Hello lovely readers! this is part 1 of the Christmas Day chapters. Things to mention here are a few social norms worth mentioning that will make some sense out of some of the dialogue. Unmarried young couples were always chaperoned, never meant to be left alone. Sansa and John in this story are an unusual pair in an unusual situation. Due to Benjen adopting Jon, it is not completely inappropriate for them to be alone together. however, due to the fact they are of courting age and not siblings walking alone together could be considered a scandalous action. Ned is progressive, as you will discover, obviously. :P anyways, please enjoy the latest installment of my story. :) - FlamingRose
Christmas Day 1916, Winterfell
Sansa awoke to a light snowfall outside her window, and the cries of Rickon shouting about Christmas presents. She got up and dressed in a white shirt with a red velvet collar and cuffs cinched at the wrist with pearl buttons. She put on her wool stockings and her green skirt, slipped on her shoes, and brushed her hair. As she finished twisting half of her hair into a braided knot, Arya burst through the door of her room.
"Sansa, come on! Come into the parlor! The sooner we are all there the sooner we can open gifts!"
"I'm coming Arya," she chuckled in amusement as she stood from her vanity. She came into the parlor and was greeted warmly by her family, Jon and uncle Benjen included. That Christmas was one the Stark children would never forget. It was happy, peaceful, and everyone was together, all happy and smiling. Rickon got a sled and a yoyo, Arya got a new bridle for her horse, a new bow and arrows, and a black ribbon so she could at least try to keep her hair out of her face when she shot at the target. Bran got books, fiction and non-fiction, as well as ink and paper. Robb was given a fountain pen, new shoes, and a hunting knife as well as a promise from Ned that they would go hunting as soon as possible. Jon received a hunting knife as well with a matching promise from Ned and an abacus from Uncle Benjen that had Jon at a loss for words due to the overwhelming emotion he experienced at the sight of it. Sansa received gorgeous threads and ribbons from the haberdashery as well as a band of delicate lace meant to accompany a blue dress. From Uncle Benjen she got a tiny box made of cherry wood.
"It's lovely," she said with a smile.
"That's not all. Go on and open it," Benjen instructed. Sansa slid open the box to find a small pouch enclosed. She took out the pouch and opened it in her hand. Out fell a silver hairpin molded into the shape of roses. Delicate silver petals gleamed in the palm of her hand and small sapphires winked at her from between the carefully crafted leaves.
"Uncle Benjen!" she gasped, "it's beautiful!"
"Thank Jon for that one," he said with a wink, "I was completely clueless as to what would be appropriate. He saved my hide this Christmas, that's for sure."
"Thank you," Sansa said looking at Jon, "this is so…perfect."
"You're welcome," he replied, his cheeks turning pink from the attention he was receiving from everyone. He wasn't used to so many people watching so intently.
"I'll wear it at dinner tonight," Sansa promised as she put the pin carefully back in its' box.
"Alright everyone, to the breakfast room. Septa has ensured that a wonderful, warm breakfast has been made for all of us. Downstairs with you!" Catelyn ordered. Everyone made their way to the breakfast room to a breakfast of meats, eggs, warm bread, sweet rolls, and coffee as well as hot chocolate for the younger ones of the merry party.
"Sweet rolls," mused bran, actually sounding as young as he was, "it really is Christmas."
As the family finished breakfast, Catelyn declared that everyone should get ready for church. They would be taking the carriage so as to keep dry. Sansa reveled in the cold air hitting her face as she walked out to the drive with Arya. Too soon did she find herself in the carriage on the way to the church. She almost wished they would have walked.
The church was modestly decorated for Christmas with wreaths on the doors and red ribbons around the sconces at the entry. There were only locals at church. The Starks were the only ones from out of town. Sansa liked it this way. This way she could pray without being watched. At home, she'd be much too aware of the prying eyes of other elite families. They'd judge everything from the hem of her skirt to the way her hair fell about her face. Here, no one bothered her. Here she could pray in peace as the powers that be intended.
As they came out of the church, she felt the snow fall about her on her head and shoulders. It was constant, but light and gentle. She turned her face up to the sky, letting the snow kiss her cheeks, falling lightly on her lips and lashes. The Starks took their time leaving the church. Benjen and Ned spoke with the pastor. The locals were wishing them all a merry Christmas. To Sansa's relief, no one asked why they were all there in the off-season. Aunt Lyasa's tragedy was not something she wanted her mother to rehash on such a joyful day. Most Americans, though concerned, saw the war in Europe as they saw the wars in old history books. They all had their theories and opinions, but it wasn't real for any of them. May of 1916 changed that for the Starks. Since May, the war waging in Europe was very real for all of them.
"Father," Sansa addressed Ned, "could I take a walk about the church grounds? I wish to pray for Aunt Lysa."
"Of course sweet girl," Ned said with a kiss to her forehead, "don't be gone too long. Arya will be anxious to get home."
