during the ceremony. Yet, it was natural for the ease to return to their interactions while they supped. Sansa commented on the wideness of Arya's eyes when Gendry Waters had entered the hall, and Jon remarked on the love triangle brewing between Jaime Lannister, Brienne of Tarth and Tormund.
Their wedding may not be the last before the year ended, they joked.
There had not been much cause for celebration in the North, and it did Sansa good to see her people laugh with joy. The war with the dead for their lives and then for their independence from the dragon queen had destroyed many families. To see them forget their tragic histories for a moment, drink and jape warmed Sansa's heart.
"I know this is not what you wanted," Jon murmured beside her, interrupting her thoughts. She pressed her lips together to stave in the assurances she wanted to give. He had not spoken of his thoughts on the wedding since she had accepted. "I cannot promise you will grow to love me or that our story will be a song, but I will strive to be a good lord husband to you." His earnest gaze met hers.. "I may not always do what you ask of me, but I will hear your concerns and opinions on all matters. I will be true to you, and I will kill anyone who means to do you harm."
A rush of affection lodged itself in her throat. Despite everything, he still believed he could protect her and, for once, she did not doubt him. She did not disbelieve the man who, covered in blood from battle, had fought so fiercely against Ramsey Bolton that he had seemed like the Stranger from her nightmares as a child. She had not looked with fear on him then. It soothed something inside of her to know that not only would Jon never turn that brutality on her, it was easily called up in defense of their family.
She did not disbelieve the man who, after a small twinge of her expression had belied her reluctance to return to King's Landing, had declared that he would rule the Seven Kingdoms from the North, custom be damned.
"Our story is already a song," she said finally. "A little bird flew South and returned a wolf. A bastard went to the Wall and returned a king on the back of a dragon. When I was a child, I didn't understand all that was lost between the first verse and the last. If it ended happy and spoke of bravery, that was all I cared for." She took a sip of her wine. "You are the bravest man I know, Jon, and the most honourable. If we can keep safe and happy, I doubt I could want for anything that is in your power to give."
She could not say whose hand reached out first. Their fingers entwined on the table, and Sansa found she could also not doubt that this foundation of trust and familiarity would be enough for love to find its way to grow. Happiness was made out of much less.