'Thank you," Sansa said with a smile, "I won't be gone long." She turned to make her way along the path to the church yard. As she walked, she admired the intricate carvings of the Victorian headstones, but she was drawn to the simple designs of the century old headstones. She looked at the simple gravestones adorned with winged skulls and weeping willows draping over urns all neatly organized in their rows and columns, sometimes accompanied by the more modern markers showing generation next to generation in the same family plot. She wondered if they had walked among similar rows as she was doing now, marveling at the people who came before them. She slowly walked past the graves, muttering small prayers under her breath for every soul she passed. She made her way through the snow covered lawn when she encountered a young, dark haired man standing in front of two grave stones, staring out at nothing in particular. She could tell by the fur lined coat who it was.
"Jon?"
"Sansa," he replied, startled to find another living soul among the dead, "what are you doing here?"
"I'm taking a walk. I wanted some solitude. To pray."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I am interrupting that solitude. I'll go."
"No! Um, it's fine. I was going to go back soon."
"Alright," Jon answered, shifting awkwardly in his spot.
"Um, what are you doing in the graveyard?" she asked, attempting conversation. He seemed to grow even more uncomfortable at the question.
"Usually after church on Christmas day, Benjen and I go to the graveyard to visit my parents. So habit, I suppose."
"Oh." It was Sansa's turn to feel awkward and uncomfortable.
"We put a wreath down," he continued, "then we walk home, whether it's snowing or sunny it doesn't matter. We all have our traditions I guess."
"Do you miss them?" Sansa asked. She knew the answer, but she didn't know what else to say.
'Yes," he said trying to keep his voice from shaking, "all the time."
"I'm sorry…and now you can't see them this Christmas because we came here…"
"It's alright,"
"No, it's not," Sansa countered, "traditions are important, and we are all together and I have everyone here, and you—"
"Sansa," Jon interrupted gently, "it's alright. Honest." Sansa shifted about. She wanted to do something, fix things. She wanted Jon's parents to be alive. She wanted him to be happy and not feel so lost or out of place. She wanted to make it all better. She wasn't quite sure how she could until her eyes fell on the gravestones Jon was standing in front of. The stones were for a couple, William and Maisie Jacobs. Maisie died before William according to the markers. Sansa saw an ash tree growing behind the memorial statue of an angel. She made her way to it snapping off thin but bendable twigs from one of the low branches. Jon watched her as she quickly weaved and linked the twigs together to form a barren wreath. It was small and not her best work due to her fingers being cold, but to Jon it was yet another incredible gift from this Christmas. His father's abacus was overwhelming and exceedingly kind of Benjen to pass on to him, but this modest wreath made of mere splinters in a cold cemetery, all so he could have his usual Christmas was a gift he would cherish above the rest. He had underestimated her again. Her kindness was greater than he ever imagined, too.
"It's not much," she said handing him the wreath, "and these aren't your parents, but maybe William and Maisie can pass on the message this Christmas. At least until we get back and you can visit them properly."
"It's perfect," he managed to say, "thank you, Sansa."
"You're welcome. I'll give you some solitude. I'll wait by the gate for you." She walked away as he gently and carefully held the wreath between his hands.
Sansa watched as Jon bent down over the graves. She was lost in her thoughts when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
'Sansa," Ned spoke softly, trying his best not to startle her, "its past time we were going."
"I'd like to walk back to Winterfell with Jon, if I may," she said, not tearing her eyes away from the young man's back.
"It's cold, and a long walk in this weather. Your clothes will be wet."
"I don't mind." Sansa said turning to meet her father's eyes, "besides, I'll be with Jon. I'll be safe. Please?" Ned Stark sighed. He was as defenseless against his daughter's pleas as his wife's.
"Of course, dear daughter," Ned acquiesced, "as you wish." He squeezed her hand as he looked at the boy by the headstones. He seemed to have grown overnight to be the young man he saw now. His daughter, too, and grown to be a beautiful young woman. Soon—sooner than Ned would like—they would no longer be children. At least she will be safe, Ned thought to himself, if she were walking home with that Baratheon boy it would be an entirely different matter.
Jon approached Sansa at the gate where she had been standing watch.
"I hope I haven't kept the family too long."
"No, I told them to go ahead," she said wringing her hands nervously, "I said I would walk back to the house with you." Jon's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"Sansa, its cold out."
"I know. I like the cold. Besides, you said whether it's snowing or sunny." Jon was touched by the gesture. She was recreating his Christmas traditions as close as she could, even the walk to the house.
"Your skirts will get wet from the snow."
"I don't mind."
"It would be considered improper…"
"No one is here to see us. Besides, we're cousins. What about our walking together would be considered improper?" Jon let the question hang between them. He did not want to answer. A look Sansa could not cypher passed across his face before he sighed in resignation. He could not deny her.
"As you wish," he replied with a small smile. She returned the smile eagerly, and he knew she would always win him over with that smile. He was defenseless against it.
"Where's Jon?" Arya asked as she stared out the window of the upstairs parlor.
"He and Sansa are walking from the churchyard," Robb answered her. The younger children went ahead to the house with Catelyn while Benjen, Ned, and Robb waited for Sansa and Jon. When Ned told them Sansa and Jon decided to walk, Robb wasn't sure what perplexed him more: Father and Uncle Benjen's shared look or the fact Sansa was chosing to soak her skirts to walk home. Ever since the Lannister's party his sister had been acting strangely. She spoke to jon more than she used to—a lot more. She was going out of her way to speak to him. She really did have the most peculiar behavior these days. For that matter, Sansa wasn't the only one acting strangely. He could forgive his mother for odd behavior. His uncle's death took quite a toll on her. His father and Uncle Benjen, however, also were behaving oddly. They had been exchanging odd glances lately and seemed graver than usual. Robb wasn't convinced it was all because of the war. Something else was going on, or at least his father and uncle thought there was something going on.
"How long does it take to walk from the church to the house?" Arya huffed.
"Longer than a carriage ride," Robb answered his impatient sister, "come now, they'll be back before you know it."
"I wanted to set up the target in the lawn so I could break in my new bow," she sighed, "I was going to have Jon help me."
"You are like no other fourteen year old girl I have ever met," Robb mused, "and that is why I love you, dear sister." He nudged her cheek gently with his knuckle, and she looked at him with one of her rare sweet smiles void of mischief.
"come on. I'll help you set up the target on the lawn. Then when Jon comes back, you can show him how it's done."
'Alright," Arya said, all the mischief returning to her face. She skipped her way to the hall and Robb followed her down the stairs and outside.
"Robb," Bran said from his spot on the terrace, "where are you going?"
"Arya is going to use her new bow."
"Where's Jon?"
"He and Sansa are walking back from the church. They'll be back soon."
"Sansa? Hmm." Bran got a faraway look, lik he was calculating something in his head.
'Do you want to join us?"
"Huh?"
"Come on Bran, join us," Robb encouraged, "how long has it been since you shot an arrow?" A smile broke out over Bran's face. Robb felt victorious.
"Too long," Bran admitted as he closed his book.
"Come on then. Get your coat." He followed as Bran ran outside putting on his coat as he followed his younger siblings to the lawn. He couldn't wait to see Jon and Sansa's faces when he told them he got Bran to go outside.
Jon and Sansa walked side by side in total silence. The air was charged with nervous energy and fleeting glances they would take when they were sure the other wasn't looking. Sansa was wringing her hands, following the seams of her gloves with her fingertips. She wondered why this was considered improper. He'd said the same thing at the Lannister house. Why? What was so improper? She was worried Jon thought of himself as improper; improper company? She wished he wouldn't.
He could not stop the thoughts and feelings, and he didn't know what to make of them. They must have been there before only to sneak up on him over the last couple of days. Frankly they were coming to him in such rapid succession he was having trouble sorting them all out. He enjoyed Sansa's company more than he expected he would, but there were other things in play: nerves, a bit of fear, excitement accompanied by sadness and an aching in his chest he couldn't quite define. He found himself smiling and laughing a lot more than he used to, and he supposed that was a good thing, but still in moments like these when he was alone with her or held her gaze longer than was customary, he felt like he was doing something wrong…like he broke a rule or something. He was being ridiculous, he knew he was. Sansa herself said they were cousins. He should keep his fantastical fancies to himself. He doubted she was experiencing the same turmoil herself.
"The house isn't too far now," Sansa said attempting to break the tension. Jon only nodded.
"I'm sorry. I'm not entirely sure how these walks are supposed to go. Do you usually talk?"
"Sometimes, and sometimes not," Jon replied.
"Jon," Sansa said. She took hold of his arm to stop him. He looked at her fingers curling around his forearm and waited.
"I really am sorry."
"For what?" he asked, perplexed.
"I—I don't know…for intruding? I just took the reins. I didn't really ask if this was alright. It's just so unfair. I have both parents and you have none, and I know you have Uncle Benjen, but it's not the same. And then we had to have Christmas here…You are so kind and good. It's not fair that you've suffered so much." He was saddened to see the troubled look in her eye give way to pain. He was moved by her concern for him. He gently removed her hands from his arm and held them in his.
"Sansa," he said, coaxing her to look at him, "you did not intrude. This is the best gift anyone could have given me considering the circumstances. I'll admit, it wasn't easy to adjust after church today, but your gesture means the world to me. You made sure I had my version of Christmas. I'm glad we're here. You have nothing to be sorry for." Snow was falling about them, landing on their shoulders and their gloved hands. It was tangling into her hair and melting as it landed on her cheeks. He didn't' want to move. He might miss something if he did; a sigh, a smile, something to fill him with the feeling he craved when he was with her. He knew no one was on the path, no one was here to see their moment of tenderness, yet the feeling of guilt, like he was doing something wrong, made its way uninvited into his head. He gave her hands a squeeze, and she promptly tightened her grip around his, neither of them daring to look away from each other.
"We better go on," Jon said softly, "they'll wonder where we are." Sansa nodded, breaking their gaze and releasing his hands to continue walking on the path. Again, he felt her absence immediately. As they continued their walk and Winterfell came into view, Jon had an epiphany. It came in increments. The storm inside his head that had been whirling and confusing the many thoughts started to calm, and as things settled, he slowly realized the sentiment that was made up of all his overwhelming feelings. He yearned for Sansa Stark.